Amber Brown Wants Extra Credit (7 page)

My mother looks at him. “Max Turner, I told you that I had to work tonight. . . . that we would spend tomorrow together. You’re very sneaky.”

I agree. Max is very sneaky.

I bet he’s offering to help me just so that he gets to spend more time with my mother.

“Tomorrow,” he says, “we can all bake the brownies.”

“Are you still going to be here tomorrow?” I want to know.

My mother looks at me.

Then she looks at Max.

Then she looks back at me.

And then at Ma. . . . . . . . .

Max looks at my mother.

And then he looks at me. “I would like to have pizza with you and your mom, and then I know she has work to do so I will leave right after dinner.”

My mother smiles at him.

He smiles back.

There is too much smiling, much too much smiling going on around here.

He continues. “Since the plan was for Sarah and me to spend some time together tomorrow, I think we should use that time to help you with your project.”

I wish he would stop being so nice . . . . . One of these days, I’m going to have to do something terrible to him to make him lose his temper.

But not today . . . . . . . . . I need to go shopping.

“Wagons Ho,” I say, putting on my seat-belt.

“Wagons Ho” is something my aunt Pam always says when we go someplace. It’s become kind of a family thing to say at the beginning of some journeys.

I can’t believe I’ve said it to Max, who is definitely not family. I wish I could take it back . . . but can’t figure out how to do that . . . . so I think about taking it . . . . . . backward . . . that would be . . . . . . Oh Snogaw.

“Oh Snogaw,” I say softly.

“What?” Max asks as he backs out of the driveway.

“Never mind.” I shrug.

This is the first time I’ve been alone with Max . . . . and I’ve got a lot to tell him . . . . and a lot to ask.

I change the subject. “Do you have any kids? Have you ever been married? Do you want to marry my mom? Do you know that even though my mom and dad are divorced, there is a very good chance that they’re going to get back together . . . . . that they’re just taking a break from each other. . . . kind of like recess?”

Max keeps driving, without saying a word.

It makes me nervous that he’s not saying anything.

I’ve never had to meet anyone that my mother was dating . . . mostly because she didn’t go out on dates for a long time after
my dad left . . . and then because she said I didn’t have to meet anyone unless it was serious, and now she’s made me meet Max, so I know this must be serious.

So I continue. “Do you know that my mom and I have been very happy just living together by ourselves? We like it that way . . . . . until my dad moves back from France. Then we’re going to all live together again . . . . my mom . . . . my dad . . . and me.”

I wait for him to say something.

Just before we get to the supermarket, Max pulls into the Dairy Queen, my favorite ice cream place.

“You can’t bribe me,” I say.

The car stops, and Max says, “I know. I just think that we should talk, and when I talk with friends, we often discuss things over a cup of coffee. I didn’t think that we should have coffee.”

“I don’t drink coffee,” I tell him. “I don’t know a lot of nine-year-olds who do . . . . 
My friend Justin used to like coffee ice cream, though.”

We get out of the car and order ice cream.

I get two scoops in a dish, chocolate chip mint and vanilla fudge.

He gets coffee ice cream.

We sit down.

I mush up my ice cream and wait for the answers.

Chocolate chip mint and vanilla fudge mushed together looks pretty gross.

Max starts. “I’ve never been married. I don’t have any kids. My niece, my sister’s daughter, Jade, and I are very close. Jade’s father left before she was born, so I’ve been like a father to her. She’s six.”

“My dad would never do anything like that,” I say.

Max looks at me and nods. “I know. Your mom has told me how much he loves you.”

“He does,” I say, and then ask, “Do you want to marry my mom?”

Max looks at me. “Amber, your mother and I have only been dating since this summer . . . a few months. We’re not talking about getting married . . . but when WE do talk about it, I’m sure that your mother will talk to you.”

“You said WHEN, not IF.” I let my ice cream drip down my chin.

He looks surprised. “I guess I did . . . . . That’s very interesting.”

“My dad will be back soon,” I remind him.

“Your mother said that he was going to try to move back. But Amber, I think you should talk to your mother about this . . . . . . about whether or not they’re going to get back together.”

I stand up. “We better go shopping now.”

He stands up too, picks up a napkin, and
wipes the dripping ice cream off my face.

“Are you being nice to me because you want me to like you?” I ask.

“I’m being nice to you because I’m basically nice.” He grins. “And, yes, I do want you to like me. But I’m not going to like it if you do stuff to try to mess things up between your mother and me . . . . but I will try to understand . . . . and to remember how rotten I was to the man who eventually became my stepfather.”

Stepfather. I don’t like that word.

“Would you tell me some of the things that you did to him?” I want to know because that information might be useful someday.

He laughs. “Not on your life . . . . Why should I tell you? So that you can use them on me? Do you think I’m nuts?”

I just smile at him.

“Don’t answer that.” He smiles back.

“You can tell me. Come on. I thought
you said you’re a nice guy. It would be nice to tell me.”

“I’m not that nice.” He shakes his head.

One of these days, I’m going to get him to tell me . . . . and then I’m going to do the same thing to him . . . . . whatever it was . . . . I don’t want to make all of this too easy for Max.

I’m beginning to like him . . . but I don’t want to like him too much . . . . After all, what if he decides to stick around . . . or what if I like him a lot and then he decides to leave?

We get into the car, go to the supermarket, and get a cart.

The shopping begins.

We play supermarket basketball, lobbing all of the ingredients, except for the eggs and oil, into the cart. We get more points the farther we throw the items.

We also get strange looks from some of the other shoppers.

Then we play Guess the Weight.

Max picks up an item. Then he hands it to me and we both guess how much it weighs.

Then he takes it over to the fruit-weighing machine and we see who wins.

I’m ahead, fifteen to seven.

“Two points!” I yell as I throw a bag of marshmallows into the cart.

Max pretends to guard it, but it goes in.

There’s loud cheering. It’s the Nicholson brothers, Danny, Ryan, and Kyle. Danny, who’s in third grade, gives Max a high five and says to me, “Amber, your dad is so much fun. . . . . .”

Max smiles.

I yell, “He’s not my dad!” Danny looks really surprised that I yelled like that.

Max looks sad.

I look at both of them and then I say to Danny, “He’s my mother’s friend.”

And then I add, “And he’s my friend too.”

Max looks happy again.

And I feel good that I’ve said that he’s my friend.

I also feel a little guilty.

I’m not sure that my father would like it if he knew about Max and if he knew that I said that he’s my friend.

Max throws a bag of jelly beans into the cart. “Two points.”

By the time we get to the checkout counter, we have a tie score.

No one wins.

No one loses.

It’s Brownie Baking Day, and Max is back again.

The ingredients that I put in the refrigerator yesterday are on the table, and I’m emptying the rest of the stuff out of the bag.

“I don’t believe you two.” My mother shakes her head.

“Believe us.” Max comes up behind her and puts his arms around her waist.

She doesn’t move away or anything.

I continue to put the ingredients on the table.

“When you two came back last night, I
should have looked through the shopping bags.” She shakes her head again.

Sprinkles . . . . M&M’s . . . . Reese’s Pieces . . . . . marshmallows . . . . gumdrops . . . . slivered almonds . . . walnuts . . . a can of tuna fish . . . a Mars bar . . . a bag of potato chips . . . . . Cheez Doodles . . . Gummi worms, a bar of white chocolate . . . Good & Plenty . . . . candy false teeth . . . . . candy corn . . . strawberry Twizzlers . . . . . . . Cheerios . . . peanut butter . . . . . grape jelly . . . . plus all of the regular stuff that goes into plain brownies . . . . . . .