Anatomy of a Misfit (22 page)

Père.
That's French, for “Dad.” That little French word is the closest we will ever get to affection.

My mom comes in after I hang up the phone to assess the damage. She knows, by now, that one phone call from the vampire can devastate me for days. If he chooses to turn that withering sense of humor on me. To eviscerate. Which is his skill set. The one thing about the vampire, stay on his good side. But don't try to get too close. If you do, he'll bite you.

My mom sits next to me on the bed.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you know I got a letter for you?”

“What? When?”

“This morning. It's from Oakland. Do you know anybody from Oakland?”

“No, Mom. Definitely not.”

“Honey, is there something you're not telling me?”

“No, Mom.”

“Okay. Here it is. Now get back to bed, you need your rest.”

And there it is, a letter from Oakland. Who the hell lives in Oakland? I've never even been west of Colorado.

I snuggle up in my sheets and open it.

It's from Tiffany.

 

Dear Anika
,

Well, I made it! I'm in Oakland! With my grandma. She was super-happy to see me and her place is really nice, it's got two floors and everything. Please don't tell anybody where I am, especially my mom, okay? I just wanted to write to you and say thank you. If it wasn't for you I never would have made it here. I took the train. It was really pretty. We went through the mountains and it was crazy. You've never seen so much snow. I was kind of scared, a little. Like, if we got stuck we'd have to eat each other. Well, bye for now, I just wanted to say thanks
.

Your friend
,

Tiffany

PS: I feel grateful to you for what you did but I have to admit, I still don't understand. Why would you take anything when you have everything you need right there in front of you?

PPS: My grandma won't let me keep the money, she says it's bad luck, so here it is. I rounded up, so it wouldn't jingle in the mail
.

 

And there, behind the letter: Exactly one thousand two hundred thirty-seven dollars. Goddamn it.

Even Tiffany all the way out there in Oakland knows better than me.

What do you think? Do you think I should keep her secret? Her mom's probably freaking out. I mean, it kind of seems like a girl belongs with her mom but . . . maybe not that mom, I guess. Anyway, anything's better than that shit-ass place down by the interstate.

Bullet point number two. What am I supposed to do with this money?

$1,237.00.

I could keep it and add it to my college fund. Do I even have a college fund?

My mom knocks on the door again.

“Honey, how are you feeling?”

“Mom.”

“Yes.”

“Do you wanna hear something stupid?”

“I guess, honey.”

“I stole one thousand two hundred thirty-six dollars and fifty cents from the Bunza Hut and now I don't even want it.”

Silence.

“What?”

“Mom. I'm a thief. I'm a horrible person and I know that you tried but I'm a thief and I stole all this money, also, I used to scrape up your Valium and put it in Mr. Baum's Folger's.”

“What?!”

“So he wouldn't be so mean to Shelli. I mean he was, like, really mean to her.”

“Honey, you can't just go around poisoning people!”

“I know. I know I'm a terrible person and I know I'm going to jail but could you please just forgive me because I did it for a good cause.”

“You stole for a good cause?”

“Kinda.”

“I'm not sure I'm following, honey. . . .”

“I gave it to Tiffany, after she got busted. But she gave it back to me. See. I'm a failure. Even as a Robin Hood–like character of redemption, I have failed.”

“Honey . . . okay. I'm gonna close this door and we are gonna figure this out together, okay?”

“Okay.”

fifty-five

M
y mom has me bundled up like a snowman and we are driving up Sheridan Boulevard to Mr. Baum's house. And by house I mean mansion. It's almost sunset and the sun is shining through the trees before making its final exit. I guess, for this, she can let me out of the house. With a 103 temperature. Where obviously I will catch pneumonia and die.

“Okay, you're gonna sit in the car, okay? Just stay put.”

I nod.

My mother has suddenly become a spy in her own personal espionage thriller. Her tone is conspiratorial and, yes, she is wearing sunglasses and a trench coat.

It suddenly dawns on me.

Is my mom crazy?

Maybe all this time I was not the only freak in the family. Maybe the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. And maybe that tree is sitting right next to me in giant sunglasses and a trench coat.

“Okay, now. On the count of three I am gonna run up there, leave the drop, and then we'll make a break for it.”

Drop.

We're gonna “leave the drop.”

Then we're gonna “make a break for it.”

Seriously. What is happening? Meanwhile, Frosty the Snowman over here is bundled up to complete immobility. She keeps telling me to stay in the car, completely unaware that I have absolutely no choice in the matter. I couldn't move if the dashboard caught fire.

“Okay. Ready now? One . . . two . . . THREE!”

She scurries out and over the snow, a trench-coated figure in a sea of white. The path up the driveway leads to a cobblestone walk to the front door. A grand affair with two giant wooden doors and a wrought-iron knocker.

She “makes the drop,” turns around, and scurries back to the car.

Inside, a dog starts barking.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!”

She jumps in and suddenly we are peeling out backward as the front porch light of Mr. Baum's mansion goes on and my mom speeds down Sheridan like she's Billy the Kid.

I sit bundled in my snowman outfit, unable to move or remark, for that matter. I mean, the whole thing is so ludicrous, but I'm kind of in awe of my mother at this point.

Also, I have now come to the happy conclusion that I get my “specialness” from her. Mystery solved!

Although, to be honest, I will miss that $1,237.00 included in “the drop.”

My mom keeps looking suspiciously in the rearview mirror. I can practically hear her heart beating from here.

“Okay.” She exhales. “I think we lost 'em.”

fifty-six

T
wo days later and I'm still in bed with the flu or a cold or probably cholera. I'm lying back in bed now, bundled. My mom has the sheets up and is taking my temperature. She takes out the thermometer.

“Okay. Ninety-nine-point-three. That's better.”

She puts the thermometer away and fluffs up the pillows.

“You still have to rest though, okay?”

“You mean like don't go on any weird heists where we ‘make a break for it'?”

She smiles and tucks me under the blanket.

“Exactly.”

“Mom?”

“Yes, honey.”

“Do you think that maybe you have a future in the Secret Service?”

My mom laughs.

It's the dumbest thing in the world but I feel like a huge anvil has been taken off my shoulders ever since we burned rubber out of Mr. Baum's driveway.

“Mom, I think you saved the day, kinda.”

“What do you mean, honey?”

“Well, like, I think that whole thing was really bothering me, like rotting my guts out or something.”

“Oh yeah? So, lemme ask you a question, then. Was it actually worth the thousand dollars—”

“One thousand two hundred thirty-six dollars and fifty cents.”

“Okay, was it worth that EXACT amount . . . to feel like that?”

“Mom, is this an after-school special?”

“No. No, it's not. But I wanna know. Was it worth it?”

Ugh. I hate it when anybody else is right.

“No, Mom, it wasn't. It was dumb.”

“Okay, good. So now I don't have to worry about that anymore . . . ?”

“No. You don't.”

“Good. 'Cause you could ruin your future. Then what would your father do?”

“He'd probably go to Vienna. Oh, wait, he already did that.”

“Just remember, no stealing. It's rude.”

“Mom, wanna hear something stupid?”

“Please. No. I can't take another heist.”

“I love you.”

My mom looks down at me. She gets a little weepy, or maybe she's just tired. It's been three days of taking care of sicko me, not to mention the other four rapscallions around here.

“I love you, too, honey. Just stop poisoning people.”

She kisses me on the forehead.

“Now go to sleep, little cubby.”

She tucks me in and shuts the door behind her.

I can't seem to keep my head up with all this Tylenol and chicken soup she's plied me with. She's got me bundled up like an Eskimo with Vicks VapoRub slathered all over the place and a humidifier by the bed. My mom is not messing around when it comes to colds. Or flus.

The ceiling is starting to turn into oatmeal and I can't keep my eyes open even for a minute. Somehow the letter and the phone call and the haiku and the heist are all too much to think about and my head goes clunk on the pillow and suddenly I'm staring at that crystal white painting from Logan. Maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll wake up in Geneva or Zermatt or Vienna. Maybe I'll wave to the vampire and he'll wave back, if I'm getting straight As. If I flunk, he'll keep walking.

fifty-seven

I
n my dream I'm standing on a sheet of snow, stretched out in a basin underneath the mountains of Switzerland. Behind me is the Matterhorn and it's a bright blue sky, the color of a Tiffany box. It's me but in a way it's not me, standing there. Me in a white dress and everything is white white white. It's the most beautiful place I've ever been, like a charmed crystal forest, and on the other side, coming out of the black, is Logan. He's standing there, and even though he's miles away I can see him, see into his eyes.

We're getting moved toward each other, like the snow basin is a conveyor belt, moving us together and now we are closer, closer and now we are close. Now he is right in front of me and the sky is bright white and it starts to snow, just little pieces, little by little, snowflake by snowflake, and we both know that this is the most enchanted place in the world, this place between us. And he leans in and I lean in and it's a kiss, a chaste kiss, that becomes a not-so-chaste kiss and now it's like we are turning into, turning into one thing, turning into each other, turning into the white light and the snowflakes and we are light light light and just about to float up into the sky, up past the mountains and the black forest and the Matterhorn and up up up over the whole wide world.

But then the black forest trees turn spiky and spindly and mean, they reach out from behind Logan and grab him with their arms, pulling him back, and the white snow basin caves in and suddenly there is nothing, nothing underneath and the black blade trees take Logan down down down and away, away further. And I'm screaming, or I'm trying to scream but nothing's coming out and we're looking at each other, across the freezing ice abyss and we're helpless, helpless and no one can hear me, no one can see, and then I look to find him, I look everywhere around me and through the ice and the tree branches and the snow forest, but he's gone.

 

I wake up with a jump and now I'm covered with sweat and it's so quiet you can hear your breath and something's wrong. But nothing's wrong. It was just a dream. That was just a dream I had, but it was so real, it felt like more real even than this now. This here, that
is
real.

The clock is blinking: 4:13.

4:13.

4:13. And stone-cold silence. None of it was real, it was just a dream. Don't be silly.

But there's something weird. There's something tugging me out of bed and down the hall. Down the hall, which seems now longer than I remember it. And I'm walking. Like I'm sleep-walking but no, now I'm awake. I'm awake now. This is my house. This is my hallway. That is my phone.

And I pick up the phone.

What am I doing?

What the fuck am I doing?

Oh, I know what I'm doing. I'm gonna call Logan. I'm gonna call Logan now and tell him I'm in love with him.

And I know this now.

I know this like I know the sky is blue and I know the world is round and I know the moon revolves around the earth, the earth revolves around the sun. And I can't wait to tell him. I can't wait to tell him and it's gonna be just like that kiss, just like that kiss in the snow cloud and he and I are gonna be like light and air, together.

But it's 4:17. You can't call someone at 4:17. You can call them at ten at night maybe, or maybe nine in the morning if it's urgent. But not 4:17. You can't do that. That's just weird. Nobody will be up even and then you'll just wake everybody. And what are you gonna say, “Put Logan on. 'Kay, thanks. Hey, Logan, I had a dream about a bunch of snow and I'm in love with you.”

No, no. Wait for tomorrow. Wait for tomorrow and tell him after school. Or before school. Or at school? Who gives a shit anyways. Just tell him at school. You're gonna tell him. You're gonna tell him at school. And then it'll be you and him together.

fifty-eight

T
here's a TV on when I wake up, which is weird. It's about 5:00 a.m., which is weird. We're not a house that wakes up at five in the morning and we're certainly not a house that's got the TV on at five in the morning, my mom makes sure of that. The TV goes on at night, after schoolwork, and even then, just for a little bit. One show, maybe two. I mean, the ogre watches TV all night long after dinner, lets it put him to sleep every night. But not us. TV in the morning is not us.