Circles (8 page)

Dave bent over Beebe and whispered in her ear. “Let’s get together afterwards and discuss this. I’ll tell Jenny and Todd. Meet in front of the main entrance at four.”

Seven of them gathered on the steps in front of the entrance. Wanda was the only one smiling. “A bunch of conspirators, that’s what we look like,” she said. “It’s like out of
Julius Caesar,
not
Romeo and Juliet. “

“She must be crazy,” Jennifer said. “Nobody’s going to want to act in such a nutty play. I think we should just go talk to the principal and tell him we want another faculty advisor.”

“Absolutely,” Dave agreed. “If a bunch of us go, he’ll know we mean business.”

“Maybe we should write up a petition first,” Rebecca Chin suggested. “If we could have everybody in the cast sign it, that would make it unanimous.”

“I think we should talk to Ms. Drumm first,” Todd Merster said. “It doesn’t seem fair to go behind her back before we really tell her what we think.”

“I wonder if everybody in the cast would sign a petition anyway,” Rebecca said. “There’s a couple of them who have no principles at all. As long as they get a part in a play, they don’t care what play it is.”

“You’re right,” Robin Vargas said. “Dorrie Ferguson was telling me yesterday that she hates
Romeo and Juliet,
and just wished we could do something more modern.”

“I know,” Rebecca said. “She wanted the part of the nurse, but she’s just not very funny.”

“Maybe Todd is right,” Jennifer said. “We should talk to Ms. Drumm first, but then, if she says no, then we should go see the principal.”

“But suppose she just throws you out of the play before you go to see the principal? Suppose she just says if you don’t like it you can lump it?” Wanda said.

“She wouldn’t throw Jenny out of the play,” Todd said, but he sounded nervous. “She wouldn’t want to throw Jenny out of the play because then Dave would quit, and I guess the rest of us would quit too. She doesn’t want to get rid of all of us, does she?”

Everybody was speaking at the same time now, and Beebe had to repeat herself before anybody heard her.

“What did you say, Beebe?” Dave asked finally.

“I said I’m going to see Mrs. Kronberger. I’m going to tell Mrs. Kronberger what’s happening. She’ll do something.”

Chapter 8

Mark’s mother dropped into a chair, lighted another cigarette, breathed in deeply, slowly exhaled, and said, “Thank God that’s over.”

Mark watched the smoke mushroom out. “It wasn’t that bad,” he said.

His mother shook her head, took another deep breath, and said, “It’s a good thing you were here. Twelve nine-year-old boys is not my idea of a good time.”

There was a loud thump from upstairs.

“Just you stop that, Jeddy,” his mother shouted up at the ceiling.

Jeddy came into the room from the kitchen. “I didn’t do that,” he complained. “You’re always yelling at me to stop something, and most of the time it’s Marcy or ... or ...” He looked at Mark. “It used to be Mark.”

Mark grabbed him and began tickling him. “Poor, little, innocent lamb,” he said. “He never makes any noise, and everybody blames him.”

Jeddy, yelling and laughing at the same time, tried to butt Mark in the stomach. In a second, both of them were rolling around together on the floor, and Mark’s mother cried, “Stop it! Both of you, stop it! Or go outside.”

There was another loud thump from upstairs, and this time Mark’s mother shouted up at the ceiling, “Marcy, stop it!”

Shauna   and   I   are   practicing   our  gymnastics,’’ Marcy yelled down the stairs.

“Well, go practice in Shauna’s house, and the two of you boys, stop making that racket—watch out, you’re knocking over the lamp! Watch out!”

It took some time, but Marcy finally did go off to Shauna’s house, Jeddy went to his room with all his new presents, and Mark and his mother remained quietly together in the living room.

Mark looked anxiously at the ashtray full of cigarette butts and at the new pack of cigarettes his mother was opening. “Mom,” he said, “aren’t you smoking more than you used to?”

She slowly pulled a cigarette out of the pack, lighted it, took a puff, and smiled at him. “Just look out for yourself, Mark,” she said. “I can look after myself.”

“I know, Mom, but I also know you’re smoking a lot more than you used to.”

“You don’t know anything,” she said, not smiling now. “It’s not like you live here anymore, or take an interest in me or the kids. This is the first time you’ve been home in weeks.”

“Mom ...” he said helplessly.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said that. You’re entitled to your own life.”

“Mom ...”

“No, no.” She waved a hand at him. “It’s good for you to make your own way. I know you’ll have to look out for yourself living with your father.”

“Mom ... that’s not fair. He’s really very good to me. He ... he ... really cares about me, and Jeddy and Marcy too.”

His mother flicked some ashes into the ashtray, smiled a phony smile at him, and said, “So, Mark, tell me what’s happening to you. I want to hear everything.”

Jeddy came into the room, carrying one of his new games. “Mom, can I go over to Brian’s house? He says I can sleep over.”

“Tomorrow’s school,” his mother said, “and you haven’t done your homework.”

“I’ll do it over there. Please, Mom.”

“You’ll have to change your clothes.”

“Okay, Mom, I’ll change my clothes.”

“And take a shower first.”

Jeddy was already out of the room.

“You never used to let me sleep over at anybody’s house on a Sunday night,” Mark said.

His mother shrugged. “I’m not so fussy anymore. Maybe I was too fussy with you. Maybe if I hadn’t been ...”

“Mom ...” he began again. Today he noticed that most of his sentences began with “Mom” and didn’t necessarily have any middles or ends.

“Anyway ...” she stubbed out the cigarette, picked up the pack, hesitated, and laid it down again without taking out a new cigarette. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. Then she leaned towards him, and took his hand. “So tell me what’s happening. How’s school? How are you managing?”

“Fine. Everything’s just fine.”

His mother nodded, pressed his hand, and waited for details.

“I... I went up to Mount Tarn last night with a club called the City Astronomers. We stayed out until three and we saw—”

“Until three?” his mother repeated, dropping his hand. “And your father didn’t mind?”

“Mom ...”

The phone rang. His mother rose quickly and headed towards it. Mark leaned back against his chair, wondering when he could go over to Cindy’s. He’d called her, and she said she would be home all evening. He knew he’d have to eat dinner with his mother, and he just hoped she wouldn’t feel offended if he left soon afterwards so he could spend some time with Cindy. He wondered if Cindy would be willing to meet him in the city some time—maybe next Sunday. No, next Sunday wouldn’t be any good because his father was inviting Barbara and her daughter over. Well, maybe the following week.

“Mark,” his mother called out, “come here a minute.” He heard her say something, laughing into the phone, and she raised a smiling face up to him, still cheered by the conversation she was having with the person on the other side of the line. “Mark, how long are you staying tonight?”

“Oh—well—I don’t know.”

“Were you planning to have dinner?” His mother was asking him if
he planned
to have dinner. Not telling him she was expecting him to stay for dinner, not making him feel he had to stay because she expected him to.

“Well, if you want me to stay ...” he said tentatively.

She covered up the phone with her hand. “Mark, it’s up to you. If you have other plans ...”

“Well, I was planning on seeing Cindy.”

“Fine,” she said. “So you’re not staying for dinner. I’m free,” she announced into the phone. “What? Oh sure. Eight? Yes, that’s okay. Jeddy is sleeping over at a friend’s, and Marcy ... well, I’ll tell her to be home before I leave. She doesn’t mind staying alone for a few hours.”

When she hung up, she had a cheerful look on her face.

“Is that a new boyfriend, Mom?” Mark asked, trying to look cheerful, too, and approving. Actually, he felt neglected and sorry for himself. His own mother asking him if he
planned
on staying for dinner!

“No, no,” said his mother. “I’m taking a sabbatical from men this year. That’s Eleanor—oh, you don’t know her. She’s a new friend I met through group therapy. She’s having some people over for dinner— sort of potluck. I can bring some leftover birthday cake.” She moved into the dining room, where the remains of the party still littered the table and the floor. “I guess I’d better clean up first before I go. I hate to come back to a messy house.”

“I’ll help you, Mom,” Mark offered.

“No, no, dear,” said his mother. “You’re going off to see Cindy. Real nice girl, Cindy.”

“But Mom ...”

She looked at her watch. “I think I’d like to wash my hair before I go tonight, and maybe shorten a new skirt I bought. So you just run along. You’ll be late for dinner at Cindy’s if you hang around here much longer. I know they like to eat early.”

He grabbed a hamburger and some fries at McDonald’s, and mused over a large Coke until seven. It was incredible that his own mother no longer seemed like his own mother. Could she have changed so much in the short time he’d been away from home—from his old home? Not only was she smoking more, but she seemed much more lax with the kids. He’d hated how strict she’d always been with him, and here she was letting Jeddy stay over at a friend’s house on a Sunday night, and he hadn’t even done his homework. Mark’s mouth tightened in disapproval. He sipped his Coke and continued to consider other changes in his mother’s behavior. She was going to let Marcy, twelve-year-old Marcy, stay alone in the house! Oh, come on, Mark, lighten up! It’s only for a couple of hours, another side of him reasoned. But he brushed it aside and continued to work up a case against his mother. Worst of all was the way she had behaved with him, throwing recriminations at him for leaving. Well, he could deal with that. He even expected that, but—the real stunner—asking him if he
planned
to stay for dinner, and actually easing him out of the house so that she could wash her hair. His own mother!

He looked at the clock and considered whether he wanted another order of french fries or whether he wanted to call Cindy and see if he could come over earlier. He called Cindy.

“Hello,” Cindy said.

“Hello,” he answered.

“Hello?” she returned. “Who is this?”

“It’s Mark!” he told her. She always used to know his voice.

“Oh, hi, Mark,” she said enthusiastically. “I hope you’re still planning on coming over tonight.”

“Oh, sure, I am, but I’m through here a little early, so I thought ...”

“We’re just sitting down to dinner,” she said. “You said you wouldn’t be over before eight.”

“Right. Well, that’s okay. I’ll come at eight, then.”

“Unless you haven’t eaten, and want to have dinner with us. I didn’t ask you because I was sure your mother wouldn’t let you get out of the house without stuffing you.”

“Oh, I’ve eaten all right.” Mark laughed. He didn’t want her to think his own mother would let him go out of her house hungry. “I’ll see you at eight.”

He bought another order of french fries and another Coke, brooded some more over his mother, and arrived at Cindy’s house at five minutes after eight.

“Mark!” She flung her arms around him and gave him a big hug. He could smell a combination of onions, apples, and cinnamon in her hair, and began to feel happy again.

“Mark!” Her mother was there, hugging him, and her father came and shook hands, and asked him how he was doing. Then they all trouped into the kitchen, asking questions and listening to his answers. He liked Cindy’s parents, and knew they liked him.

“We really miss you, Mark,” said her mother.

“And speaking of missing,” said her father. “We’re going to miss ‘Masterpiece Theatre’ unless we turn on the TV. They’re doing
A Tale of Two Cities,
“ he told Mark. “Have you been watching?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“It’s great,” Cindy said. “The last episode they actually showed how the guillotine worked, and you could see the blood on it.” She shuddered.

“Well, maybe you want to watch it,” Mark said. “I don’t mind.”

He could see her hesitate, but then she smiled and shook her head. “No, it’s okay, Mark. I’d rather talk to you. Dad can tape it for me.”

He followed Cindy upstairs to her room, approving of her no-nonsense, baggy blue sweater, baggy jeans, and scuffed running shoes. She was a tail girl—pretty, too, in a careless, sporty way. The important thing was that Cindy was a no-nonsense girl, a girl he could talk to. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her.

She put on the light in her room, closed the door, and looked up at him. “Guess what I’ve been doing, Mark?”

Her eyes were bright and shining. Were there lights in them? Maybe. Yes, he thought there were.

“What?” he asked, moving a little closer to her.

“Just look.” She waved a hand around the room, and he looked. All over her bed, her desk, and the tops of her bookcases were—

“College catalogs,” she told him. “I got a whole bunch in the mail, some from places I’ve never even heard of. And some I sent for.”

“No kidding!” Mark picked one up. “Stanford, Wow! Are your marks that good?”

“I guess so,” she said, “and I did pretty well on the PSATs.”

“What did you get?”

“Seven twenty in English and 790 in math.”

“Seven ninety?” Mark pushed aside some of the catalogs on her bed, and sat down. “If you do that well on the SATs you’ll get in anywhere. I got a 710 in math and only a 650 in English.”

She sat down next to him, and for the next couple of hours they talked and talked and talked. It was like old times. He could always talk to Cindy, and she could always talk to him.

“I guess I’ll go to U.C. Berkeley,” Mark said, “if I can get in.”

“Why don’t you go somewhere else, Mark? Your scores are okay, and your marks are all high. You might get into M.I.T.”