From Butt to Booty (34 page)

I throw myself down next to my friends at lunch and put my head on the table. Ten minutes of sleep. Sleep would be good. What day is it? Crapping buttocks, I don’t know.

“What day is it?” I ask without raising my head.

Clarice pokes her head under and looks at me. She squints like I’m a roach. Kafka, here I come. “What?”

“Day?”

“Friday.” She draws this out like I’m a freak. I
feel
freakish. Since Dad’s come home from the hospital and school’s back in session, I’m a zombie. I can’t even work up the “p” in “perky.”

“Friday?” I close my eyes. Good, another week. I think I’m caught up on homework. I’m holding my own. “Wake me up when the bell rings?”

“Sure.” Clarice taps my head like I’m an orangutan dressed up like a teenage girl. She might not be far off.

I throw my book bag on the kitchen table and grab a glass, fill it with four ice cubes, ginger ale and a little cranberry juice, grab a bendy straw and a yogurt and glide toward the living room, where Dad’s propped up on a hospital bed they moved in so he won’t have to do stairs for a while. “Hi, Dad. How’s it going?”

This is our routine. I don’t ask how he is, because it’s clear he’s been better and he’s bored out of his mind.

He nods and takes the glass from me. “How was school?”

“Okay.” I peel back the lid of the yogurt and hand it to him.

He wants to argue about eating it. Nothing tastes good to him, but we’re supposed to get lots of little snacks into him until he feels like full meals again. I wait until he’s finished sipping the pop, then hand him the spoon. “Cherry,” I say. “Mom?”

“Napping. She went upstairs about ten minutes ago.” This too has become our routine.

I kick off my shoes and pull up a chair. “Who’s playing?”

“Marlins. You have homework?”

“I’ll get to it.”

He nods. “Why aren’t you working right now?”

I haven’t exactly told Dad I got fired. “Uh, I got fired.”

“Why?” He doesn’t react with the explosion I’m expecting. People in our family don’t get fired.

“I told a customer that he shouldn’t be eating donuts if he’d had a heart attack. He was on his way home from the hospital.”

“That’s all?”

Isn’t that enough?
I nod.

“I got fired from my first job.”

“What happened?”

“I was working in a grocery store. I left early with friends and a delivery of ice cream didn’t get put away.”

“Really?” I’ve never heard this side of my dad.

He nods. “It melted. I had to clean it up and work another two months to pay for it, then I got fired.”

“Seriously?”

“You looking for another job?”

“Yeah, I’m hoping there’ll be something in today’s paper.” I can’t take time off. Mom’s counting on me. I know this. But she doesn’t know I know she needs me to. Secrets are so complicated.

“That’s good. Don’t worry about it.”

“You need anything?”

“I think I’ll just close my eyes for a while. You go get to your homework.”

“Want the TV on?”

“Yeah.”

I nod, but he’s not watching me. “Thanks. For, you know, telling me about the ice cream.”

“Stuff happens.” His eyes are already closed.

“Hi, hi. I’ve got dinner.” Heather lets herself in, carrying bags of deli food from the place my dad likes. This too is the new routine; every other day Heather brings dinner. On the off nights, I’m learning to warm things up and throw them together. The sad part is that my efforts are actually tastier than anything Mom’s ever made. “How’re you?” Heather asks me as I walk into the kitchen.

“Okay, I guess.”

“Sounds dire.” She pauses. “Anything you need help with?”

“Need to hire a teenager?”

“Hmm, no. But I think the pediatrician who works in our building is looking for someone to file.”

I close my eyes. “Really?”

“I can ask if you want?”

“Thank you. No one is hiring. I can’t find a single person who’ll talk to me.” Part of me is secretly terrified that word of my firing has made the gossip circuit and I will be thoroughly unemployable for the rest of my existence.

“I’ll ask. How’s Dad?”

“He’s better. He took two walks down the street today,” Mom answers as she comes in, rumpled from her nap. She squeezes me and Heather gets a kiss. “Thank you, this is such a big help. Gertrude, is your homework finished?”

I am doomed to repeat this conversation for weeks. Mom shuffles in, asks a couple of bland questions, shuffles out. This is my life.

I fill a plate. “Thanks, Heather. I have to finish a paper for English.”

“Your term one?”

“That’s the one.” I roll my eyes. I know more about myself than I ever wanted to know.

I’m almost asleep when Mom knocks on my door. She waits. This has to be a first. She knocks again.

“Come in,” I call.

“Honey, can we talk?”

I turn on my bedside lamp, fuzzy pink shade and all. “You have more questions about anal bleaching?” I crack a smile.

She laughs. “No, I’m clear on that. I’m worried you’re doing too much.”

“I’m fine.”

“I know you’re managing because you’re strong and capable. I’ve never been more proud of you. You’ve really stepped up to help this family.” She has tears in her eyes. “The thing is, I’m grateful for your help, but I think maybe you’re taking on too much.”

“I’m doing—”

“Fine, I know. But is your schoolwork caught up? Do you want to go out this weekend? Have some fun?”

She’s the most sincere I’ve ever seen her. I can’t say I really thought she’d noticed—not that I blame her with Dad sick and all, but I didn’t expect her to care. “I have editing to do on the big paper for Slater, and homework, the basics. It’s caught up.”

“Yes, but do you want to have fun? Have your friends over?”

I shrug. “Thanks, but not right now. I have to study for finals.”

“Will you tell me if you need anything? I don’t want you to get lost in all this.”

“Thanks.”

She kisses my forehead. “Dad’s going to be better than ever. He’s getting stronger every day and pretty soon things will be back to normal.”

Normal. Really? I don’t think so. I nod as she’s leaving the room.

“I love you, Gertie.”

“Love you, too.” I turn out my lamp and stare at the ceiling until sleep claims me.

Heather brings by an application on Monday. “I told him you were very responsible and dedicated. I might have implied you’re interested in pediatrics because there was this other kid they were considering who’s all premed and, like, fourteen. I suggested you were willing to work a lot this summer if they needed you.”

I throw my arms around her and hang on perhaps longer than is strictly polite. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” I pull away, gripping the application.

“You don’t have the job yet.”

“I will get this filled out and sent in right away.” I stop. “Do you think they’ll call the Donut King?”

Heather gets a sheepish grin on her face. “I might have said this would be your first official job.”

“You’re a brilliant liar.”

“Don’t tell anyone, they may kick me out of preschool!” I grin.

She’s thoughtful. “You’re looking good.”

“I’m getting my game back.” I nod. “School is winding down and I’m going to get good grades, if I don’t screw up finals. And Dad’s moved back to their bedroom, and he doesn’t need as much help.”

“You still cooking dinner?”

“Yeah, I like it. Not as much, though, because Mom is back to her charities and stuff.” Dad still isn’t eating full meals, so most nights I’m snacking or nuking a precooked dinner.

Mr. Slater’s butt must be plugged into a new playlist, because he’s got a new tempo going on with the butt clenching. It’s all rave jam.

Our paper is due today. May twenty-fourth. The one I’ve spent months working on? The one about
moi, yo
, me? I’ve finished it and I even had to edit out pages so I wouldn’t go over the page limit.

People are sweating, red and squirmy. I guess I had an abnormally easy time with it. Easy might be overstating, but these people look like drinking poisoned Kool-Aid would be a relief.

Mr. Slater starts calling out names and making people walk the length of the classroom and hand him their paper. There’s no hiding on this one.