Here Come The Bridesmaids (5 page)

And they were all there to say good-bye when we arrived. Kristy came bounding down the front steps with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

"Is that ill" Claudia asked.

Kristy shrugged. "I'm not moving." And that was that.

To a loud chorus of " 'byes" and "have funs," we drove off.

On the highway we played a memory game called "I Packed My Grandmother's Trunk." Everyone has to add one item, but only after repeating every item that’s already been added.

By the time we got to the airport, we had packed (among other things) a bathtub, a flugelhorn, five frozen dinners, a dead wombat, a year's supply of toilet paper, and a collapsible helicopter. (Don't ask me.)

It was 5:30 when we got on the ticket line. The terminal was packed. Kids were squirming in their down coats, couples were crying, huge families were wandering around like schools of fish.

At the ticket counter, Kristy had to pretend one of Claudia's suitcases was hers, so Claudia wouldn't be charged for overweight luggage. We took our tickets and ran toward the gate.

Except for Claudia. She ran to the snack shop.

After eating a few Goobers and Heath Bars, and after another flurry of tearful goodbyes, we were in the plane, sliding into our seats.

My heart was pounding. My stomach was in a knot. I could barely speak. Claudia and Kristy were giggling for no special reason.

This was it.

We were on our way to California, JUST US!

Kristy got the window seat, but we all crowded around her. We spotted Sharon and Dad looking for us through the waiting room window, arm in arm. We waved, but I don't think they saw us.

Ding, went a soft bell.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Flight 403 to Los Angeles," an official-sounding voice announced. "If you'll turn to the front of the cabin, the flight attendants will demonstrate the safety procedures."

Claudia looked excited enough to burst. Kristy paid dose attention to the flight attendant.

I tried hard to pay attention, too, but it was hopeless. I decided that if we crashed, I'd just do whatever Kristy did.

The plane rolled along the ground for awhile, then took off. Connecticut was pitch-black, except for the crisscrossing expressways. Over New York, I felt as if we'd shrunk and were flying around inside the circuit board of some monster computer.

We calmed down somewhere over western Pennsylvania. "What time do you have?" Claudia asked.

"Eight-ten," I replied.

Claudia stared at her watch. "Which is ... eleven-ten, California time?"

"Five-ten," Kristy corrected her. "We get into L.A. at nine-thirty."

"In the morning?" Claudia asked.

"Nope, the night."

Claudia fiddled with her watch. She looked lost.

Soon dinner was served. We all chose "chicken cordon bleu," which was supposed to be chicken wrapped around ham, with a white sauce.

"Tastes like a tennis ball covered with paste," was Kristy's restaurant review.

"I like it," Claud said with a shrug.

I almost gave her mine. But the flight attendant passed by and smiled at us, and I didn't want to look as if I were insulting her.

Boy, was I grateful for those brownies.

"I can't wait to see Dawn," Claudia said while we were finishing up.

"Me, too," I replied. "It feels like she's been gone for years."

"You think she's changed?" Kristy asked.

Claudia laughed. "You're worried she picked up bad habits from the We Love Kids Club."

"Hmmph," Kristy replied. "If she has, they won't last long."

"Well, no matter what, she'll still be Dawn," I reminded them.

But I had to admit, I was wondering, too. About a lot of things. How did Dawn feel about her dad's marriage? Would Kristy, Claudia, and I be imposing on their busy house? Would things feel different between Dawn and me? Would she change her mind about coming back to Stoneybrook?

The in-flight movie ended our conversation. It was a comedy about a dog, which we'd all seen but watched again anyway.

During the closing credits, the captain's voice interrupted the soundtrack to tell us we were descending.

Descending? Already?

Kristy, Claudia, and I plastered our faces to the window (well, sort of). For a long time we saw nothing. I began reading a magazine. Then, just as I was about to fall asleep, Kristy screamed, "Look!"

Below us, surrounded by dark hills, was a huge valley of lights, "On behalf of the flight staff, I want to welcome you to Southern California," the captain announced.

"Yeees! Kristy shouted. "Hoo-ray for Hollywood!"

(I love her, but she can be embarrassing.)

We fastened our belts. Our landing was a little bumpy. Then we practically had to fight to get into the aisle.

You know what? We were thousands of miles from home, but it didn't feel different at all. I mean, an airport looks like an airport, no matter where you are.

But as we passed through the door, where a grinning flight attendant was saying goodbye, a blast of air came through a narrow

opening where the ramp connected to the plane.

Warm air.

That’s when it hit me. We were there. Kristy was hopping down the ramp. Claudia was grinning from ear to ear. Me? I was numb. My winter coat felt ridiculous. I felt as if I were in The Twilight Zone.

"Hiiiiii!"

There, at the end of the ramp, was Sunshine.

That is Dawn's nickname. It's also a great description of her face when she smiles.

And it also tells you how I felt inside at that moment.

We ran into each other's arms so fast we almost fell over. I had missed her so much,

Over her shoulder I could see her dad chatting with Kristy, her dad's fiancee chatting with Claudia, and Jeff looking mildly bored.

"I am so happy you're here!" Dawn cried.

"Me, too," was the only thing I could say before my face turned into Niagara Falls.

Chapter 7.

Jeff.

Stupid, huh?

Well, I had to write something. Dawn would km me if I didn't.

I tried to be nice. Everybody would get mad at me if I told the truth.

Here's what I should have said: Journals are dumb. I could wait till Dad and Carol got married, no problem. And I hate having a house full of girls.

Seriously. I cannot believe how much girls talk. They did not stop from the minute they saw each other at the airport. But first they had to go cry like babies for an hour. You'd think somebody died or something. Everyone in the whole terminal was staring at them.

What did they say to me? "Hello," and "You got tall," and "Do you have any girlfriends yet?" (Gag me.) That was it. Nothing else.

Then they turned right back to each other and kept talking. Forget it. They didn't stop in the car. They didn't stop when we went to a late night diner for dessert. They didn't even stop in Dawn's bedroom. That was when it got worsel I could hear them right through the walls.

How was a guy supposed to sleep?

If Dawn didn't have to go to school the next morning, they would have talked right through the whole day.

You know what? It was the first time in my life I couldn't wait to go to school.

You know what else? On Christmas Day I'm supposed to fly to Connecticut with Dawn and stay there during Dad's honeymoon. Which means I'll have to listen to all that chattering on two coasts!

I try not to think about it too much.

Anyway, after school Dawn and her friends went to a We V Kids Club meeting together. When I got home, my house was totally quiet. Well, almost. Mrs. Bruen, our housekeeper, was humming to the radio as she cleaned up.

"Hey, what’s up, Jeff?" she asked as I walked into the kitchen.

"Nothing."

Mrs. Bruen is cool. She never gets mad, and she laughs at all my jokes. Sometimes she bosses me around, but I don't mind it that much.

I saw the journal, lying on the kitchen table. A note beside it said, WRITE IN THIS IF YOU KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR YOU.

"Who wrote that?" I asked.

"I did," Mrs. Bruen said. "I'm tired of your

sister bugging you about it. Make her happy, will you, honey?"

She smiled. I grumbled.

And now you know the real reason I wrote in that dumb thing.

When I finished, Mrs. Bruen was dusting in the living room. "Like the rug?" she asked. "I had it cleaned."

We have this fancy rug — Persian or Moroccan or something — and it had gotten dirty. But now it looked great. "Wow," I said.

To tell you the truth, the whole house looked great. Mrs. Bruen had been working overtime all week.

Why? Because of the wedding. Dad wants the house to look good for guests. He's having a party here afterward.

If you ask me, cleaning up was a ridiculous idea. First of all, it’s an outdoor party, complete with a tent. Second, parties always leave a mess, so why not dean up after? And third, when Carol moves in, the movers are going to drag in all her furniture and stuff, right? That'll get everything even more dusty and dirty.

Sometimes I think kids are way smarter than adults.

I sat down on the couch. I looked around.

We have a wall unit, just across from the couch. I helped Dad put it in. It was so much fun. He kept moving the TV around in it while I sat on the couch, until it was in the perfect place.

Oh, well. Now that would have to be moved, to make room for Carol's wall unit (which is HUMONGOUS). Maybe I'd always have to watch TV on a slant. Maybe the remote wouldn't work at that angle.

Maybe I'd walk around with my head permanently tilted to one side.

Too bad we can't keep the house the way it is. There's just enough stuff in it. What do we need more furniture for?

You should see Carol's furniture. It’s ugly. She has these things called lava lamps, which look like pig embryos swimming around in colored water tanks. Her couch has an old afghan on it, which covers up all the rips. And her posters are disgusting. All this dumb-looking art with museum names underneath. Most of it is like kindergarten painting.

Plus framed pictures of Mickey Mouse in the bathroom. Even I'm too old for that.

"Mrs. Bruen, where is it all going to go?" I asked.

She stopped whistling. "What?"

"Carol's furniture."

"Beats me. Why? You want it all in your room?"

"No way,”

Mrs. Bruen was dusting with a feather duster. As she went past me, she did this funny little dance, dusting behind her back, shaking the duster like a tambourine, using it as a microphone.

Sometimes Mrs. Bruen cracks me up.

I got up to go to my room. Halfway there, my stomach kind of clenched up.

Mrs. Bruen. What was going to happen to her?

Dad hired Mrs. Bruen because he's a slob (even he admits it). He didn't used to be so bad, but he got much worse after Mom left. Now Carol was moving in. Dad might be neater again. Carol's a good cleaner-upper herself.

We wouldn't need Mrs. Bruen anymore. Which means Dad would have to fire her.

Send her out into the street.

Ruin her whole life.

I would never see her again. And why? All because of Carol. Carol and her pukey furniture.

Why do men have to be married anyway? Dad and Mom used to fight all the time. Dad and Carol fight. It doesn't make sense. I mean, if you want to fight, you can just do it with your friends. Then you can go home and chill and not have to kiss and make up.

I tried not to think of this stuff. I started reading My Teacher Is an Alien, which was scary and funny. That got my mind off everything. But each time I heard Mrs. Bruen, I felt sad again.

Soon I saw Carol's red Miata pull up into the driveway. She and Dad got out, all smiley and laughing. A minute later I heard Mrs. Bruen greet them at the door. She sounded happy, too.

Little did she know she was going to be betrayed.

I heard the thumping of footsteps, then a knock at my door.

"Little pig, little pig, let me in!" Dad said.

Ugh. He has been doing that since I was a baby! Usually I try to rank on him. I say, "Use the chimney," or "I gave at the trough," or something else stupid.

This time I just said, "Yeah."

Dad turned the knob and came in. "Hey, buddy, you all right?"

"Yeah."

"Something happen at school today?"

I shrugged. "No."

"Mrs. Bruen try to air out your sneakers again?"

"No."

Now Carol peeked in behind him. "Hey, Jeffers," she said.

Jeffers? That was new. I didn't like it.

"Hi," I said.

"Something's bugging Jeff," Dad told her. He sat down on the bed next to me. "You sure you don't want to say what it is? Something about the wedding?"