Learning Not to Drown (3 page)

“Don't worry, Squeakers.” Luke winked at me. “I'll talk to her. She won't be mad for long.”

When we brought Speedy home, Mom's upper lip disappeared. “Frogs are vile. Besides, you'll kill it. What are you going to feed it? Luke, you will be returning the frog to the lake immediately. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

“But, Ma,” Luke protested. “Ma. Let her keep it until Saturday. You know, the Frog-Jumping Contest at Patriot Days. We have a winner here.”

Peter looked into the pail. “Doesn't look like a winner to me,” he grumbled.

“I said no, Luke,” she said, ignoring Peter.

“Come on, Ma,” Luke cooed, wrapping an arm around her. “It's only a few days.” Mom's angry forehead vein was slowly disappearing. Luke was doing it! He was convincing her it was okay.

Peter put his finger in the pail and touched the frog, then picked him up.

“Back in the pail,” Mom instructed. Peter dropped him back in.

“Hey—watch it. We need to protect those legs!” Luke warned. His brown eyes flicked from Mom over to Dad, who was relaxing in front of the TV.

“Hey, Pop,” Luke said, “come look at what Clare and I found.”

“What's that?” Dad pushed himself out of his easy chair with a grunt. “Aha! A frog. I was on a walk this evening when I spotted one smashed on the road. A big one. Flatter than a potato chip. Guts everywhere. That's how it goes. Frogs and cars just don't mix. I had a baggie
in my pocket so I scooped it up.” He grinned wickedly at me. “It's in the back of my truck, if you want to see it. . . .”

“Stop it!” I covered my ears until Dad stopped talking.

“I really wish you'd leave your work stories at work,” Mom said, shaking her head. “So, what do you think of this?” She motioned to the frog with her hand.

After inspecting it, Dad nodded.

“Looks like a fine jumper. Make sure you feed it a few crickets. Oh, and cover the pail with chicken wire so he doesn't escape. And so the raccoons don't get him.” Dad had made the final decision. We were keeping Speedy until after the race.

“Maybe . . . ,” I whispered softly to Speedy. “Maybe if you win, Mommy will love you and let me keep you forever.”

After dinner, when Peter groaned to Luke that it wasn't fair that he'd taken me to get a frog and not him, Luke told him he needed to toughen up. Then, putting Peter in a headlock, Luke wrestled him to the floor. I jumped up on the couch and put my hands over my face, peeking through my shaking fingers as I waited for it to be over, wishing for Mom and Dad to come in and break up the fight. Peter was laughing at first, saying “stop” between giggles, his arms pushing and legs kicking. But then Luke sat on Peter's belly, pinned his hands to the ground over his head with one hand, and started tapping on his chest with his other fist.

Peter wasn't laughing anymore.

“I can't breathe!” Peter yelled.

“Then how are you talking?” Luke laughed.

“Stop!” The tears came. Luke stopped.

Later that night I overheard Mom talking to Dad. “He's
too
rough with him. He left a bruise on his chest! Peter's only ten. And Luke is eighteen—he's old enough to know better,” Mom said. “It's gotten worse. He's learned violence there, more than anything else.”

“I'll talk to him,” Dad said.

•  •  •

Saturday was hot. Lucille Jordan, the president of the chamber of commerce, hosed off the black asphalt several times before the race began, taking great care not to get one drop of water on her red checkered shirt and white shorts. I liked her outfit. I didn't like mine. I was wearing boy clothes. I hadn't even been born yet when Luke had worn them, but I know he did, because there was a picture of him in the same red shorts and blue shirt on Mom's desk. And the pocket in the shirt was stretched out and saggy from when Peter used to shove rocks into it. Why couldn't I have had sisters instead?

Ready, set, and go. Speedy started hopping as soon as I set him down. Other frogs were jumping to the left and right. Some went backward. Not Speedy. He jumped straight down the asphalt. Past the finish line. Through the parking lot and into the stream just beyond.

Luke and I ran after him, but Speedy had disappeared into the reeds and water. When I started to cry, Luke hugged me tight and said, “Awww, Squeaks. Speedy's gonna be real happy in that river. I bet he even finds a lady frog to be his girlfriend.” He wiped my tears
with the bottom of his T-shirt. “I've got an idea. After we get your trophy, I'll win you a goldfish. You can name it Speedy.”

No more tears. Just like always, Luke made me feel better.

After Mom took a million pictures of me holding my shimmering frog trophy, it was time to check in for the parade. Finally I was going to get my turn in the convertible! Lucille Jordan was smiling so big, I could see her molars. “Well, hello, Clare. Ready for your special ride?”

I nodded.

“Mandy and I will be up front—you know my daughter, Mandy—I think you're in the same class this year.” Lucille's smile seemed to be getting bigger. “Mayor Bowman—our grand marshall—and you get to ride in the back.”

Luke lifted me onto the back of the convertible.

“Hello there, little Miss Clare. Congratulations.” Mayor Bowman was already in place. He tapped the seat next to him, inviting me to sit. “Luke Tovin. Staying out of trouble, I hope?”

Skeleton arrived, leaping into the back of the car and taking the spot next to me. I looked at my shoes, wishing he'd disappear.

“Yes, sir, I am,” Luke replied as he opened the car door to climb in.

“Where are you going?” Lucille asked him.

Skeleton wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pressed his bony teeth to my cheek. I wiggled away as I
said, “Luke helped me catch Speedy. Can he come too?”

“Oh, Clare, sweetie. I don't think so.” Lucille's mouth was smiling, but her blue eyes were worried. Skeleton mimicked her, his eye sockets getting wider and wider. “No room.”

I moved as close to the mayor as I could. There was plenty of space if Skeleton moved out of the way.

“Look! I made room,” I said.

Lucille coughed, her face turned red. Skeleton motioned for her to lean in closer, to say more.

Wringing her long fingers together, she stared at Luke. Then she moved right next to his ear and growled in a low voice only we could hear, “Luke, do you really think that people want to see you in our parade?”

What Lucille said didn't make sense. Why wouldn't people want to see Luke in the parade? Uncomfortable, I slid away from the mayor and reached out for my brother, suddenly wishing I hadn't won the Frog-Jumping Contest. When he leaned over toward me, I whispered, “Maybe we should let someone else ride in the parade.”

“Naw, Squeaks,” Luke said. “You look good sitting there.” He slowly stepped back, out of the car, and closed the door. With his hands up like a frame, he closed one eye and peered through the hole at me. “That's gonna make one pretty picture.” He dropped his arms and scratched his head. “There's one problem. If I get into that car with you, I'm not gonna be able to see you in the parade.” He shrugged. “Think you can ride by yourself so I can watch with Ma and Pop?”

Mayor Bowman patted my back and offered, “I'll help you hold the trophy up.”

I looked at Mandy and Lucille. They didn't want Luke to be there. I was pretty sure they didn't want me to be there either. But the mayor was nice. And I really, really wanted to go for the ride.

“Okay,” I told Luke.

“Well, then, let's get started,” Lucille said as she sat in the driver's seat.

“Next year you should let the Patriot Days Queen ride in our car instead of the Frog-Jumping Contest winner,” Mandy said from the front. Then she added under her breath, “I bet she has warts too.”

Luke stuck his tongue out at Mandy's hair, perfect red curls and all. Skeleton pulled a curl down, watched it bounce up. Pulled another. Watched it bounce. I wanted to laugh. But I also wanted him to stop. He already brought enough attention.

“You wave like the princess that you are,” Luke said as he started to walk away. “Look for me in the crowd, okay?”

Luke had said I was a princess. I sat up straight, cupped my fingers, and waved back and forth slowly. Just like all the famous people in the Rose Parade.

I don't know if it really felt like flying, but I definitely felt like a movie star.

•  •  •

By the time we headed home with my trophy and the four goldfish Luke had won for me, I forgot how uncomfortable I'd been when Lucille had been mean to
Luke. And I forgot even more when Mom was excited to see the fish. “We had aquariums back when your father and I were first married. I bet I still have everything we need.”

Mom and Luke climbed the ladder to the forbidden attic and brought down a fish tank, complete with a heater, filter, fake plants, and rocks. Mom even agreed my room would be the best place for the fish.

Luke, Peter, and I named them Speedy, Junior, Rex, and Clyde. I fell asleep watching them swim back and forth, back and forth. The best night-light ever.

But the next morning Luke said he was getting restless. By the time the sun had set, he'd left the house with one duffel bag of his stuff. When I cried, Mom told me, “Adults aren't supposed to live with their parents. They're supposed to keep a job and take care of themselves.” Then, smoothing my hair, she added, “I'm sure he'll visit soon.”

Skeleton shook his head. He was sorry to see Luke go too.

At dinner I keep waiting for Mom to mention Luke's call to Dad and Peter, but she steers the conversation to concentrate on what each of us did that day. Her voice is, in fact, unnaturally cheerful. Everything is set up joyful, joyful, joyful, but all I can feel is her underlying anxiety and unrealistic expectations for everything to be perfect. I'd do anything to not have to sit through dinner with her.

As our meal draws to a close, Peter stretches his long arms out in front of him, cracking his knuckles while he announces, “I'm going to be out late tonight. Don't wait up for me.” I shift uncomfortably. He must be planning to go to the same party that I have to sneak out to attend. The difference is Mom's set of rules. He's allowed to be out all night. I'm not even allowed to go.

“And where are you going?” Mom asks.

“A bonfire with my friends.” He looks over to me, his thin lips curving into a smirk. He's preparing to ruin my night.

“Are you done with your dish?” I change the subject
and try to save myself by standing up and offering to take Dad's plate.

“Yep. Here you go.”

“What kind of bonfire? No drugs or drinking, I presume.” Mom pulls the conversation back to where I don't want it to be.

“No. Nothing like that,” Peter lies. Hands me his plate. “It's the unofficial bonfire the juniors throw for the seniors.” I freeze. “Clare. You're a junior. You're going, right?”

“No.” I blink at him a few times. Jerk. Why is my discomfort his pleasure? “I'm beat from finals this week. Besides, it doesn't even start until after my curfew.”

Mom's long stare could freeze an ocean. She's deciding whether to believe me or not.

“That's too bad,” Peter says. “Everyone else will be there. Mom, you should let her go.”

“I don't think that is anyplace for a young woman to be.” Mom's answer snaps at the same time I say, “It's okay. I'd rather sleep.”

I've only been sneaking out for the past nine months or so, but I know to do it right. There are rules to keep from getting caught. Rule number one: Never let parents know that there is any reason to sneak out. This means not asking permission to do anything that they may possibly say no to.

But now I have a dilemma. Knowing that Mom and Dad are both aware of the party tonight, the only sure way to not get caught is to stay in. Which I would consider if it weren't the end-of-the-year bonfire, if I
hadn't promised Drea I'd be there, if Mom had agreed to let me go check out college campuses this summer, if Luke's phone call hadn't made Skeleton appear. Escaping to my bedroom isn't enough tonight. I need to get out.

•  •  •

“Thanks a lot, butthole,” I hiss to Peter as we stand side by side loading the dishwasher. I peer toward Mom in the open adjacent living room. She's polishing her crystal bell ornament—that was fast. I bet she couldn't wait for dinner to end.

“Just doing my job as older brother.” He lightly punches me in the arm. “Besides, what if she had said yes? Then you could have gone without sneaking out. It would be liberating.”

“You know that's never going to happen. You just screwed me,” I say.

He snaps the towel in the air, then tosses it onto the counter. On his way out of the kitchen, he turns. “See you tonight, Clare.”

•  •  •

For me, sneaking out is never like in the movies. There's no climbing out windows or tiptoeing down the hall past where my parents are sleeping, or where they're entertaining or whatever in the adjoining living room. And I don't know anyone who thinks their parents are stupid enough to fall for tricks like putting a bunch of pillows down the middle of the bed to look like a body.

After following my regular nighttime routine, I lie awake in bed listening to the sounds of our TV blasting.
At around ten forty-five I hear Mom push my door open a crack and whisper good night. A half hour later Dad finally wakes up from his after-dinner TV nap and heads down the hall, stopping by my room to plant a kiss on my forehead while I pretend to be sound asleep. I wait until it is safe to assume they are both sleeping before I send a quick text message to Drea. “Ready in 15.” I get out of bed and change out of my pajamas into a fitted tank top. Then I slide on my tightest jeans, checking my butt in the mirror. With a steady but quick hand, I apply my favorite green eye shadow—Drea says it makes my brown eyes pop—and pull my hair back into a ponytail. I put on my sneakers and grab my black hoodie in case it gets cool.