When Life Gives You O.J. (14 page)

I snorted. “Ace doesn’t adore me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Zelly. Ace is crazy about you. He just has a funny way of showing it.”

“I’ll say.”

“I’m not saying he’s not a pain in the tuchus sometimes,” she said, getting up and patting her own bottom for emphasis. “But trust me. His heart is in the right place.”

“If you say so,” I said.

“I know so,” said my mom.

I thought a lot about what my mom said that night. When I got up the next day, I decided that maybe she was right. Maybe Ace needed to hear how I felt about the plan and how it was affecting me. So I took O.J. with me to go have a heart-to-heart talk with Ace.

I knocked on Ace’s door.
GONE FISHING
, said the sign.
More like GONE TO SLEEP WATCHING TV
, I thought. I put my ear against the door and listened. Sure enough, I could hear voices and dramatic music.

I knocked louder.

“Grandpa,” I called through the door. “It’s me.”

“WHAT?” yelled Ace.

“It’s me,” I repeated. “Zelly.”

“SO, NU? IS THE DOOR BROKEN? COME IN.”

I came in and put O.J. on the table next to Ace’s TV-watching chair.

“Grandpa, I need to talk to you about O.J.”

“SO TALK.”

“Well, it’s just, I’ve really tried. But, the thing is, I don’t think this is going to work.”

“WHAT’S NOT GOING TO WORK?” His eyes stayed on the screen. An old episode of
Star Trek
was on, which was no surprise since his favorite channel practically never shows anything else. Captain Kirk and Mr. Sulu were on the bridge, having a heated discussion.

“O.J. I just don’t think my parents are going to go for it, no matter how long I keep doing this.”

“NONSENSE,” said Ace.

“Grandpa, I’m serious.”

“WELL, WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO ABOUT IT?”

“I dunno. I guess I was thinking we could call off the plan.”

“CALL IT OFF? NO CAN DO.”

“What do you mean?”

Ace finally turned away from the screen. He looked me right in the eye and said, “YOU CAN’T JUST STOP TAKING CARE OF SOMEONE BECAUSE YOU GET TIRED OF HIM. DOESN’T WORK THAT WAY.” Then he went back to looking at the TV. On the screen, Mr. Spock stepped between Captain Kirk and Mr. Sulu. A Vulcan nerve pinch seemed imminent.

“Grandpa,” I said. “Come on.”

“WHERE ARE WE GOING?”

“Grandpa! O.J. isn’t a real dog.”

“SO HE’S A PRACTICE DOG. STILL, A DOG’S A DOG.”

“Yeah, but no matter what you call it, it’s made of plastic. It can go out with the recycling.”

“IZZAT SO?” said Ace, clearly unmoved. “WELL, I GUESS IT’S A GOOD THING YOU DON’T HAVE A REAL DOG.” He pulled out his ratty old handkerchief, blew his nose loudly into it, then stuffed it back into his pocket.

Now I was getting frustrated. Ace was acting like it was my fault I didn’t have a real dog, when in fact his stupid plan just plain didn’t work!

“I don’t have a real dog,” I said, “because I listened to you. Instead, I have a dumb old plastic jug with a face drawn on the side of it. Which doesn’t wag its tail, or chase sticks, or do anything that a real dog does!”

“SO HE’S A LAZY DOG,” said Ace. “WHADDAYA WANT FROM ME? YOU DON’T WANT TO TAKE CARE OF HIM ANYMORE? FIND HIM A NEW OWNER. YOU CAN’T JUST CALL IT QUITS.”

On the TV, the credits started. Ace picked up his cane, aiming it at the buttons on the TV to change the channel because he doesn’t trust the remote. I could tell that, to him, our conversation, just like his television program, was over. Case completely closed.

Well, maybe for Ace it was. But not for me. I planted myself firmly in front of his chair.

“How am I supposed to find him a new owner?” I asked. “He’s an orange juice jug! Not a dog.”

“THEN MAYBE YOU SHOULD KEEP HIM A LITTLE LONGER,” said Ace indifferently, leaning to one side to keep the TV screen in view.

“Look, Grandpa,” I explained, struggling to get through to him, “my parents are not going to change their mind and get me a dog, no matter what I do.”

“FINE, SO GIVE UP. YOU KNOW WHAT YOUR PROBLEM IS, KID? NO PATIENCE. YOU WANT EVERYTHING YESTERDAY.”

If my dad had been there, he probably would have dished out some of his Zen master wisdom. But he wasn’t. And Ace was making me so mad I couldn’t stop.

“You know what YOUR problem is?” I said, hearing my voice getting almost as loud as Ace’s. “You think you’re still a judge, but you’re NOT! You’re so busy being JUDGE ACE and bossing everyone around, but you don’t care about anyone but yourself!” And then, because I couldn’t help myself, I added, “Unlike Bubbles.”

Ace took his eyes off the screen. He looked me straight in the eye, and it felt like he was going to explode. He got louder than ever. “YOUR GRANDMOTHER, MAY SHE REST IN PEACE, COULD TEACH YOU A THING OR TWO ABOUT PATIENCE. HER FAMILY CAME TO THIS COUNTRY WITH NOTHING. BUPKIS! THEY WORKED
THEIR FINGERS TO THE BONE JUST TO MAKE A LIFE HERE. ALL OF US DID.”

“I know, I know,” I said. Like the herring joke, I had heard this speech before. Many times.

“YOU KNOW,” he said mockingly. “SHE KNOWS,” he added, like he was telling someone else, even though there was nobody there. “DON’T TELL ME YOU KNOW, KID. YOU HAVE NO IDEA.”

“I have no idea?” I yelled back. “YOU have no idea! This whole dumb O.J. thing is just some big joke to you, but it’s NOT funny! It’s my life!”

“YOUR GRANDMOTHER—” Ace started to continue.

“My grandmother,” I interrupted, “wouldn’t have let you do this to me! I wish—”

And I closed my mouth quick before my terrible thought—
I wish that it had been you instead of her!
—could come rolling out of my mouth. I grabbed O.J. by the handle, and instead, I yelled, “I wish I had never listened to you in the first place. The deal’s off. I’m throwing this dumb thing away.”

I ran out of Ace’s room, stomped through the kitchen, and went out to the garage. I dumped O.J. into a dark green garbage can, his head leaning to one side and staring at me with that goofy grin.

Sorry, pal
, I thought to myself, before slamming the lid on the can so I didn’t have to look at him anymore.
Can’t say I didn’t try. I gave it my best shot
.

On my way back through the house, I practically collided with Sam, who was posing in the hall in his bathrobe,
brandishing a mop. Shortly after the Fourth of July, Sam had abruptly given up Batman and was now exclusively pretending to be Luke Skywalker.

“May the Force be with you,” he said to me as I pushed past him and up the stairs.

“Great, I could use it,” I said before slamming the door to my room.

The next morning, when I came downstairs, there were five places set at the breakfast table as usual. What was unusual was that Ace’s place setting was untouched.

“Where’s Ace?” I asked my mom.

“He went to services,” she answered.

“I thought he didn’t go to temple anymore.”

“So did I,” she said, looking puzzled. “But today he got up early and asked to be taken. So your dad drove him.”

I wondered whether Ace would see Jeremy at services. I pictured them sitting side by side: Ace and Ace Junior. I felt a pang of guilt at the thought, remembering how awful I had been to both of them. Especially Ace. Maybe that was the reason Ace decided to go back to services. He was probably telling God about me right now. The thought gave me a stomachache.

Just then, my dad wandered in, carrying a paper sack. “Your father,” he said to my mom, “is a conundrum. However, get a load of this. I stopped by that new bakery after dropping him off.” He set the bag down and pulled out a fat roll with a hole in the center.

“Is that supposed to be a bagel?” asked my mom, amused. Real bagels were high on the list of things my parents missed about New York.

“I think so,” said my dad, biting into it eagerly. He made a disappointed face.

“At least they’re trying,” said my mom.

After breakfast, my parents insisted on dragging me and Sam along on another of their family outings. This time, we went shopping for gardening supplies for the vegetable patch my mom had started in our backyard. This took us to a big store called Garden Way. My parents had never grown vegetables before, so they had to call over people wearing bright green aprons and ask them questions about every little thing. They took us to Al’s French Fries for lunch after, and then drove us to the lake for a swim, but it only barely made up for the hours of killing time in the Garden Way aisles.

“Do we have to pick up Ace?” I asked on the way home from the lake. “I mean, I need to get over to Allie’s.” I didn’t exactly want to see Ace or have to answer any questions about O.J.’s whereabouts, but I sort of wanted to make sure he was still speaking to me.

“Relax,” said my dad. “But, no, we don’t need to collect Ace. He said he’d get himself home on the bus.”

“What? I thought you said he was getting a ride,” said my mom, turning toward my dad.

“He said he’d get himself home, and he will. He’ll be fine, Lynn,” said my dad, patting her knee. I could tell from the backseat that my mom was frowning. She worries about Ace more than my dad does.

By the time we got home, I barely had enough time to throw my sleeping bag and sleepover stuff in a bag and race to Allie’s.

Ace’s door was closed when I went by it. As usual, it claimed he had
GONE FISHING
.
I’ll talk to him tomorrow
, I promised myself. I was already late. And besides, it would be better that way. It would give him time to calm down if he hadn’t already.

When I got to Allie’s, the other girls were already there. They turned out to be Megan O’Malley and Jenny Hood, both of whom were in our class and, it turned out, both of whom had gone to camp with Allie. They were in the middle of an argument about some dumb camp thing when I got there, which made me want to turn around and leave immediately. But I plunked myself down in a chair and told myself that at least Allie hadn’t invited camp friends I didn’t know. And at least I wouldn’t have to think about apologizing to Ace—or Jeremy, for that matter—until the next morning.

We ended up having a pretty fun time watching movies
and eating popcorn and pizza in the Schmidt family’s basement rec room. As usual, Allie’s family had all sorts of stuff my mom never bought: soda, gummy bears, Twizzlers, and plain
and
peanut M&M’s. And not just in the cupboard for sneaking. For the sleepover, Mrs. Schmidt set all the candy out for us in big glass bowls like a real party. Plus she made a whole pan of brownies just for us.

When Mrs. Schmidt finally came down with her Dustbuster to clean up the spilled popcorn and tell us it was time for bed, we all just spread our sleeping bags out on the carpeted floor of the rec room. But, of course, none of us had any intention of going to sleep.

“Let’s have a séance!” suggested Megan.

Allie groaned. “No way,” she said. “Remember the séance we did at camp? You guys were supposed to levitate me, but then you dropped me?”

“That wasn’t my fault,” protested Megan.

“Séances are dumb,” interrupted Jenny. “Let’s play Truth or Dare!”

“Not it!” yelled Allie and Megan at once, real fast.

“Jinx,” said Jenny. Then we both laughed while Allie and Megan couldn’t talk and made these pleading faces until Jenny finally unjinxed them.

“Okay,” said Allie. “So, Zelly, you’re it. Truth or dare?”

I hesitated. I hated dares. They usually ended up with having to prank-call a store or a boy from school. Or, worse, having to eat some disgusting concoction from the fridge like tuna salad with chocolate sauce. But truth, well, that had
its own problems. I mean, what if Allie asked me about Jeremy—or O.J., for that matter? Of course, she had promised she wouldn’t, but what if she forgot?

“Truth,” I finally said, staring hard at Allie like
You better not
.

“Okay, okay!” said Jenny, cradling her chin in her hands. Then she and Megan and Allie went to the end of the sofa and whispered. I sat in a pink beanbag chair, petting Lydia Potts, the Schmidt family’s boulder of a cat.

Finally, giggling, Allie, Megan, and Jenny trooped over to me. Lydia Potts arched her back and dived the other way, trying to wedge herself under the sofa.