`That soon?" I asked innocently.
"Having family members make final
arrangements is one of the biggest rip-offs. You need to make your arrangements when you're alive. Don't be afraid to think ahead, Crystal. Never let anyone intimidate you into thinking you're being too practical. You can never be too practical:' he instructed.
Thelma's parents had asked us to stop over at their house when we were finished shopping for my school things. They said they had something they wanted to give me. As we drove there, Karl reminded Thelma of the time and how long he wanted us to stay.
My new grandparents had a small but cozy ranch- style home. Thelma said that Karl had found it for them shortly after her father retired.
"It fit their new budget perfectly," he said with pride. "That's another thing you can't think about too soon: your retirement. Most people don't put away enough and suffer because of it."
"But not us:' Thelma chimed.
"No, not us," Karl agreed with a smile.
What my grandparents had for me was a brown leather briefcase with my name embroidered in gold letters on the outside. I was more pleased with it than anything else I had gotten that day.
"It wasn't necessary to buy real leather, Martha," Karl told my grandmother,
"Of course it was," she replied, and smiled at me. "Why shouldn't she have the nicest things?"
We had tea, and Grandma served her homemade sugar cookies, which I thought were delicious. Then she told stories about her days at school. She had attended a smaller, rural school. She talked about how she had to walk almost a mile and a half to get there.
"Even in the snow!"
"Even in the snow because we didn't have school- buses like you do now."
Grandpa tried to match her stories with his own, and she kept correcting him and saying he was exaggerating. They were both funny and delightful. I was really beginning to enjoy myself when Karl announced it was time to go home.
"Tomorrow's her first day at a new school," he declared when my grandmother complained we hadn't even been there an hour. "She needs an early night."
"Well, you call me as soon as you can afterward and tell me all about your first day, Crystal," Grandma said.
"I will. Thank you again for the briefcase," I said.
She hugged me. "Our pleasure. We don't have much to spend our money on these days but medicines and such."
"You've got the best health plan," Karl said.
"Oh, I don't want to talk about that," Grandma said quickly. "Now that we have a granddaughter, I don't want to talk about my ailments."
We said good night and left.
"If they didn't have the plan I got them," Karl muttered when we got into the car, "she would be bankrupt paying for that heart medicine. Those prescriptions are very expensive."
"She knows," Thelma said. "She's just excited about Crystal. As we all are," she added. "I wish I could attend class with you tomorrow, Crystal. I wish I was starting over again."
"It's not easy to change schools," Karl said. "It's nothing to envy?'
"I know. Did you ever read Love on Wheels, about that family that lives in a motor home and has to go from place to place, town to town, following farm work?"
"No," I replied.
"Just when Stacy finds the love of her life, she has to leave him. give it to you," Thelma promised. "In fact, you should read all my books. Then we could talk about them, about all my special people. Wouldn't that be nice?"
I didn't answer fast enough.
"She'll have too much to do now that school's starting," Karl said, corning to my rescue.
"She has to have time off, doesn't she? What's a better way to spend it than reading?" Thelma countered.
How funny, I thought. I would get assignments at school and assignments at home. There was no doubt in my mind which ones my mother thought were more important.
Once I got home and put all my new things away, I realized Karl wasn't so wrong. I did need to get to bed.
I was so nervous about the next day and what it would bring, sleep was as hard to grasp and hold as an icicle. He was right about another thing, too. It wasn't easy to change schools, to make new friends, to get used to different teachers and rules.
It was almost like losing your memory and starting over as a different person.
And wasn't that exactly what I was, a new person with a new last name and a new family?
My old self curled up in some dark corner, shivering, naked, and alone.
"What will become of me?" she asked.
"In time," I told her, "you will disappear."
It was a cruel thought, but it was what ! hoped would happen, wasn't it?
It was also what made me cower in my own new corner of the world, just as naked and just as frightened about tomorrow.
5 A New Friend
To my surprise, Karl decided he would take me to school every morning, but I had to come home on the bus. It wasn't a problem, because the route was just a few minutes out of his way to work.
Nevertheless, it was really Thelma who had suggested it.
"It will give you two more time to get to know each other," she said. I was waiting for her to add the name of a book and the names of characters in a similar situation, but she didn't. Karl considered and decided she was right.
Karl and I hadn't spent all that much time together without Thelma. She was always the one who began conversations or asked questions. When Karl and I drove off that first morning, I remembered he didn't like being distracted from his driving, so I didn't say anything. For a while, we drove in complete silence, interrupted occasionally by his describing the route we were taking.
"What is your favorite subject?" he finally asked.
"Science, especially biology," I replied. He nodded, his eyes fixed firmly on the car ahead of us.
"I enjoyed science, but math was always my favorite. I never told anyone:' he said, flashing a small smile at me before whipping his head back to watch the road, "but to me numbers are living things. They resemble one-, two-, and multi-celled animals, depending on the combinations, formulas, and so on."
"That's interesting," I said. He liked that, and I was glad Talking to him had taken the edge off my nervousness. I was distracted enough not to worry about my imminent entrance to a new school full of strangers.
"I feel like I'm creating something when I work out my accounts and balance sheets. Everything has a way of relating to everything else. I bet you can understand what I'm saying," he added.
"I think so," I said, even though I wasn't sure I did, and he gave me a wider smile.
"When we were trying to make a baby, I was hoping he or she would grow up to be someone I could talk to, someone who was bright enough to understand. That's why I was so happy when Thelma said she liked you, too. Most kids have fluff in their heads today," he continued, his eyes darkening. "They don't get serious about life until it's almost too late or, in many cases, too late. There are too many
distractions. Don't tell Thelma I said this, but I think it's good that you don't want to spend all your free time staring into a light bulb."
"A light bulb?"
"That's all television is to me, a light bulb with idiotic stuff on its surface," he muttered. "I don't even like the way they report the news. The news is a comic book these days."
I was surprised at how forcefully he condemned television. I could see him rushing into people's homes and smashing screens with a sledge hammer, yet when it came to his own home, he sat silently reading his magazines while Thelma sat entranced.
"Thelma really loves her programs," I said.
"I know. And I appreciate how you humor her," he added with a smile.
"Did she always spend so much time watching them?"
He was quiet, concentrating on his driving. We stopped at a traffic light, and he took a deep breath. "She didn't tell you everything about our attempt to have a baby of bur own," he confessed. "We tried in vitro fertilization. You know w
hat that is?"
"Yes," I said. "Taking out a woman's egg, inserting sperm into it in a Petri dish, and placing it back in the woman's womb."
"You are smart. Yes. Well, it didn't work for her. She miscarried. She was very depressed afterward. Very depressed," he emphasized, raising his eyebrows and widening his eyes. "It was then that she began to watch television. Getting involved in the stories was the only thing that excited her. I couldn't oppose it." He paused and then glanced at me quickly. "I didn't want to tell you this so soon," he continued, "but you're my big hope:'
"Me? How?"
"I'm hoping she'll become so involved with you and real-life things that she'll start to drift away from the make-believe world. I was holding my breath when you first came to our home, waiting to see if you were going to get sucked into those soap operas with her. You don't know how glad I am that you haven't been," he said.
"I like a good story," I confessed.
"Sure, who doesn't? But it can't become your whole life. It does for people who have nothing but popcorn in their heads. You're not one of them. You're a serious young lady. You're going to be someone, and I want to be there when they hand you your first diploma."
I smiled. He sounded proud already, and I hadn't done a thing. In fact, it was the first time I felt he sounded like a real father.
"I hope you're there too," I told him
He seemed to relax in his seat and soften his grip around the steering wheel. We really were getting to know each other better. Thelma had made a good suggestion.
"I'll tell you another one of my secrets," he offered. "I even view people in terms of numbers."
"How do you do that?" I asked.
"Easy." He paused as if he wasn't going to say any more, but he had a small smile on his lips again. "Some people are positive numbers, and many are negative. Didn't you ever hear someone say, 'He's a complete zero'? Well, that's how I group people in my mind, only I have categories in the negatives, too." He laughed. "My immediate superior is a minus ten. He used to be a minus five, but he's gotten worse."
"I've heard about women being rated like that," I said. "A beautiful woman is supposed to be a ten."
"Yeah, but that's a stupid use of numbers," he said angrily. It was as if numbers were his province and no one else had a right to use them. "You don't measure someone solely on the way he or she looks. It's what's going on in here," he said, stabbing his temple with his forefinger so hard I imagined the pain, "that counts. Counts, get it?" he said, smiling
I nodded.
"There she blows," he cried, nodding ahead of us. I saw the school building down the street. Arriving buses were emptying their passengers. Old friends were hugging and talking excitedly to one another. They all he that first-day-of-school look, the clean and crisp appearance their parents most likely imposed on them.
"You know the number of the bus that takes you home?" Karl asked
"Yes."
"Okay, have a great first day," he said, pulling to the curb. He looked at me as if he wanted to give me a kiss good-bye. I waited a moment expecting it, but he just smiled and nodded again, squirming in his seat as if he was uncomfortable. We were still orbiting each other like strangers, waiting for something that would make us truly father and daughter. Why was it so much harder for me than it was for all those young people laughing and shouting in front of the school? What wonderful things had they done to deserve their families, their mommies and daddies? What terrible thing had I done to be born alone?
"'Bye," I cried, and hopped out of the car. I turned to wave, but he was pulling away, his attention locked on the driveway in front of him.
First days of school always had a special feeling to them. The desks, the blackboards, the hallways, the bathrooms, windows, and floors were squeaky clean. You could still smell the detergents, wood polish, glass cleaner, and fresh paint. Voices, footsteps, and bells all had a deeper, longer echo. There was an electricity of expectation and
anticipation in the air, as well as some mystery. What was going to be required of us? How well would we get along with our new teachers? How well would we get along with one another? Those who had been here before studied one another to discover the changes a summer of fun or work or both had effected on their bodies, their faces, and, most of all, their personalities.
Girls and boys alike were exploring new styles, wore their hair differently, dressed more maturely. Those who were more insecure about themselves held themselves back toward the rear, in the shadows, out of the direct flow of conversations and attention, while the confident strutted with their heads high, seeking to reclaim their turf quickly and eyeing every possible contender with suspicion.
New kids were interesting and yet threatening. I could almost hear their suspicion when they looked at me. The girl who was expected to win the lead in the school play wondered if I would try out and take her part away. The students who were at the top of their classes, racing toward the awards and honors, wondered if I would be real competition. Girls who were leaders of their little cliques feared I might be more sophisticated and win away their loyal followers. Girls and even boys who fell outside the circle of social life hoped I might be another one of them, a friend, a buoy to cling to in the sea of turmoil adults called the teenage years, adolescence.
I was here. I had landed, and I was living with a family now. No one could fix the label of orphan on my forehead like the mark of Cain and make me feel so different that I saw curiosity and rejection in the eyes of those who were supposed to be friends. At least, that was what I hoped.
The moment I spotted Helga talking and laughing with a group of girls near the girls' room, I felt a dark foreboding take hold of my heart. She saw me and nudged someone, and they all grew quiet and looked my way.
"Hi," she called, waving me toward her. "Hi."
"You didn't take the bus this morning, so I
didn't know whether or not you were still living with Karl and Thelma," she said.
"Why wouldn't I be?" I shot back.
She looked at her friends and then at me and
shrugged.
"I just wondered," she said, shifting her weight
from one leg to the other and smiling again. "I introduced Crystal to Bernie Felder. We went over to his
house, and she didn't want to leave. How long did you
stay?"
"A while," I said. So that was it, I thought. I
was being punished for not doing exactly what she
had wanted, for defying her and staying with Bernie. "Crystal's a genius, too," she said with an ugly
twist in her lips.
"I'm far from a genius, but I am polite," I said. I
turned to the others. "My name is Crystal Morris." They stared a moment, and then a short
brunette with a face like a little doll, her features small
and perfect, stuck out her hand.
"I'm Alicia."
"I'm Mona," said another girl, with a rounder
face, straight light brown hair, and brown eyes. Her
fingers were short and stubby.
"My name is Rachael Peterson," a girl almost as
tall as Helga said in a very formal voice. She didn't
offer her hand, but she looked at my briefcase. "Is that
real leather?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Very nice," she said.
"Thank you. My grandparents gave it to me."
"Grandparents? How can you have grandparents?"
Helga asked quickly.
"Thelma's parents are my grandparents," I said
dryly. "That's how it works."
"So how did you get to school this morning?" Helga asked, ignoring my sarcasm. "You didn't
come with Bernie, did you?"
"Karl took me on the way to work. He's going
to take me every morning, but go home on the bus," I
explained.
"Still calling him Karl, I see," Helga said,
shifting her eyes to her friends. She smiled wryly, her
lips twisting again.
"Well, I wasn't as lucky as the rest of you. I wasn't born into a family," I said. I saw Alicia's
eyebrows lift. Mona's eyes filled with confusion. "I told you she was very intelligent," Helga said
quickly.
Alicia and Mona nodded, but Rachael
continued just to stare down at me.
"It doesn't take a lot of intelligence to know not
to say things that will embarrass someone who is new
and a stranger to the school," I said. "That usually
shows a lack of in" I turned and walked toward my
homeroom just as the bell rang.
Bernie Felder was in my homeroom. He nodded
when he saw me, his eyes softening as if they saw my
distress at being new and unsure of myself, but he
didn't sit near me. He took the last seat in the first
row, as if that seat had been waiting for him all summer. Our homeroom teacher didn't seem to care where
anyone sat, so I sat up front and opened my briefcase. Homeroom was extended on the first day so all
the school's rules could be explained. Most of the students paid little attention. Even our homeroom teacher
seemed bored with it and looked relieved when the
bell for passing to the first class rang.
I did make some friends during the course of
the school day: a pair of redheaded twins named Rea and Zoe, who told me their parents deliberately had looked for names with the same number of letters, a heavy black girl named Haley Thomas, and a tall, very thin boy named Randal Wolfe who was the school's chess champion. There was another girl named Ashley who remained in the background, too shy to say anything The twins wore matching dresses and had their hair styled in a similar fashion. They told me they enjoyed playing tricks on people and even their teachers by pretending to be each other
from time to time.
"When we get married, we'll do it to our
husbands, too," Rea said, laughing.
We all sat at the same table and ate lunch
together. I looked for Bernie, but he wasn't in the
cafeteria. Later, when I saw him in the hallway, I