Perfect

  After Aunt Weezy and Mom left the house, April and I sat on the floor of her room and put the finishing touches on her family tree project. The pictures, color copies we made of the photos we found under Mom's bed, looked just like the real thing. We stared and stared at each one, at our dad smiling back at us like it was yesterday.

  The letters of the title were rainbow. When you leaned in you smelled a fruit howl. The Lee Family Since 1922. Everything was crooked because Ape Face refused to use a ruler. That part killed me. No matter how many times I told her, she wouldn't listen. With Ape Face it's her way or the highway. You never met someone so stubborn in your whole life.

  The rest looked great, though, I have to say. Especially the silver glitter for the tree, and the tiny gold stars for each year. You wanted to stop and read every branch, take your time and really get to know people. Jacob Joshua Lee. Born June i i, 1961, Brooklyn, New York. Third Baseman, Brooklyn Rockets, 1976-1979. Graphic Artist, Cartoonist, Song Lyricist. Bilingual in French. Married Elizabeth Jayne Lawrence, 1984, on Squam Lake in New Hampshire. It went on and on. Luckily, Ape Face actually listened to me for once and typed those parts on the computer, so the writing was perfect. If she didn't get an A-minus at least, her teacher was crazy.

  "It's good, huh, Isabelle?"

  "Yeah," I said. "It really is."

  "Okay, so . . ." April leaned over, blew some stray glitter off the poster board onto the rug. "When do we show it to Mom?"

  "I don't know. I've been thinking about that."

  "And?"

  "And I don't think we should show her yet. I think we should wait. Do it in a special way."

  "Like how?"

  I smiled just a little, careful to cover my teeth with my lips like the famous lady in the painting. Mysterious. Sometimes when you have a great idea you want to keep it to yourself for a while. You want to take your time with it.

  21

  ON WEDNESDAY, ASHLEY WASN'T in school. At lunch I stood in the doorway of the cafeteria with my brown bag, not knowing what to do. Then I started walking. At the center table was the usual gang, all of Ashley's friends. Whispering, giggling, tossing their hair ... not waving me over. Right. I walked past them, holding my breath, looking straight ahead.

  Nola and Georgie would understand, I knew they would. They had to. So, I hadn't sat with them for two weeks. So, people make mistakes, right? First, I'd explain it to them. Then they'd forgive me. Then we'd all say we're sorry. Then I could sit down and it would be just like I never left.

  After I walked around the cafeteria twice, I started feeling a little panicky, light-headed. Trish would say I was breathing too fast. Take slow deep breaths, she would tell me. In through your nose, out through your mouth.

  My third lap through the cafeteria. In through my nose. Out through my mouth. What was the matter with me? Why couldn't I just do it? Why was it the only thing I wanted to do was run to the bathroom and lock myself in the stall? Stuff my lunch down my throat and ...

  But then, I did it. I took one more deep breath and walked straight over to Nola and Georgie's table. I decided to try the jokey approach. "Pardon me," I said. "Is this seat taken?"

  No one laughed.

  Georgie pretended she hadn't heard me. Paula kept right on eating potato chips. So I focused on Nola. She was the one who hated fighting the most.

  "Nola?" I said, holding my lunch bag in front of me like a purse. "Can I sit with you guys?"

  Nola picked up her sandwich, peanut butter on pumpernickel as usual. She took a careful bite, then set the sandwich down on a napkin. She chewed, swallowed, and looked at me. Finally she said, "Why do you want to sit with us again, Isabelle?"

  And I said, "I don't know. I guess I like it better over here."

  Nola picked up her chocolate milk and shrugged. "Fine with me."

  Georgie was tougher. "Nobody likes a fair-weather friend, Isabelle. Make a decision and stick with it."

  I thought about Ashley for a second. What would she think when she came back to school and I wasn't sitting at her table anymore? She had so many friends, would she even notice?

  I looked Georgie in the eye. "This is my decision," I told her, meaning it. "I want to sit with you guys."

  "Whatever," Georgie said. "Do what you want."

  I did what I wanted. I sat down.

  When Paula asked what it was like sitting at the center table, I thought hard before I answered. "It was like ... getting invited to a Halloween party that you're really excited about. Only, when you show up at the door, you're the only one wearing a costume."

  Nola set down her milk carton. "It's a Halloween party. Why wouldn't you wear a costume?"

  "Exactly."

  "Where were you today?" I said.

  It was Group, and here was Ashley sitting across from me. Trish had us doing another mirroring exercise and we were partners again, just like we were hack before we knew each other. Being Ashley's mirror is different when you know her. You don't see her as some big mystery anymore. And in a way, you wish she still was. You want to keep on believing she's this perfect person without a care in the world.

  "Why weren't you in school?" I said again. were you sick?"

  Ashley looked down, twisted a button on her shirt. "Yeah. I wasn't feeling great this morning." She looked up and smiled. "But I'm feeling better now. Thanks."

  "Sure," I said. I didn't want her to think I didn't believe her. But really, Ashley sounded just like my mother. I'm fine. Really. Everything's fine.

  On our way out of Group, Ashley grabbed my hand. "Isabelle. Want to go out to dinner or something? I've got money. We can go anywhere you want."

  "I can't," I said. "I have to be home. I told my sister I'd help her cook."

  "Oh." Ashley tried to smile but didn't quite make it. "Okay."

  I said, `Aren't your parents expecting you for dinner?"

  Ashley shook her head. "My mom's away on her spa week. In California. And my dad's working on this really big case. He won't be home until late."

  "What about your brothers?" I asked.

  "I don't know. You never know with them."

  "So, no one's home at your house?"

  Ashley shook her head. "Except for Gregory."

  "Gregory the cook?"

  "Yeah."

  "Well," I said, "you like mini pizzas?"

  Ashley nodded, tried to smile again.

  "Good," I said. I pulled her arm. "That's what we're making."

  Ape Face was definitely impressed, Ashley being about the coolest person she'd ever met in her life. She wanted to be just like her, immediately, which didn't surprise me one bit.

  "You play field hockey?" said Ape Face. "Me too! Only in gym, but still. I'm pretty good except for my scoop pass, which pretty much rots."

  Ashley knew exactly how to reel her in. "I could help you some time. It you wanted."

  "No way! Really, Ashley? Really? That would he so cool."

  It was me and Ape Face and Ashley, all sitting around the kitchen table, rolling out pizza dough. Spreading tomato sauce and sprinkling little shreds of cheese. You might think this would be weird, having Ashley Barnum at your house for the first time, but it isn't. Not when you know her.

  The only thing I was worried about was my mother, who would be down any second, wearing any number of nutso personalities. I wanted her to act normal, not like she usually does, down and out, or super excited in that fake way.

  "How do you get your hair like that, Ashley?" said Ape Face. "So shiny?"

  "Come on, April," I said. "Enough questions already."

  "It's okay, Isabelle," said Ashley. "I don't mind. You know what the trick is? Vinegar. A cool vinegar rinse after you shampoo."

  "Really?" Ape Face said. "Vinegar?"

  "Uh-huh."

  My mother walked into the kitchen wearing jeans and a corduroy shirt. She looked not too had. Pretty soon she was smiling and introducing herself to Ashley, like a regular mom would do.

  "It's a pleasure to meet
you, Ashley."

  "You too, Mrs. Lee."

  I watched my mother and Ashley smile and nod, take each other in. I watched my mother fall in love at first sight. Because how could you not love Ashley Barnum? She was the perfect daughter.

  "So, Ashley, how do you and Isabelle know each other?"

  "From school," said Ashley. "We have the same English class."

  "From Group," I said. "We have the same eating disorder."

  When everyone turned to stare at me, I shrugged. "What? It's true."

  Wasn't it time someone started telling the truth around here? Even if the truth stinks?

  After dinner, my mother and Ape Face headed into the den to watch a movie so Ashley and I could have some time alone. This was my mother's idea, which meant she was actually paying attention for a change. Ape Face didn't like it, but she went along with it. Probably because she planned to barge in on us later.

  Upstairs in my room, we sat on my bed, pj'd, washed, brushed.

  "Your mom's so nice," Ashley said.

  "You think?"

  Ashley nodded. "Yeah.... You look alike."

  I said, "No, we don't."

  "Yes, you do. Your mouth or something." Ashley held up her hand to her lips and drew a little circle in the air. "Or your eyes."

  I thought, Oh yeah? You should see her eyes when she's not faking it for guests: red and puffy.

  "And April. What a cutie."

  I nearly choked on my own spit. "I'm not sure cutie is the word."

  Ashley paused. "Anyway. You're lucky."

  Yeah, right, I thought. But I didn't say anything.

  Ashley looked around the room, quiet for a second, then picked up a pillow and held it to her chest. "Why'd you tell them I'm in Group?"

  "Because you are," I said. "I just don't see any point in lying."

  Ashley sat hugging the pillow, fingers wrapped around her elbows. Her hair was pulled back in a lacey white headband that matched her nightgown. Even when you know her, you still can't help thinking she's so pretty it's ridiculous. You almost want to pinch her to make sure she's real.

  "Why not?" Ashley said.

  "Why not what?"

  "Why not lie? Everyone does."

  Ashley lay the pillow in her lap. She stroked it a couple of times like it was a cat. Then she flipped it over and stroked it some more. The cat routine was starting to get old.

  "What do you mean?" I said, grabbing the pillow. "Like who?"

  "Like . . ." Ashley looked away. "Well, like my dad."

  I wasn't sure I wanted to hear anything about Ashley's dad. She had one, and she should feel lucky. Any dad is better than no dad.

  "What?" I said, finally. "What does he lie about?"

  Ashley looked up and you could see she was trying not to cry. She was biting her lip like crazy, and her eyes were getting red around the edges.

  "Okay," she said finally. "I'll tell you. You ready?"

  I nodded.

  "I think my dad has a girlfriend. I mean, I know he does. I heard my mom talking about it. He kept telling her nothing was going on, but then she found it out anyway."

  I was stunned for a second. "What?" I said. "Are you sure?"

  "Positive."

  "No way."

  "I know," she said. Then, "They're getting a divorce."

  "Are you sure?"

  "I'm sure."

  I handed Ashley a tissue from the box next to my bed. She blew her nose, then held out her hand f,)r another one. I kept handing her tissues until there was a big wet pile between us. I did what Trish says is the only thing anyone can do. I listened.

  "So," Ashley said finally, after she'd blown her nose for the thousandth time. "That's why I wasn't in school today. I was helping my father pack. He's, like ... gone."

  "Oh, Ashley," I said. Because I didn't know what else to say.

  At one in the morning, we were standing in my kitchen.

  "Let's make popcorn," Ashley said, looking through the cabinet. "With lots of butter."

  "I don't know. I don't think we should cook. We might wake up my mom."

  "Well ... cereal, then. Something."

  We already ate peanut butter sandwiches. And Oreos. When we got to the leftover pizza, I wasn't hungry anymore, so I stopped eating. Ashley didn't even notice. "Do you have anything to drink? Diet Coke?" She ate so fast, I felt sick just watching her. I sat back in my chair, pushed my plate away.

  "Or regular Coke," Ashley said. "Anything with bubbles."

  I knew what she meant. Anything that would help her throw up easier.

  "We don't have any soda," I said. "I'll get you some Oy'

  I went to the fridge and opened the door. Behind me, I knew, Ashley had both hands in her mouth at the same time, stuffing the food down. I didn't want to watch her anymore.

  "Never mind," Ashley said. Before I could give her the juice, she ran to the kitchen sink, leaned over, and threw up. She didn't even use her fingers. When she was done, she scrubbed everything with cleanser. Then she turned to me, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Aren't you going to?"

  I shook my head.

  "You don't want to?"

  "No," I said. "I don't."

  I don't know who was more surprised, Ashley or me.

  22

  ON MY WAY TO MY MEETING with Trish, it hit me. That night at my house with Ashley was the first time I ever said no to her. I wasn't sure what this meant, but it felt big to me.

  "What do you think it meant?" Trish said, when I asked her. Trish loves answering questions with questions.

  "I don't know," I said. "I didn't really care what she thought, for once. Do you think!"

  "Before that, you used to care? You wanted her to think well of you?"

  "I guess so," I said. "Yeah."

  Trish looked at me. "So it was a big deal that you made a different choice? The choice not to throw up?"

  "Well," I said, looking down. "I didn't throw up with her. Later on I did, though. When I was by myself."

  "And what were you feeling then, Isabelle? When you were by yourself. Can you put your finger on it?"

  "I was thinking about ... my dad. Missing him. I was ... you know, sad."

  "Good," Trish said.

  I looked up. "Good?"

  "Not good that you felt sad. Good that you're beginning to identify your feelings."

  "But I still threw up," I said. "Isn't that ... I mean, aren't I supposed to be not doing that?"

  Trish nodded. "Ultimately. Yes. When you're ready. To get yourself there, though, you have to do the work."

  "What work?" I said.

  "Being honest with yourself," said Trish. "And with me. Identifying your feelings. Journaling. Talking it out."

  "I'm doing that," I said. "I mean ... aren't I?"

  "You are."

  "I am."

  "Okay then." Trish smiled. "Let's keep plugging. Let's talk some more about your dad."

  At eleven that night, I was dialing Aunt Weezy's phone number, hoping that she would be the one that answered and not Uncle Jack, or worse, Nini. I'd already started to call about fifty times, hanging up before the first ring. This time, though, I was going to do it. I was doing what Trish said to do. Take deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. It was a bit exhausting.

  "Aunt Weezy?" I whispered. "It's me. Isabelle."

  "Isabelle? Honey? Is that you? I can barely hear you."

  I raised my voice a little. "Yeah. It's me."

  "Is everything all right? Is it your mom?"

  "No. No. Everything's fine."

  I could hear the sigh on the other end, like this was a big relief. It's amazing how people will just believe you when you say "Everything's fine," like saying it makes it true.

  "Well," I said, "as fine as it ever is. You know."

  Aunt Weezy sighed again. "Right."

  "Anyway," I said. Now that we were back on track. "The reason I'm calling is, I've got this idea. And I kind of need your help."

&nb
sp; There was Aunt Weezy's ear, wide open, waiting.

  After I got off the phone, instead of going to bed right away, I took out my journal. I was sleepy, but I wasn't ready to go to sleep. There's something about talking to a person like Trish, or Aunt Weezy, that makes you think. Your head fills up with things that most of the time you hardly ever talk about. Normally I would head for my closet, for my stash, and start stuffing my face. This time I wrote.

  Just minutes before, when I stood in the hallway outside my mother's room listening to her cry, I got mad. Stop crying! I wanted to yell. Stop crying every night and do something about it!

  I wrote about that. And about how I wanted my another back the way she used to be. I wanted her to he the mom again, taking care of me and April, not the other way around. I wanted her to stop pretending that everything was fine when it wasn't. Mostly, I wanted her to know that she wasn't the only one who missed him. We all did. Because he was all of ours.

  23

  THE FIRST NIGHT OF HANUKKAH fell on a Thursday. As soon as I got home from school I started getting things ready. Even though Aunt Weezy promised to make sure my mother was out of the house, I checked her bedroom. Just in case.

  April did everything I asked her to without making a peep. But I still watched her every move like a hawk to make sure she didn't screw it up.

  My stomach was full of the butterflies you feel when you see a guy like Eli Bronstein walking down the hall toward you, and you're thinking, Oh no, is he going to talk to me? And if he does, what if I freeze? Or say something stupid? Or let out a big raunchy burp?

  I hoped we were doing the right thing, me and April. I thought we were at first, but all of sudden I wasn't sure.

  "It looks good, Isabelle, huh?" April said, taking a step back from the dining room table. "I'm glad we decided to go with the blue candles, instead of plain white."

  I sat folding napkins, over and over until I got them right. Cloth ones, not paper. And not your regular folds either. Swans.

  "You know?" April said. `Aren't you glad we went with the blue?"

  "Yeah. They look good."

  "Everything looks just right. Huh, Isabelle?"

  "Yes," I said, placing one napkin swan on each plate. "It really does."