Perfect

  That's what Weezy does. She just comes right out and says it. After your dad died. "She was just ... in shock, I guess. She couldn't talk about him."

  I pretended to be interested in my coat button again. There were lots of things in my head I wanted to say, but I couldn't. Everything was stuck in my throat like peanut butter.

  "Oh, Isabelle. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up. I didn't mean to upset you."

  "I'm not upset," I mumbled.

  "I didn't mean to worry you."

  "I'm not worried."

  Aunt Weezy sighed. "Okay.... Anyway, I'm sorry. Let's just go get some pizza. Okay?"

  We got out of the car and started walking across the parking lot. Right before we got to the door of the restaurant, Aunt Weezy put her arm around me and squeezed. "It's good to see you, sweetie."

  I let my head rest on her shoulder for just a second before we went in.

  On the way home I rode with the pizza on my lap, warming my legs. Whenever the box got too hot I'd lift it up, then put it hack down. It smelled so good I could almost taste it. Nothing tastes as good as the first bite of pizza. Nothing.

  Aunt Weeny was singing along with the radio, not exactly on key, but nice. I'll bet she sings all the time at home, in the shower, making dinner. I'll bet Uncle Jack does too. Maybe I should move in with them. Nini can move into my house.

  I took some time to imagine the switch. Me, Aunt Weezy, and Uncle Jack sitting around the dinner table, singing, laughing.

  In the real world, Weezy was pulling into the driveway right behind Mom's car. She was yanking up the parking brake and pulling her keys out of the ignition.

  I took in a breath. "I'm going," I said. "To talk to someone, I mean."

  Aunt Weeny turned, looked straight at me.

  "On Tuesday. At four o'clock. I'm going to talk to someone. Trish, her name is."

  Weeny put a hand on my hand and squeezed. "Oh, Isabelle." Then, "Does your mom know?"

  I shook my head. It was too complicated to explain that Mom knew about Group but not about the one-onone.

  Still holding my hand Aunt Weezy said, very softly, "You miss him a lot, your dad. It must be ... well, you must miss him more than I can imagine."

  I nodded. Stopped. Nodded again.

  "Do you think ... is this something you want to talk about with me?"

  All I could do was shake my head. I knew if I opened my mouth I'd start crying, and maybe I'd never stop.

  "Okay." Aunt Weezy said, squeezing my hand. "Okay."

  On the porch, right before we went inside the house, Aunt Weezy hugged me hard. Me and the pizza. "It's going to be okay, Isabelle. It's going to be fine."

  Fine, I thought. It's going to be fine.

  Somehow the way she said it, I almost believed her. I wanted to. I really did.

  16

  TUESDAY, FOUR O'CLOCK. Trish and I were sitting across from each other in her office, which smelled like Cheez-Its as usual. For some reason this made me mad. Didn't Trish ever think about other people's noses? Hadn't she ever heard of air freshener?

  "Well, Isabelle, I'm glad you're here," Trish said. "I'm looking forward to getting to know you better."

  "Yeah." As if I had any intention of spilling my guts.

  "Are you comfortable?" Trish asked. "You can switch chairs if you like." She gestured across the room. "Or move to the couch."

  "I'm fine."

  "Good. I want you to be comfortable."

  I thought about this. Comfortable? "This isn't exactly how I want to spend my Tuesday afternoon, you know. With a shrink."

  "A shrink?"

  "That's what you are, right? A head shrinker? Someone who's supposed to shrink my problems?"

  Trish smiled, leaned back in her chair. "That's one way of looking at it, Isabelle.... Okay, let's start there."

  "Start where?"

  "With any problems you'd like shrunk."

  "I didn't say I had problems. I just said that's your job, to shrink them. If a person had any. Which I don't."

  "You don't."

  I shook my head and looked down at the orange carpet. There was that stain again, the one that looked like a yawning dog. If you squinted at it you could make it move.

  "Isabelle," Trish said softly. "I'm going to ask you a question, and I'd like you to answer it honestly. Do you think you can you do that?"

  I shrugged. "I guess."

  "How many times did you throw up today?"

  I thought about denying it. But I didn't. "Two."

  "Do you see that as a problem, Isabelle? Your throwing up? Throwing up is natural sometimes. When a person has the flu or food poisoning, but making yourself throw up is a different thing. It's usually a sign that something else is wrong."

  "Nothing's wrong," I muttered, more to the yawning dog than to Trish. But really I was thinking, Yes it is.

  "Maybe wrong is a poor choice of words," Trish said. "Let me put it another way. Bingeing and purging-eating a lot of food and then making oneself throw up-can he a sign that something is bothering a person. Maybe she's sad. Angry. Lonely. Upset about something ... and throwing up is a way of dealing with those feelings. Does that make sense to you, Isabelle? The way I've worded it?"

  I shrugged, shifted in my seat, sighed.

  After I'd shifted and sighed a few more times, Trish said, "It's your hour, Isabelle. I could sit here and talk the whole time but that's not really the idea. The idea is for you to he doing the talking, which I know is hard. Tlking about feelings can he difficult, and sometimes scary, especially if you're not used to doing it. But let's say that this is a safe place for you to share those feelings. Okay? Let's say that this office is a place, and I am a person, you can trust. What do you say?"

  "Okay...." I took in a breath, looked up a little bit. "So. Let's say there is something bothering me."

  "Is there?"

  "There might he."

  Trish nodded. "Okay."

  "Am I supposed to just come out and say it?"

  "That would he a good place to start."

  I took another breath and looked at Trish. "I don't have a dad anymore. Okay? He died."

  Trish leaned forward in her chair, looked straight at me. "How does it make you feel to say that?" She picked up the hox of tissues on her desk and held it out to me.

  I took one and held it in my lap. "I don't know."

  "Having someone you love die is a horrible thing, Isabelle."

  I nodded and bit my lip hard. I wasn't about to cry in front of Trish. "Okay, I have to ask you something."

  Trish said, "You can ask me anything you'd like."

  "Please don't say anything like 'If life gives you lemons, make lemonade,' or `Just take it one day at a time.' I hate that."

  "You mean like 'Every cloud has a silver lining,' and 'At least you have your health'?"

  "Yes."

  Trish said, "Do you think I would do that to you?"

  "I don't know. But if you do, I'm leaving."

  "Fair enough," Trish said. "I promise not to shower you with a hunch of cliches that don't help."

  "Good."

  Trish leaned back in her chair again and pressed her fingertips together into a steeple. "Okay," she said softly. "Do you think you can talk about your dad, Isabelle? Do you want to try?"

  I nodded, a very small nod, but a nod. "I want to try," I said. And really, I meant it.

  When I got home I called Ashley. "What are you doing?" I asked.

  "Nothing. Homework. Where've you been? I tried to call you before but no one answered."

  I lowered my voice just in case Ape Face was listening in. "I was with Trish. Talking about ... You know, stuff with me."

  "Oh ... huh."

  "Yeah."

  After a second Ashley said, "How come?"

  "She practically made me. From last time? When she stopped me after Group to talk? She basically said I had to come and see her."

  "Oh."

  Ashley didn't say anything else, so I kept goi
ng. "We talked about ... you know. Stuff. The same stuff we talk about in Group, I guess."

  "Huh," she said again.

  That's when I told her. I didn't plan to, the words just slipped out. "Mostly we talked about my dad."

  "Your dad?"

  "Yeah," I said. "My dad. He, well ... died. Two summers ago. It was, like, a surprise. We didn't know he was sick."

  When I finished telling her, Ashley whispered, "I don't know what to say.

  "I know," I said. "No one does."

  After I hung up the phone I went into my closet and sat on the floor, holding Daddy's shirt in my lap. I thought about how we used to play cards together-go fish and crazy eights and hearts-and how he used to let me win. I always wanted him to play his hardest so my wins would be real wins, so I could know I was good enough to beat him. But that wasn't what I remembered most. It was being on the couch next to him with his knee touching mine, and his big, warm hand on my back when I won.

  If I closed my eyes I could still feel it. The warmth of it.

  Ape Face knocked on my door after I was already in bed. "Isabelle?" she said. "Can I come in?"

  "What do you want?" I said quietly, as if Mom was asleep, which I knew she wasn't.

  I was hoping Ape Face would say "Never mind. Forget it," and go away. The thing with Ape Face is she never does. She's like a homing pigeon that keeps coming hack even when you're mean to her. Maybe if she were my older sister I wouldn't mind so much, I'd like having her around. I could talk to her about things. But what are you going to talk about with Ape Face? She's only ten. It's not like she understands anything about anything.

  The voice on the other side of the door said, "Please, Isabelle?"

  "Fine," I said. "But only for a minute."

  I turned on the radio next to my bed, very softly. WKLB, the New Country 99.5, the same station Aunt Weezy plays in her car.

  I moved over so Ape Face could sit down on the bed.

  "Isabelle?" she said. "What's wrong with Morn?"

  "What are you talking about? Nothing's wrong with Mom."

  "Listen," said Ape Face. "Do you hear that? She's like, moaning. Hear it?"

  I sighed. "She's not moaning. She's crying."

  "why? "

  "Come on, April. Why do you think? Because her pet squirrel has the measles."

  "What? Mom has a pet squirrel?"

  I made a sound in the hack of my throat. Sometimes ten-year-olds are so dense you want to shove them off the bed.

  Ape Face looked straight at me then. "Because of Daddy. Right? ... Right, Isabelle?"

  I nodded.

  We were quiet for a minute. Ape Face grabbed the edge of my blanket and rubbed the silky part between her fingers. "It scares me when she cries," she said.

  "I know."

  "Isabelle? You don't think she's going to . . . You know ... like jenny Singer's mom?"

  "What? Kill herself? No way."

  "But Margot Reilly said that Jenny Singer's mom-"

  "Listen, Ape Face. There's no way that's going to happen. So just shut up about it. Just shut up."

  Ape Face shut up for about two seconds. Then she said, "Can I sleep in here with you tonight, Isabelle? Just for tonight?"

  No way!"

  Ape Face stood up right away. She started walking toward the door.

  "Listen, Ape," I said. "Just put a pillow on either side of your head, like a sandwich, and hum for a while. It helps."

  After Ape Face left, I made my own pillow sandwich, clasping my arms around my head. I thought about the look on my little sister's face when I told her no way could she sleep with me, like I slapped her. A good big sister would say "Sure, April, no problem," and rub her back until she fell asleep. A good big sister would help her with her stupid family tree project. I might as well do that, seeing as I'm pretty good at projects. You can buy colored poster board at the Save More for fifteen cents a piece. I could get her a purple piece. Purple is Ape Face's favorite color. She's absolutely honkers about it.

  17

  AFTER SCHOOL ON FRIDAY I was lying on Ashley's big white bed. It is so soft you sink into it like you're lying on a cloud. There's even a canopy, white with tiny blue flowers. And about five hundred fluffy white pillows. When you lie down you never want to get up again.

  "So," Ashley said. "What do you want to eat?"

  I opened my eyes. "I don't know. Anything, I guess."

  "Ravioli? And chocolate chip ice cream? Waffles?"

  "Sure. Whatever you want."

  Ashley started getting excited. "I know! I can make Belgian waffles! With ice cream and whipped cream and chocolate sauce and everything, and nuts-no! Nuts would be gross. Unless you want nuts, Isabelle?"

  "No nuts."

  Ashley smiled. "Right. No nuts.... And Diet Coke, right? With a twist. Like always."

  "Like always."

  "'Kay. I'll be back in like ten minutes or so."

  Kay.

  After Ashley left, I climbed down off the cloud bed and walked around her room. I walked through her closet packed with clothes hanging on silky padded hangers and thought, How does she ever decide what to wear?

  I looked at myself in Ashley's white shell mirror and said out loud, "Whatever shall I wear today?"

  I opened the top drawer of her bureau, which I assumed would be the underwear drawer, and it was. One pile for cotton. One pile for silky. I thought, Holes and stains are not welcome here.

  I looked in the shell mirror again and said, "Hi. I'm Ashley. Ashley Barnum. Even my underwear is perfect."

  The girl in the mirror snorted. "Ha! You're Belly. Belly. "

  For a moment I thought I heard Ashley in the hall and I froze. But my watch said she'd only been gone two minutes.

  Ashley's desk was very organized, everything in its place. I opened the top drawer. Pencils, all in a line, sharpened into perfect points. When I opened the second drawer it was filled with folded pieces of paper, wrapped together in bundles with rubber bands. On top of each bundle was a sticky with Ashley's writing on it. Notes from Ryan James. Notes from Jason Gullo. Notes from Dan Fosse. Notes from Peter Marsh. Notes from Brian King. Me, I would be happy with one note from a boy. One! More proof of how Ashley is the luckiest person ever.

  I looked at my watch. I had time for one more drawer. I thought, What could possibly be inside drawer number three, a million dollars.? A party invitation from the President of the United States? Instead, opening drawer number three was like taking a drink of what you think is going to be orange soda but turns out to he grapefruit juice. It was full of Cliffs Notes, and the top one was for A Separate Peace, the book we're reading in English. Certain pages were marked with paper clips.

  I tried to remember what Mr. Minx told us at the beginning of the year: "Cliffs Notes are for cheaters. If you use Cliffs Notes you are not only cheating the system, you are cheating yourselves."

  I thought to myself, Ashley Barnum is a cheater. I closed the drawer and ran back to the cloud bed. I dove headfirst into the fluff and felt my heart beating like crazy. Ashley Barnum is a cheater!

  When Ashley came back she was the same as always. Big smile, not a care in the world. I sat on the bed crosslegged and watched her while she put the food tray down on the rug and laid out napkins.

  She looked up at me. "What?"

  "Nothing," I said. Because what else was I going to say? So, anyway, I was snooping through your stuff. And I found your Cliffs Notes.

  Ashley said, "Hungry?"

  I didn't know if I was hungry or not, but I nodded. "Smells good," I said.

  She said, "Let's eat."

  After we'd been shoveling food in for a while, Ashley stopped eating and wiped her mouth with a square of napkin. "If my mother saw me right now she'd kill me."

  I swallowed a mouthful of ice cream. "How come?"

  "Are you kidding me? Have you seen my mother eat? It's nothing but celery sticks and cottage cheese all day."

  What I was thinking was, How could I see your mothe
r eat? Your mother's never home. What I said was, "She must get hungry."

  Ashley shrugged. She picked up a waffle and folded it in half before she stuffed it in her mouth. A glob of chocolate sauce stuck to her upper lip like a mustache. She swallowed the last of the Diet Coke in her glass. "Come on," she said. "If we wait too long we won't be able to get it all out."

  I stood up and followed Ashley down the hall to the bathroom where there are two sinks right next to each other. We stuck our fingers down our throats at the same time. You wouldn't believe how fast and bubbly everything comes up if you drink a lot of Diet Coke first.

  The whole time we were doing it I was thinking about what Trish said. Making yourself throw up is a sign that something else is wrong.

  When we were finished we cleaned out the sinks with cleanser and sprayed peach air freshener all over.

  "I feel so much better," Ashley said. "Don't You, Isabelle?

  My head nodded yes, but other parts of me were saying No! Like my throat, which hurt. And my eyes, which wouldn't stop watering.

  "I feel great!" Ashley said, rinsing her hands in the sink, rubbing a blob of toothpaste over her teeth.

  She feels great. Great! I took a quick look at Ashley's face to see what I could see. Her mouth was smiling, all right.

  The thing is, if you just look at a person's mouth you can be fooled. What you have to do is look at their eyes. That's where the truth is. And with Ashley, the eyes weren't saying Great!, I can tell you that.

  18

  THE NEXT MORNING, WHEN I GOT HOME from Ashley's, Aunt Weezy was there. She and my mother were sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee. They were dressed alike, cardigans over khakis, except Weezy had on her little drop earrings.

  My mother was even wearing makeup. Mascara, blush, and pink lipstick-bright pink, like some pushy saleslady got her to buy it. Her hair was smoothed back into a headband, lavender, to match her sweater.

  For a second I thought maybe I'd walked into someone else's house, but there was Ape Face in her pj's, slurping on a bowl of Cheerios. When she saw me she waved with her spoon, sending a spray of milk through the air.

  My mother waved too, as though it was the most natural thing in the world for her to be up early on a Saturday morning, drinking coffee, dressed as Weezy's clone.