Girl Unmoored

  Mr. Perry said, “Good job, kiddo,” after I handed it back to him.

  I said, “Thanks,” but not: why don’t you have a picture of Mrs. Perry taped on to the wall down there instead?

  Mr. Perry hung the foghorn on his belt loop, whistled something, then started tying and folding, while right in front of me three seagulls dive-bombed the water. You couldn’t see what it was, but something was stirring under there and all three of them knew it.

  The launch motored up to us and the launch boy took my arm when I stepped into his boat. Mr. Perry went downstairs to close up and when he came back, his face looked like it had been painted white. That fog-horn wasn’t hanging on his belt anymore, either.

  He didn’t look at me when he said, “Wait a minute” to the launch boy, he just kept walking up to the bow with a green plastic snake in his hands.

  The launch boy said, “Don’t worry, it’s not real. Old lobsterman trick, supposed to scare off the seagulls.”

  But I wasn’t tricked at all.

  After Mr. Perry climbed on board with us, he stayed in the stern, one foot up on the side of the boat, looking back the whole time. I kept my eyes peeled straight ahead. The wind was blowing so hard it could practically erase your mind, unless you were me, who had too much to think about now. Like Mr. Perry and my mom, and my dad and M. You’re only supposed to love one person, that’s what love was supposed to mean, but no one was getting it right around here.

  As soon as the bumpers hit the docks I jumped off.

  Mr. Perry stepped off behind me and caught my arm before I could go anywhere.

  “Wait, Apron,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to give this to you.”

  He slid the picture into my hand and just then something big splashed next to us. Mr. Perry and I saw it at the same time: a long shiny white back.

  “Will you look at that,” he whispered, leaning over the edge of the dock.

  I stepped up. Shimmers of light exploded on top of the water faster than I could blink them out. He turned to me, but I kept my eyes down. I thought the beluga would be huge, but it was the same size as the dolphins I was going to save.

  Mr. Perry started to say something, but the whale surfaced again, blowing water out of its spout, before disappearing again deep into the green.

  He shook his head. “It never should have strayed.”

  I held the picture out for him to take back.

  “If you’re going to make your own bed,” I said quietly, then spun away and started up the ramp.

  26

  In loco parentis

  In the place of a parent

  It was three o’clock by the time Grandma Bramhall bounced us back down our dirt road. But even hearing “Glory Days” twice on the radio didn’t take the splinter out of my stomach.

  Grandma Bramhall told me to go on in and take some Maalox right away, that I was probably coming down with something, but I told her I was fine, just not hungry for dessert.

  “Grandma Bramhall?” I asked, looking over at her. “Can you come to my parent-teacher conference on Thursday?”

  “Thursday?” she repeated, her shake cranking up. “I wish you had asked me sooner. I have Bertha’s twenty-year widow party. Sorry, dearie.”

  I folded up that last bit of hope and put it away on the top shelf of my life. Grandma Bramhall smiled, then she jutted her cheek out for me to kiss it, so I did. “Bye,” she said after I shut the door. I waved and climbed the porch stairs.

  Inside, I made sure to shut the screen door quietly.

  Halfway up the stairs, I heard my dad and M in the bedroom.

  “Because Margie,” my dad said. “I told you why.”

  “Uch. It’s a closet,” she said, slamming a door.

  I stopped when I heard that.

  A screech of hangers pushed together. “What are you doings, Dennis?”

  “Take mine,” he said. “I’ll move everything into the guest room.” My dad walked out with a pile of clothes hanging over his arm and stopped when he saw me. “Hi,” he said, looking down at the clothes and then back up to me. “How was lunch?”

  “Good.”

  “Good,” he said. Then he turned into the guest room.

  I started climbing again and when I got to the top, he walked back out carrying an arm full of M’s clothes. “No one’s taking your mother’s closet, Apron. Don’t worry.”

  Later, during dinner, right when I was putting more salt on my peas and M was eating her seven hundredth baked potato, and my dad’s face was pressed up against the TV watching the Celtics, the phone rang.

  “Who the hell would be calling during the playoffs?” my dad asked. M and I shrugged, but not at each other, and my dad said, “You get it, Apron.” So I put the salt down and stood. It could have been a lot of people, even Grandma Bramhall calling to tell me she could come to the parent-teacher conference after all.

  But it was Mike.

  “Hey, Apron,” he said. I stretched the phone cord all the way out of the kitchen. “How’s it going?”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Thanks for your help yesterday. I don’t know what I would have done without you. That wedding was serious.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said, even though, really, Mike could have done all of it without me. I had spent most of the night sitting with Chad. “Is Chad better?”

  “Well,” Mike said. “You know.”

  I nodded.

  “Hey, listen, what can we do to pay you back?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh come on. Can’t we do anything for you? That’s twice you’ve saved us.”

  In the background, Chad yelled, “We can kick that Jennie Pratt’s butt for you. Maybe put a few worms in her locker?”

  “Who’s Jenny Pratt?” Mike asked both of us. Behind me in the kitchen, my dad yelled, “Way to go, Chief!” and banged the counter a few times.

  “Actually,” I smiled. “There is one thing I need.”

  “Ooh, there’s one thing!” Mike said to Chad. Then there was some shuffling.

  “Hi, exquisite human being,” Chad said, sharing the phone now.

  “Hi, Chad. Well, I know this is weird,” I squirmed. “But my dad is too busy with everything else these days, and M hates me, and my grandmother has a new boyfriend, and I don’t know anyone else old enough to ask. But the thing is,” I hesitated. “I need a parent.”

  Behind me in the kitchen, the crowd was going crazy and my dad was screaming, “Come on Bird Man, send them back to L.A.!” But on Mike’s end it went quiet.

  “Hello?” I said. “Mike?”

  “Listen, Apron,” Mike said seriously. “We’d love to. You’re great—”

  “Greater than great,” Chad said.

  “But we can’t,” Mike answered.

  I nodded to the wall. My heart was standing on its last leg around here.

  “No one is going to let us be parents, Apron. And even if they did, well, Chad’s really sick. We couldn’t be responsible for anyone else right now.”

  I shook my head. “Wait, I don’t mean a real parent. I just need one for my parent-teacher conference on Thursday. To go over my grades and stuff.”

  Neither of them said anything for a second. Then they both laughed.

  “I’m the mom,” Chad shrieked. “I’ll be the mom. Can I wear a dress? Please please please? Oh! Can I wear heels? I have an outfit that will be just perfect, now that I am a size 0. It’s to die for Apron, just fab.”

  “Hold it, Chad,” Mike said. “She just needs one parent.” Chad went silent. “And seriously, Apron, there has to be someone else you could ask. I’m not sure either of us would be able to fool your teacher.”

  “No. There’s no one else. But it’s okay. I’ll figure something out.”

  Mike paused. “Your dad really can’t be there?”

  “It’s his finals week.”

  “And you don’t think he’d have a problem with me showing up, instead?”

  “No. He hardly ev
er comes to my school.”

  There was another silence, then I heard Chad whisper, “Please? I’ll be good. I won’t even talk,” and Mike say, “Chad, this is serious. Okay? Come on.”

  Finally Mike said, “Well, I could be your Uncle? Is that close enough?”

  “Yes!” I said, because even though we did reports on our families at the beginning of the year there was no way Ms. Frane would remember that Uncle Hippie died in a motorcycle accident when I was two. “You can be my uncle who’s dead.”

  Mike didn’t say anything but Chad said, “Then I’ll be the aunt who’s dead! That’s perfect for me.” Mike said, “Hold on, Apron,” and covered the receiver. When Mike’s voice came back on, it was decided. “Okay, Apron. I’d be glad to be your uncle.”

  Chad groaned in the background, like Nutter used to when he had his rubber hamburger taken away. “Chad!” Mike scolded him, mad for real now. “Go back to your bed. Right now. Go. Go. All the way. Keep going. All right. Bye. Bye-bye.”

  Mike let out a heavy sigh. “Just tell me when and where, Apron.”

  “Mike,” I said. “Is Chad going to get better?”

  In the kitchen my dad yelled, “Foul! Blatant foul ball, Ref! Open your beady eyes.”

  “No,” Mike said finally, evenly. “He’s not. He’s not going to get any better.”

  “Then can Chad be my aunt?”

  Mike sighed. “You sure? What about your friends? He won’t make just any old aunt, you know.”

  “I don’t have any friends,” I told him.

  He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he said, “Well. He does look good in heels.”

  I laughed and so did he, but we both stopped at the same time because my dad started screaming in the background. “Air ball!” Then the TV turned up so loud the floor rattled. “Unbelievable. They did it. The Celtics are the 1985 World Champions!”

  “What’s going on back there?” Mike asked.

  “I think the Celtics just won the play-offs. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Good-bye, my gorgeous niece,” he said.

  And after we hung up, his words buzzed like an overtime air ball straight into me, too.

  Later that night, I slipped my free verse poem out of my backpack and stared at it for a long time, deciding. Then I took a pencil and wrote: by Apron Bramhall and Chad Weller.

  27

  Exsisto curiosus of quis vos opto.

  Be careful of what you wish for. (Johnny Berman)

  On Tuesday morning, with only two more days of seventh grade left, I made it all the way up the hill without getting off my bike once. No one was there to see it except me. Not even Mr. Solo, who probably biked to school early because of parent-teacher conferences.

  At the top, I raised both hands over my head like Bruce Jenner did when he won all those gold medals at the Olympics. And gliding down the other side, with my legs pounding and leftover sweat dripping into my underwear, I knew exactly how he felt: tired.

  Rennie’s parents were still talking to Ms. Frane when the bell rang, so the rest of us had to wait in the hall. Most of the boys started chasing each other and slamming into lockers, while most of us girls, and Paul Green, leaned up against the wall, one knee bent back, reading or pretending to. But Rennie and Jenny Pratt kept sneaking looks over at me and whispering. “Nice socks,” Jenny Pratt said, pointing at them. I looked down without wanting to and saw what she could: too much of my white socks showing. Somewhere along the way, I was getting taller and now my jeans were too short.

  Rennie and Jenny Pratt turned into each other to giggle some more, but I flipped through the pages in my Latin dictionary until I found it. “Asinus asinum fricat,” I said loud enough for them to hear, shaking my head sadly. Paul Green and Annie Potts looked at me. “Conceited people flatter each other about qualities they do not possess.” I had found this quote the other night and doggie-eared it. I knew it would come in handy sooner or later. Paul and Annie looked afraid for me, but Jenny Pratt scrunched her face into grandmother wrinkles and said, “You are such a loser.” Rennie nodded along but kept her mouth shut tight and her Bambi eyes blinking.

  Finally, Mr. and Mrs. Perry walked out waving thank-you to Ms. Frane with big smiles everywhere. Mrs. Perry said hi to Jenny Pratt, but Mr. Perry looked over at me. I lifted my dictionary up in front of my face and stayed like that until Ms. Frane said, “Come on in, class.”

  Just before I walked in, though, someone tugged on my arm. Johnny Berman. “Hey, Apron,” he said, looking kind of pale, but in a cute way. “Meet me by the swings after school?”

  The doorbell rang in my heart. I wished I’d brushed my teeth this morning. “Sure,” I said in a really high voice, like a squeak. Which might have sounded too eager, so I added, “I guess.”

  He nodded and walked into the room. I followed closely behind so everyone could see we were together. When we sat down in our seats, he didn’t look over at me. But my stomach was going to be stuck on tingle all day. Johnny Berman wanted to meet me at the swings. I glanced back at Rennie, pulling books out of her backpack. A few weeks ago I would have passed her a note with a billion exclamation points next to his name. But now I just turned around again and stared at the blackboard. Conferences today, it said in the corner.

  Last night when I gave Mike the directions to my classroom on the phone, he said, “Hey, wait a minute, you’ll have to start a little further back than the main entrance.” Turns out he wasn’t from Maine. He was from St. Pete, Florida.

  And yesterday, when Ms. Frane walked around collecting our free verse poems, she leaned down and said, “Apron, is your dad coming tomorrow?” I nodded and said, “Yes,” which was all part of the plan. Chad said everything would go smoothly as long as I played my part. He told me to “act perplexed when Uncle Mike and Aunt Chadalina arrive to fill in at the nth hour for your dad, who is stuck consoling a suicidal filly over a failing grade.” In the background Mike said, “Where did you come from Chad? Just have Apron tell the teacher he’s sick.”

  So when the bell rang for first recess at 10:10, I followed Chad’s plan. Johnny Berman took off right away, but I hung around the classroom until everyone else was gone, and then bugged my eyes out when Mike and Chad walked in, arm in arm.

  But the truth was, my jaw really did drop. They didn’t look like anybody’s parents that I knew. Right away, I wished I had just told Ms. Frane the truth: that my dad was too busy to come in and talk about me.

  But Mike had already asked Toby to open Scent Appeal for him, and Chad had gone to a lot of trouble just to get off the couch, so it was too late for me to back out now. I turned to Ms. Frane, trying to act as perplexed as I could. I had practiced in the mirror last night, staring at myself for so long that my forehead cramped. All I had to do was think about M and my face just naturally pinched together.

  Mike was wearing glasses and his hair was brushed back into a wet ponytail. He had on white pants and a blue tie and was holding a briefcase in one arm and Chad in the other. Only if you didn’t know it was Chad, you would never have believed it was him—or any other him. He was wearing a tight black dress and high heels, and a wig with bangs like Rennie’s hair only shinier. He wore bright blue eye shadow and bubblegum-pink lipstick. A thick white scarf hid the black spot around his neck, but the one on his cheek was still visible.

  “You must be Ms. Frane,” Mike said, putting his briefcase down. Chad looked over at me for a second, then blew me a kiss without even cracking a smile.

  “Yes,” Ms. Frane said, turning around from the blackboard, only half of it erased. We’d been going over the summer reading list. To Kill a Mockingbird was still there. “Can I help you?”

  Next to Chad, Ms. Frane looked just plain, plain. Her brown hair hung down her face like a flag with no wind in it, and her unpainted eyes looked like a sketch compared to the watercolor of Chad.

  “Indeed,” Mike said, sticking out his hand. “I am Mike Weller, Apron’s uncle, and this is my wife—”

/>   “Chad,” Chad said curtsying a little.

  “Chadalina,” Mike said. You could see why Mike got the lead in Jesus Christ Superstar. He could have said Chad was a chipmunk and people would have believed him. Ms. Frane looked at them a little crooked, but put down the eraser, rubbed her palms together, and shook both their hands.

  “Unfortunately, Dennis won’t be able to come this morning. He’s having a small emergency at his school, so he called to see if we could come meet you instead. He feels terrible about it,” Mike apologized.

  “I don’t see it as a problem,” Ms. Frane smiled. “Apron, is this all right with you?”

  All three of them turned to look at me. I felt bad for lying. Ms. Frane had even come to my mom’s funeral.

  “Um. Okay,” I shrugged. “Thanks, Uncle Mike and Aunt Chadalina.” Then I stood and walked straight out the door without saying another word. Mike winked at me, but I kept my face perfectly perplexed.

  Outside, Johnny Berman was playing soccer with his friends like he always did. Annie Potts walked over to me and said, “Who are those people? Are they movie stars?”

  I said, “Who?” just to make it seem like having a famous family was old news.

  “Those people, that came in to talk to Ms. Frane. Those movie star people.”

  “Oh them. My aunt and uncle. Yeah, they’re famous. They live in Hollywood, but they wanted to come to Maine and see what a regular school looks like. So my dad let them take his place for the conference.”

  “Wow,” Annie Potts said.

  Sherman Howl walked up to me next. “Hey, your aunt’s weird-looking.” I flicked another ant off my knee. “Well, she’s famous.” Which ended up being a good enough reason. I waited for Rennie and Jenny Pratt to chime in, but they didn’t. In fact, they weren’t even at recess. Annie Potts said they had been picked to help with the graduation decorating committee, and it hit me then: if Rennie had seen Mike, she would have remembered exactly who he was. I sighed so hard I almost fell over. Annie Potts said, “Are you sick?” But I smiled and said, “No, just perplexed.”

  After school, I got my bike and walked it down to the lower school swings. My stomach had already started to curdle and I didn’t want to risk sweating anywhere, especially on my lips. I wished I could have asked Chad what to do; I bet he’d kissed plenty of boys in seventh grade.