Change Places with Me (4 page)

Were Rose’s taste buds working overtime? Every meal was a feast, even the quick dinner of spinach-and-cheese ravioli Evelyn had made that night. “Mm, this is incredible,” Rose said. “Hey, let’s have a party this weekend.”

“What?” Evelyn looked tired, shadows under her dark-blue eyes. Hadn’t she been sleeping well? Rose slept like a rock as soon as her bedside lamp was off.

“For Halloween. With music—and a psychic. My friend Selena knows someone really good. Is that okay with you?”

“Um, sure.” Though it sounded like Evelyn had been about to ask her something but then had stopped herself.

“I had a really great day,” Rose said, as if that was what Evelyn had been thinking about. “Not even Mr. Slocum could ruin it. I helped him organize papers, and he barely spoke to me. What a stick-in-the-mud, as Dad used to say. Something else that came from his grandma Clara, I guess.”

“Mr. Slocum is the one who sent you down to Ms. Pratt’s office.”

Ms. Pratt—the school psychologist. Rose was supposed to check in with Ms. Pratt this Friday. “Mr. Slocum thinks I don’t listen in class. I tried to tell him that I do listen, but he cut me right off.”

“Maybe it’s best to let him be. He’ll speak to you when he’s ready.”

“But I want him to talk to me
now
.”

“Why?”

Because,
Rose told herself firmly,
Mr. Slocum is alone, and I can
help.
But she didn’t say this out loud. Instead she said, “That reminds me. I should go upstairs and check with Mrs. Moore, see if she’d mind a loud party down here.”

“But her dogs—”

“I love animals! I’m starting work at a vet’s office!”

“I know. If you get scared, you can always call me.”

Rose shook her head. Had Evelyn always been such a worrier?

Upstairs, Rose knocked on Mrs. Moore’s door and heard the dogs scuffling behind it. When the door opened, she was as happy to see them as they were to jump on her. They seemed to remember that she’d taken them to the dog run—or rather, that they’d pulled her there.

“Oh, my dear, come in!” Mrs. Moore said. Rose realized she’d never seen Mrs. Moore indoors and close up like this. Her skin looked thin, papery. She wore a flowery housedress
that zipped up the front, and she smelled like minty toothpaste. “How lovely to see you. Is that a new hairdo?”

“You like it?”

“You have such lovely blue eyes. I never knew.”

“Mrs. Moore, I’d like to have a party this Saturday night. It might get loud. If that’s a problem, I’ll cancel it.” Rose really hoped she wouldn’t have to.

“The benefits of old age—you get quite deaf,” said Mrs. Moore. “The noise won’t bother me at all. Would you like to come in and sit down?”

“I’d love to.”

Rose followed Mrs. Moore to the living room. The place had the same layout as Rose’s, but the unfamiliar furniture made it look entirely different. Mrs. Moore had wooden benches with cushions and tiny Persian rugs. Here the rugs were out of place, scattered to the corners, no doubt because of the dogs—who had gone to another room. “Probably to sit on my bed, where they’re not allowed,” Mrs. Moore said. “How nice, my dear, having you here.”

Rose was thinking the same thing. How important it was to be a good listener. For a moment she got lost in this thought, and when she tuned in again, she heard, “—you poor thing, so much sadness in your young life.”

“We all have sadness,” Rose said lightly. “But you can’t let it destroy you; you have to let it go. Grief is a balloon just waiting to be popped.”

“Oh? I can’t say I know what that means. I lost my husband,
too, so long ago. He was an artist. He did the painting behind you, of Belle Heights Bay.”

Rose swiveled around to see a swirly picture. Was that a sailboat? Was that lots of water? She couldn’t make it out. People used to swim in Belle Heights Bay, but it hadn’t been clean enough for that in decades. As a kid, she’d heard that if you put your feet in the water, your toenails would dissolve. Her dad always said that was an urban myth, that he’d gone swimming there—“And at last count, I had ten toenails! Though they all turned green.” She’d shrieked and insisted he show her he was only kidding. Unfortunately for her dad, she asked to see them again and again.

“That painting is really pretty,” Rose said.

“Some people find his work blurry. I have to admit, I’m one of them!”

Rose didn’t say she was one of them, too.

Mrs. Moore launched into several stories, including something about going to an eye doctor, to check on that blurriness. Rose’s attention wandered again. She thought about what she might wear to the Halloween party. She hadn’t gotten dressed up since she was a little kid, a ghost in an old sheet with holes cut out. “A classic costume that couldn’t be improved upon,” her dad had said, when she’d wanted to go to Party-A-Rama and buy something. Maybe she should go as a farmer—an inside joke with Nick? Rose was pulled back into the conversation when she heard Mrs. Moore say, “It’s a funny thing about memories. Why do we remember certain things and forget so much else?”

“Memory is a dog,” Rose said.

“What, dear?”

“Memory brings us things we don’t want and plops them in front of us, wagging its tail.”

“The things you say! Grief is a balloon. Memory is a dog.”

“Anyway,” Rose said, “thanks for being so understanding about Saturday night, and for telling me that story about your husband.”

“My niece, you mean.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I have other paintings—in the hall, in the bedroom. Would you like to see them?”

Poor Mrs. Moore was positively starved for company. This was what happened when you gave people a little taste of something they craved—they wanted more and more and more. In a small corner of her mind, she knew exactly what that felt like, to want something so desperately and have no idea how to get it—

“Toothache?” Mrs. Moore said.

“What?” Rose, unaware, had been rubbing her jaw.

“See a dentist, my dear. Make sure it’s not the roots.”

Rose stood. “About those paintings? One or two would be nice.” She didn’t want this visit to last forever, after all.

Rose went out for lunch with Selena and Astrid again on Thursday—who knew there was a Korean place in Belle Heights, tucked between a gas station and a parking lot near the expressway?

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Astrid said. “What’s with that ID pic on your phone?”

True, it wasn’t flattering. She’d had it taken at Kim’s apartment when they were experimenting with some stage makeup.

“Yeah,” Selena said. “It’s seriously disgusting.”

“I almost threw up when you called me and that thing came up,” Astrid said. “Delete it now.”

“I will. After we eat.” Rose didn’t want to interrupt things, not when she was ordering
sukuh chi gae
—seafood with vegetables in spicy broth. In Korean it sounded so sophisticated! Add that to adventurous.

“This party is gonna be so much fun,” Selena said. “I sent out
the insta-vites, and tons of kids are coming.”

“Did you invite Kim Garcia?” Rose asked.

“Her? You know that her father drives a tow truck,” Astrid said. “He shows up whenever a hydro-bus breaks down.”

“And the stuff she wears . . .” Selena left it at that.

It hadn’t occurred to Rose that Selena and Astrid wouldn’t start warming up to Kim. But Rose could do something about that, help bring them together; this party was a good first step. “I want Kim to come,” she said.

“Fine,” Selena said under her breath.

The food arrived. Rose wrapped her long fingers around the chopsticks, got the hang of them after a while, and imagined the three of them coming back here with Kim, and they’d do other stuff outside of school too, go to a movie, listen to music, or just hang out—a new group of best friends.

Selena and Astrid forgot to treat Rose but at least paid for themselves. Mostly.

After school it was time to get Mr. Slocum to talk to her. Rose had a friendly conversation planned in her head. “Mr. Slocum—” she began.

“Not now.” He spoke from behind his wraparound computer screen.

“When?”

He pointed to a pile of work on one of the student desks. Rose had to grade a surprise quiz from a morning class and do some filing.

Patiently, Rose waited. She graded the quizzes. She filed. Two hours went by and still Mr. Slocum said nothing. But why? Mrs. Moore had loved the attention, couldn’t get enough of it.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Rose said at the end of the afternoon, trying not to sound disappointed.

“That’s the arrangement.”

He never even looked at her.

On the way home, she brightened when she caught sight of a dog in a sweater. “It’s so great you put a sweater on him!” she told the owner, a guy on his phone, who didn’t really want to be interrupted. “That means you’re taking good care of him.”

During one of her free periods on Friday, Rose had to check in with Ms. Pratt, the school psychologist.

“Goodness,” Ms. Pratt said. “You look well.”

“I feel well.” Rose knew this office—the pale-blue walls; the indentation in the couch; the tall flowers, now a bit brown around the edges, held in a glass vase filled with water and stones; and Ms. Pratt herself, dark wavy hair, olive skin, always wearing muted colors like beige and taupe. It had never occurred to Rose before, but now she wondered if Ms. Pratt’s understated
style was her way of saying
The important thing in this room is
you.

“You were here while I was away,” Ms. Pratt said. “You spoke with Ms. Gruskin; I read her notes. You had a disagreement with Mr. Slocum?”

“I’m working on that. I’m doing my school service with him.”

“Really?” Ms. Pratt couldn’t hide her surprise. “Tell me
what’s been happening with you.”

“Well, I’m Rose now.”

“Rose?”

“Don’t you think it suits me?”

“I think it’s a wonderful name for you. I see you’ve changed your hair, your clothes—”

“You look different too.” Rose realized that Ms. Pratt had a kind of glow about her.

Ms. Pratt couldn’t hide a small smile. “Is it that obvious? Well, it’s not exactly a secret, why I was away. My wife and I went to a reservation in Arizona to adopt a baby.”

“That’s fantastic! Tell me about the baby.”

“We’re not here to talk about that.”

“Can I see a picture?”

“We only have a few minutes—”

Rose clasped Ms. Pratt’s hands. “Please?”

“Oh, all right.” Ms. Pratt had several pictures on her phone, actually. “That’s my wife, holding Ethan—she took an extended leave to take care of him.”

“She’s keeping him safe and sound.” Rose gazed at Ms. Pratt’s beautiful son.

“Now let’s get back to you and Mr. Slocum,” Ms. Pratt said.

“Today’s my last day of school service, and Mr. Slocum and I are going to have a nice, long talk. We’ll be peachy after that.”

“Peachy, huh?”

“My dad used to say that. Ask him, how are you, he’d say, peachy. I’d get mad and tell him, you can’t feel like a piece of
fruit! Anyway, why a peach? Why not an apple, or a tangerine?”

“I have a feeling you weren’t the easiest child.”

“Maybe so. But my dad never complained.” Rose leaned forward eagerly. “Ethan—what a great name. So what was he like on the plane ride home? Does he sleep through the night? I’d love to see him in person. Will you bring him to school?” Rose had more questions after that, and then the free period was over.

At the end of her final day of school service, Rose plunged right in. Last chance! “Mr. Slocum, why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

He glanced up from behind his computer. “Whatever for?”

“You think I don’t listen—”

“I don’t think it, Miss Hartel. I know it. Lately there’s been improvement, I’ll admit. But for all of September and most of October, you were off in la-la land.”

“Not true. I’m sorry it looked that way.”

“I had to send you to Ms. Pratt. Nothing personal,” he added.

Nothing personal? He’d singled her out in front of the whole class for a trip to the school psychologist. “I’m here now—you can talk to me.”

“Why should I want to talk to you now?”

Mr. Slocum wasn’t making this easy. “Well, you’re a science teacher. Maybe you could tell me about . . . Mount Vesuvius.” She wasn’t sure why she’d said that; she’d never thought much about volcanoes, but for some reason it was there in her mind.

Mr. Slocum glared at her; his big, round, shiny head turned
purple. “I wasn’t an eyewitness to the destruction of Pompeii, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Of course not!”

“Miss Hartel, you need six hours of school service. That’s the tenth-grade requirement, unless I’m such an old ruin I’m remembering it wrong.”

Rose was afraid she might trigger another eruption here in the lab, but she pushed on. “Maybe you can tell me where you were born, why you became a teacher, that kind of thing?”

He looked at her intently. “You’re quite full of yourself.”

“Not true! I’m modest!”

“Don’t sound so proud of it.”

Maybe Rose should leave it alone, as Evelyn had suggested. Clearly Mr. Slocum wanted nothing to do with her. Still, it was important to try to get through, reach out to the humanity within. The best thing was probably to be direct. “You must be very lonely,” she said.

But Mr. Slocum looked at her as if she was the one to be pitied.

That night Rose and Evelyn went to work transforming the apartment. Selena had suggested battery-operated dancing skeletons and glow-in-the-dark pumpkins from Party-A-Rama. Rose had thought they could go shopping together, but Selena said, “Sorry, no time!”

Evelyn was hanging a disco ball from the ceiling light. At lunch Astrid had said disco balls add atmosphere; they’d gone
to a Caribbean place. Rose made a point of telling them that next time they really had to bring more cash.

“Did you call the psychic?” Rose asked.

“I did,” Evelyn replied.

“I want to pay for her. Now that I have a job, I think that’s only right.” Evelyn really ought to get some sleep, Rose thought. Those bags under her eyes—she looked almost bruised. Evelyn was still relatively young and undeniably beautiful, and to look older and beaten up was just wrong. “The music—I wonder what kids listen to these days. Wow, I sound a hundred. Now that would be funny—that I could be an old lady at fifteen!” She started to laugh but for just a moment remembered how she had once felt old and bruised and—

She shivered, chilled to the core.

“Rose?” Evelyn said.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sure a stream will be fine. For the music.”

Rose looked around, noticed the festive decorations, and snapped back cheerfully into pre-party mode. “Selena wants a DJ.”

“Selena can hire one, then.”

Rose was still wondering about Evelyn. Why hadn’t she ever remarried? She never even dated. A couple of years before, a man from her real estate office called for a while. But Evelyn never went out with him, and the calls stopped. “Do you think you’ll ever get married again?” Rose asked.

“What? No,” Evelyn said. “I’ve been married.”

“What about being in love?”

“I’ve been in love.”

“You make it sound like a driver’s test. You take it once and if you pass, you never have to take it again.”

“I . . . didn’t think I was capable of the depth of feeling I had for your dad. It’s highly unlikely I’ll feel that way again. And I don’t think I want to.” Evelyn untangled a skeleton, pushed a button, and watched it float around the room, slowly jiggling its arms and legs. “Not exactly dancing, is it?”

“Why wouldn’t you want to?”

Evelyn sighed. “Let’s just say my parents didn’t set the best example.”

Rose got distracted. The blue chair, her dad’s favorite place to sit and watch baseball, had been moved. But she and Evelyn hadn’t touched the furniture while getting ready for the party.

When Rose caught up with what Evelyn was saying, it was something about being in a house with a storm raging outside and her mother standing at the window, insisting it was a beautiful day.

“But that was nice of her,” Rose said. “Maybe it was a beautiful day and you just hadn’t noticed. That happened to me when I woke up on Sunday—it was so beautiful out. I’m so glad I noticed it.” She didn’t mention the red light, so obtrusive again the past couple of mornings, like the wrong kind of alarm clock.

“That’s not what I meant—”

“Did you move the blue chair?”

“What?” Evelyn glanced at the blue chair. “I was reading.
The light from outside was bothering me.”

“It left a dent in the rug. See? It’s saying, ‘I was here, don’t forget I was here.’ It’s saying it as loudly as if it could actually talk. It wants to be put back where it belongs.”

Evelyn looked down at the spot. The skeleton swooped between them. “Rose, are you happy?”

“Yes, very,” Rose replied without hesitation.

“It’s what I’ve always wanted for you.”

Rose tucked her hair behind one ear, a move that had already become almost unconscious. “Then you got what you always wanted. Now you, your turn. Are you happy?”

Evelyn looked at her carefully. “Yes and no.”

“Meaning—?”

“Meaning, I am if you are.”

But Rose had just said she was.