Mia a Matter of Taste (5 page)

O
n Friday I had to go back to Dr. Payne's to get a mold made of my mouth. My dad was away on a business trip, so there was no decision yet about what kind of braces I was getting. When he called to see how the visit went, he said, “We'll discuss it when I get back, honey.” Sometimes I just wish Mom or Dad would make a decision without the other. Anyway, Mom said that since we definitely decided I needed braces, I should get the mold made.

Mom had to work, so Eddie took me. Getting the mold didn't hurt or anything, but it was still pretty horrible. I had to stick my teeth into this disgusting cement stuff that tasted like minty putty. Gross! And I had to do it twice—once for my top
teeth, and once for my bottom teeth. When I was done, I rinsed my mouth a million times, but I could still taste the cement.

Luckily, Eddie didn't make any jokes. He stopped and got me a smoothie, so I could try to get the taste out of my mouth, and it helped a little.

Thankfully, the next few days were normal. Nothing exciting happened except for a pop quiz in my science class on Monday. Oh, and Chris Howard talked to me a couple of times in social studies, which was kind of nice. I was hoping maybe things would get back to normal between us.

But then things got weird again on Tuesday, in Mr. K.'s math class. Instead of working in our books like we had been doing, he'd written more equations on the board. I found myself squinting again, but I didn't say anything this time, because I didn't want him to move my seat.

When class started, Mr. K. began talking about equivalent fractions and calling on people in the class. I slumped down in my seat, hoping he wouldn't notice me. But of course he called on me.

“Mia? Can you tell me if these two fractions are equivalent?”

I did my best to squint, but I really couldn't make out the numbers. Instead of giving the wrong
answer again, I was just honest. “I can't read the numbers,” I said.

A flicker of recognition crossed Mr. K.'s face. “Right! I meant to follow up on this. Randall, please switch places with Mia again. And, Mia, please come talk to me after class.”

I moved my seat, and I could see a lot better. I answered the question correctly, and the rest of the class went smoothly. When the bell rang, Katie gave me a sad wave good-bye as she left the room.

I slowly approached Mr. K.'s desk.

“So, Mia, it seems like you're having trouble seeing the board,” he said. “Have you been having trouble seeing things far away?”

I hadn't really thought about it until he asked me. But then I remembered that day at the movies with Katie. And how I had mistaken Eddie Rossi for Chris Howard.

“Well, yeah, sometimes,” I admitted.

Mr. K. nodded and tapped the wire frame of his eyeglasses. “I was about your age when I got these. It happened the same way. I couldn't see anything written on the blackboard. I kept striking out in baseball. I'm going to shoot your mom an e-mail, recommending that you go see an eye doctor.”

Oh great! Another doctor!
I thought. Not only
that, but Mr. K. was suggesting I needed glasses. Glasses! It was too cruel to be true. How could I need glasses and braces at the same time?

I didn't want Mr. K. to see that I was upset.

“Okay. Thanks,” I said quietly, and then I quickly left the classroom.

A few periods later, at lunch, Katie and I sat down and opened up our lunch bags. Mom had packed me a container of spicy Japanese noodles, one of my favorite lunches. I could tell she was feeling bad for me about the braces.

Wait till she hears about the glasses,
I thought.
She'll have to send a personal sushi chef to school with me to make me feel better.

Alexis and Emma sat down with their hot lunch trays, and that's when Katie asked me, “So, what did Mr. K. want to talk to you about?”

I put down my chopsticks, frowning. “He thinks I need glasses,” I said. “Can you believe it? Glasses
and
braces? I might as well forget about my social life.”

“First of all,
we're
your social life, and we don't care what you look like,” Alexis said. “Second of all, you might be panicking for nothing. Whatever happened to the clear braces?”

“Mom's going to talk to Dad about it when
he drops me off this weekend,” I said. “But I don't know what he's going to say.”

“Don't leave it up to her,” Alexis advised. “You need to work on him. Present your case.”

“How?” I asked.

“I'm thinking a PowerPoint presentation,” she said. “I can help. Maybe Thursday after school?”

“Oh, definitely,” I said gratefully. “Thanks!”

Knowing I had Alexis backing me up on the clear braces made me feel a little better. But that night at dinner, everything fell apart again.

“So, I got an e-mail from Mr. K.,” Mom said as we sat around the table eating salmon and broccoli. Dan was at track practice, so it was just Mom and Eddie and me.

“Yeah, I know,” I said.

“I've made an appointment with an eye doctor for Monday,” Mom told me. She glanced at Eddie. “I'm just surprised I had to hear this from a teacher. Why didn't you tell us you were having trouble seeing the board?”

I honestly didn't know how to answer that. “I don't know. It didn't seem like a big deal.”

“It's definitely a big deal, Mia,” Mom said. “Your eyesight is very important.”

“So how far away can you see?” Eddie asked. He
was sitting across the table from me, and he held up a piece of broccoli. “Can you see this? Is it blurry?”

“Of course I can see it,” I snapped.

“Mia, watch your tone,” Mom warned.

I sighed. “Sorry,” I said, and then I finished my dinner without talking much at all.

But Eddie was still on my case after we finished. I was in the dining room, doing homework, when he appeared in the doorway holding a piece of paper with some letters written on it.

“Can you read these?” he asked.

“Yes!” I said, not looking up from my homework.

“How about from here?” he asked, stepping back into the kitchen.

I was frustrated now. “Are you seriously doing this?”

Mom appeared and placed her hand on Eddie's arm. “Let's leave this up to the eye doctor, okay?”

Eddie nodded. “Sorry, Mia. I'm just worried about you. That's all.”

“Don't worry about me,” I snapped. “I'm just fine.”

But of course I wasn't! I wasn't fine at all.

I
was glad when the weekend came and I could get away to Manhattan and to my dad. He met me at the train like usual, and that night he surprised me by taking me to see a Broadway show. We had a quick dinner of burgers at a diner first, so we didn't do our usual sushi-restaurant thing we do on Friday nights. I didn't mind, because the show was good, and I had a fun night—with just Dad and me.

The next morning I got my homework done, and then Dad and I went to Greenwich Village to go shopping, and we had lunch at this little restaurant that Dad says has the best sandwiches. As soon as we sat down, I decided to give him my pitch about clear braces. Alexis had prepared a whole
computer presentation for me, but I thought Dad would respond better if I made the plea without it. So I had memorized it on the train ride.

“So, as you know, I need braces,” I said. “And I am suggesting I get the clear ones instead of the traditional metal ones. Yes, the clear ones are a little more expensive, but I can tell you why they are a better choice for me in the long run.”

“Oh, you can?” Dad asked. He looked amused.

“Yes, I can,” I said. “The first reason is comfort and safety. Metal braces have wires that can injure your lips and tongue. Second is hygiene. Metal braces can cause tooth decay, because it is difficult to brush and floss around them. But clear braces can be removed for cleaning.”

Dad nodded. “Those are good reasons,” he said.

“And, finally, the issue at hand is
my
well-being,” I went on, trying to remember what Alexis had written. “Middle school and high school are pivotal years for young women. I need self-confidence, and having the clear braces would enhance my well-being.”

Dad smiled, and he looked like he was trying not to laugh. “Well, as your dad, I certainly want your well-being to be enhanced,” he said. “Is that all?”

“Yes,” I said. “I hope you'll take these things into consideration.”

“Well, you've given me a lot to think about,” he said, still smiling. “I have to discuss this with Mom tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” I said, but I could tell he looked impressed.

Then the server came by to take our order.

“Do you need another minute?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” Dad said, and the waiter nodded and then walked away. Dad gestured to me. “Mia, you should check out the specials board. They always have great stuff there.”

He pointed to a chalkboard across the room. I felt like I was right back in Mr. K.'s class. The letters all looked blurry and squiggly.

“Um, I can't really read it,” I admitted.

Dad looked alarmed. “What do you mean?”

“Didn't Mom tell you?” I asked. “I might need glasses, too. At least my teacher thinks so.”

Dad shook his head. “
Ay, mija
, braces
and
glasses? My poor girl.” He took out his cell phone. “Let me text your mom about this. Is she taking you to the eye doctor?”

I nodded. “Monday.”

“Good,” Dad said.

And then we ate the rest of our meal without talking about braces or glasses, which was nice. My sandwich had cheese and avocado and sprouts on it, and a yummy sauce.

When we were finished eating, Dad looked at his watch. “Great! We'll be just in time for Ethan's play.”

I thought I must have heard wrong. “What do you mean ‘Ethan's play'?”

“Oh, didn't I tell you?” Dad asked. “Ethan goes to a drama program after school, and they're putting on a little play today. We're meeting Lynne there at two o'clock.”

“No, you did not tell me,” I insisted. Dad had a habit of doing that lately—not telling me we were doing something with Lynne and Ethan until just before. I think he was worried I would talk him out of it or find some way to back out. He would not be totally wrong.

“Well, anyway, we're going,” he said. “Doesn't it sound like fun?”

“A play starring five-year-olds,” I said flatly. “Sounds fabulous. What's it called?”

“I think it's something like
The Little Red Hen
,” Dad answered.

“Wow. Didn't that win the Tony Award last
year for Best Play?” I said sarcastically.

“Very funny, Mia,” Dad said. “Now I trust you'll be nice today. I know
I
would be sweet as a cupcake if I wanted my dad to get me expensive clear braces.”

“Okay, okay!” I said quickly. I took his hand. “Let's go see the play!”

We walked a few blocks to Ethan's school and then followed the signs down the stairs, which led to an auditorium-like space in the basement. Lynne was in one of the last rows of folding chairs, waving to us.

We walked up, and Dad gave her a big hug. “Thanks for saving us seats,” he said, sitting next to Lynne. I got a seat between Dad and the aisle.

“Hi, Mia,” Lynne said. “Thanks for coming.”

“You're welcome,” I said in my most polite voice.

Lynne had her light brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore a green long-sleeved sweater over a powder-blue tank top and some sort of puffy, gray, cotton pants. She looked casual but put together. She's not superstylish, like my mom, but not many people are.

Lynne leaned over Dad and asked me some questions about school and stuff, but pretty soon a
woman wearing red overalls and bright blue sneakers came out and introduced the play.

“Our drama students have worked very hard on this, and we're all so proud of them,” she said. “And now I present to you
The Little Red Hen
.”

The play was kind of cute, I guess. One girl played the little red hen, who wanted to bake bread, but none of the farm animals would help her. In the end, she made it herself and then of course all the animals wanted some.

Ethan played a cow. He looked pretty cute in his costume, but I couldn't really make it out too well because we were sitting kind of far from the stage.

Then, during one part of the play, the animals were standing around while the kid playing the pig talked to the little red hen. I heard some people chuckle, and then Lynne gasped.

“Oh no!” she hissed.

I squinted at the stage, but I didn't see anything unusual going on.

“Dad, what's going on?” I whispered.

“It's Ethan,” Dad replied. “He's got his finger right up his nose.”