My Life in Dioramas (13 page)

At dance class
that afternoon, we went right back to learning the routine and I liked how it all was coming together so fast. What I didn't like was how Stella kept drifting off to a corner during breaks and doing
other
steps while staring at herself in the mirror. I imagined they were from her solo and I had to admit I was sort of mad about it.

“You're distracting everybody,” I said at one point.

“I am not,” she said.

“Fine. Whatever.”

I wasn't lying. I was so distracted by the fact that she
was working on her solo during troupe that I kept missing steps and once I even bumped right into Madison.

“Am I the only one who sees what she's doing?” I asked Madison, who shrugged and said, “It's annoying but whatever.”

During a quick water break, Miss Emma said, “I'm hearing a lot of side chatter, ladies. What's going on?”

I said, “Stella's distracting everyone by sneaking off to practice her solo.”

Stella huffed. “Kate might be moving. And I thought you should know. So you don't have to redo the whole troupe routine if it happens.”

Miss Emma looked at me, her eyes losing some of their sheen. Then she turned to the group and said, “Take it from the top. Excuse us for a minute.”

She ushered me into the changing room. “Kate? Is it true?”

And there was something in her tone of voice, something in the sad concern in her eyes that just got to me.

I burst into tears.

“Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to.” She pulled me into a hug with her long, slender arms. “It'll be okay. Tell me what's going on.”

“They put the house up for sale, it's true. I mean, who knows how long it'll take but yeah. I don't even know if I'll be here three weeks from now let alone in the lead-up to the competition.”

“But they let you sign up, right?”

I nodded.

I was a horrible person.

“This is what we're going to do.” Miss Emma pulled out of the hug and held me by the shoulders. “Let's just keep on keeping on with the rehearsals, and we'll see what happens. Sometimes these things take a while. They wouldn't have let you sign up otherwise! But you really do have to promise to keep me updated. What do you say? Stay focused? Hope for the best?”

It sounded so simple.

Hope for the best!

“Okay.” I nodded.

We went back to dancing. The song was just hitting the second chorus so I fell into line and nailed a knee-spin move like I'd never nailed it before.

Stella and I didn't speak
to each other—only to my mother—on the way home, but I don't think my mom even noticed.

At home I went straight down to the arts room and gathered up the Barbie dolls and threw them out. I hadn't even wanted the dolls—only the clothes—so it was sort of a pointless gesture but somehow it felt good anyway.

There was a text from Stella on my phone.

Are you mad at me?

I lay there on my bed for a while, thinking about how much
my life
stank and how awesome Stella's life was.

Solo!

Karaoke thirteenth birthday!

Horse camp!

She had to
ask
?

It felt good, in a way, that Miss Emma knew. But I didn't feel like letting Stella off the hook. Sometimes I felt like that was all anybody ever did with Stella. Me included.

It hadn't been up to her to tell!

I wrote back:

Yes.

Then wrote a follow-up that said:

Yes, I am.

I figured that would be the end of it, but then maybe ten minutes later my phone buzzed. Her text said:

Fine. Whatever. I am, too.

17.

Megan was in my seat
on the bus the next morning. But some guardian angel must have been looking down on me because the seat beside Naveen was empty. Lou must have been home sick. I slid in next to Naveen, hoping no one would really notice.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” he said. “Everything okay? Because this is an extreme breach of bus protocol.”

“Stella told our dance instructor that I might be moving.”

“So you're mad at her.”

“Very. I mean, now everyone at dance class knows.”

Naveen sighed. “I hate to be the one to point this out, but there is a
FOR SALE
sign in front of Big Red. It's not exactly a secret.”

Of course that was true. I knew Megan had seen it. We just didn't live on a particularly busy street, so I still figured not that many people knew.

“Anyway, even if people know you're moving,” Naveen said, “they don't know
why
. If that's what you're worried about.”

I nodded. “You always know how to make me feel better.”

“Speaking of which, I have materials for you.”

I tilted my head. “Dead rodent? Rotting food?”

He shook his head. “For your
dioramas
, Kate.”

“Ohhhh,” I said.

“I can drop it off later at Big Red?”

“Awesome.”

It was easier to avoid
Stella all day than I'd imagined and she wasn't on the bus on the way home. I figured her mom was picking her up to take her to a private session with Miss Emma. Lou, however, was on the bus. So maybe he'd just missed it this morning. I slid into my usual seat alone and was as surprised as anybody when Megan slid into the seat next to me and locked eyes with me.

“What?” I said. She looked like she had something on her mind.

“I heard your parents are selling the house because they're basically broke.”

I must have turned as red as Big Red. “Stella told you that?”

“No.” Megan shrugged a shoulder. “I heard my parents talking.”

I wasn't sure which was worse, Stella having told her or us being the talk of the town. I said, “Next time tell them it's none of their business.”

“It's what they do.”

“What? Gossip?”

She rolled her eyes. “They're in real estate.”

“Well, good for them.”

I pushed past her and got off at Big Red, wanting to kick the
FOR SALE
sign, or maybe throw it into the woods.

I dropped my backpack on the kitchen table and said hi to my dad, who had headphones on at the desk in the loft and told me Mom was out running errands.

“Naveen's dropping by with some stuff for me,” I said, and he gave me a thumbs-up.

I went back out to the porch and imagined the bus stopping at Naveen's, and him getting off, and going inside to say hi to his mom, then grabbing a box or bag or filling up his backpack. I sat on one of the chairs on the front porch—which was
not
a rocking chair of yesteryear—and counted cars while I waited for him. I thought maybe eight cars would pass by before he arrived.

His bike came tearing into the driveway after the sixth car passed.

“So whatcha got?” I stood up.

“Lots of good stuff.” He had a shopping bag dangling from his handlebars. “At least I think it's good stuff. Take a look.”

He held the bag out and we sat on the front porch looking through random pieces of colored foam and fabric and foils and notecards and ribbons and wrapping paper and more. “This is
great
stuff,” I said. “Where did you get it?”

“My mom did a big purge of the garage a few days ago but the trash hadn't been collected, so I raided her bags last night.”

“Thanks so much, Naveen.” There was a small wire pine tree, a tiny disco ball.

“Oh.” He reached for the bag as I started putting stuff back in. “This is the best part.”

He peered in and moved stuff around and came out with a piece of plastic shaped like a rounded bathtub.

“You've got to be kidding me,” I said. “What is it? I mean, what was it?”

“I think it came on a butter dish or something? Part of the packaging?”

“It's perfect.” I studied its clear curves. “I'll cover it in masking tape and build the shower rod out of wire, and look!” I dug through the bag and pulled out a square piece of fabric.

“Shower curtain!” Naveen said.

“Exactly! Then I just need to figure out the feet.”

Naveen headed toward his bike. “Anyway, I've got to go. I'm behind on homework.”

I laughed. “It's
Friday
, Naveen.”

“I know, I know. But I don't want to have to do it this weekend.” He pushed his bike up toward the road. “Good luck this weekend. With everything!”

“Thanks!”

He took off down the road and I sat there for a while, counting more cars. Wondering where my mom was, which car number would be hers. After eight more cars passed and she still wasn't home I went to the kitchen and found the ivory-colored masking tape in the junk drawer.

It seemed silly at first to be making a diorama of myself in a bathtub, but after a while it didn't feel that way at all.

18.

On Saturday morning, when no one
was paying attention, I got a few snack-size Ziplocs out of the pantry and shoved them in my jeans pocket. Then, during another free moment when my mom was in the shower and my dad was in their room sweeping up flies, I took a fork and steak knife out of the cutlery drawer and went out to the composting bin and started slicing up my stink. I'd brought down a handkerchief to tie around my face, and it at least stifled the smell of the chicken zombie rot enough that I didn't feel like I was going to throw up.

I put small pieces of totally gross rotting chicken in each of three bags, then threw the rest into the woods and washed the container out in the stream with apologies to Mother Nature. I'd have to get the bags up into position at
the last possible moment and somehow retrieve them after the open house so the house didn't stink all night. It wasn't going to be easy. I had to stay on my toes, looking for any and all opportunities. For the time being, I put the snack bags under a piece of wood in the woodpile under the back porch.

“Where are we even going today?” I asked my mother in the kitchen.

“Horseback riding,” she said. “Long pants and boots. And bring a hat.”

Excellent.