Notes to Self (13 page)

I deciding this was getting boring, so I opened my mouth. “Why? Why bother?”

“Well, you’d avoid failing fifth grade, for one.” She paused, waiting for me to say something. “Tell me why you’ve decided not to do your work, Robin. Did something happen?”

I looked at her for several long moments. There was zero reason to trust this person, with her curly black hair and long eyelashes. She looked like she had definitely gotten good grades all through school. She probably thought that grades were, like, the meaning of life. Her clothes were new and she leaned forward a little bit, like she couldn’t wait to see what the next words out of my mouth would be. All those straight-A’s, and here she was, stuck in a room with an eleven-year-old with ghoulishly streaked fingernails.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.”

“Let’s just say for a minute that I send you back to class, you continue to stare off into space or whatever it is you’ve been doing in there, and you fail fifth grade. Then what? What do you think happens then?”

“I don’t know.” There wasn’t any more polish left on my fingernails. I looked down at the little flecks of it stuck to the carpet. I wondered if the janitor would notice.

“I will tell you. You’ll have to complete summer school classes so you can join your classmates in the fall. Is that something you’d enjoy?” She sat back in her seat.

I thought about the small apartment I shared with Mom. How it didn’t have air conditioning, not even a crappy window unit, because ours was broken and she’d never gotten it fixed. How she cried a lot since Dad stopped calling from the road. How I didn’t cry at all, ever. How I saw things other people didn’t see, like the way adults always pretended they had things under control or knew exactly what they were doing when they really didn’t.

Summer school didn’t seem so bad. Ms. Mendoza’s tactics weren’t having the effect she intended.

“Maybe,” I said.

This surprised her. “You’d enjoy summer school? Really?”

I refused to answer her. Even though I wanted someone to fix what was wrong with my family (and our air conditioner), this curly-haired lady wasn’t going to be that someone. She turned away from me to shuffle through some papers on her desk. She found what she was looking for and turned back, handing me something. It was a brochure. On the cover was a picture of some kids looking at a tidal pool, with a bunch of rocks behind them. One of the kids had a glass test tube.

“This is a six-week program called Summer Science Institute, for gifted and talented students interested in biology,” she explained. I rolled my eyes.

I made a noise that was something like, “So?” But I opened the brochure. The program took place at the University of Miami. For part of the six weeks, kids got to collect specimens near the ocean. It looked like the camp was mostly about marine biology. There were more pictures inside. Students were on boats and looking at computer screens. I swallowed. Ms. Mendoza noticed. I was starting to really dislike her.

“There is no cost to participate in this Institute,” she said. “One hundred students are selected from around the state of Florida each summer. Room and board are provided, as well as books and supplies. Based on your test scores, I think you’d be an excellent fit. When you write your essay, you could mention winning the school-wide geography bee last year. That was very impressive.”

“What essay?”

“Those who want to get in—it’s very competitive, Robin—have to write a three-page essay about why they’d like to participate.”

“No way,” I said. “Besides, I couldn’t leave my mom alone for that long.”

“Why’s that?” Ms. Mendoza narrowed her eyes.

“She’d miss me,” I said lamely. My mom and I, we were two. Two only. One of us couldn’t leave. You couldn’t get by with just one.

“I bet she’d be very proud,” Ms. Mendoza countered. “It’s an amazing opportunity. A much better fit for you, I think, than summer school here.”

She didn’t have to say it, but I heard it in her tone.
You don’t belong here.
Just because I was good at taking multiple choice tests, teachers got all excited. What if I was just as dumb as everyone else, really? Why was this lady so convinced I wasn’t a loser?
I
wasn’t convinced.

“Of course, none of this is an option until you make up all the work you’ve missed.” She turned away from me again. This time, she grabbed a folder from her desk. It was huge, bulging with papers. “This is a collection of assignments and work sheets. I collected them from all of your teachers. You have three weeks to finish it all. After that, there’s another week before the essay deadline. I’d be happy to read your draft before we send it in. What do you say?”

I glared at her. I was supremely pissed off that she’d collected all of my missed assignments. What right did she have to butt into my life and then sit there looking all pleased with herself, like some sort of demented Cheshire Cat?

“I’ll think about it,” I said.

I hadn’t gone to that camp. I knew that. But instead of the memory feeling like a little detail from my life that didn’t matter, thinking about that talk with Ms. Mendoza made me want to bawl. I wanted to go to Science Camp and now it was too late. It had been a long time since I really cared about anything like that, and now I did. I wanted to go back in time.

And I wanted Reno to like me again. But it was too late.

I wished my eyes had little WATER OFF switches. I was going to have to put Vaseline on them, they were so red and puffy and sore from all my tears.

CHAPTER 33

ROAD TRIP

I returned to school and sat by myself at lunch. Obviously. I had packed my own lunch the night before night but forgotten to check it before I left the house. When I opened my bag (brown paper, plain—anything else was a crime in my school), I saw a sandwich (whew), an apple (not bad), and Mom’s calculator (what?). At least two out of the three were edible. I pulled my sandwich out and opened my mouth. I realized it was still in its Ziploc a moment too late. I don’t recommend biting into a Ziploc bag. Someone will notice.

“You have to take the sandwich out of the bag first, Short Bus!”

The sad thing is, I responded to this. I actually turned around in my chair and tried to figure out who was calling to me. Josie Palomino grinned at me and nodded.
“How do you like that?”
she asked me with her eyes.

Not a whole lot, Josie. Thanks.
For the first time, I thought about faking, about pretending my injuries were worse than they actually were so I could stop going to school completely. Could I convince Dr. Kline? I thought I could, and probably pretty easily, but the more important question was whether I’d be able to live with myself if I did.

I had to stay here. I had to absorb all of this. Everyone missed Emily; they all felt it just like I did, but they didn’t cry or share memories with each other like you would if a person had died. She was in limbo and so was everyone else, waiting for her to come back, or not.

Allison Miers caught my eye then, and I saw something in her face I hadn’t seen in anyone else’s since I’d been back: gratitude. She was the one they used to pick on. And now she got a break, because I was so much more interesting. I nodded at her and felt the tiniest bit better. My existence was making life better for one other person, even if it was just Ally Miers, who didn’t wash her hair and couldn’t talk to you without asking nine questions. Maybe it was only fair to take a turn in front of the firing range.

I thought about how my mom was always saying that the world would be a better place if everyone had to be a waitress at least once in their lives. How everyone would learn really quickly that it’s nearly impossible to have an entire night go well, because the kitchen always slowed down or made a mistake and the tables had only their waiter to blame. Some customers didn’t tip, or they said mean things, even when the screw-up or the extra wait had nothing to do with the person who took their order. Mom believes that if everyone did her job, even for a few weeks, they’d never be cruel or impatient to a waiter again because they’d understand how tough it could be.

Right now, I’m the waitress. The kitchen has made a massive mistake, and every table in here hates me. The only way I can fix this is to fix Emily.

That afternoon, I had to do something. Something my mother would never approve of and something I couldn’t do on my own. I had to find my dad. My mom claimed she couldn’t reach him, that his cell phone number was disconnected, but I knew he wasn’t that far. The last communication I’d had from him was a postcard from a restaurant less than two hours away in New Smyrna, a beach on the Atlantic coast just east and north of Kissimmee. He was working there, saving some money until a new “opportunity” came up.

The postcard showed a picture of a bar with a swimming pool on its deck, and it said WELCOME TO PARADISE. If paradise was only ninety miles away, I had to go, right?

My mom was at work, so I left her a note designed to not give her heart failure. I knew the only thing she worried about more than my head was my future, so I told her I’d be at Reno’s all night preparing an entry for a state-wide computer science competition. She would be all excited that I was finally applying myself and possibly about to become the next Mark Zuckerburg. I didn’t even think there
was
a state-wide computer science competition for high school kids right now, but I knew she’d be too tired from work to log on and check when she got the note. If she ever asked about it, I could just say we were eliminated in the prelims because our programming was buggy. I called Reno and asked him to pick me up. Thank God he was free and his dad let him have the Jeep.

“We’re road tripping,” I announced when I got into the front seat.

“Excuse me?” Reno put the vehicle back into park and stared at me. “I like your dress.”

“Thank you. Not that far. Three hours round trip, not even. We’ll be back in time for Jon Stewart, I promise.” I smoothed out my sundress, which was bright yellow. I’d never worn it before and I felt strange in it, but if I was going to go through with this whole father-daughter reunion crap, I wanted to look nice. Pretty, even.

“I’m not supposed to use the SunPass,” Reno said. I could tell he was annoyed with me but intrigued.

“That’s no problem. We can take I-4 most of the way. I need to go to New Smyrna Beach. I want to see my dad.”

Reno let out a low whistle. He took his foot off the brake. It could go either way now. I turned to him, my eyes full of pleading.

“Robin…I don’t know if this is such a good idea. When was the last time you talked to him?” He cracked open a bottled water and took a long swallow, and then offered it to me. I shook my head. I have the world’s smallest bladder and I couldn’t demand a stop in Sanford if I really wanted us there and back before eleven.

“It’s been a long time. I just…need to know how he is. I don’t want to call. It’s not that far.” I could hear the begging in my voice, but I allowed it. This had to happen. It had to happen now. I needed to know if my dad cared that I’d been hurt. If he did, maybe things between us could be better somehow. If he didn’t, well, at least I would know for sure where I stood.

“You’re right, it’s not, but with traffic…and how do you know if he’s even
there
for sure?” Reno tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Stop being so reasonable! Don’t you get tired of considering every action seventeen times, from thirteen angles, before you take it? Don’t you ever just want to
drive?
It’s the ocean, Reno. Just go.”

He stared at me, fully knowing I was manipulating him, pushing the biggest button I knew how to push, the one that said:
I’ve always acted like an adult in a kid’s body and I know that’s weird and I can’t help it but please don’t call me out for being lame because you know it’s kind of nice, actually, to have someone around with sense.
“Fine,” he finally said. He looked straight ahead, pissed at me. I could take that. We were going.

“Thank you,” I replied, and turned back to the windshield.

We were silent until the Kirkman exit, which was only eleven miles north of Kissimmee but equaled thirty-five minutes in I-4 time. There was, of course, an accident backing up traffic. It was in the south-bound lane, I could see the lights, but it didn’t matter. People slowed down for any and all reasons. I checked my purse to make sure I had enough cash in case we needed to buy gas. I didn’t have a credit card yet. I wondered if Reno did. I bet he did. For emergencies.

Finally, he turned up the radio. John Mayer was singing. Reno made a disgusted sound and turned it off. I couldn’t help it; it made me laugh. Then he laughed too, and the ice was broken.

“So you think this is a mistake, then?” I ventured. I played with my skirt, noticing how white my legs were. I needed to spend more time outside.

“I don’t know, Robin. I don’t know your dad. I only met him a few times.”

“He’s cool.” I bit my lip. That wasn’t what I meant to say. What did cool matter when he wasn’t there?

“Okay,” Reno replied. He nodded, so I knew he didn’t think that what I’d said was stupid.

“How’s, um, school?” I asked.

“It’s school.”

“Yeah. My new nickname at mine is ‘Short Bus.’”

“What? You should ask your mom if you can transfer.” He looked at me and I felt the Jeep slow down.

“Yeah, maybe,” I didn’t say what I was thinking: that we couldn’t even come close to affording Windermere Prep tuition. It would just make Reno uncomfortable. Besides, the idea of school uniforms made me itchy.

Finally, the interstate cleared up and we were able to travel above thirty miles per hour. We drove north of Orlando, past Sanford and Deltona. I began to watch for signs for Highway 44, which would take us to the ocean. I hadn’t been in almost a year, which was weird since it was only an hour away. I liked knowing it was there, though. I couldn’t imagine living in a state that didn’t reach the ocean. It was a giant reset button. You could go to the edge of the land and see infinity and feel renewed.