o ff11b6990c964f75 (5 page)

But she didn’t.

Because of me.

Me, Sunny the useless, ungrateful daughter.

I felt about ten feet tall.

“I’ll wait here,” Mr. Schafer said. “And I’ll drive you home. If you want to go visit your mom, feel free. I won’t leave without you. In fact, I’d like to say hi too. I’ll meet you in her room, okay?”

Actually, I hadn’t thought of visiting Mom

Not that I didn’t want to. But at that moment, I was sort of connected to Carol. I didn’t feel like leaving her just yet, after all we’d been through.

I told him I didn’t mind waiting. But he gave me a funny look. Like, you don’t want to visit your own mother?

So I started to leave.

I met Dawn, Jeff, and Mrs. Bruen in the hallway.

They started firing questions at me. Jeff asked if Carol was dead. Dawn was worried about the baby. Both of them were crying. Mrs. Bruen was trying to keep them from blocking the hallway.

I held Jeff’s and Dawn’s hands. I calmed them down and told them everything was all right. I brought them into the waiting room.

While Mr. Schafer gave them the details, I headed for the cancer wing.

Mom was sleeping, but she woke up when I walked in.

“Robin,” she said. “Hi.”

Robin?

“It’s Sunny, Mom,” I reminded her.

Then I realized who she meant. My aunt. Mom’s little sister, who died shortly after I was born.

Mom blinked. Then she laughed weakly. She said she’d been having a dream. Her brother, sisters, and all her cousins were gathered around her. They were little children, but they were strong enough to lift her in the air, upward and upward until their heads were in the clouds.

I sat. I listened. I tried to chat, but Mom was in her own dreamy world.

When Mr. Schafer came in, Dawn and Jeff were with him. Dawn had a bouquet of flowers. She put them on the night table, gave Mom a big kiss, and fussed about how great Mom looked.

That was Dawn’s word of the day. Great. “Doesn’t she look great? You look so great!”

And all I could think was:

I hadn’t complimented Mom.

I hadn’t brought her flowers.

I hadn’t even kissed her.

And the truth was, she didn’t look GREAT. She looked withered and sick and groggy.

But Dawn just plopped herself in front of me, gushing away. Lying.

And blocking me from Mom.

Excuse me. I’m only her daughter.

Dawn was in high motormouth mode. When she finished complimenting Mom and gushing

about her own flowers, she told Mom about Carol’s accident.

Finally Mom looked alert. “Oh. My goodness,” she said. “Sunny hasn’t mentioned this.”

“I was about to,” I said.

But I couldn’t get a word in edgewise, I didn’t say. Because Dawn was talking enough for about fifteen people.

And she kept on, while Jeff wandered around and Mr. Schafer chased after him and I did my impression of a Barcalounger.

The next thing I knew was, Mr. Schafer was ready to take us home. I managed a quick good-bye to Mom.

During the car ride, Dawn finally shut up.

We all did. We were exhausted.

Back at the Schafers’, everyone grunted good night and went off to bed. Except Mr. Schafer. He went back to the hospital.

I should be fast asleep, but I can’t stop thinking about Carol.

She comes home tomorrow. I won’t feel totally comfortable until then.

Dawn obviously feels fine. She’s in bed, snoozing like a contented sheep.

I think I’ll spend the night right here, on the Schafers’ sofa.

I feel like being alone.

Thursday

10:31 A.M.

Woke up late this morning. Dawn was already leaving for school. I told her I’d meet her there.

I didn’t.

I went home for a change of clothes.

Dad was eating breakfast. I told him what happened to Carol. He half listened while he was reading the paper.

“That’s tough,” was his analysis of the situation.

End of discussion.

Thank you for your support, Dad.

Why is he like this?

He didn’t used to be. We had fun when I was a kid.

Or maybe my memory is playing tricks. Maybe he was always unbearable, only I didn’t

recognize it.

I turned to go upstairs.

“I’m meeting that boy today,” Dad called after me. “Christopher. Quacky. Whatever you call him.”

“Ducky,” I said.

“He sounds like a nice boy on the phone. Let’s just hope he can alphabetize.”

That was supposed to be a joke, I think.

I didn’t even smile.

I helped bring Carol back from the hospital. She was so grateful to me. She said she would feel safe in any emergency with me. She said I had the quick wits of someone twice my age.

Everyone (except Dawn) was making a big fuss.

I loved it.

I insisted on rolling Carol to her room in her wheelchair. Mr. Schafer, Mrs. Bruen, and I eased her into bed.

Then we all celebrated with take-out Thai food on portable trays in her room.

Dawn didn’t say much.

I think she’s jealous.

Friday 3/27

homeroom

He found my locker.

Before homeroom.

He had to walk all the way across school.

And he did it just to put his arms around me from behind and whisper in my ear, “Are we still on for tonight?”

Does he know how that makes me feel?

He must.

He’s a junior.

I was cool. I did not act shocked. I did not answer him like a 13-year-old.

I just smiled at him and touched his hand. As if this kind of thing happened to me every day.

And I said, “I’m on if you are, Pete.”

Dawn was staring fiercely into her locker. I know she wanted to give me one of her tsk-tsk looks.

Too bad.

I gave Pete a kiss, put my arm in his, and walked with him down the hallway. Slowly.

So Dawn could watch our every step.

I love his voice.

I love his cologne.

I love the feel of his arm around my waist.

Pete Nelson, where have you been my whole life?

I wish we could get an early start. Cut school right now and party until midnight. Just the two of us.

Oh, well. I’ll have to wait until later.

Details at 11.

But don’t hold me to it.

Saturday morning

Okay, details at 12:31 (a.m., that is).

Pete couldn’t believe how late I was “allowed” to stay up. That’s the way he put it. Allowed.

Like I was a little kid.

I told him I make the rules in my house.

I told him I have unlimited freedom.

He was impressed.

Okay, the verdict. On a scale from 1 to 10, BORING to ABSOLUTELY FAB.

The movie: 3 for the film, 10 for the way we ignored it, which leads to

Kissing technique: A definite 11. Makes what’s-his-face from last week look like Mickey Mouse.

Face factor: 8-. Great cheekbones. Some pimples at eye level.

Post-movie: 7. Okay, pizza’s fine. And Pete does work part-time at Pizza Paradise, so it made sense to go there. But after you’ve been to the Sagebrush Grille, nothing is ever the same.

Conversation: Who cares?

General impact: 9+. Possibility for improvement in the restaurant area, but otherwise perfection.

Assessment for future: A keeper.

Saturday

10:59 A.M.

Oh. Forgot to mention.

When I got home last night, I found a message from Chris on the phone machine.

Chris the basketball fan.

He asked me out for next weekend.

Uh-huh.

Dream on.

8:02 P.M.

I cannot believe Dawn.

Who does she think she is?

She shows up at 6:15. She walks into her kitchen while I’m slaving over dinner. And instead of saying thanks, which she should do, she yells at me:

“Who told you to make dinner? Who changed the schedule? It’s not your turn, Sunny, it’s mine!”

I nearly threw the Caesar salad (with chicken) at her. I said, excuse me, but this is not the army.

And it is dinnertime. Carol is in her room, hungry and unable to take care of herself. The meal needed to be made.

But that wasn’t enough for Julia Child. She had bought fillets of flounder. And they had to be eaten tonight. Now they were going to spoil.

I wanted to take the fish and whap her upside the head with it.

Then Carol called, and we both ran to her room.

Good old Carol. She thanked Dawn for the fish and assured her it would taste fine tomorrow.

She explained that I was just trying to help Dawn out. She said she had thought Dawn would be happy to be relieved of dinner duty.

Uh-huh. Sure. Dawn grumbled all through dinner and excused herself early.

It’s jealous. has [sic] to be. Grow up, Dawn.

Anyway, Jeff wasn’t much better at the dinner table, and he had no excuse. He took one look at my beautiful salad and said, “Can I have a peanut butter sandwich?”

So I had a cozy, intimate inner, eating off my little portable table in the master bedroom, along with Carol and Mr. Schafer. The two mature members of the family.

Sunday 3/29

11:05 P.M.

A few important items.

Number one. The Schafers are the family I should have had.

I feel so welcome in their house. Despite Dawn.

In their house I am not Robo Slave Daughter. I’m allowed to be a person. a [sic] hero, really.

Mr. Schafer and Carol just can’t stop thanking me for what I did.

I can’t believe I actually used to resent Carol. I never wanted to talk to her. I guess I was siding with Dawn. But that seems like ages ago.

Dawn should realize how lucky she is.

Number Two. Ducky has a job at Winslow Books.

He called me at Dawn’s. He was practically screaming with happiness.

About working with Dad.

I behaved. I did not burst his bubble.

Dad gave him the job today. (Did Dad tell me? Of course not.) Ducky starts Tuesday after school.

To celebrate, he insisted on taking me out for dessert.

Now, if I had been at my home, Dad would have said no. He’d have found some stupid chore for me to do around the house. Something he’s too lazy to do himself.

But Mr. Schafer didn’t even blink. No warnings, no curfew, nothing. He just said, “Have fun.”

So I grabbed my bike and went to a hot spot that Ducky and I had agreed on.

Pizza Paradise — home, strangely enough, of Palo City’s best sundaes.

Number Three. Pete doesn’t work there on Sunday nights.

Number Four. But Bo Rollins does. That’s his full name. I found out. How? Ducky told me.

Which leads me to

Number Five. For a guy, Ducky is a great gossip.

Not that girls are the only gossips. Personally, I believe guys are even worse. They just like to pretend they aren’t.

Ducky’s different. He dishes directly. I like that.

When I arrived at Pizza Paradise, I spotted his car parked down the block, in front of the convenience store. Ducky emerged with a bag full of groceries. Chips, pretzels, and candy, along with some toilet paper and drain cleaner.

“Groceries for me and Ted,” he explained.

I helped him load the trunk. As we walked inside Pizza Paradise, I told Ducky I envied him. I mean, what a cool life, living alone with his big brother. Sometimes I wish Dad were a traveling professor like Ducky’s dad. Then he’d have to spend most of the year in places like Ghana too.

My life would be so much easier.

Ducky made a face. He said his brother is a pig. Ted never buys food or does laundry or cleans.

Which, to me, doesn’t seem like a big deal. I mean, Dad doesn’t do any of that stuff either.

Whenever it has to be done, he just yells at me to do it.

“Believe it,” Ducky said, sliding into a booth at the tack of the restaurant, “you would not want to be in my shoes.”

I could feel Ducky tensing up, so I backed off. Our one and only argument had started this way.

I didn’t want a number two.

So I asked about the job.

Ducky’s face lit up. He told that Dad was perfectly nice to him at the interview. He said Dad even cracked a few good jokes. (I didn’t know Dad knew any good jokes.)

Io suggested Ducky get a Mohawk haircut and a nose ring before work on Tuesday, and then see how nice Dad would be.

Our waitperson appeared, and Ducky ordered two large sundaes with all the toppings.

He was dying to talk about what happened to Carol. He said he couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d done.

“You’re so together,” he said. “And you think I’m a saint? I would have been a wreck if I were in your place.”

A hero and a saint.

I love it.

I should rescue people more often.

As we ate our sundaes, we caught up on other news. Ducky told me that things were still tense with Alex. I talked about the guys in my life. My date with Pete. The call from Chris. And my Bo sighting, before Carol’s crisis.

Ducky howled. He said I should give out numbers and let the guys stand in line.

Then he looked over my shoulder and said my deepest wish was about to come true.

When I glanced back, I froze.

Bo was clearing the table next to ours.

Ducky was trying hard not to laugh. He asked when I became interested in Cro Mags, which is what he calls most of the jocks at Vista.

I hadn’t really thought of Bo that way. But he does have really muscley arms.

“Do you know him?” I whispered.

Does he ever.

Ducky informed me that Bo’s family has a house in Tahoe. That his brother is a football star at some big university. That Bo once climbed the school flagpole on a dare.

When I asked how he knew all this, he smiled slyly.

“I just listen,” he said with a shrug. “And if you promise you won’t get up and leave, I’ll tell you a secret.”

“Promise,” I said.

Ducky pushed his sundae aside and leaned closer. “Bo just broke up with his old girlfriend.”

I nearly flew out of my seat.