Odessa Again (8 page)

She displayed the front of it as she approached Claire, who rested her arm on the dreaded backpack. Odessa took the seat in front of her.

As the doors closed with a
whoosh
and the bus lurched forward, Odessa turned around. She held the book out. “Have you read this?”

Claire glanced at the cover and then down at her lap.

She nodded.

“Did you like it?”

Claire didn’t respond. She probably thought Odessa was trying to catch her in a trap—asking for an opinion only so she could mock it.

“Well I read it last night and I thought it was awesome,” Odessa said. “I totally didn’t get why anyone bothered with graphic novels, like I thought they were going to be Calvin and Hobbes or Garfield or something, you know, baby stuff, but this book was really, really good.”

Claire shrugged.

The bus stopped to pick up Mick McGinnis, and when it started up again, Odessa fell forward in her seat and dropped the book. As the bus climbed up the hill, the book slid back into Claire’s row.

Claire picked it up, and for a moment Odessa thought she might shove it into her own bag or maybe toss it over her shoulder or out the window, but she held it out to Odessa.

“If you liked this one,” Claire said, “you should try
The
Windchaser.
”

Odessa took her book back, feeling encouraged. Bold. “Would you mind putting your backpack on the floor so I can sit next to you?”

“No switching seats once the bus is moving,” Claire shot back.

She pointed to the rules posted at the front of the bus. Right above
No
Chewing
Gum
and below
No
Shouting
it said
Pick
Your
Seat
and
Stay
There.

Claire knew Odessa followed rules. It was something they had in common. But Odessa was obviously desperate. Desperate enough to switch seats on a moving bus.

“C’mon,” Odessa whispered.

Claire shook her head no. She reached for her backpack and started digging around. Odessa knew this meant:
Don’t talk to me.

Odessa could feel opportunity slipping through her fingers.

“Listen, Claire,” she blurted out. “I don’t know why we aren’t friends this year, but maybe if you just told me what I did then I could apologize.”

Claire looked at her. “What would be the point? You’d just say ‘I’m sorry,’ but you wouldn’t really mean it. Apologies don’t mean anything when you make someone apologize.” She shrugged. “That’s what my mom says.”

Odessa’s mother said this too. Their mothers must have read the same book about raising children. Mom never made her apologize to Oliver. Instead she’d make her ask, “What can I do to make you feel better?”

She tried this out on Claire.

Claire just sighed.

“I guess you could make me feel better by knowing what you did in the first place. But since that isn’t going to happen, I’ll just tell you, and then you can give me a fake apology and go back to hanging out with your real friends and leave me alone.”

Odessa’s stomach did a flip. Something like the upside-down, over-under feeling she got when falling. Odessa’s stomach flipped because it was one step ahead of her brain.

She suddenly knew what Claire was going to say.

This was about that afternoon last summer when she and Sofia ran into Claire at the mall.

She asked what they were doing, and Odessa said they were going to see a movie, and Claire asked which one, and Sofia drew her finger across her throat behind Claire’s back, letting Odessa know:
Do
NOT
invite
Claire.

Odessa’s mom walked over and said hi to Claire and asked what she was up to. Odessa said that Claire was busy and couldn’t come to the movie with them, even though Claire had said nothing of the sort.

Claire walked away fast, almost running, saying she had to go meet her babysitter at the food court, and there was something about the way she almost-ran that made Odessa sad for Claire, but then she and Sofia went to see the movie, and it was really funny because this humongous dog talked with this New York accent and Odessa managed to block out the whole thing until just now, sitting on the morning bus.

Or did she really block it out?

If Odessa had really forgotten about that day, then why did she remember it so clearly right now?

Claire began to tell Odessa about that afternoon at the mall. How happy she was to see Odessa, because they hadn’t seen each other since school got out.

Odessa was listening to Claire but at the same time she was cursing her attic floorboards. Why did it have to be a matter of hours? Why couldn’t she go back months? If she could return to that day last summer, she’d have ignored Sofia’s silent warning and asked Claire if she wanted to come to the movie, which she was hearing now from Claire would have been impossible anyway, because Claire had to be at her sister’s play.

But of course that wasn’t the point.

“I’m really sorry,” Odessa said. “And you aren’t making me say anything. I’m saying I’m sorry myself.”

Claire sighed. “I wish that were true.”

Odessa turned and faced forward. Her eyes stung with tears. She’d tried to be a good friend to Claire, and she’d tried to be a good best friend to Sofia. But she’d done everything wrong.

She shoved the graphic novel into her backpack. How stupid to think that a book could fix things. The book was not the answer. The answer had been right there in front of her all along.

Odessa couldn’t go back to the summer. But she could go back to this morning. She could leave the book at home and she could get on the bus with a letter in her hand.

It was easier to get people to pay attention when you wrote down what it was you wanted to say.

Odessa would do what she should have done months ago. She’d write a letter of apology, and she’d write it before Claire ever brought it up.

Odessa wrote the best letter she’d ever written. It took her three whole drafts.

Claire took it and shoved it in her bag without looking at Odessa.

But that afternoon, when Odessa got on the bus, Claire’s backpack was on the floor, the seat next to her empty.

Odessa sat with Claire and rode the bus home.

13 Hours … 12 Hours …

Odessa had to admit that there were benefits to moving from a house you loved so your father could
re
marry someone who was not your mother, and the main benefit was that you got to have two Christmases.

At Mom’s, Uncle Milo cooked breakfast while Odessa drew with her new artist’s pencils and Oliver played with his new hamster.

Oliver had always wanted a hamster. He’d begged, cajoled, and bamboozled, but her parents had said no, because parents know that hamsters smell foul.

But now that the decision was Mom’s alone, Odessa knew she’d given Oliver what he wanted more than anything, just like she’d given Odessa the attic she’d wanted more than anything, because there were other things Mom couldn’t give them, like a Christmas in their old house with their father.

And also, Oliver was lonely.

Odessa had wanted her own room, but Oliver had not. He pestered Odessa and mimicked her and eavesdropped on her, but he hadn’t wanted her to move out. He didn’t want to sleep alone. Getting the hamster meant he wouldn’t have to.

Milo suggested Oliver name him Mud, so that when people asked Oliver could say, “His name is Mud.” They all thought this was funny, even if Odessa wasn’t sure why.

They went to Dad’s apartment Christmas night. Dad and Jennifer had set up a tree twice as big as the one at Mom’s and covered in fake snow. Odessa used to beg for a tree with fake snow, but her dad said they were “cheesy.” Now Dad had one, and Odessa didn’t know if he’d gotten it for her, or if Jennifer liked the trees with fake snow too.

There were other things Odessa and Jennifer both liked. They both liked radio 101.3, which played the songs Mom called
insipid.
They liked sparkling lemonade, which Dad kept stocked in the fridge. They liked to do crosswords, and sometimes they’d work together on one from a book Jennifer had bought of not-too-easy/not-too-hard puzzles.

That night there was a fire in the fireplace where the bulging stockings hung.

Uh-oh.

Normally, melted chocolate is one of the world’s greatest inventions, but on Christmas night at Dad’s the chocolate he’d put in their stockings melted all over the other things in there, like the animal erasers and the headbands and the tween magazines Mom didn’t like Odessa to read.

They all laughed about it, and anyway, there were more presents under the tree with the fake snow.

Oliver got a new Star Wars Lego set, and Odessa received a new dictionary.

“Jennifer picked this out for you,” Dad said, giving her a look. Odessa knew the look meant:
Give
Jennifer
a
hug.

Odessa looked away. “Thanks, Jennifer.” She wasn’t in a mood to hug Jennifer. Then she added, “I love it,” because this might make Dad happy, and also, it was true.

Odessa opened the dictionary and inhaled its new-book smell. It was a grown-up dictionary with tiny print and no glossy photos. As she flipped through the pages she saw that they were filled with purple marks.

“I hope you don’t mind that I went through it,” Jennifer said. “I highlighted some of the unusual words I thought you might want to learn. It should help with the crosswords and Scrabble too.”

Odessa had to admit, even though she didn’t want to hug her, and even though she didn’t want it to be true, that Jennifer had given her the best of all her Christmas gifts.

*

By the end of vacation Odessa was ready for school to start. She was tired of staying indoors. Tired of Oliver. Tired, even, of playing
Dreamonica,
in which she and Sofia now had more puppies and bigger mansions with swimming pools and water slides and their characters were big TV stars. She was ready to leave the online world for the real world, but mostly, she was ready for recess.