Pack of Dorks (10 page)

She let me carry on for a little bit, then said, “The thing is, Lucy, they don’t know they’re being jerks. And they won’t know until they’re a lot older. I was the biggest jerk you could imagine when I was your age.”

“You were?” Maybe I was surprised at first, but after thinking about it for a bit, it was pretty easy to imagine Grandma as an angry Amanda-like kid.

She nodded. “I made life horrible for a lot of people who didn’t deserve it.”

“Why?”

Grandma shrugged, sending her beaded necklaces rattling. “Because I could.” She sighed. “It made me feel better, stronger, to make other people feel weak.” She pointed again at the picture of the scapegoat attack. “I guess it’s not all that unusual.”

“But it’s stupid,” I snapped. Just because animals do it, too, doesn’t make it okay.

“Absolutely stupid,” Grandma agreed. She shifted a little and glanced over at Molly, who was back asleep. “So, how’d they find out?”

“Find out what?” I asked, confused.

“About Molly.” Grandma’s voice was quiet and gruff again.

Again I felt anger rush through me. “They didn’t,” I said. “It’s not about Molly. Believe it or not, it’s about
me
.” I slammed shut the book, popped off the couch, and stomped as hard as I could to my room. I didn’t even come out when Mom and Dad returned an hour later. I just pretended to be asleep, all through their happy cooing to precious Molly and her whole, healthy heart.

“Rise and shine! It’s a beautiful day!”

I pulled my blankets over my head and rolled away from my open door and Mom’s smiling face. “Go away. It’s Saturday.”

“A bright, sunshiny Saturday!” I heard her humming down the hallway and soon smelled coffee brewing and bread toasting. I don’t like toast, and while coffee might smell good, it tastes like liquid earwax. Or at least how I think liquid ear wax would taste. I’ve never tasted ear wax, though I guess I could ask April if it tastes like coffee. When her nose is empty, she moves on to her ears. Then I remembered that even April wasn’t talking to me at the moment, and I buried myself under my blankets again.

Whoosh
! The blankets were rudely yanked back and my window blinds pulled up. Bright sunshine and cold air hit me.

“Huzzah!” Dad yelled. I groaned. “Up and at them, Lucy bean!”

“What is
wrong
with you and Mom today? It’s Saturday! The day we sleep in!”

Dad answered with a tickle attack, his fingers tapping the little triangle inside my shoulders and making me laugh even though I was still mad. He’s very good at making people laugh when they want to be angry instead. “Your mother and I have made a decision. A decision to be happy! And we’re starting today.”

“I made no such decision.” I yanked the blankets back from the foot of my bed.

“As your parental units, we’ve decided on your behalf.”

“Staying in bed will make me happy.” My head fell back in the perfect fluff of my pillow. Now if Dad would just go away.

“Not today! Molly slept for four hours straight last night. A new record! I’ve never felt so refreshed! We’re going to seize the day!”

“Stop yelling!”

“No!” he chirped.

“Grrr!”

“That’s the spirit!” Dad clapped his hands and whistled.

With a huge sigh, I sat up and planted my feet on the floor. “Fine,” I grumped. “I’m up.”

I’ve got to admit: when I made it to the breakfast table and saw that Mom had arranged orange slices in a flower pattern and Dad had made a smiley face with egg eyes, bacon smile, and a toast triangle nose, I started to catch some of their happiness bug. Not that I’d share that with them yet.

“So,” I said, eating the bacon smile first, “now that I’m up, what do we have to do today?”

“Be happy,” Mom said simply and sat beside me. She was holding Molly and patted her rump gently. Molly blinked slowly from where she curled against Mom’s chest. I leaned over and kissed her nose, and she smiled again. Her smile was pretty awesome.

“Be happy doing what exactly?” I asked, moving on to making my egg face a Cyclops.

“Let’s take a walk,” Dad said.

“Yes!” I squealed. Finally!

But then Mom said, “Great idea! Let’s go to the park. Maybe you’ll see some friends there, Lucy.”

It took a lot of work to keep that smile on my face. But as much as I wanted to just take my usual wandering walk with Dad, I saw how determined Mom was to be happy and couldn’t suggest she and Molly stay home.

“Are you sure?” Dad said softly. “It’s T-ball season. I’m sure we’ll see a lot of families at the park. Are you . . . ready for that?”

“Yes,” Mom said firmly. I wondered what that was about.

I didn’t have to wonder for long.

As soon as we got to the park, other moms flocked to Molly’s stroller like Sheldon to a dinosaur exhibit. “The baby!” they shrieked in this annoying stretched-out voice. “Aaaahh!”

And then they’d lean in and look at her round little face, at her narrow eyes and her flat nose, and at her pink little mouth and the soft double chin. I didn’t understand at first, the face the moms made. I thought maybe Molly had spit up or something, because the moms all reacted the same way. They stopped mid-coo and bit their bottom lips. Their breath left in a wobbly gasp, and they stopped just short of touching Molly. They looked at Mom and their eyes got wet.

At first, Mom kept her decision to be happy. She smiled brightly and said Mom things such as, “She’s almost two months old already!” and “Our little sweetie-pie! It’s her first time at the park.” But the other moms just nodded and said, “How are you doing? How is everyone adjusting?” I could hear Mom’s teeth grinding behind her smile.

“What’s wrong with them?” I whispered to Dad, who wasn’t even trying to be happy any more.

Dad looked at me for a long time, and I didn’t think he was ever going to answer. Finally, he knelt so we were eye to eye. “They’re noticing that Molly has Down syndrome.”

“Oh,” I said. “That’s it?”

“Yeah,” Dad sighed and stood again. “That’s it.”

“But she’s still a baby. I mean, they wanted to see a baby. She’s a baby.”

Dad stared at me for another minute and then said, “I love you, Lucy.” It was one of those times when someone says they love you and you feel it more than hear it.

By the time Mrs. Chester dashed over—April’s baby brother stationed on her hip—Mom was losing it. “Let’s go,” she whispered to Dad.

But Scrappy, wearing a baseball uniform and glove, darted around his mom and ran toward us. “April’s friend!” he yelled. I think that meant me. “Hi, April’s friend! Are you here to watch me play T-ball?”

He kept right on yelling until he was right beside us. “It’s a type of baseball. I’m awesome at it. I might be the best baseballer ever. Is that why you came to the park? Because of how awesome I am at T-ball? Did April tell you?”

Scrappy’s brown eyes were so big and so sure and so stinking happy that I wasn’t at all surprised when Dad said, “Yup. That’s exactly why we’re here.”

“Knew it.” Scrappy nodded. “Mom,” he called over his shoulder to Mrs. Chester. “April’s friend and April’s friend’s parents and April’s friend’s baby are here to watch me play.” He skipped back to the field.

Mrs. Chester laughed as she approached us. “You’ve absolutely made his day,” she said.

Then came the moment we all dreaded. Mrs. Chester leaned over the stroller and looked at our Molly.

“Good morning, precious!” she said, her voice just as happy, just as strong, as before. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Then she looked at Mom and Dad and said, “Congratulations on your baby girl!”

I looked at Mom. She wasn’t working to be happy any more. Dad wrapped his arm around her and squeezed. To Mrs. Chester, he said, “Thank you. That means a lot to us.”

Mrs. Chester nodded and ran a finger under Molly’s soft chin. “April’s over on a blanket by the baseball diamond,” she said to me. “Why don’t you run on ahead while I talk baby with your folks?”

I walked slowly, but too soon I was standing in front of April. She was sprawled out on the blanket, coloring book open in front of her and a bag of cheesy crackers spilled out beside her. I knew she saw me—I put a big shadow over the superhero she was coloring—but she didn’t look up. Just behind her, one of her brothers was lying flat on his back, sound asleep.

“Hey,” I said. I folded my legs and sat crisscross-applesauce beside her.

“Hey,” she murmured.

“Is he okay?” I asked, pointing to her brother, whose drool was forming a little puddle beside his head.

“Still trying allergy medicine,” she said. “We’re allergic to grass!”

I took it as a good sign that she was back to yelling everything. Maybe she forgave me. April sneezed, and I quickly handed her a tissue from the box on the blanket. She smiled and wiped. Then April shifted a little to the side and moved the coloring book so the blank page was in front of me. She plopped a huge plastic bag of crayons between us. I lay beside her and picked up a crayon. “Thanks,” I said.

April shrugged. “Scrappy’s up! He’s—”

“Awesome?” I interrupted. “Yeah, he told me.”

April giggled as Scrappy swung at the ball and twisted entirely around, missing it. He did the same thing three more times before finally knocking the ball a few feet in front of him. He ran full force and slid into first, even though no one was even trying to get him out. The other team’s players tackled each other to grab the ball. Soon I was giggling, too.

It was a happy day.

Until Becky showed up.

Chapter Nine

“I’ve got to go,” I told April.

I didn’t wait for her to answer, but just took off toward Mom and Dad, who were still talking with Mrs. Chester. I glanced back at April, feeling a little guilty about leaving like that, and caught her just in time in a whole-body sneeze. Becky was walking behind April’s blanket toward the baseball diamond next to where Scrappy was playing. Her pretty face puckered with disgust when April used a tissue to wipe whatever flew from her nose off the blanket.

My eyes tracked Becky as she sauntered over to the other field. I shuddered—honestly shuddered—when I saw where she was headed. Tom was standing to the side of the diamond, watching a different game. I remembered then: he had an older brother who played Little League. Well, great. Maybe, if I was lucky, he hadn’t seen me. Maybe Becky hadn’t either.

But then Becky’s horrid giggle trickled across the field and both she and Tom turned toward April’s blanket. Then Becky jerked her thumb toward me! And they both laughed. I felt my face burn.

“Lucy?” Dad asked as I approached. “Isn’t that Becky? Why don’t you go say hi?” He waved with big windshield wiper arms to Becky and Tom. I guess Operation Be Happy was back in effect for him and Mom. Becky’s mouth fell open and Tom quickly turned his back. Becky gave a pathetic little half wave and collapsed into more giggling, falling into Tom. Now my eyes were burning, too.

“Can we go home now? Please?” I mumbled.

Mrs. Chester squeezed Mom’s arm and told her she’d give her a call soon, then headed off toward April’s blanket.

“Why, sweetie?” Mom asked after saying goodbye to Mrs. Chester. “Your friends are here. Why don’t you go play while we take Molly for a walk?”