Pack of Dorks (18 page)

“The other moms brought them,” Mom said.

This moms’ club thing was amazing! Mom was laughing, and I was eating good stuff. I grinned at her, and she grinned back. I started to fill a plate with goodies. That’s when I noticed the little kids.

“That girl is holding Mr. Stinky!” I gasped, pointing to a toddler trudging through the kitchen slurping on a juice box. I gasped again when she wiped her sticky, cheese curl-stained fingers all over Mr. Stinky.

Mr. Stinky was once Mr. Teddy. That’s when my special blanket with the teddy bear head still had his eyes and ears. He also was yellow. Dad renamed him Mr. Stinky a few years ago when he began to look the way he does now—grayish brown and zombielike.

Mr. Stinky doesn’t leave my bedroom anymore, but once I carried him everywhere under my arm like this kid was doing.

One time, when I was four, we spent the night in a hotel at the beach, and I left Mr. Stinky under the pillow. Did I mention that the beach is six hours from home? More than an hour into the drive back, I realized Mr. Stinky was gone. I cried so hard when Dad said he wouldn’t go back for Mr. Stinky that I threw up. We went back.

“What is that girl doing with Mr. Stinky?” I gasped again.

“Oh,” said Mom, smile fading. “I must’ve forgotten to lock your bedroom door.”

Another kid walked by wearing six—six!—of my headbands. They draped down his forehead like a mask. “Ha!” he said as he ran by, arms outstretched toward another kid who screamed. “Ha!”

“Relax, Lucy,” Mom said. “It’s not like Mr. Stinky can’t hold up under strain.”

The girl put her juice box to Mr. Stinky’s mouth (okay, the line of stitching where he once had a mouth). She squeezed. Purple juice splotched his face.

“Mom!” I wailed.

She sighed and wove through the cluster of kids to the girl with Mr. Stinky. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I need to take this guy back. Maybe you’d like to get a different toy?”

The girl shook her head and squeezed my Mr. Stinky. Mom looked over at me. I glared as hard as I could. Mom sighed and gently pulled at Mr. Stinky.

“Mine!” the girl squealed.

I know it was dumb of me, but it was only then that I realized that all of the little kids had the same shaped eyes. Some of them wobbled a bit more than most kids. This little girl holding Mr. Stinky was probably Scrappy’s age, but she seemed a lot younger. All of these kids had Down syndrome. Like Molly.

For a second, I felt something horrible and ugly twist inside, like my intestines had turned into snakes. I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out. They were so
different
. Molly was going to be like them and be this different, too. Those stares strangers gave Molly at the park—I realized I was looking at these kids the same way. Those stares would never go away. I scrunched my eyes shut because they were stinging again.

Mom thought I was just almost crying because of stupid Mr. Stinky. She tugged again on the bear blanket and the little girl cried.

“She can have him,” I muttered.

Mom stared at me for a second and then handed Mr. Stinky back to the little girl, who smiled and hugged him tighter with her sticky fingers.

“Only for the play date,” Mom assured me. “She won’t take Mr. Stinky home with her.”

I nodded and drifted toward Molly in the living room. That other mom—the one who had made Mom laugh so hard—was still holding her propped up against her chest. In front of the mom, the little boy with my headbands danced. The mom laughed again. I could tell from the way she did it that she was used to laughing. That she did it all the time. The little boy moved faster in his dance and laughed with her. He fell into her arms and she caught him, shielding Molly but hugging him back, too.

I walked over and held out my arms for my sister. Molly’s arms waved and feet kicked when she saw me, and she smiled. The mom handed her to me, and I held her against my chest. For once, Mom didn’t try to take her from me. She just sat down on the other side of the room. I felt her eyes on me, though.

I sat down, holding Molly face out and resting her against my stomach so she could watch the other kids. Headband boy plopped next to me, practically on my lap. A little truck was in front of him, so I rolled it over to him. He smiled and rolled it back to me. Soon we were crashing the truck into our knees. Other little kids sat down around us, adding a ball, a doll, and Mr. Stinky to the mix.

I thought I’d get bored in a second, but Molly’s arms and legs went nutso whenever one of the toys came near her. She was having fun. And so was I.

The snakes stopped swirling in my stomach.

That night, Mom knocked softly on my bedroom door. She threw Mr. Stinky on my bed. “Fresh from the spa,” she said. That’s what she called it when she managed to get him into the washing machine. I usually pitched a fit when she tried to wash him.

I ran my fingers across the faint purple outline of juice across where his mouth once was. “Thanks.”

Mom sat on my bed. “It was really nice of you to share Mr. Stinky with Ashley today,” she said.

“Her name’s Ashley?”

Mom nodded.

“Will that club be coming around a lot?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Mom answered. “I hope so. Would it be okay with you if they did?”

I hugged Mr. Stinky to my chest and nodded. “I like those kids,” I said. “They seem happy.” I bit my lip, then let more words spill from my mouth. “I hope Molly is happy.”

Mom ran her fingers through my bangs. “She is. And she will be. So long as she has people who love her as much as we do, she has no reason not to be happy.”

“She’s not all that different from me, is she?” I said. “Not really, I mean.”

“Sounds like you had an epiphany today.” Mom laughed at my crooked eyebrow got-no-idea-what-you’re-saying look. “It means you realized something important. You know what? I had the same epiphany.”

Chapter Fifteen

“Aaarrooo!” I howled as Sam walked down the hall to meet me outside gym class.

“Woof,” he muttered, looking around first to make sure no one from our class was around.

“Come on! Howl! We’re a pack now, remember?” I bumped him in the shoulder.

“Do you think maybe you’re taking this wolf thing a little too far?” Sam said.

I shrugged. The people streaming down the hall seemed to flow around us like we were an untouchable island. A lot of them stared at us and more than a few whispered loudly to each other as they passed. I didn’t know who they were talking about more. Me or Sam. Two girls walked slower than necessary by us, whispering and giggling meanly as they did.

“Rouf!” I barked toward them like Sascha would.

They rushed away.

“What is wrong with you?” Sam stopped in place and stared at me.

“Nothing,” I grinned. “I had a litany.”

“You’re not making any sense. And you’re barking. Do you need to see the nurse?”

“A litany! It means realizing something important,” I rolled my eyes at his lack of vocab and grabbed his arm so he would stop looking at all the people staring at us and just see me. “They see us as different. They’re always going to see us as different. So what? We can be different together.”

“Do you have a fever? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three.” I stomped my foot. “Just listen, okay? We’re freaks in this school. There’s, like, no hope anymore. We’re always going to be the girl who split her skirt while yelling and the boy who hung from his underpants in the locker room.”

“Shut up,” hissed Sam, his face a flaming tomato.

“Who cares?” I hissed back. “For some stupid reason, they feel better when they make us feel worse. So have a litany with me. Let’s be different together. Let’s be however we want. Let’s be our own pack! I’ll be Sascha. You be Ralph!” I let out another howl. (Maybe it was a bit much to howl again at the end.)

But I saw the corners of Sam’s mouth quiver and his dimple flash for a second. He looked at his shoes and nodded. “Why do I have to be Ralph?” he muttered.

“Ralph is a noble name,” I grunted in a pretty good Aunt Shelley imitation.

“Woof,” he barked.

“You need to work on your bark or I’ll stick with being a lone wolf here.”

Feeling bold, I linked my arm through his. “Off to face the alphas!” We walked arm in arm to Ms. Drake’s classroom.

I’d like to say that the rest of the day was great. I want to tell you that Sam and I smiled in the faces of everyone who whispered about us. It’d be nice to say that I didn’t hear Becky’s giggles or Tom calling me dog girl. And I’d like to say that Sam didn’t duck his head whenever Henry walked past our desks, which was more than strictly necessary. (No one needs to visit the pencil sharpener six times an hour.)

But what I can say is that whenever someone did these things, we had each other. Sam rolled his eyes when Becky giggled and barked when Tom called me dog girl. (Sam really needs to work on the barking. He sounds like a tortured cat.) When Sam ducked his head, I raised mine higher and glared at Henry.

“That wasn’t so bad,” I said at our lunch table. “We present our wolf report in an hour, and then the day’s practically over.”

Sam nodded and separated his animal crackers into herds. I ate the buffalos. It seemed the most wolfish thing to do.
Maybe we
are
taking this wolf thing too seriously.

Becky sauntered over to our table. She fluffed her perfect red curls and put her hand on her hip. Then she just stared at us. Sam glanced up at her and went back to his animal crackers. He mimed his lion animal cracker devouring his zebra, and I laughed, but not really.

Becky made a coughing noise.

Sam and I launched into an all-out zebra versus lion war. Animal cracker heads and limbs flew.

Becky coughed again.

Sam sighed and wiggled his eyebrows at me. I think that’s his who’s-going-to-ask-first look. I copied his sigh, then remembered that I was Sascha. I turned in my seat to face her and said, “What’s up, Becky?”

She fluffed her curls again, glancing back at the “cool” table (I didn’t follow her look, but I was sure Tom and Henry were watching). “Since your dad called my mom and told her I had to stop calling you at home, I thought I should let you know a few things in person.”

“My dad did what?” I felt my zebra crumble in my hand, but Becky didn’t stop her speech.

“First, we are
not
best friends any more. Here or anywhere. Now or ever.”

Sam wiggled his eyebrows again and we both burst out laughing. This time for real.

“Sort of figured that, Becky,” I said in a hiccup.

“Second,
everyone
in this
entire
school is making fun of you and your stupid little boyfriend.”

Even though I was shaking and felt like I had to throw up, I leaned back in my chair. I stretched my legs out in front of me and draped my arms over the backrest. One of the wolf books from the library said when two wolves are about to fight, they each make themselves look as big as possible. I had seen Sascha do this while waiting to see if Ralph was a friend or enemy. I also remembered Miss Betsy saying martial artists always look their opponent in the eye. I knew I wasn’t going to fight Becky, not with my hands or anything. But taking up more room and staring into her mean little eyes made me feel stronger. So did having Sam beside me.