Shark Girl (23 page)

Dear Jane,

I can’t believe what happened to you. My friend’s dad is a doctor. He says losing an arm is way worse than losing a leg. I hope you’re feeling better.

Get well soon!

Your friend,

Naomi

“Are you guys going to be mad at each other forever? Is this it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Jane, you can’t let this break up our group.”

“I know. I’m the glue.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, Jane, you’re bigger than this. You’re pouting.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“I refuse to take sides, that’s just it. You guys are dividing the group. Elizabeth and Trina don’t know what to do.”

“You know what she’s like. Why doesn’t she just come right out and say it? I’m hideous. ‘Jane, you really should camouflage that deformity you’ve got. Wear more makeup. Grow your hair into a cloak and wrap yourself in it.’ I hate her.”

“You’re being stubborn. And you really hurt her feelings.”

“You’re taking sides.”

“I am NOT. But she is just trying to help, in her own screwed up, kind of shallow way.”

“She says the most stupid things. It’s like she doesn’t even think about what I’m going through.”

“Jane. Angie was like that
before
your accident. And we
all
try to think about what you’re going through. Since last summer, we’ve tried so hard. We’re only human.”

“Meaning?”

“You’re not the only one with feelings.”

“I know that!”

“She’s really upset, Jane. Please talk to her. Just think about it, okay?”

“Maybe.”

“I have to tell you. That surprise birthday party we threw for you? It was Angie’s idea.”

“No.”

“Yeah. She wanted to do something special for you. She said you had been through so much and you deserved to be treated really special.”

“Angie?”

“You know she can be nice! Think about it, okay?”

“Why did you have to tell me that? Now I feel rotten.”

“I can think of a cure for that.”

“Don’t rush me.”

“Think about it.”

Max pulls up

as we stand outside school,

waiting for our buses.

“Jane, need a ride home?”

Rachel gives me a fierce poke.

“Call me later,” she whispers.

Elizabeth gives me the wide-eyed “Wow” look.

Angie, standing apart from us,

watches silently.

Driving,

Max and I talk and talk.

I wish

all the traffic lights

would stay red.

I check with Lindsey

to see if I can plan

a party for the kids at the hospital.

Something,
some
reason

for them to all have some fun.

Lindsey says,

“We are way ahead of you, babe.

Our spring party is on the twenty-third.”

“Oh. Good,” I say.

“We’d sure love to have you

come help,” Lindsey says.

“We could use some help decorating,

face painting,

and serving food.”

She is grinning as she fills out papers.

“You’re welcome to bring a date,

if you’d like.

Do you have someone to bring?”

Should I invite him?

People may talk.

He may say no. But

what the hell? Smiling, I answer her.

“Actually, I know just who to ask.”

Well.

There it is.

We’ll see what Justin thinks

of his present.

I think about showing Mom,

or Michael,

then decide not to. It is for Justin,

only.

Wrapped up tight in red paper,

I slide the thing deep into my closet,

then close the door.

Suppose he hates it?

Are we doing this again? I’m trying to sleep. Besides, he won’t hate it.

You’re not showing it to anyone because you know what their reaction will be. Pity. Sadness. Suppose they stop pushing you and admit it. You may never draw well again.

Stop.

Suppose this had never happened. You wouldn’t even have this problem. You wouldn’t even know Justin and you wouldn’t have this birthday to worry about.

It’s not a worry.

Suppose you had stayed home that day instead of going to the beach? It could have been different.

I cannot keep thinking like this. I won’t.

It should have been different.

But it’s not.

Different.

Did you know UCLA has an awesome school of occupational therapy?

(I did.)

I’ll bring the lit. home this summer.

(I’ve got it.)

Not that I want you going here while I’m here, J-Pain.

Hey, Mother’s Day is coming. I think you should make Mom those lemon bar things like you always do. You know they’re her favorite.

(His, too.)

And if you want, you could make extra, and send some here.

M.

Mabel hovers,

licking up spilled sugar, salt.

I do the mixing, dropping, picking up,

and pouring

without tears, without bad language,

even when I’m tempted.

The bars come out with

a crispy crust,

a tart, golden filling,

smelling sweet

and light.

I come out with

flour in my hair,

burned thumb throbbing,

dishes to wash, a slippery floor to vacuum.

“Lemon bar things”

are a real pain.

But then again, Mom is worth it.

I set some aside for Michael, in a box.

Getting to the post office will be a pain.

But then again,

he saved my life.

Mom? I brought you some tea.

Mmm.

I can’t believe you have the flu on Mother’s Day.

Lucky me. Hey, what’s that? Are those lemon bars?

Yeah. Here, sit up.

Oh, honey. You made these for me? Thank you!

You’re welcome. Here’s your card, and stuff.

This is all so nice. Thank you. Wow. These are great. You haven’t lost your touch.