Tessa (From Fear to Faith) (6 page)

10

S
chool days were always a challenge. I was sure if my friends found out what I was like, they’d want nothing to do with me. So I pasted on a smile, laughed at all the jokes, and worked hard in an effort to blend in. I wasn’t an exceptional student, but I could pull passing grades if I put in the time. The only subject in which I couldn’t was algebra.

I hated algebra. Adding and subtracting letters made no sense to me. I could limp through the daily assignments, but tests were a nightmare. Complicating matters was the fact I had an algebra guru sitting behind me in class.

Gary was a short, fat kid with a pimply face and thin straight hair that was so pale it looked white. Everything came easily to him – math, science, art, even music. Unfortunately, one of his favorite pastimes was picking on people who were less gifted, like me.

On this particular day, I’d just gotten another test back – with red marks all down the front and a “54” marked at the top. It wasn’t my fault. I’d tried my best to battle the beastly problems with guesswork, at one point even making up a sample problem with numbers in place of the letters in a desperate attempt to rediscover the rules of algebra. But Mr. Stone didn’t care how hard I’d tried; he only cared whether my answers were right. And they weren’t.

With the best show of indifference I could muster, I creased the test in half and shoved it between the pages of my notebook. Then I turned to the new chapter and tried to look attentive as Mr. Stone presented the first unit.

When the bell rang, signaling lunch time, I closed my book in relief and joined the general surge toward the door. All of a sudden, I felt the books shift under my arm. I glanced down. My notebook was missing.

What in…
I turned in disbelief. A few paces back stood Gary, holding my notebook by the spine. He shook it, and my test and several loose papers slid out into his hand.

I flew at him in a fury. “Give that back!” I demanded, yanking at the papers. With a sharp ripping sound, they tore. Gary laughed and waved his portion over his head as he sauntered off toward the cafeteria.

I lingered in the hall as long as I dared, trying to calm my rage.
It’s only Gary. Who cares what he thinks, anyway.
I fingered the mostly empty pack of cigarettes in my pocket as I took my place at the end of the lunch line. If things got unbearable, I could always slip off and have one. But I’d have to be careful.

Shame crept over me as I recalled what had happened a few days before. Unknown to me, Janet had been in the restroom when I sneaked in to smoke, and she had caught me in the act. Janet hadn’t said a word, but the look of surprise and hurt on her face had been harder to take than Walter’s worst scolding. I had been avoiding her ever since.

I forced the memory aside as I picked up the last ham sandwich, added a scoop of peas and carrots, and started toward the table by the window where Sandy and Lois always sat. At least they still liked me.

Halfway across the room, I felt a rough shove from behind. Laughter erupted as my lunch tray crashed to the floor. Food scattered everywhere. Turning, I came face to face with Gary’s infuriating grin.

“You pushed me,” I sputtered.

He was still laughing. “You’re so cute when you get mad.”

I was so angry I couldn’t see straight.
He is not going to treat me like this!
I was about to smash a fist into his mocking face when someone grabbed my arm. I jerked free, then realized it was Heather.

“Go sit down,” she said. “I’ll take care of this mess. You can have some of my food.”

I stared at her, certain I had not heard right. But she was serious.

“Go on,” she said, giving me a little push.

Still seething, but aware that arguing would only cause further embarrassment, I complied. Heather scooped the worst of the mess onto the tray and tipped it into the trash can. I watched in bewilderment. I didn’t even know Heather beyond Janet’s introduction a few weeks ago. Yet here she was, smiling as she offered me a generous portion of her lunch. I managed a sincere thank-you.

My friends didn’t know what to make of it. “She seems to be some kind of do-gooder,” Sandy commented, as Heather walked away, “but she’s nice, too. She sure didn’t have to do that.”

“That Gary is so cruel,” said Lois. Then she began to laugh. “Man, but you should’ve seen the look on your face. Like you were gonna kill him or something. I wish I had a picture. He pushed you, didn’t he?”

Her amusement touched off another flare of anger. “Of course he pushed me. He’s always trying to make me look like a fool. If he touches me again, I’ll bust his head!”

Sandy put a hand on my arm. “Hey girl, settle down. If you hit him, you know he’d just turn it around and get you in trouble. You’d best just forget it and stay away from him.”

I didn’t answer. She was right, I knew, but revenge would be so sweet!

Lois finished eating first. “I’m going to go ask Heather why she did it,” she announced.

She returned a short while later, her eyes gleaming.

“Well?” Sandy asked.

“She’s weird. She claims the Bible
told her to do it.”

Sandy laughed. “Really? The Bible
told
her?”

“Yup. That’s what she says.”

I shrugged. “Well, it sure was nice of her, whatever her reason. I don’t know about the Bible; I’ve never read it.”

“Nobody does anymore,” Sandy said. “They just keep it around as a good-luck charm.”

“Yeah, can you imagine actually trying to keep all those rules?” Lois wrinkled up her nose. “You’d get stiffer than
my uncle Bradley. He looks just like that guy in
American Gothic.
”

“Maybe you better warn Heather before it’s too late,” Sandy joked.

Both of them laughed. I couldn’t help joining in, though I felt uncomfortable doing so. Heather was different, all right, but she was also the nicest person I’d ever met.

***

When school let out that afternoon, Sandy and I stepped out into the November rain together. Mom’s black Grand Am was already parked at the curb.

“Looks like your mom’s here,” Sandy commented.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Did Sandy think it strange that my mother drove me to and from school every day? Probably not. Sandy had no way of knowing it was twenty minutes one way to my house.

“Make sure to ask if you can go to the mall after school tomorrow.”

“Right.”

Sandy caught my arm. “Oh Tess, please. I really want you to come. You have to see the prom dresses in that new fashion shop. You’d look fabulous in the little red one.”

I laughed. “All right. We’ve got a lot going on, but I’ll sure try.” I lifted a hand and hurried down the sidewalk toward the waiting car.

Sandy had invited me to go shopping with her and her friends a full week ago; but fearing what Mom would say, I’d put off asking. Now there was no more time to waste. Dismally I stared out the rain-streaked window at stubbly farm fields. It would be much simpler to just tell Sandy I couldn’t go. But the thought caused an aching inside of me. I wanted to go. How could I get Mom to agree to it?

I pondered the problem as I watched the ruler-straight rows of a pine plantation flick past the window. We were getting close to home. It was now or never.

“Say Mom, you know my friend Sandy?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, she’s pretty good in math, and you know how bad my grades are. She says if I come to her place after school tomorrow, she’ll help me. That is, if you don’t mind.”

“This your idea, or hers?”

“Hers, I guess. We were just talking, and she offered to help.” I toyed with the zipper on my knapsack, praying Mom would believe me. She could sniff out a lie faster than a terrier dog tracking a rabbit.

“That’s real nice of her, but I don’t really have time to drive you all over the place.”

“You don’t have to. The bus goes right past her place. I could get off there, stay a couple hours, and then you could come get me like you always do.”

Mom was silent for a minute. “Well… I’d have to talk to her mom about it first.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said quickly. “But I’m sure she’s okay with it. Sandy helps other kids like this all the time.”

That seemed to do it. Mom nodded and didn’t say anything for a few minutes. I was imagining the fun we’d have at the mall when she said, “So what’s your other reason for going?”

“Huh?”

“I’ve never seen you so keen about math. That can’t be what’s on your mind.”

“So maybe I wanna improve myself. Is that so bad?” My voice rose. “Look. I totally blew my test today. I don’t get this number stuff! If you won’t let me go to Sandy’s, it’ll be your fault when I flunk out.”

Mom slowed the car as we approached a narrow bridge. Through the raindrops on my window, I caught a glimpse of the tiny creek below.

“Tess, unless Sandy’s some kind of magician, a couple hours with her aren’t gonna keep you from flunking. If you’re serious, you should talk to your teacher about it.”

“He don’t care.”

“You’ve asked him?”

I shook my head in frustration. “Look, why can’t I go? Maybe it won’t fix everything, but so what!”

“Tessa, you know what we’ve said about parties and such.”

“It’s not a party!” I practically screamed. “Listen, I wanna go, all right?”

“You wanna go to
what?
Her daddy’s brother’s deer camp in the woods?”

I felt my face growing hot. “Never mind.”

“I wish we could let you go, Tess, but rules are rules.”

I nearly choked. “Rules! But Mom, I’m almost grown up, come on! We were just gonna go to the mall. Besides, that was Walter’s
rule, and he’s in jail!”

Mom steered the car left onto our road.

“Please, he’ll never know. Can’t I go, just this once? I won’t spend any money. I promise.”

“Tessa, you heard me. No.”

“You’re cruel!”

“That’s enough, Tess.”

“Fine. If you’re gonna be mean about it, I’ll find my own way there.”

I wished I could carry out my threat. But things weren’t pretty when Mom got mad. I turned away, my eyes pricking with angry tears. Why was I such a wimp? Why couldn’t I take charge of my life and tell Mom what I was planning to do, the way my friends did, instead of always asking her permission like a kindergartener?

Mom pulled the car up level with the weathered mailbox at the end of our driveway. “Might as well get the mail this way,” she said.

Rain blew in the car window as I depressed the button. Reaching out, I yanked open the metal door. The mailbox was empty.

“Nothing? That’s odd,” Mom said. “Guess he’s late today.”

“Or else you got it earlier and forgot,” I retorted.

Mom pulled in and parked in the usual spot near the back steps. I stepped wide over a puddle as I got out.

“Oops, there’s the mail now,” Mom said. “Would you run get that for me, Tess? I’ll take your knapsack in.”

Ignoring her offer, I hitched the heavy bag higher on my shoulder as I started down the muddy driveway. Rain pattered on my coat, then dripped off the hem and soaked into my jeans.

Mom is just plain mean
, I fumed.
First she treats me like a five-year-old, then she expects me to run all the way out here in the rain and get her stupid mail for her. And you know it’s just a bunch of junk she’s gonna throw away anyway. It would help if I got something once in a while. But you can bet that’s against the rules too.

I slid the bundle of mail from the box and slammed the door shut with a clang. Everything was against the rules. Self-pity enveloped me as I reflected on my endless list of disadvantages.

I’ve never gone on a vacation. I’ve never even been out of the state, since before I can remember, anyway. I’ve never gotten to go swimming or camping. I’ve never once gotten a single piece of mail, not even a birthday card. I can’t have a computer, email, or a cell phone. I can’t go anyplace, can’t talk on the phone, and now I can’t even ride the bus. Why? So Walter and Mom can do what they please, that’s why.

I kicked fiercely at a loose piece of gravel. Mom treated me well enough; but when it came to the so-called family rules, she was Gibraltar. I could see now how it would be. Until the glorious day when I finally moved out, my parents would just keep holding me down under the same stupid rules they’d made when I was five or six years old. It was crazy; no, cruel
.
How was I ever supposed to grow up? Or would they rather I didn’t?

As I neared the house, the rain began to pick up. I hurried up the wooden steps, then paused, my hand on the door latch. What was that sound? I strained my ears, but the tap of raindrops on my hood kept blotting it out. I thrust my things into the house and then descended the steps to investigate.

11

A
s I reached the bottom of the steps, I heard it again – a high-pitched squeaking. It seemed to be coming from the lilac bush behind the landing. I peered into the dense branches but saw nothing. Still the insistent squeaking continued. I knelt on the soggy ground and shoved aside the dripping branches. In the dead leaves at the base of the bush, under the remains of an old robin nest, I found the source – a scruffy little mouse no bigger than my thumb.

“You poor thing.” I scooped it up. Its tiny body felt cold in my hand. I stroked its damp fur with the tip of one finger, and it curled its long tail around itself and emitted a series of pitiful squeaks that shook its whole frame. That sealed it. Slipping the little creature into my pocket, I turned back to the house.

Mom looked up from folding laundry when I walked in. “What’d you do with the mail?”

“It’s right there.” I jabbed a thumb toward the scattered pile under the desk, then stripped off my dripping coat and hurried to my room.

“You’re an orphan, aren’t you,” I murmured, as I blotted my new pet dry with a tissue. “What happened to your mama?” The mouse was quiet now, except for a slight trembling, but it seemed unable to open its eyes. I held it up, admiring its dainty pink feet and white bib. Such a pretty mouse deserved a name. I would have to think of something. I wrapped it in a dry tissue, then tucked its cold little body close to mine.

By now the rain had progressed to a heavy downpour that roared on the roof and slapped against my window. I leaned my elbows on the sill and watched the storm, all the while contemplating my new responsibility. The little mouse had to be hungry. I knew nothing about how to feed it, but I didn’t dare ask for help raising an animal most people considered a pest. Besides, it was probably against the rules to have it.

With careful planning, I managed to sneak some milk and a bit of cheese into my bedroom. Sitting cross-legged on my bed, I poured a bit of the milk into a plastic bottle cap and held it in front of the mouse so it could drink.

The mouse dipped its nose into the liquid, choked, and then pawed wildly, spilling the milk down its belly and onto my bedspread. I dabbed at the mess with my last tissue and headed to the bathroom for more. On the way, I met Mom coming from the kitchen, her arms full of folded clothes.

“What have you got?” she asked.

“Nothing.” I slipped my hand into my pocket and ducked around the corner into the bathroom.

Mom followed right behind me. “You were getting milk for some reason. What have you got, a kitten?”

My heart lurched. She hadn’t even been in the kitchen when I got the milk. What did she have, X-ray vision?

“You better show me,” she said. “I can’t guess.”

I was caught. I withdrew the tiny mouse from my pocket, cupping my hand over it so that all Mom could see was a whiskery little nose.

“Oh dear. A baby mouse.” There was a note of disgust in her voice.

“She’s an orphan. Her name’s Genevieve.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“Outside. I rescued her from the rain. Isn’t she cute?”

Mom looked unconvinced. “Tessa, I don’t think…”

“I’m gonna take care of her. She won’t be no trouble. You’ll see.”

“But Tessa, you haven’t got time, with school and all…” Her voice trailed off.

“It is kind of cute,” she conceded. “I guess you can try, but as little as it is, I wouldn’t rate your chances of success very highly.”

“Don’t worry, Mom.” I tucked the mouse back into my pocket, grabbed the box of tissues, and returned to my room. It couldn’t be that hard to raise a mouse.

But eight capfuls of milk and a dozen tissues later, I was about to give up. Either the mouse choked and blew bubbles out of her nose, or she spilled the milk all over herself and me. And she kept spitting out the cheese.

“The way you’re going, you’re gonna starve, you stupid thing,” I scolded. I plopped her down on the bed. “And it won’t be my fault. What’s the matter with you?” The mouse sat still for a moment, then began creeping toward the edge of the bed.

“Supper,” Mom called from the kitchen.

With a sigh of resignation, I tucked the mouse back into my pocket. “Be quiet,” I warned. I had a feeling Mom would not appreciate the mouse coming to supper.

“So how was school today?” Mom asked, as she passed the meatballs my way. “You didn’t say anything about it on the way home.”

I shrugged. “Nothing new. Just Gary acting like a moron again.” I paused and poured spaghetti sauce over my meatballs. “I guess there’s some kind of special event tomorrow.”

“Oh? What’s happening?”

“I’m not quite sure.” I could feel a tickling sensation as the mouse burrowed around in my pocket. What if she crawled out?

“They didn’t tell you what it was?”

I reached down and pushed Genevieve back into my pocket, then plugged the opening with my hand. “Well, they did . . . but I don’t remember. It’s nothing important.”

Mom studied my face, but she didn’t inquire further. I was glad. I didn’t want her to know there was still a slight fuzziness in my head. Sometimes I had trouble remembering things.

Later that evening, after she had cleaned up the dishes, Mom stopped by my bedroom. I was sitting on the floor in front of the open closet door, putting the finishing touches on a tiny box I’d made from a margarine carton. A faint odor of sour milk hung in the air.

“How’s the critter?” Mom asked.

“She’s sleeping.”

“You need to get started on your homework.”

I shrugged. Opening one end of the box, I began filling it with fine shreds of tissue.

“You can’t take the mouse to school with you tomorrow,” Mom said.

“Yes I can. I’m gonna put her in this box so she can’t escape. Nobody will know.”

“You’re not taking it,” she repeated. “I will personally see to that.”

I twisted around to face her. “But, Mom! I can’t leave her here. She’ll die.”

“I guess you’ll have to find her a babysitter, then.” A slight smile played across her lips. Was she making me some kind of offer?

I hesitated. “Well . . . you gotta be awfully careful with her, you know. She’s so little, and…”

“Stop your worrying. I’ve raised three babies; I guess I can babysit a fourth.”

“You mean you really would? You’d feed her and everything?” I couldn’t contain my delight.

Mom laughed. “I don’t think I have any choice, do I? Now you get after that homework; and when you’re done, we’ll see what we can do with the little critter.”

***

I worked on homework at the kitchen table until almost nine o’clock. By then, the mouse had set up a persistent squeaking inside my pocket. Mom unglued herself from the TV, warmed a cupful of milk in the microwave, and brought it over to the table.

“Before you feed her, you should check the temperature of the milk on your wrist, like this,” she said. “This feels just about right.”

Following her example, I dipped a finger in the milk and sprinkled my wrist. I couldn’t even feel the drops. “I didn’t think about heating it,” I said.

“It’s a good idea. It’ll keep her from getting chilled and make it easier to digest too.”

I dipped a bottle cap into the milk and tried once more to feed the mouse, with the usual results. Mom watched, her face thoughtful.

“I have an idea,” she said. She disappeared down the hall toward the bathroom, returning a moment later with a cotton swab. “Here. Dip this in the milk and let her suck it.”

After one or two false starts, the mouse began sucking vigorously on the swab. Mom helped me add drops of milk one by one.

“This works pretty good,” I said after a while. “Where’d you learn all this?”

“Oh, it’s just mothers’ instinct. But I think she’s had enough for now. If you overfeed her, she’ll get sick.” Mom stood up and stretched. “Wipe her all over, especially on the bottom. I’ll get a bed ready for her.”

I watched as Mom laid an old dishrag in the bottom of a shoebox and built a nest of torn tissues in the corner. Then she set the box on my dresser, bending the gooseneck lamp down close to the nest.

“That should do it,” she said. “She’ll move away from the light if it gets too hot. Now you better hurry and get to bed, because you’ve got about four hours, if that, before she’s gonna want to eat again.”

I wanted to thank Mom for helping, but I knew she’d just brush it off. So I whispered goodnight to little Genevieve, who was already asleep, and then put on my pajamas and crawled into bed. Briefly my thoughts shifted to the mall trip I had wanted so badly. It still stung that I couldn’t go, but the arrival of the tiny mouse helped. Maybe this hadn’t been such a bad day after all.