The (Almost) Perfect Guide To Imperfect Boys (14 page)

And it was strange to think this, but I thought it anyway: Maybe I'd outgrown the
Life Cycle
too.

I closed my binder, cuddled up to the twins, and watched
Sesame Street
.

•  •  •

That night I read this post on Mom's blog:

When you're the mommy of two-year-old twins, it's so hard sometimes to look up from all the chaos. Today I happened to look up and I noticed that Awesome Daughter had become a teenager.

This is exciting. It's also very scary, because I remember the drama of being thirteen. Will she be okay? Will she tell me if she isn't okay? How will I know things if she doesn't tell me? This morning in the car she began to open up—but the ride was short, and the conversation ended. Today when she
came home from school she gave me a hug that was full of emotion—but shut down when I tried to probe.

With toddlers, you may not always understand what's in their little brains, but you're always able to clean up their messes (literally and figuratively). With a teen, you can't solve everything (heck, they won't even let you help drill Spanish verbs!)—but you can listen. Sometimes that's enough. So I'm hoping Awesome Daughter knows I'm available to listen, whenever she wants to talk.

Do you have similar experiences with your older kids? Any tips for encouraging communication? Comments below!

Xox,

Jen

The first thing I did when I woke up that Friday morning was turn on my laptop to see if anyone had commented on the topic of How to Get Finley to Communicate with Mom. But the post was down. In its place was this:

Any feedback on Aunt Amy's All-Natural Bubble Bath? I tried some on Max and Addie during bath time, and I have to say, while I appreciated the chemical-free formula, I didn't love the bubble quality as much as . . .

Blahblahblah. It went on like this for seven paragraphs,
and already there were five comments, plus Mom's responses.

This was definitely weird. I mean, not to brag or anything, but the post about me and how I wasn't communicating with Mom was a gazillion times more interesting. So I couldn't imagine why Mom had replaced it with this boringness about bubble bath. Maybe she'd gotten a lot of crazy-mom comments overnight.

Anyhow, it wasn't like I could ask her, because that morning she was having a late sleep-in. Dad made pancakes (apple cinnamon, which I could barely eat because I had zero appetite), we read to the Potty People (
Madeline
for Addie,
Green Eggs and Ham
for Max), and then, once Mom staggered into the kitchen, Dad drove me to school.

“Everything okay, Finster?” he asked casually, as we pulled up to the front door.

“Why wouldn't it be?” I snapped. “Why does everyone keep assuming I'm hiding information?”

“Maybe because you aren't sharing very much these days. Anyhow, we're here.”

I sighed. “Yes, I know that Dad, and I'm really grateful. To you and Mom both.”

“No,” Dad said, smiling a little. “I mean, we're here
at school
.”

“Oh, right.” I glanced out the window; a bunch of Croakers were shoving each other into a dirty snowbank. “Well, thanks for the ride.”

“No problem. And you know,
we're here
the other way too.” He winked, as if we were sharing a joke. “TGIF,” he called as he drove off.

I took a deep breath and headed straight to Maya's locker. Not to apologize, I told myself, just to talk. About anything—the weather, Spanish verbs, the yearbook photo, which we still hadn't done.

But she wasn't there. Although for a second I wasn't even sure I was at the right locker, because for the first time in six weeks it was completely bare, all my birthday decorations—the orange and pink paper, the rainbow ribbons, the collage I'd made with photos of NYC, puppies, the Olympic rings, ice cream, fireworks—taken down, tossed into the recycling bin over by the exit.

The pancakes flipped inside my stomach.

I went straight to homeroom. Maya was sitting with Olivia; their hands were covering their mouths, which was kind of like putting a
DO NOT DISTURB
sign on their conversation.

Okay,
I told myself.
They want privacy. I can handle privacy.

But as soon as the bell rang, they both slipped out the door before I could catch up.

My heart banged as I walked into science. Maya and Olivia were talking to Mr. Coffee—or rather, Maya was doing the talking, Olivia was nodding, and Mr. Coffee was sipping his mug, caffeinating. I took my seat and watched him beckon to Sabrina, informing her she was switching lab stations with Maya.

“But how come?” Sabrina protested. “
Why
do I have to move my seat?”

“We're just making a few changes today,” Mr. Coffee replied, as if that were a scientific answer.

So now Maya was deserting my lab station. She'd asked for a new seat because she didn't want to be best friends anymore. There was no other explanation.

My eyes burned as I took out my science binder, opened to a blank page, and wrote today's date.

“What's going on?” Zachary asked as he dumped his backpack on his chair.

“Not sure,” I mumbled. Writing.

“I heard you and Maya had a big fight,” Sabrina announced as she took Maya's seat. “Olivia told me.”

Oh, fabulous, now we'd made the Official Gossip. “Whatever you heard, Sabrina, it's personal,” I said. Still writing.

“Hey, don't get huffy with
me
. I think it's great you finally told off Maya.”

“You did? About what?” Zachary demanded.

Holograms and amphibians. You. Although more than you.
“Nothing,” I said, flipping a page in my binder. “And can we please drop the subject? I'm kind of writing something here.”

“You're always writing something.” Sabrina smirked. “What's it now—an apology to Maya?”

“No.”

“I bet it is. Can I read it?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on, Finley. Pretty please?”

I didn't even answer that. I just kept writing:
Lalala, here I am sitting in science, ROY G BIV, PEMDAS, HOMES.

And then:
ERRRRRRRRRRR.

The sound vibrated through my bones. It made my hair hurt. We'd all heard that sound every few months for the last eight years, but even so, I'd never, ever get used to it.

“Fire drill, people,” Mr. Coffee called out. “Leave all notebooks and backpacks at your lab stations, and proceed to the football field. You all know the drill. So to speak.”

I stumbled down the steps and out of the building into the frosty air. In the corner of my eye I could see Maya huddling with a bunch of girls from our class, so I stayed on the other end of the field listening to Drew Looper brag to Zachary about how he beat some boring video game in one sitting.

Finally the end-of-drill bell rang, and before Maya could slip inside the building, I ran over to her.

“Can we please talk?” I said breathlessly.

Maya looked up at me. “What about?”

“Your seat in science.”

“There's nothing really to talk about,” she said. “I just think separate lab stations are better right now. For both of us.” She bit her chapped lower lip. “And to be honest with you, Finley, I really can't deal with this right now.”

“Okay, so when?” I asked, trying to keep my voice from squeaking. “When should we deal with this?”

“I'm not sure.”

“We could meet here at lunch. I still need to take
your picture for the yearbook, remember?”

“Oh, riiiight,” she said slowly. “You know what? Let's forget about the picture.”

“Seriously? Because I know how much you hated that zit photo. Not that it was a
zit photo
.”

She shrugged. “I don't even care about it anymore. Plus I'm pretty sure the yearbook deadline was today. And anyhow, it's not your problem.”

My throat ached. Of everything she'd said to me up to that point, this hurt the most. Her problems were supposed to be my problems; if you looked up “best friendship” in the dictionary, that's what it would say. And I couldn't believe she didn't care about the zit photo. I mean, just a few days ago, the nose zit was all she talked about.

I blurted out: “Maya, listen, okay? I'm really sorry about yesterday.”

“What are you sorry about?”

“Everything. That I hurt your feelings.”

“But you're not taking back what you
said
.” Before I could answer, she held up her hand like a crossing guard. “Look, I just think we need a little break from each other. I don't know, Finley. Doesn't it feel like lately all we do is argue?”

“Yeah, sort of,” I admitted. “That's why I think if we could meet today at lunch—”

“We'd just keep fighting.” Maya's eyes met mine. “Be honest. Wouldn't we?”

I wanted to shout,
we won't fight, I swear.
Except how can you argue that you won't argue? It made no sense.

By then we were the last people outside besides Mr. Coffee, and my eyes were beginning to sting. So I just mumbled, “All right, well, see you later,” and went inside.

•  •  •

The instant I stepped back into science lab, I knew something had happened.

But it took me an extra two seconds to process these facts:

Mr. Coffee wasn't in the room.

People were crowded around my desk.

Sabrina was clutching my science binder.

Reading excerpts of the
Life Cycle
.

Out loud.

To the entire class.

“Wyeth Brockman: Tadpole with Croaker tendencies. Croaked on the word ‘weekend.'

“Ryan Seederholm: Croaker. Smells like a gerbil.

“Jonathan Pressman: Croaker. His voice sounds like a chain saw shutting off in slow motion.”

The words—my words—were pinballing around the room, randomly crashing into things, causing gasps and murmurs.

And laughs. From the girls, but not all the girls.

And none of the boys.

I wanted to shout,
Stop, that's private, give it back! Besides, it's not even what I think anymore. The
Life Cycle
is over!

But I was frozen; I couldn't form words. I couldn't move, either.

And then Maya walked into the room. “What's going on?” she demanded.

“Finley's notebook,” Chloe replied. “She's keeping some kind of warped rating system, apparently.”

“Oh, really?” Maya said. “And if she is, why is that your business, Chloe?”

“Because it's
everybody's
business,” Chloe answered. “I mean, if she just leaves it lying out on the desk. And if it's about all the boys in this room!”

Maya flashed me a panicked look. Then to Chloe she said: “Trust me, it's not a rating system.”

“How do you know that?” Sabrina challenged.

Maya crossed her arms on her chest. “Because it's half mine. I half wrote it. And look, my name's even on the title:
The Amphibian Life Cycle (a.k.a. Finley & Maya's Super-Perfect Guide to Imperfect Boys)
. All right?”

The room went silent.

“Omigosh,” Olivia exclaimed, her hands flying to her mouth.

At last I unfroze. “Actually, Maya just wrote one teeny little part, the bit about Dylan. I wrote all the rest. So if you guys want to be mad at someone—”

“We wrote it together,” Maya interrupted. “As a team. I'm just as responsible as Finley.”

Meanwhile, Sabrina was madly flipping pages. “Yeah, okay, so here's Maya's handwriting. ‘Dylan McGraw:
ribbit!
Compliments Maya's knitting (scarf)! Saves M a seat in the lunchroom! Laughs at M's joke! Gorgeous smile!' ”

Maya turned wild cherry.

Dylan put a book over his head.

Dahlia and Sophie went, “Aww.”

“I think that's sweet,” Micayla Hoffman said.

“Me too.” Olivia grinned at Maya. “And not surprising. But I don't get the
ribbit
business.”

“It just means Dylan's a Frog,” I said quickly. “Which is like the highest form of praise. For a boy, I mean. It's complicated. Can I please have my notebook back now?”

“I don't think we're done with it yet, Finley,” Chloe said. “And besides, what's so great about frogs? They're slimy and bumpy.”

“And green,” Sabrina added helpfully.

“Hey, I think frogs are cute,” Olivia protested. “Remember Kermit?”

Sabrina snorted. “Olivia, you
would
remember Kermit.”

It suddenly occurred to me that only the girls were talking. The boys were all staring at their shoelaces, at other people's shoelaces, at the patterns in the floor tiles. They didn't even seem angry; they just seemed embarrassed. Confused. Like they wished they could slip through a portal and come out in some alternate dimension. And right then, I wished I could join them.

But finally it was Jarret who spoke. “All right, this is stupid. And I don't get the point you're making—Frogs are cool, and Dylan's like the only one?”

“No, there are other Frogs,” Maya said. She raised her chin at me. “Aren't there, Finley?”

I pretended to mentally scroll through a long list. “Um, sure. Let me think. Well, hmm, there's also Zachary.”

Drew Looper shoved Zachary.
Way to go with the ladies, bro.
But this time Zachary wasn't smiling. And he wasn't looking at me, either.

“Though it's funny,” Sabrina announced, pointing at my writing. “Because for Zachary it says, ‘Total Frog. Apparently skipped (hopped?) over Croaker.' Whatever that's supposed to mean.” She flipped a page. “But then here it says, ‘Frog. Maybe too much of a Frog. Although now associating with Croakers and going by the Croaker name ‘Mattison.' Can you be a Frog or a Frog-plus with Croaker tendencies? Can you evolve in reverse?' ”