The Summer I Saved the World ... in 65 Days (15 page)

J
orie is having people over and invites me.

She didn't mention that “people” include the three boys she decided are my potential homecoming dates.

She didn't say anything about boys at all, so I'm wearing an old pair of jean shorts and a T-shirt of Matt's that shrank in the wash. And my glasses. Not the greatest first impression. If I wanted to make one.

There are a bunch of people from her class too. And Eli's friends Tyler and Sam, who are calling Jorie “chocolate girl.” But I don't see Eli.

I spot the boys:

1. Leo Berman hasn't grown since about sixth grade. He's nice, but I just can't get past the height issue. He barely reaches my nose.

2. Raj Patel has had about ten girlfriends, each lasting two weeks. Do I want to be number eleven? Besides, Raj seems like the kind of guy who would take off and find someone else during the dance.

3. I realize that Grady Brunson is the guy in the plaid shorts who always throws around Jorie's water bottle. He wouldn't go to homecoming with me in a million years. I don't know what Jorie was even thinking.

But the weirdest thing of all is that Sariah is here. I have to say hi. If I don't, we'll be eyeing each other all night and it'll just be more awkward than ever.

So I do. (Forty-eight.)

“You know Jorie?” I ask her.

“Not really. I'm friends with Raj.”

Was she one of his girlfriends?

We avoid each other's eyes for a second. Then I say, “Want to sit somewhere?”

She shrugs. “Okay.”

Jorie turns up the music, and Sariah and I find a spot on the floor.

I pull a thread on my shorts. “How's your self-portrait going?” Our final project in art.

“Oh. Good. Yours?”

I smile. “I'm having some problems with my eyes. Drawing them, I mean.”

“I can help you.”

“That would be good. They don't look human.”

She laughs.

“So … anything you want to tell me about frogs?”

“Oh my God.” She covers her face for a second. “I am so weird sometimes! I really do have a frog collection, but when I get nervous, I start saying all these odd, random thoughts. They just pop out, like I can't help myself. You must think I'm so strange.”

Wait. Random thoughts?

Turns out, Sariah has a whole brain full of odd things to say, only they don't seem so strange anymore. She's funny and quick, and keeps making hilarious observations about people at the party. I can't stop laughing.

We're about to get some pizza, but Jorie is dragging Grady Brunson over. “Why are you hiding in the corner?” she says to me. Then to Sariah, “Oh, hi.”

I stand. Immediate this-is-so-wrong feeling. Definitely mutual, as Grady looks at the wall to the right of my face.

“Grades,” Jorie sings, “this is Neeennna.”

“Hi.” He looks at some girls at the other end of the room.

He's very cute, if you like guys with long stringy hair, low-hanging baggy jeans, leather flip-flops, a wrinkled Hollister T-shirt. Guys who are rude to girls like me.

“So,” Jorie says loudly, “I was just telling Grades that you are thinking of going out for girls' basketball.”

I am?

“Grades plays basketball,” Jorie says, threading her arm through his. “And he's really good. He'll probably make varsity. Isn't that amazing?”

Well, it's a match. We have tons to talk about.

“I played one year in junior high,” I say. “Point guard. I didn't start, though. I'm not sure I'm good enough for a high school team. I'm only five-one.”

Why am I talking? Grady's not even listening, and Jorie has drifted off. Sariah stands. “I played in junior high too.”

“Really?”

“Also point guard.”

Grady shifts his feet. Sariah rolls her eyes.

“It's okay,” I tell him. “You don't have to stay and talk to us.”

He tips his head at me, the first acknowledgment that I'm here. “See ya around, Gina.”

I make a face as he walks away.

Sariah says, “Jerk.”

“Yeah, my grandma would have said that boy hasn't got a lot upstairs.”

“So true.”

Jorie marches over. “What happened?” she whispers. “I set the whole thing up. I bragged about your basketball skills for, like, twenty minutes. Told him you were sweet and funny and, like, a really helpful person.”

“Forget it,” I say, my voice low.

“Oh God, Nina, you're hopeless.” Jorie's still whispering. Sariah has moved away a little.

“Thanks. Thanks a lot. He couldn't even remember my name.”

“I'm just saying. You have to make it happen, you know?”

I narrow my eyes. “I'm fine, okay?”

Jorie does that half-smile-raised-lips thing. “What-evs.”

Sariah and I talk the rest of the night. Finish each other's sentences. A hundred random thoughts. But nothing about frogs.

When I'm home and fall into bed, I smile at the ceiling. Is it possible I found someone who gets me?

I
t takes Mom a few days to notice that I've been wearing Grandma's band.

She's at the kitchen sink, rinsing carryout containers, and I'm sitting at the counter, finishing my self-portrait. My eyes look a lot better since Sariah gave me some tips.

Mom turns off the water. “Is that my mother's ring?”

I nod. “I found it in her sewing basket.”

She dries her hands and sits across from me. “Really.”

I slip it off and give it to her. Mom holds it in her
palm. “Her sewing basket.” She shakes her head. “Of course. Why didn't anyone think of that? Why didn't we look there?”

She puts it on her finger, but it goes only about halfway. “She had such small hands.” Mom gives it back to me, nods. “You have her hands. Every time I see your hands, I see hers.”

I slip the band back on.

“It fits you perfectly.”

We're quiet. The wall clock ticks. Dad is snoring on the sofa in the family room. All their papers are put away.

Mom swallows. “It's been a year.”

“Last week.”

She hesitates, then reaches her hand across the counter and covers mine. “You miss her?”

“I do. So much.” I blink back tears.

“I keep thinking about those dinners at her apartment, how she'd annoy me, but now … I don't even remember what it was that upset me.… I miss her too.”

I twist the band.

“I thought having her stay here, when she was sick, might make things better between us. But they got worse. It was hard … I tried … I really did.”

“I know.”

She bites her lip. “The other night, I looked for the
carrot ring recipe.… I had a taste for it too. Went through every single one in that old shoe box.”

“Did you find it?”

She shakes her head, sighs. “No.… What are you drawing?”

I hold up the paper. “Myself.”

She takes the sketch, examines it. “Pretty good. You want to do something with art?”

“You mean for a career?”

Mom nods.

“Probably not.”

“You know what you want to do?”

I grin. “Not a clue.”

She smiles. “That's all right.”

“Did you know—I mean, when you were thirteen?”

“I don't remember. I just didn't want … to be like my mother.” She gets up. Pushes in the stool, goes back to the sink. Mom didn't cry when Grandma died. But her eyes are teary now.

Is this forty-nine?

I watch her squirt soap around the sink, then rinse it, sloshing the water with her hands.

She turns. “I'm glad you two were close. And that she had a granddaughter like you.”

I scoot myself up onto the counter next to the sink.

“What?” she asks.

“She was proud of you. She told me.”

Mom nods, wipes her eyes with the back of her hand.

She turns off the water, and we each let out a long breath.

Yes, forty-nine.

T
he next day, I'm in my room, trying to make sense of
The Alchemist
, when I hear shouting outside. Eli's arguing with a man in his driveway. His dad. I haven't seen him in a long time. An old, rusty car is parked in front of the house, with blackish exhaust coming out the back.

I run out. Eli's dad is wearing a grimy flannel shirt, jeans, and a Chicago Bears cap. He's got a stubbly beard.

“Just leave!” Eli yells. “Don't come back! Ever! We don't need you!”

“What about twenty bucks for your old man?”

Eli's cheeks are bright red. “I hate you!”

His dad picks up a basketball from the grass and heaves it into the street.

Thomas runs out of the garage to chase the ball. “Go back inside!” Eli shouts.

Eli's dad starts to throw a punch, but Eli grabs his arm. Eli is a few inches taller. They sort of push each other. Then Mrs. Bennett comes out and tries to break it up.

I'm shaking. Should I call the police? Should I get another neighbor? I'm about to run in and get my phone, but Mrs. Bennett says, calm and strong: “We're done. Get off my property. Now.”

Eli half drags his dad to the car, opens the door, and shoves him inside. His dad guns the motor and speeds off. Leaves a fog of black smoke in the air.

Mrs. Bennett tries to hug Eli, but he storms away. “No!”

He clenches his hands into fists, then jumps up, hits the basketball net. Kicks the pole. He sees me and runs over. He looks a little crazy. Like he's either going to cry or explode.

“Nina!” He grabs my hand. Pulls. And starts running.

Doesn't say another word as he tears out of our neighborhood, moving fast, holding on. I'm doing all I
can to keep up. We pass the park and cut through some backyards. A dog starts barking. Some kids are running through a sprinkler. Everything's a blur. I feel a cramp in my side. A woman in her car honks at us.

He doesn't let go of my hand.

Finally, Eli stops and I almost crash into him. We're at the edge of the big open field by our old elementary school. It's deserted. I bend over, hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath, trying to stop shaking.

“Have you thought about going out for cross-country?” I pant.

Eli picks up a small rock and throws it into the field. “He comes here every few months and busts into the house and looks for money. He's supposed to be giving my mom child support, right? Well, not only does that not happen, but he thinks he can just help himself to whatever cash Mom has left for me and Thomas while she's at work. I've been cutting people's lawns all summer, trying to help. The guy hasn't had a job in years.”

“You stood up to him,” I say softly.

“Yeah. I've done it before. He'll be back. And I'll do it again.”

“Can't you get a court order to make him stay away from you?” I've heard my parents talk about that.

“We have one. I'm supposed to call the cops every time he shows up? Great life for Thomas. I hate it when
Thomas sees the fighting, but I can't help it. My dad makes me so mad.” Eli walks into the field and stands there, looking out, his back to me.

The school is closed tight for the summer. No art projects hanging in the windows or from the ceilings. It feels so long ago that Eli, Jorie, and I were here. Played games at recess and learned long division and sang in concerts.

I stand next to him.

“So, see,” he says. “Not everyone's good, and good things can't fix people like that.”

“Maybe.”

“Try giving my dad some flowers. He'd sell them. See if he could make a few bucks.”

I touch his arm. “But do you think there are more people in the world like your dad, or more people like me? And you?”

He sighs, kicks at the grass. “I don't know. How can someone know that?”

“It's not if you know; it's what you hope. You can't give up, not try.”