Time to Fly (8 page)

“That's enough, Zoe,” she says quietly. “Like it or not, I'm your mother, and it's my job to make decisions for us.”

“Your
job
?!” I scowl and turn away from her, so angry I'm afraid of what I might say next. Is it just my imagination, or is the sky getting darker by the second?

She hesitates, then rests her hands lightly on my shoulders. “Sweetie, I know I've been busy. I know I should have called you more often. But with the three-hour time difference, by the time I'd finally get home in the evening, it was usually much too late to call.” Her voice is so wistful, it almost makes me feel guilty for being mean to her. “Oh Zoe, I've worked so hard for this—this job, and this house—but it means nothing to me if you're not there to share it with me. I want you to come home.”

I've waited so long to hear those words, yet now, instead of making me happy, they're just making me upset and confused. I grip Sneakers's leash, blinking hard and willing myself not to cry.

She doesn't even know me anymore. She'll never understand how important Sneakers and everybody at Dr. Mac's Place are to me. And besides, who knows how long her job will last? If her series is cancelled, then where will we go?

“I'm not leaving Sneakers,” I announce. “And I'm not leaving the clinic, either.”

“Zoe, be reasonable—”

“No, Mom! Go have your wonderful career in Hollywood if you want. But I'm not going anywhere.”

Sneakers is delighted when I bolt for home. It looks like it's about to storm, anyway.

Mom doesn't run after me. And I don't look back.

Chapter Seven

I
wake up early, before my alarm goes off. In my dream, thousands of people were squawking at me, telling me where to go and what to do.

I blink my eyes and get a wet tongue in the face. “Morning, Sneak.”

He gives me that little whine, the one that tells me
it's time to go
. The rapid wag of the tail means now—
as in five minutes ago.

I roll out of bed, slide my feet into the leopard-print slippers Mom gave me for Christmas, and follow Sneakers downstairs. Out the backdoor window, I see that Mom and Gran are already awake and outside on the deck. Mom, up for sunrise? And why isn't Gran tending to her patients? I pad through the kitchen and peek out. They're sitting in the newly scoured deck chairs, sipping steaming mugs of coffee.

I open the door a crack, and Sneakers slips out and bounds onto the deck. He races to the tree, does his thing, then makes a sharp U-turn to run toward Mom, his tail wagging with interest in this still-new person.

“Sneakers!” I call him back. We are still mad at her. In fact, we aren't even talking to her.

Sneakers looks over at Mr. Cowan's yard and barks. He's answered by scolding squawks and shrieks. The parrots are back! I guess that explains the squawking in my dream—and why Mom and Gran are outside at dawn.

I open the door wider and peek out. The parrots have taken over Mr. Cowan's yard, clustered at the feeders and perched on his deck railing eating oranges. I send them some telepathy:
Hey, guess who cut up those oranges for you! Me, Zoe. I'm your friend!

Padding across the yard in my slippers, I lean over the fence and scan the birds, searching for E.T. I want him to get some of the oranges.

The birds ignore me. They're too busy eating. Wait a minute—there's a little green one with a blue head, right on Mr. Cowan's deck railing. “Phone home,” I say softly, hoping that I don't scare them away—and that the blue-headed one will answer.

The other birds keep eating and don't react, but the one parrot swivels his little blue head toward me and blinks. It's got to be E.T.!

“Phone home,” I repeat, crossing my fingers.

“Phone home!” the parrot squawks back. “Pretty girl! Time to fly!”

Yes! It's him. Thrilled, I turn to see if Gran and Mom noticed. But they've gone inside already. Oh well. I'd better go inside too and get ready for school.

At the breakfast table, Mom and Gran inform me that I am not going to school today.

I put down my toast. “How can you just decide these things without asking me?” I demand.

Gran's eyebrow shoots up and she gives me that warning look. She really dislikes mouthi ness. “Sorry,” I mumble. I'm not mad at her.

“We have lots to do,” Mom explains. “Gran will call your school and have your records sent out to the Beverly Hills School District, and you and I can start packing.”

Very pleasantly and calmly, I explain back to her, “Even if I was leaving—which I'm not—I'd want to go to school to say good-bye to all my friends. Which I'm not going to do, because I am
not
leaving.”

“Oh, Zoe, you can't be serious,” Mom says, pouring herself more coffee.

It's as if she doesn't believe me. I feel my anger flare up again. “I've never been more serious in my life,” I tell her, slowly and emphatically.

She looks a little taken aback, but just says, “There's no need to be so dramatic.”

Even Gran has to laugh at
that
comment coming from an actress. Then she says, “I think you should stay home too, Zoe. We need a chance to talk and make plans. How about it?” She's obviously trying to smooth the conversation over before it blows up into a fight.

Late as usual, Maggie comes flying down the stairs just in time to hear this. “Can I stay home too?” she asks.

“No,” Gran replies.

“No fair! Why not?”

“Do the words
math makeup test
ring a bell?” Gran says firmly.

Maggie glowers at me. “Lucky dog.”

“Maggie, I actually want to go to school today.” I can't wait to tell everyone about the parrots, and see if Brenna has any pictures, and discuss my parrot Web site idea with Sunita, and—

“Here.” Maggie jams her baseball cap on my head. “Stuff your hair up, and you can go as me. Maybe you can ace my math test.”

“No way.” I toss the hat back at her like a Frisbee. She plunks it back on her head, slings her backpack over her shoulder, and grabs a piece of toast. She folds it like a taco to hold some scrambled eggs and begins stuffing it in her mouth as she heads for the door.

“Do you see what she's doing?” I ask Gran indignantly.

Gran sighs. “At least it's real food for a change.”

“Have fun playing hooky,” Maggie calls with her mouth full.

“Have fun taking your math test,” I shout back as the front door slams.

“They're so cute,” Mom says to Gran. “They remind me of the way Joanne and I used to fight, back when the MacKenzie sisters ruled the neighborhood.” She smiles, but her eyes are sad.

Suddenly I feel a tiny bit sorry for being so mean to my mom. Joanne was Maggie's mother—and Mom's sister. I've never really thought about what it must have been like for Mom to lose a sister. She doesn't talk about it.

Maggie's the nearest thing I've ever had to a sister. I look out the front window at her standing at the bus stop, gabbing with David. I think about her stubborn, upturned nose covered with freckles, and about how we can squabble all the time and still stay close, just the way siblings do.

It would feel horrible to lose her.

Mom invites me to stay at the table and have a cup of tea with her, but I have nothing to say that I haven't already said. “Um, gotta take a shower,” I mutter as I leave the kitchen. She doesn't comment on the fact that I was already dressed for school.

For a while I just stand in the shower thinking, letting the hot water pour down on me. Then I wash my hair, even though it's not really dirty. I get out and blow-dry it, even though I usually just let it air dry. After that I try on three different outfits before choosing one to wear.

Anything
to delay going down to face my mother.

When I finally do get downstairs, Mom's on the phone. She whispers at me, “It's my agent. I'll be off in just a minute, honey.”

Who is she kidding? This is not going to be a five-minute call.

Sitting at the kitchen counter, I scan through the classified ads for “Pets, Lost & Found,” hoping nobody's looking for a lost parrot. I don't want E.T. to be lost, I want him to be abandoned. So I can adopt him. I cross my fingers as I read.

“Lost parrot.” I bite my nail and read on. An Amazon. Good—that's much bigger than E.T. I read on down the column. Everything else is a cat or a dog.

“No lost blue-crowned conures,” I inform Gran, who's at the sink washing the breakfast pans. “Looks like E.T. will need a new home after all.”

Gran shakes her head. “You may not be able to catch him, Zoe.”

What Gran doesn't understand is that E.T. likes me. I'm sure I can find a way to catch him.

“Here, wipe the bacon grease off the stove, please.” Gran tosses me a soapy sponge.

I wipe down the stovetop and counter, and then hand the sponge back to Gran. Mom's still on the phone. I can sort of hear her muffled conversation through the closed door. I wonder what Gran thinks about this whole L.A. business?

I take a deep breath. “Gran, do you think I should go with my mom to Los Angeles?” I'm not sure what I want her answer to be.

She doesn't answer right away, which tells me she's not sure, either. Somehow it reassures me to know I'm not the only one feeling uncertain. Finally she says, “What I think about it isn't as important as what you think. How do
you
feel about moving?”

“Not good,” I state. “It's not that I don't want to be with Mom. And a new place could be kind of interesting, I guess. But I don't want to leave you and Maggie and Dr. Mac's Place. And I refuse to leave Sneakers.”

“It's never easy to leave people you love.” Gran looks at me sympathetically. “On the other hand, living three thousand miles from your mother can't be easy for you, either.”

“But Gran, do you really think living in L.A. will be better for me than living here in Ambler?”

“It's not a question of which city is better to live in, Zoe. The question is, where will you be happier?”

“How should I know?” I snort. Do I look like a clairvoyant? Biting my lip, I remind myself that I'm not mad at Gran. “All I know is, Mom wants me to leave behind everything I love here. And she even wants to pull me out of school and force me to go to a big new school with barely six more weeks left in the school year. I don't want to do that!”

“Fine,” Gran says. “Then that's what you need to tell her.”

Gran always makes everything sound so simple, but it's never simple when I actually try to do it. “Can't
you
tell her?” I mumble.

A long, silent pause. Gran wrings out her dish-cloth and sets it on the counter. Finally she turns and looks straight at me. For the first time since I've known her, her bright, clear blue eyes look clouded.

“Zoe, if I try to tell Rose what she should or shouldn't do, it won't help your case, believe me. I made that mistake long ago, and I learned my lesson. This is something only you can do. You need to talk with her and tell her exactly how you feel. Just remember, she loves you very much and truly does want the best for you.”

“Could have fooled me.” Sullenly I scuff my toe on the linoleum.

“Sometimes people do make bad decisions, Zoe, even though they may be trying to do the right thing. And sometimes”—Gran reaches for my hand—“what seems like a bad decision is actually a good one. Think about it: A year ago you wanted to go with Rose to California instead of moving in with me—perfectly understandable. You couldn't see why your mother would leave you with a grandmother who was a complete stranger to you. But looking back, don't you think your mother made the right decision when she sent you here?”

As usual, Gran's logic is undeniable. I give a tiny nod.

Gran ruffles my hair, then folds me into a hug. “Honey, your mother and I don't always see eye-to-eye. But there's one thing we agree on: we both want you to be happy. So you need to search your heart, figure out what you truly want, and then speak up.” Gran lifts my chin. Her eyes are clear again, such a light, piercing blue. She smiles at me. “That's my prescription.”

“OK, Dr. Mac, I'll try to follow it.”
Try
being the operative word. Based on past experience, my hopes for success are not high.

The other line rings, and Gran picks up the kitchen phone. “This is Dr. MacKenzie.”

Immediately her face takes on a serious expression. Must be a patient with an emergency. I start to leave the room, but she signals for me to wait. After a few minutes she thanks the caller and hangs up.