Two Naomis (13 page)

“So you know how we postponed the celebration because . . .” It would be impossible to sum up how not celebration-y that class with the other Naomi was last weekend, so I let the “because” sit in the air. Birds are singing, and the “because” fades away as they tweet on, mixed in with the sounds of people and cars.

“Yeah,” Annie says, watching her feet dribble the soccer ball. She's running some drill she learned at practice that involves kicking the ball high up and then trying to control it with her feet. I always want to say, “It would be so much easier if you'd use your hands,” but Annie doesn't find soccer jokes funny.

It's hot this morning, but there are lots of clouds, and when they slide in front of the sun, you can feel a cool breeze too.
Beneath the tree, little not-yet-apricots fell before they had a chance to get ripe, rotting in a sloppy circle around the trunk.

I'm on the swing, rocking slowly, feeling pretty miserable. “I screwed up,” I say. I've had that not-hungry-and-then-some feeling in my stomach all week.

Annie's feet keep doing complicated things, but now she's looking up at me. “Yeah? So what really happened?”

I tell her the whole horrible story. Everything. How I kept not doing any work. And how the other Naomi and I argued a lot but sometimes we agreed too, and how some of the stuff we put in our project was really cool. But how in the end it was this whole disaster, and if I had only worked as hard as the other Naomi, everything would have been fine, the class would be over, we'd have had our big celebration, and Annie would have already met the other Naomi.

“I really did want to meet her,” Annie says.

I'm almost sure they'd like each other. I can picture Annie “reading” one of Brianna's books, and both of them—Brianna and Naomi—laughing with Annie and me.

“I'm realizing something,” I tell Annie. “I actually like her. I was so mad at Dad about everything that I was almost refusing to let her be my friend, you know?”

Incredibly, impossibly, Annie's feet are not moving. The ball is still, right next to her. She's not moving, just waiting, like I've said something she thought she'd never hear.

“She's really smart. And kind of funny too.”

I wish I could make this better. And without thinking too
much about it, I say, “So I have this idea”—even though it's only the start of one—“and maybe you could meet her.”

“I'm tired of waiting. When? When would I meet her?”

“Now?”

I don't exactly lie to my dad, because it is true, as I said, that we're heading toward Annie's now. I don't mention that we'll be walking right past her house after we head toward it. Annie and I are barely on our way when she asks, “Exactly how mad will your dad be if he finds out?”

Good question. Hard to answer. “He won't find out,” I tell her. I want to say more, but the loudest bus in the history of transportation is right next to us. It could win awards for snorty and groaning loudness. We walk faster to get away, but it catches up to us. Annie stops, turns, and gives it a nasty look. A bus! When it finally turns, we can hear each other again.

“We're allowed to walk to each other's houses all the time, right?” I say.

Annie looks at me like she's not even going to bother answering such a stupid question. “It's the other part,” she says. “Are you allowed to walk to the Y yourself?”

She knows I'm not. All because of one stupid street. That very wide street we have to cross where there was once a terrible accident and so now I need to be with my dad to cross, probably until I graduate high school. Or maybe even after that. “I walked there every week with my dad for the six stupid classes,” I say. And then, remembering I'm trying to be nicer
about the whole DuoTek thing, I say, “For six whole weeks.”

Annie makes a face at me—eyebrows raised, half a smile—that says,
You totally didn't answer my question, and we both know you are not allowed to cross that street without an adult
.

We're a block from Annie's when she stops walking. She looks at me, confused, and says, “So wait a minute. You know her sched-ule by heart? You're sure the other Naomi will be there now?”

I shake my head. “But she made it sound like she's always there. Like she practically owns the building. She takes swimming, African dance, and probably five other things too. And if she's not there, maybe she'll be at the library.”

“Our library?”

“Um, no, I don't think so, but we could figure it out. I'm sure we'll find her. I need to at least try. I want to, you know, talk it out. And tell her I'm sorry.”

When we reach Annie's house, she races to the end of the lawn to grab a new ball because her soccer feet need it, and she's almost all the way back to the sidewalk when her mom opens the front door. “Naomi! Annie, I thought you were staying at Naomi's today.”

Annie is the worst liar. This hardly ever comes up—the only time I saw it was one huge lie about Halloween candy she was supposed to share with her brothers. But it's like she's playing freeze tag. Right here on the sidewalk, Annie has stopped walking, dribbling, talking. My best friend the statue.

Not that
I
know exactly how to handle this. I wasn't counting on parents.

“Are you staying here now? Naomi, should I call your father?” her mom asks.

“NO!” I say—too loud and too fast, and just way too
too
.

“We were about to . . .” Maybe she won't notice that it's not a complete sentence.

Her mom looks. And looks. And finally says, “Well, Annie, since you're home, you may as well come with me to pick up Chase. I was going to call now anyway. We can give you a lift if you'd like, Naomi.”

“No thanks,” I say. I should probably say more, but maybe saying less is the way to go with . . . lying. I don't have a ton of experience. I wave and smile and keep walking, even though maybe it's a little weird that I'm heading in the opposite direction of home.

When I reach Scary Boulevard, I'm thinking about what I want to say to Naomi. I know I at least owe it to my dad to cross at the corner, wait at the light, and be as careful as I can be. And I am. It's no big deal, really. It's not like I'm six. I can cross big streets. This shouldn't even be something I have to worry about my father getting mad about.

As I walk up to the Y, I'm trying to remember if there's a directory about which class meets in which room. And—uh-oh—did all classes end the same week as Girls Gaming the System? Is this the stupidest idea ever? I brace myself for the awful smell and walk in, hoping I'll figure it out, and suddenly there's someone wet wrapped around my waist, jumping up and down and saying, “White Naomi! White Naomi! What are you doing here?”

Valerie turns the corner from the other hallway, saying, “Brianna, don't run—” and then she sees me and says, “Naomi! What are you doing here?”

The question of the day! Which I answer with a question of my own. “Is Naomi here? I wanted to talk to her.”

I wish I had a stopwatch so I could tell you exactly how long Valerie stands there staring at me. I also wish I had a towel, because Brianna is getting me soaked! She finally unhugs and takes a step back and looks at me the same way her mother does.

Valerie's shaking her head as she asks, “Is your father here?”

“No,” I say.

She tilts her head a little and then asks, “Does he know you're here?”

This is bad. “Not exactly,” I say.

“And the reason you're here but he doesn't know is . . . ?”

This is very bad. “I wanted to talk to Naomi. I had a feeling she'd be here.”

Brianna keeps looking back and forth between us. Her mouth is wide open.

Valerie holds her phone. “Do you want to call your dad or do you want me to?”

I don't want either of those things.

It's one thing being the New Naomi Marie when I don't have to see Ms. E(vil); it's not so easy when we're on our way to meet her for the first time since she made me look stupid in front of everyone.

“Please don't pout, Naomi Marie,” says Momma. “It's over. Let it go.”

“Easy for you to say.
You
weren't completely destroyed in front of the whole world.”

Momma raises her eyebrow and turns to me as we walk to the parking lot. “Destroyed? The whole world? Don't you think you're being a little dramatic?”

“Drama Queeeen, you're a super-fiend,” sings Xio under her breath. She flinches when I glare at her. “Sorry. It's just one of George Henderson's verses on Adedayo's—” She stops. “Never mind.”

Momma unlocks the car door, and we all buckle up.

“We should have just canceled, not postponed,” I say. I've been very happy to not think about last Saturday all week. Now every mortifying moment is coming back in a rush like a waterfall. “There's nothing to celebrate about that . . . that . . . debbuckle. Let's just forget the whole thing. Can't we just go to the park by ourselves?”

“You mean
de-BAH-cle
, honey,” Momma says softly, looking back and smiling.

Humph. I thought that sounded weird. I fold my arms and look out of the window as we get onto the highway.

“I liked what you made,” Momma says. “I don't want to forget it. And neither do you. Maybe you can do a presentation at school or something.”

“Don't say ‘presentation'!
And
we missed the showcase deadline. We were the . . . the Fools Not Gaming the System!”

“Fool's gold never gets old . . . ,” sing Xio and Bri. I turn to them.

“Sorry,” says Xio. “It's just, not many people say ‘fools,' . . . and also, that was one of—”

“ADEDAYO! I know, I know,” I say. “How do
you
know that song?” I ask Brianna.

“I know everything,” she answers. “I have graduation soon.” Then she turns it into a song. “I have graaaad-yooooo-A-shun SOOOOOON!”

I cover my ears and turn back to the window.

“Hey,” says Momma gently. “We're celebrating your hard work, that you tried a new thing. We're going to your favorite park, and we even got your favorite Zipcar!”

“It doesn't even smell new anymore,” I grumble. “That's what I hate about Zipcars—everybody uses them, and then they get old.”

Momma glances at me in the rearview mirror but just keeps driving.

“I bet there's a way to make this fun,” whispers Xio. “You know you always come up with something. Do you have any game ideas?”

Xio's got my back. I try to smile as I shrug. “Forget it. It's not a big deal.”

She squeezes my hand, and I add, “Thanks.”

As we head across the bridge, Brianna spots another Zipcar in the lane next to us and waves. The driver doesn't wave back, so I stick out my tongue on my sister's behalf, and that makes me feel a tiny bit better.

My best friend is here.

We're going to my favorite park, in a Zipcar.

With a picnic cooler full of treats.

And I WILL NEVER HAVE TO COLLABORATE AND
COOPERATE WITH THE OTHER NAOMI AGAIN.

I guess there's still plenty to celebrate.

We get to the park first, and the sprinklers are on, so me, Xio, and Bri start running through the one shaped like an octopus. When Momma and Dad were getting divorced, I got to use some “take a break days” and skip school; I asked to come here every time. You can do things like run through the sprinklers without wondering if someone's mom is going to complain loudly about “big kids” being too rough.

Kids are already wearing shorts and flip-flops, and screaming like someone just announced a free lifetime supply of ice cream for everyone. We've got a few more weeks of school left, but this park always makes me feel like summer. I can breathe deeper near the river; it's like I put my problems on one of the little boats leaving the harbor, far away and getting farther by the minute.

“Tom!” Momma yells, waving frantically and smiling.

They're here. Yay. Tom smiles and starts heading toward us. Naomi Edith is being draggy behind him. Another girl, who I guess must be Annie, is kind of walking between them, looking like she doesn't know how she's supposed to look.

Tom flops down on our blanket. “Ugh, it feels like the middle of summer already!” he says. “I packed sunscreen!”

He looks a little red already. Momma must agree, because she says, “I'll help you with that,” which is my cue to run far, far away. I can feel Xio and Bri running with me, but when I turn to them, it's
her
.

I slow down.

“Hi,” she says. “You run pretty fast.”

“I'm in the Mighty Milers club,” I say.

“I'm not,” she says, bending over. “I'm more in the Super Sitters.”

She looks up like she's hoping I'm going to laugh.

“So . . . how was your week? I mean, after . . .” She clears her throat.

“The total fail?” I finish. “The complete mortification?” I guess I'm still a little upset. I look around to make sure Xio's not close enough to hear me.

“Well, I was just going to say kind of bad,” she says. “But, um, okay, if you want to go in that direction . . .”

“Why did you have to say anything?” I ask. “It was YOUR idea to work together. Then you didn't want to help at all! And after I did all the work, and I did a good job too, if I do say so myself—”

“You'll definitely say so yourself,” she says, but I keep going.

“I did a GREAT job, and then you had to go and mess it up in front of Julie and everyone!” I take a deep breath. “And my dad was going to come, but he didn't because of YOUR dad, and—”

Then the worst happens. I start crying.

And so does she.

Bri comes running up. “Are you guys playing tag? Because if you are— Oh Naomis, are you crying?” She looks really worried as Xio and Annie come up behind her.

“Um, Bri, let's go back to the sprinklers, okay?” says Xio.

“Yeah!” says Annie quickly. “I'll show you how my flip-flops change colors when they get wet!” They both grab Bri by the hand on each side and hustle her away.

After a while, the Other Naomi says, “Xiomara seems cool.”

“It's just ‘Xio' now. . . . Annie seems cool too.” We lean against a tree and watch them play with Brianna. A few pigeons wander over, but they stalk away once they realize we don't have any snacks.

“I'm sorry,” we both say at the exact same time.

Then we laugh. And laugh, and laugh, until we're both laid out on the grass, looking up at the sky.

“It's so funny how you can be crying one minute and then laughing the next, right?” I say.

“I know!” she says. “My mom says—” Then she stops.

“How's your mom?” I ask after minute. And before she even lifts a shoulder, I add, “And don't SHRUG!”

“You really do have this bossy-big-sister thing down, don't you?” she says. And we giggle until she almost whispers, “I miss her.”

I lie really still, like she's a deer that might run away if I move too fast.

“And I thought I would have visited her by now and we hardly get to Skype and I used to be able to talk to my mom whenever I wanted but now I never get what I want and everything's already decided before I even realize what I want.”
She says that all in one breath.

It's a risk, but . . . “You sure do sound like an only child,” I say. She looks at me for a beat, and then she laughs. Whew.

“Hey, did you notice the weather?” I ask.

“Huh?”

“It's not raining.”

“You're right,” she says. “That's a good sign.”

We're silent for a while.

“Did you like that class?” she asks.

It's my turn to shrug. “It was okay. At first, I was really like NO. It was not how I planned to spend my Saturday mornings. But . . . it got kind of interesting. And when I tried making my own project, I . . . I showed it to my dad, and he got really into it, and it was like how we do puzzles and board games together, but we never have that much time now. . . .” I trail off. “Anyway, I always figure if I have to do something, I might as well make it good.”

“You mean make it THE BEST,” she says. “You're kind of competitive.”

“I just want to do MY best,” I say.

“I guess my ideas weren't up to par,” she says.

“What ideas?”

“The ones I put in the Brain Dump,” she says. “About the stairs and stuff?”

“I never saw that,” I say slowly. “Is that the note you were talking about? I sent you some messages in the Dump and you
never answered, so I stopped checking after a while.”

“Ohhh . . .” She nods like I've just explained the mysteries of the universe to her. “Well, do you think maybe you gave up on me too soon?”

“. . . Maybe. But do you think maybe you didn't exactly give me that much to work with? Like, ideas that stayed ‘in your head'? I mean, I know I'm magic, but . . .”

We look at each other for a while. I bite my lip, and then she bites hers. A giggle escapes and I clap my hand over my mouth, but it's too late. We're both laughing again.

Bri runs over. “THEY STOPPED CRYING,” she yells over to Xio and Annie, who are sitting on the swings.

“They look like friends,” says the Other Naomi, watching them walk over to us.

“We have good taste,” I say.

We play Lava Monster together until we hear the ice cream truck. We all look at each other.

“What do you think? Should we ask?” says the Other Naomi. “We brought a lot of good stuff from Morningstar.”

“It IS supposed to be a celebration,” I say. “But we brought Shelly Ann's triple-chocolate cake too.”

“We'll ask,” says Xio. “Parents always say yes to the guests.”

“I like the way you think,” says Annie. The two of them head toward Momma and Tom, while the Other Naomi and I take turns pushing Bri on the swings.

Xio and Annie come back, and they're not smiling.

“What's wrong?” I ask.

“The ice cream man left!” cries Bri, looking around. “That's what's wrong.”

“Um. Well, no, that's not it,” says Annie, looking at Xio. “It's, um, well . . .”

Xio's looking back at Annie, and both of their eyebrows are about to leap off their heads. Then they start signaling to each other in fake sign language like the rest of us aren't even there, and this is so silly that both the Other Naomi and I say “WHAT?!?!” at the same time. And laugh.

Annie starts. “It's just . . . your parents—”

“—they were really looking at each other,” blurts out Xio.

“So?” says the Other Naomi.

“Xio, you know Momma believes in eye contact,” I say.

“I mean
really
looking,” says Xio. “Like on those book covers in the teen section.” She turns to Annie. “Which is the only section that looks interesting.”

“I know, right?” says Annie.

The Other Naomi and I share an eye roll.

“They keep holding hands,” says Annie.

My stomach hurts.

“And touching foreheads,” adds Xio.

Wait, no, it's my head.

“They're doing it now!” shouts Bri.

MY EYES.

We all watch for a while, and it's pretty gross. I mean, it kind of always is, but . . .

The air is gone. I can't breathe. What happened to the air?

“They're
in love
,” Annie whispers. The Other Naomi opens her mouth like she wants to say something, but nothing comes out.

“Your mouth is open,” Bri says to me. “But nothing's coming out. You're gonna catch flies in there!”

“Be quiet, Bri,” the Other Naomi whispers, just as I was about to.

“Yeah, Bri,” I say. “Just be quiet.”