A Mango-Shaped Space

by Wendy Mass

  “Who’s this?” she asks suspiciously.

  “It’s Mia,” I tell her. “I go to school with Roger.”

  “Roger!” She yells so loud that I jump. “It’s your girlfriend, Mia!”

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” Roger hisses in the background. I hear him grab the phone from his sister.

  “Sorry about that,” he mumbles. I can picture his face turning red. “She lives to drive me crazy.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “She should meet my brother. They have a lot in common.”

  “So you’re calling about the project, right?”

  “Uh, r-right,” I stammer. “The project.”

  “Are you having a problem with your part of the research?”

  I’m supposed to be researching the religious beliefs of the Ibo people. I haven’t even begun, but I can’t tell him that.

  “I’ll have it all done before we meet on Tuesday,” I tell him confidently. I shift my internal calendar to Monday night and make a mental note to finish the assignment by then.

  Silence on the other end. “So what are you calling about then?”

  “We-ell,” I say slowly, drawing out the word. “You get your acupuncture on Wednesday afternoons, right?”

  “Usually. Why?”

  I take a deep breath. “I was wondering if you would let me come with you. I could get the appointment right after yours and then maybe your mom could take me home?” I hold my breath for his response.

  After a painfully long pause, he says, “I guess that could work. But why do you need to go?”

  Now it’s my turn to pause. Before I can respond, he says, “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me if it’s private or something.”

  “No, it’s okay,” I say quickly. “I have an earache that just won’t go away.” Even to me it sounds like I’m lying.

  “Oh,” he says. “Well, I’ll bring in the phone number tomorrow.”

  “Can’t you call for me?”

  “Uh, I guess so.”

  Relief floods through me. “And your mother? Do you think she can take me home?”

  “I don’t see why not,” he says. “I’ll let you know about the appointment as soon as I hear.”

  I thank him and quickly hang up. I suspect Roger knows I’m lying, and I wonder what he thinks I’m doing it for. He’s practically the only person in my grade who hasn’t asked me what color his name is. It’s actually a deep dark purple, like the skin of an eggplant. We’ve never spoken about that day at the vet’s office either. It’s like an unspoken agreement.

  Jenna has been asking me to come over for weeks now, so I put on warm clothes and scribble a Post-it note for my parents. I’m just about to stick it on the refrigerator door when voices float in from down the hall.

  “I don’t care what this Jerry thinks,” Dad says, slamming his tool chest closed. “I don’t like what’s going on.”

  I stand perfectly still, the paper poised in my hand.

  “She’s in a phase,” my mother answers calmly. “She’s just trying to figure out who she is.”

  “But her grades aren’t improving,” he points out. “And her report card comes out in a little over a month.”

  “She recently got an A on a math test,” my mother says.

  “She did? I didn’t know that.”

  Did I forget to show him the test? I must have.

  “It’s a little strange though,” my mother muses. “That test was before she started working with Samantha.”

  I don’t move a muscle, and I hear them move toward the front door. My father says something in response, but the furnace kicks in and I can’t hear it clearly over the noise. The front door closes and they’re gone. My hand shakes as I stick the note on the fridge. I’m half tempted to go back upstairs and lose myself in the bathtub, but I can’t risk letting down Jenna again. A phase! Ha! As I open the back door, my friendship bracelet gets caught on the latch and a thread rips. Sucking in my breath, I tuck the broken ends back in place so Jenna won’t notice. Maybe we’re getting too old to wear them after all.

  Chapter Ten

  “I thought for sure you’d blow me off,” Jenna says as she opens her front door.

  “I’ve never blown you off on purpose,” I say, shrugging off my jacket and handing it to her. It’s a good thing the pull of the bath wasn’t strong enough to keep me away. The awkwardness hangs heavily in the air between us.

  “You’ve been ignoring me,” she claims as she tosses my coat into the closet, not bothering to put it on a hanger.

  “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

  “I don’t know,” she says. “Maybe you’re an illusion. Let me see.” She reaches out and pinches my arm. Hard.

  “Ouch!” I yelp, pulling away.

  “Okay, you’re real. Dad’s making pancakes. Are you hungry?”

  “Starved,” I say, rubbing my arm. “Then I need to do some research on your computer, okay?”

  She stops outside the kitchen. “It’s not about the whole colors thing, right?”

  “No, it’s not,” I answer defensively. “It’s for my history project. I just don’t want to fight with Zack over the computer.”

  “Okay then,” she says. In the kitchen Mr. Davis is flipping his special blueberry pancakes. I stop short when I see an unfamiliar woman sitting at the table. I know it can’t be a relative because I’ve met them all.

  “Mia,” Jenna says in a formal voice, “this is Rebecca. A friend of my father’s.”

  I try not to show my surprise.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say stiffly.

  “Same here,” Rebecca replies in a throaty voice. I think it’s supposed to sound sexy, but it just sounds like she’s all stuffed up. And who wears a full face of makeup on a Sunday morning? She must be the giver of the purple minibackpack.

  No one says anything after that. Jenna’s dad breaks the silence with, “So, Mia, ready for my world-famous flapjacks?”

  “Uh, sure,” I answer, choosing a seat across from Rebecca. I keep glancing at Jenna, but she’s shoveling forkfuls of pancake into her mouth as if she hasn’t eaten in a week.

  “We haven’t seen you around here in a while, Mia,” he says, neatly sliding a pancake from the frying pan onto my plate. “Got a new boyfriend?”

  “Dad!” Jenna moans.

  “No!” I vehemently deny. Rebecca smiles a little half smile that suggests she thinks I’m lying, and I decide I definitely don’t like her.

  “I know,” he says, joining us at the table. “You were recruited by the CIA and have been out of the country on a secret mission.”

  I shake my head again and dig into my breakfast, matching Jenna bite for bite.

  “Abducted by aliens?”

  “Nope,” I answer with my mouth full and my eyes focused on my plate.

  “I’m just teasing you,” he says finally. “I know what you’ve been doing; Jenna told me a few weeks ago.”

  “Oh,” I say, looking at Jenna. She keeps eating. She’s going to choke if she doesn’t slow down.

  We continue eating in silence for a minute, until Rebecca asks us what we’re planning on doing today. I’m about to answer her when Jenna hops up from the table and says, “Nothing special. C’mon, Mia, let’s go.”

  Mr. Davis and Rebecca share a look. Jenna’s halfway out of the kitchen before I catch up with her.

  “That was rude,” I whisper as we climb the stairs to her room.

  “So what?” she says. “Sundays are supposed to be family time, you being considered family of course. She shouldn’t come over on a Sunday morning. She’s the rude one if you ask me.”

  We lie down on Jenna’s bed, and she changes the subject. “So what’s been going on with you lately? You’re in your own world most of the time.”

  I’m about to point out that all she seems to care about lately is her party. But I don’t want to fight again. If she really wants to know what’s going on with me, then I’m going to tell her. The floodgates open. I tell h
er about Adam’s e-mails and the whole acupuncture thing. I even tell her about my baths and about the upcoming meeting. She listens patiently but stares at the ceiling the whole time.

  After a minute she says, “Wow, you’ve been busy.”

  “So what do you think?” I ask, leaning up on my elbow. “Isn’t it cool?”

  “Yeah, it sounds cool. I still don’t really understand it though.”

  “Right,” I say, pulling at the loose strings on her flowered comforter. “Sorry.”

  “Do you think it’s something I could learn?” she asks, moving her pillow so she can sit up. “I remember things really well. I’m sure I can memorize the color of each letter.”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” I tell her, trying to keep my voice even. “It’s something you’re born with.”

  “So you were born with it and I wasn’t.” After another long pause, she asks, “When is this big meeting you’re going to?”

  “The weekend after Thanksgiving.”

  She jumps off the bed. “But my party’s that Saturday night!”

  “I know,” I say quickly, hoping she couldn’t tell I had actually forgotten. Maybe I am a bad friend! “The meeting will be over in the afternoon. I’ll be back in plenty of time.”

  “And you’ll help me set up?”

  “Of course!”

  She hands me a pen and paper from her desk. “Good. Let’s work on the list.”

  I have only written down six names when Jenna’s father knocks on the door and asks her to come downstairs.

  “Why?” she calls out.

  “It will only take a minute,” he says firmly.

  She grunts and takes her time getting to the door. I move over to her computer desk and log on to the Internet. A whole list of references pops up for Ibo, and I print them out to look at later. Homework on a Sunday should be illegal.

  Jenna comes back in and slams the door behind her.

  “Uh-oh,” I say. Before these last few months I’d never seen Jenna get mad. Even when her mom died, she seemed really sad, not angry. I would have been so angry at the world, but that’s just not Jenna’s personality. At least it didn’t used to be.

  “You have to be nicer to Rebecca,” Jenna says, imitating her dad’s voice. “Rebecca feels bad you don’t like her,” she continues. “Like I care how Rebecca feels!” She falls back onto the bed, and tears of frustration slide down her cheeks. I sit next to her and stroke her arm.

  “Why haven’t you told me about her?” I ask. “How long has she been around?”

  Jenna sniffles. “About six weeks, I guess. I didn’t tell you because I kept hoping she’d go away. Things were fine without her.”

  “This is just his first girlfriend,” I point out. “It doesn’t mean he’s going to marry her.”

  “He better not,” she says, sounding horrified.

  I pick up the birthday list. “Let’s keep going. Do you want to invite that girl from your gym class who refuses to wear her gym uniform because she thinks it’s un-American?”

  “I don’t care,” she says in a flat tone.

  “But you like her.”

  “I don’t care about the stupid party,” she snaps, grabbing the paper from me and tossing it in the air. “Maybe you should just go home.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to be alone.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask. “We can go on a PIC mission and melt all the makeup in Rebecca’s pocketbook. The stove top’s probably still warm enough.”

  “Tempting, but not today,” she replies, holding her bedroom door open for me. I grab my computer printouts and hurry after her. She already has my jacket in her hand by the time I reach the bottom of the stairs.

  The first time in weeks I go to see her and she throws me out. “I’ll see you at the bus stop tomorrow, okay, Jenna?”

  She nods miserably and closes the door behind me. Before I get more than a step away, Jenna opens the door again.

  “Wait,” she says. “Do you think your mom could give me my mother’s birthday present early this year?”

  She looks so small and sad standing in the big wooden doorway. I just want to give her a hug and tell her everything will be all right.

  “I’ll ask her,” I promise.

  “You know what?” she says. “Don’t bother.” “Are you sure?” “Yes,” she says, and closes the door for good this time. I stand there for a moment longer and then walk home slowly.

  Everyone is out when I get home, and the house seems very quiet. At least I can’t fight with anyone if I’m all alone. I settle into Mom’s office and look up the Ibo references on the Internet. I learn that they are also called Igbos, and that they believed that after their death, the gods would return their souls to Africa. That’s why they drowned themselves — to go home.

  The phone rings and startles me. I drag myself away from the Ibos and answer it.

  “Is Mia there?” a boy’s voice asks.

  “This is Mia,” I respond tentatively, searching my brain to match the voice to anyone I know.

  “It’s Adam.”

  “Adam?” I ask, sitting straight up in my chair. “How did you get my number?”

  “Dr. Weiss, I mean Jerry, gave it to me. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No, I don’t mind,” I answer. My hand holding the phone is rapidly becoming sweaty. “Why were you talking to Jerry?”

  “He called and invited me to the big meeting out there.”

  “But you live all the way in Boston.”

  “I know,” Adam says, excitement coating his words. “But we’ve worked together before, and he knows I have relatives out there I can stay with. We’ll finally get to meet each other.”

  I suddenly feel shy. “Looks like it.”

  Just then, someone else picks up the phone. I know it’s not at my house since I’m home alone. It better not be at my house since I’m home alone! Images from every scary movie I’ve ever seen run through my head, and my hand almost drops the phone.

  “I need to make a call, Adam,” a woman’s voice says, much to my relief. My heart rate slows back to normal.

  “Just a second, Mom.” We wait to hear the click before we resume talking. “So I guess I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

  “I guess so,” I reply, wishing I could come up with something more intelligent to say.

  We hang up, and I jump out of the chair like my feet have springs. I suddenly feel this need to celebrate by hugging Mango. I search through the house, but he’s doing a good job hiding. He finally resurfaces right before bedtime. He must have had a busy day getting his revenge on the squirrels because he’s very tired. Every year when it starts to get cold, the squirrels come out in full force to make sure the nuts they buried over the summer are secure. Last year at this time, Mango was smaller than the squirrels were, and they used to chase him all around the backyard. I bet this year he’s letting them know who’s really the boss of the yard. I try to entertain him with his stuffed Tweety, but he just rolls over and purrs. He swallows his pill without even chewing and settles down for the night on my pillow instead of on his blanket. His mango-colored wheezing keeps me awake, and finally I have to move him to his usual spot at the foot of the bed.

  When my alarm goes off in the morning, I awake to find Mango sitting on the window ledge, no doubt planning his next attack. Before I can roll out of bed, Zack pushes my door open and sticks his head in.

  “So? How do I look?”

  “Huh?”

  “My ears!” he says, turning his head from side to side

  “Oh, right. It’s Halloween! They look good. Very natural.” Zack has dressed up like Spock each year since he was six. I keep telling him no one watches the original Star Trek anymore, but he won’t listen. Thankfully he’s outgrown the rest of his costume, so this year he’s only wearing the ears. I remember when Halloween was my favorite holiday. Now I had forgotten all about it. I guess I’m growing up.

  At breakfast I figure I better try to be s
ociable so my father doesn’t worry so much. I tell him I think Mango is chasing the squirrels this year.

  “I don’t want to clean up any squirrel carcasses,” he says, biting into his toast with homemade apple jam. He is oblivious both to the falling crumbs and to my mother’s glare as she sweeps them into her hand.

  “Mango doesn’t actually kill them,” Zack says, his arm stuck halfway into a cereal box. “He just scares them and chases them up trees.”

  “Cats can climb trees,” Dad reminds him.

  “Remember the last time Mango climbed a tree?” I ask.

  “I remember,” Mom says. “I think the fire department is still laughing to this day.”

  “What was it exactly that they said?” Zack asks her, even though he knows very well. It’s a story he never gets tired of hearing.

  “They told me, ‘Hey Lady, have you ever seen a cat skeleton in a tree?’”

  The three of them dissolve into laughter, but that was an important day for me. When Mango finally made his way down that tree, sliding on the slippery bark, he was scared and shivering. Still not fully grown, he snuggled into the folds of my sweater, and I petted him until he calmed down. That was the first time I knew he needed me.

  Breakfast is over when Beth comes in and starts yelling that Mom washed her white sweater with her red sweater and it’s now a pink sweater and what is she supposed to wear to school?

  “You could wear a Halloween costume,” Zack suggests. “I have some extra ears.”

  “Mom!” Beth wails.

  “Live long and prosper,” Zack tells Beth before we run to make the bus. She is not amused.

  That afternoon I arrive at history class before Roger. I wait outside the door, impatiently tapping my fingers against a cold metal locker. If he doesn’t hurry, the bell is going to ring.

  Mrs. Morris walks past me into the room. “Are you joining us, Miss Winchell?”

  I have no choice but to follow her in. Just as the bell rings, Roger ducks into the door and slips into his seat. I stare at the back of his head, willing him to turn around. He’s too far away for me to whisper to him, and the last time somebody was caught passing a note, Mrs. Morris tacked it up on the bulletin board.