by Barbara Dee
When the bell rang, she came over to my table. “Zinny, can you stick around for a sec?”
It was one of those non-invitation invitations. I knew I couldn’t say no. So I shrugged.
“Everything okay?” she asked in a quiet voice as soon as the classroom was empty.
“I guess,” I said.
Ms. Molina met my eyes. “Zinny, the crayfish will be safe, I promise. The experiment will only take a few minutes. I’ve done this sort of track before, and it’s more like a tunnel—”
“Okay,” I said quickly. “I mean, I get all that.”
“So what’s wrong?”
I shrugged again.
“Are you upset because I wasn’t around today at lunch?”
I stared at the floor. Her saying it like that made me sound like a sulky baby. I felt my face heat up with shame.
“Not really,” I muttered, fingering my miniature chair-charm thingy. “I had something to do then, anyway.”
If she knew about Gladys, she wasn’t saying. “Well, I’ll be in my lab tomorrow. Would you like to join me during lunch, help with the crayfish?”
“Okay, sure!” I couldn’t keep the smile out of my voice.
“Good,” she said, nodding. “I’ll look forward to that, Zinny. But there’s a catch.”
There was? I chewed my lip.
“If you want to hang out in the lab, you have to go to Lunch Club,” Ms. Molina said. “Every Wednesday. And I’ll hear from Mr. Patrick if you don’t show up, or if you leave early. No Lunch Club, no lab time. Do we have a deal?”
I nodded immediately, because I’d get to be in the lab four days of the week—and anyhow, I knew I had no choice.
Wednesday, after School
“Hey, Zinny,” Aiden said excitedly. “You know how I know that thing about piranhas and the cow?”
I looked up from my math homework. “No idea what you’re even talking about, Aiden.”
He showed me a book he was reading. “I told you before, how they skeletonized the cow! President Teddy Roosevelt saw it happen with his own eyes. In the Amazon River. In 1913.”
“Huh,” I said, refusing to look. “You’re not writing about this for your how-to project, are you?”
“Maybe.”
“How to Survive an Attack of Piranhas? Aidy—”
He lifted his chin at me. “What’s wrong with it?”
Where do I start? It’s gross. And not funny!
“What happened to the other ideas you had—the grappling hook and the suction cups?” I asked.
“Ms. Felsenstein said no.”
“Did she give you a reason?”
He shrugged. “Everything I want to do she says isn’t a real topic. And I think she’s getting mad.”
“Huh. Did she give you any idea of what she would consider a real topic?”
He shook his head. “That’s why I’m researching piranhas. Because they are a real topic. Teddy Roosevelt was the president.”
“Okay,” I said. “I just think maybe your teacher wants you do something more realistic. And it doesn’t have to be about survival, does it?”
“Survival is realistic, Zinny.”
I caught my breath—just a little, so he couldn’t tell.
“Well, sure,” I said quickly. “I mean, what about something practical, like How to Keep an Annoying Kid from Staring at You? You could wear a mask on the back of your head with two big scary eyes staring at him—”
“That would never work, Zinny.”
“How do you know? You could try it on Rudy.”
Aiden lifted one shoulder, like my idea wasn’t even worth a complete shrug.
“Or you could do it—the staring-mask thing—to keep tigers from sneaking up on you,” I said. “It could be like How to Survive If You’re Up a Tree and There’s a Tiger Beneath You. Or a Bear.”
“Why would there be a tiger or a bear?”
“I’m not saying there would be. It’s probably just Rudy sneaking around, acting annoying, maybe wearing a dumb tiger suit or something. And you don’t want him to see you, right? So you set a snare trap—”
“Out of what?”
“I don’t know. Dryer lint and banana peels. Gum wrappers. Or marshmallows.”
“Zinny, why do you keep talking about marshmallows?”
“Actually, I don’t,” I said, doing a goofy grin. “I just think they’re funny. Don’t you, Aidy? All soft and gooey. Even the name ‘marshmallow’—”
“Nah, they’re not funny at all, really. And that’s a dumb topic, anyway.” Then his eyes lit up. “Oh, but wait, I know—what about leeches!”
I scrunched up my face. “What about leeches?”
“That’s the coolest topic, don’t you think? How to Escape If You’re Attacked by Leeches.”
“I don’t know, Aiden,” I began. “I mean, don’t you think Ms. Felsenstein wants you to pick something less… disgusting?”
But already he’d started typing. And now he was ignoring me completely.
I studied my little brother. Had he always been this weird—so fascinated with gross things, tales of survival? He’d always liked bathroom jokes, words like “snot” and “barf” and “fart.” And he used to think the word “underwear” was the funniest thing ever. Maybe this survival stuff was the next phase, normal third-grade-boy stuff. Weren’t they all fascinated with this kind of thing—lightning and caves, people-eating plants, quicksand, hailstorms, earthquakes? Things that were real, but not so realistic?
Sure, I told myself.
Or maybe this was something else.
That Night
When Scarlett and I were both in our beds, in the dark, I asked her a question: “When was the last time you felt really happy?”
She thought about it for a few seconds.
“I don’t know,” she finally said. “Definitely before Gabriel.”
She didn’t need to explain; I knew “Definitely before Gabriel” was a complete sentence.
“Maybe last summer, when we went to the beach,” she added. “Why?”
I told her I was worried about Aiden, his obsession with survival stories, how he was dragging out his dumb assignment. And then I talked about the rest of us: Dad, who’d gone so silent and invisible. Mom, who still wasn’t back at work.
I didn’t say: You, Scarlett, who’s always so moody. Or Me, who’s lost my best friends. But I think she got the drift.
“I wonder if we’ve all changed because of Gabriel,” I said. “Like our brains are different now, maybe.”
“I don’t know,” Scarlett said. “But I guess it would be weird to go through this and not change.”
“I guess.”
We were quiet for a while.
Then I said, “Gabriel changed, didn’t he? It started last summer, I thought.”
“Well, in a way,” Scarlett said slowly. “He was definitely depressed at the end of August. But I think maybe this bipolar thing started before that.”
This surprised me. Scarlett had acted like “this bipolar thing” was just some excuse Gabriel made up for getting into trouble. But now that I thought about it, she hadn’t said stuff like that in a while. Not since she’d started seeing that therapist of hers. Elyse.
“But last summer,” I said. “He was okay sometimes too, wasn’t he? Remember how he joked during the Annual Kid Photo—”
“I guess,” Scarlett said carefully. “But what I really think is, he was hiding a lot.”
“Hiding?”
“Well, sure, Zinny. You know how he was. Not big on communication. And doing stupid stuff out of nowhere, then feeling sorry about it afterward. Like that time with Mom’s car and the gas tank.”
“Yeah, that was really bad. Dad got so mad at him.” I chewed my lip. “Scarlett, can I ask you a question? Do you think Mom and Dad should have noticed more? Before he got worse?”
It was a question I hadn’t even known I was wondering about until I heard my own voice. Maybe I wouldn’t have asked this if th
e lights had been on and I could see my sister’s face.
Scarlett took a few seconds before she answered. “You’re asking if I’m mad at them?”
“I don’t know, I guess,” I said.
“I don’t know either. Sometimes I am, probably. Because they’re his parents, you know? But it’s not like I got it either. I mean, I saw some things, but I didn’t understand what they meant.”
“Yeah, me too. One time when we went out for ice cream—”
“Let’s not talk about this anymore,” Scarlett interrupted.
“Oh,” I said. “Okay.”
We were both quiet.
Then Scarlett said, “Because the truth is, I just get upset at myself.”
“For what?
“Not getting it. Not saving him. I don’t know.”
“Scarlett, you just said Gabriel hid his feelings from us, right? And also did stuff out of nowhere. So how could you have—”
“I know, I know! But sometimes I wonder. And then I feel guilty.” In the dark I saw her grab a tissue from a box next to her bed and wipe her nose. “You want to hear something else I can’t stop thinking? Gabriel was supposed to teach me how to drive. He promised me.”
“Yeah, well, maybe he’s not the world’s best driving teacher.”
We both laughed. As horrible as it was to joke about something like this, it also felt good, in a strange way.
“Did I tell you I’m doing driver’s ed at school now?” Scarlett asked.
“No, you didn’t. That’s great, Scar.”
“I guess. I really want my license, so I’m not waiting for Gabriel to get out of that place.”
We got quiet again. And suddenly I heard myself saying: “You know, you really should visit Gabriel when we go this weekend.”
“Maybe.” My sister sighed. “But to be honest, it sort of freaked me out. Anyway, we text each other constantly, like fifty times a day.”
“You mean you and Gabriel? I thought they took away his phone.”
“Yeah, when he first got there. But now they let him have it again.”
“They did?”
“Uh-huh. We never talk about anything important, though. Just stupid stuff to make him laugh.”
That made me feel better. A little. I mean, I was glad Gabriel had his phone again. But it also hurt that I hadn’t known about it.
And it sort of reminded me of the red wagon—Gabriel and Scarlett excluding me from their fun. Pushing me away at the last minute, making me feel like a little kid.
A few minutes later Scarlett was snoring. But I couldn’t sleep. My brain was flashing back to August—the four of us kids lined up on the stairs for Dad’s photo, leaning into one another, when suddenly Gabriel did his Early Manning thing.
Slumping over was a stupid joke—but maybe we laughed mostly out of surprise.
Sometime Last October
Gabriel is in his room, home from college for the weekend. His door is closed. Music is blaring. Mom and Dad yell at him to turn it down. He keeps it loud.
He’s sleeping past noon. And now I hear Mom and Dad in his room, shouting at him.
“What’s going on with you?” Dad is asking. “Are you even going to classes?”
Gabriel answers, but I can’t hear it.
“Are you trying?” Mom asks.
“Why can’t you give us a good answer?” Dad asks.
Can’t hear.
Thursday Morning at Three Thirty A.M.
I couldn’t sleep, so I made another list for Aiden’s backpack. Anything to get him off this leeches thing, and to finish the dumb assignment.
And maybe not be so silly this time, because silly wasn’t working for him.
So I made it survival-y, but not too leeches-and-quicksand. A bit more realistic.
How to Make a Lean-to for Shelter
How to Make a Bow and Arrow out of Sticks and Twine
How to Purify Water Using Evaporation (You need a paper cup and Saran Wrap)
How to Navigate Using the Stars
How to Ward Off Bears (They stand up when they’re mad! Run away!)
Thursday Morning, Outside Homeroom
“Zinny, can I please talk to you?” Kailani was waiting outside our homeroom. She looked extra pretty that day in her red sweater, and her eyes were big and soft, almost pleading.
I looked around quickly: no Maisie. “Sure,” I said. “What’s up?”
“I’m just wondering what’s going on,” she blurted.
“With what?”
“With us. We never see you anymore. You’re never at lunch—”
“Whoa, wait a second, Kailani! You stopped talking to me. You and Maisie. Don’t you remember? You accused me of not telling the truth, or talking about stupid, irrelevant things all the time—”
“I never used the word ‘stupid.’ ”
“Okay, but Maisie did.”
“Well, we were both just really frustrated with the way you kept pushing us away, so maybe we said some things!” Kailani’s voice wobbled and her eyes got teary. “We didn’t mean to hurt you, Zinny, and if we did, I’m really sorry. Because I never thought it would turn into this—”
“What’s ‘this’?” I asked bitterly. “ ‘This’ isn’t anything.”
“That’s what I’m saying! We’re supposed to be friends, and we aren’t even talking anymore!” Now she was flat-out crying, and Darius was walking toward us.
My throat was getting tight. “Yeah? Well, why is that, Kailani? I never stopped talking to you. And by the way, in case you forgot, you guys stopped walking with me to school.”
“Because we didn’t think you wanted to walk with us anymore!” She wiped her face with the back of her hand. “Zinny, can I ask you something? Do you want to be friends again?”
“I guess,” I admitted. “But what about Maisie? Does she?”
“Yes, but you know how she is.” Kailani gave a shaky sigh. “And she has a really hard time apologizing, so.”
I stared. “I’m not sure what you’re saying.”
“I don’t know, Zinny… How about if you say something to Maisie? Be the bigger person? I mean, who cares who apologizes first? If it makes us all friends again—”
“Wait. Wait. Are you saying I should apologize to Maisie?”
“It’s not a big deal! You kind of did act like you thought we were dumb for liking James Ramos. And you even said that you thought he was stupid—”
“Because he is. Do you know he wants to do an experiment on crayfish music taste?”
Li-Mei and Aspen walked past us into homeroom. You could tell they were being quiet so they could eavesdrop better.
“Whatever,” Kailani said, lowering her voice to an almost whisper. “The point is, I just want us all to get past this fight, or whatever it is. And if the only thing that’s stopping it is a little apology…”
“From me?”
My brain was whirling. I couldn’t apologize. I couldn’t say the thing that would make them happy, because it would make me unhappy.
“Sorry,” I told Kailani. “That’s just not…”
I searched for a word.
“Realistic,” I said.
In the Stairwell, on the Way to Lunch
“Umzinnia!” someone shouted. So of course right away I knew who it was.
Even so, the shock of it made my insides freeze. And then someone banged into my backpack.
I caught my balance, and my breath. “Hey, Jayden,” I said. “What’s up?”
He smiled. “I was going to invite you to my Bad Movie party, but you ran out of Gladys before I could talk to you. Luz is coming, and maybe Keira, and some other kids. It’s tomorrow night at my house.”
“What’s a Bad Movie party?”
“What it sounds like. We watch bad movies and throw popcorn.”
“Um, sure,” I said. Idiot. He must think you begin every sentence with “um.” “Should I bring anything? Popcorn? Bad movies?”
“No, we’re all set.” He
wrote something on a scrap of paper he pulled out of his pocket. “My address. See you tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Tomorrow. Thanks.”
I ran up the stairs, grinning.
Thursday, Lunch
“Zinny, come quick! You have to see this!”
Ms. Molina was standing over the tank with the extra crayfish. Even though I’d tried to argue, all the other crayfish in our class had names—ours was Clawed, and there was also Cray-Z, Crayola, Ray, Sugarlumps (don’t ask), and Ashleigh (ditto). The extra crayfish was Ms. Molina’s, so she didn’t give it a name—or, if she did, she kept it to herself.
I peered through the glass. The Unnamed Crayfish seemed to be just lying on the bottom of the tank, with its tail curled up.
“I think he’s getting ready to molt,” Ms. Molina was saying excitedly.
“How can you tell?”
“Just a feeling. He stopped eating, he’s hiding under the plants, and if you look closely, his legs look like they’re fanning in place.”
“So this means he’s shedding his exoskeleton? Can I touch it?”
“No,” Ms. Molina answered firmly. “It’s a very sensitive process. Crayfish feel extra vulnerable while they’re molting, and also just afterward, when their shells are still soft. We can observe, but we shouldn’t touch. Here.” She pushed a notebook toward me. “This is what you can do: take notes.”
But about what? Not much was happening. No matter how hard you stared.
The crayfish seems uncomfortable, I wrote. Unhappy, although that’s probably the wrong word. Crayfish are sensitive, but not emotional. I’m sure he doesn’t understand what’s happening to him. Or why.
Because he can’t think: “Oh, right: last time I felt like this, I got a cool new shell. So I know it’s going to be okay.”
He just has to go through it.
Lying there on the sand, moving his swimmerets.
Waiting to change.
Still waiting.
Still waiting.
“Why do they molt?” I blurted.
Ms. Molina was typing on her laptop, but she stopped to turn to me. “Because they’ve outgrown their exoskeleton. It’s just part of their life cycle.”