Meadow Perkins, Trusty Sidekick

by A. E. Snow

  We chatted about HSA while we walked. I was relieved that Jack didn’t seem to know about my horrible last day of school. Maybe everyone in the entire school didn’t know. That didn’t make me want to go back.

  We climbed a hill surrounded by trees. Indeed, there was a drum circle in progress at the bottom of the hill known as “Hippie hill.” Beyond the drummers was a huge green field. It was Saturday and the green field that stretched out behind the drummers was covered with people. There were three different soccer games going on around people hanging out on blankets.

  I hesitated. Maybe all the pot fumes drifting up from the drum circle were getting to me because I started talking. “Have you ever felt like no one sees the real you? Like maybe they’ve known you for so long that they only see the little kid version of you?”

  Jack thought for a moment. “Except my parents, not really. But we’ve moved a few times with my dad’s job and I’ve only been at HSA for a year.”

  “I went to preschool with everyone at HSA. Then we all went to the Sunshine School. We graduated from there and a bunch of us went to HSA which is, as you know, a very small place.”

  “Wow. I guess I see what you mean.”

  “Yeah and those of us who live in the same neighborhood, well, we’ve been thrown together even more.” I plucked a piece of grass and tied it into knots. “I’ve been thinking . . . I might switch schools.” Wow. I said it out loud.

  “Really? Why?”

  “I just don’t know if it’s the right place for me anymore.”

  Jack cocked an eyebrow. “So go somewhere else.”

  I stared off into the distance and imagined what that might be like. Regular high school? No art classes or even one? I bit my lip. A weight lifted from my shoulders when I thought of the freedom. “Maybe I will.”

  “I might miss you,” Jack said.

  I tried to mask the goofy grin that took over my mouth. Embarrassed and thrilled, I changed the subject. “What made you decide to go to HSA?” I sound like I’m interviewing him for the school paper.

  “I just wanted a school that let me focus on my music. After my old school, my parents decided that I could try it out.”

  “Why did they change their minds?” I asked.

  “I’m not exactly great at school, especially math,” he said. “I got into some trouble and we spent about a hundred hours talking about what to do and finally they agreed to let me try HSA if I stopped hanging out with my old friends. They said they were a bad influence on me,” he answered.

  It was ‘bare your soul’ day here on Hippie Hill.

  I told him about the legacy of artists in my family and my apparent lack of gifts in that department. “I guess I just don’t feel like I have a choice. My grandfather founded the school. My mother went there. My sister went there.” I paused and then bit the bullet. “On the last day of school, my advisor told me that maybe I didn’t have it. Maybe I don’t.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” he said.

  I laughed, but it was bitter. “Believe it.”

  “I think you can do whatever you want.”

  A warm bubbly feeling filled me up. Doing what I wanted hadn’t occurred to me. I didn’t even know what I wanted.

  We were quiet for a while. An older lady did what appeared to be a made up version of tai chi by herself smack in the middle of the walking path. Families with children moseyed along, changing course to avoid Frisbee and soccer balls.

  When the couple sitting in front of us started making out with abandon, my mouth dropped open. Jack burst out laughing and I joined him.

  “Record store?” He jumped up and held out his hand.

  “Yes!” I took it. He let go as soon as I was vertical. This is awkward. I brushed off my skirt.

  Monster Records, a gigantic music story with every kind of music you can think of—cassettes (!), CDs, and eight tracks (!!)—was just a few minutes away. Although I had no idea why anyone would want eight tracks. Unlike most music stores, Monster Records was thriving thanks to hipsters and their obsession with vinyl, and it was in the perfect neighborhood. I chewed on my lip as we went, suddenly anxious about all the private stuff I had admitted to someone that I’d hung out with twice ever.

  Inside, we browsed racks and racks of music in every genre. Jack found a few records he had to have. I found so many that I couldn’t decide on one, which was all I had money for, and so I didn’t get anything.

  “You’re sure you don’t want anything?” Jack asked.

  “I shut down in the face of too many choices.”

  Jack paid for his records and we walked outside.

  “I guess I should head back,” I said, but I didn’t move.

  “Yeah, me too. Do you know how to get to a BART station from here? Because I sure don’t.”

  “Yeah. There’s one on the way back to my dad’s place. I’ll walk you there.”

  “Thanks. So when are you heading back home?” he asked.

  “Tomorrow,” I replied. “Short visit.”

  “We should hang sometime.”

  Heart flutter. “Yeah, we should. Just text me.”

  “I will.”

  We stood around awkwardly for a minute.

  “BART is this way.” A few minutes later, I stopped in front of the station and turned to face Jack. “Here we are.”

  “Let me know when you’re back home,” Jack said. “I’ll be waiting.”

  I had a sudden urge to giggle. “OK.”

  Jack did a funny little half wave and then turned to go down the stairs. I waved back and headed back to my dad’s.

  The restaurant was sleek and modern and dim. I preferred eating in when I was at Dad’s because it all felt very divorced kid, the going out to eat, just the two of us. Depending on where we went, there could also be a bunch of other divorced dads with their kids. But now that I know not to crawl under the table during dinner, we don’t have to go to those places when we do go out. Dad was so excited that I let him order for me. He usually ordered tons of food and we split it all under the condition that he didn’t order anything like stomach or intestine. We ordered drinks while we perused the menu.

  I stared at my menu without really seeing what it said. Should I tell him? Should I talk to him about HSA now? Seems like the perfect time. I opened my mouth.

  “Meadow?” Dad beat me to the punch. “How are things? Are you having a good summer?”

  “I’m having a good summer, yeah. Things are . . . things.” And then I chickened out.

  “Things? Great. Do you have any big plans?”

  “Not really,” I replied.

  “No camps?” he pressed.

  “Camp? Dad, I’m sixteen. My seventeenth birthday is right around the corner. I stopped going to camp when I was twelve.” I wondered what he was getting at.

  “Fair enough.” He cleared his throat loudly. Twice. Then he looked up suddenly and the smile that followed was so bright it was like someone had brought the sun into the restaurant. But the smile wasn’t for me but for someone who stood right behind me.

  “Hi!” Dad jumped up and slid out from behind the table.

  I turned around to see a woman standing there. Dad hugged her and kissed her on the cheek. I stared back and forth between them with my mouth open, starting to comprehend.

  Dad pulled out a chair for her at our table, and I realized that this had been his plan all along. Anger pooled in my stomach.

  Dad sat down. “Meadow, this is Claire.”

  “Hi, Meadow,” Claire said and held out her hand.

  “Hi.” I took her hand for about a second and returned my stare to my menu.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you. And I’ve seen a lot of your work. You’re very talented,” she said.

 
I frowned. More because she either didn’t know anything about art or was lying.

  “Claire is an art dealer,” Dad said just a little too loudly.

  “Oh.” My eyebrows shot up in surprise. She’s trying to compliment her way into my heart. It won’t work, lady.

  I couldn’t believe that Dad would spring this on me and right when I’d almost worked up enough courage to talk to him about the one really big thing in my life. I sipped my water and held in a scream.

  Claire was pretty, very pretty. She looked nothing like my mom. Her hair was smooth and shiny and dark. She wore bright lipstick and had olive skin. She was wearing a deep red dress. My mom only ever wore black and white. She never wore lipstick.

  I looked away whenever she looked at me. Finally, the server came and took our order. Dad ordered two oven-baked pizzas to share. Truthfully, they sounded amazing and my stomach grumbled in anticipation.

  I refused to answer any of Claire’s questions with actual words. “Mmm-hhmm.” “Hmph.” Those were my only answers. My dad laughed at everything she said while completely ignoring me. The food arrived and I picked at the pizza despite my hunger.

  I should stomp out of here and walk home. But I don’t really know where we are and I think it’s too far to walk. Plus, I didn’t bring any money. Ugh. I pushed my plate away and glared at Dad while he cheerfully ate and commented on the fancy pizza.

  “I love this truffle pizza,” he said to Claire.

  I raised my eyebrows. How annoying. Dad was entirely oblivious to my feelings. Claire probably wasn’t bad but I guess I wasn’t prepared to share my dad with someone. I’d never had to do it before. And I had a lot on my plate what with my lack of direction and the juggling of two boys. Now I had to process my dad’s new art-dealing girlfriend. We’d probably have to talk about it a bunch. Then I’d have to tell my mom. I wondered if she’d care.

  As soon as dad signed the check, I jumped up out of my fancy, leather chair.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said and booked it out of the restaurant to the car which was, of course, locked. I pressed my forehead up against the passenger side window and groaned.

  Behind me, I heard Dad. “That went very well, I think.” I don’t think he meant it. It could have been worse, I guess, but it hadn’t been great.

  When Dad opened his door, I lifted my face away from the window. There was a smudge on the glass from my forehead. I glowered at it and then got into the car.

  The rest of my visit with dad was kind of lame. He had barely spoken to me on the ride home from the restaurant and I went to bed as soon as we got home. But the next morning, he got up and made waffles from scratch with bacon and tons of fruit. I ate, but grudgingly. I couldn’t really pass up one of my dad’s amazing breakfasts no matter how mad I might be.

  Halfway through the waffles, the guilt got to me. “I’m sorry I was a jerk last night.”

  Dad’s eyebrows knit together. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have sprung Claire on you.”

  I shoveled a huge bite of waffles drenched in butter and syrup into my mouth.

  “I need to run something by you,” Dad said.

  “What?” I asked through a mouthful of food.

  “I want to bring Claire to Twist’s opening,” Dad announced. “Because I think she could help further her career.”

  That wasn’t his real question. Dad was really asking if it was okay to bring her.

  “Well, it does seem like knowing her could benefit Twist,” I said.

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “Is it serious?” I held another bite hovering in front of my mouth. I felt like the parent all of a sudden.

  “Maybe.”

  “Hmm, okay. I guess it’s fine.”

  I cleared my plate and excused myself. A chilly fog greeted me as I stepped out onto Dad’s balcony to get some air.

  Dad talked about anything but girlfriends while he took me home. I didn’t speak at all but would occasionally grunt or else he’d say, “Meadow? Did you hear me?”

  Finally, he turned on talk radio and the Fresh Air Weekend edition filled the silence of the car while we crossed the bridge and headed for the Berkeley Hills.

  When we got back to the house, Dad came inside on the pretense of carrying my stuff.

  “Ben, hi,” Mom said, appearing from behind the kitchen cabinets and wrapping a scarf around her neck. She kissed my cheek and wrapped her arm around my waist.

  “Hi, Julie,” Dad said.

  Even when your divorced parents get along, things can get pretty weird. Like right then.

  “Please let me know if there is anything I can do to help get ready,” he said, referring to the opening. He put my one bag, a backpack that he’d insisted on carrying, down on the bench by the door.

  They chatted for a few minutes and then Dad cleared his throat. “I’ll see you both at the opening. I’m on the road almost nonstop before I go to Paris. I’ll be back just before the opening if you need anything. Then we’ll get some quality time in.” Dad hugged me goodbye.

  Now’s your chance. They are both in the same room. Just tell them. Tell them you want to leave HSA.

  “Dad?” I said.

  “Yeah?”

  Both of my parents looked at me expectantly.

  I froze. “Uh. Have a great trip.”

  “Thanks, kiddo. Talk to you soon.” And with that, Dad was gone.

  “What was that about?” Mom asked.

  “Uh, I have no idea. I gotta pee.” I didn’t have to pee, but I did want very much to escape that situation. I couldn’t lie to my mom because she was my mom and she always knew when I was lying. I just needed more time to think about what I would tell her.

  I further stalled by taking a shower. Under the protection of the steam and hot water, talking to my mom about HSA seemed a lot easier. I rinsed the conditioner out of my hair and practiced my speech.

  Mom burst in. “Hey!” she called over the sound of the shower.

  Startled, I knocked the conditioner off the shelf and it barely missed my toes as it landed. “Yeah?”

  “I’ve got to run to the gallery for a few hours. Absolutely everything is going wrong with this show. I have no idea when I’ll be back.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Ok, bye, sweetheart. I’ll text you.” She slammed the door closed.

  I got out of the shower and put on the rattiest clothes I had. After I dried my hair, I flopped on my bed, unzipped the front pocket of my backpack and took out my phone. No alerts at all. I reread the short conversation I’d had with Jack last night.

  Had fun 2day, he’d texted me at 11:58.

  It’s almost tomorrow . . . me too, I’d replied.

  Lol. See you soon? This week? he’d asked.

  K.

  K.

  He hadn’t texted me back after that. So far today I’d been too busy and distracted to worry about it since my dad had decided to become some sort of Casanova and I had decided to dash my family’s hopes and dreams.

  After a boring day, I got a text from Alejandro. U busy?

  No, I replied, my heart pounding as I relived the kiss.

  Come over. It wasn’t a question.

  I changed very quickly into a casual, flowy white dress covered in blue embroidery that Twist had talked me into buying. I threw on a cardigan and checked my hair. After adding mascara and lip-gloss, I left mom a note instead of calling her and asking permission. I didn’t want her to say no and I figured I would deal with the consequences later.

  “Here we go,” I said to my reflection and dashed out the door.

  Chapter 7

  Adrenaline pumped through me when I rang Alejandro’s doorbell. His house was the opposite of mine in every way. It was old with lots of character and lo
ts of wood. I hadn’t been to his house in years. I had some fuzzy memories of an 8th birthday where someone’s mom led us in a short yoga session in his backyard, which is not an uncommon thing in Berkeley.

  After a few long moments, the door opened and Alejandro stood there smiling.

  “Hi,” he said and stepped aside. “Come in.”

  I stepped inside and followed him down the hallway.

  “My mom is away,” he explained as he led the way to his room. At least that’s where I assumed we were going based on my memories of this house. “She’s not coming back until tomorrow morning.”

  He led me down a hallway and opened a door at the end.

  “So, big party tonight then?” I asked, joking.

  “Maybe not a big party.” He ushered me inside by putting his hand lightly on my back. “She specifically said ‘no huge parties’, but maybe a few people will stop by.”

  Alejandro’s room was kind of a mess, but then so was mine usually. His walls were covered in band posters, some I recognized and some I didn’t.

  His bed was partially made like maybe that’s what he’d been doing when I showed up.

  I glanced back and forth between the half-made bed and a small, worn microfiber sofa. With butterflies having a rager in my stomach, I plopped down on the sofa.

  Alejandro grabbed a tablet, plugged it into his speakers, and sat next to me.

  “I always put the music on shuffle and then wait for the perfect song to come on.” He pushed ‘play’ and we waited. Alejandro looked expectant. The speakers in the corner filled the room with a fuzzy sound, heavy on the guitar pedal. “I consider this a triumph!” he exclaimed. “A nearly perfect song for this time and setting. Listen to this part! It’s so great.” He turned the volume up.

  I wasn’t completely sure we were listening to music anymore, just fuzzy noise.

  “Well?” he asked me when it was over.