Something Wiki

by Suzanne Sutherland

  Mom smiled, but it looked forced. Just her mouth smiled, not her eyes.

  “I think it might be time to explain,” Z said.

  And then they all looked at each other like they expected someone else to do the talking.

  “Jo, your brother —” Mom started, but then the words seemed to get stuck in her throat.

  “I’m pregnant,” J said.

  My mom looked away. Dad sort of grimaced. Z reached over and put his hand on J’s knee.

  “Yeah,” I said, before I realized what I was admitting, “I kinda knew that already.”

  Everyone froze. They looked like a perfect tableau of themselves. Stuck, like the instant after a bomb has landed, right before it explodes, ruining everything it touches. Mom looked terrified, Dad was confused, Z held a poker face, and J kept smiling.

  “How’d you know?” Z asked.

  “When you guys came over here before. When you first told Mom and Dad,” I said. “I heard.”

  “You were listening?” Mom asked.

  “It was kind of hard not to.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?” Dad asked.

  “I don’t know. Why didn’t you?”

  This one was a second bomb, a smaller one, but I could see the blast in a wave that passed over everyone’s faces. J was still the only one smiling.

  “I didn’t think it was right to confuse you like that,” said my mom.

  “I think we’re all pretty confused,” said J.

  “Some more than others,” Mom snapped.

  “Whoa,” Z said, “Mom. Not here, okay?”

  We all turned to look at Mom, whose face had instantly flushed bright red.

  “I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice. “Jen, I apologize.”

  J had flinched a little at Mom’s words, but didn’t seem too fazed.

  “It’s fine,” she said. “We’re asking for a lot here, I know. It’s hard for you guys, for all of us.”

  “It’s no excuse,” said Mom.

  “Well, anyway,” J said turning to me, “sorry about leaving you out of the loop, Jo. Or trying to, anyway.”

  “It wasn’t right,” Dad said.

  “No,” Z said, “it wasn’t.”

  “Okay,” I said, “sure. It’s, uh, it’s fine.”

  “We just wanted to wait until things were a bit more … decided,” Mom said. “We wanted to have an idea of what our lives were going to look like, moving ahead, before we told you what was going on.”

  “You guys don’t have to baby me,” I paused. Baby. What a dumb word to choose. “You could have just told me.”

  “Yes, you’re right,” Dad said. “Anyway, we know that now.”

  “So Zim and Jen are going to have the baby and live in Zim’s old room?” I asked. When I finally said the words out loud it sounded so ridiculous that I was almost embarrassed, though I couldn’t tell if it was for me or for them.

  “Not exactly,” said Z. “We’ll be staying there for now, though.”

  “We’re going to have to get a bit creative once the baby’s born,” said my dad. “I’m going to renovate the basement so it’s more of an apartment. So the two of them — well, three I guess — can have some privacy.”

  “And you’re definitely going to have it?” I asked. “I mean, keep it?”

  “Your mom and I have been helping these guys sort out their options.”

  “Yup,” J said, “and this is our choice. We’re going to have the baby together. Zim’s going to be an amazing dad.”

  Z rubbed her leg and nodded.

  “What about Jen’s family?” I asked, afraid to even look at her, afraid of how real this was all becoming. Surprised, though, that my mouth seemed to be asking questions without my brain’s consent. All the stuff I’d been wondering about since I first heard, but had been too anxious to think about.

  “I’m not really in touch with my family,” she said.

  “Oh. Sorry. Um, why not?”

  “It’s complicated,” said Z.

  “Sorry,” I said again.

  “Don’t be,” said J, giving me another warm, meaning-it smile.

  “Are you guys going to get married?”

  “We might,” said Z.

  “We may,” said J.

  “They should,” Mom said.

  “But it’s their choice,” said Dad.

  “And if we do get hitched, you’ve got be my maid of honour, okay?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “With combat boots.”

  I giggled again, and Mom’s tight expression loosened up just a bit.

  “I think it’s going to be great having you guys here,” Dad said, though like Mom’s forced smile I could tell he was trying to make himself mean it. “Zim, maybe I can finally teach you how to drive, huh?”

  Z fought a frown. “Yeah, sure, you bet. It’ll be great.”

  “Ha,” said J, “we’re going to be parents and drivers. Our friends won’t know what to do with us.”

  “It’ll be great,” Z said again. And this time it sounded like he meant it.

  “Why don’t we all go out for some dinner?” Dad said. “You know, to celebrate.”

  But from the impact of this giant secret falling so abruptly off my shoulders — or maybe from my earlier blood loss — I felt completely exhausted.

  “Um, I think I might just go to bed,” I said.

  “You okay, honey?” Mom asked.

  “Yeah, I just want to stay here. You guys should go, though.”

  “I’ll stay with you,” said Mom.

  “Okay,” said Dad, “if you’re sure. Zim, Jen and I can talk about plans for the basement. What do you guys feel like, burgers?”

  “Jen’s a vegetarian, Dad,” said Z.

  “Right, right, I forgot. How about Thai food?”

  “That would be great,” J said.

  And the three of them got their coats and left.

  Nine

  Mother

  From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

  A mother (or mum/mom) is a woman who has raised a child, given birth to a child, and/or supplied the ovum that united with a sperm that grew into a child. Because of the complexities and differences of a mother’s social, cultural, and religious definitions and roles, it is challenging to specify a universally acceptable definition for the term.

  A mother messes up sometimes. But eventually she makes it up to you.

  Mom asked me if I was hungry, and even though I wanted to be alone to think about what had just happened, my rumbly stomach answered for me. She nuked a tub of frozen mac and cheese for me and opened up a can of ginger ale. “For your stomach,” she said.

  She sat across the kitchen table from me while I ate, not saying much, but smiling in a far-away way. It was kind of annoying, but also sort of nice.

  When I finished eating, Mom went upstairs to run me a bath. She even sat next to me on the bathroom floor once I got in. She hasn’t done that since I was really little. I felt kind of weird about having her sit there while I was naked in the tub — even if she is my mom — but I didn’t want her to leave either, so I didn’t say anything about it. I think she was surprised I didn’t try to chase her out. Part of me felt like I should punish her for the way she and Dad, and even Z, had kept the baby a secret, but a bigger part of me (a babyish part, I know) just wanted my mom to be my mom.

  She looked calm, maybe a little shell-shocked. She hugged her knees to her chest and stared straight ahead, not looking at me as she spoke.

  “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner,” she said.

  “It’s okay.” Which I didn’t mean.

  “No, it’s not. It wasn’t right to keep you in the dark like that. But I’m upset about this, and I didn’t want you to be upset, too. It’s okay for you to be feeling this way, any way. Any way you feel is normal, I want you to know that.”

  “Uh-huh.” The bar of soap I’d been holding slipped out of my grasp, and I went searching for it through the bubbles. �
�Why are you upset?”

  “Oh, lots of things. It doesn’t matter. That baby is going to have a lot of love, that’s the important thing.” She turned to face me, and I sank lower into the water. “But is there anything else bothering you, something at school?”

  I nodded.

  I told her most of what had happened with Chloe. About the locker and the twenty-dollar glass.

  “That’s pretty crummy about Chloe’s locker. She was just upset, Jo, that must have been why she got mad about the glass.”

  “Yeah, I know, but it’s not like I was the one who wrote on her locker. And breaking the glass was an accident.”

  “Why don’t I call her mom and offer to buy a replacement? I’m sure we can find something nice at the mall.”

  “Okay,” I said, grateful that at least one of my problems had a simple solution.

  “You know, my girlfriends and I were always getting into fights when I was your age. I’ve always been impressed at how well you and your friends get along.”

  “Yeah. Up ’til now.”

  “Yes,” she said, “maybe.”

  Then she got up and kissed the top of my head.

  “If you want to talk any more about whatever’s going on, I’m around.”

  I nodded again.

  “And hey, maybe when we pick up a replacement glass for Chloe’s mom, we can take you to get a haircut, too. There’s a new place that just opened at Cloverfield, it looks pretty cool.”

  I knew that she was overcompensating for having kept the secret about Z and J for so long, and that she had no idea what cool was, but it still felt good. I wanted to resent her for it, but it was pretty nice having my mom back.

  “I’m always here for you, kiddo. Okay?”

  She was really laying it on thick.

  “What about once the baby’s here?” I asked.

  She looked me in the eyes and squinted hard, not in a mean way like Dad’s, just like she was concentrating.

  “I will always be here for you.”

  Ten

  Maturity (psychological)

  From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

  Maturity is a psychological term used to indicate how a person responds to the circumstances or environment in an appropriate manner, like dealing with the issues of people twice my age and trying to stay sane — which is harder than it looks! This response is generally learned rather than instinctive, and is not determined by one’s age, like how Chloe acts like she’s so sophisticated, but then throws a tantrum like a kindergartner when I break one little glass. Maturity also encompasses being aware of the correct time and place to behave and knowing when to act appropriately, according to the situation and the culture of the society one lives in which no one I know ever is.

  At school the next day — Friday, thankfully — Chloe was acting super weird. She kept pulling Stacey aside to talk to her privately and was kind of ignoring Trisha and me. I asked if her mom had been upset about the glass I broke and she gave me a one-word answer: obviously.

  I wanted to tell her that my mom and I were going to buy a replacement, but I thought maybe she needed the weekend to calm down. Like, maybe I could surprise her with a new glass on Monday and we could just go back to normal.

  The two of them, Chloe and Stacey, went for a walk together at lunch and were gone for almost the whole hour. They were dressed almost exactly the same, too, which is pretty unusual. They were both wearing pink Hollister hoodies and skinny, light-blue jeans. It was a surprisingly warm day for February and neither of them wore a coat. From across the field, if you squinted, they looked like twins. I looked down at what I was wearing, black jeans and a baggy sweater and my giant winter coat, unzipped. I knew I didn’t look anything like the two of them.

  So while they were off walking, Trisha and I sat on the rusted-out jungle gym, knocking our salt-stained boots against each other and making up fake names for the band we decided we’re going to start.

  “How about Slush Puppies?” I said, eyeing the greyish puddle that had collected in the corner of the playground.

  “That’s terrible,” she said.

  So I hopped off and started kicking the pile of slush that had inspired me up at her. It splashed everywhere and got the legs of her cords wet.

  “Ugh, see if I ever start a band with you now,” Trisha said.

  Then she jumped down and splashed me back until we were both soaked and giggling.

  When we got back inside, our teacher, Ms. Vilaney, looked super annoyed at us for bringing all the icy sogginess inside. She sent us both to the washroom to clean ourselves up.

  I heard Chloe whisper something to Stacey as we walked past them.

  “Babies.”

  “Did you hear that?” I asked Trisha as I nudged the bathroom door open with my hip.

  “Hear what?” she said.

  “Never mind.” I didn’t want to snitch. Didn’t want to spoil any chance I had of making up with Chloe by blabbing what I thought I’d heard to Trisha.

  But the rest of the day was the same:

  Me and Trisha.

  And Stacey and Chloe.

  Eleven

  Hairdresser

  From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

  Hairdresser is a term referring to anyone whose occupation is to cut or style hair in order to change or maintain a person’s image. This is achieved using a combination of hair colouring, haircutting, and hair-texturing techniques. Most hairdressers are professionally licensed as either a barber or a cosmetologist or else humiliation machines from planet Mega-Hunk.

  How do I even begin?

  How can I possibly explain exactly how wrong today went?

  Okay, well, for starters, Mom and I went to the mall.

  We went to the mall to buy a nice glass and to get my hair cut at that new salon she told me had just opened.

  Only we weren’t going to the real mall, the Eaton Centre, the giant one downtown.

  Oh, no, we were going to Cloverfield.

  Z used to make fun of Cloverfield all the time when he still lived at home. It’s way out in the suburbs, where we live, and it doesn’t have any brand-name stuff or even any cool alternative stores, just places trying to knock off what’s popular. Z used to call it Cloven Feel, but I’m not sure why. I guess he thought it was funny.

  The ride to the mall was actually pretty fun. Mom turned on the radio and sang along to some old songs she loved and I joined in when I knew the words. We’re both terrible singers, but the sun had actually come out for once and I was feeling pretty good. I was going to take charge — of myself, if nothing else — and make the earth stop trying to spin ever so slightly out of orbit in a way that I knew was to blame for how things were starting to go wrong. Okay, so maybe my astronomy was a bit hazy, but we’d find the perfect glass, and I’d get a cool new haircut that — along with some killer combat boots — would show Stacey and Chloe how non-babyish I really was.

  For starters, we checked out the discount housewares store. There were giant bins of discounted Christmas decorations and creepy garden gnomes, and I got the definite feeling that we wouldn’t be able to find a worthy replacement for Chloe’s twenty-dollar glass.

  “Mom,” I said, pulling her away from the display of decorative throw pillows that had caught her attention, “we’re not going to find anything here. This stuff is way too cheap.”

  “This store has some really cute stuff,” she said, grabbing one of the pillows shaped like a pair of big, cartoon lips. “Wouldn’t this be fun for your room?”

  “Mom, focus,” I said, putting the hideous pillow back with its own kind. “We just need one glass, but it has to be good. Can’t we go somewhere nicer?”

  Mom stopped fiddling with another equally cheesy pillow shaped like a giant heart and looked at me seriously. “Sweets, with this baby on the way. We’re — well, your dad and I are going to be helping Zim and Jen a lot, financially, while they’re living with us. Zim’s job just doesn’t pay enough, and Jen’s goin
g to have to leave the bookstore once she has the baby. So we have to be a bit more careful with money.”

  I suddenly felt embarrassed for asking, but it’s not like it was my fault we didn’t have enough money to go around.

  “Then why am I getting a fancy haircut?” I asked.

  “Because you deserve one.” She squeezed my shoulder.

  I thought about snapping at her and saying something about how she was only taking me to get a haircut because she felt guilty about keeping me in the dark for so long about Z and J, but I swallowed the impulse. I was going to be a better person. Starting today.

  “Anyway,” Mom said, walking towards the aisle full of containers, glasses and bowls, “I’m sure we can find something nice here.”

  I followed her and we prowled the aisle together. Mom kept picking up one glass after another that was totally wrong.

  “What about this one?” she said, pointing to a thin, blue-speckled glass.

  “No, it was just plain glass. But with a ring of silver around the bottom.”

  “Like this?” she held up another one.

  “No, that one’s too tall. It was short.”

  “Like this?” Again, it was completely wrong.

  “No, Mom,” I said, starting to lose my zen-like patience, “that one has the silver on the top.”

  “Hmm, this is tough.” Mom scanned up and down the shelf. “Do any of them look right, Jo?”

  I shook my head.

  When we’d gone up and down the aisle three times, I had to admit that none of the glasses was an exact match, or even close.

  “I think it’s the gesture that’s important, sweetie.” Mom held up the glass with the silver at the top for emphasis. “I’m sure Chloe’s family will appreciate whatever we get.”

  I wasn’t sure of that at all, but I figured a non-matching peace offering was better than nothing, so in the end we picked a set of two glasses that were the same basic shape as the one I dropped and took it over to the cash register.

  The salon was right between the luggage store and the gourmet popcorn shop, where the off-brand sports jersey store used to be. This hip new Cloven Feel salon was called Dye, Dye, My Darling. Its sign was made to look like it’d been carved into granite that hung above the doors and a giant pair of scissors stood ready to take out any unsuspecting victims.