by Robin Palmer
The only reason I came out of the bathroom was because there was a pregnant woman who really had to pee. Otherwise, I would’ve stayed in there all night. And before I did come out, I opened the door a crack so I could see that the pregnant woman really did exist and Mom wasn’t just making that up. When we got home, I ran up to my room and locked the door, even though “No locking bedroom doors” was another house rule. I was done with house rules. Even though Mom stood at the door and said, “Lucy, please open this door so we can talk about this,” and even when she came back a half hour later and said, “Lucy, your father’s on the phone and he’d like to talk to you,” I refused to budge. Instead, I just lay on my bed and cried. So my dad was in on this, too?! He probably couldn’t wait for me to leave so he wouldn’t feel so guilty giving all his attention to the baby. I couldn’t believe how unfair they were being. Did they really think I’d give up my life and my friends here in Northampton just because stupid Laurel Moses had to shoot her dumb TV show? Granted other than Marissa—and as of last weekend, Laurel—I didn’t really have any other friends at the moment, but that could change. (In fact, it had to change, or else I would move.)
The only time I got up was to go to the bathroom and grab Miss Piggy, who obviously knew something was really wrong because not only did she stay in my room, she let me hug her without hissing while I cried. Not even when I got her fur all wet with snot.
I was so upset that I ended up falling asleep without having dinner. And that never happened.
I refused to talk to Mom for two days. If I needed to tell her something, I used Miss Piggy to do it. Like I would say, “Miss Piggy, please ask Mom to pass the butter,” or “Miss Piggy, please remind Mom that I need poster board for my book report on A Wrinkle in Time.” I even refused to talk to Dad. The only person I talked to about it was Marissa, which, of course, was like telling the world, but I had to tell someone. When I told her, she started crying and saying, “I’M GOING TO MISS YOU SO MUCH!” over and over, even though I kept saying, “Marissa, I told you—I’m not going.”
Finally, on Friday night, Mom brought home takeout from Friendly’s. Probably because she felt so guilty that she was trying to ruin my life, she had gotten takeout from my favorite places the last two nights. “Okay, Lucy. You don’t have to worry about it anymore,” Mom said as I ate my clam roll.
“Miss Piggy,” I said to the cat, who was trying to groom herself but kept falling over on account of her fatness, “please ask Mom what it is that I’m supposed to stop worrying about, because I don’t know what she’s talking about.”
When I looked up from my clam roll, I saw that her eyes were puffy. “I had a long talk with Alan this afternoon, and I told him that we’re not moving to New York.”
“What do you mean?” I said. This was not what I was expecting. I was so stunned that I forgot I was supposed to go through Miss Piggy, who, at that moment, jumped up on the table and started to gobble up the fried clams that had fallen out of the roll.
“I love Alan. A lot,” she said. “And I’d really like for all of us to build a life together, but you’re the most important thing in the world to me. And if leaving here is going to make you so unhappy, I’m not going to do that to you.”
“So you’re breaking up?” I asked. It’s not like I wanted that to happen. She looked so sad. I didn’t want that—I just didn’t want the moving/stepsister/ruining-my-life part of the whole thing.
“No. We’re still going to see each other,” she replied. “We’ll just do the long-distance thing. Maybe at some point in the future, things will change, and you’ll be open to the idea of moving, but for now we’re staying here.”
Okay, good. I was glad the crazy pills had worn off, finally. And, sure, not having to move was what I wanted. I had gotten my life back—or what was left of my life. I should have felt good. But I didn’t—I felt guilty. “Wait—so you’d not marry him just because of me?”
“Of course,” she replied. “Do you really think I’d say yes to him if you weren’t one hundred percent behind the idea? I told him, we needed your blessing.”
I shrugged. Marissa’s mom hadn’t asked her for her blessing when she married Phil.
Mom got all teary as she came around the table and hugged me. “Honey, you’re my jelly bean. You’re always going to come first.”
Usually the “jelly-bean” thing drove me nuts—I was twelve, not six—but for some reason hearing her say it this time made me get all teary, too. It felt like she had been putting Alan and Laurel first for so long, it was good to know that she still loved me. I guess without really knowing it, I had been worried that she loved Alan more than me.
That night I slept a lot better than I had in a while. Well, at least until three, when I woke up and stared at the ceiling. Even if Alan was a worrier, and had clammy hands, and sweat when he got nervous, the truth was, when Mom was with him, her face lit up as if there were a lightbulb somewhere inside there and someone had flicked the switch to On. The only time I had seen her so happy was when she was polishing off a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey. And I wanted her to be happy. Because when she was happy, I was happy. Not only that, but when she was happy, I got away with things like staying up late, or having a second dessert, or getting to buy another box of maxipads.
I got up and padded into Mom’s room.
“What’s wrong?” she asked sleepily as I got under the covers with her.
“Nothing,” I said, glad that she was wearing socks. Her feet got really cold. “I just wanted to tell you I’ve thought about it and . . . well, I guess moving to New York wouldn’t be that bad. I mean, other than the having-to-leave-my-school-and-my-friends-and-Dad part. But I guess there’s a slight possibility that I’ll make some new friends.” Maybe. Hopefully.
She reached for the light and sat up to look me full in the face. “Really?” She looked as wide-awake as she did after her second cup of coffee.
Here was my chance to say, “Actually, no—it was a false alarm and there’s no way I’m leaving here and I’m sorry to have woken you up and I’m going back to my room now.” But I didn’t. Instead, I shrugged and said, “Yeah. I mean, as long as I can come back and visit a lot.”
“Oh Lucy!” she said, covering my face with kisses. “Of course you can!”
“Mom, Mom, it’s okay,” I said, trying to wiggle away. I loved my mother, but man, did she have bad breath in the middle of the night. According to Dr. Kantor, my dentist, it’s because when you sleep with your mouth open like she does, bacteria gets in and causes the smell.
After she settled down, we closed our eyes. I never slept in the same bed with her anymore, unless I fell asleep watching a movie or something, but I knew that once we moved, I wouldn’t be able to do it even if I wanted to, so I figured I might as well do it one last time.
I sure hoped I wasn’t making a huge mistake, Because the thought of packing up my room, and then unpacking in New York, and then packing up again to come back to Northampton sounded really tiring.
I didn’t even have to wait until I got to New York to realize I had made a huge mistake—I found out when we had breakfast with Alan and Laurel the next morning.
My first clue should have been when, after we sat down, instead of Laurel being all excited like Mom had said she was and saying something like,”I’m so glad you changed your mind and we’re going to be stepsisters!” she basically ignored me and barely said a word to me other than a very unfriendly “Hi” in response to my “Hey.” She didn’t even take off her sunglasses, which was not only very movie star–like, but also rude.
“So I guess that stuff about Things Getting Serious was true,” I said as Mom and Alan looked at the menu and marveled over the fact it wasn’t until just then that they realized they had another thing in common—that they both liked their eggs scrambled. “We’re going to be sisters, huh?”
She took off her sunglasses and looked at me. “Stepsisters,” she corrected, coldly. Why were her eyes puffy?
Had she been crying?
I waited for a smile or an “I’m just kidding” or something like that, but there was nothing.
Wait a minute—what was going on? What happened to the Laurel’s-really-excited-about-the-idea part? If anyone should have been cold and mean, it was me. It’s not like she was the one being uprooted from the only place she’d ever lived, and all of her friends, and her dad—I was.
If that wasn’t a big enough clue that something was wrong, there was the fact that as we started what Alan called “our first official meal as a family” (“We’re not a family yet,” I corrected him, which earned me a “Lucy” in one of Mom’s warning tones), I found out we were moving in SIX WEEKS.
I was so shocked I just let the syrup I was pouring on my pancakes keep going to the point where I ruined them. Too much syrup was just as bad as not enough syrup. “But . . . What about school? I was thinking we’d move, like, when the school year was over,” I sputtered. Sure, no matter when I got there I’d still be known as the New Girl, but my feeling was that with everyone having to remember new locker combinations and schedules, it would make it so that there was less attention on me and I could hopefully blend in easier.
“You didn’t tell her about the couple from Boston?” Alan asked.
“What couple from Boston?” I demanded.
It turned out that Mom had talked to a Realtor about putting the house up for sale. And this was before I had even said I’d go (“I was just trying to be prepared in case you changed your mind, honey! And, look, it worked!”). There was a couple from Boston who was willing to pay full price for our house, as long as they could have it right away.
What else had been going on behind my back? If it turned out Mom was pregnant, too, I’d just die. I didn’t really think she was, because once when I was overlistening to her and Deanna talk, she said that, because she was forty-seven, “The store was officially closed,” whatever that meant. But who knew anymore?
Alan turned to Mom. “We should go check in with the Realtor and see if there’s any news. We can let the girls do some pre–family bonding!”
Ha. As if I was interested in doing any of that at the moment.
“I know we talked about you sleeping over tonight,” Laurel said coldly, “but suddenly I don’t feel all that well.”
“Fine,” I snapped. “Because I don’t feel well either.” That wasn’t a lie—I felt sick to my stomach.
What had I gotten myself into?
Six weeks goes really fast when you have to pack up your entire life and say good-bye to every person, place, and thing that you’ve ever known. Especially if you’re not a good packer to begin with. Every time I came across something, I ended up wasting a lot of time sitting there thinking about all the memories that go along with it. Not only that, but there was the this-is-the-last-time-I’llever . . . game to play. This is the last red velvet cupcake I’ll ever have from Sweet Lady Jane. (Well, until I came back to visit.) This is the last time I’ll have to take a pop quiz on mixed fractions. (I was seriously hoping they didn’t have them in New York.) This is the last time I’ll have to feel like a complete loser as Rachel and Missy whisper and giggle over all the private jokes that I’m not a part of now. (Although Rachel had said hello that one time, nothing had happened after that. I would’ve thought once they heard I was moving, they would’ve been nice, but nope.)
When I wasn’t packing, or eating all my favorite things for the last time or the second-to-last-time or the third-to-last-time, I was hanging out with Dad. Although he said he’d miss me, he said he was excited for me to have such a big adventure. At first I thought he was just saying that to be nice and in truth he wouldn’t miss me—that, actually, he was relieved because it meant he wouldn’t feel so guilty for spending time with the baby. But then one night when we were playing Monopoly, I looked up and saw a tear sliding down his face, which made me happy and sad and embarrassed at the same time.
Finally, after one last pizza at Frankie’s with him and Sarah, it was moving day. After I had taken one last walk through my house and said good-bye to every room (I even said it out loud, which probably sounded weird, but I didn’t care), I went outside. Dad and Sarah and Marissa were waiting.
“Here,” Sarah said, holding out a little glass bottle. “This lavender essential oil will help with the anxiety of the move,” she said.
“Thanks,” I said, giving her a hug. I patted her stomach, which, because she was only three months pregnant, wasn’t very big. Dad called it a “food baby.” “Take care of my brother or sister,” I said.
She smiled. “I will. I can’t wait until you can come back and babysit.”
I wanted to say, “Um, I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” but I didn’t. Instead, I gave a semi-fake smile and said, “Oh boy, I can’t wait!”
Next to her, Marissa was crying. “Omigod, I can’t believe my best friend in the entire world is LEAVING!” she wailed. “I’m going to miss you sooooo much!”
“You’ll be okay, Marissa,” I said. I reached into my knapsack. “Here—I thought you should have this,” I said, handing her the purple notebook.
She gasped. “You’re making me Keeper of the Periods?”
I shrugged. “Well, someone’s got to do it.”
This made her cry even more. “Omigod—this is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me in my entire life!” she wailed as she threw her arms around my neck.
Okay, so maybe there were some things I wouldn’t miss. “But the only thing is—when I get mine, I need you to write it in there. Even if I don’t live here anymore, it’s only fair.”
“Totally! I promise. I’ll even use my silver glitter pen. So when can I come visit you?” she demanded.
“Ummm . . . I don’t know yet. I’ll e-mail you,” I replied, trying to pull away.
“I’m going to miss you soooooooo much,” she cried.
“I know. You already said that.”
She looked at her watch. “Wow—I didn’t realize it was so late! I have to get home. Now that you’re leaving, I told Brianna we could be BFFs, so we’re going to the mall. See ya!” she said as she sprinted away.
She was so . . . Marissa.
At last, I got to Dad. Please don’t cry, please don’t cry, I said to myself. I didn’t just mean him—I meant me, too.
“Bye, Dad,” I said as a huge tear fell and plopped right in the middle of my chest.
“Bye, monkey,” he said, smothering me in a hug, his own tears falling on my head. “You’re going to be just fine.”
“I am?” I whispered.
“Uh-huh,” he promised.
“Okay,” I said. I tried to undo myself from the hug, but he just hugged tighter. “Uh, Dad? You can let go now.”
“Sorry,” he said, releasing me.
Finally, Alan, Mom, and I got in the car along with a yowling Miss Piggy. Because she meowed at the top of her lungs during the five-minute drive to the vet, I didn’t even want to think of the headache I’d have after five hours.
I stared out the back window until I couldn’t see them anymore. I turned around and gave a big sigh.
I could always move back if New York turned out to be really bad.
Right?
chapter 11
Dear Dr. Maude,
Okay, I know on your website you say you’re a “die-hard New Yorker,” and I know there are all these commercials that play in the back of taxicabs about how it’s the best city in the world, but even though I’ve only been here two days and Mom says I have to give it time, I just don’t get why anyone would live here. Not only is it loud, and people don’t even say “I’m sorry” when they bump into you, but cars try and mow you over when you’re crossing the street even when the walk sign is lit up! That’s when you’re SUPPOSED to be crossing.
School doesn’t start for another week (it’s spring break here), but I don’t even know if I’ll still be ALIVE by then. Which, to be honest, might not be a bad thing, because from the pictures
I saw in the Center for Creative Learning brochure, those kids look REALLY stuck-up. The only good news is that Laurel is shooting a movie in L.A., so I still have a few more days before she’s home and I start feeling completely unwanted, which is how she made me feel the few other times I saw her after that awful breakfast the morning I told Mom I’d move.
Dr. Maude, it’s completely obvious that moving here was a HUGE mistake. So what do I do now????
I wish I knew where you lived because if I did, maybe we could talk about this in person rather than through e-mail. Well, that is, if you ever write me back.
yours truly,
Lucy B. Parker
Mom says that sometimes I tend to exaggerate, but I totally wasn’t exaggerating when it came to New York being a very unfriendly place to live. From the very first time I got into the elevator by myself at the Conran—the apartment building that Alan and Laurel live in (Mom keeps trying to correct me by saying it’s our building now, too, but I’m sorry, this place will never be home for me)—I knew I was in trouble.
After we arrived, Alan showed us around the apartment, which took a while because it was humungous. Unlike Dad’s apartment, which had two bedrooms, their apartment had four, which was as big as our house in Northampton. Sorry—our EX-house. And unlike our ex-house, there was no creaking when you stepped on the hardwood floors, and all of their windows or doors shut right, because they weren’t over a hundred years old. It was the penthouse apartment, which meant that it was on the very top floor of the building—the twenty-first floor—which was so high, my ears popped in the elevator. Everything looked completely brand-new, even though Laurel and Alan had lived there for four years. Brand-new and super-, super-clean. Well, at least until Miss Piggy threw up a hairball right in the center of the living room rug fifteen minutes after we arrived.
There were no dust bunnies in the corners, and everything in the kitchen gleamed. But we didn’t get to meet Rose, the housekeeper/nanny who had been with Alan and Laurel since right after Laurel’s mother died, because it was her day off and she was at church. Even though Laurel was in L.A. (usually Alan would’ve been there with her, but because (a) it was only a week’s shoot and (b) we were moving in, her assistant was acting as her guardian), it felt like she was there. Everywhere you looked there were pictures of her. Some were just regular framed pictures, but then there were also pictures of her with other famous people and framed posters of the movies she was in. As Alan gave us the tour, I started to get really nervous that it was only a matter of time before I broke something, like the television in the living room that was so big it looked like a movie-theater screen. My coordination problem was not going to make living here easy.