“You can’t help but read it,” I say.
“Maybe. But usually I don’t have time, and to be honest I don’t care,” he says. “Postcards are short and usually boring. Where it gets interesting is certified mail.” He bends down, stretching his hamstrings. “So, how do you think I’ll do?”
“You’ll do great,” I say. “You’ve trained and you’re ready. Pretty much. Plus it’s a fun run, so it’s not exactly like a race, you know?”
“But I have one question. What’s fun about running when it’s a hundred degrees?”
I smile. “Feeling the accomplishment. The sweat. The journey.” I shrug. “Things of that nature.”
“Exactamundo,” Uncle Jeff says. And he laughs. “Don’t you hate it when Lenny says that all the time?”
“Hey, you got sneakers,” I say, pointing at his feet. “When did you get those?”
“Last night. What do you think of them?”
“Well, the most important thing is, how do they feel?”
He twirls his right foot in a circle. “They feel fantastic, but what do I know?”
“Fantasterrific,” I correct him.
Uncle Jeff looks at me like he’s never heard that word before. As if I’m making it up or something.
“They look great,” I say instead.
“I think so too,” he says.
As we line up and start running along the course, I notice my grandmother in a bright lilac tracksuit holding up a big sign that says, GO, ARIEL!
We go a little farther and I see Mom in her new Mount Rushmore T-shirt, and I don’t know if I should tell her that a woman as big as she is shouldn’t wear a T-shirt with mountains printed over her breasts.
And if she does, she definitely shouldn’t jump up and down and cheer.
Grandpa’s at the finish line, waiting for us. He congratulates Uncle Jeff, but for once he doesn’t look happy to see me. “Where were you? I had to run the half marathon alone.” He glances over at Andre, who’s nearby in the crowd, headed our way, and doesn’t look thrilled to see him, either. Andre takes the hint and veers off toward the Gatorade tent.
“You survived okay?” I ask.
“Sure. But there was no one to talk to or help pace me. Just a bunch of young idiots obsessed with their splits,” he complains.
“How’d you do?”
He frowns. “Second in my age group. Some ringer from Sioux Falls beat me. So. You still leaving?” he asks. “Or did you just come back to say good-bye?” He’s hurt, and I’m surprised that he shows it.
I pull out the Oklahoma! CD. “How did you know that was my bag, and why it was outside?”
“As I think I’ve said before, being head of this family is a full-time job. I was out for an early-morning run, of course. A warm-up. I saw it sitting on the balcony. I figured you were up to something.”
“So how did you get this?” I ask him.
He slips on his warm-up jacket. “I have ways.”
He’s not a hugger, but I hug him anyway. He doesn’t seem to mind, but his body doesn’t give, either; it’s kind of like hugging a surfboard.
Grandpa pats my shoulder. “Here comes Lenny. For God’s sake, put away that CD, or it’ll be ‘Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin’’ all the way back to Sioux Falls. And by the way? You owe me a half marathon.”
Mom’s waiting for me when I get back to the motel to change. She’s sitting on the bed with a notebook, writing.
“You probably have something to tell me,” I say as I close the door behind me. I toss my backpack onto the bed and go over to my suitcase to get out some clean clothes. I can’t wait to take a shower.
“Actually, that’s what I was going to say. What happened to you?” Mom asks.
I turn to face her. “Should I tell you everything, or just the important stuff?”
“Tell me everything,” she says sternly. “I’ll decide what’s important.”
I sigh. “Would you settle for the Clairol highlights?”
“Okay.” She closes the notebook and sets it on the bedside table.
I sink down on the bed beside her. “Andre and I went out for breakfast and a walk. I figured out some stuff. Here I am.”
She watches me carefully, trying to interpret my condensed version of things. “That’s it?”
I think about the last few hours. Someday I’ll tell her all the details, and it’ll be hilarious, but not now. “We also rode in an RV for about twelve feet. With a huge family and a bunch of obnoxious kids.”
She nods, considering whether that’s a felony or not. “Is that it?” she asks.
“Yup. Oh, and some guys in a car tried to hit on me. It was a drive-by type thing.”
She lets out her breath and runs her hand through her brown-gray-blond hair. “I can’t wait for this trip to be over.”
I smile, amused by the turn of events. “So, what happened with Dad? Did he ever show up?”
“Not exactly,” she says. “This was taped to our room door this morning when we headed out for the day.” She reaches into the notebook and pulls out a postcard. “Go ahead; read it.”
“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.”
—One of the granite giants of Mount Rushmore, Thomas Jefferson (second from left)
Tamara, Ariel, & Zena,
It was great to see you guys. Sorry I had to take off, but things weren’t really working out.
I’m sorry I let you guys down. It seems like I can’t stop doing that. I’m trying, you know? But not exactly succeeding. Yet.
I hope sometime, like next summer, I’ll have things figured out for sure, and we can hit the road (but not the toad) together again.
See you when we all get home.
Love,
Dad
Chapter Twenty-one
Three days later, we stand outside in the Leisure-Lee world headquarters parking lot. Lenny keeps pulling suitcases and bags out of the bus, like a whale’s belly being emptied.
Everyone looks sort of bereft, exhausted, disoriented, like they’ve lost something on the road somewhere and they don’t know what it was or when it happened.
Jenny bursts out of the office and runs to Lenny, who hugs her and twirls her around in the air.
“I knew you’d be here. Happens every time,” Lenny explains to the curious crowd. “Midsummer. We just can’t make it.”
“It’s only June,” Zena says out of the corner of her mouth.
Mom gives them her card. “Call me. I do phone sessions.”
“Phone sex? You?” Ethel asks.
“Therapy sessions, over the phone,” Mom explains.
“Oh. I didn’t know you could do that.”
“What’s that?” someone else asks.
“Sex therapy. On the phone,” Ethel says.
Mom throws up her hands. “Anyway. If you’re interested in growing your relationship, sowing the seeds for future peace and happiness, call me. Heck, I’ll send you some of my books for free.”
Lenny, Jenny, and Lee say their good-byes and take off for the building to get ready for the next Leisure-Lee adventure. The rest of us are dealing with posttraumatic bus disorder.
My grandfather is sitting on his suitcase, rubbing his calves. “So what do you think? Are you ready for the season?” he asks me.
“Not yet. Not even close,” I say. “For one thing, it’s going to take another week for my legs to unfurl.”
Unfurl? I have got to stop reading Andre’s vocabulary book.
“But I’ve still got two months to be totally ready,” I say. “What about you? Going to sign up for another marathon?”
“Maybe. But I think I’m probably going back to work,” my grandfather says.
“I think that’s probably a good idea,” I say, nodding.
“You could tell, huh?”
“I think I’m going back
to work too,” Uncle Jeff announces. “The vacation days are gone. The holiday’s been had. Party’s over.”
He’s doing it too, saying things in threes. We probably all need to be moving on at this point, because we’re turning cultish.
“It’s like Lee said. If you don’t work, you don’t get vacation,” Uncle Jeff says.
“How profound.” Grandma rolls her eyes.
“Maybe you should get a driving route,” my grandfather suggests. “You’d have a roof over your head.”
Uncle Jeff laughs. “Right. That might be good. But I wouldn’t get the exercise I need. Plus I enjoy talking with the people, being out in all kinds of weather, and things of that nature.”
My grandmother comes over and stands beside me. “The nice thing is that we don’t have to say good-bye. You’ll be coming to our house tonight.”
“But I really want to see Gloves,” I say. “I’m sorry; I hate to admit that.”
“She’ll be okay. She’ll be fine,” Grandma says. “But I know what you mean. I really miss our cat, too.”
“You do? But you never said anything.”
“I don’t believe in talking about everything, but it doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings.”
“Right.” I smile at her, thinking about her blowup at the restaurant the other night, when everyone melted down.
“Maybe you guys want to split up, ride with us,” she suggests.
“Mm, okay,” I say. “Well, I don’t know. Is that okay with you guys?” I ask Mom and Zena.
“Yes, I get the front seat!” Zena cries, so I guess it’s okay with her.
Mom and Zena are hugging Uncle Jeff good-bye, so I walk over to the Coke machine because my throat is parched. Andre comes over to say good-bye. I’ve been dreading this moment for the past couple of days, and even hoping the second bus would break down so we could spend more time together.
“You’re the best person I’ve ever almost been a runaway with,” he begins.
I slide two dollar bills into the pop machine, stand back, and look at my selections. “Is that all you can say?”
“This trip would have been nothing without you. I’d have taken off for sure. Day one. Rest area. Thumbed a ride.”
“Been dead by now.”
“Exactly,” he says.
I choose an orange soda, but when I press the button, the machine drops a bottle of strawberry milk instead. “What is this?” I ask him, turning the bottle over in my hand. “Who even drinks strawberry milk?”
“I haven’t had that since I was two,” he says. “Just open it and drink it.”
So I have a few sips and hand the bottle to him, and he has a few sips.
“Do you have three words for this?” I ask.
He pauses for a second. “Sucky. Lousy. Pretty much undrinkable.”
“Exactly.” I stand there, not wanting to leave or say something stupid that he’ll remember as my last, stupid words.
“So, like. We should stay in touch,” he says.
“We should,” I agree.
“And I think I know how. You can send me bad postcards,” says Andre.
“Okay,” I say, nodding, and then I’m crying. Because I always cry at times like this. It’s a yearbook-signing-type moment, saying good-bye. I hate saying good-bye. I don’t know what to say, what to write.
My whole life is up in the air, sort of, and unless we move to Chicago instead of St. Paul, I probably won’t see Andre much more in my life. I hate thinking that.
“But I don’t know about the whole romance thing,” Andre says.
“Yeah. Me neither,” I say. “I hate to say that. But I guess it seems kind of unrealistic.”
“Totally,” he agrees.
“Absolutely. Definitely,” I add. “Not realistic.”
“But since when are we into ‘realistic’?” Andre asks. “Anyway, we could visit each other. I think there’s this bus tour of Chicago you could take.”
“Very funny,” I say.
“I thought so. And in the meantime, you know. We’re going to have to live on, like, memories. So we’d better have a good Leisure-Lee one to remember.” And he kisses me so I back up against the Coke machine and drop the strawberry milk. I hug Andre one last time.
“Come on, Ariel—time to go!” Grandma says, and we break apart, which takes some effort.
Andre and I hold hands until we can’t any longer, and then he says, “See you,” and wanders across the parking lot to his car.
I turn around to see Bethany and Zena hugging Dieter and Wolfgang, which almost sort of takes something away from my moment, but not quite, because they’re never going to have the kind of devastatingly hot kiss Andre and I just had.
Or at least, I hope not, until Zena gets a little older.
When I go over to the car, Grandpa is still trying to fit everything into the trunk. “I can’t fit all your shoe boxes into the car, Jeffrey. Did you have to buy so many shoes on the trip? Jeez.”
“Did you see how many sweatshirts Tamara bought?” Uncle Jeff points out, as if they’re still twelve and ten.
“Yes, but I’m not trying to fit them all in my car,” says Grandpa.
“It’s genetic. I brought eight pairs myself,” I say to Uncle Jeff.
“Really?” Uncle Jeff’s eyes light up.
We start to get into the car, but I suddenly remember something I’ve been meaning to do. “Wait—I almost forgot something. I’ll be right back.”
I run back to the bus and leave the Oklahoma! CD on the steps. I wouldn’t want to deprive the next Leisure-Lee guests.
Leisure-Lee Tours: Weekly Departures from Sioux Falls.
When life gives you vacation, take it!
Because when you’re driving, you miss the small stuff.
Because you can’t rush Mount Rushmore.
Andre,
We’re heading home now, or maybe to our new home. Anyway. Crossing Minnesota at the speed of light.
The sky is clear. Cloudless. Beautiful. Azure.
Think of three more and write me back.
I miss you.
But I don’t know how much that counts, because at this point, I even miss Lenny.
Pathetically perambulating,
Ariel
Excerpt from Eleven Things I Promised
Turn the page for a peek at Catherine Clark’s
Prologue
I was trying on a ridiculous prom dress when the call came.
I didn’t even want to go to junior prom, but Stella was insisting. At the moment I was thinking of picking up a shift at McDonald’s instead, just to avoid it, because I don’t feel all that attractive in sequins and tight, fitted tube tops and flouncy things.
Those were the styles I was seeing at Flanberger’s, my only retail option. If I planned on buying anything online, I’d need my mom’s credit card and would have to explain why I wasn’t going with Oscar and listen to her say, “It’s such a shame you two aren’t together anymore,” for the thousandth time. (For the record, Oscar was a dirtbag, who I’d dumped after I found out he was cheating on me, like, a lot.) The concept of breaking up was somehow foreign to her, which was odd considering she’d been divorced eight years already.
Over the past week I’d become as determined as Stella to go to prom, no matter how uncomfortable it made me. Prom was a thing juniors did, whether they’d recently dumped dirtbags or not. Stella had decided she was going, that this was a thing we needed to do. Prom was the week after this big bike trip we’d signed up for—the Cure Childhood Cancer Ride—another event Stella had decided we’d do together. Of course, she was a real cyclist. I wasn’t. She’d done the same ride spring of sophomore year. I hadn’t.
But despite the challenges of riding so far, I couldn’t wait to take off on a trip with Stella.
“We’ll hit the road for a week, then we’ll hit up prom. It’s going to be a-mazing,” she’d said as she laid out the plan in February. She was even planning to ride her bike to prom. She had it
all mapped out.
She’d started outdoor training in March, as soon as the snow thawed. I hadn’t. And I should have been out riding that late April afternoon with her, instead of trying to find a dress at Flanberger’s. I guess I wasn’t all that committed to the ride yet. I had three weeks before we left, and I knew it was time to get serious about it. Still, here I was, dress shopping. I guess I figured Stella would pull me through the ride, the way she did with most things.
Also? Sometimes I think I was put on this earth to procrastinate.
Stella had ordered her prom dress a month ago and it was hanging in her closet.
I needed to catch up on all fronts, which is typical for me. But I had to try, because did I really want to take orders from people when they waltzed in between prom and after-prom? Would you like fries with your date? What if Oscar came in with what’s her name, or what’re their names? He would, too. He’d be clueless like that because he had no actual feelings.
Meanwhile, I’d be like Cinderella.
Literally. Sometimes I do have to mop.
No, I wasn’t working prom night. I’d get a dress if it killed me, and Stella and I would go together.
“That one won’t go with a rose corsage,” the salesclerk, Phyllis, told me, standing back to get a good luck at the short, flowered, sequined purple dress I was currently swathed in. “Trust me.”
“I don’t think I’m getting a rose corsage,” I said. “Trust me.”
“Boys don’t think creatively about flowers.” Phyllis sounded a bit world-weary all of a sudden. “You’ll be getting a rose.”
“No one’s doing corsages this year. We’re not allowed to have the pins,” I told her, not going into detail about the fact that I didn’t have a guy for a date.
When Phyllis gave me a puzzled look, I added, “Potential weapons or something. They don’t trust us.”
“They’re determined to kill prom. In my day, prom was important,” Phyllis muttered. She pulled more dresses off the racks and skittered back to the dressing room with an armful. I followed her in a daze. It was like being on a Ferris wheel that you really, really wanted to get off of, but you couldn’t get the attention of the ride operator to make it stop.
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