My So-Called Family

by Courtney Sheinmel

  At first when Mom and Simon announced we were moving, I was really upset about having to leave. The pink house was the only place I’d ever lived. All the people I knew lived nearby. I thought about Abigail and Heidi, and everyone else I’d known for as long as I could remember. I knew the names of almost all the kids in my entire school—not just the kids in my grade. I knew all of the teachers, too. When we moved, I would have to start all over. I went into my room and lay down on my bed. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine walking into school and not knowing anybody. Everyone would be looking at me because I was the new girl, but they wouldn’t know a thing about me. They wouldn’t know there was anything about me that was different or strange. Lying there on my bed, I realized that moving would be a chance to be normal.

  The woman from the moving company gave me boxes and bubble wrap, just like she gave to Mom. I took the posters down from the walls and packed my books up. I used the bubble wrap to wrap up the snow globes Simon brought back for me every time he returned from a business trip. It was like packing up memories. I taped up the last box and pressed it closed. Then I sat back on my bed. The room looked different, even with all my furniture still in it. You could almost tell the furniture was empty on the inside, like all the personality of the room was gone. There was a pit in my stomach, which wasn’t what I thought closure would feel like. It was strange how my room would be someone else’s room soon, and I’d be moving into someone else’s old room.

  It would be an adventure, like Mom and Simon said, and it would be a fresh start. Nobody would have to know about my donor. I could just blend in like a normal person, in a normal family of four. I stood up from my bed and went to tell Mom that I was done packing, so she could tell the movers to come in and put my boxes and furniture into the truck.

  chapter two

  At night in the new house, when everything else is quiet, you can hear the faint but steady sound of cars. Mom said the noise is because Riverdale is actually a part of New York City. It’s not as noisy as Manhattan, which is the part of New York City that Simon’s office is in, but it’s still more crowded than the town in Maryland where the pink house is.

  “It’s hard to fall asleep,” I complained to Mom the first morning. She was kneeling on top of the kitchen counter, lining our new cabinets with checkered paper.

  “I know,” she said from inside the cabinet. She turned around to look at me, and I rubbed my eyes to show her just how tired I was. “You’ll get used to it, Leah. I promise.”

  “How do you know?” I asked her.

  “I just do,” she said.

  The noise isn’t the only thing about the new house that’s different. It’s bigger, too. We got rid of my old twin bed because my room was big enough for a double bed. Charlie’s room isn’t as big as mine, but at least it’s bigger than a closet, which was about the size of his old room. Before we moved in, Simon and Mom had everything painted and put in new carpeting. When we got there, the whole house smelled new, not at all like the pink house, where everything was worn in and very cozy. The first morning that I woke up in the new house and walked downstairs for breakfast, I made a left turn instead of a right toward the kitchen. In the pink house the kitchen was to the left of the stairs. But in the new house I ended up headed toward the front door instead.

  But by the time we finally finished unpacking everything and had gotten rid of all the boxes, the fresh-paint smell had started to fade. Mom was right about the noises; I got used to them and started being able to fall asleep. I was almost completely used to living there and I even started to forget things about the pink house. Like, I couldn’t remember anymore what shape the doorknobs were, or whether the light switch in my bedroom was on the left-or right-hand side of the door. I also slept differently, with my arms and legs stretched out as wide as possible on my double bed. It’s strange how when you get used to new things, you forget all the old things that you took for granted before.

  School started a couple weeks after we finished unpacking. It was good because we didn’t know anyone, so after we finished setting up the house, there really wasn’t much for us to do. I was bored, and Mom was acting sort of crazy because she was writing a new book, How to Talk So Your Parents Will Listen. She had to get it to her editor by the end of October, and it’s hard for her to work when we’re home, especially when Charlie’s home. But Charlie started kindergarten the same day I started eighth grade, and Mom got back to work on her book.

  My homeroom teacher’s name is Mrs. Levitt. You know how teachers never admit to having first names? Well, Mrs. Levitt pretends her students don’t have first names either. When she calls roll in the morning, she calls us by our last names. The first day she called my name she said, “Ms. Hoffman hyphen Ross.”

  “Here,” I said. “And it’s just Hoffman-Ross. You don’t have to say the hyphen.” A few kids snickered. I felt myself start to blush. I hadn’t meant it to sound rude. I’d just wanted to correct her pronunciation. I wondered if I should apologize, but I decided it was best to keep my mouth shut and not say anything more. So much for starting out as someone normal. I sank down in my seat and waited for homeroom to be over.

  I had four classes in the morning—algebra, English, French, and biology, and they all went much more smoothly than homeroom, mostly because I didn’t have to say anything. At the beginning of each class I would pull out a brand-new notebook. I love the first day of school for things like that—before notebooks are filled up and messy, when there’s the possibility of everything staying perfect and easy. I took notes as the teachers outlined the curriculum for the semester. Mom had also bought me a new day planner, and I made a list, as neatly as I could, of the homework I would have for each class. I listed the classes on the left and the assignments on the right. That’s the way Mom always lists things when she’s writing. She’ll divide the page into two columns and list the main points on the left side of the page, and then jot down ideas on the right side. When I surveyed my homework list, it seemed like an awful lot just for the first day, but we’d also started algebra at the end of seventh grade back at my old school, so at least my math homework would be pretty easy to do.

  After fourth period I followed the crowd to the cafeteria. I had sort of been dreading lunch. I wasn’t worried about the food or anything, but lunch is always the part of the day when you get to sit with your friends, and since I was new, I didn’t have any friends to sit with. I was sure there were other new kids. It was a big enough school that there had to be some other kids who had just moved to Riverdale who didn’t have anyone else to eat with. But I didn’t know how to find them in the crowd, and I was worried I would end up sitting alone. I held my lunch tray and looked out at all the tables. Kids were hunched over, laughing, deep in conversation. I didn’t see anyone sitting alone.

  “You’re the girl with the hyphen, right?” I heard a voice beside me say. I turned and saw three girls standing next to me. I recognized one of them from homeroom. She had long dark hair and the most perfectly clear skin I’d ever seen. When Mrs. Levitt had called out “Ms. Monahan,” the girl had raised her hand but had kept on reading the magazine open on her desk. Now she was looking straight at me, waiting for an answer.

  “Yeah,” I said. Mom hates when I say “yeah.” Since she’s a writer, she’s obsessed with things like language and grammar. She has a whole list of words she wishes I didn’t say.

  “I’m Avery,” the girl said.

  “I’m Leah,” I said.

  “This is Brenna, and this is Callie,” Avery said. She balanced her tray on one hand and waved toward the other girls. Brenna had dark hair like Avery, except it was very curly, and Callie was blond. They were all very pretty. I rolled their names around in my head. Avery, Brenna, and Callie—cool girl names. I wished my name were more exotic, although it could have been worse. There was a girl at my old school named Harriet, and some of the kids called her “Hairy.” Parents should think about these things before they name their kids.

>   “Nice to meet you,” I said.

  “They’re in a different homeroom,” Avery said. She turned to them. “You should have seen it. Mrs. Levitt is so old she’s practically senile, and you know how she calls everyone by their last name? So when she was calling roll this morning, when she got to Leah, she pronounced the hyphen in her last name!”

  Brenna and Callie laughed. I knew it wasn’t that funny a story, but I could tell Avery was the kind of person you laughed at whenever she said something she thought was funny.

  Avery turned back to me. “You’re new, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said again. I could just imagine how embarrassed Mom would have been if she’d been listening to our conversation.

  “Do you have anyone to sit with for lunch?” Avery asked.

  “I don’t really know anyone yet,” I said.

  “Well, you should sit with us, then,” she said. “It would suck to have to eat alone.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I followed the girls over to a table on the far side of the room. We put our trays down, except for Brenna, who had brought her lunch. She put down her bag and unwrapped something in tinfoil. Avery swirled spaghetti on her fork. “I hate how overcooked they always make the pasta,” she said.

  “You want some of this?” Brenna asked.

  “No, thanks,” Avery said. “I can’t even really tell what it is.”

  “It’s just steamed chicken and vegetables,” Brenna said.

  “No, thanks,” Avery said again. She turned to me and started pointing out other kids. A few I recognized from classes I’d had earlier in the day, but mostly she pointed out older kids. “The high school kids are allowed to eat off campus for lunch, so you rarely ever see them in the cafeteria, except for the first week of school. They have this dumb rule that everyone has to eat in the cafeteria for the first week. It’s about school spirit, or something cheesy like that. That’s my brother, Chase,” she said. Across the room I saw a guy with dark hair like Avery’s, his arm draped around a blond girl. “And that’s Lizzie with him. They’re both seniors and they’re in love or something. My dad says it’s not really love. But I think he just says that because he’s worried Chase is gonna want to go to whatever college Lizzie gets into. Chase is a lot smarter than Lizzie, and my parents don’t want him to blow his shot at going to Yale over a girl.”

  “Did he get into Yale?” I asked.

  “Not yet,” Avery said. “He still has to apply.”

  “But he’ll get in for sure,” Brenna said. “Everyone knows that.”

  “Yeah,” Avery said. “And everyone knows you’re totally in love with him.”

  “Maybe,” Brenna said, her face reddening. “But I just meant he’ll get in because of your dad and all.”

  Avery turned back to me. “My dad went to Yale,” she explained. “It’s like his dream to have his son go there too. And Chase works really hard. He’s got, like, perfect grades. My dad would flip out if he didn’t get all A’s.”

  “At least your dad puts all the pressure on Chase,” Brenna said. “I’m an only child, so my parents are obsessed with my grades.”

  “Same with mine,” Callie said.

  “But you’re not an only child,” Brenna said.

  “I practically am,” Callie said.

  “What are you talking about?” Brenna said. “You have a sister. You guys even share a room!”

  “Yeah, and it’s horrible. We barely even speak. The only way you can tell we’re sisters is that we sort of look alike, and I hate that we look alike.”

  “You guys should just make up already,” Avery said.

  “But we’re not fighting,” Callie said. “We just don’t like each other.”

  “Anyway, the point is your parents don’t think of you as an only child,” Brenna said.

  “Whatever,” Callie said. “They still want me to work hard and go to a good school. Just like I’m sure the Monahans want Avery to get good grades, even if Chase does get into Yale. Right, Av?”

  Avery nodded. “What about your parents?” she asked me.

  “They’re okay about it, I guess,” I said. “My stepfather went to Cornell. Last night he and my mom were saying how all my grades count now, and if I do well, maybe I can go to Cornell too.”

  “Is that why you’re hyphenated?” Avery asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Because of your stepfather?”

  “Oh, yeah. Ross is my stepfather’s last name,” I said. “He and my mom got married six years ago.” I didn’t tell her Hoffman was my mother’s maiden name. She could just assume the Hoffman part came from my biological father. I could be like thousands of kids with a father and a stepfather. That was my plan, anyway.

  “My mom’s remarried too,” Callie said. “I practically know my stepfather better than my real father. Does your dad live nearby at least?”

  “Oh, no. He’s off in Europe somewhere,” I said, reciting the familiar line I usually told about my family. “I’m not exactly sure where.”

  “Me either,” Callie said. “I mean, I don’t really know where my dad is. We think he lives in Texas, but I don’t know the name of the city or anything.”

  “That’s just what it’s like for me,” I said. After I said it, I repeated the line over and over again in my head. My plan was working. My family was just like someone else’s family. I didn’t seem different or strange. For the first time in a long time, I thought maybe I could pass for normal.

  chapter three

  The next Friday, Avery invited me over to her house. I had to pick up Charlie from kindergarten because Mom needed extra time writing. Charlie gets out of school about ten minutes after I do, but he doesn’t start until after lunchtime. It’s because the kindergarten has a morning program and an afternoon program. Mom wanted Charlie in the morning program, but it fills up quickly, and since we moved over the summer, he was signed up too late. I think Charlie is lucky to be five years old. He could sleep in late every morning if he wanted to, but somehow he’s always up at the crack of dawn and downstairs eating breakfast even before my alarm clock goes off. I was like that too, when I was younger. Now I’m never awake before my alarm clock goes off.

  It takes only five minutes to get over to Charlie’s school from mine, but I have to leave right after my last class so I won’t be late. Avery said she didn’t mind coming with me, so we sprinted over to the elementary school together. Charlie’s teacher was sitting by the front door of the school, shaking hands with all the kids as they left. Charlie was standing in line. “That’s him,” I told Avery. “The one with the striped red shirt.”

  “Oh, he’s so cute,” Avery said. “He looks so mature, like a little man.” “Mature” seemed like the wrong word for Charlie. After all, he’s just a little kid and he’s short for his age, which makes him look younger than most of the other kids. He hates that. I watched him shake Mrs. Trager’s hand. He looked so serious as he pumped his hand up and down. Then he turned to face the crowd of parents and babysitters gathered to pick up the kids. When he saw me, he grinned his lopsided grin. There was something white pinned to his shirt, probably one of those letters that teachers attach to the kids so they don’t forget to give it to their parents. It flapped in the breeze as he ran toward me.

  “Leah!” Charlie said.

  I introduced Charlie to Avery. Suddenly shy, he leaned against me. I nudged him, hoping he would shake her hand, but he stayed glued to my side. I pulled at the paper on his shirt.

  “That’s for Mom and Dad,” Charlie said. He was speaking softly, and I pretended I couldn’t hear him.

  “What?”

  “It’s for Mom and Dad,” he said again, just a little more loudly. “Mrs. Trager pinned letters to everyone’s shirts so we wouldn’t lose them.”

  I unhooked the safety pin and put the letter into my backpack. “Guess what?” I said. “I’m going to Avery’s house now, and she invited you, too.”

  “Really?” Charlie asked. He loves when I
include him in things. It’s the best part of him being so much younger. Sometimes it’s annoying when he wants to hang out with me all the time. But then there are the times when he comes into my room at night and sits on my bed and just watches me. No matter what I’m doing, even if I’m just doing my homework, he sits there captivated. I get worried that as he gets older, he won’t think I’m so special.

  “Yup,” I told him. “You get to come.”

  “Hey, Charlie,” Avery said, bending down so she was at his eye level, “do you like chocolate chip cookies?” Charlie shrugged, still shy. “Well,” Avery continued, “I was going to say we could make them at my house, but maybe you don’t like chocolate.”

  “I like chocolate,” Charlie said softly.

  “I don’t know,” Avery said.

  “I do, I do like chocolate!” Charlie said, loudly now. “My favorite movie is even Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.”

  “It is?” Avery said. She threw her head back and began to sing, “Oompa loompa doopidy doo.” Charlie giggled. “Come on, sing with me.”

  “You’re crazy,” Charlie said.

  “I know,” Avery said. “Now sing.”

  “I’ve got another puzzle for you,” Charlie sang.

  “You sound great,” Avery told him. She extended a hand toward him and he took it. Then he reached up for my hand, and we walked like that, all three of us connected, to Avery’s house.

  Avery’s mom was home when we got there. She had the same dark hair and clear skin as Avery, and she told me I could call her by her first name, which is Lori. We dropped our bags in the front hall and went straight into the kitchen because Charlie could hardly wait to get started on the cookies. Lori followed us. She opened up cabinets. “I have no idea if we even have flour and sugar and all that.”