The next afternoon we pulled all the blinds so the room was dark as a cave. Mr. Hudson turned on his lap-top and projector and a bunch of students and parents appeared on the wall screen.
“This is the big ODS sendoff — good-bye for five whole days,” he said. “If this is your first time away from home, your mother or father might get a bit teary-eyed. Go ahead and let them. They’re just having trouble growing up. Or maybe it’s seeing you grow up.” Everyone except me chuckled politely, like they’d suddenly aged a couple years and were full of sympathy for their poor, sentimental parents.
“These are the showers,” said Mr. Hudson, nodding at the small brick building on the screen. “You get one during the week.”
“One?” someone protested.
“You got it,” answered Mr. Hudson. “So, depending on how you want to smell, you may want to pack deodorant.” He ignored our giggles.
“You’ll definitely need a warm sleeping bag. We’ve had snow some years.” The next slide was a crowd of campers around a snowman wearing an Eola Hills ODS T-shirt.
“And don’t forget your counselor’s camp name,” warned Mr. Hudson as the picture changed. “If you’re caught using his or her real name, it’s a twenty-five cent fine.” Counselors appeared on the screen, stacked in a three-layer pyramid. “Fungus, Cricket, and Gumdrop; Spice and Slug and Mole. They’ll all be back this year, so memorize their names.”
After the slide show, Mr. Hudson came by my desk. “Do you have your ODS packet, Hope?”
I sighed and inspected the floor. “I can’t get Mom to fill out the forms.”
“Do you want to go?”
My head jerked up so fast I thought it would snap off and spin across the room. “Are you kidding?”
“Attagirl.” Mr. Hudson tapped on the desk with his knuckles. “I’ll give your mom a call tonight in case she has any questions.”
Each time the phone rang that evening, I inched down the hall toward the kitchen and held my breath. First it was Lydia, then someone for Tyler, then I heard Mom coo into the receiver, “Oh, Mr. Hudson, how very nice to hear from you. Yes, uh-huh. Well, I’ve just been so busy at work. Uh-huh. Oh, I’m sure it is. I just assumed Hope wouldn’t be going since she’s such a troublemaker. Oh, really? Outstanding? I haven’t seen any pink slips. Uh-huh. Well, I’m sure it’s a great experience. No, she’s never been camping. I would have volunteered to go, but I just can’t get away. Yes, her brother has a sleeping bag. Okay. No, I can’t think of anything. Thank you so much for calling, Mr. Hudson. Bye, now.” She put the phone down, flipped off the kitchen light, and walked back into the living room.
The next morning I hung around the kitchen, praying I didn’t have to beg. Maybe she’d just hand me the packet with a smile and say, “You’re going to have a great time at ODS, Hope.”
“You’re making me nervous, Hope, pacing around here like a sick cat.” She stood up from the breakfast table. “Go on, catch the bus.”
“Did you, are you, umm, could you —”
“For God’s sake, Hope, spit it out.”
“Outdoor School packet,” I blurted.
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t remember Tyler hauling so much garbage to and from school.” She pushed her chair in. “I’ve never seen so many ridiculous permission forms.”
“What about —?”
She eyed me, her hands on her hips. “You’ll get your precious Outdoor Playschool forms.”
“When?”
“When I get to it!”
I bit my tongue. 50 points.
CHAPTER 23
The Real Me
I tried to be cool about the whole permission business. I figured Mom was playing some sort of game to make me worry, then she’d fill out the forms at the last minute, and I’d get my ODS T-shirt and pack my bag and climb onto the bus. But the possibility of not going to Outdoor School hung around like thick fog and I went through the next few days in a daze.
“Are you going to Next to New?” Brody asked.
“Huh?”
“Hope, wake up,” he said, waving his hand in my face. “You just missed your bus. Are you working today at the store? You know — Next to New.”
“No, I don’t think so.” I looked at him and then around the school yard. The sun was warm, cutting through my fog, and I smelled the spring-come-summer tang of freshly cut grass. I didn’t want to go to the store; I didn’t want to go home. I just wanted to do — nothing.
Brody tossed his backpack on the grass. “Race you to the swings.” He started running.
“No fair! You got a head start!” I dropped my back-pack and ran after him.
We fell into the black rubber seats gasping for air, hanging on to the cold metal chains.
Brody turned onto his stomach and pushed himself in little circles.
“You’re going to get sick,” I said, leaning back in my swing, looking at the wide blue sky.
“So are you.” He reached over and pulled my chain.
“Hey! Stop it!” I laughed, then we both got quiet, our swings slowing to a stop.
“Do you get along with your parents?” I blurted without thinking.
“Yeah, I guess.” He leaned down and picked up a handful of rubber pellets.
“Really? You never argue?”
He began tossing the pellets at me. “Not much. Just if I’m watching too much TV.”
“I don’t think my mom likes me.” That whipped right out of my mouth like I had nothing to do with it. I felt like I was watching myself, wondering what I was going to say next.
“What do you mean?”
I hesitated, then felt a closeness to Brody that gave me confidence. Out it came. My crying baby life. Dad leaving. The hurting words. Angel Moms. My closet bed and my point-system notebook.
“Why so many points for Stupid?” he asked.
“I hate that word. I hate feeling stupid.”
He nodded and was quiet for a moment. Then he asked, “How many points would it be if someone yells from another room, ‘Come here!’? You figure it’s really important, or even an emergency, so you drop whatever you’re doing and you holler back, ‘Coming!’ You race to the next room or downstairs or upstairs, but then you discover they just want to show you something dumb, or have you hold something for a second, or they want to make sure you’re not talking on the phone and that your homework’s done.”
My mind calculated as he rattled on. When he finished, I said, “Three hundred twenty-five points.”
He stared.
I smiled.
Keeping my eyes on Brody, I pushed back my swing as far as it could go, my legs stretched up on tiptoe. Then I swung down and zinged past him, shouting, “See how high you can go!”
CHAPTER 24
Grounded
Brody and I raced to touch the sky. We pumped and pulled, our hands gripping the thick chains, our backs flat to the ground, our feet reaching high, higher, then whipping straight down. The air swept against our faces. We laughed as we passed each other, one up, the other down. Once I laughed so hard, drool slipped out of my mouth and smeared my ear.
“Hope Marie.” A woman’s distant voice.
“Hope Marie Elliot!” Now a yelling voice.
My heart caught. My body stiffened as I strained to turn my head. The turning derailed my downswing and my legs swung the opposite direction as my head. I spotted my mother just as my legs flew back the other direction. My feet banged against the ground and jerked my body to a stop. Brody slowed and stopped. I choked and coughed, my insides threatening to throw up.
“Where have you been?” She stood cross-armed at the edge of the lawn.
I stood up, the swing resting against my rear. “Here,” I said, confused and nervous, wondering why she wasn’t at work, why she’d come looking for me.
“Is this what you do after school?” She glanced at Brody.
“Well, uh…” I stumbled for words, so embarrassed with Brody watching. “Not usually.”
Was thi
s a nightmare? Was my mother actually here? Pieces of the puzzle were missing, floating out there, somewhere.
“I have something to show you. Let’s go.” She snapped around and headed back to the parking lot.
“What happened?” Brody whispered.
“I don’t know.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“I guess so.”
We grabbed our backpacks off the grass and Brody hurried to walk beside me. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Don’t earn a lot of points.”
I sucked in a breath and turned for the car. Mom was sitting in the driver’s seat. I opened the front door and died.
There, in a pile on my seat, was her blue-and-white-checkered dress. Oh, God, no. Oh, please, no.
“Recognize this?” Mom yanked it up and dropped it down.
“Yes,” I said weakly.
“Get in.”
I fell into the car and pulled the door shut. My face was so hot it stung. Now what? How bad was this going to be? The words whirled through my head, over and over.
Now we were passing Next to New. I had to look. There was a naked mannequin in the window.
“I leave the dentist’s office and am driving home when all of a sudden I see my dress on that.” Mom jabbed her finger at the faceless figure.
I closed my eyes, my heart sinking. “Can I go talk to Anita?” I opened my eyes, hoping to see Mom’s nodding head.
She gripped the steering wheel. “We’re done talking. We’re going home.”
We drove in silence. I watched the houses pass. Lawns, windows, trees in pink bloom, kids playing. Did they sleep in their closets? Did they have headaches? Or did they just play and have fun? I shivered and stared at the dashboard.
The car stopped. We were home. I felt myself open the door and follow my mother inside.
“Sit down.” She dropped her dress on the kitchen table.
I sat.
“The lady with the dyed red hair said you brought this in. That I wanted to sell it. Who the hell do you think you are? Going into my bedroom, snooping through my closet, and stealing my clothes?”
I cringed at stealing, knowing she was right. I was a no-good, rotten thief.
“What else did you take?”
“Nothing,” I said, relieved at the truth. “You never wear it. I thought you didn’t want it anymore.”
She slammed her hands on the table. “You thought. Well, you thought wrong. There’s no more working at that stinkin’ second-rate secondhand store.”
I dropped my head.
“You’re grounded for the next four weeks.”
I closed my eyes.
“And no Outdoor School — that’s O — D — S.”
My eyes shot open and head flew up. “NO, Mom, please, not that! I’ll do eight weekends in my room. Ten. All summer. But not Outdoor School. Please.”
“You should have thought of that before taking my dress. Now think yourself into your bedroom.”
My legs could barely stand with my gut in triple knots.
“And don’t even try to change my mind.”
My numb feet carried me down the hall, into my room. I shut the door, saying good-bye to the whole wide world, and saw myself falling again into that dark hole, tumbling, spiraling out of control. My mouth turned watery and my knees wobbled. I stumbled to the wastebasket. My stomach clutched and released, lurched and heaved. Gross. Throwing up in my waste-basket. I waited for a minute, my head still leaning over the side; my body still jerked, but nothing more came up. I sat on the floor, wrapped my arms around myself, and began rocking back and forth, back and forth. Why me? Why me? I stared at the wastebasket, my eyes growing heavy, my body still rocking. Sometime later my legs began to ache and I crawled to my closet.
With Turtle tucked under my arm, I slid the door shut. I felt my way under the blankets and nestled my head in my pillow. But sleep wouldn’t take me away. Instead, my body tensed from the memory of sharp words and shouting, of threats and punishments.
I clutched Turtle’s body, squeezed it tight. Tighter. Then I threw her. She crashed against the closet wall and fell to the floor. Why did I take the dress? What was I thinking? Dumb! Stupid! Idiot!
My eyes stung and my throat swelled. It wasn’t fair. Every time I thought things were better, they only turned worse. I’d get my hopes up and then — BAM — shot down! I’d been tricked. Betrayed. Why didn’t I run away a long time ago? By now I could be living with an awe-some family and going to Outdoor School. Some point system. A lot of good it did me. Like I was ever going to earn the prize. Dumb numbers. Dumb prize. I felt like 1:59. In limbo. Waiting for something to happen, for something to end, to begin, or to get better forever. HA. Like this was ever going to get better.
Exhaustion crept down my body, weighing heavy on my shoulders and legs, yet fighting sleep with sudden jerks and spasms until it finally gave up, gave in, gave out.
The closet door banged open. “You’re late.”
I squinted at my mother’s outline. “I’m sick.”
“Liar. You’re a thief and a liar. Get going. You’ll miss the bus and I’m not driving you to school. I mean it.”
Somehow I made it. Tyler managed to prod me along, pouring me a bowl of stale cereal and a glass of sour orange juice. “Brush your teeth,” he said, putting my empty bowl in the dishwasher. “Are you wearing yesterday’s clothes?”
I shrugged.
“Wash your face — you’ve got something crusty on it.”
I stared at him.
“And comb your hair.”
We stood at the corner waiting for the bus, Tyler shifting his sports bag and backpack. “Boyfriend problems?”
I breathed in the cool morning air. A hint of the warming day rode the inhale and I shut my eyes. “No.” “Flunk a test?”
Frustration followed the exhale. “NO.”
“What then?”
“What do you think?” I eyed him.
“You and Mom.”
“How’d you guess? I’m grounded and no Outdoor School.”
“What?” He frowned. “Why?”
The bus stopped and the doors opened.
I looked back at him as I climbed the steps. “I took one of her dresses to Next to New. She found out.”
Tyler threw back his head and groaned. “You didn’t.” He followed me down the aisle and sat beside me. “Geez, Hope, why?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” I said.
“You can’t miss Outdoor School.” Tyler leaned against the seat. “You have to go.”
Brody met me at the classroom door and followed me to the coat hooks. “What’d your mom do?”
How many times could I say it? Only once more. “I’m grounded, I can’t work at Next to New, I can’t go to Outdoor School, and I don’t want to talk about it.” I walked past him to my seat, sat down, and stared at Mr. Hudson’s bald spot as he wrote on the board.
The bell rang and someone led the flag salute, someone read the lunch menu, and Mr. Hudson said something about counselors and wood cookies.
“I’m not sure I have everyone’s attention,” he said.
I’d been staring out the window. I looked at Mr. Hudson, who was watching me. My face warmed.
“Next week is Extra Credit Week,” he said. “If you do a presentation to the class, you’ll receive bonus points and something special. It can be on anything we’ve studied all year.” Points gave me shivers. Why would I want more points? Besides, extra credit wouldn’t earn me the only thing I wanted.
CHAPTER 25
The Pledge
I laid my head on my desk and closed my eyes, longing for my closet. My body ached, like I’d slept on rocks. I remembered waking to strange dreams and bad numbers: 1:13, 2:16, 3:08, 4:57. Each time I woke, I stared into the dark, trying to piece the dreams together.
It started out okay with me as the Goodnight Moon bunny, all cozy in my blue-and-white-striped pajamas, saying “goodni
ght” to the cow jumping over the moon and to the mittens and kittens. But then, the old lady whispering “hush” stood up and pointed her long, sharp knitting needles at me and yelled, “Shut up!” And she wasn’t a lady bunny anymore, but a Nazi guard in a blue-and-white-checkered dress with all her fingers chopped off. She only had two thumbs. “Eat your mush,” she shouted, “or I’ll give it to the mouse and you’ll lose your precious bowl forever!”
I madly gulped my mush, choking and coughing, nervously looking everywhere for the mouse, sure he was going to jump right in my bowl. As I swallowed the last spoonful, I threw up all over the green blanket. The old lady started for my bed. I scurried under the sheet and burrowed deep. Safe, I thought. But darkness closed in, my chest tightened, I gasped for air.
I thrashed for the closet light, whacked the lamp shade, then fumbled for the switch. Light, at last, precious light, filling my closet. My body shook in relief and I grabbed Turtle. With my knees to my chest, I rocked back and forth. Dear God, please help me.
“Are you okay, Hope?”
It wasn’t God. It was Mr. Hudson. And I wasn’t in my closet, but back in the classroom, rocking in my chair, my head still on my desk. I swallowed and followed the voice. He was kneeling down, his eyes meeting mine as I turned my head.
“Hope,” he said again, quietly, “are you sick?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you need to go to the sickroom?”
“I don’t know.” I stared at his eyebrows.
“What about Mrs. Nelson? Would you like to talk to her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Come on, let’s wander down to her office and see what she’s doing.” He slowly stood and helped me to my feet. I thought my legs would give out.
“What’s up?” Brody came over. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
Mr. Hudson held my arm firmly, just above my elbow, as we walked to the door, and I knew he’d keep me from falling. “I’ll be back in a moment, class.”
Call Me Hope Page 9