“Oh yeah? Whereabouts?”
“San Francisco.”
“That’s a good town. The wife and I went there on our honeymoon.”
“That’s nice.” I clear my throat and then ask, “What happened to your wife?”
“She passed on. Cancer,” he says.
“I’m sorry.”
“To be honest, that’s part of why we had to get out of Miami. Her ghost was still there.” He turns his head to look back at me. “Not a scary real ghost. More like her presence, if you know what I mean.”
“I know. I felt that when my parents died,” I say. In truth my parents and I never had much of a relationship. I think instead of Maddy after the divorce, how her presence had always lingered, especially on my anniversary. “I was glad when they sent us to live with Grandma and Grandpa. Sometimes I can still feel them, when I see something of theirs, like the doll Daddy bought me or the necklace Mommy gave me. Sometimes I like to be reminded of them, but other times it’s too sad, you know?”
Mr. Borstein smiles at me. “You’re a pretty special kid, Stacey Chang.”
“Thanks.”
He turns back to the steering wheel. We don’t say much more until I get home. Before I get out, he says, “You come over whenever you like, all right? Just as long as it’s OK with your grandparents.”
“Thanks, Mr. Borstein.” I decide to reward his kindness with a kiss on the cheek. Then I grab my backpack and run inside.
Chapter 29
When I see Darren the next day, I say, “My grandma said it’s OK if I come over today.”
“OK. My uncle usually picks me up around four,” he says. “I stay in the library until then.”
He turns back to his notebook. I can see I won’t get anywhere with him, so I work on some homework I should have done last night.
The rest of the day goes by slowly. At recess, Maddy sits down next to me. “Hi,” she says.
“Hi,” I say. “Something wrong?”
“Mrs. Ellsbury is making us do this stupid play for the sequicennial,” Maddy says. She mangles the word. “She cast me as Eleanor Roosevelt.”
“That’s good. Isn’t it?”
“Can you help me with my lines tonight?”
“I can’t tonight. I’m meeting Darren to work on our project.”
To my surprise, Maddy starts to cry. “It’s not fair!” she shouts. “You’re never around anymore. You’re always playing with your friends. You promised to be there for me, but you’re not! You don’t care about me.”
“Maddy, of course I still care about you. You’re my baby sister.”
“I’m not a baby!”
“Fine, you’re my younger sister.” I put a hand around her shoulder to pull her close. Some other kids probably see us, but I don’t care. “You’re still my best friend too.”
“What about Jamie?”
“She’s my other best friend.”
“You can’t have two best friends.”
“OK, you’re my bestest friend.”
“Then why do you play with her and not me? Because she’s a big girl?”
“I’m just doing what Dr. Mac said to do. I’m trying to fit in.” I give her a squeeze. “You should try to make some friends your age. Aren’t there any nice kids in your class?”
“No.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Well, is there at least one who’s less mean than the others?”
“I don’t know.”
I survey the playground. There’s a girl with brown pigtails similar to Maddy’s who sits by herself under a tree. She reads a book, though I can’t tell what it is. “What about her?” I ask.
“That’s Marcy.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She talks funny. She’s from Switzerland.”
“She speaks English, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, but it sounds funny. Like that German guy in that old TV show.”
Maddy must mean Colonel Klink on Hogan’s Heroes. “You know it’s not nice to judge people by how they talk or look. Do you like it when people make fun of you for being chubby?”
“No.”
“Well then, why don’t you go over there and ask her to play?”
“OK.”
Maddy trudges across the playground and sits down next to Marcy beneath the tree. I watch them exchange a few words. Whatever Maddy says is effective; Marcy closes her book and then they skip over to the swings.
I watch this with a smile. My little sister has made her first friend.
***
I find Darren on the third floor of the library after school. “Hi,” I say. “You almost ready to go?”
It’s not that I’m anxious to go to Dr. Macintosh’s house—far from it. I just want to get it over with. Then I can go home and text with Jamie. She’ll probably want to know all about Dr. Macintosh’s house, if it’s as weird as his nephew.
We don’t say anything as we go downstairs. He clutches his backpack to his chest like it’s a pillow as we cross the quad to the admin building. I see one car out front, a Lexus SUV. I thought Dr. Macintosh the type who would have a Prius or Volt or something fuel-efficient like that. Maybe I should ask him about that in our next session.
Unlike when I ride with Jamie, no one opens the door for us. As we climb into the back of the SUV, Dr. Macintosh says, “That’s not so bad, is it?”
At first I think he said that to me; then I see the Bluetooth receiver on his ear. “She’s just expressing herself,” he says. “Try to explain why it’s wrong in a calm, rational way. If that doesn’t work, then discipline her. No, don’t raise your hand to her. Send her to a corner to think about her actions. Let me know how that works out. Bye.”
He finally turns back to us. “Sorry about that, kids. One of my patients has been smearing spaghetti sauce on the walls.”
“Gross,” I say.
“You two have your seatbelts on?” Dr. Macintosh asks.
“Yes,” Darren and I say in unison.
“Great. Here we go then.” He shifts the SUV into drive. The traffic is worse than it usually is when I go to Jamie’s house. We’re into rush hour, which lasts for about four hours in this city as the businesspeople flee to the suburbs.
Dr. Macintosh takes advantage of this to ask me about the project. “Darren says you’re studying art of the ‘30s and ‘40s?”
“Yes. We’re focusing on music mostly,” I say.
“Why’s that?”
“Well, because we both like music,” I say.
“That’s a valid reason.”
“But not a good one?”
“There was a lot more to art than music back then. There were a lot of great painters. Some tremendous writers too like Hemingway and Faulkner. Are you going to leave them out?”
“We only get five minutes at most,” I say.
“I see. So you’re hoping to use music symbolically?”
“Maybe,” I say, not entirely sure what he means by that.
“That could work. I’ll be happy to help you and Darren out as much as I can.”
“What do you know about the ‘30s and ‘40s?” I ask. “You’re not that old.”
“You don’t think so? Darren, how old do you think I am?”
“Thirty-six,” Darren says.
“Cheater,” Dr. Macintosh says with a smile. “I have quite a collection of Cole Porter albums. Do you know who he is?”
“Not really,” I say.
Dr. Macintosh clucks his tongue and shakes his head at the same time. “He’s only the greatest singer/songwriter in the history of America. You kids today think everything started with Lady Gaga. There was a lot of music before then. Centuries of it.”
“We only have to cover twenty years,” I say.
“Well you’re in luck because Mr. Porter is in that period.”
Dr. Macintosh doesn’t live in as nice of a place as the Borsteins. His house is about what I expected, an old brownstone that’
s still in cherry condition. He opens the car door to help me down. Before I can say anything, he takes my backpack from me. He exaggerates a grunt and bends forward. “That’s so heavy. What do you have in there, lead weights?”
I glare at him behind my glasses. “I wouldn’t be so pear-shaped then, would I?”
He straightens up, chastised. “I’m sorry, Stacey. I was just goofing around.” He sighs. “I thought maybe we could be friends, not just doctor-patient.”
“I’m only here because the teacher made Darren and I work together,” I say with a huff. Then I stomp up the steps. Darren’s already got the door open. He’s in the living room, his backpack tossed on top of a grand piano. Darren sits at the piano’s bench and flexes his fingers. “You play the piano?”
“Yes.”
“Darren’s mom was a virtuoso,” Dr. Macintosh says with a hint of sadness. “She played Carnegie Hall when she was thirteen.”
“Wow, that’s good,” I say. I glance at Darren. “Are you going to play there?”
“I don’t know.”
Dr. Macintosh tries to brighten the mood. “Darren, why don’t you play some Porter for Stacey? I’m sure she’d love to hear it.”
I really don’t want to hear more old music from my grandpa’s generation, but I nod anyway. Darren plays the scales to warm up his fingers. Then he starts in on the song. I have no idea what it is. I don’t really care either. I’m more interested in Darren. As he plays his face takes on a look of tranquility I’ve never seen before. As the song reaches its climax, he thumps the keys with authority.
When he finishes, I applaud. “That was beautiful,” I say.
Darren’s face reverts back to its unreadable mask. “Thanks.”
Dr. Macintosh claps me on the shoulder. “Stacey here is quite an accomplished singer. Maybe you two could do a duet.”
“I don’t know the words,” I say.
“No problem. I’ve got the lyrics right here.” Dr. Macintosh presses sheets of music into my hands. I don’t know what any of the funny symbols on the lines mean, but I can read the words. “Darren, why don’t you play it through once and then Stacey can jump in the next time?”
“OK,” Darren says. As he plays, I follow along on the paper to try to get a feel for the music. This is a lot easier in the karaoke bar.
During the song, I tug on Dr. Macintosh’s shirt. He bends down so I can whisper in his ear, “What if I can’t sing anymore?”
“I’m sure you can. I doubt it changed your vocal chords that much.” I hate him a little when he tousles my hair. “Just give it a try.”
So I do. My voice sounds higher, thinner. It’s a little girl’s voice, not a woman’s voice like at the karaoke bar. I keep my eyes on the paper so I don’t get lost. Darren is such a smooth player that he can cover up when I miss a word and circle back so I can pick it up.
As we finish, Dr. Macintosh applauds. “That was wonderful,” he says.
“You’re just saying that,” I say.
“Lightning strike me if I’m lying.” He waits theatrically, but no lightning hits him, much as I want it to. “See?”
Darren addresses his feet as he says, “You were good.”
“So were you,” I say. I look down at my feet too.
“Now kids, I don’t mean to tell you your business—”
“That’s all you do,” I grumble.
“Maybe, but I think this is how you should do your presentation.”
Darren and I go pale at the same time. “You want us to perform? In front of everyone?” he asks.
“Why not? You’re both very talented. It would be a shame to waste that by reading an essay and playing MP3 clips.”
“I don’t know,” I say. I remember that night in the karaoke bar. Though now no one should demand I take off my top. “It might work.”
“Of course it will work. You just need to practice.” Dr. Macintosh pats me on the back. “You’re welcome to come over whenever you want. Right, Darren?”
“I guess,” Darren says.
I tug on Dr. Macintosh’s sleeve. “Can I talk to you in the kitchen?”
“Of course.”
The kitchen is full of stainless steel appliances that look almost new. I doubt Dr. Macintosh cooks much. I sit on a stool at the island so I can more easily look him in the eye. “I know what you’re doing,” I hiss.
“What am I doing?”
“You’re trying to hook me up with your nephew.”
“By ‘hook you up’ you mean what exactly?”
“You want us to be friends because you think we’re both shy little outcasts.” I cross my arms. “I already have a friend.”
“I see. So you think I have purely selfish motives here?”
“Yes. Isn’t that against whatever oath you take?”
“I don’t think it’s compromising my ethics to encourage two shy children to be friends. Especially not when they’ve already been assigned to work together.”
“And you want us to perform in public.”
“Which you find scary after what happened at the karaoke bar, right?”
“Maybe.”
He puts a hand on my shoulder again. “Stacey, you truly do have a beautiful voice. And Darren is every bit the player Mary Anne was.”
“Mary Anne is your sister?”
“Yes.”
“I thought she joined the Peace Corps and got knocked up?”
“She couldn’t handle the pressure of her talent, so she joined the Peace Corps.”
“Aren’t you afraid Darren might crack up the same way?”
“I think it’s more important to confront his fear of performing in public. Who better to help him than the most talented little singer I know?”
“You can’t butter me up like that.”
“I’m sorry. I forget you don’t like me to praise your talent. You’d rather I said you’re no good?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s too bad, because that would be a lie.” He gives my shoulder a little shake. “Stacey, you said before you’re not sure what you want to do with your life. Maybe this is the answer. Shouldn’t you at least explore the option?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s just one school presentation. It’ll be less than five minutes. Can’t you give it a try?”
I sigh. I hate the way Dr. Macintosh makes things I don’t want to do seem so reasonable. “I’ll try,” I say.
“Good.” He helps me off the stool. “There are some other songs you two can try as well. Or if you want to try someone else, we can. Darren is very good at playing by ear.”
He leads me back to the living room and then we get started.
Chapter 30
I survive my first week of the fourth grade as Stacey Chang. To celebrate, I have my first real sleepover at Jamie’s house. All Friday afternoon I check the clock and watch the minutes tick away. The closer the end of school gets, the less I can concentrate on my project with Darren. If he notices my agitation he doesn’t say anything, which isn’t unusual.
The bell finally rings to signal it’s three o’clock. We have to wait until Ms. Lowry says, “Class dismissed. Have a good weekend, children.” Then I can grab my backpack and dart out the door. I try to be quick so I can avoid Keshia.
I’m not quick enough. Just like in the cafeteria, one moment I walk under my own power and the next I fall forward. I put out my hands to break my fall, which only sends pain through both wrists as I hit the floor. My glasses bounce off my face to skitter a few inches away. I reach out to grab them, but they’re enveloped by a dark brown blob.
“You lose something, Chopsticks?” Keshia says.
“Give back my glasses,” I say. I scramble to my feet. Even at close range it’s hard for me to see where Keshia has them. I flail at her, but she easily holds the glasses over my head. “Give them back! I need them.”
I don’t see her hand until it shoves me against the wall. “What are you going to do about it?” she growls.
There’s not much I can do. Keshia is bigger, stronger, and she can see. All I can do is cry pathetically. “Give them back,” I whine. I hate myself when I say, “I’ll tell Ms. Lowry.”
“Ooh, I’m so scared,” Keshia says. “You think she’s going to believe some dumb scholarship kid over the best student here?”
I can’t see much around me, but I hear snickers accompany this. Apparently we’ve drawn a crowd. If they came to watch a fight they’re going to be sorely disappointed because even if I do throw a punch it won’t be much of a fight.
I’m saved by Ms. Lowry. “What is going on here?”
“Nothing, Ms. Lowry,” Keshia says. “Stacey dropped her glasses. I was giving them back.”
She presses the glasses into my hands. I put them on in time to see Keshia grin evilly at me, to dare me to tell Ms. Lowry. Much as I want to, I know that will only make my situation worse. “Thank you,” I mumble.
“You should be more careful. Someone might break them next time,” Keshia says. She tousles my hair like I’m a kindergartner and then saunters away with her cronies in tow.
I grab my backpack and then race out the door. I run across the quad, ignoring the taunts of older students, and then past the admin building. Maddy has just gotten into Tess’s station wagon. I’m out of breath by the time I reach the car.
“Stacey! There you are. Are you all right, dear?” Tess asks.
“I’m…fine,” I say. “Got a little…tied up.”
Tess gets out of the car so she can unlock the tailgate. Inside is a pink Power Puff Girls sleeping bag and a pastel suitcase with flowers printed on it. Both of these belonged to Tess’s daughter Jenny when she was my age. There’s also my pink monkey, which Tess drapes over my neck. “Do you want me to take your backpack home?” she asks.
“I’ll keep it,” I say. I probably shouldn’t because after Tess passes the sleeping bag and suitcase to me, I’m doubled over from the weight.
“Have a good time, dear. We’ll see you on Sunday morning. If there are any problems at all, just call and we can come get you.”
“Thanks,” I say. I hope that won’t be necessary. I take a few steps back then and hope Keshia doesn’t show up again to trip me. Not that she’d be so stupid to do it in front of an adult.
Chances Are Omnibus (Gender Swap Fiction) Page 45