I got up off the bed. "I think it should be outlawed," I said.
Shelly just smiled. "Vada, it's a very beautiful thing. And look, without it there never would have been a Vada."
"I still think it's disgusting."
"Believe me," Shelly said, "someday you'll feel differently."
Shelly gave me some stuff to use then, and I went in the bathroom.
Gross.
Oh, yuck. I felt like I was wearing a pillow.
And for the rest of my life? Or at least till I was old, maybe forty-five or something?
I couldn't wait to get to be forty-five.
I came back to my room.
Shelly was still waiting for me, sitting on my bed. "You okay?" she asked.
"No."
"You will be, believe me," she said.
I went to the window and looked out.
I saw Thomas J coming toward my house on his bike. I watched him drop his bike to the ground, and then the bell rang.
"It's Thomas J," I said to Shelly. "I don't want to see him. It's not fair. Nothing happens to boys. Go down and tell him to go away."
"Vada," Shelly said. "It's all right. You can't hide for the rest of your life. Nothing's changed. Go on. Go answer the door. He's your friend."
I just gave her a look.
But she was right—I couldn't just sit in my room all day. Besides, I remembered I was mad at her. I didn't want to stay here with her.
But I wasn't going downstairs, either, not just yet. I opened the window and stuck my head out. "Thomas J," I called down. "I'm up here. What do you want?"
"Want to do something?" he said, bending his neck back to see me.
"Like what?" I said.
"It's broiling hot out," he said. "We could go to the lake and find your mood ring? Go swimming, maybe?"
Swimming?
"No!" I yelled.
"How come?" He stared up at me. "It's hot!"
"Go away!" I said. "Go away. Go and don't come back for five to seven days!"
And I slammed the window down. Hard.
CHAPTER XIX
That was the beginning of the worst two days of my life. All I could think about was what was happening to me, to my body. Think about it and feel it. It felt absolutely gross. I didn't understand how all those girls in my class could get so excited when it happened to them. Unless they were all lying and they all hated it just as much as I did.
I wouldn't even go out. I even missed poetry class. I felt like everyone would know I had it just by looking at me.
But even worse than that—Dad was getting married. And he definitely liked Shelly more than me.
For the next few days I saw him and Shelly sneaking kisses all over the place. And then one night I got in big trouble because I was thinking about them and thinking about everything else that was wrong—so I forgot to lock Gramoo up in the kitchen when people were coming for a viewing.
Big mistake. Because Gramoo got loose and went in there, in the room where there was a viewing going on. I wasn't downstairs when it happened, so I didn't see it. But Dad said she took a rose off the casket and used it like a microphone. And she stood there in front of some dead guy and began singing, booming out in this huge voice, "There's No Business like Show Business.'' Right there in front of the dead guy and all his live relatives, too.
Actually, I thought it was pretty funny, but Dad was mad as anything. And he blamed it all on me and yelled at me again, right in front of Shelly.
"Do you have any idea how upset those people were?" he shouted. And he put his hands on my shoulders as if he was going to shake me, but then he just dropped his hands. "What were you thinking of?" he growled.
I felt like telling him what I was thinking of. But of course I didn't.
Besides, it wasn't my fault that Gramoo was weird now.
I hated him. If there'd been anywhere to run to, I'd have run.
Instead, next morning early I got on my bike and rode and rode. I rode until lunchtime, then went home and ate, then went out riding again. I rode until I stopped being so mad. Riding my bike helps me think, too, just think quiet thoughts. And I sure had a lot to think about.
Mostly what I thought about was running away. But it was just too babyish. Because a kid couldn't really get far, especially without any money.
I wondered if there was any way to get kidnapped. I mean, not hurt, just kidnapped for a while. I bet then they'd worry. In social studies, we read about the Lindbergh baby and how someone stole him right out of his bedroom.
Maybe I'd sleep with my window open tonight.
By late afternoon I was tired of riding around, and I went and found Thomas J.
Together we rode to the lake.
We could see the hive still on the ground over by the oak tree, but there weren't any bees around. Still, I wasn't ready to go over there yet, even if my mood ring was still there.
The mood ring could wait. And I told Thomas J he couldn't get the hive, even though he was promising me that it was empty. Well, I wasn't sure it was empty, and I had no intention of having to jump in the lake again. Not now. Let it wait awhile.
Thomas J and I dropped our bikes and went over by the willow tree. We lay on our backs on the grass, staring up at the sky.
There were big fluffy clouds up there, floating along slowly, changing and shifting shapes. I saw an old man with a beard, some dinosaurs, and a frog on a lily pad.
Thomas J said he saw God riding on a horse.
God? How did he know what God looked like?
He just shrugged, and then he laughed. "Well, maybe it isn't God," he said.
I looked at him, and then I laughed, too.
Thomas J is really sweet.
After a while I said, "Thomas J, why do you think people want to get married?"
Thomas J chewed on his blade of grass. "I think when you get old, you just have to, that's all," he said, after a while.
"I'm going to marry Mr. Bixler," I said.
"You can't marry a teacher!" Thomas J said. "It's against the law."
"Is not."
"Is, too. There's some rule. Besides, suppose you did? He'd have to give you all A's, and it wouldn't be fair."
"Dummy!" I said. "I'm not going to marry him yet. I meant when I grow up."
"What if he doesn't wait for you?" Thomas J said.
I just shrugged. He'd wait. I knew.
I sighed. "And know what else?" I said. "My dad gave Shelly a ring."
"A ring?" Thomas J got up on an elbow and looked at me. "What kind? A mood ring?"
"Not a mood ring," I said. "An engagement ring."
"They're getting married?"
I nodded.
"Wow!" Thomas J said. He lay back down on the ground. "Wow! Then you'll get to have a mother, too."
He sounded super-pleased.
"Well, I don't like her," I said.
"I do," Thomas J said. "She's real funny."
"Yeah. Well, he likes her better than he likes me," I said, so quietly I could hardly hear myself.
"What?" Thomas J said.
"Nothing," I said.
We were quiet awhile, and then I asked, "Thomas J? Have you ever kissed anyone?"
"My mother."
I poked him with my elbow—hard.
"I didn't mean that!"
He laughed. "I know. You mean like they do on TV." He shook his head. "No."
I rolled over on my stomach so he wouldn't see my face. I pulled up some grass. "Maybe we should," I said. "Just to see what's the big deal."
"I don't know," Thomas J said. He sounded nervous. "I don't think so."
"Here," I said. "Practice on your arm. Like this."
I started kissing my arm, pressing my lips hard against it, making noises like they do on TV.
After a minute Thomas J did the same. We both stopped at the same time.
"Okay," I said. "Enough practice. Close your eyes."
He slid backwards on his elbows across the grass, away from me.
<
br /> "Why?" he said. "I won't be able to see."
"Just do it!" I said.
I followed him across the grass, leaning over him till my face was right above his.
Thomas J closed his eyes. But even with his eyes closed, I could tell he was nervous, the way his eyelids were twitching.
"Okay," I said. "On the count of three. One . . . two . . . two and a half . . . three . . ."
I closed my eyes, too, then bent over and kissed him right on the lips.
He kissed back. Like, really pressed his lips on mine hard.
It felt like . . . It felt like . . .
I pulled away from him.
It felt . . . Wow.
Thomas J was looking right at me, very surprised, like.
It was very quiet, only the cicadas singing in the trees.
It was really quiet.
"Say something," I said.
He swallowed hard. "Urn . . . Um . . ."
"Hurry!" I said.
He jumped to his feet. "I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America," he said.
He put his hand over his heart. "And to the Republic for which it stands, one nation, under God,
indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."
Dummy!
But both of us were hysterical by the time he finished. And relieved, too. Relieved of what, I had no idea, but I definitely felt relieved when we were laughing like that.
After that we stayed there at the lake for a long time, mostly being stupid, making up dumb jokes and pushing each other around and stuff. After a while Thomas J wanted to go find my mood ring, but I told him no way. Not with me around, anyway. Like I told him, I had no intention of having to jump in the lake again—not now.
Finally when it was beginning to get dark and Thomas J said he was hungry, we got up and started for home.
As we turned onto our street, I said to him, "Don't you dare tell anybody."
"Yeah, well, you better not, either," he said.
"I won't," I said. "You won't?"
"Promise," Thomas J said. And then he added, "Spit on it?"
But I knew he was joking. It's something we did when we were very little—spit in our hands and then shook hands.
Yuck.
"See you tomorrow?" I said.
"All right. See you," Thomas J said.
I headed for my house, and Thomas J headed for his. But after just a minute, I heard him yelling for me.
"Vada!"
I stopped. "What?"
"Would you . . ." But he didn't say any more.
I turned and saw him facing me, but not exactly looking at me, his chin tucked down into his chest, kind of shy-looking.
"Would I what?" I said.
He poked at the ground with his sneaker. "Would you . . . think of me?" he said.
"Think of you?" I said. "For what?"
"You know," he said. "Like . . . like if you don't get to marry Mr. Bixler?"
I smiled. Yeah. Yeah, I would. I definitely would.
"Okay," I said. "I guess."
I turned and raced for home. I didn't want him to see how I was smiling.
CHAPTER XX
Next morning I lay in bed awhile thinking, sort of daydreaming. Weird, how days change. Just a few days ago, I was so miserable. I'd gotten my period, Dad was getting married, and nobody loved me anymore. Today. . . well, not much had changed, but I didn't feel so sad anymore. I was still mad at Dad, and I still surely didn't want him to get married. But something strange had happened to me.
Maybe it was Thomas J. Maybe it was just growing up. And maybe . . . well, maybe growing up wouldn't be as terrible as I had thought.
I even started to write a poem about it, about growing up. I wasn't sure I'd want to read it in class next week. But I might.
I lay for a while thinking about it, then got up and put on shorts and a shirt. I'd get Thomas J, and we'd do something. Maybe it would be safe to go find my mood ring by now.
I heard the doorbell ring and opened my door, thinking maybe it was Thomas J already. But it was grown-up voices, Dad's and somebody else's—a man. Probably somebody wanting to bring in more dead people, so I shut the door again.
I was hungry and ready to go down for breakfast when I remembered something.
My fish! My poor fish.
I kept forgetting to feed him. Yesterday I hadn't fed him anything.
I went over to his bowl and looked in. He wasn't floating on top or gasping or anything, although the water was pretty scummy-looking. I'd change it later.
But not now. I just got the fish food and shook a whole bunch into the water.
There. That should make up for forgetting to feed him yesterday.
I was just finishing, when there was a knock and Dad opened my door.
"Vada?" he said. "Can I come in?"
"Yeah," I said.
But he was already in.
He came over to where I was standing and looked in the fishbowl. But he didn't say a word.
What was he up to? Was he going to apologize for yelling at me the other night? He should, anyway. Or maybe he was going to tell me that he and Shelly weren't getting married after all?
He opened his mouth and then closed it a few times. And finally he said, "What are you doing?"
"Feeding my fish," I said.
"Is that the fish you won at the carnival?" he said.
I sighed. Gosh. How many fish did he think I had? He knew I'd never had one before.
"He's getting big," Dad said, still looking down into the bowl.
I leaned against the windowsill and folded my arms. Right. Dad had come in to tell me my fish was getting big. And I'd only had it about a week.
I wanted to say, Dad, just get to the point. But I didn't.
Because just then he looked at me. Uh-oh. Something was wrong. Something about his face made me very, very nervous.
And then I knew. He was going to tell me that he and Shelly had decided to get married right away. Now. Today, I bet. Or maybe they were married already? Maybe that's what he was going to tell me?
"Vada," Dad said, turning away and going to sit on my bed. "Come sit next to me."
He sat down and patted the place beside him.
I didn't move.
"Come on," he said. And then he added, "Please." And his voice sounded weird, choked up or something, the way mine did when I was trying not to cry.
Something was coming. Something was coming. And I wasn't going to like it.
I went and sat next to him, my heart pounding hard.
"Vada," Dad said. He stopped and put both hands over his face, then straightened up, cleared his throat, and started again. "Vada, something's happened to Thomas J. He stepped on a beehive last night."
I shook my head. "That dummy! I told him not to tease those bees. And I told him to leave that hive alone. Did he get stung?"
Dad nodded. "Yes," he said. He swallowed. "Yes, he did."
I stood up. "Maybe I should go over and yell at him," I said.
"No, sweetheart," Dad said. He quick reached up and took my hands, holding them tight. "Don't do that. You can't."
"Can't? What do you mean, can't?" I pulled my hands loose. "I'll go do it now."
Dad just shook his head, his face weird—hurt—sad, maybe, like somebody had just hurt his feelings.
Suddenly something terrible began happening inside my chest. But all I said was "Sure I can. Sure."
Dad was still shaking his head.
"Why not?" I said. "Why can't I?"
"He was allergic to bees," Dad said, so softly.
"Oh, him!" I laughed—tried to laugh. "He's allergic to everything," I said. "Right? You know what? He's even allergic to chocolate. And you know what else? Last year . . ."
But Dad was just shaking his head, hard.
The lump was huge inside my throat.
I swallowed hard. "Dad?" I said. "Dad, he's all right, isn't he?"
Dad shook his head again. And then he looked
up at me. And . . . but . . . he couldn't be. Dad was—crying? Dad was crying?
"Dad?" I practically shouted it. I was shaking so I couldn't stand it. "Dad?"
Dad stood up and took both my hands in his again, holding them hard. "There were just too many of them, Vada," he said. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."
I pulled away from him. "Too many what?" I said, my throat so tight it would surely burst. "Too many what?"
"Bees. Too many bees. Thomas J is dead. He's dead, Vada."
"No!" I said. "No! You liar!"
Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead, he's dead, Vada.
And then he tried pulling me close.
"Don't touch me!" I yanked away from his hands. "Don't touch me, you liar! Children don't die! You said those coffins weren't for children."
"Vada, please," Dad said. "Please, baby."
"No!"
I wanted to get out of there, out of that room, but he was blocking the way.
I backed up to the wall, Dad following me.
"Please, Vada.'''
"No!"
I was up against the shelf. The fishbowl. The fish food.
I snatched up the fish food, then turned and flung it at Dad. Hard.
The food flew all over the place, all over the floor, all over Dad.
"Get out!" I shouted. "Get out! I hate you! You liar!"
"Vada, please."
I turned away. What? What to do? Why was he lying to me like this?
"No!" I said. "No!"
Not Thomas J.
He was lying.
Not Thomas J.
Thomas J is my friend.
Everyone dies.
Not Thomas J. No.
I picked up the fishbowl. Turned.
And dumped it over, all over Dad's shoes, all over the floor. Fish and all.
My fish would die! Right there on the floor.
I ducked under Dad's arms and ran from the room.
My fish was dead. I had killed it.
My fish was dead.
I ran downstairs and out of the house.
Where? Where to go?
My throat. It hurt so. I was choking. It hurt.
Dr. Welty! Dr. Welty.
But where was my bike?
I couldn't find my bike.
In the garage. The phrenology skull. Ha, Thomas J, you have no personality. None!
Yeah? Show me where it says that.
To Dr. Welty's.
No bike. I ran, ran all the way.
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