Forever Amber Brown

by Paula Danziger

  “Major,” Brandi whispers.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Take out your homework and start on it now, quietly,” Ms. Smith says. “It’s been a long, difficult day, and I have a headache.”

  I, Amber Brown, am sorry that she’s got a headache . . . . but it’s not fair that everyone in the entire after-school program has to be quiet.

  It’s not as if it’s detention or anything . . . . we just have to stay there until someone picks us up . . . so that we’re not latchkey kids, who go home with no grown-ups around until they come home from work.

  I take out my book and pretend to work.

  So does Brandi.

  Oh yes, we’re the great pretenders.

  “So?” I whisper. “Tell me.”

  “I overheard the principal talking to the sixth-grade teacher. And guess what? There are going to be a whole bunch of new kids coming into the school. You know the land that used to be a farm at the edge of town . . . where all those new houses are being built? Well, that means that there will probably be a lot of new kids coming into the school. Maybe some of them will be fourth-graders. Won’t that be fun?”

  Fun?!

  Ha. I don’t think so.

  We have a really small class, and I used to think it would be fun to get some new, different kids, maybe have Hannah Burton move to the moon . . . . but right now I want things to stay the same . . . . here at school, at least.

  “Quiet. I mean it,” Ms. Smith says.

  Brandi and I play a connect-the-dot game.

  I win five times.

  She wins twice.

  I think she’s too excited thinking about her news to concentrate on the game.

  I think I’d rather concentrate on the game than on thinking about her news.

  My mother walks into the classroom and says hello to Ms. Smith.

  I jump up.

  My knees hit the bottom of the desktop.

  I think that someone should invent foam-rubber backings to put on the bottoms of desktops.

  Ms. Smith is so sweet to my mother.

  It makes me want to puke.

  We walk out to the car.

  My mother says, “Amber, honey.”

  “Amber, honey” at the very beginning of a conversation usually means that there’s big news, not always news that I want to hear.

  That’s my mother’s way.

  “I have something important to tell you.”

  Bulletin, bulletin, bulletin, I think. She’s going to tell me that she’s decided to marry Max and we’re going to have to move.

  My legs feel like they’ve lost their knees.

  We get to the car.

  There are two suitcases in the backseat.

  “Amber,” she says, “I need to take a few days to think and work some things out. We’re going to Alabama . . . . to see the Danielses.”

  Justin.

  I’m going to see Justin.

  Chapter

  Eight

  Life is very strange sometimes.

  One minute, I’m in Elementary Extension, waiting for my mother to pick me up and take me home . . . . home to dinner . . . . . home to homework, and the next minute, I’m on a plane on my way to Alabama, where I’m going to see my old best friend, Justin Daniels.

  Actually, it’s not the next minute. It’s a couple of hours. From the school, to the airport, to the terminal, and then we ran, RAN, to get on the plane. It was like we were in training for a new Olympic event, the Airplane Decathalon.

  We’re up in the air right now. Actually, I’m beginning to wonder if my mother is becoming permanently up in the air.

  I can’t believe that the woman sitting next to me is my very own mother. My real mother never lets me stay out of school unless I’m practically dying. My real mother never misses work unless she’s practically dying. And tomorrow is Friday and we’re not going to school or work and we’re both perfectly healthy. The mother I know never goes on trips without planning them for a long time. At breakfast, neither of us knew this was going to happen.

  I look at the woman sitting next to me.

  She looks like my mother.

  She smells like my mother. Her perfume is the same.

  She sounds like my mother.

  I wonder if all mothers get this weird when someone asks them to marry him.

  I wonder if all mothers would call their best friends the way that my mom called Justin’s mother this morning, and if they would just rush home, quickly pack suitcases, and take off to talk.

  My mother is definitely not the mother I’ve always known.

  My mother is sitting next to me, making lists of why she should marry Max and why she shouldn’t marry Max.

  I ask her if I can see the lists, but she says no.

  I start making my own lists.

  One is the reasons why my mother should marry Max. One is the reasons why she shouldn’t.

  I let her see what I’m doing.

  “Amber, honey, when you’re done, I’d like to see your lists.” She hands me her packet of peanuts.

  I, Amber Brown, will not take bribes. I will, however, take the peanuts. “I will show you my lists if you show me your lists.”

  She shakes her head. “It’s just too private.”

  She may think it’s “too private,” but what she’s going to decide is going to be very important to my life.

  I pretend to be looking around the plane and sneak looks at her lists when I can.

  She puts her hand over the lists, just like kids in school do when they don’t want the kid next to them to cheat off their papers.

  She looks over at my papers. I put my hand over my lists.

  I work on my lists.

  Reasons for My Mother to Marry Max:

  He’s nice to her.

  He’s nice to me.

  He’s funny.

  He’s teaching me to bowl.

  They love each other.

  He says he loves me.

  Reasons for My Mother Not to Marry Max:

  What if my father comes back and wants to marry my mother again?

  There’s not enough room in our house.

  He doesn’t always remember to put the toilet seat down. What if they’re married and he uses the bathroom and forgets to put the toilet seat down? What if I go to the bathroom late at night, and the toilet seat is up, and I don’t notice it and sit down and fall into the water?

  If he’s living in the house, there will be no real privacy. I won’t be able to walk around in my nightgown.

  If he’s living in the house, he’ll be sleeping in my mother’s bedroom. I don’t think I’m going to like that. I won’t be able to just go in and talk to her whenever I want.

  Nothing in my life is staying the same, except for my room.

  It will be so good to see Justin and his family again . . . all of us together. I just hope that it’ll be just the way it was when he lived on my street, before we found out that he was going to have to move away.

  The flight attendant makes an announcement that we should put on our seat belts, put up our trays, and place our chairs in the upright position.

  The little girl in the seat across from me holds her Barbie doll in her lap and puts the seat belt around both of them.

  Her Barbie doll reminds me of Tiffani Shroeder. She’s got this little brother, Howie, who is always doing weird things with her collection of Barbies.

  Today at school, Tiffani opened her lunch. Now that she’s decided to be a vegetarian, she eats a lot of salads. Howie rearranged it so that it looked like a real bed of lettuce. There was lettuce on the bottom, and then Barbie. There was more lettuce on top of Barbie, and a carrot “pillow” under her head. He made it look like the blue cheese dressing was coming out of the Barbie’s mouth so that it was like puke.

  It was one of Howie’s best creations.

  The plane makes a little bump as it lands.

  “Don’t worry,” the little girl says to her Barbie. “There’s no
thing to be scared of.”

  That Barbie has a good life . . . someone saying that there’s nothing to be scared of.

  I bet that Barbie doll never had parents who got divorced.

  I bet that the Ken doll never moves away.

  I bet that she never has to worry about what grade she’s going to get on her Barbie book report.

  I, Amber Brown, who have never liked Barbie dolls, am now jealous of how easy their lives are.

  Somehow everything always stays the same for them.

  I wonder what an Amber Brown doll on a bed of lettuce would look like.

  Maybe I should make one and send it to Max, with a note saying, “Lettuce Alone.”

  I hope that when Mom and Mrs. Daniels talk, my mother decides to let things stay the way they are.

  I’m only nine years old.

  It’s enough that I have to change and grow up.

  I think that grown-ups should have done all their growing up by the time they have children . . . so that children can make their changes while everything around them stays the same.

  I really hope that Justin hasn’t changed a lot.

  I’m so excited.

  In just a few minutes, I’m going to see him.

  I can’t wait.

  Chapter

  Nine

  Everyone’s at the airport.

  Well, not everyone in the world is at the airport, but the whole Daniels family is there.

  I can see them waiting for us at the other end of the hall.

  I am so excited.

  I’m also a little shy.

  It’s been almost six months since they’ve moved away.

  I keep walking toward them.

  Justin’s taller.

  He’s always been taller than I am, but now he’s much taller.

  How come everyone seems to be getting taller than me?

  Other people have growth spurts.

  I, Amber Brown, have growth dribbles.

  Even Danny, his little brother, looks taller.

  Mr. and Mrs. Daniels are still the same height . . . not the same height as each other . . . the same height they’ve always been . . . well not always . . . but since I’ve known them.

  Mrs. Daniels has gained some weight, though.

  She must be eating a lot of grits and hush puppies.

  I start running toward them.

  When I get there, I’m still feeling a little shy.

  I, Amber Brown, don’t know what to say.

  Justin says nothing either.

  We just look at each other.

  I wiggle my ears, twitch my nose, and stick my tongue out at him.

  He wiggles his ears, twitches his nose, and sticks his tongue out at me. Then he gives me a punch on the arm.

  I give him a punch on the arm.

  It’s just like it always was.

  Danny is jumping up and down. “Amber Brown is still a crayon.”

  I push his baseball cap down over his eyes. “Danny Daniels is still a pain.”

  He continues to jump up and down. “Danny Daniels is still a brain.”

  “P,” I say, “not B-R. . . . P . . . pain.”

  “P,” Danny says. “No. I don’t have to . . . . I just went.”

  Four-year-olds always think that body stuff is so funny.

  Danny keeps repeating “P, p, p,” and jumping up and down like he’s got to go to the bathroom.

  My mother hugs Mrs. Daniels. “I’m so glad to see you.”

  “P, p, p.” Danny can’t stop laughing.

  “He hasn’t changed.” I grin at Justin.

  Justin shakes his head. “He hasn’t changed the way he acts . . . . and sometimes I think he hasn’t changed his clothes either.”

  “Oh, stink.” I hold my nose.

  “Enough, you two. Don’t start teasing Danny already. It’s not fair . . . two against one.” Mr. Daniels picks up my mom’s and my suitcases.

  “You two just wait until the new baby is born . . . then we can gang up on you.”

  New baby . . . new baby . . . . so that’s why Mrs. Daniels looks like she’s getting fat.

  We all start walking through the terminal to the car.

  Danny is hopping around, saying, “P, p, p.”

  “I hope that you’re hungry,” Mrs. Daniels says. “We’ve decided to take you to Say Cheese, the new restaurant in town. They have the best pizza.”

  “Pizza!” Justin and I yell at the same time. We both pretend to be holding something up with our fingers. “Hold the anchovies.”

  Then we both laugh so hard that it hurts.

  Justin and I are doing some of the same things that we’ve always done.

  It makes me so happy.

  It makes me so happy that I almost forget the reason why we’re here . . . so that my mom can decide whether or not to marry Max.

  I almost forget . . . . but not quite.

  Chapter

  Ten

  Say Cheese . . . . . I love it. It’s my new favorite restaurant in the world.

  You can order all kinds of things with cheese on them.

  Pasta . . . . . pizza . . . . . . . vegetables . . . . . . . burritos . . . cheesecake . . . . Cheez Doodles . . . . dumplings . . . gazillions of things made with cheese.

  Justin and I order our favorite——pizza with extra cheese.

  I look at Justin.

  It’s so good to see him.

  He looks almost the same, just a little different.

  We all sit at the table, waiting for our order to arrive.

  It’s so good to see the Danielses.

  It feels like a missing piece of me is back again . . . . like I’m an Amber jigsaw puzzle that had a piece missing from the middle . . . . not from an edge, where it doesn’t really matter.

  My mother and Mrs. Daniels are holding each other’s hands.

  Mr. Daniels is grinning while he pours sodas for everyone.

  Danny is jumping up and down, begging for money to buy tokens.

  I don’t blame him.

  I want tokens, too.

  Say Cheese is incredible.

  There are all of these machines . . . pinball, video games, virtual reality.

  People can rent Polaroid cameras here, or buy the kind of camera that you use once and then throw away after the film is developed, or people can bring their own cameras.

  We all eat our pizza and then rush around and have our pictures taken.

  It’s so much fun.

  “Say cheese!” Mr. Daniels yells from the platform above us.

  Justin and I look up.

  We’re lying down on a wooden circle painted to look like a pizza.

  Justin is dressed up like a slice of pepperoni.

  I’m a green pepper.

  Danny jumps onto the “pie,” pretends to take a bite out of Justin’s leg, and yells, “I LOVE pepperoni pizza.”

  “Dead meat.” Justin rolls over and starts tickling Danny.

  I join in and tickle Danny under the armpits.

  We have to quit when one of the Say Cheese people comes over. “Okay, you kids. Give someone else a chance.”

  We trade our pepperoni costumes with a king and queen. We keep changing costumes . . . . gladiators . . . . space aliens . . . . dragons . . . . and doctors with Danny as our not-so-patient patient.

  Rushing back to the table, we take a soda break.

  Then it’s off to the machines.

  Justin and I stand in front of my favorite game, “Whack-a-Mole.”

  There are a whole bunch of holes, and every once in a while a mole sticks its head out, and I try to hit it with a foam-rubber hammer-thingy. It’s not easy to explain, but it sure is fun to do. And they’re not real-live moles; they’re plastic.

  Somehow, hitting the moles on their heads reminds me of Tiffani Schroeder. “Justin, remember Tiffani? She’s a vegetarian now . . . and she’s joined a lot of groups that are against cruelty to animals.”

  Justin hits a mole on its head. “Are there an
y groups that are for cruelty to animals? I bet there aren’t.”

  I giggle. “The Whack-a-Mole Society. WAMS.”

  As Justin hits another mole, he yells, “WAMS!”

  I continue to talk. “Tiffani says that she won’t eat any animals that have parents.”

  “In science class, we learned that some animals eat their young,” Justin says.

  “Yug,” I say.

  He hands the mallet to me. “I tried to convince my parents that it would be all right to eat Danny . . . . but they said no.”

  “Tiffani also says that she won’t eat any animals with eyes,” I continue.

  “I bet that she doesn’t eat corn, either.” Justin laughs.

  “Corn’s not an animal. It’s a vegetable, goofball,” I remind him.

  “Yeah . . . . . but if she won’t eat anything with eyes, she probably won’t eat anything with ears . . . . . . . ears of corn, get it?”

  I groan.

  We go back to the table for more soda and more tokens.

  My mom and Mrs. Daniels are still talking seriously.

  I wish I knew what they were talking about.

  I, Amber Brown, want to know.

  I, Amber Brown, need to know.

  Chapter

  Eleven

  “You can open your eyes now,” Justin says.

  Sitting in the tree house in Justin’s backyard, I open my eyes.

  Justin is holding something in his hand that looks a lot like snot coming out of his nose.

  He takes it out and hands it to me. “Cool, huh?”

  “Yuk,” I say. “Thanks . . . . . but no thanks.”

  He laughs and hands me a piece of cardboard with something covered with plastic.

  It’s called “Snap Snots.”

  The directions say:

  AGES 7 YEARS AND UP

  It may be necessary to trim bow before inserting into nostril.

  Trim with scissors.

  When gently STRETCHED & RELEASED, SNAP SNOTS will sail LONG distances. Wash with soap & water when dusty.

  “It’s for you. A present. It’s not real snot . . . . but it looks good, huh? All of my friends have it. We’ve started a club: the Royal Order of the Snots . . . and I’m the grand booger. That’s kind of like president.”