“I’m sorry, Mom,” Pluto said, even though she wasn’t sure she meant it.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Timoney,” Fallon said, even though Pluto knew she didn’t mean it.
“Both of you get your shoes on and get in the car,” her mom said, and Pluto nodded. Her mom hadn’t yelled at her in so long, and it felt so weird, but it felt so normal and right and like before, that Pluto . . . liked it. Which made it all feel weirder.
Pluto sat in the back seat, her leg bouncing, as she waited for her mom to come back after delivering Fallon to her front door. Pluto couldn’t hear anything, could barely see anything except for Fallon’s mom ushering them both inside. She glanced at the car clock. It had already been six entire minutes.
When her mom finally came back to the car (eleven minutes later), she looked as though she was going to start screaming all over again. Instead, she closed the door as she climbed into the driver’s seat, leaned against the headrest, and sighed. “I cannot believe . . .”
“Was Fallon’s mom mad?” Pluto asked.
“Was Fallon’s mom mad?” her mom said, voice raised, before taking a deep breath and adding, more quietly, “Furious. She’s going to have to get Fallon’s hair cut so short just to fix it”—Pluto couldn’t help the smile on her face, which her mom immediately noticed—“which is clearly what you wanted. Oh my God.”
Pluto would ask if she was grounded, but she didn’t know what her mom could possibly do to ground her. She couldn’t tell Pluto to stay in her room, since she was always the one dragging Pluto out of it. She couldn’t tell Pluto she wasn’t allowed to see her friends, since Pluto already did that to herself.
Her mom just shook her head. “I can’t believe you cut that poor kid’s hair.”
“She really did want me to,” Pluto said.
“Yeah, well, she got her wish.”
“Did you paint a pretty picture?” Pluto asked.
Her mom threw her hands up. “You know what? I did! I’m a great wine-and-paint painter apparently! Better than you are at cutting hair, at least!”
Suddenly, Pluto couldn’t help the feeling that started deep in her gut and pushed tightly into her lungs. She started laughing, even if she knew she was in trouble, even if it made her mom spin around in her seat and stare at her as if she’d sprouted an extra head. She couldn’t help it. Deep, belly laughs that she couldn’t stop, because Fallon had gotten her wish. Fallon could check something off her list. It worked. It worked, and it made Fallon happy and it made Pluto happy, and if Fallon could check something off her list, Pluto could, too. She could.
And then her mom started laughing, too, and Pluto wasn’t even sure why they were both laughing so hard together, but the sound filled the car, and it felt good, and she couldn’t remember the last time they’d both found something so funny.
Her mom managed to punish Pluto anyway, by making her take out the trash at the pizzeria. She hardly ever gave Pluto this chore, since the black trash bags ended up being nearly the size of Pluto (the planet, not the person), and Pluto wasn’t allowed to drag them. The last time she did, they’d caught on the splintered boardwalk, and sauce and plates and pizza crusts got all over. The seagulls had swarmed and had their own garbage party.
The planet Earth is lush and green, except for the landfills. So much garbage, so little space, and here on the Jersey Shore, seagulls cannot get enough of it!
Pluto would not be making that mistake again. So she carried the garbage bags, one at a time, to the dumpster.
When she came back inside, with gross greasy something dripping down her arm from a tear in one of the bags, Meredith was standing there, waiting for her.
“Oh,” Pluto said. “Hi.”
She hadn’t heard from Meredith since they’d watched TV together. Not a single text. (In fairness, Pluto hadn’t texted either, because every time she picked up the phone and looked at the send button, her heart thudded loudly in her chest and up into her throat and she was afraid that Meredith wouldn’t want her to, anyway.)
Meredith didn’t say anything, just shifted her weight from foot to foot, toying with the envelope in her hands. Back near the door, her older cousin Nico was waiting. Nico babysat Meredith during the days both her parents had to work, and she hated the beach (and the sun—she was very pale, with black hair streaked with pink and purple), so Pluto knew they were there for a reason, not for a beach day.
“What’s up?” Pluto said after a few seconds of Meredith’s saying nothing.
Meredith looked . . . angry. “My mom told me to bring you an invitation to my birthday party,” she said, thrusting the envelope toward Pluto. “But you don’t have to come. You probably wouldn’t anyway, but I don’t really want you there.”
Pluto felt like she might cry. “You don’t?”
“I’ve wanted to be your best friend for weeks and weeks, but you don’t want to be mine anymore,” Meredith said. “And it was okay when you were sick, but you’re not sick. You look fine, and Harper said . . .”
“What did Harper say?” Pluto asked.
“You have a new best friend. She and Charlotte saw you. You won’t be my friend but you’ll be someone else’s friend, and I don’t want to be your friend anymore, Pluto.”
Pluto couldn’t help the tear that dripped down her cheek. Meredith had tears dripping down hers, too. “I’m sorry,” Pluto said, and she meant it. She was sorry. She was sorry that she stopped being Meredith’s friend, that she didn’t know how to take it back, that she didn’t know how to fit back in again. That it was easier with Fallon because Fallon hadn’t known Pluto before the diagnosis. Fallon was different, felt different, and it wasn’t the same.
Meredith wiped her cheeks. “My mom said to invite you, but you don’t have to come,” she said again, and turned on her heel and made her way back to Nico.
And then she was gone. Pluto didn’t chase after her.
14
Take medication. Visit the planetarium with Mom. Go to Meredith’s birthday party. Go to 8th grade in September. Visit therapist.
Pluto was taking her medication every morning, but really, what else had she accomplished? She’d had an unsuccessful trip to the therapist. Meredith did not want her at her birthday party. As far as her mom was concerned, Pluto could cross off the planetarium, but she didn’t, not on the paper in her pocket, because how could she? And to top it all off, her dad was expecting her to visit him for the weekend, where he wanted to “show her around” and “see how she likes things there.”
She was afraid her mom was going to drop her off and leave her there, where her dad could try to fix her, and her mom wouldn’t have to keep dealing with the broken pieces.
Her mom was currently packing her bag. “What time will you come get me?” Pluto asked.
“Sunday? Early afternoon, probably.”
“But what time?” Pluto asked.
“We’ll figure it out once we get there and talk to your dad,” her mom said. It wasn’t good enough for Pluto, who was having trouble breathing, who just wanted a set time so she could count down the hours. Mercury, Venus, Earth, and Mars . . .
“Hey, it’s okay. What’s wrong, Plu? Let’s talk about this.” Her mom was kneeling on the floor of Pluto’s bedroom, pulling clothes out of the dresser to pack.
Pluto’s eyes drifted to the chips in the paint, counting seven before saying, “I don’t want to go to Dad’s.”
“It’s just for a couple of days. He’s your dad, Plu. He loves you. You’ll have a good time, okay? I promise,” she said, and then shook her head. “Okay, no, I can’t promise that. But he’s got a whole weekend planned, and you can tell him if you’re not feeling up to anything, and it’ll be fine. You might surprise yourself and enjoy some time away.”
“Can you just come with me?”
Her mom’s laugh had no humor in it. “That’s not a good idea. Your dad and me in the same room all weekend is just asking for disaster.”
&
nbsp; “I don’t want to be alone,” Pluto said.
Her mom stopped packing. “You’ll be with your dad.”
Pluto felt like she might cry, and her mom must have noticed, because she pulled Pluto close in a tight hug. It didn’t make Pluto feel any better.
But then her mom pulled back, and there was an excited smile on her face. “I have an idea.”
Which is how Fallon ended up buckled into the back seat with Pluto as they drove up the turnpike and through the Lincoln Tunnel, making their way to the center of New York City.
Fallon’s hair was short and curly, off her neck and out of her eyes, and Pluto loved it. Fallon looked lighter, as if the weight of her hair had fallen heavily on her shoulders before and now she was free to keep her head up, for her eyes to shine and her smile to be even more visible. Or maybe she was just smiling more that day. Regardless, Pluto could not stop looking at her.
“What?” Fallon said, when she caught Pluto staring. Her eyes narrowed in their defensive way, her cheeks turning pink. “You don’t like it.”
“No!” Pluto nearly shouted in the small space of the car. “I love it!”
Her mom smiled in the rearview mirror. “Your mom is a better person than I am, Fallon, to agree to leaving you in Pluto’s care again.”
Pluto rolled her eyes. Fallon laughed.
In fairness, Pluto was surprised Fallon’s mom had agreed to let Fallon come with her for the weekend, too, but her mom had been on the phone with Fallon’s mom for nearly an hour. Pluto tried not to listen, but she knew her mom had told Fallon’s mom everything.
Which should have made Pluto feel more like a pity friend, a charity for Fallon, but really, she was just relieved. She didn’t have to face the uncertainty of the city or her dad’s apartment alone. And now her mom had to come pick them up at the end of the weekend.
They came out of the Lincoln Tunnel into what Pluto could only describe as chaos. Cars on either side of them, horns honking, tires skidding, as they wove in and out of their lanes. Crowds of people crossing at crosswalks, and before crosswalks, distracted by taking pictures and in a hurry to get to wherever they needed to be. Tall buildings stretched up and out and covered them in shadows, even though the sun was bright that day. Pluto’s mom had her window rolled down and her sunglasses on as she hummed along to the radio, not noticing, or at least not caring about, the sticky heat, the smoggy wet smells, the clamor and noise and busyness.
In the second grade, Pluto made one of the most popular of science fair projects: a Styrofoam solar system, the planets circling the sun when she pushed them along their orbits. But now, Pluto knew enough about space to know that the planetary alignment of those painted balls in her science project couldn’t possibly do the real thing justice. In reality, they move at different speeds, in different directions, circling at their own pace, in their own orbit.
That was what the city felt like now, as Pluto stopped looking out her window.
You don’t need a telescope to find chaos in the universe—just look right outside your window.
Pluto already missed the clear view of the sky, the sound of the seagulls, the space of the boardwalk.
They pulled up alongside a building, behind a man with a Nuts4Nuts cart. Pluto’s mom threw the car in park and pressed the button for the hazard lights to flash on. “Okay, let’s get a move on before I get a ticket,” she said.
Fallon grabbed her backpack and jumped out of the car. Pluto was not as quick to follow, but she did grab her bag and climb out, looking up at the sky. She didn’t think she’d be able to see any stars here at night, wouldn’t be able to point to the constellations and think of her mom. Her mom didn’t belong here. This was her dad’s place. He never had any use for the solar system. He was always much more concerned with what was in his mind, in the fantasies of D&D.
His concern hardly extended to Pluto, before the diagnosis. After—when she started falling asleep more in class, and turning down invitations to go to Meredith’s, and getting angry at her mom, and not eating dinner, and locking herself in her bedroom as the weight in her lungs got heavier and heavier until she snapped, until her mom had to break down her door—he started calling more. He started asking about her more.
He started blaming her mom more.
And after thirteen years of truce and peace, of him with his apartment and job in the city and her mom with Pluto and the restaurant in New Jersey, things changed. They began fighting. About what was best for Pluto. About who could take care of her better.
They made their way to the front doors, and Pluto’s mom stared at the intercom for a bit, at the buttons next to apartment and floor numbers. “Do you remember what your dad’s apartment is?”
“1668,” Pluto said. The year Newton invented the first reflecting telescope.
Her mom pushed the button.
The door buzzed, unlocking, and her mom pushed it open.
They took the elevator up, and Pluto kept quiet, and her mom kept quiet, so Fallon kept quiet, too. Pluto had never been to her dad’s newest city apartment. He mostly came to her, when he took the time to come at all.
Pluto’s dad was waiting on the other side of the elevator doors as they opened. His smile was wide, his boyish face and floppy hair making him look much younger than he was. Pluto’s mom always said he looked like a little boy playing dress-up, and Pluto had to agree as he stood there in his button-up shirt and tie, arms outstretched. “There’s my girl!” he said.
Pluto walked into his open arms, and he wrapped them around her tight. She held her breath until he let go. “Hey, Anna,” he greeted Pluto’s mom, reaching an arm out to take Pluto’s bag from her. “You look good.”
Her mom smiled, but it was hesitant and small. “You do, too. It’s good to see you.”
Pluto’s dad looked over at Fallon. “You must be . . . Frankie?”
“Fallon,” Fallon said. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Timoney.”
Which made Pluto’s dad cringe, because he was Mr. Wyle. Pluto had her mom’s last name. “Just call me John,” he said.
He looked back at Pluto’s mom, and for a moment they all stood awkwardly in the hallway. “You’ll pick her up Sunday?” he finally said. “I mean, you can come in if you want. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to get going, or . . .”
“I’m double parked.” Her mom rubbed her eyebrow. “I’ll get them Sunday afternoon. There’s going to be traffic no matter when I come, but that seems the safest option. She’s got her medication in her bag, it’s set up for her, just make sure she takes it with—”
“I’ve got it,” her dad interrupted. “And I’m sure Pluto Jean knows, too.”
Her mom’s smile wavered. “Can we talk for a minute? Alone?”
Fallon shifted her backpack from one shoulder to the other, and Pluto didn’t blame her for the way she kept her eyes down at the floor.
Pluto’s dad hesitated another moment before walking over to the door in front of them, the number 1668 hung in brass at the top. He turned the knob and pushed the door open, holding it as he gestured to Pluto and Fallon. “You two go on in. Your mom and I will chat, and then we’ll talk dinner, okay?”
“Let me get a hug, Plu,” her mom said, and Pluto fell into her arms. Her mom held her tight, burying her face in Pluto’s hair, her mom’s dyed-blond strands mixing with Pluto’s wheat shades. “You be good, Shooting Star. Remember what I said. I’m a phone call away. You and Fallon have fun.”
Pluto nodded into her mom’s shoulder.
“I’ll be right in,” her dad said, still holding the door, as if he, too, wanted Pluto to get a move on.
Pluto’s dad gestured once more for her and Fallon to go inside, and this time they did. She wondered what they were going to say about her behind the closed door.
Pluto’s dad said his apartment was big, and honestly, it made Pluto wonder what he considered small. She knew he thought their house in Keansburg was tiny, and being here, in his home,
she didn’t think that assessment was fair.
His kitchen and living room were combined to make one big room. He had one couch, a TV hung up on the wall, and a kitchen counter but no table. The counter had two barstools, but that was it, and Pluto wondered if he ate dinner there, or if he used the coffee table in front of his sofa. “My bedroom is that room back there,” he said, motioning, “and the bathroom is right next to it. I’ve got an air mattress blown up in my office, right through here.”
She looked around for photos of him and his girlfriend, or even of Pluto, but found nothing but simple artwork hung on the walls that Pluto thought might have come with the frames. Her dad’s shoes were strewn by the door, and he had dirty dishes in the sink, a throw blanket bunched up on the couch, and half-drunk bottles of water on rubber coasters on his coffee table. A small Bluetooth stereo was playing jazzy classical music that Pluto remembered he loved. His apartment looked lived in but boring. It looked like he was there, but not really there.
His office was a bit cluttered, which made Pluto feel more comfortable, even if there was hardly any room for the air mattress set up on the floor with sleeping bags on top. His desk was covered with papers and his laptop, two empty coffee mugs, and a set of large multicolored dice that Pluto knew he used for playing D&D. There was a framed photo of him and a woman Pluto didn’t know (Was that his girlfriend? He talked about her a little, but Pluto had no idea what she looked like), and a second one of Pluto. She was just a baby, with wisps of hair and no teeth.
There was a third photo, not framed, with a crease down the center as if it had been folded at some point, that was leaning where his desk met the wall. Pluto didn’t know most of the people in the photo—it was a group shot—but she recognized her mom and dad almost immediately. They were all dressed up, in old-timey costumes, smiles and laughter shining in their eyes.
“When was this taken?” Pluto asked.
“Maybe two years before you were born? It was at the Ren Faire upstate. We used to have so much fun at those. I haven’t gone in years, though.” He reached for the photo from Pluto’s hands. “I know you and your mom share her love of space, but maybe if you come here, we can share something, too. Go to a Ren Faire together. Or maybe even New York Comic Con in the fall. I bet even your mom would come with us to that one.”
How to Become a Planet Page 9