Dr. Collins looked impressed. “I didn’t know that. That’s really cool.”
“My mom named me,” Pluto said. “I was born six weeks early, and I was the smallest baby in the nursery at the hospital. There were eight other babies. I was the ninth. I was Pluto.”
“I like that,” Dr. Collins said. She did not comment on the fact that Pluto was not really a planet, not anymore. “I was named after my great-grandmother. Which isn’t as fun. She was really nasty, from what I understand, but my mom thought she was hilarious and hoped that I would grow up to be just as fierce, I guess.”
Pluto smiled. She liked that, too. “The Hayden Planetarium, the one in the city that’s in the Department of Astrophysics, it has some of the smartest people in the world working there. They have a hotline, and sometimes we, I mean, Meredith and me, we called to ask questions, but lately they haven’t been able to . . .” Pluto paused, her smile dropping, her hand rubbing the fabric of the sofa next to her. “Dr. Collins?”
“Yes, Pluto?”
“Mrs. McAuliffe . . . my tutor Mrs. McAuliffe, not the one who . . . Anyway, she said that you could help me. So, could you, please? Could you please help fix me?”
Dr. Collins exhaled, her smile and eyes soft and . . . kind of sad. “What does that mean to you? To be ‘fixed’?”
“I don’t want to have a diagnosis anymore.”
“Pluto . . .”
“Please, can’t you help me? I just want to be better. That’s why I came back. That’s why I’m here.” Pluto reached into her back pocket, pulling out her list, still wrinkled and worn and ripped, with some things scratched out and new things added. “I made this list. Everything I’m supposed to do by the end of the summer to be me again. I need help with this. Please, I need you to help me do this.”
Dr. Collins reached out a hand. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Pluto handed her the list, and her stomach did flips while Dr. Collins read it all, read all of the things that Pluto needed to do.
“Are you taking your medication?” Dr. Collins asked.
Pluto nodded emphatically. “Yes. Well, sometimes I just sleep. But I always try to take them.”
“And here you are, visiting me.”
“Well, I messed up the first time.”
Dr. Collins looked at Pluto with that kind smile again. “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with a bad session. It happens, Pluto. To adults, too. It’s hard to be here, and you coming back was very brave.” She focused on the list. “This one is crossed out?”
“My birthday already happened. The planetarium didn’t go so well. I usually love it, but I hated it this time. It made me feel all anxious.” Pluto sighed. “But there’s this meteor shower coming up. The Perseids. It orbits around and comes back every year. We can see it best in the middle of August. My mom and I, well, she loves it. And we watch it together every year, just like we go to the planetarium every year. I don’t want to hate this, too. I don’t want to keep ruining the things my mom loves, too.”
“Hmm,” said Dr. Collins. It reminded Pluto of Mrs. McAuliffe, and suddenly, it felt a little easier to breathe. “Do you like space, Pluto?”
“Yeah, a lot. A lot, a lot. Ever since I was little my mom would read me books about astronomy and space, and we would watch documentaries on YouTube and Netflix. We used to close the pizzeria at night and wander close to the beach and look for shooting stars when the sky was clear enough.” Pluto paused. “Not anymore, though. We haven’t really done any of that lately.”
“Why do you think that is?” Dr. Collins asked.
Pluto frowned. “I don’t know. Everything’s been hard. Ever since the doctor diagnosed me.”
Dr. Collins tilted her head to the side. “Only since then?”
“What?”
Dr. Collins flipped through the files on her desk. “You were diagnosed a few months ago. Were things easier before then?”
Pluto thought about it. “No,” she admitted. “It wasn’t a good school year.”
“Your mom said you had a hard time keeping your grades up.”
She did. She’d had a hard time doing her homework before tutoring even came into the picture. And things with Meredith were hard long before Pluto started medication. “Before that, then. Things were easier before that.”
“Did your depression and anxiety start just this past school year, then?”
Pluto frowned deeper. She slowly sank into the red sofa. “No. I mean . . . no. I used to get angry all the time, for no reason. Or really sad. Or . . . I’ve always slept a lot. Poppy used to say that I was just like my grandma.”
“When did he say this?”
“He died when I was five. My mom told me I remind her of my grandma a lot, too, though.”
Dr. Collins had a small smile on her face, and she leaned closer to Pluto, as if confiding a secret. “Sometimes the chemicals in your brain change as you grow. Especially when your hormones start fluctuating, and you’re just about at that age. As you get older, things like harder schoolwork and busier schedules can be factors in your mental health. And different people have different factors that can, and sometimes do, play a part, like the stress you feel when navigating between your mom and your dad. It doesn’t mean you were a different person before the diagnosis. It just means we now have an explanation for all the things you were feeling, and continue to feel.”
Pluto scratched at the soft fabric of the sofa. “Do you think . . . Was my grandma depressed, too, then?”
“That’s very possible. Sometimes these things run in families. But it’s something you’re going to have to talk to your mom about, and I encourage you to do that,” Dr. Collins said. “And, Pluto, I want you to listen to me very carefully, okay? Having depression, feeling anxious and sad and angry because of it, is not something you need to be ashamed of.” Pluto looked down at her feet, but Dr. Collins was not having any of that. “Hey, listen. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Upwards of thirteen percent of twelve- to seventeen-year-olds have suffered from some kind of major depression. You’re not alone, and there is nothing wrong with having to be here talking to me, or having to take your medication, or having to figure out how to bridge the gap between the Pluto you thought you knew before your diagnosis and the Pluto you are now.”
“I don’t want to bridge the gap,” Pluto said. “I just want to be Pluto.”
“You still are Pluto,” Dr. Collins said. “You just need to learn how to care for and accept this new understanding of you.”
Criterion #3
A planet must clear its orbit of smaller objects so that there is nothing in its path.
20
Pluto’s mom was arguing with Mrs. McAuliffe. Which felt . . . wrong. Absolutely wrong and totally weird and Pluto didn’t know if she wanted to go make sure her mom was okay or to go make her mom leave Mrs. McAuliffe alone.
They’d sent her into Mrs. McAuliffe’s kitchen, where Sunny was getting her a glass of water and some cookies, because Mrs. McAuliffe’s kitchen had a door that separated it from the living room. Pluto could hear them anyway, though. Could hear the way her mom’s voice rose in pitch and could hear, very clearly, the things they were saying. “I just thought it would be important that you know. I want her to feel safe with me, and comfortable sharing things with me, but I worry. Suicide rates are so much higher for kids who are queer and—”
“Do not say that word,” Pluto’s mom interrupted.
“Queer?”
“Suicide,” her mom corrected, her voice tense and tight. “She’s thirteen. Thirteen! And I will not . . . She will not . . . This is why we’re going through everything we are now! To take care of her. To protect her. You’re her tutor, and you’re overstepping.”
Pluto leaned closer to the door.
“Hey.” Sunny’s hand was suddenly on Pluto’s shoulder, and Pluto jumped. “Sorry. But come on, come pick out a cookie. We’ve got, like, every kind of Oreo known to man.”
Pluto looked back at the closed door.
Sunny sighed, following her gaze. “I don’t know why they think the door is soundproof. Your mom’s just scared, Pluto. She loves you very much. And Lucy cares, too, and that’s why—”
“Lucy?” Pluto interrupted, startled. It hadn’t occurred to her that Mrs. McAuliffe had a first name—one that was hers and not Christa’s.
Pluto’s mom burst into the kitchen. Her face was flushed, her gray eyes cloudy. “Come on, Plu. We gotta get going.”
Pluto had a million things to say to her mom, and she knew her mom must have had a million things to say to her, but apparently they were not going to say any of those things to each other. Pluto’s mom asked Pluto what she wanted for dinner, and Pluto shrugged, and her mom started talking about romaine lettuce for about a half hour before Pluto excused herself to her room.
After dinner, Pluto was listening to a podcast when her mom called to her. “Plu? Your dad’s on the phone.”
Pluto padded into the living room, where her mom was sitting on the sofa. She took the phone, ignoring the expression on her mom’s face that she couldn’t quite read but made her heart hurt anyway. They’d never really made up after their big fight, instead following some sort of silent agreement to not talk about it, but Pluto knew her mom was still thinking about how Pluto said she wanted to live with her dad. Especially now while she was on the phone with him.
“Hi,” Pluto said into the cell.
“Pluto Jean! How you doing, kid?” her dad’s voice was crisp and clear and upbeat.
“Good,” she said. “You? Is Sarah there?”
Another flash of something came up on her mom’s face, and Pluto got up to head to her bedroom. She sat on the floor at the foot of her bed. Even though her mom could still hear the whole conversation, Pluto didn’t have to watch her reactions.
“Ah, no, she’s, well, she’s not here just now,” her dad said. “But I’m doing good! Miss you, though! I keep forgetting to put the air mattress away, so it’s just been deflated on the floor of my office, all sad and pathetic like.”
“Oh” was all Pluto could think to say.
“An actual bed might be better, though,” he said. “I heard you went back to your therapist, and that’s great. I’ve done some research around here and think I’ve got a really great one for you to see, instead, if you want. Your mom said maybe you did. And I think that’s great, Pluto Jean, I really do. I think you just need some space from your mom, and you’ll see. I can keep teaching you D&D.”
Pluto didn’t know what to say. “Fallon wants to be GM next time.”
“How about you, Pluto Jean? There’s so much for you to explore here, still. It’s time we had our own adventure.”
Pluto glanced through her doorway to where her mom was standing in the living room, looking small and young and frail.
Her dad kept talking, but Pluto wasn’t really listening anymore.
21
Pluto met Fallon on the boardwalk at the bench that sat between their families’ shops. They hadn’t really talked all that much since Pluto had snapped at her and said all sorts of things she didn’t mean, but Fallon had texted her earlier, asking if they could meet up. Pluto responded almost immediately. She had missed so many opportunities to fix things with Meredith—she couldn’t let that happen with Fallon.
Fallon had the Star Trek book she’d borrowed from Pluto sitting on her lap, but Pluto didn’t mention it. Neither one said much of anything at first. Fallon was tracing the edge of the book with her fingers, and Pluto had all of her words trapped in her throat as she tried to figure out a way to apologize, to explain. Just like Mrs. McAuliffe told her to do.
Thinking about Mrs. McAuliffe made Pluto wonder if she and Sunny ever fought.
“I’m sorry.” The words finally loosened themselves from Pluto’s chest.
Fallon shrugged, still playing with the edges of the book in her lap. “I know.”
“Mrs. McAuliffe, my tutor, she said we could read that book you lent me for my reading assignment,” Pluto continued, hoping this connection would help ease them back together. “We just started it.”
A flock of seagulls flew over their heads, and Pluto and Fallon ducked and covered themselves with their arms until the birds flew away.
Pluto sighed. “I didn’t mean what I said. I was really mad at my mom, and at everything, and . . . I don’t know. I like your haircut, and I know it was important to you.”
“You said I wouldn’t understand, but I do,” Fallon said. “I get angry a lot, too, and sometimes I get so sad, because I don’t . . . My mom doesn’t get it, but sometimes I look in the mirror and I feel all wrong. The haircut made things a little better. I’m still trying to make it feel better when I look in the mirror.”
Pluto put her hand over Fallon’s, stopping her fingers from brushing against the pages of the book. “I really am sorry.”
“Thanks.” Fallon smiled, but it slowly faded as she quietly added, “Hey, Pluto?”
“Yeah?”
“You think I could talk to your mom? I had some questions”—Fallon paused, frustration all over her face, then took a deep breath—“about this book. I wanted to ask your mom questions about the physics and stuff.”
“You can ask me,” Pluto said. “I’ll probably know the answer. Or we can call the planetarium hotline. They usually know the Star Trek stuff, too, and—”
“Actually, I lied. I’m sorry. I—That’s not what I need to ask her about.” Fallon exhaled slowly. “I really want to talk to my mom about the dress. You know, the one on my list? For Grant’s wedding? I hate it.” She paused. “Well, no, I like the dress, it’s actually really pretty. But I don’t want to wear it. I don’t feel right wearing it.”
“I can come with you if you want. When you ask her?”
“Actually,” Fallon said, “I kind of wanted to practice first.”
“On me?” Pluto asked.
“No.” Fallon laughed, blushing. “On your mom.”
“I don’t want to wear a dress to Grant’s wedding.”
“Why not?” Pluto’s mom sat across from Pluto and Fallon in the back of the pizzeria.
Fallon shifted in her seat. Pluto squeezed her hand and held it as Fallon continued. “I don’t like wearing dresses.”
“Well, why not?” Pluto’s mom asked. They’d told her Fallon wanted to practice on her, and her mom said she would play devil’s advocate. Pluto didn’t know what that meant, but as her mom stared down Fallon with an intense, unwavering gaze, she was starting to guess that it meant she would be kind of annoying.
“I can’t explain,” Fallon said, her voice cracking.
Which also made her mom crack. Clearly, she was no good at this devil’s advocate thing. “Okay, sweetheart, your mom is just going to want to understand. She loves you, right? If this is important to you, if this hurts you, she’ll want to know that. Hopefully she’ll want to listen. But if you really want to do this, you’re going to have to try to explain. Otherwise . . . Well, she just won’t understand because she couldn’t possibly know where to start. So you’re going to have to try, okay? For her, and for you.”
“Okay,” Fallon said.
Okay, Pluto thought.
Fallon took a deep breath. “Wearing a dress makes me feel not like me. Like nothing looks right. I feel . . .”
“Uncomfortable?” Pluto’s mom asked.
Fallon had tears in her eyes. “Wrong.”
Pluto’s mom reached forward to cup Fallon’s cheek, wiping her thumb at the tears. “Tell her that, Fallon,” she said. “You tell her that, and you make her hear you.”
Later that evening, Pluto’s mom was making grilled cheese sandwiches. She hadn’t defrosted anything for dinner and was exhausted from a busy workday. Pluto didn’t mind. She liked grilled cheese.
She sat at their small kitchen table watching her mom grill the sandwiches on the stovetop, her hai
r pulled up in a crazy-looking bun, her pajama shorts and glasses on, as if she’d come home for the night and declared the day officially over. She looked young and carefree as she flipped the sandwiches, humming a song that quickly got stuck in Pluto’s head, too.
Make her hear you. That was the advice Pluto’s mom had given to Fallon, and Fallon was at home right now possibly taking the leap and telling her mom she did not want to wear that dress, no matter how pretty it was, no matter how much her mom wanted her to.
Pluto checked her phone to see if she had any texts from Fallon, but she had none. She hoped Fallon’s mom was listening to her.
Pluto’s mom flung a sandwich onto a paper plate and held it out for Pluto to take. “Thanks,” she said, as her mom plated the second sandwich and joined Pluto at the table.
When Pluto didn’t pick it up, her mom asked with her mouth full, “What’s wrong?”
“I need to ask you something.”
Her mom put down her sandwich and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “What do you need to ask me?”
“I want to paint my bedroom walls,” she said. “I don’t want the spots from the stars there anymore. And I want a new comforter. I like the stars, I do, but I want to pick out something . . . new.” Something that doesn’t remind me of months of sleeping and not leaving them.
Her mom slowly nodded. “Okay. We can do that.”
“And I want a bedroom door again.”
Her mom’s entire body went very, very still. She opened her mouth, closed it, breathed in through her nose and then opened it again, and said carefully, “I don’t think that’s a good idea just now.”
Mercury, Venus, Earth, and Mars. Pluto scowled, anger bubbling up to join the tightness in her chest. “Why not?”
Her mom looked afraid. Which hurt, but mostly just made Pluto angrier. “Listen, Shooting Star, it’s just . . . not a good time yet. When things settle down, I promise we’ll get it fixed, but right now—”
How to Become a Planet Page 13