I sat up straight. “She’s completely against it,” I said with total indignation.
“Uh-huh.”
“There’s always online school.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And if I’m going to be a hermit, I don’t need a lot of education anyway. I just need to know how to operate composting toilets and wind turbines and solar panels and stuff like that. We don’t even have farming as an elective at my school.”
“A hermit, huh? That sounds awfully lonely.”
“It sounds awfully awesome.”
“I don’t think it sounds awesome at all.” Josephine flipped a page. “Nope. Not at all.”
I clenched my teeth. “Everyone is being so unsupportive of my life plans.”
“That’s because your life plans stink right now.”
I glared at Josephine. “Maybe I should track down my bio father so I can try to get someone on my side.”
“Good luck finding him.”
“How would I find him? You know something about him, don’t you?”
“I already told you I don’t know nothin’ about that man.”
“Yeah, like you don’t know nothin’ about Henry’s family. Boy, you just don’t know nothin’ about nothin’.”
She glared at me over her book. “I know lots about important stuff.”
“Yeah, like pirate bones. Aven never told you anything about him? Anything at all?”
Josephine stared at her book. “I told you all I know.
“But you two were so close.”
Josephine pursed her lips. “You think I’m lying to you?”
“Well, you’ve lied about other things.”
“Like what?”
“The fact that you’re my grandmother.”
“I most certainly did not lie about that.” She flipped a page. “I withheld information.”
“Same thing.”
“No, it’s not. When you asked me, I told you.”
“Are you withholding information now?”
“Why the sudden interest in your father anyway? The guy is probably a bum.” She motioned at Milford with her head. “Like Milford over there.”
“Milford is not a bum.”
Josephine rolled her eyes. “What about that boy who likes you?”
My stomach clenched, and I felt like I might barf all over Josephine’s cheesy pirate book. “What boy?”
“That boy you told me about at school. Anything happening with him?”
“No. He doesn’t like me. Forget about it.”
She put her book down. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened. He just doesn’t like me.”
“How do you know that?”
I so did not want to talk about this anymore. “I just know. He’s a jerk. A big, fat, huge, enormous jerk.”
“What did he do to you?”
“Nothing.”
“Now who’s the one withholding information?”
I looked away from Josephine. “I don’t know. Who?”
Josephine humphed and lifted her book up in front of her face again. “How’s horse-riding lessons going?”
I grimaced. “Isn’t there anything we can talk about that doesn’t make me want to barf?”
“We could talk about my book.”
“Try again.”
17
Being punk
Isn’t about clothes and junk.
It’s about freeing your mind
From social confines.
— The Square Pegs
I SAT ON CHILI. WHY DID IT ALWAYS have to be so hot when I had my lessons? Maybe because it was hot every day. Every. Stinking. Day.
“Don’t worry,” my dad would tell me in the evening. “It’s about to start cooling down soon.” But cool weather was starting to feel like nothing but a distant memory.
“Let’s practice moving Chili up a gait today,” Bill said as he placed my helmet on my head and snapped it. “We don’t need to worry about the jump if you don’t feel ready.”
I nodded then turned to Chili. “Down,” I ordered her. She lowered to the ground, and I swung a leg over the top of her. I pressed my feet into the stirrups. “Stand.”
Chili stood, and Bill patted her nose. “You’re such a smart horse. Aren’t you, girl?”
I tapped her sides gently with my feet and said, “Walk.” We moved around the arena for a couple of laps like that until I got up the nerve to cluck my tongue at her, moving her into a trot. I always felt like I was going to flop right out of the saddle when we started trotting, but I concentrated on staying as steady as possible.
“Move her up to a canter,” Bill called to me from across the arena. Even though we’d cantered just a couple of weeks ago, my stomach knotted up at the thought of going any faster.
I shook my head. “I don’t want to,” I cried. “I’ll fall off.”
“You won’t fall off,” Bill yelled back. “You’ve gotten strong.”
“I’m not strong,” I cried. And I knew when I said it that it was true. I wasn’t strong enough to ride a horse. I wasn’t strong enough to stand up for myself. I wasn’t strong enough to face high school.
“Whoa,” I told Chili as I pulled back on the stirrups with my legs. The reins attached to them pulled on Chili’s head and she stopped. We stood there for a moment in the heat, both of us breathing heavily.
Bill ran over. “Why’d you stop? You were doing so well.”
“I don’t want to canter today.”
“But you were doing so well with it just a couple of weeks ago. What’s happened?”
“I’m just . . . not ready for all this.”
Bill patted Chili’s nose again. “You are ready. You seem to have lost your confidence. You just need to find it again.”
Well, if that was all I needed then I was really in trouble.
“Let’s practice turning some more,” Bill said.
So I turned Chili—left, right, left, right—until the lesson ended.
“You’re making good progress,” Bill said as he pulled the saddle off Chili. Every time he did that, I thought how wonderful it must have felt for her to get that hot, sweaty thing off—like the same way I felt when my helmet came off. “I don’t want you to stress out about it.”
I stared at the floor of the stall. But I was stressed out about it. I was stressed out about everything. And Bill was just being nice—I wasn’t making good progress at all. I was going backward.
I sat down on a small stool in the stall and Bill helped me remove one of my boots. Then he handed me a brush. I took it with my foot. “I think you should spend some quality time in here with her.” He picked up the saddle. “I’m going to go put this away and clean up the tack room. You two need some good bonding time.”
I sat on the stool and stared at Chili, only the two of us now in the stall. “Did you hear that?” I said. “Bill wants us to bond.” I got up and stood in front of her. I stared into her deep brown eyes. She nosed my face and licked at my red hair. Then she put her head down to my bare foot.
I smiled. “You really are a smart girl,” I said as I rubbed at her head with my toes. Then I picked up the brush with my foot and did my best to brush her sides while sitting on the stool. I could only go so high, but I knew Bill would do a better job later.
Bill came back into the stall and placed a bucket with some carrots in it next to me. “She’ll love these,” he said. “They’re nice and cold—right out of the fridge.”
I fed Chili one carrot at a time with my foot while Bill finished brushing her down, then I made my way to see Trilby. I still had to talk to her about homecoming.
I kicked a little at the door of Sonoran Smoothies. She glanced up and gave me a funny look. I kicked again. Why don’t you come in? she mouthed.
I shook my head. I didn’t want to smell the smoothies in there. I once read that our smell memory is our strongest memory. If I set foot in Sonoran Smoothies and smelled the smoothies, it would be like reliving my Great Hum
iliation, not that I wasn’t already reliving it fifty times a day. But I guess that was still better than fifty-one times a day.
Trilby came outside. “What are you doing out here, Aven?”
“I can’t come in,” I said. “But I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“What?”
“You know how you said that one thing you didn’t like about being homeschooled was that you wouldn’t get to go to any school dances?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, Zion and I want to go to the homecoming dance for our school, you know, as friends. I mean, Zion’s not my boyfriend or anything like that, and I know they’re going to play that manufactured music you don’t like, but we were hoping you’d come with us. Come with him. Come with us.”
I wasn’t sure what to expect from Trilby, but I was happy when her face lit up. “Really?” She jumped up and threw her arms around me. “That would be so much fun.”
I was filled with both a mixture of happiness for Zion that Trilby would be going to homecoming with us and annoyance for myself that I now had to go as well. But I liked to think that my happiness for Zion outweighed my annoyance for myself. Or at least that it was evenly split—fifty-fifty. At worst—forty-sixty.
I peeked in on Henry and saw he was busy taking care of customers. He seemed like he was having a good day, so I made my way home to take a cool shower. Then I sat down at our kitchen table with my parents. No matter how busy we all were, how hectic things were at the park, we always tried to sit down every night for dinner together.
“So I’ve decided to go to the homecoming dance,” I told them.
Mom dropped her chicken leg onto the table and threw her hands over her mouth.
“Oh my gosh,” I pleaded. “Please don’t overreact. It’s just a dance.”
“My baby’s first dance,” she said, her voice muffled through her hands. “We’ll have to get you a new dress.”
“Yeah,” Dad agreed. He waggled his eyebrows at me. “I hear pink ribbons and ruffles are all the rage in high school these days.”
“Definitely not,” I told Dad. “And they also don’t say stuff like all the rage, either.”
Dad grinned. “Then I hear they’re hip.”
Mom casually picked at her chicken leg. “So is a boy going with you?”
“Just Zion. And Trilby is going with us, too.”
“Trilby from the smoothie shop?” Dad asked.
I nodded. “Yeah, she’s cool.” I glared at Mom. “Probably because she’s homeschooled.”
“Now if you were homeschooled you wouldn’t be going to homecoming, would you?”
“Trilby’s homeschooled, and she’s going to homecoming.”
Mom brushed my comment away with a wave of her hand.
“Trilby listens to punk rock, you know,” I said. “Her dad was even in a punk band.”
“Robert?” Dad said. “But he seems so normal.”
“I didn’t realize you had to be abnormal to be in a punk band.”
Dad scrunched up his nose. “No, I just meant he seems so, you know . . . normal.”
Mom rolled her eyes. “Really, Ben, you are so uncool.”
“I am not uncool,” Dad said. “I just thought punk band people had a lot of tattoos and piercings and wore ripped clothing. Maybe a Mohawk. Robert’s hair is completely normal.” He raised his eyebrows. “And I’ve seen him wear a polo shirt before.”
“Punk is about what you are on the inside, not what you look like on the outside,” I said.
“Oh, I like that,” Mom said. “I think I should check out some punk music.”
“I’ll play some for you. I’ve found a bunch of good bands.”
“Cool.” Mom clasped her hands together excitedly in front of her face. “We’ll bond over punk music.”
Dad gave Mom an incredulous look. “I can’t see you enjoying punk rock, Laura.”
Mom dropped her hands on the table and glared at him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He snorted. “You have Taylor Swift on your Favorites playlist.”
“What’s wrong with Taylor Swift?” Mom cried.
“Nothing. Just pretty sure she’s not very punk rock,” Dad said.
I decided to change the subject before things got seriously heated, and Dad mentioned that Mom also had Justin Bieber on there. “You know, I think Josephine might know something about my father she’s not telling me.”
“Your bio father?” Mom asked.
I picked up my chicken wing with my toes and took a bite. “Yeah, she’s awfully evasive about it when I ask her.”
Dad stared at me. “Have you been asking her about him a lot?”
I shrugged. “A little, I guess.”
“What is it you want to know, honey?” Mom asked.
“Anything,” I said. “I don’t know anything at all about him.”
“And Josephine can’t tell you anything?” Dad asked, looking down at his plate, pushing his chicken thigh around.
“She says she can’t, but I’m not sure she’s being completely truthful. She gets all shifty-eyed when I ask her about him.”
“Shifty-eyed, huh?” said Mom.
I dropped my chicken wing from my toes onto my plate and sat up straight. “Yeah, like this.” I made my eyes dart back and forth around the room.
“Well, I don’t know why she’d lie to you,” Mom said. “If she says she doesn’t know anything, then I’m sure she doesn’t.”
“Maybe she’s trying to protect me,” I said.
“From what?” Dad asked.
“Maybe my father is someone awful.”
“Not a chance,” Mom said. “No one awful made my baby.”
“Maybe he’s something truly terrible. Like an animal euthanizer or something.”
“I don’t think that’s an actual job,” Dad said.
I narrowed my eyes at them. “Maybe he’s a politician.”
Mom grimaced. “That would be quite shocking, but I doubt he’s a politician. Maybe he’s something cool.” She smiled. “Maybe he’s in a punk band.”
“Now that would be cool,” I said.
“Why all this sudden interest in your father?” Mom asked.
“Just curious.”
“Well, you know what they say about curiosity,” Mom said.
“It killed the cat.”
“Nope,” Mom said. “It’s the sign of a powerful brain.”
I smiled. “Who says that?”
“Science.”
18
It doesn’t mean I don’t care.
If you only knew.
It’s because I care so much
That I get mad at you.
— Kids from Alcatraz
«I HAVE EXCITING NEWS,» I TOLD Zion as I dropped my bag onto the lunch table.
His eyes widened. “What?”
“Trilby wants to go to homecoming with us.”
Zion shook his head. “No way. Really? No way.”
“Yes way.” I pulled my head out from under the shoulder strap. “Which means we’re all going together.” I sat down. “Yippee.” I glanced around the lunchroom for a moment.
“Ignore them,” Zion said. “Don’t even look at their table.”
I focused on Zion like I was booby trapped, and if I took my eyes off him for only a moment, I would explode—just a big poof of red hair and gone. “I won’t. I’m not. Are they looking at me?”
“No.”
“Are you lying?”
“No.”
“Do I need to check to see if they’re looking at me?”
“No.”
I tore my eyes off Zion and stood up to dig through my bag with my feet, searching for my lunch. “Are they watching me?”
“No, Aven. You have to forget about them.”
I let out a huge breath. “I will.”
“They’re not worth it.”
“I know.” I gave up finding my lunch for a moment and sagged down in my seat.
<
br /> Zion scowled. “How did your last lesson go?” I could tell he was trying to take my mind off Joshua and his friends.
I gazed at a nearby window. “Meh.”
“Did you do the jump yet?”
“Meh.”
“Why haven’t you done it?”
I moved my eyes from the bright window to Zion. “I can’t hold on. I’ll fall off.” I rolled my eyes. “Duh.”
Zion crossed his arms. “Duh?”
“Would you want to ride a big roller coaster without a harness?”
“That’s not a very good comparison.”
“Would you skydive without a parachute?”
“That’s worse,” Zion said. “Not even close. Just do the jump. Stop being a scaredy-cat.”
“No one says scaredy-cat.”
“I totally just did.”
I huffed as I stood back up and started rummaging around in my bag again with my foot. I finally found my protein bar buried at the bottom, all smashed and broken up, and sat down with it. I tore the package open with my toes, but it ripped open too quickly and the little broken pieces went flying all over the table. I let out a huge exasperated sigh.
I stared down at the little crumbly pieces of protein bar scattered all over the table and floor. “I can’t go on like this.”
“I’ll buy you a lunch,” Zion said.
“That’s not what I meant. I don’t think I can do high school.”
“You can do it. But listening to me would definitely make your life a lot easier.”
“Oh my gosh, I get it!” I cried. “I should have listened to you.”
Zion crossed his arms. “Mm-hm.”
“You know what would definitely make my life a lot easier? If my mom would homeschool me. Then my life would be just fine and dandy.”
Zion uncrossed his arms and raised a hand. “Whoa. Hold up. You asked your mom to homeschool you?”
I nodded.
“And you didn’t check with me first?”
“Check with you about what?”
“If I was okay with that!” Zion shrieked. “You were going to make this decision without my input! Not that I should be surprised. It’s not like you care about anything I have to say.”
I shrunk down in my seat. “Sorry.”
“I can’t believe you would abandon me to face high school by myself.”
“I guess I didn’t think—”
Momentous Events in the Life of a Cactus Page 9