I’m unable to stop the corners of my mouth from curling upward in a goofy grin. “Oh man, Kitty. You have no idea.”
“No idea about what?” Mom asks, coming back to the table.
Thankfully, a nurse comes over right then to tell us the exam room is ready.
* * *
“Feeling good?” Dr. Caslow asks me when he comes in. He and Mom shake hands.
I nod. “We’re going to Disneyland.”
The doctor raises his eyebrows at Mom, who says, “It was a gift from some local businesses.”
“I wasn’t that into it at first, but I finally decided to go,” I add. “I can go on the rides, right?”
“Not the awful ones,” he tells me. “Like the roller coasters and such. The milder ones should be fine.”
This makes me happy. Once I decided to accept the trip to Disneyland, I actually started to get excited about it. Knowing now that I’ll be able to go on at least some of the rides makes it even better.
69
MOIRA
DAY 32: MAY 24
I’ve been back at school for two days, but I still don’t feel like I’ve come back down to earth.
On Saturday, the day before I came home, Fern took me to get my hair hennaed. Afterward, we took a yoga class where we pressed our palms together at our foreheads and then brought them down to our hearts. We did poses like Downward-Facing Dog and Happy Baby. Five minutes in and I was exhausted. I didn’t care, though. Strangely, my body seemed to crave that kind of silent, flowing movement.
It was during Warrior Two that something inside me shifted. I can’t say what it was exactly. But standing there in front of the mirrored wall of the yoga studio, with sweat running down my face and my entire body centered and poised as if ready for battle, I understood for the first time how much better it feels to appreciate my body for what it can do rather than constantly despising it for how it looks.
At the end of class we all lay there in the dark. Final relaxation, the instructor called it. “Take a deep breath,” he told us in his soft, reassuring voice. “Now let … go.”
And so I did. For the first time in maybe forever, I let go.
70
BOONE
DAY 31: MAY 25
I noticed the change in Moira right away when I first saw her Monday morning. Of course I noticed it. I’d have to be blind not to. But it’s taken me a couple days to get up the nerve to say anything. I’m not even sure I should say anything. Or, if I do, how I should say it. I should probably just keep my mouth shut. But, “You look … different,” I tell her on Wednesday during lunch, my mouth racing ahead of my brain. As usual.
Moira smiles down at the ground when I say it, but then she lifts her eyes to mine.
Different’s not quite it, though. What she looks is transformed. Morphed. There’s hardly any makeup on her face, for starters. No more black lips, no black eyeliner. She looks more vulnerable, like she’s starting from scratch. Her hair is different, too. It’s still black, but there are some reddish-brown strands mixed in now.
Since the weather’s been so nice and the girls are done with their home ec dresses, the three of us have been hanging out on the grass in front of the library most days to eat.
“What I mean is,” I say, trying not to stumble too much over my own tongue, “you look … really pretty.” Agnes is looking down at her lunch and not saying anything. She’s probably embarrassed for me.
There’s a long pause before Moira takes a deep breath. “Thanks,” she says.
71
MOIRA
DAY 30: MAY 26
Agnes wants both of us to come over before she leaves for Disneyland tomorrow.
Boone and I pull up in front of her house at the same time, and we go in together. Deb is busy with last-minute packing, so the three of us hang out in the kitchen.
“I’m going to miss you guys,” Agnes says.
“You’re going to have an incredible time,” I tell her. I hope it’s true. Even though I know Deb had to work, part of me wishes they could have made this trip during finals break; Agnes’s coloring looks a little … off somehow this week. Lately, she’s had more colds and other annoying stuff going on with her health than I can count. I hope the two of them don’t overdo it in Anaheim. But what am I thinking? Deb’s even more protective of her daughter than I am. Plus, they’ll have tomorrow and then the long Memorial Day weekend to take their time in the park and not feel like they need to rush.
“Please tell Ariel the mermaid that I’m her biggest fan,” Boone says, distracting me, as usual, from worry. I elbow him in the ribs, but lightly, as Agnes beams up at him.
She and Deb have an early-morning flight, so we don’t hang out for too long. When it’s time to go, Boone gathers his coat and gets ready to head out the door behind me.
“See you when you get back from the House of Mouse,” I say, bending down to give my best friend a hug.
Outside, Boone and I say good-bye, get into our vehicles, and pull away from Agnes’s house at the same time, just like we arrived.
It’s when we’re both waiting at the stoplight near the first major intersection that Boone taps his horn. When I look over, he’s gesturing for me to roll down my window, so I do.
“Hey,” he calls out over the rumble of the truck’s engine.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” I call back. Not my most original line, but Boone laughs anyway.
“Do you want to maybe, I don’t know, go get something to eat?”
I force myself to act like I’m thinking about it for a second, but I can feel the corners of my lips tugging themselves upward. Finally, I nod and just let my smile do its thing. “I’ll follow you to the diner,” I tell him.
72
AGNES
DAY 29: MAY 27
Our hotel has a candy theme. Faux candy canes that are taller than I am frame the entrance doors, fabric lollipops serve as couch cushions, and there are dishes full of real candy everywhere. Other guests in the lobby rubberneck in my direction like I’m a Disney cast member—one of the Seven Dwarfs, maybe—who wandered away from Fantasyland.
That first afternoon, Mom and I ride the air-conditioned hotel shuttle to the park and meet our VIP escort. His name is Carl, and he’s a sociology major at a nearby university. I didn’t think an escort was necessary, but it was part of the package the businesses in our town paid for when they set up this trip. Carl gives us a tour of Main Street, which smells like flowers and waffle cones. Afterward, we ride in a horse-drawn carriage and take the train all the way around the park.
The only real ride we have time to go on that evening lifts us up and makes it seem like we’re flying above orange groves, snowy mountains, and the ocean, like angel-bird hybrids. When it’s over and our feet have touched back down on the concrete floor, I look over and see tears in the corners of Mom’s eyes. “That was…” she starts to say. “Well, it was just amazing, wasn’t it?”
73
BOONE
DAY 28: MAY 28
I’m leaning against the mucking fork on Saturday, hardly noticing as Diablo grips the wheelbarrow handle with his teeth. It’s part of his oral fixation. Only if he starts chewing on the wood will I shoo him away. We can’t afford a new wheelbarrow.
Looking at Moira across the table of the diner after leaving Agnes’s house, I’d barely been able to eat. It was ridiculous.
“You’re looking at me the way Agnes looks at you,” she said.
“What does that mean?”
“Just … you know.”
I didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. Other than that, neither of us said much.
When we did speak, it was always at the exact same time.
“I think Agnes is going to love…”
“I’m so jealous of Agnes getting to go to…”
“You go first.”
“No, you go first.”
It was an awkward sort of torture, but I didn’t care. I could stare at Moira all night.
In one quick motion, Diablo bites down on the wheelbarrow handle and raises his head, flinging the load of manure everywhere. I just sigh. That’ll teach you to think about some girl rather than paying attention to me, I’m pretty sure the gelding’s saying.
74
AGNES
DAY 27: MAY 29
On our third day in Anaheim, we decide to walk to the park. Yesterday, we stayed at the hotel all day, and we both feel ready to stretch our legs again.
The only problem is, riding the shuttle on day one masked the distance. Neither of us realized how long it would take on foot. It’s not the nicest walk, either. It’s over a mile of concrete, and you see things walking that you don’t notice as much from inside a vehicle. Things like vandalism and sad-looking people at bus stops and trash all over the place.
“I’m going to hail us a cab,” Mom says.
“Don’t,” I tell her. “It’s fine. We’re almost there.” We’re standing under a storefront awning, taking a break in the shade. And that’s when I see him.
He’s in a wheelchair holding a cardboard sign with the words DISABLED VETERAN—ANYTHING HELPS scrawled across it in fat marker strokes.
Try as I might, I can’t stop staring.
“Everything okay?” Mom asks.
“No,” I tell her. “Look at him.”
“Agnes, I don’t think—” she starts to say, but I leave her side before she can reach out to stop me.
The guy stares at me as I approach him. One of his eyes is scrunched shut, like Popeye’s in those old cartoons. I can’t tell much about him other than that. Every inch of his skin is covered with either whiskers or grime. “Is you old?” he asks in a raspy whisper when I’m close enough to hear.
“Sort of,” I answer. “What about you?”
“As the hills,” he says. A sound comes out of him that I assume is a laugh, but it’s more like a couple of rusty cans being rubbed together. Most of his teeth are missing.
“I’m Agnes.”
He looks at me for a minute longer and then finally holds out what I realize is his only hand. His other arm ends in a stump just a few inches below the shoulder. “Sarge,” he says.
“Honey.” It’s Mom’s voice behind me. Worried but firm.
I ignore her and shake Sarge’s hand. “Is there anyone who can help you?” I ask him. “Family or friends?”
“Afraid I burned those bridges a while back, little mama.”
“Where do you sleep?”
“You ask a lot of questions, you know that?”
I look down at my hands, at my knobby fingers entwined and fidgeting with one another now. “Sorry.”
“Bet you get a lot of questions, too.”
“Not really,” I say. “People stare at first, but then they pretty much just pretend not to see.”
“Yeah,” Sarge says, nodding. “Yeah, I hear ya.”
* * *
He stays on my mind for the rest of the day. An hour after meeting him, Mom and I stand posed in front of the It’s a Small World castle so Carl can take our picture. He gives us free mouse ears and a bunch of coupons for food, too. I get some curious looks, as usual, but most people are too busy fanning themselves in the heat and navigating the crowds to pay me much attention.
It’s only once we’re on It’s a Small World and floating in our boat through the darkened indoor waterway surrounded by singing dolls that I finally understand what’s been gnawing at me lately. It’s that I’m tired of being treated like a child, like everyone’s extraspecial princess. I don’t want to be the town mascot anymore. I don’t want to be the charity case for local businesses to use in their advertising. We float into the last major part of the ride, where the dolls are illuminated in all different colors and waving at us now. The song that won’t leave our heads for days reaches a seemingly endless crescendo, and all the signs say GOOD-BYE in dozens of different languages. Mom is sitting perfectly still, looking off to the side of the boat. Out of the corner of my vision, I see her reach up and swipe a tear from under her eye. I’m guessing it’s because our trip is almost over, and who knows when, if ever, we’ll be able to do something like this again. Swallowing hard, I lean toward my mother and rest my head on her shoulder as the boat gently rocks us back into daylight.
75
MOIRA
DAY 26: MAY 30
It scares me how much I’ve been thinking about him lately. It also scares me how happy thinking about him makes me. I do my best to play it cool when we’re together, though. And with Agnes gone, we’re together a lot.
Alone in my room, I take off all my clothes except for my bra and underwear and stand in front of the mirror. I try hard to see myself, to really see myself. It’s excruciating. It’s almost impossible to avoid my years-long habit of only glancing, of just allowing a quick glimpse of this body part or that. I’ve been dissecting myself with my eyes that way for most of my life. After all, why would I want to look at my entire body all at once? The few times I’ve accidentally seen myself naked, the litany of names I’ve been called since grade school plays in an endless loop inside my brain. The only time mirrors have been tolerable is when I’ve practiced my death scowl. But I won’t let myself do that now. I force my expression to stay neutral.
I want to see who I really am, not what other people tell me I am.
Turns out I am … well, I’m big, for starters.
I’m also mighty.
I am Rubenesque.
And I am capable of moving through this world for myself and myself alone, with little concern about what other people might think.
76
AGNES
DAY 25: MAY 31
On Tuesday morning, as we’re heading toward our lockers and groaning about the long weekend being over, I ask Moira if she wants to study for finals after school tomorrow.
“I might be busy,” she says after a pause. “But definitely Thursday, okay?” She doesn’t look at me when she says it, which is kind of weird. I don’t think too much about it, though. She’s been acting different—kind of distracted or something—ever since she got back from Berkeley. She hardly asked me anything about my trip.
“Okay,” I tell her. “Thursday it is. How about after dinner, at six o’clock?”
“Perfect.”
That night, Dad calls and asks if I want to go out for ice cream with the kids. I tell him sure. When they come to pick me up, I climb into the back of the minivan with Nevaeh and Obi. Isaiah offered to put my booster in the front seat, but I told him it was okay. The booster can’t go up there because of the airbags, and the seatbelt restrains me in all the wrong places when I try to ride like a normal passenger. Plus, I know it makes him feel grown up to sit next to Dad.
Nevvie gives me a big hug as soon as I shut the door. It’s a little too big of a hug, actually; I feel a slight pop in one of my ribs when she does it. “Ouch!” I cry before I can stop myself. Dad’s worried eyes fill the rearview mirror, and Isaiah turns to shout at his sister. “Careful! Agnes is delicate!”
Nevvie looks like she might cry. “I’m sorry, Agnes,” she says, her lower lip trembling.
“Oh, sweetie, it wasn’t you,” I lie. “I just kicked the seat and hurt my toe.”
“Oh, phew.” She grins, and I notice that she’s lost another baby tooth. At the sight of the empty space, I feel a pang in my heart to go with the one in my rib cage.
We go to the same ice cream place where Dad used to take me when I was the twins’ age. At first, a small, jealous part of me feels resentful that we’re all there together. I’ve always sort of thought of it as a special place for just the two of us. But as I watch my brothers and sister eating their cones and describing the insects they’re learning about in homeschool, I end up wishing we’d all come here together sooner. “We should have made this a regular thing these past five years,” I say out loud.
Dad looks at me. “We still can,” he says, but his eyes look sad.
I feel an arm wrapping aroun
d mine. It’s Obi’s. He gives my arm a gentle squeeze and rests his head on my shoulder. “Nobody can replace Agnes,” he says. The words momentarily stop my breath. Dad and I exchange a look.
“That’s the truth,” he says. He clears his throat and tousles Obi’s hair. “Nobody can replace Agnes.”
77
BOONE
DAY 24: JUNE 1
It’s Wednesday after school, and there’s no plan. Agnes is being picked up by her mom, and all Moira and I know is that we want to hang out together today, just the two of us. We’re not headed any place in particular. We’re just driving.
“I want to play BioHaze for you,” Moira says.
“Is it any good?”
“I don’t know. Is the Mona Lisa any good? Is Beethoven’s Fifth any good?”
“I guess,” I say, laughing.
“You guess.” Flabbergasted, Moira looks up at the roof of the car. “He guesses,” she tells God.
The song begins, and it’s not a song at all. It’s an aggressive wall of noise. I can’t make out any specific instruments, but I’m pretty sure there are a few screaming guitars in there. There are also electronic drums and what sounds like a ukulele being played by a honey badger on methamphetamine. Someone might be singing, too. That, or it’s a recording of a guy choking on his own tongue. So much for Berkeley mellowing this girl out. “You’re going to ruin your hearing,” I holler at the top of my lungs.
Moira just reaches for the volume knob and turns it up. “It’s worth it,” she yells back.
“You’re going to ruin my hearing!”
The “song” finally plays out, and we ride in silence. After a while, I pull something from my jacket pocket. It’s an old cassette tape I found in my dad’s collection. I eject Moira’s tape from the player and replace it with mine.
“What the hell is this?” Moira’s face twists in confusion as the opening slide guitar strains of “Whiskey Bent and Hell Bound” snake out through the speakers. “Country music?”
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