“But—” Mom starts.
Dr. C interrupts her. “It sounds like you two need some quality mother-daughter bonding time. Try to listen and communicate with each other.”
“No father-daughter time?” Dad asks.
“I sense you two spend plenty of time together and communicate well,” Dr. C tells him. Dad gives me a smile.
“I offered to take Abby to the mall with me,” Mom says. Her face is all pinched up. “I’d love some mother-daughter time. She’s not interested.”
“I am interested,” I say. “But you won’t let me get the dress I want, or color my hair blue, or buy anything from Hot Topic.”
Dr. C peers at me. “Color your hair blue?”
“I want to express myself,” I tell her. “Someday I’m going to get a tattoo.”
“For Pete’s sake, nobody in this family is getting a tattoo!” shouts Dad. We all ignore him, except for Dr. C, who flinches and has to push her reading glasses back up her nose.
“I’m sorry,” Mom says. “I can’t allow you to express yourself with blue hair and a backless dress at your brother’s bar mitzvah.”
Now the doc is chuckling. “Shopping is a nice bonding activity. Maybe you two can come to a compromise at the mall.”
Dad makes a snorting noise. “Why don’t you two go to Walmart and bond? Why does it have to be the mall?”
I’m not holding my breath for any great shopping and bonding with Mom. Unless Dr. C comes with us.
Tony tells us A Midsummer Night’s Dream is based on this one night of summer from Shakespearean times, when grown-ups and kids stayed up all night partying. He thinks we should celebrate summer’s end and have our own version by hanging out in our classroom all night for a class sleepover.
“I can’t go,” Trina says at our picnic table. “I have an art festival in Key West with my parents that weekend.”
“We’re going to Disney,” Amy says. “I can’t go either.”
“I’m going,” I say. “What about you, Max?”
“Huh, what?” His mind is far away today. It’s not like him. “Oh, I’m going.”
Trina takes out a container of grapes from her backpack, pops a few in her mouth, and offers us some. We all take a few. “Do you guys think a nose piercing would look good on me?”
“You’re allowed?” I ask. A shaved head would look good on her. Trina is really beautiful when you see past her clothing choices.
“I told you, my parents don’t get involved in what I do,” she says, rolling a grape around in her mouth.
“My parents won’t even let me put a blue stripe in my hair for my brother’s bar mitzvah,” I say. “They think it’s inappropriate. Everything is inappropriate with them.”
“Your hair, your life, Abby,” Trina says. “I recently told my mom I’ve become a fruitarian. No veggies, just fruit.”
Amy and I laugh and shoot she’s so weird looks at Trina.
I love our group.
I toss up a few grapes and attempt to catch them in my mouth. Some go in, some roll onto the grass. “Trina, is it true you invented an app for Microsoft? That’s what I heard.”
Trina lets out a long sigh. “Last year, I took apart Mrs. Carter’s cell phone and fixed it. Then I took apart some of the school computers and fixed them. That’s how that rumor got started, but it’s not true. The school still uses me to fix computers in the lab sometimes. Technology and art are really easy for me. I don’t like technology, though. Anybody have a pencil? I didn’t do my homework.”
“Amazing,” Amy murmurs, shaking her head at Trina.
Trina is amazing. Here I am, trying to change for the better, do my work, control my mouth, and on and on. Trina is fine with being scattered. She doesn’t struggle with who she is or have plans to turn over a new leaf. It must be nice to be happy with who you are.
Max hands Trina a pencil. “Listen, you guys, I’ve got something I need to tell you.” He looks down at the ground instead of at us. After a few seconds, he lifts his head. “I’m moving back to Pennsylvania.”
“What?” I didn’t hear him right. I can’t have.
“I’m going to live with my mother.” I did hear him right. He’s serious. And happy about it. His eyes are lighting up as he talks about his mother, who ditched him for another family. He says he’ll be back to visit his dad a few times a year, so he’ll be able to see us when he comes down to Florida.
All I hear in my head is nonononononono.
“You’re moving?” I ask. “Like, definitely?”
“It’s definite, yeah.”
I see trees falling, skyscrapers imploding, cars crashing into walls.
“I leave in two weeks,” he adds.
I search for words. “But you can’t leave now. We just got our magic show together, and I’m working on something for us….No. NO! You can’t leave, Max. We need you here. All of us.”
“Yeah,” Trina says. “We have a good thing going. If you leave, it’ll change our whole energy.”
“Totally,” says Amy. “You can’t move.”
“I have to,” he says.
Suddenly, anger courses through my veins like a flash flood. “WHY?” I yell, throwing a cluster of grapes at Max. He puts his hands out. I pelt him, one grape at a time. “Why? Why? Why? You don’t have to. You want to, even after she—”
“Abby, stop!” he shouts.
I stop. I’m panting, I’m so angry.
“Yes, I want to. Everyone deserves another chance. You said it yourself.”
“I never said that!”
“Yes, you did! That day I found Simon. You said, ‘Haven’t you ever given someone another chance even if they’ve done something to hurt you? Caitlin hurts my feelings all the time, but I don’t throw her away.’ You said that.”
I remember.
“I have to go,” he says. “She’s my mom. Don’t any of you get that?” Max pulls a grape out of his shirt, gets up, grabs his laptop, and tucks it under his arm. We don’t answer. “No, why would you? You all have these normal moms who bring you strawberries and let you paint on walls and take you to Disney. Well, I don’t, okay?” His voice cracks like he’s going to cry. “I have a mom who left me, but now she wants me back, and I have to give her another chance. She’s my mom, and I have to go.”
And with that, Magic Max walks away, leaving my eyes blurry with tears.
Our test tomorrow is on all of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, the biggest we’ve had so far, but it doesn’t matter to me right now.
With my heart pounding, I call Max. “I’m so sorry,” I say as soon as he answers.
“I knew you’d be upset, but I didn’t expect to be shot at with grapes.”
I laugh a little, relieved. He’s not yelling at me. “It’s a good thing I wasn’t eating walnuts. You’d be black-and-blue.”
“No, I’d just be blue, because you’d have killed me. I’m allergic.”
“That would have been worse.”
“Yeah.” He chuckles. “Trina and Amy have been texting me, saying they’re sorry I’m moving. They understand, though.”
“I didn’t understand at first, but I do now. I’m just sad you’re going.” My throat gets tight. Don’t cry, Abby. You’ll make him feel worse. “That’s all.”
“I wish my mom lived here.”
“Me too. And I wish I hadn’t reacted the way I did. I’ve been pretty good lately, but your news took me by surprise.”
“No kidding. There’s still a grape in my hair somewhere.”
We don’t say anything for a little bit, just listen to each other breathe. Finally, Max goes, “We’d better get off the phone and study.”
“I don’t think I can. It’ll be too hard to concentrate. You should have told us after the test.”
He laughs. “Did you know that Shakespeare wore a hoop earring and invented the word eyeball?”
“I’m going to miss you, Max.”
I got a seventy-eight.
“What happened?” Tony
asks me.
“I didn’t study.”
“Why not?”
Because all I could think about was Max moving. I shrug.
“Your essay section was disappointing,” he says. “You left out a lot of supporting details. You could have taken more time.”
“I know.” According to my IEP, I’m allowed extra time on big tests, but so far, I’ve only used that option for national standardized tests.
Tony drums his fingers on his desk. “I’ve noticed your quad’s study guides are exactly the same, word for word.”
I swallow nervously. “We study together. That’s why.”
“Really?” Tony asks.
Don’t lie, Abby.
“Okay, we’re copying from Amy,” I admit. “She takes the best notes, and to tell you the truth—”
“I wish you would.”
“All that writing is a lot for me sometimes, even when I use a computer.”
“Why don’t you voice record your notes?” he asks. “You can email me an audio file, even for your study guide.”
“You’ll accept that?” I ask, surprised.
“Sure. There’s more than one way to learn. Whatever works for you—”
“That definitely works for me. Talking is my thing!”
Tony’s laugh is big and deep. “Talking is definitely your thing. You’ll probably be in my class in the fall, so tell me when you’re having a problem. You’re too smart to get a C. Okay?”
It’s more than okay. “I might be in your class in the fall? Amazing!” Tony is the best teacher I’ve ever had.
“I think so too.”
I’m still bummed about my test grade. I should have done better. “Why do the essays have to be worth so much?” I complain to Max after school at car pool. “In fact, why do I have to take English at all?”
“Because you might perform Shakespeare someday, and you’ll need to understand your lines.” He hands me a red handkerchief. “Here, take this. You need it if you’re going to cry over a test.”
I grab it, and all these connected handkerchiefs come out of his sleeve. I pull and pull and pull, until finally the whole long string of handkerchiefs comes out. I throw them around my neck like a scarf. “It’s your fault,” I tell him. “All I can think about is you leaving, and I can’t study.” I worked on my video project for him instead. I’m almost done.
“Most famous people were terrible students, you know,” he says. “Like ninety-two percent, I think.”
“Are you making that up to make me feel better?”
“Maybe. Are you going to keep doing magic shows after I leave? You could be more than an assistant. You can learn everything so we can double headline in Vegas someday.”
“No,” I say. “It’s the two of us together that makes it work. Like Penn and Teller.” We’re quiet for a few minutes. I usually hate quiet, but it doesn’t bother me when I’m with Max.
“It’s nice when you’re like this,” he says. “You don’t have to act all funny every minute, entertaining everyone around you. You can just be you, you know.”
That’s what a real friend is, I realize. Someone who likes you for just being you.
Mom and I are at the mall shopping for my bar mitzvah dress. “Why are you so down?” she asks. “Is it because your teacher Terry called? He says you can raise that last grade, so don’t let it upset you.”
“It’s Tony, not Terry, and that’s not why I’m down. It’s because my friend Max is moving away.”
Mom puts her arm around me. “That’s too bad. He seems like a nice boy. Maybe a pretty dress will cheer you up.” As if it’s that simple. We stop in front of a maternity store, because I want to take a picture of a dress in the store window. I text it to Beth with the message This would look good on U! She texts me back emoticons of smiley faces.
At Macy’s, Mom pulls out five different dresses. Not one is the shade of blue I like, and they all look babyish. “Let’s try Bloomie’s,” Mom says, so we head to Bloomingdale’s. I don’t like any there either.
“You know, summer school turned out to be the best thing for you,” Mom says as we walk through the mall. “Your study habits are better, you’re learning, you have new friends who are nice. Oh, did you see that Helpful Hints list I put on your desk?”
“Yes.” I also saw the poster she put above my desk: IS WHAT YOU’RE DOING TODAY HELPING YOU ACHIEVE YOUR GOALS FOR TOMORROW? I wrote NO on it with a Sharpie because drama camp would have brought me way closer to achieving my goals for tomorrow. Although maybe not, according to Trina’s meteor vs. star theory.
But Mom is sort of right, if I’m being honest. Had I gone to Star Lake, I wouldn’t have discovered my knack for improv comedy or how fun it is to do magic shows with Max. I wouldn’t have made friends with Trina, Max, or Amy.
Amy! Her parents’ store is in the mall. Maybe I can convince Mom to spring for a designer dress. “Mom, have you noticed I’ve been cleaning my room more? And I put away the groceries yesterday without you asking me.”
“Yes, Dad and I do see a big improvement in you.”
“I haven’t forgotten to take my pill once this summer. I’ve been working hard at school, and my behavior is better too.”
“All that is true.” Say it. Say you’re proud of me. What she says is, “Someday you might take a page from Mike’s book and be a real go-getter.”
I stop in my tracks. Mom stops too. We weren’t talking about Mike. We were talking about me. “Right.” Angry lava churns in my stomach. Respond, don’t react. People passing us throw curious looks our way. “Because Mike is an angel.”
“I didn’t say he was an angel.”
“You don’t have to. It’s obvious what you think. Drew’s a geek, I’m The Great Disappointment, but hey, at least you have Mike.” How could I ever have thought she’d say she was proud of me? “Let’s go home. I don’t want to shop anymore.”
“Abby, wait.” Mom puts her arm around my shoulders again. “Don’t start with this. That’s not what this day is supposed to be about. I want us to communicate.”
I lift her arm off me. “Why do you have to compare me to Mike? We’re TOTALLY different. Mike is a butthead. And he doesn’t even know he’s a butthead, which makes him more of a butthead. He is Nick Bottom from A Midsummer Night’s Dream!”
So much for not reacting.
“I will not have you talk about your brother that way.”
“Too late. I talk about him that way all the time. So does Drew.”
Mom’s words are measured. “Let’s both stop. Take a moment, like Dr. C recommends. Want to go to California Pizza Kitchen? It’s right there.”
“Okay.”
We go inside, get seated, and order. “I got a really nice call from Millennium Lakes about you,” Mom says. “Did you call this man’s children from Bonnie’s office to try and get them to come and visit?”
“I did. Simon. That’s the old man I visit when I go there. I don’t understand why his kids don’t visit. He’s hilarious, and he’s teaching me to play poker. I spoke to his daughter. She said she would come.”
“She did, and brought her children. That was a thoughtful thing you did, Abby.”
“What kind of kids don’t visit their dad? Family is…family.”
“You’re right. Speaking of, do you remember seeing pictures of Mike’s bar mitzvah?” Mom asks, although I don’t think this is what we were “speaking of.”
“Could we not talk about bar mitzvah stuff for one day, for the sake of Holy Moses and Abraham and everything in between?” I ask, picking up my phone to play a game.
Mom takes the phone out of my hand and places it on the table facedown. “No phone. I’m talking to you. Do you remember?”
“Not really,” I say.
“We had the party in the common room of our townhouse development. There were balloons, fold-out chairs, and sandwiches.”
The waitress brings our waters. I take a sip. “And I care about this why?”
&nb
sp; “Just listen. You know how I’m trying to understand you better?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I need you to try and understand Mike better. Did you ever stop to think how he must feel knowing about the big bash we’re throwing for Drew? Or the affair we’ll be throwing for your bat mitzvah next year?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Abby, think about it. He had a small, modest party. Dad and I had student loans and all kinds of debt. We couldn’t do for Mike what we do now for you and Drew. Mike knew Dad and I couldn’t pay for sleepaway camp and expensive video cameras back then. That’s why Mike worked so hard in high school for college scholarships and his own spending money.” She waits a second to let all this sink in. “So I’m sorry if I disagree with you that he’s a…whatchamacallit.”
“A butthead. I didn’t know any of this.”
“Well, it’s time you found out.” She sips her water. “What do you think it does to him, seeing how much you and Drew have? I’m sure he can’t help but compare.”
Maybe that’s why Mike and Beth are so interested in the big luxury homes they sell, country-club memberships, nice clothes, and fancy cars. They couldn’t have it when they were kids, so it’s important to them now. Maybe they dreamt about it the way I dream of an acting career.
I know from Meryl Streep movies that everyone in a family has a story, and all families have layers, like an onion. Our family is more of an onion than most.
“He does love you and Drew, you know,” Mom says. “He just doesn’t know how to show it.”
I want to say, He still acts like a jerk around me and Drew, like he did at Casa Lupita, and I don’t know what Beth sees in him, and I’m sorry, but I still don’t like him too much, even though he’s my brother. All that almost comes out. But I hit the pause button. “I’ll try to keep what you told me in mind.”
“That’s all I ask.”
Progress.
The waitress brings our food, pizza for me and salad for Mom. We eat for a few minutes. Then, out of the blue, Mom asks me something. “Why did you do it, Abby? The prank. Why did you leave the house without telling us? And then go mark up that car? We didn’t bring you up that way. Was it Caitlin’s idea?”
This Is Not the Abby Show Page 14