by Deb Loughead
“Look, Eric. It was all a total misunderstanding. And you’re the one who has the problem, by the way. Please, don’t ever call here again, okay?”
I set the receiver down. I smiled. And I started paragraph two of my essay.
chapter nine
I couldn’t believe how much my life had changed in less than a week. By Friday morning it was all I could think about on the way to school. I had a running list in my head of all the strange things that had happened since the umbrella incident.
The umbrella was leaning in the front hallway at home. I hadn’t touched it since I’d come home on Sunday. I was afraid that its curved handle might still be warm. Or that it might zap me again with its weird energy. Maybe my imagination was a little too wild, but I couldn’t help wondering if all this really had happened because of that jinxed umbrella. Would it all have happened anyway?
Why did I have to spot it sticking out of the trash last Sunday anyway? I would have been better off getting soaked and avoiding this umbrella fixation! Boy, can your head ever play games with you if you let it. And boy, was I ever letting it!
In math class that morning, Mr. Sims handed back our quizzes. I was absolutely positive that every time I looked up he was staring at me. Or not—I couldn’t be sure of anything these days. He walked slowly around the classroom the way he always did, setting each quiz on each student’s desk facedown. We weren’t allowed to look at our marks until he handed out the last one and was sitting at his desk with his hands folded. Then he would say, “Okay, gang, let’s have a look”
I stared at that piece of paper on my desk, wishing I could set it on fire with my eyes. I didn’t want to see an A. But I didn’t want to see an E either. I didn’t even want to know how I’d done at all. It was sure to totally confuse me, and I was confused enough already. So I decided not to look. I just picked up the quiz and folded it in half twice and tucked it into the back of my binder. Then I laced my fingers together in front of me and stared straight ahead.
Mr. Sims was staring right at me.
“Aren’t you going to look at your mark, Claire?” he said.
“No, I’d rather not, sir,” I told him. “Not right now anyway.”
Everyone around me started to snicker. I wasn’t trying to be funny. I really wasn’t. I was just honestly afraid to look.
“Well, I’d rather you looked right now, Claire.” He said it like he meant it.
“No. I think I’ll wait until I get home thanks,” I told him as politely as possible. “Nothing personal, sir.”
There were a few snorts of laughter around the room. Behind me, Seema was digging her finger into my back and whispering, “Claire. Claire, are you totally losing it or what?”
“I’ll see you after class, Ms. Watkins,” he said. “Case closed.”
By the time the bell rang, my armpits were soaked. I knew I was wrong not to turn that paper over, but I was trying to avoid something, I guess. I think what I was trying to avoid was finding out for sure. I was afraid to face the happiness or the disappointment. It was sure to be one or the other. Sometimes not knowing is easier, because at least you can still hope for the best.
I sat there staring at the scratched surface of my desk until the last person left. And I still couldn’t look up at Mr. Sims.
“Claire,” he said, “bring your quiz to my desk, please.”
“Okay, sir,” I whispered and slid it out of my binder.
I shuffled up to his desk like I had lead weights attached to my feet. Was he going to blast me for doing so well? Would he accuse me of cheating, like Seema did?
Or had I just failed miserably, as usual?
“Now open it please,” he said.
Slowly I unfolded it once. Then I unfolded it again. It was still upside down on his desk. He looked at the quiz, then looked at me. He arched his eyebrows. Then his thin lips curled up into a smile. I’m pretty sure it was the first time that Mr. Sims had ever smiled at me.
“Well, what are you waiting for?”
I turned it over and stared, blinking, at the bright red mark near the bottom of the page that he’d circled twice.
“You got a C, Claire. It’s the best you’ve done this year. I’m delighted. I knew you could do this, you know.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Okay, maybe I hadn’t actually aced the quiz, but I hadn’t flunked it either! So I hadn’t turned into a math genius because of that umbrella zap after all. But I wasn’t a math moron anymore either. And maybe Seema was right the other day—maybe I really was just starting to “get it.” Something I never thought would happen in this lifetime.
“Nice job, Claire Watkins.” Mr. Sims held his hand out to me, and I shook it.
I walked out of that classroom beaming for the first time ever.
Seema was waiting for me in the hallway.
“Well? What happened in there? What was wrong with you today?”
I held out the math quiz and flapped it in front of her face. She snatched it from my fingers and started scanning it with her math-gifted eyes.
“You got a C, huh? Well, you didn’t exactly ace it. I mean, look, how could you have missed this one?” She pointed at a problem, then nudged me, and I grinned. “Stick with me, babe,” she added. “And you’ll be sure to reach C-plus by Christmas!”
I felt pretty good for the rest of the day. I even managed to avoid Eric and his tongue.
There was no way I wanted to give him the slightest hope that I might be interested. I didn’t feel a thing for him anymore. No dizzy moths in my belly, no jelly limbs making me weak—absolutely nothing. I was still trying to figure out what the big deal had been in the first place. I’d already made a mental note to investigate a little more next time I set my heart on someone!
After school, the roles in the Hamlet production were posted outside the stage doors. I wasn’t in a big hurry to look myself—it was just another moment that I’d been both anticipating and dreading all week. But I didn’t have to look. Alice’s screeching voice echoed through the hallway and nearly pierced my eardrums.
“I can’t believe that Claire actually got Lucy’s part! That’s not fair.”
I froze in my tracks. Then I spun around, dashed for the exit and burst through the front doors into the cool November afternoon.
chapter ten
I ran nearly all the way home. I slowed down when I reached the complex. I was afraid to turn the corner, afraid that I might see Dad’s car in the driveway and know that Mom had fallen for his empty promises again.
And sure enough, it was there. I sighed as I shuffled toward the front door. Those lead weights were attached to my ankles again.
I could hear his voice before I opened the door. He was yelling, as usual. I peeked around the corner. In the living room, Mom was sitting on the sofa staring at the television. A red rose was lying on the carpet in the middle of the floor.
I could hear Dad ranting upstairs, and a whole lot of crashing and bashing. Mom’s face was a stern mask, hard and cold. But she smiled when she noticed me standing there watching her.
“Oh, hi, honey,” she said. “I’m just watching the news.”
“Uh…what’s going on, Mom?” I bent over to pick up the rose. It was made of plastic.
“You can throw that thing in the trash,” she said. “I told your dad to take his stuff and shove off. I’ve had enough, Claire.”
“He sounds really mad,” I said. Then I headed for the kitchen and dropped the rose into the trash can.
“He’ll get over it,” Mom called behind me. “It’s time for both of us to move on.”
I sat beside her on the sofa, so close that our arms were touching. Dad came clomping down the stairs, lugging a huge hockey bag bulging with his junk. He did not look thrilled. He dropped the bag in the hallway and stared at us.
“Well, Claire, looks like it’s over for good this time. You’re mother’s being a complete jackass. She won’t even talk to me. So tell her that this is her last c
hance.”
“Dad says this is your last chance, Mom,” I told her.
“Wish him luck for me,” Mom said. “Because he’s gonna need it.”
“Mom says good luck, Dad.”
Dad let a couple of choice curse words fly before picking up the bag again. He headed for the front door, then stopped.
“Claire, sweetie, do you have ten bucks to lend to your poor old dad?” He was wearing that sickly sweet smile that used to work so well on my mom.
“Not a chance, Dad,” I told him. “I’m broke too.” No way he’d be getting his paws on my hard-earned babysitting money anytime soon.
“Come on, Claire. You must have a piggy bank in the house somewhere with a few loonies and toonies in it. I’ll pay you back, I promise.”
A piggy bank? I could not believe this man. “See ya, Dad,” I said. My eyes met Mom’s. Hers were crinkled with the slightest trace of joy.
“What the hell is wrong with you two?” he yelled. “You blew it this time, you know. You totally blew it. Let’s see how far you get without me!”
The front door slammed. The windows rattled. Mom and I smiled.
We splurged on a pizza to celebrate. I dug some loonies and toonies out of my so-called piggy bank for the treat. Then we snuggled up on the sofa under an afghan, rubbed each other’s feet and watched an old movie. When it ended, we lit a couple of candles and talked until well past midnight. We talked about everything.
I told her all about Lucy’s situation and about meeting her mom at the hospital, and Mom’s eyes welled up with tears. Then I explained how I got the part of Ophelia when I didn’t even want it and how guilty I felt about that. And Mom said she didn’t blame me at all, that she’d feel the same way. When I told her about Eric’s gross tongue, she doubled over laughing. We both did, actually. It was sweet.
We finally climbed the stairs to bed in the wee hours. I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. I swear I hadn’t slept so well in ages.
Late the next morning the phone rang, and Mom grabbed it before I could. I hoped it wasn’t Dad again, begging her to take him back. But even if it was, I knew for certain what Mom’s answer would be. Mom seemed different now, more confident and willing to move on. I was totally thrilled about that.
“Claire, it’s for you,” she said. “It sounds like a woman.”
“A woman?” A babysitting job for tonight, maybe? I’d become a popular babysitter in the townhouse complex. I loved having the spare cash.
“Hello?” Hope in my voice.
“Claire? Hi, this is Angie Mantella, Lucy’s mother.”
“Oh, hi, Mrs. Mantella.” Dread in my voice. Why was she calling me?
“I just thought you might want to know that we took Lucy off the machines this morning.” My heart lurched.
“You…you did? But why?” I asked.
“Oh…oh, honey. I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you knew what I meant! She woke up. Yesterday evening. She’s going to be okay.”
“She is?” My heart soared. “You mean…”
“The fifty percent chance was in our favor, Claire. She’s actually sitting up. And she loves the little bear you brought to her. She thinks you were so sweet to drop by.”
“She does?”
Mrs. Mantella started laughing. “Yes, bella, she really does. In fact, if she’s feeling a bit better tomorrow, she might give you a call. Would that be okay?”
“Sure it would,” I said. “I’d be happy to hear from her.” Then I remembered the part of Ophelia, and I gulped. “Tell her to call whenever she’s ready.”
“I will,” Lucy’s mom said. “And again, thanks so much. You made my day, you know. I felt so much better after finding out that the kids at school really were worried about Lucy even though they hadn’t contacted me. Bye for now, Claire.”
“Bye, Mrs. Mantella. Glad I could help,” I said.
I stood there staring at the receiver before hanging up the phone. I started to feel a little itch of doubt. Could I have been wrong about the umbrella and the lightning? Was it all nothing more than a coincidence after all? Had I been stressing myself out over nothing?
As I hung up and walked away, I felt a little itch of hope, too, for the very first time that week. Because maybe, just maybe, nothing was my fault at all.
chapter eleven
I was dreading that phone call from Lucy. I was trying to come up with a good excuse to leave the house so I could avoid it. I didn’t tell Mom that Lucy was planning to call me, but I did tell her that she was awake and was going to be fine. Mom’s eyes filled with tears all over again, and this time they actually spilled out.
“Lucy’s mom must be so relieved,” she said, her voice strangely hoarse. “I can’t even imagine what it would be like to go through something like that.”
Then she flung her arms around me and hugged me so hard that I was practically suffocating. And I hugged her back just as hard.
After lunch on Saturday we both got dressed up and did each other’s faces, then headed out to apply for jobs. I figured I was getting a bit too old for babysitting, even though I loved kids. It didn’t quite pay enough. I was eager to find a part-time job where I could make more than five bucks an hour. Mom applied at another salon, and we both applied at the local bakery. I also dropped off a résumé at the hardware store and the supermarket where I’d found the umbrella.
It was funny how it wasn’t bugging me now. I was finally starting to let it go, the thought of being struck, and of being responsible for the way things had changed. Somehow I’d survived this crazy week. So much had happened, and I had been looking for something to blame for all the weirdness. But now it was becoming obvious that it had all been a coincidence. The umbrella zap hadn’t triggered the drastic change in my fortunes after all. It was going to happen anyway. It was such a relief to get past that week-long fixation—kind of like Mom’s decision about Dad.
It was strange, though, that someone had tossed a perfectly good umbrella.
Sunday morning I started to stress out again.
Should I tell Lucy that I hadn’t even tried out for the Ophelia part, but I’d gotten it anyway? Or should I just wait and let somebody else tell her? Surely she’d talk to Alice as soon as she was feeling well enough. And surely Alice and some of her other friends would drop by the hospital for a visit.
But then again, how would she feel hearing the news from someone else? Would she think that I’d been sucking up to her by dropping the bear off at the hospital? And what about Eric? Should I mention my brief tangle with his tongue? Or would that turn her completely against me? And what if Alice blabbed it to her already, told her how cozy we were in drama class? Thank goodness she didn’t catch us kissing, or I would have been doomed.
Sometimes I thought about stuff so much that I drove myself half crazy!
By eleven in the morning, when she still hadn’t called, I had to get out of the house. I was going stir crazy with all my stewing about Lucy.
“Mom, I’m going to the store,” I told her. “Do you need anything? I’m in the mood for some butterscotch ripple ice cream.”
“Works for me,” Mom said. She was doing a pedicure on her friend Lydia. It felt so good to hear them chattering and giggling together. I watched them for a couple of minutes, and I said, “Too bad you can’t do this at home instead of a salon.” They both looked at me and got these huge grins on their faces. Then I said maybe she could make some cute business cards with fingers and toes on them and pass them around the complex and the neighborhood.
“I could offer discounts for everyone on a fixed income in the complex,” Mom said, getting all excited. “Goodness knows, some of them could use the treat. You’re brilliant, Claire!” There was a new light in her eyes now. I was so proud of her.
It was overcast that morning, thick gray clouds threatening rain or snow. It was a lot like the weather a week earlier. I grabbed the umbrella as I stepped out the door. I wasn’t afraid of it anymor
e. In fact, it almost felt like a bonus now, especially since I’d left my pop-up umbrella in my locker at school.
I took my time. I was in no hurry to get back, that’s for sure. Maybe if I was gone long enough, I’d miss Lucy’s call, and she wouldn’t bother to phone back.
I strolled toward the intersection across from the supermarket and passed a mother fussing with her little boy. He was clutching a red ball while she struggled to pull his mittens on.
“It’s cold out today, Curtis,” she told him. “You don’t want chapped hands.”
“No, no, Mummy. Wanna bounce! Wanna bounce!” That poor mom. She sure had her hands full! The kid was cute enough though. Sometimes I wished I had a little brother, but not too often. My life was complicated enough already.
Just as I reached the curb, the red ball bounced past me and rolled out onto the road. I tried to stop it with my foot, but it rolled right over it. A car whizzed by in a blur, followed by two more. The little boy ran out in front of me. He ran right out into the road after his ball, straight into the path of an oncoming car.
Someone screamed. A car horn blared. Car tires screeched as the car slid past. I smelled burnt rubber. At that exact moment, I reached out the umbrella and hooked the handle onto the hood of the little boy’s parka. I yanked as hard as I could.
He practically flew through the air. Then he landed hard on his bottom on the curb at my feet. He started to wail.
“Oh my god, Curtis!” His mom gathered him in her arms, and he buried his face in her shoulder. They were both sobbing.
The driver of the car had pulled over to the side of the road by that point. The poor man could barely walk, he was so shaken up. He stumbled over to the mom and little boy, wrapped his arms around them both, and then he started sobbing too.
It was totally amazing.
It was as if our entire lives had been spinning toward this moment—the mom and her son, the car driver, and me, all our lives. This chance moment when a group of strangers would meet—and a tragedy would be avoided. It was almost as if it were meant to happen that way.