Delia squirms on my bed and I bet she can’t wait to get the h-e-double-hockey-sticks out of here back to her quiet house with her cheerful (though judgmental) mom and those beautiful flower arrangements.
“Mr. Hatley saw someone pass me a note and then he joked about saving the trees. Mom, it’s no big deal.”
“No wonder you’re failing French if you’re passing notes all day!”
I gulp. Madame Mahoney must’ve called.
“Your teacher has kindly offered you an extra credit assignment and you haven’t mentioned a thing to me.”
“Well, you’ve been so busy with Cherish.”
“That isn’t fair,” Mom says.
I know it isn’t, but I can’t stop myself. “You know what’s not fair? Making me take a class I don’t care about because you made a mistake with some French jerk. If you’d have just been honest with your mom and yourself—”
“Enough! You’re grounded! I’ll have to ask you to leave, Delia.” Mom’s whole face, not just the rash, is tomato red as she storms out of my room.
Delia grabs her backpack and stands up. “Sorry,” I tell her.
She looks at me like I’m globs of tar washed up on the shore. “I’m not the one you need to apologize to.”
As Delia walks out of the house, Cherish starts laughing. I realize she’s turned the TV off to eavesdrop. That witch.
My ears hurt from the pressure of holding in the tears, but I won’t let Cherish break me down.
It may be Earth Day, but it certainly isn’t my day.
A MUSEUM VISIT
Saturday, April 26
GETTING INTO THE CAR WITH MOM, I’m irritated to think of Cherish and her popular, older friends chilling at North Beach doing who knows what while I hang out with my mother at Louisiane Musée.
“You need to prioritize your schoolwork and take advantage of extra credit, baby girl. I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately. You used to be an all A student,” Mom says as she steers the Hocus Focus left on Shreveport Avenue.
Mom’s questions blur together. “Is something going on between you and your boyfriend? Is the stress of fostering getting to you? Is there anything you’re not telling me?”
Yes. Yes. Yes.“Everything is fine. I just don’t like French.” Mom’s already got a fever. Liz took me aside this morning to replenish my candy bar supply and told me Mom wasn’t feeling well. “Be especially nice to her today, Calli.” If I hadn’t been out of chocolate, it would’ve bothered me that she was essentially bribing me.
Mom sighs. I do too. It’s been a long week.
Delia talked to Torey more on the bus than she spoke to me. They’re probably hanging out at the mall together today. They wouldn’t try on dresses, would they? That’s supposed to be our thing.
I saw Dub in the cafeteria with his buddies at lunch. I thought he was going to ditch them to come talk to me, but he gave me my space all right. Since I haven’t responded to his note, it’s like he’s given up on me. I’ve tried writing him back, but nothing sounds right. I rip at my fingernail and wince.
Mom sighs again when she pulls into the museum parking lot. When I grab the door handle, my mother reaches across me in an attempt to keep it closed. I can’t open the door without hurting her. “There will be plenty of things you don’t like in life, but you just have to deal with them the best you can. If you’d have studied and done your best, you could’ve spent this beautiful Saturday playing in the sand.” She makes it sound like I’m a little girl. “Got your money?”
I dig though my purse to find my wallet. She’s not only making me pay for my admission, but I also have to pay for hers. The museum is a fine place and all, but Mom’s taking this grounding thing way too seriously.
I fold the receipt and slip it into my pocket to keep as proof for Madame Mahoney. The odor inside the museum reminds me of a library—stale and dusty. I read one of the signs. PRESENT-DAY LAKE CHARLES WAS FIRST SETTLED BY MARTIN LEBLEU OF BORDEAUX, FRANCE. The next line mentions his wife and how their daughter married some guy named Charles Sallier. (Lake Charles is named after him.) Life must’ve been a lot simpler in 1781, but I laugh to myself thinking about how those French people probably reacted when they saw their first gator.
“Look at this,” Mom says, pointing to a black-and-white picture of the lake. It doesn’t seem the same without the current buildings and structures surrounding it. There are some pictures of old steamboats sailing too. Lady Luck Casino is a riverboat casino, but it’s anchored and looks much more modern in comparison.
Mom stops to read the sign. “Things keep right on changing, don’t they?” It’s the type of question you don’t answer, and she obviously doesn’t expect one because she keeps right on talking. “While you don’t like studying French now, you may appreciate it in a few years. It’s a part of who you are.”
“Maybe, but it’s not like I’ll ever talk to my father. He’s blood related, but he’s not family.”
Mom doesn’t argue the point. Her eyes glaze over as she stares at a glass case full of bottles, books, and ratty dolls. “Cherish hasn’t had the opportunity to get to know many of her relatives either. She barely even has a family.”
Walking around the museum, we don’t say much else to each other. We stop when we hear a howling sob. I look around to find where the noise is coming from and find a toddler sitting near the staircase, wailing.
Mom rushes up to him. “Did you lose your mommy?”
The red-faced toddler answers with more wails. Mom takes him by the hand, and we head to the front desk to find help. The little boy’s crying so hard he starts hiccuping.
A woman catches us as we pass by the bathroom. “David!” she cries. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”
The toddler throws himself at the woman. She scoops him up in her arms, kissing him all over. “Oh, my gosh, thank you!” the woman tells my mother.
“Of course,” Mom says and then looks in my direction. “I lost this one here when she was a little girl. It happens.”
When we continue on our tour after the lost toddler drama, I probe Mom for more information. “You lost me?”
“Yes, when you were three. You stopped to watch the escalator, and I kept on going. Some lady found you, and she called my name over the intercom. Talk about feeling horrible. You were hysterical. I felt like the worst mom in the world!”
“You’re not the worst mom. Far from it. I don’t even remember getting lost.”
“Good. That means I didn’t traumatize you too bad.” Mom stops to check out some yellowed costumes.
A silky, lacy wedding gown on display catches my attention. If trying on prom gowns is enjoyable, I can only imagine how wonderful it is to try on wedding dresses. I hope Delia will be around to help pick out my gown if I ever get married.
Mom and Liz had a commitment ceremony on their fifth anniversary and neither one of them wore a wedding dress. They wore off-white linen suits. It wasn’t an official ceremony, but it was important to them.
Everything about their ceremony was nontraditional. I was both the ring bearer and the flower girl. Only a few of their closest friends came. Delia was there. Her mom was invited but said she couldn’t make it. She did make Mom and Liz each a matching wrist corsage though. Grandma sent them a blender.
Mom and Liz shared cheesecake, not wedding cake, at the reception. At my wedding, I’d love to have a huge towering cake with thick chocolate frosting. My stomach gurgles.
“Ready for lunch?” Mom asks.
“Yeah.”
We head out of the museum and walk quietly to the parking lot. The hot air inside the car makes me sleepy.
“I’ll pick the place to eat,” she says, and I try to work up an appetite for a mushy veggie burger.
My jaw drops open when we pull into Popeyes.
CHICKEN
Saturday, April 26
MOM ROLLS DOWN THE WINDOW. “I’ll take the eight-piece family meal,” she says. “Mild, please. Coleslaw and re
d beans and rice. Two Cokes. Thank you.”
Mom ordering greasy, semispicy food? “What are you doing?” I ask as she drives to the next window and shells over cash. I’m glad she doesn’t expect me to pay for it.
“You don’t have me all figured out, just like I don’t have you all figured out either.” Mom reaches for the bag of food and hands it to me. “Let’s go to Charpentier Park.”
I lean down to set it on the floor. My stomach grumbles again after sniffing the fried chicken. Is Mom putting me through some kind of weird test? The savory scent is especially tempting.
When we get to the park, I grab the food and carry it over to a picnic table. I’m prepared to fail if this is a test. After we sit down, Mom hands me a plastic fork and a paper plate. She opens up the bag and pulls out a chicken drumstick. My mother bites right into it without wiping her hands first or scraping off spices.
I open the container of red beans and rice and plop a big spoonful on the plate. I pick a plump wing. The salty, juicy flavors spill down my chin.
“I forgot how good fried chicken is.” Mom reaches for another piece. “Hand me some of that coleslaw. And a biscuit too.”
“Won’t this food get to you?”
“No doubt,” Mom says, her mouth full of food, “but I want to enjoy a day with my daughter. I’ve been spending time with Cherish because she needs the attention. She’s gone to so many homes and dealt with such unimaginable things. Anyway, you need attention too, and I know Popeyes is one of your favorite places.”
She smiles. I feel warm, and it’s not from the bright sun.
Mom tells me that she found out more information about our new placement—a kindergartner named Lemond James who will transition to our house in about two weeks. “He has an older sister who was removed from the home awhile back.” Mom’s voice wavers as she continues. “I can’t imagine what that poor boy and his family have gone through. I felt torn to pieces when I lost you for a few minutes.” She reaches for my hand.
I don’t trust my words. I place my hand over hers and hope she knows it means I’d be torn apart too.
Once our hands separate, I dig into the food. After eating two biscuits, half the container of rice, and three pieces of chicken, I vow I’m never going to eat this much food again, at least for a little while. I get up and throw the trash away, tossing the plastic stuff into the recycle bin. I even pick up a can off the ground and recycle it too. Mr. Hatley would be proud.
“I hope you know you can talk to me about anything,” Mom says when I return to the picnic table.
“Yeah, I know.” Not like I would though.
“I shouldn’t be so hard on you, baby girl, but I love you and I do care.”
“I love you too.” When I hug Mom tightly, I accidentally smear a touch of chicken grease on her shirt.
“How was the museum?” Cherish asks when she gets home. She doesn’t sound sarcastic.
“Not too bad.” I keep the fried chicken and the conversation between Mom and me private. It must’ve been miserable for Cherish growing up with strangers and not her mom or even her maw-maw. I don’t need to rub it in.
Sand and all, she plops into the recliner. Good thing Mom’s monkey is hanging from her doorknob. She might actually fuss about getting dirt on the furniture. Liz is moving furniture around in the den, making room for Lemond.
“How was the beach?” Cherish’s skin has a red tint to it. Her hair is tangled. It usually looks polished and wavy, not kinky-curly like Delia’s. Somehow this girl even manages to make messy look good.
“All right. Your friend was there.”
“Delia? Really?”
“Yeah. With that girl Torey. Looks like you’ve been replaced.”
I’d imagined the two of them dress shopping, but knowing for sure they hung out feels like a betrayal of sorts. Is this how Delia felt when I started spending more time with Dub?
“You okay?” Cherish asks. “You look funny.”
I realize I’m twisting my lips. “I’m fine.” Why should I be upset? I’m grounded and Delia has every right to do whatever, whenever, with whomever. “It’s just complicated.”
“Complicated?” Cherish asks with a laugh. “You have no idea what complicated means.”
She’s right if you compare her life to mine. I overheard Michelle tell Mom and Liz that Cherish’s stepdad hit her so hard she had to be hospitalized. Even as much as I don’t like Cherish sometimes because of the things she does, it sickens me to think of what she’s gone through. Did Liz endure such unimaginable things too?
Cherish swings her legs. “You’ve got to be tougher.”
She’s right again. “I’m trying to be less chicken turdish.”
This makes Cherish bust up, and even I laugh.
WORST DAY EVER: PART I
Monday, April 28
“WHAT’S THAT?” Cherish asks, pointing her finger and nearly knocking over my glass of orange juice.
“A note.” I cover the handwriting so she can’t read what I’ve written to Dub so far. There isn’t much.
“Not that.” Cherish grabs the engraved pen out of my hand. “What are you doing with this?”
“It’s mine. Mom gave it to me awhile back.” I reach to snag it from her, but Cherish slaps my hand away.
“It was on my desk last time I saw it. Are you taking my things?”
“No! You’re always taking my things!”
“Calm down, girls,” Mom says, sipping her peppermint tea. “You both have a bus to catch this morning and school to think about.”
“I’ll buy you each a new pen if you quit fighting,” Liz adds like it’s that simple.
I don’t want to give the pen back, but I also don’t want Cherish to be suspicious. “If it means that much to you, you can have it. Even if it belonged to my biological father.”
I slide it over, and Mom gives me a smile of approval.
“That’s okay,” Cherish says, which catches me off guard. “I’ve got something from my grandmother that I wouldn’t want anyone else to have.” Mom smiles at her next.
I know what that something is, and I should return it to her sooner than later. I could just slip it back into her underwear drawer while she goes off to brush her teeth, but Mom and Liz are buzzing around the house and I know I’d get caught.
I need the necklace to illustrate that I’m standing up for myself, finally setting my boundaries.
Cherish hogs the bathroom so long that I don’t have a chance to brush my teeth before school. Lovely.
I leave without her and walk to the bus stop on the next block so we don’t have to wait together. The confrontation this morning was enough. I wish I had time to walk to Delia’s stop, but the bus will be here in a moment.
When the bus does arrive, Torey’s sitting in my spot next to Delia. “I think I still have sand between my toes,” she says and then adds something cutesy about pearls forming underneath her toenails.
Delia giggles. Torey’s joke isn’t funny.
“Morning,” I say, taking a seat in the row in front of them.
“Hey,” Delia says flatly, like she couldn’t care less I’m here. She doesn’t even ask why I wasn’t waiting at my usual spot. She goes right back to talking with Torey.
Asking for a piece of gum will give me an excuse to make conversation with her. Besides, I really need a piece so I won’t have shredded-wheat-and-orange-juice morning breath. I rinsed my mouth with water, but it didn’t get rid of the flavors and the chunks stuck in my teeth. I turn around. “You have a stick of gum you could spare?”
She halfheartedly digs through her bag. “Nope. I’m out.”
Delia’s lying. She always has gum. My eyes burn when I sit back in place. I keep my “bus allergies” in check by finishing my note to Dub. For how long it’s taken me to write, there isn’t much.
Dear Dub,
Did the note you gave me have anything to do with
Cherish? I hope not. This whole situation is killing
me too. I haven’t forgotten our anniversary.
~Calli
I draw a tiny flower over the “i” in my name like usual. I fold the recycled sheet of paper. Un, deux, trois, quatre.
Mom says kids should come with instructions, but I think she has it wrong. Boys should be the ones to come with instructions. Friends too.
When the bus stops at my normal spot, Cherish saunters down the aisle, swinging her backpack like she wants to smash me with it, but I move out of the way. Too bad she doesn’t accidentally hit Torey. Cherish surprises me when she sits next to me instead of in the back of the bus. I put the note away.
“Act like they don’t bother you at all,” Cherish whispers, discreetly pointing behind us at Delia and Torey.
I hug her like we’re the chummiest sisters ever and then laugh like she told me a hilarious joke. Cherish gives me the evil eye for overdoing it. I play it off with another laugh.
Cherish leans her head back against the seat and closes her eyes the rest of the ride. She really is all right.
I sigh. Today’s going to be a long day. I just know it. At least our Mardi Gras Buffet family night got canceled. I have an orthodontist appointment after school and Mom hasn’t been feeling well. She thinks it might have to do with her new medicine and promised me it wasn’t from the fried chicken. Liz will pick me up so I don’t have to ride the bus in the afternoon.
When the bus pulls to a stop at Calcasieu High, Cherish pushes her way off without saying good-bye. I follow her lead.
Before I lose my nerve, I run to Dub’s locker and slip the note inside before going to French.
“Bonjour! ” Madame Mahoney says. “Comment ça va?”
How’s it going? “Ça va.” Fine. I should say mal. Bad.
I hand her the receipt from the museum and a short essay I wrote about the trip detailing the history of the early French settlers and how French, especially the Cajun dialect, is one of the official state languages.
“Did you study for your quiz?” she asks the class as soon as the bell rings.
Calli Page 5