Nerd Girls

by Alan Lawrence Sitomer

  Mrs. Applebee shook her head from side to side. There was a pause. I tried to look down the hall.

  “Um, do you know if she’s gonna…”

  “I mean, just because Alice thinks she killed her father and sister doesn’t mean that she’s a bad person, but I can’t get that message through to her.”

  WHAT? My head snapped back around.

  “I shouldn’t say killed,” Alice’s mom said, correcting herself. “What’s that my therapist says? I should say, ‘feels responsible for the untimely passing of.’ See, words have power. They have the power to...”

  Q’s mom stopped mid-sentence. Her hands began to shake.

  “That accident, it ruined my life. It ruined our lives.”

  Mrs. Applebee began to cry.

  What accident? I thought.

  “Okay, so Alice was misbehaving in the backseat,” she continued in a rambling, talking-to-herself, trying-to figure-it-all-out type of way. “Big deal. She was eleven years old and wanted the video game back from her younger sister. Does that mean Alice killed her family? Of course not.”

  Tearful, she shook her head.

  “And I told her, sisters fight all the time, and it was raining, and just because my husband had to turn around to stop them from arguing doesn’t mean that she’s responsible for the crash. But she doesn’t believe me.”

  Tears streamed down her face.

  “She thinks it’s her fault her father and sister are dead.”

  I couldn’t help but think about how many times my sister and I had fought in the backseat of the car while my mom was trying to drive.

  “I mean, losing my husband and daughter has been the hardest thing in the world for me, but now, it’s like I’m losing Alice too. Losing her to guilt.”

  She reached for a tissue and wiped her eyes.

  “They call it survivor’s guilt,” she continued. “Though her father and sister died in the accident, Alice walked away without any serious injuries. Just a few cuts and bruises. A real miracle. But Alice wishes she had died instead of them. She feels so bad about what happened, she wishes she could trade places with them, to make things even, somehow.”

  The room became weirdly quiet. I didn’t know what to say.

  “Tell me, how is a kid supposed to handle that?” Q’s mom asked, as if I somehow had the answer. “She didn’t mean for it to happen. She didn’t do it on purpose. I love her. Why should she have to suffer more than she already has?”

  Mrs. Applebee reached for another tissue.

  “Okay, so she misses a few days of school now and then. But it’s the stress. She was always allergic to peanuts and cow’s milk, but ever since the crash, her allergies have just gone haywire. And the doctors, well, those geniuses have no explanation,” she added. “No explanation other than all the pressure and anxiety. Alice, she’s one of those types that keeps it all bottled up.”

  Mrs. Applebee blew her nose.

  “But she’s normal, right? She’s not a freak. She’s just a young girl trying to handle an impossible situation, and for the life of me, I don’t understand why so many kids at her school are so insensitive and mean to her.”

  I looked down.

  “Don’t they know? Don’t they see how badly she’s hurting on the inside?”

  Mrs. Applebee again began to cry. Really cry, like a deep weep.

  “Don’t they know how badly all of us are hurting on the inside?”

  Q’s mom went on weeping for two solid minutes without saying anything. All she did was cry. Me, I just sat there staring, not knowing what to say or do, scared to even move. It was like Alice’s mom had been carrying around this giant sadness for so long, and suddenly, somehow, I was the one who had opened the faucet that allowed her tears to flow.

  “Oh, jeez,” she finally said, waking out of a weepy daze. “Look at me, I’m a mess.”

  She tried to wipe her face, but mascara was smudged everywhere.

  “You’re a good friend, Maureen,” she said, taking me by the hand. I wanted to yank my hand back, but I couldn’t seem to move. The look on Mrs. Applebee’s face changed from one of sadness to one of fierce determination.

  “A real friend. A true friend. She talks about how funny you are all the time.”

  I gulped.

  “I mean, I was scared Alice was going to try to keep this hidden from everyone for the rest of her life, but for her to have told you all about it, well…it really says a lot about the kind of person you are. You and Barbara. She’s lucky to have you.”

  I stared, silent and motionless.

  “And the truth is,” she added, “I just don’t know where she’d be without you.”

  Mrs. Applebee grabbed two more tissues. By the time this conversation was done, she was going to need a whole new box.

  “Funny, but I guess Alice finally decided to listen to her therapist when he said that if she keeps it all hush-hush and secret for the rest of her life, it will eat her up and destroy her. I guess it just took the right person to connect with her and bring it out.”

  Mrs. Applebee lifted her head and looked me in the eyes.

  “You are a good egg, Maureen,” she said. “I knew from the moment Alice started telling me about you that you were a good egg. That’s rare in this world. Rare indeed.”

  Q’s mom took a breath and gathered herself.

  “By the way, can I tell you how excited she is about tonight?” she said, shifting gears into a more happy direction. “I mean, I haven’t seen Alice this hopeful and excited since, well…since before.”

  I stared at my shoes.

  “That accident has shaped every aspect of our lives,” she added. “Every last part of it. That is, until you and Barbara came along. And now, tonight, for the first time in years, Alice gets to be normal. She gets to be a regular kid. Funny, but I think we were both scared that she had lost that forever.”

  I couldn’t even lift my eyes.

  “She’s napping because she needs her strength for this evening, but, well”—Mrs. Applebee paused—“I think it’s going to be a real breakthrough for her tonight. A real breakthrough.”

  “Uh, yeah,” I said sort of stupidly.

  “And no matter how you do, at least you’ll do it together,” she continued. “As friends. And sometimes in life, well…that’s all we really need. Friends are everything. Especially when times get tough.

  “Oh yeesh, look at me crying and blabbering on.” She stood. “I can’t sit here like this. Will you excuse me a minute, please?”

  “Uh, sure,” I said.

  Mrs. Applebee smoothed out her blouse.

  “Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink?” she asked, wiping her eyes again. “Something to eat?”

  “Um, no. I’m fine.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, the kitchen is right in there. Help yourself, I’ll be right back.” Q’s mom walked away.

  I sat there, alone in the living room, absolutely stunned. A part of me wanted to run. To flee. To head for the front door and get out of that house as fast as possible.

  But then I saw a picture on the mantel. It was a picture of Q and her dad, both wearing mouse ears.

  I went up to get a closer look. They were at Disneyland, the Happiest Place on Earth, and I could tell by the looks on their faces that there wasn’t a daughter alive who loved her dad more than Q had loved hers.

  Or a dad who had loved his daughter just as much. They say some pictures are worth a thousand words. This one was worth twenty bazillion words. The smiles on their faces said it all.

  But the man in the picture was dead. And the little girl in the picture next to him, the one with the bright face and the missing front teeth and the pigtails, she was dead too.

  And Q thought it was all her fault. The whole thing, her fault. Wow.

  “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” asked Alice’s mother, returning to the room. She startled me. “Not even a glass of water? Alice tells me you’ve been drinking a lot of it la
tely.”

  “Uh, no,” I said, quickly turning around. “No thanks. I…I gotta go.”

  “I, um, hope it’s nothing I said,” she answered. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “No, no, not at all,” I replied. “I just really need to, you know, get home.”

  “Was there something you came over for?” she asked. “I thought I remember Alice telling me that we weren’t going to be taking the Nerd Mobile over to school till about three thirty, and it’s only about one right now. The Nerd Mobile.” She laughed. “You girls are too funny.”

  “Reason I came over?” I said. “Uh, no. I mean, yes. Well, no. I only came over to, uh…” I started to stutter. “To give Alice a pep talk. You know, stay positive, that’s all. I mean, I guess she hasn’t told you about tonight, has she?”

  I studied Mrs. Applebee’s face for a clue.

  “Told me what?” Q’s mom asked.

  “About”—I paused, trying to read her thoughts—“the show?”

  Mrs. Applebee casually shook her head. She had no idea what I was talking about.

  “No, nothing special. I mean, Alice came home last night, skipped dinner, and pretty much went straight to her room. I think she might have watched a little TV, but no, she didn’t say anything. I just figured she was nervous, you know, about the big performance. Why, did something happen?”

  “Happen?” I said. “Um, no, what would have happened? No, nothing happened. Nothing at all.” I bent down and retied my shoe even though it didn’t need it. “Yeah, I gotta go,” I said when I stood back up. “Bye,” I said, making my way for the front door.

  “Are you sure that—”

  “Totally sure,” I answered. “I just…I gotta go. Bye.”

  And with that I left.

  I wandered around for a little while, not really knowing where to go or what to do. Without me even telling them to do so, my feet walked me back to Paradise Palace. But I didn’t go in. Doughnuts and chili dogs didn’t seem like the answer. I didn’t know what the answer was, my brain was just so dang cloudy, but food wasn’t singing any love songs to me. Finally, after wandering around some more, I wandered back home.

  “Hey, Boo,” said my mom as I walked through the front door.

  “Hey,” I answered in a low voice.

  “You thinking positive?” she said, trying to make sure I was still feeling energized about tonight.

  “Mm, just thinking,” I said.

  “Well, that’s better than not thinking, I guess,” she said with a laugh.

  I approached the kitchen table where she was sitting. My mom was trying to hide something, but I could see a piece of silky red ribbon.

  It was a bouquet of roses. Obviously, they were for me.

  For later.

  “You weren’t supposed to see those,” she said with a smile.

  I bent over to smell them.

  “Mmm, good,” I said. No one had ever bought me roses before.

  I looked at my mom. She looked back at me. We made eye contact, and I knew I was going to have to tell her. I lowered my eyes and opened my mouth to speak.

  “Mom,” I said softly. “I…”

  I paused.

  “Yes, Boo?” she said.

  “I...I’ll be in my room.”

  I stood up. I just didn’t know what to say or how to say it.

  I turned to head upstairs. However, I could feel my mother’s eyes staring at me.

  “Hey, Maureen.”

  “Yes, Mom,” I answered.

  “I’m proud of you,” she said. “No matter what happens tonight, I’m proud of you, Boo.”

  I could feel the teardrops starting to swell in my eyes.

  “Mom…” I turned back around. “I don’t think there’s going to be a—”

  Ding-dong! Suddenly, the doorbell rang. My mother, excited as an eight-year-old who was getting a pony for Christmas, popped out of her chair, bubbling with energy.

  “Delivery!” she cried out in a singsong voice.

  Delivery? I thought.

  My mom threw open the door, and standing there was a man holding a giant box.

  “Saunders residence?”

  “This way, this way,” said my mom, leading him inside. “Just put it down right there,” she told him. Then she looked at me.

  “I figured we’d have a few people over after the show to celebrate,” she said. “With chocolate! Yum!” She threw open the box.

  It was a cake.

  “After all, we haven’t had chocolate in about eight hundred years, and you only live once, right?” she said with a big, mischievous smile.

  “Just sign here, please, ma’am,” said the delivery man, holding his clipboard.

  My mom signed and looked inside the big box.

  “You weren’t really supposed to see this either, but what the hey,” she told me. “I was always terrible at keeping secrets and surprises and stuff like that anyway.”

  My mom giggled. She was having so much fun.

  “What were you going to say about tonight, Boo?” she asked as she swiped a taste of frosting from the side of the cake. Couldn’t help herself, I guess.

  “Um,” I replied. I looked inside the box. The cake read congratulations nerd girls! in pink-and-yellow frosting. And wow, was it big. There must have been enough to feed an entire neighborhood’s worth of people.

  Just then I realized that my mom probably had invited an entire neighborhood’s worth of people over, too, including the Department Store Parents, Alice’s mother, everyone up and down the block, and probably a whole bunch of other folks as well. With a cake this big, who wouldn’t be coming back to our house after the performance?

  “Nothing, Mom,” I said softly. “Nothing. Wasn’t important.”

  That’s when it dawned on me. This was the first time in my whole life that my mother really felt she had good reason to be proud of me, genuinely proud of me.

  Me, I just didn’t have the heart to tell her that it wasn’t going to happen; that her little Boo was once again going to come home empty-handed.

  Like they say, when it rains, it pours.

  “Here, take a taste, Boo,” my mother said, eagerly, scooping up a dash of frosting onto her fingertip. “I know you haven’t had any sweets in a while, but you are gonna love this. Double chocolate fudge with a molten chocolate middle. Mmm. They call this cake Sin-n-Guilt, the double-whammy specialty of the house,” she said, beaming with joy.

  I looked at the swirl of frosting on her fingertip waiting for my tongue.

  “Homemade buttercream,” she said, tempting me a bit more. “I mean, if you’re going to swim in a pool, you might as well jump into the deep end, right?”

  I stared and thought about what to do.

  “Um, no thanks, Mom,” I said.

  “Are you sure, Boo?” she asked.

  I looked at the cake again.

  Am I sure? I thought. To tell the truth, all I wanted to do at that very moment was dive into the cake box and not stop gobbling until there was nothing left but cardboard and tape.

  But what I wanted to do and what I needed to do, well…they were two different things.

  Two different things entirely. I turned to walk away.

  “Where’re you going, Boo?”

  “I need to speak with Marty,” I said.

  And with that, I went upstairs.

  “Knock-knock,” I said, tapping on my brother’s door.

  “Yeah?” he answered. “Come in.”

  I entered carrying my backpack.

  “Pink or green?” my brother asked when he saw me.

  “Huh?” I said.

  “Which’ll look better with this yellow shirt? Pink or green?”

  He held out two neckties.

  “Why’re you wearing a tie?” I asked.

  “Mom’s making me,” he answered. “And you should see Ashley’s dress. It’s like she’s going to a wedding or something.

  So which one, pink or green?”

  “Uh, green,
” I said, mindlessly.

  “Not the pink?” he asked.

  “Okay, pink,” I answered. “Look, I have to—”

  “Come on, Maureen,” said Marty, interrupting me. “I mean, after all I’ve done for you, the least you could do is help me choose a dumb tie.”

  I paused. He was right. Slowly, I turned and studied the choices.

  “Okay, hypothetically speaking,” I said, inspecting both of the options. “What color do you feel most comfortable in?”

  “Green,” he answered, holding up the green tie.

  “And hypothetically speaking,” I continued, “what color would make the biggest, most bold fashion statement?” I asked.

  “Pink,” he replied, holding up the other tie.

  “All right, then hypothetically speaking,” I continued, “if Poochy were drowned in a fountain filled with chlorinated water, do you think you could get him back to normal in forty-five minutes?”

  “What?”

  “Hypothetically speaking, of course.” I unzipped my backpack and dumped Poochy parts all over the floor. “Well, maybe not so hypothetically.”

  Marty’s eyes practically bugged out of his head.

  “What happened?” he said, inspecting the damage.

  “They threw it in the Fountain,” I answered.

  “They threw it in the Fountain? The girls from your school?” Marty held up Poochy’s head. Water dribbled out of its ear. “He’s ruined.”

  “But you can fix him, right?”

  “No,” Marty answered. “He’s ruined.”

  “But he’s fixable?” I said. “I mean, you can get some thingies back together so that—”

  “No,” Marty said, cutting me off. “He’s ruined, Maureen. Done. Zapped. Destroyed.”

  He lifted up Poochy’s body by the tail. More water dribbled onto the floor. Marty hopelessly shook his head.

  “It’s totally toast.”

  I paused and thought for a minute.

  “Marty, if you think positive, you can—”

  “Don’t sound like Mom,” he interrupted.

  “Well, don’t sound like Dad,” I snapped back.

  Marty glared. “That was low, Maureen. Like totally below the belt.”

  He dropped the dog and turned to walk out of the room.

  I jumped in front of him, blocking his path. “Wait, I’m sorry.”