“Okay,” Piper said. “Here’s what you should do. Sit and be still. Cross-legged. Turn the lights out. Be in a calming dark place. And focus on the outcome you want.”
That actually sounded really hard. “How do I turn the lights off while sitting cross-legged?” I asked. I’d already sat on my floor, preparing to try this strategy, but it seemed impossible.
“Stop goofing around,” Piper said. “You know, middle school isn’t a joke. It’s three whole years. You’re going to remember them until the day you die. That stuff matters. Your teachers. Your friends. Your psycho classmates. Take it seriously. Maybe you’ll end up in detention. Maybe you won’t. But take this seriously.”
And before I could explain to her that I was taking it seriously, and follow up with her about that terrifying detention comment, I heard Bobby’s voice in the background.
“Babe,” he said. “I think I forgot the syrup.”
“That’s okay,” Piper cooed. “Perry, I’ve got to go. Are you going to be okay?” And I really didn’t think Piper even cared what my answer was going to be. She probably just wanted to hang out with Bobby and eat waffles.
“I guess,” I said. “I’ve got a map to build.”
I couldn’t believe how much worse I felt after talking to Piper. I thought she’d have stuff figured out because she was older. But she made life feel like a big mystery. And that was not how I wanted to think about it right now. I wanted to feel like I was on the right path. I wanted to feel like everything was going to turn out pretty good. I mean, I couldn’t even picture myself in detention.
I stared at my phone and realized that if I didn’t do something drastic I was going to stare at it forever, waiting for a call or text. But did I really want to hear from anybody right now? Or did I want to finish this stupid map? I turned off my phone and put it in my underwear drawer. And that actually made me feel a little bit better. Because avoiding stress was the first step in reducing stress. Then I gathered all my map materials and got to work. I started by tracing the base for my mountain range. My hand shook a little, because I wanted all of my range to line up perfectly and look amazing on my first try.
It basically took forever. And after I finished tracing, I decided to label everything. Because I figured it would be easier to do that while everything was still flat.
I found it really hard to keep my handwriting nice. Because I wasn’t used to working with a brush pen. When my mom finally knocked on my door, I thought she was going to talk more about her toilet phone. But she actually said, “Time for dinner.” And that blew my mind a little bit. Because that meant I’d been working for hours.
I staggered out of my room and sat at the table. I was relieved to see a giant pizza.
“I was so scared it was going to be rice,” I said.
“You don’t like rice?” my dad asked. “I didn’t know that.”
“Don’t, Perry,” my mom said.
“Don’t say that I don’t like toilet-water rice?” But then after I said that I figured out my mom didn’t want me to mention her phone.
“Toilet-water rice?” my dad said. And then he looked straight at my mom and said, “You did not drop your phone in the toilet again.”
And I couldn’t believe my dad had said the word again, because that meant that my mom had a serious problem.
“This is so gross,” I said. Because in addition to the toilet-water discussion, there was also a lot of tension at the table.
“It barely got wet this time,” my mom said.
“Why can’t you keep it in your purse until you’re finished?” my dad asked.
Wow. This was way too much information.
“I can’t believe the man who accidentally flushed the car keys at a rest stop in Nevada on our honeymoon is judging me,” my mom said.
“My pants didn’t have pockets!” my dad said.
And while this arguing was taking place, I grabbed two slices of pizza and went to my room. Because I did not need to hear about problems between my parents that had happened at a rest stop in Nevada before I was born.
I decided to finish eating my pizza and wash my hands before I touched my map. Because I didn’t want to get any grease stains on it. Because Mr. Falconer was such a tough grader I bet I’d get marked down for those.
After my hands were clean enough to perform surgery, I started making my cuts. I needed multiple pieces for each mountain. And even though I had special scissors, it was still difficult to slice through the cardboard.
I wanted to listen to music, but I didn’t want to get my phone out of the drawer. So I fiddled with the station finder on my clock radio until I found an upbeat station that I’d never listened to before. When it came time to start gluing my pieces together, I located the bottle of glue that would dry the quickest. Digging around in our pantry and our garage, I was surprised by how different the drying times were for glue. A white bottle of glue I found near the freezer bags took eighteen hours to set. And a yellow pasty bottle of glue I found in my mom’s craft room took two hours. But the label on a small yellow tube of glue I found in the garage stated that it bonded instantly. So I chose that for my map. Because I needed speed.
It was almost midnight before I’d finished my map. Luckily, my labeling strategy had worked perfectly. So once it was glued, I didn’t have to label anything else. My map was complete. I set it on the bedside table next to me.
When I turned off my light that night, I tried not to think about what Venice and Leo and Derby and Anya were doing. Because I’d find out soon enough. I figured that Principal Hunt was going to want to meet with us as soon as school started. On any other night, that realization would have kept me from sleeping. But because I was exhausted from all my map building, I slipped right to sleep as soon as I got under my covers. I mean, it happened in an instant. I closed my eyes and I was gone.
The next morning I still felt tired and a little delirious. I swatted at my alarm clock and accidentally knocked it onto the floor. When I leaned over to pick it up, I was really surprised to feel something hard and sharp pressing against my cheek. It felt like a book. Except when I tried to move it, it stayed stuck. It wasn’t until I climbed out of bed and stood in front of my mirror that I realized my topographic map was attached to the side of my face. I mean, it took me a second to realize I wasn’t dreaming and that this was really my map. And that it was seriously stuck to me.
“Help!” I cried. Because I suddenly remembered that the glue package had said it could bond metal to metal in seconds. And so I worried that this topographic map might be permanently pasted to my cheek area.
First my mom entered my room. Then my dad.
“What’s on your face?” my dad asked.
“Oh my gosh,” my mom said, gasping and looking away.
That really freaked me out. Because she never looked away from anything. Even Mitten Man’s hairballs. I mean, this was a person willing to reach her hand into a mall toilet.
“It’s my topographic map!” I said.
“Why did you glue it to your face?” my dad asked.
Then he picked up a small bottle of glue from the dresser.
“Please tell me you didn’t use this, Perry,” he said.
He seemed so angry that even though I was on a truth-telling campaign, I decided to follow his command. “I didn’t use that.”
He and my mom looked a little bit more relieved. But then he pinched the top of the bottle and got a worried look on his face again.
“Then why is the cap off?” he asked.
And so I answered honestly. “Because I used it.”
“Perry,” my mom snapped. “You just told us that you didn’t use any of it.”
I could feel tears rolling down my cheeks. “That’s because Dad told me to tell him that.”
My dad tried to set the superglue bottle down on the dresser, but it stayed stuck to his finger. He shook it really hard. But it stayed pasted to him. My mom reached over and pulled it off his skin.
“The garage,” I answered. Because that was where we kept important heavy-duty items, like hammers, and fire extinguishers, and ice melt. So I figured it would have the best glue.
“I think nail polish remover will get this off,” my mom said.
“No way!” I screamed. Because I liked my face. And I didn’t want to put chemicals on it. Plus, I needed to turn my map in today. And I was pretty sure nail polish remover wouldn’t improve it. And might possibly smear or even remove my labels.
“We need to call Dr. Turtle,” my mom said.
“Should I cancel work?” my dad asked.
I couldn’t believe how serious things had gotten. I didn’t have time to go to my pediatrician. I had to get to school. And turn in my map. And find out my outcome. Because Principal Hunt had said that was happening today.
“I can take Perry,” my mom said. “We don’t both need to go.”
My dad gently tugged at the northwest corner of my map.
“Ouch!” I said. “Don’t do that. You’ll rip off my face.” And that was when I really started to cry. Because my situation felt unfixable.
My dad let go of my map and exhaled a loud breath. “You shouldn’t have done this, Perry.”
“I understand that,” I said, wiping my nose with my pajama sleeve and inspecting my map in the mirror. Luckily, it looked like only the Boise Mountains were glued directly to my cheek. The valley didn’t have any glue on it. Neither did any of the rivers. So that part I could almost wiggle my finger underneath.
“Did you fall asleep next to your map?” my mom asked, still trying to figure out how I’d managed to do this.
“Apparently,” I said with a sniffle, holding back more tears.
My dad got on his phone and dialed Dr. Turtle’s office. “They’ve got to have somebody on call.”
“I really don’t want to miss school,” I said. Because it felt really important to learn what was going to happen to me. And turn in my map.
“You can’t go to school with a map on your face,” my mom said.
I looked in the mirror again. “Is there going to be a giant red mark when we get this sucker off?” I asked. Because I didn’t want to look weird. Even if it would be temporary.
“It probably depends on how they remove it,” my mom said.
“Really?” I heard my dad say. “The emergency room?”
I got tremendously scared when I heard those words, and I started crying again. Because that meant I had to go to the hospital. And that was where people went with serious medical problems. Had my topographic map become a serious medical problem? My dad walked back into the room. He looked a little pale.
“This is no joke,” my dad said. “This is a serious problem.”
“No!” I screamed. Because I didn’t want to have a serious problem that involved my face and my homework and the emergency room.
“Let’s leave it alone and maybe it will fall off on its own,” I suggested. Because watching nature shows and eating snacks on the couch and being filled with hope seemed like a way better way to spend the morning than going to the emergency room.
“We need to get dressed,” my dad said. “I’ll have Maryann push my schedule back.”
This was when I realized my situation was very terrible. Because my dad never pushed his schedule back. Except one time when he dislocated his knee.
I tried to gently separate some of the mountain range from my skin.
“Don’t do that,” my dad said. “You could scar your face.”
And when he told me this I cried even harder. Because I didn’t want a scarred face. I wanted my own face. Without a map on it.
“Everybody change and let’s go,” my dad said. “Move it.”
Tragically, I was only able to change my pants to go to the hospital, and I had to wear my turquoise pajama top with maraschino cherry juice stains on it. Because the neck area wouldn’t go over my head while a map was glued to me.
When we walked through the revolving door, I started to feel more panicked than ever. Because I saw somebody with a washrag against her head and it looked bloody. My mother guided me to the check-in window.
“My daughter superglued a cardboard map to her face,” she said. “Our pediatrician told us to come to the emergency room.”
“Tell them it’s worth ten percent of my grade,” I whimpered. I really wished I’d signed up for Idaho History next semester. My life would have been so much easier.
“Fill this out and leave your insurance card,” the woman said.
I looked at the woman with my uncovered eye. She seemed very sympathetic.
“We’ll get you in right away,” she said. “Dr. Salak will fix everything.”
I followed my mom to a chair and sat between my parents. I could feel tears rolling out of my eyes and down my face.
“Okay, honey,” my dad said. “This might sound harsh, but if you cry, you’re going to smear your river labels.”
And that was one of the saddest things anybody had ever told me. I looked at him with my only available eye and said, “This really sucks.”
“It’ll be over before you know it,” my dad said. “Once, a cat scratched your mom in the eye. And its claw nicked her cornea and she had to wear a patch and we sat in this exact waiting room. And look how well things turned out. Moments like this feel awful, but they end. Right?” My dad looked at my mom for confirmation.
She continued to fill out the paperwork. “I don’t know why you’d bring that up. I had to wear that stupid patch for a month and my eye ended up getting infected.”
My dad grimaced at that response and rubbed my back. “I forgot that part.”
I whimpered a little bit. “Do you think they’ll be able to save my map?”
My dad nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Phil,” my mom said in a tense voice. “Don’t write checks you can’t cash.” Then my mom looked at me and said, “If your map gets ruined, we’ll make a new one together.”
But that didn’t thrill me. Because I felt I should only have to make my map one time. After my mom turned in the papers we didn’t have to wait long at all.
“Perry Hall,” a nurse called from the hallway.
I raised my hand and stood up.
“Poor thing,” the nurse said. “Does it hurt? Or does it primarily just annoy you?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, trying not to cry any more.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “Dr. Salak is the best.”
I nodded as she led me to a cushioned table behind a curtain. Then she did a bunch of things quickly. She took my temperature. And my blood pressure. And she inspected the map with a superlong stick with a cotton tip on the end of it.
“I think bacitracin can fix this,” she said. “But I’ll let the doctor make that call.”
This worried me because bacitracin sounded like a terrible medicine that probably smelled and stung and I didn’t want to have that stuff touch me.
“We should have helped her,” my mom said. “I was distracted by my phone. I feel awful.”
I shook my head. “It’s okay. It was my homework. I should have worked on it sooner.”
I felt my mom hug me a little. “You are such a trouper.”
I was pretty relieved when Dr. Salak showed up, because things with my parents were feeling really mushy.
“So I hear you’ve run into problems with a homework assignment?” Dr. Salak said.
I was surprised that she wore cute blue clogs and silver hoop earrings. Because I thought all doctors wore ugly white shoes and zero jewelry.
“It’s worth ten percent of my grade,” I explained, pointing to my map.
“We think she fell asleep next to it,” my mom said.
“We didn’t know she was using superglue,” my dad offered. “We keep it in the garage. She really had to look for it.”
Dr. Salak put her hands up in front of her like she was surrendering. “No blam
e here. I just want to find a pain-free way to save this map and this beautiful face.”
“Thank you,” I said, smiling. Because getting compliments was always pleasant. Even in the emergency room.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Dr. Salak said, grabbing another long stick with a cotton tip. “We’ll apply bacitracin to the impacted areas. We’ll let that sit for an hour. Then we’ll be able to remove the map.”
“Will bacitracin feel like a deadly chemical to me?” I asked. “I mean, will it burn?” Because an hour was a long time to let a deadly chemical burn your face.
“You won’t feel anything. It doesn’t even smell,” Dr. Salak said. “It’s just very gooey and effective.”
But I still felt very anxious. “Will its goo smear my river labels?” I asked.
Dr. Salak smiled and shook her head. “I should be able to keep it away from any labeled areas.”
And it was like Dr. Salak was magic. Because she seemed to have the power to fix everything.
Applying the bacitracin was a totally painless experience. Sitting for an hour with my parents on the cushioned table was a little bit tougher.
“You can go to work,” my mother said.
“It’s fine. Maryann already pushed everything back,” my dad said. “Can I get anyone anything to eat from the vending machine?”
That was a great idea. I was surprised nobody had suggested that when we were in the waiting room staring at it and all its awesome junk food. “I’ll take a pack of powdered-sugar doughnuts,” I said.
“No,” my mother said. “They’ll get everywhere. You can have a granola bar.”
I don’t know why my mom was being so harsh. I mean, I was in the emergency room. If they offered powdered-sugar doughnuts in the vending machine, I figured the hospital was fine with them getting everywhere.
“Three granola bars?” my dad said.
“And a soda?” I asked.
My mother sighed. “You really don’t need that much sugar this early in the morning.”
I couldn’t believe my mom was acting like such a mom.
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