My Mother Was Never A Kid (Victoria Martin Trilogy)

by Francine Pascal

  “You’re really a pro, Victoria. You saved my life. Thanks. I’ll never forget you.”

  That’s the nicest thing my mother ever said to me. And right this second I think I love her more than I ever loved her in my whole life. I’m so glad I could do something so important for her. It makes me feel so puffed up I could explode. Now if only I didn’t have to climb back up that tree, life would be close to perfect.

  “Okay,” my mother says, handing Ted the two dollars in change. “That makes ten bucks even, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The deal is closed, right?”

  “Yeah,” the submoron grunts again.

  “In that case, I’d like to tell you something.”

  “Don’t bother.”

  “You’re a number-one pig.”

  “Up yours.”

  “Drop dead!”

  And he starts to leave. It’s a waste of time to insult jerks like Ted. Like talking at a toad.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” my mother calls after him. “You’ve got to help Victoria up the tree.”

  “Fat chance. Why should I help her?”

  “Because,” my mother says, “if you don’t well never get back, and then we’re certain to get caught, and if we do, guess who’s going to get found out too. That’s why.”

  Obviously the reason is good enough because he comes back. My mother scoots up the tree and over the railing.

  “Victoria, you start up the tree and I’ll grab you when you get close to the rim of the porch, okay?”

  I know I’ve said a million times how terrified I feel about climbing that tree, but this time the vibes are overpowering. I just know it’s going to snap. I know it, but what can I do? I have to get up to that room or I’ll blow the whole plan. Mr. Obnoxious puts his hands together to make a step for me. I’ve never been terrifically graceful, but in terror I’m a complete klutz. It takes me four tries before I can even get on to the tree. Now I have one foot wrapped around the trunk and one foot still on Ted’s hands. I get the sinking feeling that I may stay this way forever.

  “C’mon, Victoria, just a little higher and I can reach your hand.” My mother is trying to be encouraging, but I can’t get a firm hold on the tree in my bare feet, and that splinter in my hand is killing me, so I can’t get a good grip on the branch. I try to take my foot out of Ted’s hands and for a second I do, but then panic hits when he starts to move away and I kick out and my foot lands in his face.

  “Hey!” he says pretty loud. “What’re you doing!” And he shoves my foot hard and my whole body goes swaying to one side and the tree goes with it and … aiii … it’s … “Help!” I scream as the tree snaps and I go sprawling all over Ted, who’s knocked down under me, luckily breaking my fall. Two dollars’ worth of change goes flying all over the ground.

  “Victoria!” my mother shouts from the porch. “Are you okay?” And she leaps over the railing, lowers herself onto the edge of the porch until she’s hanging by her fingertips, then she lets go, dropping at least ten feet. She hits the ground lightly and rolls over to where I’m still flat out on top of Ted.

  Suddenly, from no place, bright searchlights blast us from all directions, bouncing and leaping over the three of us. In panic we all roll in different directions and scramble to our feet, trying to jump away from the blinding glare. One of the lights lands on me and I stop dead, pinned in the center. I can’t see who’s at the other end, but I can see that they’ve nailed my mother too. I don’t see Ted.

  “Okay, you kids, don’t move!” It’s a man barking out the command in a no-kidding voice. We don’t kid around. In fact, we don’t move an inch. At the sound of his voice lights go on all over my mother’s house and the house next door. Now the searchlights come closer and I can make out two men. I think to myself: Damn! They’re policemen and they’ve got guns and—you won’t believe this, but they’re pointing them at us!

  Fifteen

  “Please, Officer, don’t shoot. We live here,” my mother says, reaching out and taking my hand like I was her child and she was going to protect me. Unreal!

  “What are you doing here?” one of them says, and this time it’s more of a real question than a command, and before we can even answer they put their guns back in their holsters and lower the lights from our faces.

  “We didn’t know it was so late … we were just … well … we were …” My mother’s stumbling so I jump in.

  “… camping out.”

  “Yeah, that’s right, you know, in the great outdoors, under the stars and all that …” She’s wasting her time because by now the whole family’s out of the house along with all the next-door neighbors, and even the people two and three houses down have turned on their lights and opened their windows.

  The jig’s up, but that doesn’t stop dear old Mom. She just rambles on and on about the virtues of life on the prairie. (I think she said prairie but it doesn’t make any difference, I’m the only one listening.) All the while the two policemen are looking around, examining the money on the ground and the charity box propped up against the tree. That’s when I spot the test paper. It’s only about three feet from me. Nonchalantly I sort of slide over to the spot and reach down to pick it up, but one of the cops, a big fat guy, is too fast for me. He grabs it first.

  “My God! What happened! Felicia, are you all right? What’s happening?” By now my grandmother is out of the house and rushing toward us, grabbing this way and that way at her half-on robe.

  “It’s okay, Mommy, I can explain.” But nobody gives her a chance. My grandfather and grandmother are all over us in a second, all concerned, asking a million questions like, “What’s going on? What happened? Are you hurt? Did you fall? Why? Who? What?” And no stopping for explanations, which is just as well because the only explanation we have isn’t so hot.

  Cici keeps saying that we’re all right, we’re fine, nobody’s hurt, and all that. “I can explain if you just wait a minute, I’ll tell you the whole thing.”

  But that still doesn’t seem to calm my grandmother. “I don’t understand,” she says. “It’s the middle of the night. What are you doing in the backyard? Why aren’t you in bed?” And she turns to my grandfather like he knows the whole story. “What’s going on here, Ned?”

  “We’ll find out as soon as we let the girls get a word in, dear, and I suggest we do it inside.” My grandfather sensibly takes charge, just like he always does. “We’ll all go in the house and sit down calmly and talk. Come on, girls.” And he starts to lead us into the house.

  “One minute, please, people.” One of the policemen stops us. “We’ve got to straighten a few things out first. We got a call on breaking and entering from a Mr.”—the cop checks his notebook—“a Mr. Owens of 108-67 Eighty-eighth Road.”

  “That’s me, officer,” says one of the neighbors, looking very embarrassed as he pushes his way through what now must be a crowd of about ten or so curious neighbors. “I made that call. Sorry, Ned,” he says to my grandfather, “but it looked like robbers to me.”

  “You did the right thing, Tom. Thank heavens it was only the girls. But thanks anyway. We appreciate your trying to help.” And my grandfather shakes Tom’s hand just to show that he really is grateful. My grandfather’s good that way. He always tries to make people feel they’ve done the right thing, made the right choice. He’s always been so wise.

  The police take down some names and unimportant things like addresses and such, and then one of them says to my grandparents, “Looks like you people can handle this yourselves.” And my grandparents agree and thank them, and it’s all so nice and pleasant that I almost forget that we’re about to have our heads chopped off or something equally horrendous when they find out what really happened.

  Just as the police turn to leave, the fat one hands my grandfather the test paper. “You better take a look at this.” Then my grandfather does a weird thing. He hands the paper to my mother without even unfolding it.

  The police leave and t
he neighbors, seeing that the show is over for the night, start to drift into their houses. And then it hits me. Where’s Ted!

  I look behind me and all around but he’s not there. I see the surprised expression on my mother’s face and I know that she’s thinking the same thing. The rat’s disappeared. He must have slipped away in all the confusion. And with our eight dollars too! Typical!

  “Maybe you girls had better pick up that money before you come in,” says my grandfather. Meanwhile my grandmother switches on the outside lights so we can see better. They wait until we’ve retrieved most of the two dollars, then my grandfather tells us to come inside and we can get anything we’ve missed in the morning.

  “We’re missing almost twenty cents.” My mother is trying to stall. “Maybe I should get my flashlight and we’ll look around a little longer.” Something like about three or four weeks is probably what she has in mind, but my grandfather’s not buying it and picks up the charity box and says he wants us both in the living room this minute and that’s that.

  It really freaks me out to hear my grandfather giving orders like that. I mean, when he’s my real grandfather, years and years from now, he hardly ever gets angry at anyone, especially my mother or me. It’s a part of him I never saw and it really makes me nervous. Everyone troops into the house after him. He leads me right into the living room, and I can see that my mother’s even more nervous than I am and I don’t blame her. Boy, it’s really all over for her. I wish I could help her, but I can’t think of any way.

  My grandparents, looking very glum, take the two big easy chairs, and my mother and I squeeze together as close as possible in the center of the gigantic couch directly facing them. Uncle Steve plops himself down on the floor between the four of us so he doesn’t miss a thing. Nice to know someone is enjoying himself. I’m making a mental note to really hate him in the future or the past or whatever.

  “Well, go on, what happened?” Uncle Steve says, practically drooling at the mouth.

  “That’ll be enough, Steven. If you want to stay, I don’t want to hear another word out of you. Is that clear?”

  Hooray for you, Grandma!

  And she snaps out another few mother phrases that shut him up instantly. I think he’d rather die than miss this.

  “All right, Felicia,” says my grandfather, and you can see he’s bracing himself for the worst, which is only about half as bad as he’s going to get. “Start at the beginning.”

  There’s a terrible silence for about thirty seconds, then my mother says, “Uhhh, …” takes a deep breath, and looks at me.

  Oh my God! I have to do something. She’s counting on me.

  “It was my fault.” I leap in. “I mean, well, I met this boy at the party and I was … I was sneaking out to see him, and then Cici … I mean, Felicia …” I don’t know what I’m saying, but it doesn’t matter because nobody’s buying it anyhow.

  “Thanks, anyway, Victoria.” My mother gives me the tiniest of smiles, “but I want it to be over …” And then, practically pleading, “I can’t stand how awful it makes me feel.”

  I should have known. The way she acted at the time it didn’t seem to bother her that much, but I should have guessed how much agony she was going through just from how sick it made me feel inside.

  “Mom.” She turns to my grandmother, and you can barely hear her. “I’ve never been so ashamed of anything in my whole life. It’s terrible …”

  Now she buries her face in her hands, and all I want to do is put my arms around her and hug her tight. But then, all by herself, she sort of pulls herself together, and you can see she’s determined to get it over with once and for all.

  And she does.

  Even Uncle Steve takes it seriously. As for my grandparents, they look positively crushed. That’s the worst part, the look on their faces. Oh, my poor mother, what’s going to happen to her? I mean, I know nobody’s going to beat her or anything like that, but how is she ever going to get their trust again? I know not graduating is horrible, but hurting your parents that badly and destroying their faith in you is worse, the worst thing in the world.

  My grandmother doesn’t say anything. She’d be the one hollering if it was just a small bit of mischief, but this is too serious, and she looks at my grandfather, who always takes charge when a big crisis comes along. Finally he says, “I’m thoroughly ashamed of you, Felicia. So is your mother. I never thought you’d do anything dishonest. That’s what’s so disappointing—your dishonesty.”

  When my grandmother hears that, tears come to her eyes. She doesn’t shout or even seem to be angry, but she looks crushed, like her heart is really breaking apart. She pulls her handkerchief out of her robe pocket and pretends she’s not really crying, just blowing her nose. Nobody gets fooled.

  “I can’t believe it, Ned.” She’s almost pleading with my grandfather. “There must be some other explanation. There has to be … I know my child and she couldn’t do anything like this. I just know it….”

  “Felicia?” My grandfather turns to Cici, and you can see he’s hoping my grandmother is right.

  “It’s true…. I wish so hard it wasn’t. But it is.”

  “Oh my God …” Now my grandmother isn’t even trying to cover her tears.

  “Please, Mom, don’t,” Cici says softly. “I know apologies won’t help anything, but I’m sorry. I’ve never been so sorry for anything in my life.” Then her voice gets stronger and calmer. “And I’m going to go to school and tell them the whole story. It’s the only way I can make things right with myself and with you.”

  “No, you can’t do that,” says my grandfather. “You’ll have no chance of graduating if you do that. Take your chances on the test. It may have been your intention to cheat, but you haven’t yet. I don’t think we need to make this a wide-open scandal. Maybe your mother and I can get the test postponed for you for a few extra days. We’ll talk to your teacher on Monday morning.”

  “Please don’t, Daddy,” Cici says. “It’s not just the test I’m thinking about. It’s even more important than that—it’s—I don’t know, I suppose it’s my honor, or whatever you’ve got that makes people trust you. I have to prove that I still have it. Even in the beginning I knew this was more serious than cutting a class or some of the other crazy things all the kids do. This wasn’t kid’s stuff, and now that it’s all blown apart, I can’t duck it like a kid.” And then she turns to me and says, “I mean you have to start taking responsibility sometime.”

  All this time she’s talking I’m thinking that she certainly doesn’t sound like a kid. She sounds like a mature adult and really intelligent, and I’m very proud that she’s my mother, even if she is only fourteen.

  My grandfather studies her a minute. “This is a pretty grave affair,” he says. “Are you sure you understand the consequences?”

  “No, I’m not sure,” says Cici. “But I suppose it’s time for me to start learning.”

  My grandfather and grandmother exchange a glance. There’s just the tiniest bit of a smile on my grandmother’s face, and I see my grandfather nod his head. “Okay, Felicia,” he says, and his voice is softer now. “Everybody makes mistakes. Even grown-ups. Admitting them and correcting them is what’s important and you’re doing a very brave thing.”

  “That’s the way I feel too, Felicia,” says my grandmother as she stands up and holds out her arms. My mother rushes into them and turns to be embraced by my grandfather.

  “Just remember we’re in your corner and we’ll help you any way we can,” he says. “And I think right at this moment both your mother and I are pretty proud of your decision.”

  Even Uncle Steve, who hasn’t said a word, looks kind of impressed. And so am I. I don’t know why there’s a little lump in my throat, but there is. I know it’s very bad, what she did, but still, to confess the whole story to the teacher because of her honor—it takes more guts than I would have, that’s for sure.

  “I’ll go with you if you want, Cici.” That’s
me speaking. Right now I’d do anything in the world to help her.

  “Would you, Victoria? I’d really appreciate that.” And she sort of smiles and I feel sensational.

  “Do you realize what time it is?” There goes my grandmother sounding like a regular mother again. “It’s almost two A.M. and these children are still up. All three of you, into bed this instant.”

  “Boy, she really screwed up my whole night and I’ve got an important ball game tomorrow morning. How am I going to pitch without any sleep?” Uncle Steve is back in action again.

  “Same as usual—lousy,” says Cici, and my grandmother says the usual things, and we seem to be back to normal. We all go up to bed, and I can see that it’s not really back to normal at all. Cici’s got this horrendous thing hanging over her head, and on top of that she’s headed for eighth grade all over again. What a nightmare!

  As soon as we get into her room she starts to change into her pj’s, all the time looking away from me. I guess she’s crying. I wish I could say something that would make her feel better, but I can’t think of anything that isn’t silly or obviously baloney.

  Without turning toward me, she hands me the folded test paper. “Here, you keep this. I don’t ever want to see it again.” Then, still hiding her face, she snaps out the light.

  “Good night, Victoria. I’m sorry your visit turned out so badly.” Even in the dark I can tell she’s still crying.

  “I really liked being here, Cici, I just wish there was something I could do to help you.”

  “Thanks. You were really keen the way you tried to take the blame. I won’t forget that ever … ever. Victoria?”

  “Yes?”

  “I know this is nutty, ’cause I’ve just met you, but right now you’re the best friend I have in the whole world. I feel I could tell you anything.”

  “Me too,” I answer, but it’s not true because I know that I can’t tell her the most important thing. I just can’t. So I don’t say anything else and neither does she, and after a while my mind begins to quiet down and just as it starts to turn gray outside, I drift off to sleep.