“Watch it, little lady,” Mom said sternly as she reached over and rubbed her knuckles over my head.
“Ouch.” I huffed and pushed her hand away with my foot. “What was this big idea you had, anyway?”
She looked excited again as she remembered what she had burst in here to tell me in the first place. “I spoke with the Flap-Jackeroos. I told them all about you and how you love to play the guitar, and we thought it would be wonderful if you joined them for a song.” She threw her hands over her mouth and let out a little squeak like she had just said the most exciting thing of all time.
I scowled. Seriously, this again? “I don’t think so, Mom.”
Her face fell, and I felt bad for a moment about disappointing her. “Why not?”
“I’m not going to go up on stage so people can come gawk at the girl with no arms playing the guitar. I’m not some circus show.”
Mom’s face was instantly furious. “Aven!” She looked appalled at what I said, and I immediately felt guilty for having said it. “How can you say that? I wanted you to join them for a song because of how proud I am to have you for my daughter, because I want everyone to see how amazing you are, not because I want to make a spectacle of you. What’s the matter with you?”
“Everything,” I said. “Everything is the matter with me.” I got off the bed and stormed out of the apartment.
I walked around Main Street as the sky turned dark, ignoring the few visitors who still ambled around. I didn’t want to go home. I kicked the dirt and huffed and sulked as I wandered aimlessly. I sulked about my fight with Connor. I sulked about hating school. I sulked about missing my old school and friends. But mostly I sulked because Connor was right—I was disabled and no one would ever see me as anything else. I would never be able to do all the things everyone else could do. I would never be able to be a surgeon or an astronaut or an actress, no matter how angrily I proclaimed I would be.
I stopped when I saw Spaghetti and pressed my head to his. “You’re the only one who understands me,” I whispered.
I continued walking around until I got to an old wagon that sat in a quiet corner of the park. I climbed into it and sat down. I stayed there all through dinner until Dad walked up and got into the wagon with me.
“Mom’s worried about you,” he said. “She saved you a plate of spaghetti.”
I humphed as dramatically as I could. “I’m not in the mood for spaghetti.”
“Me neither,” he agreed. “You know she didn’t even remove his fur. Gross. Do I have a llama hair in my tooth?” Dad pushed his lips up and leaned in about an inch from my face to show me his teeth.
“Ha-ha,” I said. “I happen to know he’s right over there in the petting zoo and was not the main entrée at dinner. So go tell your bad jokes somewhere else.”
He sat next to me quietly for a long time, and I could almost hear his mind working, trying to come up with something to talk about. Finally, he said, “I heard soccer tryouts are day after tomorrow.”
“Oh, you heard soccer tryouts are day after tomorrow?”
“Yes, I heard after I called the school several times and put the date on my calendar a few weeks ago and called again today to make sure it was still correct and then put a reminder in my phone.”
“I’m not trying out for soccer, Dad.”
“Oh, I don’t think you should try out. No way. I just thought I’d mention it so you would know to avoid the tryouts. I wouldn’t want you to accidentally stumble into a soccer tryout and accidentally make it onto the team or something like that.” He tapped the side of the wagon. “That would be awful.”
I frowned as hard as I could beside him. I wasn’t going to let him destroy my terrible mood.
“It sure is a beautiful night,” he said. “Look at all those stars.”
I looked up. “What stars?” I snorted. “You can’t see any stars in this stupid city.”
“Look right over there.” He pointed at the sky. “I see one right there.”
I rolled my eyes. “I think that’s a planet, Dad.”
“Oh, yeah. I think you’re right. Jupiter?”
“I think so.” I turned my head to another light in the sky. “That might be Venus.”
Dad looked at me. “What’s wrong, Sheebs?”
I sighed and bit my lip. “I just . . . I feel so messed up right now. I wish my life were simple like everyone else’s. Do you think . . . ” I bit down harder on my lip, trying to keep it from quivering.
“Do I think what, honey?”
“Do you think it would have taken two years for someone to adopt me if I had arms?”
“I think it would have taken about two seconds for someone to adopt you if we’d have found you sooner, arms or no arms. You were our daughter and you were waiting for us. That’s all there is to it.”
“I just wish I were like everyone else.”
He stared at me for a while. “Now that’s a terrible thought.”
I scowled. “How is that terrible? Connor wants to be like everyone else.” I tried my best to keep the tears from spilling out by not blinking. “And so do I.”
Dad put his arm around me. “Why do you want to be like everyone else?”
Despite my best efforts, a tear broke loose and slid down my cheek. “So I can wear cute tank tops and play the guitar at the festival and not worry about everyone staring at me all the time.” I took a deep breath. “So I don’t have to eat in the bathroom ever again.”
Dad furrowed his eyebrows. “And why do you have to eat in the bathroom, Aven?”
I wiped at my cheek with my shoulder. “Because I don’t want the other kids to see me.”
Dad sighed deeply and looked back up at the sky. “Those lights up there . . . they’re not like anything else in the sky.” He looked at me. “But they shine the brightest.”
I sniffled. “That’s so cheesy, Dad.”
He laughed. “It may sound cheesy, but it’s true.” He squeezed me tightly to him and made a ridiculous wise look, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “No one lights a lamp and hides it under a basket. They put it on a table so it can shine for all to see.”
I rolled my eyes. I’m sure it pleased him to no end to incorporate a Sunday school lesson into our discussion. “Okay, Dad. I’ll go sit on a table.”
He kissed the top of my head. “Don’t be like everyone else, Aven. Be you.”
“And what is that exactly? A table lamp?”
“No, not a table lamp.” He poked me in the ribs, causing me to squirm beside him. “A light who shines for all to see.” He tilted my chin to look up at him. “A light who doesn’t hide in the bathroom.”
He got down from the wagon. “Come home when you’re ready. Just know Mom will be pacing the floor until you get there.”
I smiled a little and hunched down in the wagon until I was sure he couldn’t see me over the rim. I heard him chuckle and walk away. I looked at the wall of the wagon next to me and noticed someone had scratched something into it.
I eased my foot slowly out of my flat and ran my shaking toes over the engraved words. Inside of what looked like a heart, someone had written Aven was here.
I thought back to that first box Connor and I had found in the storage room and the letters on it: A, V, N. Connor had been right all along.
Aven. Not Cavanaugh.
I sat with Zion out on the sidewalk at lunchtime the next day.
“Do you know where Connor’s been?” he asked, popping a potato chip into his mouth. He offered me one and I took it from him with my toes. “I haven’t seen him the last couple of days.”
I stared down at my lunch, slowly chewing the potato chip. “I don’t know.”
“What’s wrong?” Zion asked.
“Why would anything be wrong?”
“How come you don’t know where he is?”
“It’s not like I know where he is at all times.” I snorted. “I’m not his all-the-time-watcher . . . person.”
Zion raised an eye
brow at me. “Aven,” he said in a scolding tone.
I sighed. “Okay, fine. We got in a fight.”
“What about?”
I shrugged. “He hurt my feelings. I hurt his feelings. So everyone’s feelings got hurt. That’s all.” I looked up at him. “It was a misunderstanding.”
“You better fix it,” Zion said.
“I can’t fix anything if I can’t find him.”
“He’s got to come back to school at some point.”
“And when he does . . . ” I trailed off. What would happen then?
“And when he does?” Zion prompted.
“And when he does, I’ll make it right.”
I walked into the Saloon and Steakhouse after school and sat at the bar. The bartender, fully bedecked in cowboy gear (even though I knew he was just a regular old college student), raised an eyebrow at me. “Give me a stiff one, Charlie,” I said.
I could tell he was holding back a smile. “Aven, you know you can’t sit at the bar.”
I groaned and dropped my head forward onto the old wooden bar. My forehead hit the shiny, polished oak with a loud thump. “It’s a stupid rule,” I muttered, pressing my forehead to the cold wood.
“It’s not my rule,” Charlie said. “It’s the . . . what’s that thing called? Oh, yeah, the law. It’s the law.” He pointed at a nearby table. “Go sit over there and I’ll bring you your drink.”
I got down from the barstool, dragging my forehead off the bar as I went. “You better put extra cherries in it today,” I said, flopping down at the table.
A minute later, Charlie placed my drink in front of me. “One sarsaparilla for the forlorn redhead. Extra maraschino cherries. ”
I frowned. “What makes you think I’m forlorn?”
He touched my forehead. “You’ve got a big fat red spot on your face from bashing it on the bar.” He walked back behind the counter to tend to a couple of customers.
I sadly swigged down my sarsaparilla through the straw Charlie had kindly provided. When the drink was nearly gone, I made deliberate slurping sounds as I tried to get the last of it up. The people at the bar stared at me, but I didn’t care; I slurped louder. I think I was trying to drown out the sounds of the annoying player piano, which I wanted to kick to death at the moment.
“Now that is the most theatrical display of melodramatics I have ever seen in my life.”
I looked up and found Josephine standing in front of me. I sat back from my empty drink. “Sorry,” I mumbled.
Josephine pulled out a chair and sat down across from me. “You want to tell me what’s the matter?”
I shrugged. “Why would you think something’s the matter?” I asked, frowning so hard it hurt the muscles in my face.
“Oh, I don’t know. Could be you’ve been moping around this place for the last few days like someone died.”
“No one died.” I stared at the red-and-white, plastic checkerboard tablecloth. “My friend is mad at me.”
“Oh,” she said. “The one who barks all the time?”
I nodded.
“You two seem to be pretty good pals. I’m sure ya’ll will work it out.”
I raised my eyes and looked at Josephine. I realized I knew absolutely nothing about her except that she had worked at Stagecoach Pass since it opened. Despite seeing her all the time, she was always too busy to ever speak to me. I didn’t want to lose this chance to get any information I could. “Do you have a family, Josephine?” I asked her.
She looked surprised at the question. “Uh, no. No, I don’t.”
“Have you ever been married?”
She smiled. “Never had time for that nonsense.”
I nodded in agreement. “I don’t think I ever will either.”
She laughed. “Only thirteen and already knows she won’t ever marry.” She slapped the table. “It figures.”
“What figures?”
Josephine looked like I had just caught her letting out a gigantic fart or something. “Oh, nothing. Just young people these days.”
I stared at her. “You’ve worked here a long time, haven’t you?”
“Yep. Just about sixty years.”
“Wow,” I said. “That’s so long.”
“Yes, it is.
“And you’ve always worked in the restaurant?”
“Oh, no. I’ve done all kinds of jobs around here. Just about everything there is to do.”
“Were you ever the fortune-teller?” I asked.
She laughed. “Well, maybe not everything there is to do.”
“Why do you stay here?”
She drummed her fingers on the plastic tablecloth. “I guess I like it here.”
I studied her face. “So you were here in 1973 then?”
She stopped drumming her fingers and tilted her head a little. “Sure. Why?”
“Do you remember a girl who was here? A girl who looked just like me but with arms? I know this sounds crazy, but I think her name was Aven, too.”
This seemed to make Josephine uncomfortable. She shifted in her seat. “I don’t . . . I don’t really recall.” She pushed away from the table and stood up.
“You know who I’m talking about, don’t you?”
“I really got to get back to work,” she told me. “Those cowboy beans won’t serve themselves.”
“Wait!”
But she was already gone.
The next day after school, I made my way to the bus, hoping I would find Connor on it. Instead, I found Dad standing in front of it, waiting for me.
“What are you doing here, Dad?” I asked him.
“I brought you this.” He lifted a bag he had strapped over his shoulder and hung it around my neck. “It’s got your shorts and T-shirt in it, shin guards, and Mom ordered you brand new cleats with Velcro.”
I sighed. “Dad, I—”
“I’m not saying you have to go try out,” he said. “I’m just giving you the option. You can either turn around and make your way to the field over there or you can carry this bag onto the bus and go home.” He kissed my forehead. “It’s your choice, Sheebs.” I watched him walk away.
I stood there on the sidewalk as the kids poured into the buses, my soccer bag hanging around my neck, still hoping I might see Connor.
I had loved soccer from that very first kick in second grade. I was so good at it, it almost felt like I was cheating because I use my feet for my hands and you’re not allowed to use your hands in soccer. But don’t tell anyone.
Soccer ended up being the good bonding experience Dad had always wanted for us. He would practice with me at home after school, and we would watch soccer games on TV together (after The Lone Ranger, of course). We had fun cheering on Brazil. I don’t know why we cheered on Brazil, but I think it was because they call it football instead of soccer. Dad said that made so much more sense. I asked him what football would be called, then, if soccer was called football. “Man smash,” he said.
Dad and I weren’t the only ones who loved it, though. Mom always came to all my games. She was like one of those embarrassing crazy people you hear about who take kids’ sports way too seriously. She would constantly yell at my coach and my coach would threaten to ban her from the games. The coach was my dad.
“You getting on or what, Aven?” the bus driver asked, startling me.
It was hard to think about putting myself out there again, trying to be a part of a new team, at a new school, with a new coach. Everyone watching me. But there are a lot of hard things in life. Who would I be if I gave up when things got hard?
I’ll tell you who I’d be—the Queen of Sheba.
I looked up at the bus driver. “Not today,” I told him and turned and walked away.
I dropped my bag onto the bench by the field and walked over to a cluster of soccer balls. I pulled one out of the group with my foot and started dribbling it around slowly. I glanced at a small group of girls who were also trying out for the team. They were all talking and laughing together.
“Hi,” I heard someone say from behind me. I stopped the ball with my foot and turned around—it was the girl I had briefly spoken with in science class on my first day of school. She had her long brown hair pulled up in a ponytail. “Aven, right?” she said.
I breathed heavily from working with the ball. “That’s right.”
“I’m Jessica,” she said, tightening her pony tail. “We were watching you with the ball.”
My stomach sank. Of course they were watching me. I tried not to let my shoulders slump. “Oh?”
“You’re really good. How long have you been playing?”
“Oh,” I said, a little more brightly. “Since about second grade. How about you?”
“This is my second year. I’m sure you’ll make the team.”
I hoped my smile wasn’t so big that I looked spastic. “You think so?”
“Definitely. You have really good control over the ball.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re going to love being on the soccer team,” Jessica went on, like I had already made it. “It’s so fun when we have away games. Last year we did makeovers on the bus, and we prank-called Coach Fuller on her cell phone from the back. That’s her over there.” Jessica pointed at a short, stout, gray-haired woman, who was intensely studying a piece of paper on the other side of the field. “After like the tenth time we did it, she started yelling, ‘I’m going to call the cops on you, you hoodlum!’ Everyone on the bus could hear her.” She laughed. “It was hilarious. Olivia filmed her on her phone.” She gestured at the group of girls. I assumed one of them was Olivia. “We’ll show you the video. It’s so funny.”
“That sounds like fun,” I said. “I hope I make it.”
“You’ll love it. We also have pizza parties, and last year we had a team slumber party.”
Coach Fuller called us over to get started.
“I guess we’d better go,” I said to Jessica.
She smiled at me. “Yeah, let’s go.” She motioned for me to follow her, and even though I walked beside her on the way to the coach, I felt more like dancing.
Insignificant Events in the Life of a Cactus Page 13