“My mom?” I was a bit confused but too concerned about leaving the line open to get into it. “She’s not here. May I have her call you back?” I asked.
“Well, in that case, may I have her cell phone number?” he asked, which made me reconsider the possibility that persistence is a symptom of the whole loudyitis syndrome. “Lola really wants to talk to her.”
“Do you think it can wait? My mom’s driving around the neighborhood in a complete panic. Lola’s missing, and she’s out looking for her,” I said before clicking off the phone.
That’s when I realized that there was something off about that exchange. I called Jeremy right back.
“Did you just say that Lola really wants to talk to my mother?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Why are you hanging out with Lola?” I asked.
“I wasn’t planning on it. But when I saw the guard escorting her out of the movie theater, I asked her if she was with you. Then the guard asked me if I knew her and I said yes and he had me call you. Well, your mother.”
None of this story made sense. So I had Jeremy put Lola on the phone so she could explain it to me.
“Hi, Lola,” I said.
She didn’t answer me, but I recognized the sound of heavy breathing.
“Lola, this is Raisin. Remember me?”
Again no words, just the familiar sound of mucus bubbles popping.
I gave up after a couple more tries and told Jeremy to wait at the theater with her. Then I called my mother and told her what had happened. She walked through the door half an hour later with Lola safe and sound, though dressed very poorly in one of my mother’s blazers. Now don’t get me wrong, I like a nice shrunken blazer as much as the next guy, but the fit was all wrong. As they say in the fashion industry (and you know who they are) that blazer was wearing her.
We all had so many questions for Lola, but she wouldn’t say a word. Probably because she was in shock. Though possibly because her people have advised her against it. So we’re not sure exactly what happened, but here’s a timeline we pieced together:
4:oo Horace leaves for the airport.
4:o1 Mom and Sam fall into a black hole of consciousness, thereby freeing Lola to do whatever she pleases, be it taking in a bus ride and a late-afternoon movie or detonating a homemade bomb.
4:o2 Thankfully she chooses the bus ride.
4:o9 She prepares for her outing by picking out a jacket to wear. After all, this is a special occasion.
4:11 She leaves the house.
4:25 She sees the bus stopping at the bus shelter. She gets on board.
4:35 She sees the Merion Cineplex from the bus window and gets off.
4:36 She enters the theater for a 4:4o showing of Space Monkeys.
4:37 She takes an empty seat next to a family of four.
4:57 Previews end. Space Monkeys begins.
5:13 Lola enjoys the show. Monkeys are her favorite.
5:13 The family of four notices Lola. Realize she doesn’t belong to them. Or anyone else in the theater. They call security guard.
5:14 Security guard removes Lola from the premises.
5:15 Jeremy is in lobby, on line to buy popcorn. He recognizes Lola. Says something along the lines of, “Officer, I can explain.”
5:15 Loudly.
5:16 Guard says, “That’s great, but I’m not an officer.”
5:17 Jeremy calls my house.
5:19 My mother drives over to theater to pick up Lola.
As good a job as we’ve done piecing bits and pieces together, there are still some gaps in the story. And it might just stay that way. Because as I said before, Lola isn’t talking.
Gaps:1. How she got on the bus without money
2. How she got into the theater without money
3. How she knew what time the movie was playing—that chubby little firecracker can’t read or tell time
4. How she managed to come out of the situation unkidnapped and unkilled
I’m glad Lola is okay. I was really worried about her. I started imagining my life without her, and it was almost too bleak to bear. All I saw was a seventh-grader with divorced parents, a life divided between two coasts, and a boyfriend who doesn’t get me.
. . . Surprisingly similar to my life now, but no Lola.
PS—We never got around to opening my gifts, but I’m not going to say anything. Because that would be tacky and insensitive.
PSS—Plus I was already able to determine that inside the big box is the very pair of lace-up knee-high boots I’ve been eyeing at Giselle’s.
PPSS—Which is such great timing. They should go perfectly with the corduroy skinny jeans that were in the medium bag. Then again, those boots would look good with anything. Even the Burger King crown inside the Taco Bell bag.
Comments:
Logged in at 11:07 PM, EST
PiaBallerina: I’m so glad Lola’s okay. I can’t believe how long it’s been since I’ve seen her. She must be so precious now.
Logged in at 11:10 PM, EST
kweenclaudia: That lola sounds like a smarty-pants. we really ought to start thinking about ways to take advantage of her intelligence. Showbiz? Is she lucky too? Maybe game shows . . .
Logged in at 11:11 PM, EST
Siobhan99: Two words: Jeremy Craine.
PS—It’s 11:11! I love 11:11!
Friday, December 31
8:32 AM, EST
What’s new, Pussycats?
Note to Vivvy—can you be a little more explicit in your comments? I have no idea what you’re trying to tell me. Pia and Claud, help her out, will ya?
You may or may not be wondering what I’m doing up so early on the next-to-last day of my Christmas break.
Allow me to explain.
The paparazzi have been at my house since six o’clock this morning.
Is there a movie star in our midst? The pope, perhaps? The royal family, maybe?
No. No. And no. All good answers. None of them correct.
The reason the paparazzi are here is because of Lola Rodriguez. They all want her picture for the local papers. News cameras are here too.
Can you believe it? I take the bus all the time and go to the movies at least once a week, but does anyone want my picture? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
But Lola accidentally gets on a bus, and judging by the crowd outside, you’d think she’d figured out the secret to time travel. Meanwhile, my mom and Horse Ass don’t want to cooperate with the press, so everyone is just staying camped out on my front lawn.
I’m really glad I decided to change my ticket back so I could be home for an intimate family New Year’s.
10:09 AM, EST
You know how they tell adults don’t drive drunk?
I have another one to add to that list: don’t dial depressed.
I just made the mistake of calling CJ because I thought maybe, just maybe, it would cheer me up.
El wrongomundo . . .
Not only was he still unclear on the date for Roman’s New Year’s Eve party, I think he might also have a crush on my four-year-old sister.
“She must be a very extraordinary child,” he said after I finished telling him that because of Lola’s bus ride, hardly anyone has spoken a word to me since I came home yesterday.
“Yeah, but she was only gone for about an hour and a half. I was gone for a week!” I told him.
“Are you sure she didn’t have an adult with her? A babysitter or cousin who had to leave the theater abruptly without notice?” he asked.
“DO YOU WANT ME TO PUT HER ON THE PHONE? YOU CAN ASK HER YOURSELF!” I snapped. “OR MAYBE I CAN ARRANGE A PLAYDATE BETWEEN THE TWO OF YOU!” My voice cracked. “I gotta go,” I told him, and hung up the phone.
I don’t know what I was thinking. I should have called Lynn or Fippy, but for some reason it was CJ whose sympathy I wanted. I guess I thought that’s what boyfriends were for. Boy, was I misguided. And on top of that, I almost definitely ruined things between us. Now even if
I wanted to stay with him, he probably wouldn’t want to stay with me. He’ll probably break up with me tonight. That is, if he can remember that tonight is the New Year’s Eve party. I can understand his confusion, seeing as tonight also happens to be New Year’s Eve. I guess with all the math equations and science projects and violin concertos swirling around in his brain, there’s no room left for an idea as simple as a New Year’s Eve party actually falling on New Year’s Eve.
10:16 AM, EST
I can’t believe I finally got myself a boyfriend and we’re probably going to break up on New Year’s Eve! Now who am I going to kiss when the clock strikes twelve?
11:07 AM, EST
Has everyone around me gone mental? One of the photographers started throwing rocks at my bedroom window. I told Horse Ass and he called a family conference down in the basement where no one could bother us. I was unaware that we had family meetings. But when an event as life changing as a child getting on a bus takes place, I guess all the rules have got to change.
“We need to present a united front,” HA started. He had put folding chairs around the Ping-Pong table and was seated at the head.
“Hold on,” I said, raising my hand.
“Yes, Raisin,” HA said, nodding at me the way the president does at his reporters during one of those press conferences on TV.
“Shouldn’t we wait for Lola?” I asked.
“She’s right here.” HA pointed to the seat next to him. It looked empty, so I stood up to get a better view. Sure enough, Lola was sitting in the chair next to him. Only her head didn’t reach the table. Plus she was sitting in complete silence, which also made her presence harder to detect. She still hasn’t uttered a word since they found her. My mother says she’s in a state of shock.
“Those reporters just want to take advantage of this story because it’s local and they’re all anxious to get home early and start celebrating.” The more HA spoke, the more red his face got. He started to pace. “But that’s not our problem. We don’t have to give them what they want, no matter how hard they try and make us. This is a private family matter. Understood?”
We all nodded.
“Any questions?” HA looked around the table, slowly taking his time to lock eyes with each one of us. Either he was making sure we were all clear on how to proceed or he was stalling for time—the whole family conference took less than sixty seconds and when someone uses the word conference, people expect at least sixty-one.
When no one responded, HA let us go.
I’m going to Lynn’s house to watch her and Fippy put blue streaks in their hair. At least they don’t care about Lola.
5:16 PM, EST
Lynn and Fippy want Lola to come to the New Year’s party. They want to study her mind! Why is everyone out to get me? And furthermore, why does it have to be her genius that got her on that bus? It’s not smart for a four-year-old to get on a bus. Think of the consequences. She could have gotten lost! Hurt! Abducted! Photographed in that unflattering jacket!
And if I feel this way, then why did I even bother telling Lynn and Fippy about Lola, you ask?
I DIDN’T! I answer.
IT WAS ON THE AFTERNOON NEWS!
I arrived at Lynn’s house shortly after leaving mine through the back entrance—so as to keep this “family matter” “private” by avoiding the reporters.
“Get down here,” Lynn shouted to me from her basement as soon as her mother let me in. “Horse Ass is on TV with Sam, Lola, and your mom.”
I ran down the stairs. “That’s impossible,” I shouted. “He just finished telling us not to give the press what they—”
But then I saw them. Mom, Sam, Lola, and Horse Ass. ON LIVE TELEVISION!
WITHOUT ME!
They were all laughing and joking about how kids will “stop at nothing to see Space Monkeys.” Well, all except for Lola, who has not spoken for a record twenty hours and counting.
“This is like free advertising for that movie,” Lynn said as she flipped the channels. My family was on all four local news shows.
“Maybe Lola’s a mole for the movie company,” Fippy added.
I sat down in between them on the couch as they discussed theories as to how the movie executives were able to program Lola all the way from Los Angeles.
“Maybe they started back in July, when Lola was still living in Berkeley,” Fippy concluded.
“It’s such a sad commentary on the world we live in . . .” Lynn added. If she had any doubts about Fippy’s theory, she wasn’t letting on. “Just a cryin’ shame.”
“You can say that again,” I said. Lynn and Fippy both turned toward me and nodded in agreement. “I mean, how sad is it?! Television cameras in my very own living room! Just minutes after I leave the house. That’s what I get for listening to Horse Ass.”
After the news was finished, I helped Lynn and Fippy dye their hair. They’re both much more excited for tonight than I am—I hope everyone doesn’t want to just talk about Lola.
7:16 PM, EST
It’s almost time to leave for Roman’s party. I’m really not in the mood. If people so much as mention Lola, I’m just going to say, “No comment.”
In fact, that’s what I’ll say to anyone who tries to bring up anything I don’t want to discuss.
It’s brilliant!
7:34 PM, EST
It works! My mom just asked me if I was ready to go. So I went downstairs to put my coat on, wearing my new boots and velvet jeans.
“You opened your presents without us?” she asked, using her how dare you voice.
So I said, “No comment.”
“Fair enough,” she answered, and that was the end of that.
“No comment” is the solution to all my problems. I’ll never get in trouble again.
7:36 PM, EST
Well, maybe only once more.
“Horace and I are going to a party for a few hours tonight, and then one of us will pick you up. What time does your party end?” my mom asked as we put on our coats. A question that was a lot more complex than she probably realized. With everything that’s going on with CJ and the added heinousity of recent Lola-related events, I might want to escape the party at 8:o1. Then again, if CJ magically turns back into Prince Charming and no one turned on the local news this afternoon, I might never want to leave.
“No comment,” I said.
“Raaaaaisinnnnnn.” Her eyes blazed with anger. “I let it slide the first time. Don’t make me regret it.
It was nice while it lasted.
Comments:
Logged in at 9:54 PM, EST
PiaBallerina: Oh, Raise, we’ll miss you tonight. Try to have fun at your party, though. Otherwise it’ll be doubly annoying that you’re not here.
Logged in at 9:59 PM, EST
kweenclaudia: NO COMMENT.
Logged in at 10:00 PM, EST
kweenclaudia: Ha! Just foolin’ ya. Happy New Year’s! (Maybe you should break up with CJ after the clock strikes twelve. You know . . . just to get in that final smooch.)
Logged in at 10:18 PM, EST
Siobhan99: je re my
PS—Aloha!
Saturday, January 1
1:03 PM EST
Happy New Year’s to All the Kittens in Kittenland,
I’m beginning to think I am what they call an odd bird. Unless it’s normal not to know you like someone until his tongue is in your mouth. But if that’s the case, then shouldn’t people walk around sticking their tongues in other people’s mouths on a daily basis? It would be a great time-saver.
Note to the Hiltons: Other sayings to work on:1. A warning that the person you think you love is actually the person you barely like much at all and the person you think is a little annoying is actually the person you might love
2. A reminder that not talking much isn’t necessarily better than talking extra loudly and long lashes aren’t necessarily better than freckles and a violin in a shopping bag isn’t necessarily better than macadamia nuts in a can an
d that cartoonist isn’t necessarily better than guest editor
3. And vice versa
But I digress.
Allow me to gress:
The first person I saw when I got to the party was none other than CJ Mullen. I was walking down the stairs, and he was standing at the landing. All I saw was the back of his head, but I knew those beautiful lashes were still growing out of the front of his head and I could tell they looked extra good tonight. CJ cleans up well.
My stomach dropped. My hands were shaking. There was no way I could face him in the shape I was in. So I ran toward the bathroom, hoping that he wouldn’t have time to figure out who I was. When I got there, I was in such a rush to duck for cover, I didn’t even bother to knock. I just flung the door open, raced inside, and shut the door behind me. I realized right away, I was not alone.
“Who is that?” asked a familiar voice before I had a chance to turn on the light.
“Lynn?” I whispered.
“Rae?” she whispered back. “What are you doing in here?”
“I’m hiding from—” Just then I heard a loud exhale. One that was too high to belong to Lynn. “Is someone in here with us?” I whispered.
After a brief pause, Lynn answered me. “Um, yeah,” she said. “Hey, Thomas. Say hi to Raisin.”
“Hey,” said Thomas.
“Uh . . . hey, Thomas, how’s it going?” I said. Which is really, “How’s all the making out with an older woman treatin’ ya?” And, “Would you mind if I turned on the light so I can finally get a good look at you?” in polite.
“Uh, okay,” he answered.
Then there was a long silence, during which time we all wondered who would leave the bathroom first. I’m sure Lynn and Thomas expected me to make the offer.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I was paralyzed. There was nothing good waiting for me on the other side of that door. Only the sad ending to the most exciting thing that ever happened to me. And a kiss-less stroke of twelve on New Year’s Eve.
Will the Real Raisin Rodriguez Please Stand Up? Page 11