Let Me Fix That for You

by Janice Erlbaum

  Step two is still under development, but it’s shaping up. I lean forward and whisper to Sophie: “We’re going to sell your expertise.”

  13

  Thursday Night

  I’m sitting on my bed, listening to a busy signal.

  I’ve been trying to call the phone at the farm for about ten minutes already, hanging up and redialing over and over. No luck so far. It’s frustrating, but it’s given me some time to rehearse what I want to say.

  Hi, Mom! When are you coming to visit? No, that sounds too pushy, and Mom hates to be pushed. Hi, Mom! Mabey says you’re coming to visit! No. I shouldn’t bring up the visit right away. I should ask about the farm first. Hi, Mom! How are the baby chickens doing? That sounds better, but I don’t want to talk about the chickens.

  Hi, Mom. I miss you. Please come home for good. I promise I’ll make Dad change. Just come home and be our mom again.

  I hang up and redial, and this time the call goes through. A man answers immediately. “Hello?”

  “Um, hi.” I was unprepared for someone to actually answer. Now that I got through, I’m nervous. “Is Suzanne there, please?”

  “Don’t know, but I can check for you. Who’s calling?”

  I feel shy, embarrassed to be taking up this man’s time and tying up the phone. “Her daughter.”

  “Hang on, I’ll see if she’s around.”

  I hear him put the phone down, then I wait in silence for a minute. I wonder if this phone call was a good idea. What if Mom’s busy and I’m interrupting her? What if she’s mad that I called? I should just hang up.

  “Mabes?” Mom gets on the phone sounding rushed.

  This was a bad idea.

  “No, it’s Glad.”

  I’m so afraid she’ll be disappointed that it’s me instead of Mabey, but she sounds delighted. “BunBun! Gladiola! My brave and beautiful Gladiator!” Then her voice gets serious. “Why are you calling? Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I just wanted to find out … I just wanted to talk to you.”

  “Oh, great!” She sounds relieved. “Listen, now’s not a great time, I only have a minute before I need to go, but tell me what’s going on. How are you?”

  “Good.” There’s so much to tell her since the last time we talked. Mom, I’m making friends with two of the most popular girls at school. Izzy’s on the softball and soccer teams, and Sophie’s on the dance squad, and I’m helping them both with their problems. And I’m going to fix up Dad so you’ll love him again. “Mabey says you’re coming to visit.”

  I hear displeasure in Mom’s voice. “She wasn’t supposed to say anything until it’s final.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Dad.” I’m proud to say I’ve never told Dad anything Mom didn’t want him to know. “But … you are coming, right?”

  “Yes,” she declares, after a short pause. “I’m booking a flight next week. I’ll let your father know as soon as I have the reservation.” Another pause. “He and I … We need to talk in person, so we can work some things out.”

  I burst out cheering. “Yay! Mom! I can’t wait to see you!”

  “Listen,” she says. “I have to go. I’m so sorry I can’t talk more right now, but I promise I’ll call soon and let you know when I’m coming. I can’t wait to see you, BunBun. Love you!” She makes a kissing sound and ends the call.

  I hang up, part happy and part unsatisfied. I never get to talk to Mom enough. Just long enough to remind me how much I miss her. Even during our weekly calls, Agnes and Mabey are always waiting for their turn to talk to her, and sometimes Dad is hovering, too, waiting for us to wrap it up so they can have a quick, curt chat about … finances, or whatever. I’m not sure what they talk about—he shoos us out of the room and keeps his voice low most of the time, unless he’s yelling “That’s not what I said!” or “Don’t hang up on—damn it!”

  But when Mom comes home, we’ll have time to talk. She won’t be feeding chickens or building kilns, so she won’t have to rush off anywhere. Agnes and Mabey won’t be impatiently waiting. Mom will be right here next to me, where I can see her and feel her.

  And if I do my job right, she’ll want to stay.

  14

  Friday First Period

  I’m sitting in math class, trying to understand various variables.

  X = 2+Y/5

  - If y is 3, solve for x.

  - You know what, I’m getting kind of tired of solving for x.

  - Why doesn’t x solve for itself for a change?

  IDEA FOR SOMEBODY WHO NEEDS TO SOLVE THINGS FOR HERSELF

  Sophie Nelson Fashion Consulting for Parents

  Are you a busy parent with no time to shop for clothes?

  Do your kids nag you about how you dress?

  Are you thinking it might be time to update your look?

  Sophie can help!

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  Reasonable rates!

  Contact Sophie for details and availability.

  Sophie Nelson Fashion Consulting for Parents

  “We help parents be less embarrassing.”

  FINAL BREAK-UP TEXTS TO MADISON

  › Madison i have had some terrible health news. the worst possible

  › To spare u i am breaking up with u now

  › i will always love u but u will never hear from me again

  › Farewell my love …

  WHAT I WISH I COULD SAY TO BECKY LEWIS

  Rebecca, I have given your problem careful consideration. I’m sorry to say I don’t know how to solve it. Nobody is going to call you Rebba. It’s not going to happen. I suggest you shoot for Becca.

  PROJECT HARRY

  Adversaries

  - Russell Sharpe and his eighth-grade goons

  Strengths: Strength. Also: height, weight, numbers, meanness

  Weaknesses: Easily confused, usually in trouble

  Strategies: Avoid. If possible, deploy Schellestede.

  - Eighth-grade burnouts

  Strengths: Don't care about anything

  Weaknesses: Slow moving, usually hungry, lose focus easily

  Strategies: “What’s that over there?” Bribe with snacks.

  - Overenthusiastic jocks

  Strengths: Strength, boisterousness, desire to be punching people at all times

  Weaknesses: Not actually evil, just bored

  Strategies: Duck

  - Random jerks

  Strengths: Victims never know who they are or when they’re coming, element of surprise.

  Weaknesses:?

  Strategies:?

  Vulnerable Times

  - Before school. (Solution: Enter school early for some club or activity, e.g., dance squad?)

  - Between classes. (Some kind of escort/bodyguard? Who?)

  - Lunch. (Move to new table with more people? Closer to door?)

  - Gym. (Wear gym clothes under regular clothes to avoid locker room, try not to sweat too much, after class put on regular clothes over gym clothes.)

  - After school (?)

  Self-Defense

  - Whistle/alarm

  - Bug spray (like Mace, but less illegal).

  - Develop halitosis?

  Possible Allies

  Taye—Ask him to keep jocks from roughhousing.

  Izzy—Not sure what for but could definitely be useful.

  Biggest bully in our class … Evelyn Ferszt?

  15

  Friday Lunch

  I’m going toward our table to discuss my notes on Harry’s case with him, when Sophie calls my name.

  “Glad! Hey!”

  She beckons me over to where she’s sitting with a mix of A+ people from the dance squad and the student council. Why is she waving at me to come over there? I don’t belong there. I belong over in the corner, with Harry and his sardines, and I’m about to just wave back to Sophie and then go join him there, but she
calls me again.

  “Glad!” she insists, waving me over.

  Okay, I’m not about to ignore an invite from Sophie Nelson. But seriously, what is she doing? I doubt she wants to discuss her private business with me in front of her friends, so maybe she’s trying to help me socially? I appreciate it, but I’d rather not start my socializing career with the whole dance squad at once. The Elmhaven dance squad is ranked seventeenth in our state for dance, but they are the number one world champions of being shady. I don’t even know how Carolina Figgis can see straight anymore, because she’s always looking sideways at people.

  I walk over to the A+ table and stand nearby. “Hey.”

  Carolina Figgis looks like she’s smelling a dirty sock. Carolina’s backup duo, Desiree Adamo and Hannah Conley, raise their eyebrows and smirk at each other. Sophie hops up from her seat, air-kisses me, clasps my arm, and pulls me into an empty chair.

  “You guys, Glad wants to join the decorating committee for the dance, isn’t that awesome?”

  Uh, who wants to do what now? I don’t want to decorate for the dance. I don’t even want to dance for the dance. But what is my dignity, next to Sophie’s privacy? Sophie needs an excuse to be friends with me, so I try to smile like someone who enjoys decorating things.

  “Awesome,” says Hannah, her voice thick with sarcasm.

  Hannah, please don’t make me remind you of that thing I did for you that time. Queen Carolina would be furious if she knew you were the one who wrote that stuff about her on the bathroom wall.

  Sophie ignores Hannah and turns to me. “We’re just starting the meeting, so you didn’t miss anything. Rich, what were you saying?”

  “We need to agree on a smell that represents spring,” says student council president Rich Savoy. “The scent-scape is a vital part of the décor. The day after the dance, nobody’s gonna remember what was on the walls. But a smell lasts in your memory for years.”

  Desiree disagrees. “Everybody’s gonna remember what was on the walls, because it’s in all the pictures. You can’t take a picture of a smell.”

  I look across the lunchroom at Harry, alone at our table and vulnerable. He looks up from his phone and sees me at Sophie’s side. I give him a little wave, but he doesn’t return it. I notice that Schellestede’s not at her regular post. Wherever she is, I hope she’s watching Harry as closely as she did when she was trying to bust up his homework business.

  “I don’t care,” Hannah drawls. “As long as we don’t do pastels. Pastels are so done.”

  Carolina Figgis sits on Sophie’s other side, shooting dagger looks at me. Carolina and Sophie have been best friends since they were nine; they never even went through that phase where they made other friends and dropped each other. And yet Queen Carolina—glamorous, popular, enviable Carolina—seems to think I’m some kind of threat to their friendship. She stares at me, perplexed and annoyed, like, What are you doing here?

  I’m not sure what I’m doing here. I mean, I know we’re here to talk about buying stuff and throwing it around the gym, but I have nothing to say on that matter. And yet the longer I sit listening to people debate balloons versus no balloons, the more I start getting into it. The topic shifts to lighting, and I suggest, “What about Christmas lights wrapped around the tables? We wouldn’t even have to buy them, if people could bring them from home.”

  President Rich looks pleased. “Did everybody catch that? What do you think about bringing Christmas lights from home? I think it’s a great idea. And cost-effective.”

  “With foil tablecloths?” asks Sophie excitedly. “In spring colors? That would look amazing.”

  So there, Carolina. I’ll tell you what I’m doing here: sitting with my friend Sophie Nelson. Meeting with the decorating committee. Acting like a regular person with regular hobbies. Eating my lunch. Not fixing anything.

  That’s when Madison shows up.

  Heads turn as she rushes through the cafeteria, her face red and her expression distraught. She’s going for my usual table, but then she catches sight of me at Sophie’s side and changes direction.

  Madison freakin’ Graham. Just when I’m hanging out at the A+ table, she’s got to barge in and make a scene. I stand up to head her off, and she gets right up in my face. “I need to talk to you,” she growls.

  Everybody around us is giddy with excitement watching this go down.

  “Ooh, lovers’ spat,” murmurs Hannah, and Carolina laughs.

  It is decided: I am going to kill Madison.

  “Hallway,” I say as calmly as I can.

  The ooh noise rises from the tables like helium as forty-five pairs of eyeballs follow us out the door.

  In the hall, Madison whirls around to face me. “You murderer,” she spits.

  Huh? Is Madison psychic? Did she just hear me decide to kill her? “What?”

  This just makes her madder. “Don’t try to act innocent! You killed him!”

  Okay, I literally have no idea … Wait a minute. Oh my God. I do have an idea what she’s talking about. She’s talking about the texts she got this morning from “James.”

  I put my hands up, innocent, and try to speak calmly. “Madison, I didn’t kill anybody. James is not a real person.”

  She doesn’t even hear this. She comes toward me and I bring my hands into a defensive position.

  “I would have done anything you asked,” she hisses. “But you had to take him away from me.”

  In her eyes, I see the glassy stare of a maniac. How can nobody be nearby right now? Doesn’t anybody need a favor? Where’s Jasmine, trying to grub another excuse? Where’s Schellestede, trying to catch me in the act? Because HELLO, I’M IN THE ACT OUT HERE, COME CATCH ME IN IT, PLEASE.

  I raise my voice. “Madison. Calm down. You are taking this way too seriously…”

  The maniac isn’t listening. She smiles, showing me her shiny teeth. “No, Glad. You took him from me, and I’m going to take something from you.”

  Take something from me? This is insane. You know, I used to whine because Dad’s and Agnes’s allergies meant we couldn’t ever get a cat or a dog, but right now I’m sincerely grateful that we never got a pet, because I would be fearing for its life.

  “What are you talking about?” I ask nervously.

  Madison leans back on her heels, a satisfied look on her face. “You’ll find out.”

  Yeah. I’d rather not find out. I’d rather not even think about it. I’m getting images of my beloved stuffed bunny, Otis, with a noose around his neck and little Xs for eyes. I start backpedaling in my calmest voice. “Okay, Madison, hang on. James isn’t dead yet. He’s very sick, but he’s still alive. So why don’t we both relax, and we can talk about this again on Monday…”

  Her expression instantly changes, and hope blooms in her eyes. “You’ll bring him back? Seriously? Oh, Glad, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  Just like that, I’m her friend again. Two seconds ago, she was threatening me with some unspecified revenge, and now she’s—oof—hugging me. Still, when she breaks away and looks into my eyes, I see a little bit of the maniac lingering in her stare.

  “You promise you’ll bring him back?” she demands.

  No. I don’t want to bring “him” back. This has officially become way too freaky for me. Madison needs to take a break from her fantasy life and rejoin the rest of us in the bone-crushing world of reality. I don’t want to make a promise I know I’m going to break—no lies, that’s one of my rules. Excuses, alibis, and cover stories, but never outright lies.

  But sometimes, I have to break my own rule.

  “I promise,” I assure Madison. “I’ll bring James back.”

  16

  Friday Afternoon

  Agnes and Mabey and I are plotting in the attic.

  Mabey is sitting cross-legged on her bed amid a riot of books, papers, and clothes. I’m in the beanbag chair, and Agnes is sitting on the floor, playing with the little round magnets she got at the hardware store. I’m telling
them about the talk I had with Mom.

  “Anyway, she said she’s definitely coming, and she’ll know exactly when by next week.”

  Mabey folds her arms across her chest and rolls her eyes at me. “That’s the same thing she told me. We already knew that.” She’s annoyed that I got to speak to Mom apart from our weekly group call. I know the feeling.

  I refer to my phone, which displays my Operation Mom notes. “We don’t have time to argue, okay? We have a lot of work to do before she gets here.”

  Agnes isn’t saying much. She keeps trying to push the reverse sides of two magnets together, and they keep resisting. I’m about to read my notes aloud when she asks quietly, “Does Dad even want Mom to come home?”

  Mabey answers slowly and exaggeratedly, like Agnes is a three-year-old. “Of course Dad wants Mom to come home. Dad didn’t want to get separated from Mom in the first place. She’s the one who left.”

  “I know,” Agnes says. One of the magnets flips and joins the other. She pries them apart again. “But I think he’s too mad at her now.”

  Mabey looks at me, like, I TOLD you we shouldn’t tell her. I jump in before Agnes can ask another question.

  “Anyway, we have to start fixing Dad now, which means new clothes. My friend Sophie’s going to help with a new look. She’s a fashion expert.”

  Yes, it’s time for the test launch of Sophie Nelson Fashion Consulting for Parents. After school today, I slipped her the notes I made this morning, and she texted me ten seconds later with a fiesta of overjoyed emojis.

  Agnes likes my idea, but Mabey brushes it off. “Okay, but that’s just his clothes. What are we going to do about his personality?”

  I’m already on it. “I was thinking we could trade him—for every annoying habit he gives up, we could give up one of ours. Like, Mabey, if he quits slurping, you could quit muttering. Agnes, if he quits nagging, you could quit setting off the smoke alarms.”

  “That only happened twice!” Agnes protests. “And I didn’t set fire to anything. I was trying to get one off the wall to take it apart.”