it matter? There were so many possibilities: drinking, fighting, smoking around volatile chemicals.
“That’s not his only job,” I said, finally.
“Oh, c’mon, Franklin. And he fell asleep, by the way. He couldn’t help it.”
I’m sure he couldn’t.
Class was set to begin. Sarah gave me a searching look, as if I might have some ideas for how to restore her father’s job. “Let me think,” I told her. “We’ll talk about it later, after class.” My attention was drawn to the front of the room, where someone was humming the “Happy Birthday” song. I took my seat and observed Mr. Spansky standing at the sink, his back to us, energetically washing his hands.
But later never came. Even after school, as we sat together in the backseat on our way to pick up Sarah’s costume, there was never a good time. Penny was up front. She was anxious to see Sarah’s costume since my mother had convinced her to do Sarah’s makeup for the exhibition.
As we drove, Penny chattered about the girls’—that is, her dogs’—latest exploits while Sarah stared glumly out the window. Though I was hoping to review the articles I’d printed off the Internet during free time in the media center, I found myself instead stealing glances at Sarah.
I had no experience with the situation she was in. My mother’s job seemed quite secure. Cable access was not going away. When it did, she would get trained in the new technology. They needed small, flexible types in her kind of work. She had worked for Cable Country for seven years. Before that it was ComTrast.
Since Penny was in attendance, I was not required to enter the filthy home of Fiona Foster. As soon as my mother, Penny, and Sarah exited the van, I settled in to review the latest findings of the American Council of Cheerleading Coaches and Advisors, or ACCCA. I was shocked to discover that, according to at least one report, more than half the catastrophic injuries to females during the high school and college years involve cheerleading accidents.
Could Glynnis be in danger? The research suggested that the girls highest on the pyramid were the most likely to suffer injury. I thought of Glynnis and her slender frame, her rounded shoulders, her soft elbows. My mind took a very unscientific turn then as I imagined our clean hands clasped together on the school steps, as I had observed certain eighth graders doing that very morning before the bell.
I reached into my backpack for the crumpled kerchief. I sniffed it, wondering if I could distinguish the scent of Glynnis from all the other scents it must have picked up over the last few days. But all I could pick up was the faint smell of smoke. Sigh. Despite my fantasies, Glynnis and I seemed to get further apart by the day. Still, I would have to return this kerchief, and, at least, Glynnis would know what I was capable of in the laundering and ironing department when that happened.
“I’m wondering,” I began as my mother got back in the driver’s side, “if we could have a talk later tonight about, well…” I trailed off. “Just a chat.”
But my mother did not hear me. “I have reservations about this,” she said, tossing a cardboard box onto the backseat for Sarah. “You’re sure it’s okay with Debbi?”
“She said for the exhibition,” Sarah responded, keeping her head down.
I tried again. “As I was saying…”
“Sorry, Franklin. What?”
“I think it opens up interesting possibilities,” Penny interrupted us, climbing into the van. My mother started the engine and used one hand to execute a three-point turn.
“And what might those be?”
“Well, I know it’s not the traditional—”
“I’m not arguing about it, I just said I have reservations.” My mother stopped talking to concentrate on flying around an elderly woman, who—according to a quick mental rate-of-speed calculation—was driving the speed limit. “You know, in all these competitions and exhibitions, have you ever seen a
“That’s not his only job,” I said, finally.
“Oh, c’mon, Franklin. And he fell asleep, by the way. He couldn’t help it.”
I’m sure he couldn’t.
Class was set to begin. Sarah gave me a searching look, as if I might have some ideas for how to restore her father’s job. “Let me think,” I told her. “We’ll talk about it later, after class.” My attention was drawn to the front of the room, where someone was humming the “Happy Birthday” song. I took my seat and observed Mr. Spansky standing at the sink, his back to us, energetically washing his hands.
But later never came. Even after school, as we sat together in the backseat on our way to pick up Sarah’s costume, there was never a good time. Penny was up front. She was anxious to see Sarah’s costume since my mother had convinced her to do Sarah’s makeup for the exhibition.
As we drove, Penny chattered about the girls’—that is, her dogs’—latest exploits while Sarah stared glumly out the window. Though I was hoping to review the articles I’d printed off the Internet during free time in the media center, I found myself instead stealing glances at Sarah.
I had no experience with the situation she was in. My mother’s job seemed quite secure. Cable access was not going away. When it did, she would get trained in the new technology. They needed small, flexible types in her kind of work. She had worked for Cable Country for seven years. Before that it was ComTrast.
Since Penny was in attendance, I was not required to enter the filthy home of Fiona Foster. As soon as my mother, Penny, and Sarah exited the van, I settled in to review the latest findings of the American Council of Cheerleading Coaches and Advisors, or ACCCA. I was shocked to discover that, according to at least one report, more than half the catastrophic injuries to females during the high school and college years involve cheerleading accidents.
Could Glynnis be in danger? The research suggested that the girls highest on the pyramid were the most likely to suffer injury. I thought of Glynnis and her slender frame, her rounded shoulders, her soft elbows. My mind took a very unscientific turn then as I imagined our clean hands clasped together on the school steps, as I had observed certain eighth graders doing that very morning before the bell.
I reached into my backpack for the crumpled kerchief. I sniffed it, wondering if I could distinguish the scent of Glynnis from all the other scents it must have picked up over the last few days. But all I could pick up was the faint smell of smoke. Sigh. Despite my fantasies, Glynnis and I seemed to get further apart by the day. Still, I would have to return this kerchief, and, at least, Glynnis would know what I was capable of in the laundering and ironing department when that happened.
“I’m wondering,” I began as my mother got back in the driver’s side, “if we could have a talk later tonight about, well…” I trailed off. “Just a chat.”
But my mother did not hear me. “I have reservations about this,” she said, tossing a cardboard box onto the backseat for Sarah. “You’re sure it’s okay with Debbi?”
“She said for the exhibition,” Sarah responded, keeping her head down.
I tried again. “As I was saying…”
“Sorry, Franklin. What?”
“I think it opens up interesting possibilities,” Penny interrupted us, climbing into the van. My mother started the engine and used one hand to execute a three-point turn.
“And what might those be?”
“Well, I know it’s not the traditional—”
“I’m not arguing about it, I just said I have reservations.” My mother stopped talking to concentrate on flying around an elderly woman, who—according to a quick mental rate-of-speed calculation—was driving the speed limit. “You know, in all these competitions and exhibitions, have you ever seen a
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