dumb grin on his face.
Freddie of Arabia stood at the window yelling, “Good-bye, Yady. Good-bye, Yady …”
“I have
never
,” Mom said, “in my whole life, been so embarrassed!”
But then she started laughing, excited-embarrassed more than mortified-embarrassed. She jumped up, shocked into action I guess, andstarted straightening the room. Which was totally dumb. It was way too late now.
Dad shook his head. “The look on that woman’s face …”
“It’s not funny!” I said.
“It’s not?” Dad pulled off the tattered T-shirt. “Then how come we’re laughing?”
“Because you don’t understand. You guys don’t know how serious this is. You have totally blown it, Dad!”
“Me?
Hey sport, you helped with the shirt.”
“I know, but you’re the one that always gets things whipped up. I’m just a kid. I can’t help it. You’re the dad. You’re supposed to be in charge!”
“Well, I am. I passed out the kazoos, didn’t I?”
“Da-ad! Just think how this looked to her!”
“Hmmm.” Dad rubbed his chin, squinting at me but talking to Mom. “Guess we’re into that sensitive stage where any little thing we do will embarrass him.”
I sucked in a deep breath and flung my arm to take in the whole pitiful scene. “You call this any little thing?”
“Hey, okay.” Dad put his flannel shirt back on. “Take it easy. I’m sorry, all right?”
Lucy ran up to him with her fish puppet and started nipping at his leg. “Fishy fishy fishy!”
Mom crossed her arms over her chest and looked around the room. “We really can’t blame him for being embarrassed.”
“Guess not,” Dad said. He snatched Lucy up, tossed her on the sofa, and gave her bare tummy a good tickle. She giggled and shrieked until he let her wriggle away. “But nobody ever died of embarrassment, Robby. In a week or two you’ll have forgotten all about it.”
“Are you kidding? I won’t forget this if I live to be a hundred.”
“Now don’t be too hard on Dad,” Mom said. “After all, it was your counselor who got the date wrong, not him.”
I plopped on the sofa, thinking,
So what?
The point was, she
saw
us like this.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught Lucy tiptoeing over to the door of Mom’s studio. She turned the knob.
“Mo-om,” I said in a warning voice.
Lucy pushed open the door.
“Hey!” Mom darted over and scooped Lucy up with one arm. “Bill? Did you see that? She opened the door.”
Dad blinked. “That’s what she did, all right.”
“I mean, she opened the door by herself. It was shut tight.”
Slowly, they both turned and looked at me.
Mom’s voice was loaded with apologies. “Oh, Robby.”
“I tried to tell you,” I said, “but nobody ever believes me.”
“I’m so sorry, Honey.”
Yeah, great. Now I was so upset about everything else, I couldn’t enjoy this apology one little bit.
“I can’t go to school,” I told my parents Monday morning. “I think I’m sick again.”
“Do you suppose he’s having a relapse of the flu?” Mom put her hand on my forehead, TV-commercial style.
“Could be,” Dad said, studying my face. “Feel like you’re going to throw up?”
“No,” I said quickly. “No, it’s not that. My stomach just hurts.”
I don’t know why I felt like I was trying to get away with something. I wasn’t lying—my stomach really did hurt.
Maybe it was because I knew perfectly well it was Monday and Monday meant Mrs. Van Gent. I did
not
want to have to face that lady.
Maybe it was because as soon as they said I could stay home, my stomach felt better.
I had a lot of time to lie there and think that day while I pretended to be sick, and here’s what I thought: You’ve heard about every cloud having a silver lining? Well, the one good thing about this disaster was that at least I could get my diorama back.
Before, I had to stay on Mrs. Perkins’s good side. But what would it matter now? The damage wasdone. I was sure Mrs. Van
Freddie of Arabia stood at the window yelling, “Good-bye, Yady. Good-bye, Yady …”
“I have
never
,” Mom said, “in my whole life, been so embarrassed!”
But then she started laughing, excited-embarrassed more than mortified-embarrassed. She jumped up, shocked into action I guess, andstarted straightening the room. Which was totally dumb. It was way too late now.
Dad shook his head. “The look on that woman’s face …”
“It’s not funny!” I said.
“It’s not?” Dad pulled off the tattered T-shirt. “Then how come we’re laughing?”
“Because you don’t understand. You guys don’t know how serious this is. You have totally blown it, Dad!”
“Me?
Hey sport, you helped with the shirt.”
“I know, but you’re the one that always gets things whipped up. I’m just a kid. I can’t help it. You’re the dad. You’re supposed to be in charge!”
“Well, I am. I passed out the kazoos, didn’t I?”
“Da-ad! Just think how this looked to her!”
“Hmmm.” Dad rubbed his chin, squinting at me but talking to Mom. “Guess we’re into that sensitive stage where any little thing we do will embarrass him.”
I sucked in a deep breath and flung my arm to take in the whole pitiful scene. “You call this any little thing?”
“Hey, okay.” Dad put his flannel shirt back on. “Take it easy. I’m sorry, all right?”
Lucy ran up to him with her fish puppet and started nipping at his leg. “Fishy fishy fishy!”
Mom crossed her arms over her chest and looked around the room. “We really can’t blame him for being embarrassed.”
“Guess not,” Dad said. He snatched Lucy up, tossed her on the sofa, and gave her bare tummy a good tickle. She giggled and shrieked until he let her wriggle away. “But nobody ever died of embarrassment, Robby. In a week or two you’ll have forgotten all about it.”
“Are you kidding? I won’t forget this if I live to be a hundred.”
“Now don’t be too hard on Dad,” Mom said. “After all, it was your counselor who got the date wrong, not him.”
I plopped on the sofa, thinking,
So what?
The point was, she
saw
us like this.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught Lucy tiptoeing over to the door of Mom’s studio. She turned the knob.
“Mo-om,” I said in a warning voice.
Lucy pushed open the door.
“Hey!” Mom darted over and scooped Lucy up with one arm. “Bill? Did you see that? She opened the door.”
Dad blinked. “That’s what she did, all right.”
“I mean, she opened the door by herself. It was shut tight.”
Slowly, they both turned and looked at me.
Mom’s voice was loaded with apologies. “Oh, Robby.”
“I tried to tell you,” I said, “but nobody ever believes me.”
“I’m so sorry, Honey.”
Yeah, great. Now I was so upset about everything else, I couldn’t enjoy this apology one little bit.
“I can’t go to school,” I told my parents Monday morning. “I think I’m sick again.”
“Do you suppose he’s having a relapse of the flu?” Mom put her hand on my forehead, TV-commercial style.
“Could be,” Dad said, studying my face. “Feel like you’re going to throw up?”
“No,” I said quickly. “No, it’s not that. My stomach just hurts.”
I don’t know why I felt like I was trying to get away with something. I wasn’t lying—my stomach really did hurt.
Maybe it was because I knew perfectly well it was Monday and Monday meant Mrs. Van Gent. I did
not
want to have to face that lady.
Maybe it was because as soon as they said I could stay home, my stomach felt better.
I had a lot of time to lie there and think that day while I pretended to be sick, and here’s what I thought: You’ve heard about every cloud having a silver lining? Well, the one good thing about this disaster was that at least I could get my diorama back.
Before, I had to stay on Mrs. Perkins’s good side. But what would it matter now? The damage wasdone. I was sure Mrs. Van
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