Paint Me a Monster by Janie Baskin

start,” I answer. It’s not the first time an adult has commented on my older sister’s bubbly nature. Liz in action still astonishes me. Her words sail in the air as easily as a bird. Watching them fly quiets me.

CONGRATULATIONS
    “Rinnie, is that you?”
    “Dad? Are you home?” I grin so wide he
has
to hear it over the telephone. “Will I get to see you before I leave for camp?”
    Liz hears me, twisting the phone so she can hear Dad.
    “Allyson and I got back last night. The wedding went off without a hitch. Alana, Amy, and Jake gave their mom away. Allyson’s parents did a fabulous job on their yard. Wildflowers bloomed everywhere, even on the canopy.”
    Dad says having a big family will be fun. Maybe for Alana, Amy, and Jake, but not for us.
    “When does camp start?” he asks.
    “In two weeks. I told you a month ago.”
    “Gosh, I’d love to see you, Buzzer, but I’ll be in Europe—the honeymoon, remember? Allyson and I will catch up with you on visiting weekend at camp. I’ll bring you coins from the countries we visit.”
    I hear a wiggle in his voice—the kind of wiggle that worms its way into a conversation and fills the space where something else belongs.
    “OK,” I mumble.
    “Allyson and I wanted you kids at the wedding, Rinnie. But with your camp schedules, the timing was bad. Allyson’s parents had enough to do without planning for three more kids.”
    “Tell Allyson I, I . . . ” I don’t know what to say. “Tell her I’m glad you married her.” I bite my lips so the words can’t jump back into my mouth. This isn’t what I want to say.
I want to stamp my feet and yell, “Allyson’s kids were there. Your real kids should’ve been there, too.”
    Instead, I pass the phone to Liz, who, with an upward flick of her hand, wipes a smile onto her face. “Congratulations to you, congratulations to you . . . ” she sings.
    I give her snake eyes, crossing my arms over my chest to ward off injustice.
    “Don’t you feel left out?” I stage whisper.
    Liz looks at me with surrender. She flips the phone to Evan who stuffs the last bite of a bread, butter, and sugar sandwich in his mouth.
    “What else can we do?” she shrugs.
    “Ha, whoa. Dad?” Evan says, swallowing.
    Evan’s eyes shine like polished ebony. He’s happy to have a brother.
    Dad must have asked if Evan was eating healthy stuff because Evan said he eats vegetables and fruit every day.
    Yeah,
I think. Only it’s in the form of potato chips and jelly. Before Evan says good-bye, I signal for him to hand me the phone.
    “See you in six weeks,” I say. “Don’t forget.”
    I hang the phone up and wonder what I am supposed to call Allyson.

COINCIDENCE
    Mom isn’t a great letter writer. She writes four letters during the eight weeks I’m at camp. You’d think by now I wouldn’t be excited to get a letter from home, but I am. This one is a real eye-opener. Last weekend, Mom and Barry Segal got married. Two weddings in one summer. My parents are couples again. Only with other people.
    “You can see the wedding photos when you get home,” writes Mom.
    Like I want to. My reason to see the pictures would be to make a match between my ears and my eyes.
    “I wore a white lace suit with blue trim and carried pale yellow flowers that matched my hair. Everything was gorgeous—the weather, the sky, the flowers. It was perfect.”
    No kids perfect.
Barry doesn’t look like a peanut, but that was his nickname in college—when he and Mom were sweethearts. She said he had hair then. Now he has a fallen halo of hair. Barry’s taller than my Dad, and his voice is softer. I used to call Barry, Mr. Segal. Maybe I’ll call him Barry. If he’s around a lot, maybe I’ll call him Dad.
    At least he’s nice and treats us like real people, a much better choice than Tom Waistman, who talked to us like we were some kind of circus poodles. “Come here, Rinnie. What a good girl you are, Rinnie. Rinnie, your mother says you made choir,