servant or butler to answer the door when you need
one? Just as I'm about to give up and slap myself with a big dose of
what-the-fuck-do-I-think-I'm-doing, the door opens. Standing before
me is an older version of Brittany. Obviously her mom. When she takes
one look at me, her disappointing sneer is obvious.
"Can I help you?" she asks with an attitude. I sense either she
expects me to be part of the gardening crew or someone going door-to-
door harassing people. "We have a 'no soliciting policy' in this
neighborhood."
"I'm, uh, not here to solicit anythin'. My name's Alex. I just
wanted to know if Brittany was, uh, at home?"
Oh, great. Now I'm mumbling uh's every two seconds.
"No." Her steely answer matches her steely glare.
"Do you know where she went?"
Mrs. Ellis closes the door halfway, probably hoping I won't peek
inside and see her valuables and be tempted to steal them. "I don't
give out information on the whereabouts of my daughter. Now if you'll
excuse me," she says, then closes the door in my face.
I'm left standing in front of the door like a complete pendejo. For
all I know, Brittany was behind the door instructing her mom to get rid
of me. I wouldn't put it past her to play games with me.
I hate games I can't win.
I walk back to my bike with my tail between my legs, wondering if I
should feel like a kicked dog or an angry pit bull.
SEVENTEEN : Brittany
"Who's Alex?"
Those are the first words my mom asks me after I arrive back
home from the airport with my dad.
"He's a guy from school I'm partnered with for chemistry," I
answer slowly. Wait one minute. "How do you know about Alex?"
"He was here after you left for the airport. I sent him away."
As if my brain is synapsing, reality hits me.
Oh, no!
I forgot to meet Alex this morning.
Guilt sets in as I think about him waiting for me at the library. I
was the one who didn't trust him to show, but I'm the one who flaked.
He must be furious. Ugh, I'm feeling sick.
"I don't want him near the house," she says. "The neighbors will
start talking about you." Just like they talk about your sister, I know
she's thinking.
One day I hope to live in a place where I don't have to worry about
neighbors gossiping. "Fine," I tell her.
"Can't you change partners?"
"No."
"Did you try?"
"Yes, Mom. I did. Mrs. Peterson refuses to reassign partners."
"Maybe you didn't try hard enough. I'll call the school on Monday
and make them--"
I whip my attention to her, ignoring the stinging, throbbing pain in
the back of my head from where my sister ripped out the chunk of
hair. "Mom, I'll handle it. I don't need you calling the school and making
me feel like a two-year-old."
"Did that boy Alex teach you how to talk to your mother without
respect? All of a sudden you can open a mouth to me because you're
partnered with that boy?"
"Mom--"
I wish my dad was here to intervene. But he went directly to his
study to check his e-mails right after coming home. I wish he'd act as
a referee instead of sitting on the sidelines.
"Because if you start hanging out with trash like that, people will
consider you trash. That's not how your father and I have brought you
up."
Oh, no. Here comes the lecture. I'd rather eat live fish, scales and
all, than hear this right now. I know the meaning behind her words.
Shelley's not perfect, so I have to be.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. "Mom, I get it. I'm
sorry."
"I'm only trying to protect you," she says. "And you throw it back in
my face."
"I know. I'm sorry. What did Dr. Meir say about Shelley?"
"He wants her to come twice a week for some evaluations. I'm
going to need your help taking her."
I don't talk to her about Ms. Small's policy about missing pom
practice, because there's no use in having both of us stressed. Besides,
I want to know why Shelley is lashing out just as much as she does . . if
not more.
Thankfully, the phone rings and my mom turns to answer it. I hurry
into my
one? Just as I'm about to give up and slap myself with a big dose of
what-the-fuck-do-I-think-I'm-doing, the door opens. Standing before
me is an older version of Brittany. Obviously her mom. When she takes
one look at me, her disappointing sneer is obvious.
"Can I help you?" she asks with an attitude. I sense either she
expects me to be part of the gardening crew or someone going door-to-
door harassing people. "We have a 'no soliciting policy' in this
neighborhood."
"I'm, uh, not here to solicit anythin'. My name's Alex. I just
wanted to know if Brittany was, uh, at home?"
Oh, great. Now I'm mumbling uh's every two seconds.
"No." Her steely answer matches her steely glare.
"Do you know where she went?"
Mrs. Ellis closes the door halfway, probably hoping I won't peek
inside and see her valuables and be tempted to steal them. "I don't
give out information on the whereabouts of my daughter. Now if you'll
excuse me," she says, then closes the door in my face.
I'm left standing in front of the door like a complete pendejo. For
all I know, Brittany was behind the door instructing her mom to get rid
of me. I wouldn't put it past her to play games with me.
I hate games I can't win.
I walk back to my bike with my tail between my legs, wondering if I
should feel like a kicked dog or an angry pit bull.
SEVENTEEN : Brittany
"Who's Alex?"
Those are the first words my mom asks me after I arrive back
home from the airport with my dad.
"He's a guy from school I'm partnered with for chemistry," I
answer slowly. Wait one minute. "How do you know about Alex?"
"He was here after you left for the airport. I sent him away."
As if my brain is synapsing, reality hits me.
Oh, no!
I forgot to meet Alex this morning.
Guilt sets in as I think about him waiting for me at the library. I
was the one who didn't trust him to show, but I'm the one who flaked.
He must be furious. Ugh, I'm feeling sick.
"I don't want him near the house," she says. "The neighbors will
start talking about you." Just like they talk about your sister, I know
she's thinking.
One day I hope to live in a place where I don't have to worry about
neighbors gossiping. "Fine," I tell her.
"Can't you change partners?"
"No."
"Did you try?"
"Yes, Mom. I did. Mrs. Peterson refuses to reassign partners."
"Maybe you didn't try hard enough. I'll call the school on Monday
and make them--"
I whip my attention to her, ignoring the stinging, throbbing pain in
the back of my head from where my sister ripped out the chunk of
hair. "Mom, I'll handle it. I don't need you calling the school and making
me feel like a two-year-old."
"Did that boy Alex teach you how to talk to your mother without
respect? All of a sudden you can open a mouth to me because you're
partnered with that boy?"
"Mom--"
I wish my dad was here to intervene. But he went directly to his
study to check his e-mails right after coming home. I wish he'd act as
a referee instead of sitting on the sidelines.
"Because if you start hanging out with trash like that, people will
consider you trash. That's not how your father and I have brought you
up."
Oh, no. Here comes the lecture. I'd rather eat live fish, scales and
all, than hear this right now. I know the meaning behind her words.
Shelley's not perfect, so I have to be.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. "Mom, I get it. I'm
sorry."
"I'm only trying to protect you," she says. "And you throw it back in
my face."
"I know. I'm sorry. What did Dr. Meir say about Shelley?"
"He wants her to come twice a week for some evaluations. I'm
going to need your help taking her."
I don't talk to her about Ms. Small's policy about missing pom
practice, because there's no use in having both of us stressed. Besides,
I want to know why Shelley is lashing out just as much as she does . . if
not more.
Thankfully, the phone rings and my mom turns to answer it. I hurry
into my
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