Calli Be Gold (20 page)

“We tell each other a secret,” I say. I draw in a deep breath. “I’ll go first.” My words tumble out in a rush. “I’m not sure I fit in with our family.”

“Oh, honey, that’s not true,” Mom says, leaning toward me, her eyes sad.

“I’m not like the rest of you. I don’t do anything special. And you’re disappointed in me. You said it that night … when I didn’t go to the improv class.”

Dad straightens his back and bumps his head on the table. “Ow.” He strokes a spot on the back of his head. “Calli, all I really wanted was for you to find something you love to do.”

Mom is nodding. “And after tonight, after what your teacher said about you, how could anyone say you’re not special?”

“I’m not, though,” I answer. “I’m just regular. And I think that’s okay.” I take another breath. “Do you?”

Mom creases her eyebrows together. “Yes,” she says. “Of course.” She looks at Dad.

He nods, then taps the underside of the table. “But I still think you—”

“Dad …”

“Okay, okay.”

“Here’s another thing,” I say. “Can we stop doing the dinnertime ABC game?”

He looks pained now. “You really don’t like it?”

“I really don’t like it.”

He sighs but doesn’t answer.

“I have a secret,” Mom whispers, and winks at me.

“Tell,” I say.

“I’ve signed up for piano lessons.”

“Oh, Mom!” I inch toward her and give her a hug. “That’s great!”

“What?” Dad exclaims. “Karen, how are you going to have time to learn to play the piano?”

“I’ll make time.”

I glance at Dad. “Do you have a secret?”

“Me?”

“Why not?”

“A secret … Well …” He turns to me and I’m surprised to see a sorrowful look in his eyes. “I have several. Maybe too many to reveal under this table. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and … you were right … about a lot of things. Marjorie, for starters … How do we
know she’s not exactly who she wanted to be? You know something? None of us ever asked her.”

Mom nods.

“And Joel,” he says. “I wasted a lot of time trying to live up to my brother when I could have just been myself.”

Mom and I wait. Then she says, “Anything else?”

He ruffles my hair and shakes his head. “I disagreed with you that night when you said it, but you
are
like me. We’re more alike than I ever realized. I kept trying to push things on you, but you were always just fine the way you were.” He sighs. “In a way, Calli Gold, I think you’ve got it all over the rest of us.”

he snow has just about stopped and Grandma Gold insists on driving home. Dad helps her clear off her car. She settles herself inside and waves goodbye. “It’ll probably take me hours to get home. If you don’t hear from me by tomorrow, call the police!”

The five of us start walking through the snow. “We left the cars in the garage,” Dad tells me. “The lot was full, plus it was easier to walk through this stuff than drive.”

Alex’s cell phone rings and when he answers it, covering the phone with his hand, Mom says, “Who’s calling you now?”

Alex pulls the phone away from his mouth and grins. “My, uh, girlfriend.”

Dad stops and looks at Alex, who shrugs. “There’s more to life than basketball, Dad,” he says happily, and strides ahead of us.

Becca has barely said a word the entire night, and now Dad puts his arm around her. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“I’ll live,” she drawls.

“What happened?” I ask.

Becca turns to me. “I didn’t skate, okay? Not a huge deal.”

“You didn’t skate?”

“The coach put in the alternate,” Dad says.

“Which was fine with me,” Becca interrupts. “But then Dad had to go and yell at Coach Ruth, in front of everyone. Dad, you know, your screaming was worse than the fact that I didn’t skate.”

“What can I say?” Dad mumbles. “I got a little crazy when I didn’t see you out there on the ice. You’re good, Bec, you’re a part of the team.”

“Dad,” Becca says, stopping him. “It was the right decision to put in the alternate. Even though she’s new to the team, she’s … a better skater. The coach has basically been telling me that all season, but I didn’t have the guts to tell you.”

Dad looks crushed.

I remember that the alternate is Noah’s sister and I glance at Becca. For just one second, she catches my eye with a not-so-mean look.

Alex trots back to us and says, “What did I miss now?”

Mom shakes her head. “Oh,” she sighs. “Just some honesty.”

“You’ll work harder,” Dad says. “I’m sure you can earn your spot back.”

“You know,” Becca says, “to tell you the absolute truth, I’m not sure I want to.”

We all look at Dad standing there like his entire family has turned against him, snowflakes dotting his hair and his jacket.

“Larry?” Mom says softly.

He nods at Becca. “If that’s what you want,” he says. “It’s okay with me.”

As we start walking again, I don’t even mind that I’m not by myself and can’t do my usual thinking. There’s something different with my family. I can feel it.

I look at them all—Becca flipping her hair, Dad with his arm around her, Mom swinging her purse, and Alex in his basketball shorts—and I realize that what Mom said is true: they are my family, and they’re under my skin, like it or not.

One thought comes to me, though, as I’m watching all of them tromp through the snow. I am a sort of a muse. In my own way. And that’s a pretty good thing to be.

hings happen in funny ways. Or I should say things change in funny ways.

One week after the Friendship Fair, Alex’s team lost in the semifinals. Dad really did cry this time. He was a lot more upset about it than Alex, who was more concerned about coming up with a creative way to ask his girlfriend to winter formal.

I asked him, “Is she one of those silly cheerleaders?”

He said, “No. In fact, she reminds me a little bit of you.”

Becca told my parents that after this year, she’s definitely done with the skating team.

“Then I guess I’m done with the costume committee,” Mom said.

“This whole family’s falling apart,” Dad moaned.

“Not falling apart,” Mom said, “just reorganizing itself. For the better. More gold, less rush.”

I know Mom is secretly happy about the prospect of having fewer Post-its on the Calendar in the future, except for the new green ones. They all say
Mom—Piano Lesson.
The other day, she even had time to wash the minivan. I hope that someday soon, I’ll spot her at the front window with a cup of coffee when I’m coming in from school.

At first, it looked like Dad didn’t know what to talk about at the dinner table after we stopped doing the ABC game. So one night, I brought up my worries about the polar bears. We discussed it for the whole time! No one mentioned any achievements, unless you count Mom telling us about learning to play her first Broadway show tune.

Grandma Gold put the picture of Noah and me in a frame and gave it to me. We both have proud, happy smiles. Before everything happened at the Friendship Fair, I was considering stuffing the one of my family into a drawer, but I decided not to. I put the one of Noah and me right next to it on my dresser.

Mrs. Bezner asked me to work with Noah on a regular basis, even though the Peer Helper Program is over for now and he has an aide helping him. Twice a week at recess, I go upstairs and read stories with him and just hang out and talk. I think I might even want to be a teacher one day.

But I promise I won’t wear socks with insects on them and take my shoes off in the afternoon.

Or maybe I will.

One thing’s for sure. I know I can raise my voice when I need to. I am a Gold, after all.

Writing a book has been a dream of mine since I was young and I am still in disbelief that my dream has come true. To say that this was a journey is a grand understatement. There were many bumps along the road, times I wanted to throw in the towel, and moments of pure insanity. I am grateful beyond words to my editor, Caroline Meckler, and to Wendy Lamb, for seeing the light and joy in this story and for their advice, questions, and editing; to Vikki Sheatsley for her wonderful cover design; to my agent, Jennifer Flannery, who called me on a cold March afternoon when she was only on page fifty-eight, and whose support of this book never, ever wavered, not even in my most doubtful days; to my soul sister, Lauren, who has been a steadfast listener and provided ongoing encouragement and enthusiasm (what would I do without our lunches?); to the members of my mother-daughter book club, the Bookie Buddies, who openly shared what they liked and didn’t like about the books we read; to my mom, who always said she was
my biggest fan (I so dearly wish you were here, but somehow, I know that you are); and to my dad, who I am so very much like and who showed me what it takes to achieve a dream. My heart is filled with love for my four anchors, who keep me afloat amidst the craziness: Ben, who listens endlessly, even when he’s falling asleep, does my taxes, and puts up with my cobralike intensity; Rachel, whose maturity and insight go way beyond her years; Sam, the inspiration for Calli’s brother, with his even temperament and constant ball-playing in the family room; and especially Cassie, my first reader and real-life muse, who reminded me what was funny, and was absolutely positive from day one that this was “a book.”

It can be a challenge to find your voice within a family. Stay true. Like Grandma Gold told Noah, “You make your own words in this life. Don’t look to anybody else to do it for you.” Always believe that you can, and you will.

Michele Weber Hurwitz
grew up in a suburb of Chicago and still lives in the same area with her husband and three children. She does not have a huge calendar taped to her kitchen wall but has been known, on occasion, to drive with Post-it notes stuck to the steering wheel. This is her first novel.

Visit her at
micheleweberhurwitz.com
.