Calli (15 page)

Liz passes them as she walks down the hall, completely oblivious to their drama. “Where’s Brandi?”

“In the bathroom. She’s got some news to share.”

Liz’s smile is just as genuine as Mom’s. “I know she talked to Michelle today—I can guess what it is. Thanks for holding us accountable, Calli.”

It takes a moment for her comment to sink in. I glance back at the fighting couple. The man hasn’t let go of the woman.

I guess second chances do happen sometimes.

“SUPER!” Madame Mahoney says when she returns my assignment to me this morning. In French “super” sounds like “soo-payr.”

I busted my butt this week so I could cross everything off my homework list. It was hard studying for the tests and working on so many assignments, even with Dub’s help. “Focus,” he’d keep telling me when I started thinking about Lemond and what he’ll be like and how things will go. I also obsessed over checking the mail, wondering whether Cherish would ever write back. I ended up writing her another letter similar to the first one I’d sent, in case it had gotten lost or confiscated. I tried calling Delia a couple of times too, but she was always busy.

In science Mr. Hatley brings me back to attention by clapping his hands. “Everyone passed the dissection exam! I hope it was an enjoyable learning experience.”

Gunner groans. I admit I want to groan as well, though
I’m grateful we didn’t have to cut and waste living, innocent frogs.

“There are seventeen school days remaining,”

Mr. Hatley says. Finally the class claps in response to something he says. “For your final project, you’ll do a presentation on the topic of your choice, but it has to relate to biology.” He starts talking about frog organs again. I wonder if amphibians have disorders like lupus or if their heart sacs can get infected. This might make an interesting project, or I could write about mitosis and gene traits like we recently studied.

“Calli, can you think of a way the frog has adapted to its environment?” Mr. Hatley asks.

“I don’t know.” I’m still thinking about genes and how they make up who we are, but not completely.

Mr. Hatley calls on someone else and asks her the same question. She shrugs.

“I shouldn’t have said anything about seventeen days remaining,” Mr. Hatley says with an over-the-top sigh. “Remember, adaptations are structures, processes, or behaviors that help an organism survive in its environment.”

I soak up the definition and can only hope I do a better job adapting when my environment changes again.

 

“I’ve got so many things to do before Lemond gets here,” Mom says when I get home. She’s folding sheets. Her hair is pulled up and strands dangle out of place, giving her the appearance of a wild bayou woman.

After greeting Sassy and setting down my things, I grab the other end of the top sheet and help her fold laundry. “Don’t stress out. Remember what the doctor said.”

“I’m fine, baby girl, and my checkup with Dr. Inez went well. In fact I’ve had much more energy lately.” With a few folds, the sheet turns into a perfect square. The fabric smells plain. Mom washes our clothes with a baking soda detergent and doesn’t use dryer sheets. Oh, well—Mr. Hatley said most dryer sheets are toxic. At least my family is inadvertently doing our part for the environment.

The environment might make a good final project for science. The refineries. As soon as I think this, I know that’s what I’ll do.

Mom blows some strands of hair out of her face. “I need to run to the mall to pick up some new clothes for Lemond. Want to come with me? You can call Delia to join us if you’d like.”

I want to spare my mother from the drama, but not after we’ve vowed to be more open with each other. “Thanks, but Delia has plans with Torey that don’t include me.”

“Well, that’s too bad.”

“Yeah.” It seems like it’ll take a mega-Intervention to help our friendship.

I put the laundry up for Mom before we leave. She’s super chatty on the way to Prien Lake Mall and asks me questions about Dub and about school and about the counselor visit. I don’t hold back answering.

“You’re not having any hurtful thoughts are you?” Mom asks.

I know she’s serious and is trying to be there for me, but her question sounds funny and makes me laugh. Even she laughs after I tell her no.

“Liz and I were talking about taking Lemond to Contraband Days on Saturday, and you should invite Dub.”

Bring Dub to the pirate festival with my family and new foster brother? “Why not?”

The parking lot is full, so we circle around once before finding a spot close to JCPenney. “While I pick out some new clothes for Lemond, you should look at a few things for yourself ,” Mom says once we walk inside the department store. The chilly air feels nice. “Does your swimsuit fit from last summer?”

Ugh.
“Probably not.”

“Then you should find a new one, plus anything else you might need.” Mom heads off to the boys’ section and I’m off to juniors.

There is a large selection of cute bikinis, but they look much too tiny. I’d have to literally stuff myself into them. I’m glad Delia and Torey aren’t here with me. I wouldn’t want to model these things for anyone. Not even Dub.

I pick out a couple of tankini sets. Extra large. No
Sports Illustrated
swimsuit model would need to wear this much fabric, but that’s not who I am. I’m Plain Old Calli, full-figured teen with a few problems.

I gulp before going into the dressing room, and I consider eating healthier like Mom. More than eight numbers separate my mother and me. It feels strange that Delia isn’t in the stall next to mine. No confessions and fancy dresses. There’s got to be something I can do to bring us closer again.

The swimsuit that fits is comfortable and covers up enough that I won’t feel entirely embarrassed wearing it.
After changing back into my clothes, I consider looking for a pair of shorts or some tank tops since they’re on sale, but I’m drained. I find Mom and hand her the swimsuit.

She stops digging through a rack of boys’ clearance items to set it in her cart. “Pretty color. Didn’t find anything else?”

“Nah.” I look around for a place to sit but don’t see anything other than the floor.

Mom reaches into her purse and pulls out several dollars. “Why don’t you get us something to drink while I finish shopping?”

“Anything you want in particular?”

“Just no lemonade.”

Like I would forget she’s allergic to citrus. Lemonade sounds good to me though, so maybe I’ll go to Chick-fil-A.

Hmm. Chick-fil-A.

I scheme a plan as I make my way to the food court, and I’m glad to see that the most important component of this plan is in place: Hot Chick-fil-A Guy is working the cash register.

I stand in his line, five deep, and tap my foot on the ground in anticipation of talking to him. An older man turns around and scowls at me like the tapping is the most annoying sound he’s ever heard. I’m too fidgety to stop.

Finally when I’m next in line Hot Chick-fil-A Guy looks up at me and smiles his warm, sexy smile. He’s even cuter than I remember.

“What can I get for you?” he asks. His voice is deeper than I remember too. I make myself think of how much
Dub means to me to keep myself from feeling guilty. The guy lifts his eyebrows while waiting for my answer.

My voice comes out high pitched when I order a Coke and a lemonade. Hot Chick-fil-A Guy gets right to pouring the ice and drinks, and I use these couple of minutes to drum up some courage. When he passes me the drinks, his hand stays clear of mine, which is a good thing because his touch might interfere with my speech capability. “Thanks.”

I eye his chest and name tag. There isn’t much to lose at this point. “By the way, John, I have a friend who is really into you. Want her number?”

He smiles again, this time even wider. “Why not?” He reaches for a pen near the cash register and hands it to me along with something to write on. My hand shakes as I write Delia’s phone number on the back of a kids’ meal bag.

Delia might kill me for doing this, but she might thank me too. Maybe he won’t even call her. I put it out of my mind for now.

LEMOND SHOULD BE HERE SOON. I try to zone out on the couch since I had a hard time falling asleep last night. When I finally did, I had a nightmare about the fight between me and Cherish. She kept hitting me and hitting me but my hands were somehow restrained. There wasn’t anyone there to stop her. No Mom. No Liz. Nobody.

Lemond was supposed to be here before dinner. It’s 8:39 PM.

Mom’s cleaning up after having baked dozens of oatmeal cookies. Our house smells like cinnamon and burnt raisins, plus WD-40 because Liz sprayed the door hinges. She’s already changed the batteries in every one of our smoke detectors.

Finally the doorbell rings and Sassy jumps at the front door. I run and grab her collar. Her barking echoes in the entryway.

When Mom and Liz rush to answer the door, I step back to keep Sassy under control.

“Sorry we’re late,” Michelle says with a huff after she arrives with Lemond. I have to hold Sassy’s collar tight so she won’t stampede our guests.

Lemond sets down a trash bag he’s carrying and then clenches his arms around Michelle’s thighs. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me here. Please.” My heart aches witnessing his desperation.

“I have to,” Michelle says. “You’ll be with a wonderful family, and you’ll see me and your mother in no time.” She cradles her hand over the back of his head. It seems like we’re stealing him.

I have to think of something. “Want to see Sassy do a trick?”

Lemond pulls his face out of Michelle’s pant leg and shakes his head yes.

Mom’s eyes are on me. And Liz’s. And Michelle’s. I better live up to their expectations. I lead Sassy into the kitchen, grab the box of Milk-Bones, and toss one into the living room.

Best of all, Sassy lives up to my expectations. Lemond laughs as Sassy tosses the bone up into the air and then stops, drops, and rolls before gobbling up her treat. When she begs for more, Lemond laughs again.

“Come on in,” Mom says now that he’s calmed down and Sassy has too. “We have some cookies for you.”

“Chocolate chip?” he asks.

“Even better—oatmeal raisin,” Mom says.

Michelle and I glance at each other, almost as if we’re both hoping he’ll agree. Thankfully he doesn’t argue the point. Now me? I might’ve at his age.

I’m not hungry, but I grab a cookie when we gather in the kitchen.

Michelle quickly says good-bye after telling Liz she’ll check on him soon. I hold my breath in case Lemond throws a fit. Instead he dunks his cookie into a glass of milk Mom has poured for him. He’ll probably need to soak his cookie because he’s missing both front teeth. I hadn’t noticed when he smiled earlier.

“Good job with the trick,” Mom whispers to me when I bring my plate to the sink.

 

Mom and Liz help Lemond unpack the trash bag that contains a few of his things and tuck him into bed. Liz gets choked up because this is how she carried her things around back in the day too.

“Good night, Lemond,” I tell him.

“Can you read me a story?” he asks me. “My sister used to read to me every night before bed.”

“Sure,” I say. Mom and Liz linger in the doorway for a moment, watching us.

Lemond pulls a tattered copy of
The Little Engine That Could
from the nightstand and hands it to me. I open the cover, careful not to rip any pages out. Just as I’m about to read, Lemond interrupts me.

“Wait! Elissa let me hold the book.”

I hand it to him.

“I can read it myself. Want to hear?” I actually want to go back to my room, but I can’t tell him no. Not on his first night here. I know I’d be scared out of my mind.