How to Ruin My Teenage Life (19 page)

“Yeah,” I say, totally serious and meaning every single word. “Like brother and sister. And friends … great friends,” I say, taking a spoonful of vanilla ice cream.

Those green eyes are starting to water.

“Nathan, are you crying?”

One lone tear falls down his cheek. “Yeah.” He looks down and swipes the tear from his face. “I haven't had a sibling in a long time, Amy.”

I hug him. To be honest, I think it's the first sisterly hug he's had in years.

“Do you really play the guitar?” I ask him, eyeing the black leather case on the floor while I try and lighten the mood.

“Used to be in a band, but it's kind of tough being a member of a group when you move as often as I have.”

Picking up the guitar, I hand it to him. “Play something for me.”

“Like what.”

“A song. For me.”

“Do you want me to make it up?”

“If you can.”

“Okay … let's see. I'll call it ‘My Sister Barbie.'”

24

Tzedakah is the commitment a Jew makes to give charity. Tzedakah doesn't have to be all about money. It can be doing mitzvahs (good deeds) for others less fortunate, too. My friend Nathan needs a little Tzedakah thrown his way.

I bring Nathan to my mom's house in Deerfield the next morning for moral support. Last night Nathan convinced me to be honest with her and Marc about questions I have concerning the new baby.

My mom rushes out of the house and hugs Nathan. I think her emotional hormones are in overdrive. “Avi, it's so nice to finally meet you,” she says with a big smile. “Amy's told me so much about you.”

“Mom—”

“How are you liking being in our big city?” she says, ignoring me. “Amy must be showing you a grand old time.”

“Mom, this isn't Avi.”

“It's not?”

“No. It's Nathan. Nathan, this is my mom,” I say as I unleash Mutt and let him loose in my mom and Marc's house.

“Oh. I thought his name was Avi.”

“No, his name is Nathan. Avi is another guy.”

“Then where's this Avi?”

“I don't know.”

“Oh. Well, Nathan, why don't you come in and have lunch with us.”

While we're eating lunch in the kitchen, Nathan kicks me under the table. It's my cue to start bringing up issues I've been avoiding. “When the baby is born, where's it going to sleep?”

My mom looks to Marc. “In our room, at first.”

“Well, we only have two bedrooms because the third is used as an office,” Marc chimes in.

“What are you asking?”

“Well, I don't want to be sleeping on the couch when I stay here. I want to keep my room. I may not live here permanently, but I still want a room when I visit. It's important to me.”

“Can't you share one with the baby?”

I raise my eyebrows and chuckle. “I'm a teenager. Like I really want to share a room with someone in diapers.”

Marc puts his fork down while he thinks. “Maybe I can move the office into the basement.”

“There's no windows down there and little ventilation, Marc,” Mom coos. “What about your allergies?”

“Amy has a point about the room situation. I can take my allergy medicine before I go down there. Is that fair? You keep your bedroom and the baby will get the office.”

I guess Marc isn't such a bad guy, after all. He just needs to get used to having a daughter like me around … and a dog like Mutt. Maybe I should suggest he take his allergy medicine every day.

My mom sits up straight, or as straight as she can with a protruding belly. “As long as we're making concessions, how about if I request one of my own?” she says.

I brace myself. “Shoot.”

“After the baby's born, you babysit one weekend night a month. Changing diapers and all.”

“Fine. But if it pukes all over my clothes you're paying for the dry cleaning.”

“It's a deal.”

After lunch, the four of us sit and play Scrabble.

“So … are you two an item?” my mom asks before one of her turns.

“We're just friends,” Nathan blurts out.

“Yeah,” I confirm. “Just great friends.”

Marc wins Scrabble by a landslide with a triple word score with the word zareba. We all challenged him and he won. Zareba is a word, if you can believe it. Then Nathan and I take Mutt for a walk around the block before we head back to the city. It feels good to have Nathan as a friend, to give me the guy perspective on stuff.

My phone buzzes with a text message when we're driving back to the city.

“Can you read it to me?” I ask Nathan.

“It's Jessica. She wants to know why you want Wes's number.”

“Text her back and tell her it's a surprise.”

I hear Nathan typing away on my cell phone.

“She says you have enough guys in your life and need to take a breather.”

I steer the car to the side of the road and grab my cell out of Nathan's hands.

“What are you doing?”

“Bribing my best friend.” I smile when she finally texts me Wes's number. I dial it and wait for an answer.

“Wes, this is Amy. You know, the virgin from the youth group meeting.”

“I remember. The girl with the dark hair and clear blue eyes. Are you breathing heavy on purpose?”

“No, that's just my dog panting in my ear.”

“Yeah, right,” he says, totally not believing me.

“Listen, if you ever need a guitar player for Lickity Split, my friend Nath—I mean Nate—Nate Greyson is his name and he rocks.”

“I sing, too,” Nathan whispers beside me.

“He sings, too,” I add.

“We're rehearsing today at Lounge Ax. If he wants to come by and jam with us, that's cool. Can't say he's in the band, but we're always lookin' for subs.”

I hang up and toss the phone into Nathan's lap.

“Thanks,” he says. “I think I once called you inconsiderate and rude. You're not.”

“Yeah, well, you caught me when I'm heartsick and weak.”

I tell Nathan to be at Lounge Ax later. I have to pick up Jess and take her to dinner. The bribe dinner.

At Hanabi, our favorite sushi place, I order the Jewish Chef's Special without crab or shellfish, a spicy tuna roll and spicy tuna rice bowls with tempura crunch. Jess orders the Hwe Dup Bob bowl of kosher sushi, lettuce, and brown rice.

Jess takes the first bite of her special concoction and moans with delight. “This is
so
good.”

“It better be. It's costing me sixteen dollars.”

She shoves another forkful into her mouth. “First Avi, then Nathan … now Wes. I think you've gone off the deep end here. I have to say giving you Wes's cell number was
so
worth this dinner.”

Frustrated, I tell Jessica the truth. “The number was for Nathan. He plays guitar and needed guys to jam with.”

“So you just spent sixteen dollars on my dinner for doing something nice for Nathan?”

I shove a spicy tuna roll into my mouth and nod.

Jess puts her fork down. “So you're not into Wes?”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

“What about Nathan?”

Another shake. “Nope.”

“And Avi?”

At the mention of his name, my heart stings. “He's staying at Northwestern with a friend. It's over.”

“Why?”

“Because he wants it to be. I kissed another guy, I humiliated him in front of everybody, and because he's in the Israeli military for the next three years.”

“Do you still like him?”

“Oh, man, Jess, you can't imagine. It's like he took a piece of me when he left. I really screwed up. I wish I knew where he was, but even if I did I wouldn't know what to say to him.”

“Too bad you can't kidnap him.”

Yeah. Too bad. If I could kidnap him then I could tell him that it doesn't matter that we're apart. It doesn't matter that I kissed another guy. My heart still belongs to my Israeli soldier and nobody can take that away … not time or a kiss. But why
can't
I kidnap him? Why can't I make him listen to what he might not want to hear? While my mind is churning, I'm getting more excited by the second.

“That's it. Jess, you're a genius!” I say.

She looks at me, confused and clueless. “I think I missed something.”

“No, you're right. I need to kidnap Avi. Secret military operation style—it's right up his alley.”

“Jess, you don't even know what dorm he's staying in.”

“We'll find out. Doesn't Miranda's aunt work in admissions? That's why she thinks she's automatically getting in?”

“Okay, so suppose you know where he's staying. Then what? We're going to handcuff him and take him in a getaway car? I've only seen him a few times, but I know he could overpower the two of us no problem.”

She's right. I need more muscle on my side—a guy. “Nathan will help.”

“Nathan?”

I convince her he's the only one who'll help. Besides, our kiss was fifty percent his fault.

In the evening, I recruit Nathan and Miranda. Nathan's skeptical, but Miranda's on board. We plan the mission for Friday, after school.

Two days from today.

25

What is God's definition of a family?
I've been trying to figure out my own definition, but I can't come up with one that makes complete sense

I'm going to be a grandmother. For real. My dad talked to Mr. Obermeyer's vet on the phone, confirming the results. Mutt really is a stud.

Not wanting bad blood with Mutt's father-in-law, I bake homemade doggie cookies and knock on Mr. Obermeyer's door. The creak on his floor alerts me he's home, although I'm not sure when he peeps through his peephole and realizes it's me he'll open the door.

Lucky (or not) for me, he opens the door. He does not look happy to see me. “What do you want now?”

Holding out the bag of cookies that I tied with a pink ribbon, I say, “These are for Princess.”

His lips unpurse for a millisecond. Opening the door wider to let me in, I'm not sure I want to actually walk into Mr. Obermeyer's condo. He's probably going to make me take my shoes off to protect his pristine floor and has plastic covering his furniture so nobody gets any marks on it.

I walk inside his place. He's got jazz playing softly in the background. “You like jazz?” I ask, trying to make conversation, at the same time wondering when I can make a smooth exit without insulting the old man. The last thing I want to do is upset Mr. Obermeyer. His grumpy threshold is very thin.

Reaching into the bag, he pulls out a homemade treat and hands it to Princess, who's lying on a pink plushy dog bed with her name embroidered on it. Her water bowl is right next to it. The pampered pooch doesn't even have to get up to drink; she can hang her head over the side of the bed and lap up her refreshment.

What a life!

“Your mutt really messed things up, didn't he?”

I bite my bottom lip. “I know it's my fault, Mr. Obermeyer. And I'll pay for the vet bills and even take all the puppies and sell them after they're weaned if you want so you don't have to look at them more than you have to. Just … I'd appreciate it if you'd not terminate the pregnancy.” Tears are coming to my eyes, which sucks because even though I'm emotional I hate to show it to other people.

“Wait here a second,” Mr. Obermeyer says, leaving me alone while he disappears down the hall with his feet shuffling slowly across the floor. He shuffles back, holding a picture of an old woman beside a huge silver cup. A poodle is sitting next to her. The woman is grinning from ear to ear. You can tell she's deliriously proud. So is the dog.

“Is that Princess?”

“Yes, with my wife. Esther died last year, right after the dog show.” Mr. Obermeyer gazes at the picture longingly. “I miss her.”

“I'm sorry I ruined your dog's uterus,” I say, taking advantage of the sentimental moment and praying he'll forgive me.

The old man shakes his head. “You didn't ruin her. It's just … well, I'm a little overprotective of Princess.”

Ya think? “What about the puppies?”

“My wife wanted to breed Princess and create champion purebreds.”

“What do
you
want, Mr. Obermeyer?”

“I just want my wife back.”

His dedication to his wife makes me think of Avi. And for the first time since I moved into my dad's building, I can relate to the old man. He's not bitter. He's jealous that I have a dad and friends and he's got nobody. Well, nobody except an ugly dog.

Here I was thinking all along that two people can't possibly make up a family, but I think I was wrong. Yes, it does happen that I'm wrong. Not often, but on the rare occasion.

“Mr. Obermeyer, how about you join us for a family Shabbat dinner next Friday.”

“I'm not Jewish.”

“You don't have to be Jewish in order to be in my family, Mr. Obermeyer. Just ask my mom.”