My Life in Dioramas (17 page)

“Are we broke?” I asked my dad. “Mom tried to explain it to me, but . . .”

“Well, we're not rolling in it.” He glugged some water and kept looking out at the lake. He had sunglasses on so I couldn't really read him. “We still have more than a lot of people in the world have, Kate. Never forget that.”

“I know, I know.”

“Anyway, I have a plan,” he said. “I just need to be sure it's going to work out before I tell you . . .
Or
your mother.”

“You have a plan that Mom doesn't even know about.”

“I do.”

He handed me a bottle of water from the backpack and I drank the whole thing in one go.

On the drive back home, the setting sun was turning the whole town pink. And when we turned down one road that gave you this amazing view of the mountains—all lit from behind like there was a bonfire in the sky—the world seemed so big.

Dad pulled into a gas station and parked right near the quickie mart and said, “I'll be right back.”

He left the car running and came back a few minutes later with a pack of cigarettes.

“You really shouldn't smoke,” I said.

“I know.” He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a lotto ticket, and handed it to me. “Maybe it's our lucky day.”

“Please tell me this isn't the plan.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” he said.

I did my homework when
we got home. Then my dad went out to pick up pizza and didn't take me along, which I figured meant he wanted to smoke in the car without my judging him. After I packed up my backpack for school I called my mom's cell.

She didn't pick up.

After dinner, my dad said, “Hey. You want to hear what I've been working on?”

“Sure.”

So we went up to the computer and he turned up the volume on some speakers and unplugged the headset and a song played.

And it was good.

Really good.

It was backgroundy, not like a pop song, and had a cool beat and a neat overall vibe. Like an old record made new by
being run through some funky filter. It sounded like the kind of music you'd want blasting out into the yard while friends played boccie. It made me wish we were at a party.

“I love it,” I said.

“Really?”

“Yeah, Dad. Really. What's it called?”

“I don't know.” He scratched his head. “I've been calling it ‘Big Red,' but I'll probably change it.”

“Don't. It's perfect. Want to see what
I've
been working on?” I asked, and then I led him downstairs and showed him the dioramas. They were sort of scattered all over the room so I cleared the desk and started to stack them on top of each other.

“Kate, these are amazing.”

I hadn't actually realized that I'd almost made the entire house.

“How did you know you could do this?”

“I didn't.” I smiled. “Until I did it.”

When I went to bed he was still working on the song, sitting at the computer, the only light on in the whole house.

21.

School. Home. Chores.
Homework. Sleep. Repeat. It rained for days—April showers for real—so there was thankfully no more hiking. I decided to make a birthday present for Stella so I spent long evenings downstairs working on that. I wasn't sure how long exactly I'd be grounded but figured I'd need a present for her eventually.

I hadn't realized that a full week had passed until I walked into the kitchen and my dad said, “We're running up to get your mom today.”

It was Saturday.

Stella's birthday party.

The sun had come out but a few drops clung to my mom's wind chimes out back. Why hadn't he gone to get her during the week?

“Dad,” I said, as he was looking for his wallet and car keys on the shelves in the kitchen. “I'm really sorry about what I did.”

“Good.”

“So . . . Stella's birthday party is today. And this might be the last time I get to go to a party with all my friends and—”

“We have to get your mother, Kate.” He opened the front door and Angus stepped out onto the porch and sat there.

“I was thinking I could see if I could go to Stella's house now?” I tried. “Please?”

He breathed out hard. Then he took off his baseball cap and scratched his head. I joined him on the porch, moving a pebble around with my sneaker.

I could feel my heart beating.

He was actually considering it.

“Find out if I can drop you there now,” he said. “
While
I think about it. So we know if it's even an option.”

I texted Stella. Then stared at the screen and willed her to write back immediately. I didn't have a lot of time.

“It does seem sort of pointless to make you spend all morning in the car.” He seemed to be thinking out loud, talking more to himself than to me. “And you
have
been really good about this week, and I
know
you wouldn't ever try to pull a stunt like that again.”

I nodded. All true!

Finally, a text came through.
At Main Street Salon, getting hair done. Come here?

“She said her mom said it's fine and that they're at a hair salon on Main Street.” I said it all so fast I almost ran out of breath. I paused to inhale. “Can you drop me there?”

“What do you think your mother would do in this situation?” He squinted at me.

“Honestly, I have no idea.”

“Me neither. So I'll take you into town, but here's the condition.”

“Anything.”

“I won't tell your mother about the nonsense you pulled with Bernadette. But you have to tell her about how you signed up for Dance Nation without our permission.”

It wasn't going to be pretty but it wasn't like I had much choice.

“Deal,” I said.

“Then let's get a move on.”

“I just need to grab a few things.” I ran back into the house and grabbed Stella's gift and shoved it in a bag and then got into the car.

It seemed to take forever to get into town. But when we got to the salon, I leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek before getting out. “Thanks, Dad,” I said.

“Have fun, okay?” He said it in a weird way, like he
really
wanted me to.

Stella was in a salon chair
getting her hair blown out, only it didn't look like her hair. She was loaded up with lavender streaks and looked about three years older than she normally did. She caught eyes with me in the mirror. “What do you think?” she asked.

“I love it,” I said.

The stylist spun her around so she was facing me. But he was still drying her hair so she had to shout, “Want to do yours? Maybe a pink streak?”

“Mmmm. I'm not sure.”

Hair was whipping around Stella's face. She had to close her eyes and mouth tight. The stylist spun her again and I wandered over to the waiting area and picked up a magazine. It was just pages and pages of hair styles that no one I know would ever have but I kept on flipping and flipping, wishing that my dad had a more fun day ahead of him and wasn't just driving hours to bring home my depressed mother who pretty much blamed him for all their failures as a couple. Part of me felt bad for not going with him, just to keep his mind off things on the drive out. We could have played license plate word games or sung along with the radio. Maybe talked about how we'd spend our lotto winnings.

Stella came over, looking giddy, and grabbed me by both hands. “Your turn.”

“I can't.”

“My mom says it's her treat,” Stella said. “It's temporary!”

“How temporary?”

“Temporary enough!”

“I should ask my mom.”

“Come on, they can do you right now.”

Stella looked so happy and her hair looked so fun and my dad had said for me to have fun and this felt like a good way to get the ball rolling on that.

“Okay,” I said. “I'll do it!”

I got in the chair and the stylist asked me if I wanted a trim while we were at it, so I said sure. My hair had gotten kind of long and uneven and ragged looking. He took a few inches off and I felt like I'd lost five pounds. Then he showed me some color samples and I picked one of the pinks he suggested, and he and Stella decided where the streak should go. She had like ten different small streaks but for some reason everyone thought one would be good for me. So the color went on and it got wrapped in tin foil and then I sat there and waited while a kitchen timer ticked on the vanity in front of me.

“Aaah.” Stella was buzzing around the place, getting a little cup of water, and then getting her nails done. I watched her in the mirror. What did it feel like to have everything you wanted? “I'm so excited,” she said, coming over and shaking my shoulders.

“Me, too,” I said.

“You don't
sound
excited.”

“My mom wasn't helping my grandparents,” I blurted. “She spent the week with them because she's too depressed and mad to be at the house.”

Stella looked like I'd thrown a cup of coffee at her. “I'm really sorry things are so sucky for you right now.”

“They should be sucky for you, too!” I said, maybe a little too loudly, but it felt good. “I'm your best friend and I'm leaving!”

“I know,” she said. “I mean,
I know
. So let's make today totally awesome, okay? We'll cry another day.”

It might have sounded like a ridiculous thing to say coming from someone else.

But coming from Stella—my Stella—right then, it was just want I wanted to hear. It didn't matter that Megan was going to be there or who sang what. What mattered was that it was Stella's birthday and we were together.

“Good plan,” I said. “Now let's see what I look like, so we can make bets on how quickly my mother is going to kill me.”

Stella laughed and the timer went off and the stylist came and, WOW, that streak in my hair was
really
pink. Since my hair was dark to begin with it sort of looked like the color of raspberries at night. I loved it. My parents would want to chop it off, I was sure of it, but they weren't there and they
weren't going to be at the karaoke place, so I decided to enjoy it while it lasted.

We went back to Stella's house and had lunch. I decided to surrender to Stella's will and let her do my makeup as if I were that old Barbie head we'd tortured for so many years.

Stella put on her sparkly blue shift dress and she looked awesome. She looked through her closet and told me to roll my jeans up. She gave me a few tank tops to layer and some bangly jewelry and a pair of ankle boots. I looked like a rocker chick. We both laughed because it was kind of ridiculously not me.

Then I said, “Oh! I almost forgot!” I went and got my bag. I took out her gift and set it atop her dresser. “I made this for you.”