Of All the Stupid Things (16 page)

He moves slightly away from his mom and shows me his hand. Twisting his thumb back, he pushes it all the way to his wrist. I haven’t done that trick in years, but I have to see if I can still do it. I can.

The boy smiles at me. Again my lips twitch, but they don’t go any farther than that.

I can’t look at him anymore, so I turn to Mom. She is still holding on to Sherman. He whines for her to let him go, but she doesn’t. Maybe she remembers that as long as she holds Sherman, the man won’t get too near.

My hand likewise stays on Sherman as I focus on the conversation.

“Why didn’t you tell us you had a new family?” Mom places her free hand on her hip.

The man throws his hands up in the air and shakes his head. When it’s clear he has nothing for his defense, Mom continues. “I guess as often as you call and write, it’s hard to remember what we know.”

The man lowers his voice. “Linda, don’t be like that.”

Mom responds by raising hers. “Like what? Outraged that you left us without a trace, only to start again in a new hemisphere?”

The man glances at his new family. The little boy is playing with the soccer ball again, but the woman is watching the conversation. I guess she doesn’t understand the words but does get the gist of what’s happening.

“You haven’t changed, Linda. You still put the blame where it doesn’t belong.”

Mom’s face reddens as she hisses. “I’m not the one who left.”

The man snaps back. “Well, someone had to. That relationship was going downhill and you know it.”

“And the solution was to bail? What about Tara?”

I breathe in and out in jagged bursts. I try to send her a telepathic plea not to bring me into this. But either she doesn’t get the message or she chooses to ignore it.

“Did your responsibility for her go downhill too?” Mom continues. “That’s what bothers me the most. That you didn’t even think about her; you didn’t think how hard it would be for her to wake up and hear that you were gone. Do you realize that, for some unknown reason, you were her idol, her superdad, and you abandoned her?”

Stop, Mom, please stop. I can’t be in the middle of this. He doesn’t need to know these things. Just stop talking about me. But I only say these things in my head because I still can’t speak for myself.

“Tara.” The man reaches out for me. I’m not staring at him, but I’m not ignoring him either. It’s like I’m pretending he’s not there, even though I’m looking right at him.

He takes another step, but I just slide closer to Mom and Sherman.

He sighs and backs away. “Tara, you’ve got to know I didn’t want to leave you. I thought of coming back many times just to see you.”

I don’t say anything. Mom says it for me. “What a bunch of lies. If you cared for her half as much as you say you do, you would have at least tried. You could have kept in touch more often. You could have at least remembered her birthday back in September.”

“Oh, right. Sorry about that. Here, just hold on a second.” The man trots over to his frame backpack. It’s not the same backpack he used when he left us. That old backpack had been huge. I must have been close to ten when I could no longer squeeze into it. I want to ask if he still has that old backpack, but I don’t.

He comes back a few minutes later. “I saw this a couple days ago and it made me think about you. I didn’t know whether to send it or maybe stop by and give it to you myself. Anyway, here you go.”

Walking a big circle around and keeping his eye on Sherman, he stretches as far as he can to hand me a yellow envelope. I take it without thinking. The edges are bent and dirty. I try to open it without tearing it. It breaks across the top and along the flap. I take the card out. It has a picture of a curvy cartoon girl wearing lots of makeup, a bra top, a miniskirt, and ridiculously high heels. The lettering on the card is in glitter and says
SWEET
16
TO MY SWEET GIRL
!!

I open the card. A twenty-dollar bill flutters out. I don’t pick it up. Inside, he wrote:
Tara, thought you might want to get yourself something nice with the money. It’s hard to believe that you’re already 16! Time sure flies. I think about you all the time. Hopefully I can see you again sometime soon. Lots of love, Dad.

I try to put the card back in envelope quickly, but apparently Mom read the whole thing over my shoulder.

“Sweet sixteen? Oh, good one, Kenny. Time really does fly. So fast that you skipped a year. Tara’s seventeen.”

Sherman suddenly breaks free.

“Back off!” the man screams as he leaps to the side. Sherman doesn’t even notice. He’s much more interested in chasing the ducks that landed on the lake, but too chicken to actually get in the water after them.

The man keeps an eye on Sherman as he barks up and down the lake. “Tara, look, I’m sorry. I…you know I’ve never been any good remembering dates.”

I know. I remember the county soccer championship when I was nine. I scored four goals that game, two of them by faking left as he had shown me. But he hadn’t seen me score. He had forgotten the game was that day.

He continues. “But you’ve got to know how much you still mean to me. You’re my little girl.”

I still don’t say anything.

The man sighs and looks at his watch. The woman looks at hers and nods. Making sure that Sherman is still far away, he goes over and kisses Mom on the cheek.

“Linda, we’ve got to get going. Tara, good seeing you again.” He comes up to me. I move away when he tries to kiss me. He sighs and holds out his hand. I shake it hard. The man half smiles. “Still got a good grip on you.”

He walks back to his new family. He whispers some things to the mom but I don’t understand them. She says something back, looks at us and then down at her son.

I look at him one last time.

The twenty I had dropped earlier is in the boy’s hand. Between gestures and the Spanish I learned at school, I can tell that the woman is asking him to give it back to me. He doesn’t want to but he does anyway. I take it from him. Jackson’s face stares at me for a second before I tear it in half. I hand the little boy a piece. He smiles and I kind of do the same. Now we each have one.

With one more final look, we turn to leave. Mom whistles for Sherman to come as we head up the trail that leads back to the cars.

“I can’t believe that,” Mom starts as soon as we are out of sight. “That two-faced twit. Leaving us because we were tying him down and then goes off and starts a whole new family. Then has the
nerve
to come back here with
her
, to
our
lake. I bet he wasn’t even going to let us know he was back in the country. And then to give you that outrageous birthday card, it’s like he never even knew you. To top it off, he can’t even remember how old you are! That’s what really did it. I just can’t believe him. Such a hypocrite. We’re so much better off without him.”

I nod. Mom keeps on ranting the whole way to the car. I don’t say anything. I don’t need to. Mom’s speaking for the both of us. She flings the uneaten picnic in the trash can, complete with the picnic basket. Even Sherman behaves and gets in the car without chatting to the squirrels first. Mom floors the gas pedal and a cloud of dust flies behind us.

“I could do with a real stiff drink right now,” she says as she takes the corners a bit too fast. “Or some really greasy and gooey food.” She takes her eyes off the road to glance at me. “I think there’s a Burger King up ahead.”

For the first time since we found the family by the lake I speak. “Let’s go.”

Pinkie

TARA ISN’T AT SCHOOL ON MONDAY SO I FIGURE SHE must be sick. It’s those crazy early-morning runs, I know it. It can’t be healthy to work up such a sweat when it’s getting cold outside. I call her again and ask if she wants me to bring her some chicken noodle soup. No answer. I stop by her house, but no one’s home. I try very hard not to obsess, but I still blame myself for not getting her a cell phone for her birthday.

Tuesday I begin to panic. It isn’t like Tara to ignore me. I call the gym, but the guy at the front desk is new and doesn’t know who Tara is. I think about calling Mrs. Hopkins at work, but I can’t remember what corporate office she works for. Whitney Blaire doesn’t know where Tara is either, but she also implies that she hasn’t tried calling her. I know something horrible has happened. Something more than being stuck in bed with a cold, or a broken answering machine.

By Wednesday, I’ve asked everyone in school if they know where Tara is. Well, every one of the two thousand students who I think might know Tara, which I guess isn’t that many. And everyone except Riley and Brent. Call me chicken, but they intimidate me. Riley because she’s still hanging out with the school weirdos and Brent because he always makes me feel like I’m not pretty enough to talk to him.

But I’m desperate now. No one has heard anything from Tara and I can’t leave out anyone who might have any kind of information. Still, I get Whitney Blaire to come with me. Only for moral support, of course.

I spot Brent a few feet ahead on his way to the vending machines. “Excuse me, Brent?”

He turns around. He wonders who’s called him while his eyes pass right over me to Whitney Blaire. I gave him a little wave. His eyebrows scrunch together and he squints as he looks at me. I wave more. He glances to see if anyone is watching and waits for me.

I hurry toward him. Then I realize how much I’m bouncing and try shuffling but that looks really weird. I fold my arms across my chest, but then think that Brent might feel like I’m accusing him. I let me arms drop even though they feel stupid hanging at my side.

Brent’s eyes dart between me and Whitney Blaire, and then he says, “What’s up, Brownie?”

I blush and stare at my bag. “It’s Pinkie.”

“I know.”

“Right,” I say, even though I don’t know whether he really does. That said, he still makes me feel as if I were the one who made the mistake. I glance at Whitney Blaire for a comeback, a joke, anything to help me out. But she’s acting very weird. She’s not paying any attention to me or Brent, but keeps running her hand through her hair as if there were an invisible mirror in front of her that’s helping her perfect the style.

“So, is that it?” Brent asks.

I’m about to say is
what
it, but then I realize he thinks I’m done talking to him. “No, sorry, I just wanted to know, and since I’ve asked everyone else, well I wonder if you know where Tara is?”

Brent’s face scrunches to a scowl. “Why would I know anything about her?”

I shift my bag from one shoulder to the other. Whitney Blaire’s still primping and therefore no help. “Well, it’s just that I know you’re…well, you know, friends.”

Brent looks like he’s about to punch something, or someone. I casually slide back. “We
were
friends,” he mutters. “You know, she really hurt me when she dumped me last week. But no matter. I’m seeing someone else.”

“Who?” Whitney Blaire finally stopped messing with her hair to give Brent her full attention.

No longer angry, Brent half smiles. He looks sideways at Whitney Blaire. “New girl, long dark hair. Maybe you’ve seen her?”

A loud clatter followed by quick clacks echoes through the hallway. By the time I turn, Whitney Blaire is halfway down the hall, her schoolbag sprawled at my feet. I look the other way and Brent is already gone. Scooping up her bag, I head after Whitney Blaire.

I catch up with her just in time to see her slap Riley across the cheek. The fury in Riley’s eyes is vicious as she pounces on Whitney Blaire. Grabbing Whitney Blaire’s hair, Riley yanks down. Whitney Blaire’s arms fly as she screams.

“Girls!” I clap my hands. “Stop it right now.”

Neither one listens. I shout and clap again. They keep fighting. It’s not even clear what they are doing to each other. They’re just a bundle of hair, arms, and screams.

A crowd forms to watch the spectacle, but no one does anything.

“Somebody do something!” I scream frantically. “They’re going to get hurt!”