drawing swirls in
the dirt with one toe. I was doing standing butt crunches.
One-and-tu'o-and-three-and-four-and ... I was on number
seventy-nine when she said, "Isabelle??"
"Yes?" I couldn't believe it. She was speaking to me.
Ashley Barnum was actually speaking to me.
"You go to John Jay, right?"
"Yes."
"8-A homeroom?"
"Yes.'
"Minx's English.?"
"Why, yes." Why, yes? Suddenly I'd developed it British
accent' Duh!
"Well, here's the thing," Ashley said. "I mean . . . I
know we don't really know each other or anything, but I'd
really appreciate it if you wouldn't, you know ..."
"I won't tell," I said.
Ashley Barnum drew another snail trail in the dirt,
nodded. "Thanks."
"Sure."
"Anyway," Ashley said, "it's not a big deal or anything.
I mean, illy mom just flipped about this gum she found in
my backpack. She thought it was, um, Ex-Lax or something.? She saw this thing on TV ..."
"Yeah," I said. "Same. I mean, my mom flipped too,
cause she thought I was throwing up or something."
"Yeah?" said Ashley Barnum.
"Yeah."
There was a pause while I tried to think of something
cool to say. Do you know I've wanted to be you since fourth
grade
But Ashley's mom pulled up in her shiny black car and
signaled with her cigarette for Ashley to hurry up, and
Ashley said, superfast, "So, thanks, Isabelle. I'll see you in
Minx's class, third period, Tay?"
"'Kay," I said. "Minx's class." You betcha, girlfriend. Call
ya later!
As the car peeled out, a little spray of dirt fanned
through the air, just above the spot where Ashley Barnum's toe had been.
THAT NIGHT I MADE IT THROUGH an entire dinner without talking to Ape Face. I wanted to drive her
honkers.
"If you think the silent treatment bothers me," she
said, "think again."
"Mom?" I said. "Would you pass the peas, please?"
"You can ask your sister for the peas, Isabelle. They're
right in front of her."
My mother had about six peas on her plate, and a piece of chicken the size of her thumb. This is how much
she eats. Before Daddy, she ate real people's meals. Now
she eats doll meals.
Ape Face held up the howl, balancing it on one hand.
"Would anyone like some peas? ... Anyone?"
"So, Mom," I said, completely ignoring Ape Face.
"How was your day? Any exciting papers to grade?"
My mother is a college professor. She teaches American
literature. There are piles of her students' papers all over
the house. People say, "Wow, your mother's pretty messy."
But they don't know she used to be neat.
"Isabelle," my mother said. "April is offering you the
peas.
"I changed my mind," I said. "I'm not in the mood for
peas after all."
"Honestly, Isabelle," said my mother.
"Honestly, Isabelle," said Ape Face, frowning and
shaking her head.
My mother shot April the look that means Enough.
"Mona, do you hear anything?" I asked. "I don't hear
anything.... What's that? ... Is that a fly buzzing in my
ear?"
"Isabelle," said my mother quietly, spearing exactly
one pea with her fork. "Stop it."
"Fine," I said.
There was a moment of silence. Then Ape Face said,
"Mom, guess what? I'm writing a story. `Group of Frogs,'
it's called. How's that for a title?"
Mom reached over to ruffle the Ape's hair. "An excellent title. I can't wait to read it. What's the plot?"
This is the way it goes with them. They are their own
mother-daughter book club. If you want to join, go right
ahead.
I got up to clear my plate. On my way to the sink I did
what I always do: try not to look at Daddy's empty chair,
but can't help myself This time there was a big, messy pile
of papers on top of it. I couldn't believe it. A lot of people
put piles of stuff on chairs and pass right by them, not
thinking a thing. But looking at this pile, my stomach hurt
so much I felt like someone punched me.
In my room, I ran straight to my closet. That's where I
keep my stash, under one of Daddy's old flannel shirts that
nobody knows I have. For the longest time after he died,
I
the dirt with one toe. I was doing standing butt crunches.
One-and-tu'o-and-three-and-four-and ... I was on number
seventy-nine when she said, "Isabelle??"
"Yes?" I couldn't believe it. She was speaking to me.
Ashley Barnum was actually speaking to me.
"You go to John Jay, right?"
"Yes."
"8-A homeroom?"
"Yes.'
"Minx's English.?"
"Why, yes." Why, yes? Suddenly I'd developed it British
accent' Duh!
"Well, here's the thing," Ashley said. "I mean . . . I
know we don't really know each other or anything, but I'd
really appreciate it if you wouldn't, you know ..."
"I won't tell," I said.
Ashley Barnum drew another snail trail in the dirt,
nodded. "Thanks."
"Sure."
"Anyway," Ashley said, "it's not a big deal or anything.
I mean, illy mom just flipped about this gum she found in
my backpack. She thought it was, um, Ex-Lax or something.? She saw this thing on TV ..."
"Yeah," I said. "Same. I mean, my mom flipped too,
cause she thought I was throwing up or something."
"Yeah?" said Ashley Barnum.
"Yeah."
There was a pause while I tried to think of something
cool to say. Do you know I've wanted to be you since fourth
grade
But Ashley's mom pulled up in her shiny black car and
signaled with her cigarette for Ashley to hurry up, and
Ashley said, superfast, "So, thanks, Isabelle. I'll see you in
Minx's class, third period, Tay?"
"'Kay," I said. "Minx's class." You betcha, girlfriend. Call
ya later!
As the car peeled out, a little spray of dirt fanned
through the air, just above the spot where Ashley Barnum's toe had been.
THAT NIGHT I MADE IT THROUGH an entire dinner without talking to Ape Face. I wanted to drive her
honkers.
"If you think the silent treatment bothers me," she
said, "think again."
"Mom?" I said. "Would you pass the peas, please?"
"You can ask your sister for the peas, Isabelle. They're
right in front of her."
My mother had about six peas on her plate, and a piece of chicken the size of her thumb. This is how much
she eats. Before Daddy, she ate real people's meals. Now
she eats doll meals.
Ape Face held up the howl, balancing it on one hand.
"Would anyone like some peas? ... Anyone?"
"So, Mom," I said, completely ignoring Ape Face.
"How was your day? Any exciting papers to grade?"
My mother is a college professor. She teaches American
literature. There are piles of her students' papers all over
the house. People say, "Wow, your mother's pretty messy."
But they don't know she used to be neat.
"Isabelle," my mother said. "April is offering you the
peas.
"I changed my mind," I said. "I'm not in the mood for
peas after all."
"Honestly, Isabelle," said my mother.
"Honestly, Isabelle," said Ape Face, frowning and
shaking her head.
My mother shot April the look that means Enough.
"Mona, do you hear anything?" I asked. "I don't hear
anything.... What's that? ... Is that a fly buzzing in my
ear?"
"Isabelle," said my mother quietly, spearing exactly
one pea with her fork. "Stop it."
"Fine," I said.
There was a moment of silence. Then Ape Face said,
"Mom, guess what? I'm writing a story. `Group of Frogs,'
it's called. How's that for a title?"
Mom reached over to ruffle the Ape's hair. "An excellent title. I can't wait to read it. What's the plot?"
This is the way it goes with them. They are their own
mother-daughter book club. If you want to join, go right
ahead.
I got up to clear my plate. On my way to the sink I did
what I always do: try not to look at Daddy's empty chair,
but can't help myself This time there was a big, messy pile
of papers on top of it. I couldn't believe it. A lot of people
put piles of stuff on chairs and pass right by them, not
thinking a thing. But looking at this pile, my stomach hurt
so much I felt like someone punched me.
In my room, I ran straight to my closet. That's where I
keep my stash, under one of Daddy's old flannel shirts that
nobody knows I have. For the longest time after he died,
I