you?” Francine said, examining Samson’s belly. “Maybe he needs to go on a diet.”
“Francine?” her father said softly. “Pea pod? You know that none of this is about you, right? Your mother and I still love you. We always will. We’ll never stop being your parents, no matter what.”
Francine just shrugged. Of course her parents loved her. That was their
job
. It was the way they were doing their job that bothered her. Francine might only be nine years old, but she already knew that if things weren’t working out theway you planned, then you fixed them. If you weren’t getting the grade you wanted in school, then you asked the teacher for extra credit. If your guinea pig wasn’t doing well in his obstacle course, then you increased his training. Her parents just weren’t trying hard enough. Because, sure, they argued sometimes, but no more than most people’s parents. She’d seen Natalie’s parents argue. Emma’s, too. Alicia’s parents practically murdered each other every time they drove the girls to soccer practice. But none of
them
were getting a divorce, now, were they? If only Francine knew the right thing to say, the exact right thing to do, she could fix everything. But she couldn’t think of the exact right thing.
“Can we have pizza for dinner?” That’s what she thought of.
Her father blinked at her for a moment, then stood and kissed Francine on the forehead. He crossed the room to get his cell. “Pepperoni and olives?”
Francine nodded. “With extra cheese.”
Her father flipped through the takeout menus on the side table until he found the right one. When Francine’s mom was in charge of dinner, they never ordered out, butFrancine’s dad couldn’t even cook pasta without ruining it. “So how was school today?” he asked, while he was on hold with the pizza place. “How are things going with that boy—what’s his name, Arizona? Did you have to do a dare today? Did they vote you news anchor yet?”
Francine placed Samson carefully back in his cage. “His name’s Kansas,” she told her father. And then, between the pizza ordering and the delivery, she filled him in on her entire miserable day—minus some tiny details that she thought her dad might not want to hear about, like the part about the boys’ bathroom and the principal’s office.
“And he just did the dare like it was nothing!” she said, taking a bite out of her piping hot slice of pizza. “Can you believe that? He’s never going to quit, and he doesn’t even care about being news anchor, either. I can tell.”
Francine’s father offered Francine a napkin to wipe the pizza sauce off her chin. “That sounds pretty rough, pea pod. But maybe this Kansas kid isn’t as awful as you think he is. It can’t be easy, being the new kid in school.”
“
Dad.
You can’t be serious. He’s
awful.
He thinks he’s
so
cute and so good at everything.”
“All I’m saying is that there’s a second point of view toevery story.” Her father walked to the sink to refill their plastic cups with water. “Maybe you should give him more of a chance. Who knows? Maybe he just wants to be fr—”
Her father was cut off when, from the center of the table, his cell phone began ringing. Together, Francine and her dad dug through the mound of papers and books and pizza plates to find it.
“Hello?” her father said, when at last he’d found the phone and answered it. Francine couldn’t hear the voice on the other end, but she knew just from the look on her dad’s face that it was someone he hadn’t expected. “Yes,” he said, raising an eyebrow at her. “This is Francine’s father.”
Francine’s eyes went wide. Who was calling about
her
? Was it Mrs. Weinmore, calling to report her visit to the office?
But it couldn’t be, because her dad was smiling. Laughing, almost. “Hold on,” he said into the phone. “She’s right here.” And he handed the phone to Francine.
“Who is it?” she asked. No
“Francine?” her father said softly. “Pea pod? You know that none of this is about you, right? Your mother and I still love you. We always will. We’ll never stop being your parents, no matter what.”
Francine just shrugged. Of course her parents loved her. That was their
job
. It was the way they were doing their job that bothered her. Francine might only be nine years old, but she already knew that if things weren’t working out theway you planned, then you fixed them. If you weren’t getting the grade you wanted in school, then you asked the teacher for extra credit. If your guinea pig wasn’t doing well in his obstacle course, then you increased his training. Her parents just weren’t trying hard enough. Because, sure, they argued sometimes, but no more than most people’s parents. She’d seen Natalie’s parents argue. Emma’s, too. Alicia’s parents practically murdered each other every time they drove the girls to soccer practice. But none of
them
were getting a divorce, now, were they? If only Francine knew the right thing to say, the exact right thing to do, she could fix everything. But she couldn’t think of the exact right thing.
“Can we have pizza for dinner?” That’s what she thought of.
Her father blinked at her for a moment, then stood and kissed Francine on the forehead. He crossed the room to get his cell. “Pepperoni and olives?”
Francine nodded. “With extra cheese.”
Her father flipped through the takeout menus on the side table until he found the right one. When Francine’s mom was in charge of dinner, they never ordered out, butFrancine’s dad couldn’t even cook pasta without ruining it. “So how was school today?” he asked, while he was on hold with the pizza place. “How are things going with that boy—what’s his name, Arizona? Did you have to do a dare today? Did they vote you news anchor yet?”
Francine placed Samson carefully back in his cage. “His name’s Kansas,” she told her father. And then, between the pizza ordering and the delivery, she filled him in on her entire miserable day—minus some tiny details that she thought her dad might not want to hear about, like the part about the boys’ bathroom and the principal’s office.
“And he just did the dare like it was nothing!” she said, taking a bite out of her piping hot slice of pizza. “Can you believe that? He’s never going to quit, and he doesn’t even care about being news anchor, either. I can tell.”
Francine’s father offered Francine a napkin to wipe the pizza sauce off her chin. “That sounds pretty rough, pea pod. But maybe this Kansas kid isn’t as awful as you think he is. It can’t be easy, being the new kid in school.”
“
Dad.
You can’t be serious. He’s
awful.
He thinks he’s
so
cute and so good at everything.”
“All I’m saying is that there’s a second point of view toevery story.” Her father walked to the sink to refill their plastic cups with water. “Maybe you should give him more of a chance. Who knows? Maybe he just wants to be fr—”
Her father was cut off when, from the center of the table, his cell phone began ringing. Together, Francine and her dad dug through the mound of papers and books and pizza plates to find it.
“Hello?” her father said, when at last he’d found the phone and answered it. Francine couldn’t hear the voice on the other end, but she knew just from the look on her dad’s face that it was someone he hadn’t expected. “Yes,” he said, raising an eyebrow at her. “This is Francine’s father.”
Francine’s eyes went wide. Who was calling about
her
? Was it Mrs. Weinmore, calling to report her visit to the office?
But it couldn’t be, because her dad was smiling. Laughing, almost. “Hold on,” he said into the phone. “She’s right here.” And he handed the phone to Francine.
“Who is it?” she asked. No
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