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Authors: Jennifer Richard Jacobson
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the place looks a lot cleaner than it usually does — no dishes in the sink or piled on the counter, no Cheerios or dust bunnies on the floor. Had Gage known that Janna was coming by?
“The decor is . . . interesting,” Janna mutters, but the judge-y tone is gone. “And where do you hang your uniforms, Ari?”
I hear Gage’s voice in my head:
“Janna rule number one hundred twenty-four: Always hang up your school uniform.”
I start to walk to the drawer under the TV set, where I stuff them (that is, when they’re not stuffed in my backpack or at Chloe’s), but Gage slides over to the closet.
“In here,” he says. He opens the one closet in the studio, the one that holds all of Briggs’s work pants and dress shirts, as well as the worn costumes he brings home from One Stop.
But when Gage opens the closet, only his clothes and my clothes are hanging there, including clean uniforms. When had Gage thought to do that?
“It works,” Janna says, and turns to look at me. She reaches a hand toward my face but stops herself. “Your hair looks very pretty today.”
I’d forgotten that it was in a gazillion French braids.
“You stayed at Sasha’s last night,” she says, her judge-y voice back. Janna used to hate it when Marianna would do up my hair or sew a little flower onto my clothes. She thought it was Marianna’s way of telling Janna that she was a better mother.
“I wanted to give Gage and Chloe a date night,” I say, which is partly true.
“Well,” Janna says, pulling on her coat, “I’m glad you’re doing so well.” But she doesn’t sound especially glad. “This should be everything,” she says, nodding at the boxes on the floor.
“Janna —” I start before she makes it out the door.
She turns.
But I don’t know what to say. “Thanks for bringing my stuff,” I blurt lamely.
She nods and jets away.
Ever since I can remember, I’ve had this theory that when each person is born, he or she is given an imaginary sack with the same number of happy moments, same number of horrible-news moments, same number of please-let-me-die-now embarrassments. So, while some people may have a bunch of bad moments all in a row, in the end, we’ll all have experienced the same number of ups and down. We’ll all be even.
Sasha tells me that that’s a ridiculous way of thinking. “Think of people who are starving, or who live in countries where there is war, or whose parents are divorced,” she says. “They suffer more.”
But I like to think that even these people, whose hardships seem to come all at once, might get to experience the same number of joys in their lives as everyone else (and sometimes those feelings of joy pop up smack in the middle of hardship). And on the flip side, people whose lives seem perfect might also be suffering in ways we don’t see, or might face hardships down the road.
But maybe Sasha is right. Maybe that is a ridiculous way of thinking. Yet sometimes, when it feels like all my troubles are piling up — Mama getting sick and dying, Janna and Gage fighting all the time, having to bounce from place to place with Gage and maybe missing out on the chance to go to Carter — it helps to think that there are only so many bad times in my sack. That sooner or later the good things will have to take over.
Anyway, this is what I’m thinking about as Sasha, Linnie, and I are going through the cashier line with our hot-lunch trays — that is, Sasha and I are carrying trays; Linnie brings her lunch to school, but she goes through the line with us ’cause she hates sitting alone — when the cashier stops me and says that I don’t have any money left in my account. “Tell your mom, dear, that she forgot to send in this month’s check.”
Linnie leans over. “She doesn’t have a —”
Sasha pulls Linnie toward our table to shut her up.
“Today I can give you an IOU,” the cashier says, waving me through, “but don’t forget it tomorrow.”
“It’s not like
“The decor is . . . interesting,” Janna mutters, but the judge-y tone is gone. “And where do you hang your uniforms, Ari?”
I hear Gage’s voice in my head:
“Janna rule number one hundred twenty-four: Always hang up your school uniform.”
I start to walk to the drawer under the TV set, where I stuff them (that is, when they’re not stuffed in my backpack or at Chloe’s), but Gage slides over to the closet.
“In here,” he says. He opens the one closet in the studio, the one that holds all of Briggs’s work pants and dress shirts, as well as the worn costumes he brings home from One Stop.
But when Gage opens the closet, only his clothes and my clothes are hanging there, including clean uniforms. When had Gage thought to do that?
“It works,” Janna says, and turns to look at me. She reaches a hand toward my face but stops herself. “Your hair looks very pretty today.”
I’d forgotten that it was in a gazillion French braids.
“You stayed at Sasha’s last night,” she says, her judge-y voice back. Janna used to hate it when Marianna would do up my hair or sew a little flower onto my clothes. She thought it was Marianna’s way of telling Janna that she was a better mother.
“I wanted to give Gage and Chloe a date night,” I say, which is partly true.
“Well,” Janna says, pulling on her coat, “I’m glad you’re doing so well.” But she doesn’t sound especially glad. “This should be everything,” she says, nodding at the boxes on the floor.
“Janna —” I start before she makes it out the door.
She turns.
But I don’t know what to say. “Thanks for bringing my stuff,” I blurt lamely.
She nods and jets away.
Ever since I can remember, I’ve had this theory that when each person is born, he or she is given an imaginary sack with the same number of happy moments, same number of horrible-news moments, same number of please-let-me-die-now embarrassments. So, while some people may have a bunch of bad moments all in a row, in the end, we’ll all have experienced the same number of ups and down. We’ll all be even.
Sasha tells me that that’s a ridiculous way of thinking. “Think of people who are starving, or who live in countries where there is war, or whose parents are divorced,” she says. “They suffer more.”
But I like to think that even these people, whose hardships seem to come all at once, might get to experience the same number of joys in their lives as everyone else (and sometimes those feelings of joy pop up smack in the middle of hardship). And on the flip side, people whose lives seem perfect might also be suffering in ways we don’t see, or might face hardships down the road.
But maybe Sasha is right. Maybe that is a ridiculous way of thinking. Yet sometimes, when it feels like all my troubles are piling up — Mama getting sick and dying, Janna and Gage fighting all the time, having to bounce from place to place with Gage and maybe missing out on the chance to go to Carter — it helps to think that there are only so many bad times in my sack. That sooner or later the good things will have to take over.
Anyway, this is what I’m thinking about as Sasha, Linnie, and I are going through the cashier line with our hot-lunch trays — that is, Sasha and I are carrying trays; Linnie brings her lunch to school, but she goes through the line with us ’cause she hates sitting alone — when the cashier stops me and says that I don’t have any money left in my account. “Tell your mom, dear, that she forgot to send in this month’s check.”
Linnie leans over. “She doesn’t have a —”
Sasha pulls Linnie toward our table to shut her up.
“Today I can give you an IOU,” the cashier says, waving me through, “but don’t forget it tomorrow.”
“It’s not like
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