to which I replied, because it was such a stupid question, "The girlfriend store."
Everybody but Teri and Charleen laughed at that one.
So, overall, when I got home that night, I was one happy camper. I had saved a kid's life—maybe even two kids' lives, although there was no way I was going all the way to Jersey to check Olivia D'Amato's situation. And I had spent the afternoon and part of the evening with a totally hot guy who liked going fast, and who, if I wasn't mistaken, seemed to like me, too. What could be better than that?
Not having my parents find out about it, that's what.
And there was no chance they were going to, either. Because the minute I walked in the door, around nine or so—I made Rob drop me off way down the street, so my folks wouldn't hear his bike—I saw that they hadn't even noticed I was gone. I had called, of course, from Chick's, and said band rehearsal was running long, but nobody had picked up. When I walked in, I saw why. My mom and dad were having a huge fight. Over Douglas. As usual.
"He's not ready!" my mom was screaming.
"The longer he waits," my dad said, "the harder it's going to be for him. He's got to start now."
"Do you want him to try it again?" my mom wanted to know. "Is that what you want, Joe?"
"Of course not," my dad said. "But it's different now. He's on the medication. Look, Toni, I think it would be good for him. He needs to get out of the house. All he does is lie up there, reading comic books."
"And you think slaving away in a hot restaurant kitchen is the cure for that?" My mom sounded very sarcastic.
"He needs to get out," my dad said. "And he needs to start earning his keep."
"He's sick!" my mom insisted.
"He's always going to be sick, Toni," my dad said. "But at least he's being treated now. And the treatments are working. The doctors said as long as he was taking his medication, there's no reason why he can't—" My dad broke off because he saw me in the doorway. "What do you want?" he asked, not rudely.
"Cereal," I said. "Sorry I missed dinner."
My dad waved at me. A
whatever
wave. I got down a box of Raisin Bran and a bowl.
"He's not ready," my mother said.
"Toni," my dad said. "He can't stay up there in his room forever. I mean, he's twenty years old, for Christ's sake. He's got to start getting out, seeing people his own age—"
"Oh, and back in the kitchen at Mastriani's, that's what he'll be doing. Getting out." My mom was being sarcastic again.
"Yes," my dad said. "With kids his own age. You know the crew back there. They'll be good for him."
My mother snorted. I ate my cereal, pretending to be very interested in the back of the milk carton, but really listening to their conversation.
"Next thing, you'll probably want to send him to one of those halfway houses," my mother said.
"Well, Toni," my dad said, "it might not be such a bad idea. He could meet other kids with his same problem, learn he's not alone in this—"
"I don't like it," my mother said. "I'm telling you, I don't like it."
My dad threw his hands in the air. "Of course you don't like it, Toni," he said. "You want to keep the kid wrapped up in cotton wool. But you can't do it, Toni. You can't protect him forever. And you can't watch him forever. He's going to find a way to do it again, whether you're keeping an eye on him or not."
"Dad's right," I said with my mouth full.
My mother glared at me. "Don't you have some place to be, young lady?"
I didn't, but I decided to go to my room to practice. Nobody bothered asking me why I was practicing after I'd just—supposedly—been at band practice for like six hours or something. That's just the way my family is.
Claire Lippman's not the only one who can hear me practicing. Ruth can hear me, too. As soon as I was done, the phone rang. It was Ruth, wanting to know all about my bike ride.
"It was okay," I said as I ran a cloth through the inside of my flute with this metal stick to clean out all the spit.
"
Okay?
" Ruth echoed.
Everybody but Teri and Charleen laughed at that one.
So, overall, when I got home that night, I was one happy camper. I had saved a kid's life—maybe even two kids' lives, although there was no way I was going all the way to Jersey to check Olivia D'Amato's situation. And I had spent the afternoon and part of the evening with a totally hot guy who liked going fast, and who, if I wasn't mistaken, seemed to like me, too. What could be better than that?
Not having my parents find out about it, that's what.
And there was no chance they were going to, either. Because the minute I walked in the door, around nine or so—I made Rob drop me off way down the street, so my folks wouldn't hear his bike—I saw that they hadn't even noticed I was gone. I had called, of course, from Chick's, and said band rehearsal was running long, but nobody had picked up. When I walked in, I saw why. My mom and dad were having a huge fight. Over Douglas. As usual.
"He's not ready!" my mom was screaming.
"The longer he waits," my dad said, "the harder it's going to be for him. He's got to start now."
"Do you want him to try it again?" my mom wanted to know. "Is that what you want, Joe?"
"Of course not," my dad said. "But it's different now. He's on the medication. Look, Toni, I think it would be good for him. He needs to get out of the house. All he does is lie up there, reading comic books."
"And you think slaving away in a hot restaurant kitchen is the cure for that?" My mom sounded very sarcastic.
"He needs to get out," my dad said. "And he needs to start earning his keep."
"He's sick!" my mom insisted.
"He's always going to be sick, Toni," my dad said. "But at least he's being treated now. And the treatments are working. The doctors said as long as he was taking his medication, there's no reason why he can't—" My dad broke off because he saw me in the doorway. "What do you want?" he asked, not rudely.
"Cereal," I said. "Sorry I missed dinner."
My dad waved at me. A
whatever
wave. I got down a box of Raisin Bran and a bowl.
"He's not ready," my mother said.
"Toni," my dad said. "He can't stay up there in his room forever. I mean, he's twenty years old, for Christ's sake. He's got to start getting out, seeing people his own age—"
"Oh, and back in the kitchen at Mastriani's, that's what he'll be doing. Getting out." My mom was being sarcastic again.
"Yes," my dad said. "With kids his own age. You know the crew back there. They'll be good for him."
My mother snorted. I ate my cereal, pretending to be very interested in the back of the milk carton, but really listening to their conversation.
"Next thing, you'll probably want to send him to one of those halfway houses," my mother said.
"Well, Toni," my dad said, "it might not be such a bad idea. He could meet other kids with his same problem, learn he's not alone in this—"
"I don't like it," my mother said. "I'm telling you, I don't like it."
My dad threw his hands in the air. "Of course you don't like it, Toni," he said. "You want to keep the kid wrapped up in cotton wool. But you can't do it, Toni. You can't protect him forever. And you can't watch him forever. He's going to find a way to do it again, whether you're keeping an eye on him or not."
"Dad's right," I said with my mouth full.
My mother glared at me. "Don't you have some place to be, young lady?"
I didn't, but I decided to go to my room to practice. Nobody bothered asking me why I was practicing after I'd just—supposedly—been at band practice for like six hours or something. That's just the way my family is.
Claire Lippman's not the only one who can hear me practicing. Ruth can hear me, too. As soon as I was done, the phone rang. It was Ruth, wanting to know all about my bike ride.
"It was okay," I said as I ran a cloth through the inside of my flute with this metal stick to clean out all the spit.
"
Okay?
" Ruth echoed.
Similar Books
