Amber Brown Goes Fourth (2 page)

Sitting on my bed, I look at my “Dad Book.” It’s filled with pictures of my father alone, of him with me, with pictures of the three of us—Mom, Dad, and me. There are even some pictures of just the two of them, before they decided to separate.

Since my mother doesn’t like to have pictures of my father around the house, I made up the Dad Book.

If I ever get to visit my dad in France, I’ve decided to make up a “Mom Book” to take with me. Something tells me that he doesn’t have pictures of her around his apartment.
He does have pictures of me though. He told me that when he came over to England to see me when I got chicken pox and couldn’t go to him.

Sometimes I talk to the book as if my dad is really here.

Today is one of those days.

“I’m a little nervous about school starting. It’s going to be the first time that you’re not here for the first day of school. And Justin’s not here either.”

I look at the picture of my dad, which was
taken when we went to Great Adventure. He’s grinning . . . . . and he’s got a piece of cotton candy stuck on his nose.

He can’t say anything.

I continue, “Actually, I’m more than just a little nervous . . . I’m scared. Fourth grade . . . . that’s supposed to be pretty hard . . . . and Mr. Cohen’s not going to be my teacher this year. . . . What if my brain is so filled with everything from nursery school, kindergarten, first, second, and third grade that I don’t have room in it to put any new facts? What if I get a desk that wobbles? Or a desk that some dumb kid sat in last year and there’s still some dumb kidness on the desk that’s going to rub off on me?” I can almost hear my father laugh as I say that.

It even makes me smile . . . . . a little . . . and then I continue, “What if nobody wants to be my best friend? Daddy, I’m really out of practice for making best friends. I haven’t had to do it since preschool—and I didn’t
even have to think about it then.”

Then I give the picture a kiss.

I can almost taste the cotton candy on his nose. “And Daddy, this is the big news: Mommy is going out with this guy named Max. She started going out with him while I was in England. And I think she really likes him. And she says that he really likes her.”

I look at the picture of my father.

He’s still smiling.

I’m not. “When I got back, Mommy wanted me to meet Max, but I didn’t want to.”

I think about how I don’t want her to have a boyfriend, not unless it’s my dad. When she told me all about him, I got really upset and I really cried, not make-believe-to-try-to-get-my-own-way tears, but real tears. So then she said that I don’t have to meet him for a while, not unless it gets VERY serious.

I start talking to the picture of my dad
again. “This could get VERY serious, Dad. If you are thinking about coming back to us, you better do it soon. I’m getting worried.

“Max doesn’t even live here. He lives in a whole different town. What if Mommy and Max decide to get married? Then you and Mommy won’t be able to be married. What if they decide to move to his town . . . . . . . and what if I have to go to a different school?”

My father says nothing.

Maybe I should call him and talk to the real person, not just his picture.

But then I don’t think I could say all of this to him really . . . . . or to my mother . . . . or to anyone.

“How does this look?” My mother walks into my room.

I close my Dad Book, turn it upside down, and look at her.

She’s wearing a black skirt, a raspberry-colored blouse, and jewelry.

Actually, she looks really pretty, but I’m not sure I want to tell her that.

I sniff the air. “You’ve got a lot of perfume on.”

Then I scrunch my nose up.

Actually, she smells good, but I don’t want to tell her that either.

She adds a black belt to the outfit and looks in my full-length mirror.

Then she looks at me. “What time is What’s His Face picking you up?” I ask.

“MAX is picking me up any minute.” She gives me a look.

“What time will you be home?” I take a strand of hair and start to chew on it.

“I’m not sure, but, honey, you don’t have to worry. Joanie said that she’ll spend the night. And I’ll be home long before you wake up in the morning.”

I continue to chew on my hair. “Maybe I won’t go to sleep until you come back.”

My mother sighs. “It’s going to be very late.”

“I’ll wait up.”

She tries to change the subject. “Honey, please don’t chew on your hair. You know how Aunt Pam’s cat, Cheshire, is always coughing up hair balls and leaving them all over the place. I’m afraid that you’re going to start doing that.”

She points to a corner and teases, “You know, little Amber hair balls everywhere.”

Even though I think it’s funny, I don’t smile. “I’ll stay awake until you get home. So don’t stay out too late.”

She looks like she’s going to give me a lecture, but then all she says is, “Okay.”

I know that she’s sure that I’ll fall asleep, but I won’t.

I know I won’t.

I’m not going to get out of bed.

Not today.

Not tomorrow.

Not for the entire school year, which starts today.

It was hard getting out of bed yesterday and listening to Mom after her big date with Max.

She likes him, really likes him.

She says that she’s sure that I’m really going to like him, too.

I’m sure that I really won’t.

I don’t ever want to meet him.

I don’t ever want to like him.

I’m very sure that I won’t.

And I’m also sure that I don’t want to get out of bed and go to school.

My alarm clock oinks at me.

Actually, it’s a combination piggy bank and alarm clock.

It’s a pig taking a bubble bath, a present from Aunt Pam.

When I put money in, it snorts and thanks me.

When the alarm goes off, it oinks.

I push down the button, stop the alarm, and put a pillow over my head.

In about four minutes, the Mom Alarm pulls the pillow off my head to wake me up.

This alarm is a real person who rumples my hair and says different things depending on the day.

After her date with Max, she woke me up saying, “I told you that you would fall asleep.”

Today, Mom Alarm pulls the pillow off my head and says, “Wake up, darling. . . . It’s the first day of school.”

There’s no button to turn the Mom Alarm off.

Opening my eyes just enough to sort of see her, I say, “Fourth grade’s not so important. Wake me up this time next year and I’ll think about fifth grade.”

My mother tickles me. “Get showered. Get dressed. Be downstairs in half an hour to get a nutritious, yummy breakfast. Then I’ll drive you to school.”

“I can walk to school. You haven’t had to drive me there for two years.”

I think about how I used to walk to and
from school with Justin. Then after school, I used to stay at his house until my mom came home.

Now everything has changed.

I repeat, “Mom, I can walk to school.”

My mother sighs. “We’ve already had this discussion. I don’t want you to walk there alone, so I’ll drive you to school, and at the end of the day I’ll pick you up after Elementary Extension.”

I put the pillow over my head.

Elementary Extension. It’s this special program for kids who can’t go home right after school.

It’s all Justin’s father’s fault. If he hadn’t gotten that stupid new job, all our lives wouldn’t have had to change.

I wonder if Justin’s mom is waking him up right now too.

And I wonder if he’s thinking about how different it’s going to be for him . . . . and if he’s missing me, too.

“Rise and shine, my darling daughter.” My mom pulls the pillow off my head and uses her voice that says “Now get out of bed if you wish to remain my darling daughter.”

She also starts tickling my feet.

I, Amber Brown, do not like to have my feet tickled.

In fact, I hate it.

So I get out of bed, tripping over my new school notebook.

Picking up the notebook, I put it next to my pencil box.

I’ve decorated the box with all sorts of stickers and filled it with pens, pencils, and erasers.

Taking my shower, I think about a lot of things. . . . . What will my new teacher be like? Which desk will I sit in? Who will sit next to me? Will Hannah Burton still be mean to me? Will some of the boys still be so immature? Will there be any new kids in the class who will need a new friend?

I get out of the shower, dry off, and brush my teeth and my hair (not with the same brush).

Clothes.

I put on black leggings and a long T-shirt that Aunt Pam bought me this summer. It’s got a map of the London underground, their subway, on it. I’ve never worn it, saving it for the first day of school.

On go my new shoes, right shoe first and then the left.

I wonder if Justin is putting on his shoes right now.

I wonder if he remembers to lace them or if he’s going to trip because I’m not there to remind him to lace them . . . or if someone else will remind him.

My notebooks and writing stuff go into my new flourescent-pink knapsack, along with the good-luck troll that Aunt Pam gave me a couple of years ago.