Drive Me Crazy (9 page)

Chapter Fourteen
Cassie

T
he next morning at breakfast, Nono announces we’re going to an art festival in the park, before heading out to the next town. This is no surprise, unlike last night when she and Lana kept breaking into all these different show tunes I’d never heard before, like this is some special thing they do together now. Lana seemed weird after her phone call, but Nono had asked the hostess if we could sit in the
Wicked
section, and before long Lana had perked up. The cauldron of chocolate fondue Howie ordered before dinner probably didn’t hurt.

But looking at art is my thing with Nono. She has such a great sense of color and style, and I always learn things—or at least, get new things—from her. I’m glad
that for my outfit of the day I had already pulled on the batik T-shirt Nono made for me at Christmas. When Lana and I go back up for our suitcases, I switch into the silver beaded earrings Nono and I picked together in San Francisco last year.

“Oh, I love those, Cassie,” Nono says when Lana and I are back down with our stuff in the lobby.

I smile at her. “I do too still.”

She tucks her arm around me. When Howie finishes checking us out of the hotel, Nono’s arm stays put. We head out into the sunshine that way together, just me and her—no silly songs needed. Still, there’s a lot that Lana seems to know about Nono and I don’t, so I ask about her latest project.

“Silk-screening, I think,” she tells me. “It’s complicated, and takes a lot of equipment, but you can do some amazing things with it. At least from what I’ve seen.”

“Here we go,” I tease her. Nono’s studio is already crowded with a pottery wheel, an antique photo enlarger, enough beads and shells to run her own bead store, plus her paints, finished and half-finished canvases, and three or four easels. All because she thinks she can do amazing things with them. And usually does.

“You know everything I learn from new projects informs the others.” She’s pretending to sound hurt.

“I like it,” I assure her. “You’re like a butterfly, going from flower to flower.”

She flaps her fingers like little wings and makes a pleased face. “Well, let’s see what this little garden has to offer us, shall we?”

It doesn’t take very long at the festival to see that Nono’s butterflying art is way better than a lot of the stuff here. Still, Nono is sweet to everyone, asking them about their processes and finding a way to pay each of them a genuine compliment, even a small one.

“Grandma Tess is always so friendly,” Lana whispers as we gawk around a stall full of quilts made with tacky iridescent fabrics.

“It’s an art form,” I insist, not sure she means it as a nice thing. “You can learn a lot of people skills by watching Nono.”

Lana looks apologetic. “Oh, I know that. I think it’s wonderful. I just mean”—she lifts her hands to the magenta-and-orange sparkly quilt hanging in front of us—“the color here. And what you did with the spirals. It’s so . . . vibrant.” Her voice is full of false awe, and she smiles sideways at me.

“Well, it’s nothing compared to these,” I tell her, moving to the next stall over. It’s filled with plant hangers woven
out of what look like recycled grocery store bags. “I had to go shopping for months.”

Lana giggles. “I see. They must’ve taken so much work.”

I hold out my hands to her. “You wouldn’t believe the blisters.”

Nono and Howie join us as we’re laughing.

“See anything you like?” Howie asks, gazing at the plants above us.

“Oh yes,” Lana says. “I was just telling Cassie I want one of these planters for Christmas.”

Howie’s eyebrows go up in surprise. “Well, it’d certainly be interesting.”

Of course he doesn’t get it.

“I don’t know, Lana,” Nono says, strolling across to the next stall. She picks up a chip bowl painted with pink flamingos inside. There’s a smaller bowl to put the dip in, one that’s the actual shape of a flamingo. It hooks onto the bigger bowl by its beak. “I was thinking of getting you this.”

“Oh, perfect,” I say, happy Nono’s playing too. “And I think I’ve found just the thing for your kitchen.” I gesture to another stall down from us, full of framed embroidery that says things like
WORLD
’
S BEST GRANDMA
, and
IF YOU CAN
’
T SAY SOMETHING NICE
,
COME STAND NEXT TO ME
.

“Fabulous,” Nono says. “I think I want four.”

We go on like that from stall to stall, secretly picking out the most ridiculous items to “give” each other for Christmas or our birthdays. Not everything is terrible, though. Howie buys a set of beautiful, hand-carved wooden salad servers, and Lana points out a wind chime made from antique spoons and forks that we all like. There’s an etching Nono and I agree would look nice in my dad’s office, and when she decides to go ahead and buy it, I stay with her while she talks to the artist about shipping it to Monterey. Howie and Lana take off to watch the papier-mâché sculpting demonstration together, so before we join them, Nono and I circle back to the best jewelry stall. We stack our wrists with bangles and hold up earrings next to each other’s ears, trying to decide which matching set we should get.

“Lana should have a pair too,” Nono says, leaning closer to one of the earring stands. “Which do you think she’d like best?”

Right. Lana, too.

“Is she much of a jewelry type, though?” The way Lana keeps her things, I imagine she’d just lose them immediately. And besides, I don’t want her and Nono to match in this way. They’ve already got all kinds of other moments.

“Well, not the same way we are,” Nono agrees. “But I think she’d like to be. It would be fun to help her, right?”

Lana could definitely use some help when it comes to accessorizing. Or dressing. And that hair of hers. I’m not totally keen on the idea, but having a special project, just me and Nono—even if it is Lana—might be the kind of fun I always miss between our visits. So after some debate about length and glitteriness, we decide on a pair of small hoops made of sparkly beads. They’re less dramatic than the ones Nono and I get for ourselves, but they’re still pretty. Lana’s look of surprise and delight when we give them to her, and the proud way Nono says that I picked them out, make me feel happy in a way only being with Nono can.

Even the drive between Visalia and our next stop is pleasant. Howie works a crossword puzzle in the front seat, asking Nono the clues he can’t get, and Lana and I each read our own things. After a while Lana asks Nono to play the sound track from
Once
so that I can learn a song we overheard at the restaurant last night that the two of them loved so much. The music is beautiful, even if it’s sad. Lana and Nono are singing, and I’m caught up in the rise of their voices melding together with the stereo when my phone
bing
s in my purse.

“Oh, Cassie, wait until the song’s over at least,” Nono says, turning down the volume as I reach for it.

“It’ll just take a second,” I tell her. I haven’t texted with Kendra Mack at all today.

What’s up?
is all she says.

Driving to the next town now
, I type quick.

What’d you do this morning?
she fires back.

Art festival.

Get anything go
od?

Cool earrings.
I wince after I hit send, knowing she’ll probably want pictures.

I wanna see
, she says, of course.

Can’t right now
, I hurry. The song has played through and Nono’s paused the sound track, waiting for me to finish before we listen to the next one.

Tell me something good then. No one’s around & it’s boring.

My gma’s husband always orders dessert first
, I try.
Every meal.

Tell me something GOOD, I said. Something I actually want to know.

“You are aware, Cassie,” Nono warns, “that we’re waiting on you to finish your conversation, right? This has been such a nice day so far.”

“Okay, just one more minute,” I say, feeling trapped. I do want to keep having fun with Nono, but this is also the first time Kendra Mack has turned to me alone for
entertainment, and I need to hold her attention a little longer.

You have to promise not to tell anyone else
, I stall. Kendra Mack always loves a good secret. I just have to think of one.

Ooh, that’s more like it. What’s up?

This is just btwn you & me.

Of course. What is it?

But nothing is coming to mind. Nothing good enough.
You have to swear.

Cross my heart!

“Cassie, please,” Nono says, losing her patience. “You really will lose phone privileges if it keeps interrupting us this way.”

“I’m sorry.” Ugh. I can’t think of anything juicy for Kendra Mack with Nono rushing me. The only real secret I have is one I’ve been trying to keep from her for months.

But it’s all I’ve got. I only pause a moment before I send:
Cory Baxter.

This time it takes her a few beats to respond:
Really?

You’re my bestie so I thought u shld know. But listen, I have to go. Promise this is just btwn us, right?

“Cassie, really,” Nono says, hitting the steering wheel with her palm. “This is getting beyond rude.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” I say, my heart in my chest. Not
because Nono’s getting mad, but because I can’t quite believe I just told Kendra Mack about Cory Baxter. I need to hear her say she won’t tell anyone else before I put my phone away. I need her to say it’s okay. “Just one last thing, I swear. It’s Tom, and he’s—” I lie, right as another text comes in.

I wouldn’t tell anyone a thing like that.

I let go of the breath I was holding.
You’re the best! TTYL, ok?

Her message,
Oh definitely
, blinks across my screen. I lean forward, relieved, and apologize to Nono again, asking that we crank the music back up, nice and loud.

I don’t even know what town our new hotel is in, but it doesn’t matter because at least there’s a good pool. Apparently the main reason we drove here is for the restaurant we’re going to tonight—a place Howie found that serves a different kind of pie for each state in America. I still think the man is a little too obsessed with dessert to be healthy, but it has made mealtimes pretty delicious.

When Lana and I finish changing into our swimsuits and head to the rooftop deck, I decide to leave my phone behind. Part because of Nono’s warning in the car, part because it needs to be charged anyway, and part because I need a break. I trust Kendra Mack—I do—but I also know
how carried away she can get. How things sometimes slip out. Like the time she accidentally blurted to Neftali Manji what Cheyenne Taylor said about her being a fashion copycat, after she saw Neftali’s new jeans. It’s just a thing that happens sometimes. Kendra Mack’s always apologetic, and everyone understands. I just don’t want to be around my phone if she accidentally blurts my secret crush to someone like Izzy Gathing.

Lana brings hers down, though, which is a little strange. I can’t quite picture Lana having the urgent need to text Tamika, who apparently is off at camp anyway. Certainly she won’t be hearing from that Henry guy.

I don’t think about any of it too much, because in general it’s a perfect afternoon. We swim and play around in the pool awhile, then all four stretch out in the sun. There are signs everywhere that say
NO DIVING
, because this pool isn’t really that deep, and they prompt Howie to tell a story about the swimming hole near the End of the Road, and how he and his brothers used to dare each other to try and find the bottom.

“No one has yet,” he says, voice full of fake mystery.

Lana squints at him in the sun. “Them’s fighting words, Grandpa Howe.”

“I’ll say,” Nono adds.

“Well, one day I’ll toss you both in headfirst—see if
you can fare better than the Howe brothers. You’d be hard-pressed to try harder than Tad did. I’d pay to see it.”

“Would you pay in pie?” I tease him, thinking of later tonight.

“You know what, Cassie? I just might.”

I stand up, reaching for Lana’s hand. “Come on, then,” I tell her. “We better get some practice.” And with that we both jump in, feet first, swimming to sit on the bottom and see who can hold her breath the longest.

Chapter Fifteen
Lana

E
xcept for when Cassie was going back and forth with Kendra Mack on her phone and Grandma Tess started getting irritated, I’d say that yesterday definitely helped me feel somewhat better. Mom and I texted several times during the papier-mâché demonstration Grandpa Howe and I were watching, and she loved all the pictures I sent. She was back at work too, which at least was an improvement from the day before. Swimming around in the water and stretching out in the sunshine that afternoon also helped relax my muscles. When we got to Pie Country that night, Cassie was so won over by the different kinds of pie there (orange meringue for Florida, pineapple coconut cream for Hawaii, cheese and onion pie for Wisconsin)
that in honor of Grandpa Howe’s find, she proclaimed Rule Number Seven to be Dessert First, which made me feel good.

After breakfast, when we’re getting our things together to head out to Bakersfield, though, Cassie checks her phone and groans, “Oh no.”

Suddenly my whole body’s pulsing with panic again. It would be horrible if Cassie got bad news on this trip, too. “What is it?”

She holds up her hand, firm, reminding me of Rule Number Two: Don’t Talk to Me While I Have My Phone. I start gathering my things from the desk, but the back of my neck is prickling, waiting for her to finish scrolling through whatever it is she’s looking at.

“Cassie, is everything okay?” I can’t help asking. If something happened to her brother, or her parents—

“Kendra Mack was at Izzy Gathing’s house last night,” is all she says.

My shoulders relax, but I’m still confused. Done with my packing, I plop into the one armchair in our room and just wait. Cassie starts typing, a deep frown on her face. Immediately an answering
bing
chimes in.

“Grandma Tess and Grandpa Howe are waiting downstairs,” I remind her.

“I know,” she growls. “But I’ve got to take care of this.”

“Did something happen?”

She doesn’t look away from her phone. “Her brother’s in the same grade as Cory Baxter.”

“Kendra Mack has a brother too?”

“Not Kendra Mack,” she snaps. “Izzy Gathing.”

This still doesn’t make any sense, but I don’t say anything else because Cassie’s typing again. This time, when the answer comes back in, she starts blushing and breaks into an enormous grin.

“Oh. My. Gosh.” She holds her phone to her chest and finally looks at me. “Kendra Mack is the best friend in the world.”

I’m not sure I quite agree with that, but I try not to show it.

“She was over at Izzy Gathing’s last night,” she goes on, “and got the idea to look up Cory Baxter. That’s why I was upset at first, because I don’t want Izzy Gathing knowing all my business, but apparently it was her idea to get in touch with him for me. And he asked for my number!”

I feel my eyebrows scrunch down before I can stop them. “But doesn’t he have your number already?”

Cassie looks down at her phone like she’s never seen it before. “Oh. Well, no. Because, you know, we see each other at school.”

“But you said you don’t have classes with him, so isn’t
after school your best time to talk?” I’m not trying to make Cassie feel bad—it’s just that I don’t quite understand how all of this works.

She shakes her head and sighs. “Like I said, my parents are strict. And anyway, this means he wants to take it to the next level.”

Something still feels off, but I can’t argue with the delighted expression on Cassie’s face. Until yet another message comes in, and she frowns again.

“Shut up, Izzy Gathing,” she mutters. When she sees me watching, she explains, “Just Izzy Gathing being snide.”

“That’s not very nice.”

“Izzy Gathing isn’t very nice. It’s, like, her job to be mean. The more you can put up with, the better. It’s like a test.”

“Annoying test if you ask me,” I grumble under my breath, ready for this to be over and for us to get going.

She’s heard me, though. “Maybe you should mind your own business.”

That she’s turning on me when it’s her friends who are difficult makes me lose my patience. “Maybe I would, if you’d stop dragging me into it. All you talk about is what’s going on with Kendra Mack and Cheyenne What’s-Her-Head. It’s all you seem to care about. Maybe Grandma Tess
should
take your phone.”

“Fine.” Cassie stands up and yanks her giant suitcase to the door. “If you’re not interested in what people with
real
lives actually do, instead of playing stupid shopping games and taking fake glamour shots, I won’t bother you with it anymore.”

It’s so mean, I’m shocked. Cassie genuinely seemed to be having fun with all that stuff. I don’t know what else to say except, “Well, don’t, then.”

“Good.”

She huffs out of the room, dragging her bags, and I have no choice but to follow.

To make things worse, it’s a longer drive today to Bakersfield, and no matter how many routes we looked at, Grandpa Howe and I couldn’t find any way to get there that involved many interesting road stops.

“We haven’t had trouble entertaining each other so far,” Grandma Tess says happily, connecting her iPod to the stereo.

I’m not really up for singing right now, especially since it’s something else I love to do that Cassie probably thinks is stupid, but I lean forward in my seat and wrap my arms around Grandpa Howe’s headrest and hum a little, anyway. It’s better than pouting out the window, like Cassie is doing.

After an hour, I’m hollering out “I’m in Love with a Big Blue Frog” and “Break on Through,” not caring what Cassie thinks anymore, which is just as well because her mood only seems to have gotten blacker. This playlist of Grandma Tess’s has a bunch of old stuff on it, but it’s also pretty fun. If Cassie can’t enjoy it, that’s her loss. When a disco song starts, Grandma Tess lets out a wild laugh and hits the brake. Grandpa Howe peers through his spectacles at the dashboard and asks is everything okay.

“Oh, everything’s fine!” Grandma Tess says, still laughing. “There’s just something we have to do right now. Let’s see if I remember how.”

She stops the car on the flat shoulder of the road and hops out, waving for us. Grandpa Howe and I join her, not sure what’s happening.

But Cassie won’t budge. Grandma Tess pokes her head in the open driver’s-side window and says something to her, while also turning up the stereo super loud. Cassie gets out, but not very happily.

“Okay, okay,” Grandma Tess says, nodding her head up and down to the rhythm. “I think it goes like this. Watch, and we’ll all do it together.”

“Right here on the side of the road?” Cassie exclaims.

“Yes, darling.” Grandma Tess ignores Cassie’s pouty tone. “Right here in the road.” Grandma Tess rocks her
shoulders and begins to dance, not worried in the slightest, and I guess it’s true we haven’t seen many other cars.

“Step, step, step, step, then step, step, step, step, then back, and back, and up—stomp—step, kick and turn . . . You see? Clubs used to be full of people, all doing the Hustle together. Come on and try.”

Grandpa Howe copies Grandma Tess, not caring much if he gets the steps right, so I stand as far back from the highway as I can and start following too. Cassie already thinks my life is stupid, so why not be more like Grandma Tess, and do the Hustle on a beautiful day in middle of the California desert when I’ve got the chance?

“Come on, Cassandra.” Grandma Tess goes to where Cassie has been leaning against the hood of the car and takes her hands.

“This is dumb,” I hear her say, though she does fall in beside us.

It doesn’t take very long to get the steps down, and with Grandma Tess adding so much of her own style, it’s impossible not to get groovy, too. I never took ballet or anything, and we don’t have dances at my school, but sometimes when Mom and Dad have had a particularly stressful day, Dad will turn up the stereo really loud so that we can jump around and be silly while he cooks. Or we used to. We haven’t done much of that in a while, since when Mom has
her headaches we need to be quiet. So I stand out there in the desert under the blazing blue sky, and I dance as hard as I can.

As soon as the song is over, Cassie heads straight back to the car and her precious phone.

“Oh my.” Grandma Tess sighs.

She and Grandpa Howe exchange a look. He takes her in his arms and kisses the top of her head. She lets herself melt into the hug for a minute, then gives Grandpa Howe a pat on his arm.

“Let me go talk to her,” she says. “You two enjoy the view.”

In truth, I want to go get my phone too, so I can tell Dad about what we just did, but it looks like being on the phone right now may not be a good idea. Instead I hook my arm around Grandpa Howe’s waist and lean into him the way Grandma Tess was just doing. We stand there like that, watching the shadows of the fluffy clouds overhead chase each other across the camel-colored ground.

“That made me miss Dad,” I say, to distract us both from the muted sounds of Grandma Tess and Cassie’s fight behind us.

“It made me miss him too, Pumpkin. That kid always liked to shake his booty.” Grandpa Howe chuckles and gets a faraway look. “Mostly what I want for my son these
days is that he should be able to dance once in a while.”

I wonder if Grandpa Howe’s also thinking of Nana Lilia, and all the dance classes, trips, and volunteer work they’d planned to do when he retired. A couple of years before that time came, Nana Lilia got cancer, and Grandpa Howe decided to retire early. Only he ended up spending all that time taking care of her, and they didn’t get to do everything else.

I know that for a long time after Nana Lilia died, Grandpa Howe’s heart was broken. I knew this even though I was only ten at the time, and I hadn’t understood how sick Nana Lilia was until suddenly Dad had to fly to Atlanta and then she wasn’t here anymore. Around the first anniversary of Nana Lilia’s death, though, Dad announced that Grandpa Howe was coming out to Berkeley to live closer to us. It took him a while to get oriented, and he was still sad sometimes, but pretty soon he started running into Grandma Tess at the yoga studio and the tea shop, and then, well, even though neither of them was really looking for it, something just clicked, and here we all are, dancing in the desert.

I hug him a little tighter, glad for him about Grandma Tess, but more because remembering Nana Lilia has made the fear about Mom shimmer awake in my stomach again. Dad and Mom were really sad when Nana Lilia told them
about her diagnosis, and after that they talked a lot more with her and Grandpa Howe, but nobody had told me how bad it was. I hadn’t known to worry about it, really, until Dad flew to Atlanta and then Nana Lilia was dead. Nobody wanted to scare me, I guess, but it also meant one day I had a grandma, and the next day I didn’t. I can’t help wondering now if the same thing is going to happen with my mom. I’m not little anymore, and I don’t want to be in the dark in the same way again, even if I’m scared to know the truth. Or they’re scared to tell me.

I’m trying to figure out a way to ask Grandpa Howe if there’s more I need to know about all this stuff with Mom when we hear the car door open behind us. We turn as Grandma Tess stands and stretches, taking in a deep breath.

“That’s settled, then.” Her face is a little sorry, a little mad.

“Well then, let’s go to Bakersfield.” Grandpa Howe winks at me. “I hear the digs there are fantastic.”

I swallow my questions for another time and squeeze Grandpa Howe’s hand as we walk back to the car, preparing myself to have to sit next to Cassie and her rotten mood again. As I’m buckling up, I get a good look at her face. She’s definitely been crying. I’d feel bad for her a little, but really, she’s been asking for it. Grandma Tess starts up the
car without a glance in the rearview at Cassie, who bends to get a small journal and a glittery pen from her bag. She writes what I assume are hate messages about Grandma Tess at first, but then she passes the notebook to me: