Goldfish (6 page)

“Are
you
making that noise?” I ask.

“Yes!” she cries without looking up. “Quickly, get some black clothes on.”

“Black clothes?” says Lav, who's inserted herself into her skinny jeans and is now behind me. “Are we going to commit burglary?”

“Emergency mime?” I suggest. (Pretty pleased with that.)

“No!” Mom wails. “Your uncle…” She peers closely at the peeled-off piece of wet mail. “… Hamish, no,
Harold
, died last week. Your auntie just called. The funeral is today—it's in an hour. Quickly, get dressed!”

That's
so
much information in one sentence. Lav and I are staring at each other, having a long sleepy think when Dad enters the kitchen dressed as if he's off to work.

I hate this, but Mom says we have to let him if it makes him feel better.

“Who's dead?” he asks.

“Harold,” says Mom. “Or Hagrid?” She squints at the blotchy ink on the funeral card. Mom has a very big family, and new uncles and cousins-twice-removed regularly crop up out of nowhere. It's impossible to keep track.

“I don't know a Hagrid,” Dad muses.

“I think you missed your chance,” I point out, which makes him smile and me feel good.

“
Excuse me!
” snaps Mom, looking up from her paper mush. “Is anyone listening? We have eight minutes to get out of the house and to this funeral, and I'm not taking you girls in your pajamas. Go, go, go!” She chases us upstairs.

I rush to the bathroom before Lav can get in there—she has never had a quick shower in her life. As I soap up, I realize that this means a day off school! Thank you, Uncle Hester. We may never have met, but you have done your loving niece a favor.

Seven minutes later we're all dressed up, in the car, and heading for a church that Dad can't find on his phone. Lav and I are trying to dry our hair with the car heater. It's not working out well, but Mom keeps shoving our heads down in front of the vents, insisting we need five more minutes until we're funeral-appropriate. My sore neck does not appreciate this, but any minute not spent in school is fine by me.

Dad is staring at his phone, sweeping it around in big movements. He hits me on the head, but I have bigger problems, leaning between the front seats to get Lav's secondhand heater air.

The second time, however, he whacks me on my cold ear and it really hurts.

“Oi!” I protest. “Don't hit your kids.”

“Sorry!” he sighs. “The phone just doesn't know where we are.”

“Are the gravestones a hint?” asks Mom acidly, and we both look up to find we're driving past a graveyard and toward a church. Dad looks sheepish and pockets his phone.

We have to run around the church one and a half times before we actually locate the door. We're not church people, so we have no idea what to do with one. It's like when I see new swimmers come to my pool and stare at the footbath in confusion. “Is this the pool for nervous swimmers?”

We find a massive oak door that looks like our best bet. Dad pushes to open it, but nothing moves; he just looks like he's leaning against it, posing for a catalog. After watching him lean for a while, going redder and redder, we realize he needs help. The door opens slowly, with a haunted-castle-style creak, and we get it open about a foot. Mom and Lav slip through the gap first.

Dad pats his paunch and waves me through next. On the other side I bump into Mom and Lav, who have frozen in horror because they've emerged at the front of the church, next to the priest.

They stand and smile at him like fans.

He ignores us, which is kind of weird. Does this happen to him a lot? He must be really good at priesting.

We're looking out at a full church—there are like a hundred people here! Uncle Hebrides was
popular
. I give the room a weak smile and Dad saves the day. Taking Mom and Lav by the arm, he leads his moron family down the aisle, flashing a big charming smile left and right at stony-faced family members while I follow, trying to look like their caregiver.

Dad spots an empty pew near the back and pushes the three of us toward it. A woman in the row behind shakes her head at us, but I can't work out if it means “You people are terrible” or “How sad Humphrey is dead” or what. We all slide along the hard wooden bench as the priest continues his sermon.

Then we realize what that headshake meant: “Don't sit there—the bench is broken!” She really could've made her message clearer. But she didn't, so now the four of us are basically sitting on a seesaw. Dad shifts slightly, and Mom at the other end of the row wobbles as her side shoots up a foot. We all freeze and do Big Eyes at each other.

I had automatically propped my feet up on the seat in front, standard practice for a tall person facing teeny legroom, so I take them off and try to plant them on the floor for balance. This makes the bench lurch even more dramatically, and we all grab each other in panic.

Now Dad's end of the bench starts sinking; whatever the pew was resting on seems to be buckling at his end. Lav slides down toward him with the little hiss of butt on wood. Despite my best efforts, I begin to follow her. Mom is hanging on to the other end of the pew so she goes nowhere.

Dad is maintaining an admirably straight face as his bottom sinks lower and his knees move closer to his chin, and he manages to keep his eyes on the priest, nodding occasionally like, “Hmm good point, what
is
community?”

Thankfully, we're so late we've missed half the service, so we only have to sit like this for about twenty minutes. As the service comes to an end, the priest tells everyone to kneel and pray, but that is not an option in the Pew of Askew, so we all just duck our heads very slowly, trying to look respectful.

If I shift my butt, I'll flick Mom at the priest.

People are beginning to stare. I'm staring back, and I can't see anyone I recognize. Mom's family is so big. The moment the funeral is over, the mourners head for the doors, and we wait for the last person to leave before we attempt to move.

“OK,” says Dad. “One … two … three … and up!” We all stand together. Success!

Almost.

Lav loses her footing, staggers, and falls, dragging me down with her, and I can't say Mom makes the smoothest dismount either. Dad helps us all up, shaking his head.

“Right,” says Mom demurely, tucking her blouse in. “I think we should skip the buffet.”

Dad agrees and we skulk out a side door and into the car. I'm still shutting my door as Mom puts the car into reverse. She's like a getaway driver.

We drive home to KISS FM—Lav called radio shotgun. I don't think that's a Thing, but Mom said not to squabble on holy ground, so I let I slide.

“Who was it?” I ask Lav as she flicks through the service pamphlet she picked up on the way out.

“Hmm?”

“Who was the funeral
for
?” I ask, jiggling the pamphlet so she can't read it until she pays me some attention. “Hugo? Heathcliff? Hubert?”

She tuts and flicks to the front page.

“Violet,” she snaps, and pulls it back to read. She looks up a moment later and frowns. “Violet?”

Dad gives a snort of laughter, but I don't understand. Lav slaps her hand over her mouth, her big brown eyes horrified. Is this a sex thing?

It's usually about sex when everyone gets it except me.

I don't see how, though. “Dad?”

Dad twists in his seat to look back at me and say, “Wrong church, wrong funeral.”

We gate-crashed a funeral?

We sit in stunned silence.

“That's awful,” I breathe.

“Don't!” cries Mom. “I feel terrible.”

“So you should!” Dad says. “No one in that church was related to you, and you didn't even notice!” (Mom is laughing.) “I'm glad there are only four of us, or you'd be getting us muddled with the pizza delivery boy!”

As I continue drying my hair in the heat from the vent, I realize I haven't thought about swimming in about an hour and a half. Which is a new record for me. I feel encouraged. Maybe I am going to cheer up and get normal.

A month ago I wouldn't have believed this was possible. It's like when I had the norovirus and I puked for hours until I felt like a deflated balloon. I couldn't imagine ever leaving the bathroom.

However, there's still a long list of Things That Are Rubbish About Lou Brown's Life. And the latest item is, I'm not about to get a day off school, because Mom craftily stowed our schoolbags in the trunk this morning.

She pulls up at the school gates and looks back at me.

“How is it, honestly?” she asks. Lav is fixing her makeup in the sun visor mirror.

“It's not terrible,” I tell her. “It's just not what I thought I'd be doing.”

Mom nods. “I understand, Lou,” she says, and I feel an unfair stab of temper.

“Pfft.
Do
you?” I snark.

She raises an eyebrow at me and rolls her eyes in Dad's direction. Oh, right. I doubt anyone imagines they'll be roommates with their ex-husband. I smile a “sorry” at her.

I kiss them both and slide out of the car, followed by Lav. And now we're strangers again for the rest of the day. Although maybe not—surprisingly, she walks alongside me until we're halfway across the yard, before nudging me goodbye with her elbow and peeling off to sit with some friends. It's not much, but it feels sweet.

 

chapter 8

As I walk into school, I can hear the bell ringing for the beginning of afternoon classes. I check my schedule. Come on, P.E.… Please, please, P.E. The only class I don't find completely baffling.

Unless there's a new class called Lying Down and Having a Little Bit of Rest.

It's biology. Gutted.

I get there first and sit on a tall stool at the back. This is the best desk in the classroom—closest to the window, farthest from the teacher, good view of the tadpoles. Prime real estate! Someone will
have
to sit next to me.

You'd think. Everyone enters in gaggles of twos and threes, and they sit somewhere they can all be together. Melia comes in and I smile at her. But Cammie is right behind her. She spots me and mutters, “Tragic.” The two girls with them laugh. Melia doesn't laugh, but she doesn't return my smile either.

Biology actually passes quickly, since I spend the whole class thinking about my hatred of Cammie, which is strong and healthy. I get lost in daydreams of how happy I'd be if she got horrendous acne.

As we leave biology, I overhear Melia and her friends talking—apparently they're got a swim meet tonight, so the whole team is leaving right after school in the minibus.

Interesting.

At the end of school I watch the swim team congregate in the parking lot. Debs counts them all off, and they stick their sports bags and the box of packed dinners in the minibus trunk. Ah, that brings back memories of cheese rolls that always tasted of gas fumes.

I grab Lav and ask her to tell Dad I'll walk home, since I'll be a little bit late.

“Should I tell him you've got detention?” she asks.

“Yeah. He won't believe it, but go on.”

I've never been in trouble at school. I don't think some of my teachers could pick me out of a lineup.

I put my hand in my bag and feel something silky. Excellent.

Everyone races past, happy to get out of school ASAP. If I were a teacher, I'd be a little hurt by how desperate my pupils were to leave. It's like they're fleeing a fire.

I walk against the tide, feeling a little thrill. I'm looking forward to this.

The swimming pool seems deserted, but I'm not risking it. I check all the changing stalls and even the toilets. With the exception of the occasional staff member wandering around, I have the whole place to myself.

My bathing suit is a little tighter than it used to be. I poke my stomach, I suspect that's the culprit. But as Mom always says when Lav complains about her weight, “Some people don't have arms or legs! So shut up!”

Can't really argue with that.

I stride toward the swimming pool and I'm about to dive in when I notice that Pete, Roman, and his brother are loitering in the field
again
. They're kicking a soccer ball around, and Pete is definitely smoking.

If I had to name the person I find least relaxing to be around, I'd say Pete and Cammie are currently fighting for the top spot. But this is more my pool than the boys' so I'm determined to ignore them. They'll get bored and go away soon.

I dive in just from the side and it feels amazing. I swim a length and feel the muscles in my ribs stretching. Then I lie on my back in a starfish shape and scull gently, with small movements of my hands, just enough to spin me in a slow circle.

I take a deep breath and let it out bit by bit as I sink to the bottom of the pool, where I start somersaulting slowly, forward, then backward. I can feel the air in my nose—enough pressure to stop water from shooting up my nose but not enough to release any bubbles.

I don't know what this is that I'm doing at the bottom of the pool, but I've always been good at it. It's a useless trick, really, only good for making people think you've drowned. (If you need that skill regularly, then your life is more depressing than mine, and I tip my hat to you.)

I start to feel an ache in my ribs and I surface slowly, with my eyes closed. Mmmm. So relaxing.

I open my eyes.

Roman, Small Roman, and Pete are all standing at the side of the pool, looking down on me. In both ways, I sense.

The silence hangs. I say weakly, “No outdoor shoes.”

“What?” says Roman.

“Nothing.”

Small Roman definitely heard what I said. He's like three feet closer to me than the other two.

“What were you doing down there?” asks Roman.