I Am the Wallpaper (9 page)

I’d decided not to give up on the New Floey and felt like I needed a new look, so I’d gone into one of my sister’s closets. She had a box of costumes from when she used to star in all the high school plays. I’d picked out a black fedora, like all the men wear in really old movies.

The New Interesting Floey Packer, I decided, wears an interesting hat.

“It’s a statement,” I said without looking up from my book,
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
.

She considered this and nodded.

I kept reading.

Tish settled herself into the chair next to me. “How
many times do you think about sex every day?” she asked. She was reading the questions from a personality quiz in a magazine. “Is it (A) almost never, (B) one to three times, (C) more than three times but not all the time or (D) constantly?”

I tried ignoring her but she wouldn’t go away. She repeated the question.

“Can’t you see I’m reading?” I finally blurted out.

“Which one? I’m testing your Sexual Enthusiasm Level.”

“What? None of your business.”

“All right, I’ll tell you about me,” she said. Along with the magazine, she’d also brought out a box of mini donuts. She popped one into her mouth. “I’m C. I think about it a lot.”

“Okay,” I said. “A. I never think about it.”

“You’re a liar,” she said thoughtfully. “I’m putting you down for C.” She ate another donut in one bite.

“How can you eat those?”

“Why shouldn’t I? They’re good.”

“Don’t you realize donuts are almost one hundred percent saturated fat? For a person so obsessed with boys, I’m surprised you eat like that.”

“I don’t care,” she said with a shrug. “I’m a fabulous and talented person, and the fact that I’m overweight isn’t going to stop boys from flocking to me like moths to a light-bulb.” Then she smiled.

I glanced at the powder on her chubby fingers. If she continued this way, the girl could end up looking like a
minivan. But she was so confident that I believed her—and still do even now.

Here I was trying to become fabulous at thirteen, while Tish was convinced she already was. And she was only ten.

“And I’m not
obsessed
,” she said. “Just preparing myself. Ready for question two?”

I looked back down at my book, but she didn’t seem to notice my lack of interest in her test.

“Which of the following animals most closely represents your last boyfriend?” She looked up. “We could use our most recent crushes instead.” Then she continued reading: “Is it (A) a pouncing tiger, (B) a cuddly teddy bear, (C) a scampering puppy or (D) a strutting peacock?”

I put my book down. “A scampering puppy? What kind of a boy is that supposed to mean?”

“Probably one who likes the girl to be in charge, like a mama’s boy.”

“What’s
your
answer?”

She put her pencil to her pudgy chin and considered. “I guess A, a pouncing tiger.”

“Really?”

“I think so. I don’t know for sure, but I bet I’d like a boy who gets right to the point. What about you? Remember, it has to be about your last boyfriend or crush.”

I almost said, “Too bad they don’t have (E) an oblivious sea slug or (F) an insufferable weasel,” but I didn’t.

Frank Sinatra rolled his eyes as if he’d heard my thoughts.

As decreed by my mother, each morning during my cousins’ stay I cleaned up their stuff. I did it as fast as possible, flying around the bedrooms picking up clothes and throwing them into the corners, shoving things under the beds and rushing the vacuum over the carpets. Usually, Richard’s room was a disaster. He would just throw his dirty socks, pajamas and other stuff wherever he happened to be the moment he didn’t need them anymore. But strangely, I thought, every now and then he made his bed—he wouldn’t tidy anything else, just the bed. It was no big deal and it only happened every few days, but it was odd. Each time, I’d wonder if he’d realized I wasn’t going to be his chef
and
his personal maid.

That afternoon, after I’d bicycled home from Gary’s studio (even though Wen no longer worked there, I’d decided to keep going—I actually liked fiddling with all the equipment), Richard and Billy and their friends completely stopped what they were doing just to watch me. One minute they were playing in the street, shouting and laughing, and the next minute they were quiet. It’s weird enough to have a crowd of people suddenly turn and stare at you, but when it’s a bunch of little boys it’s absolutely creepy.

I tried to ignore them and calmly got off my bike. Just as I was about to wheel it into its place under the stairs, Billy called out in that strange voice of his, “Are those things heavy to carry around?”

At first I didn’t know what he meant, but when I looked at him and followed his gaze to my tank top I understood. He was staring at my chest. I crossed my arms to cover myself.

“Pervert!” I said.

The other little boys snickered.

On top of spying on me from his window, was Billy going to turn all the neighborhood boys into crude little jerks?

I shoved the bike under the stairs and stomped inside.

Wednesday night, Gary took Richard and Tish out to a Pawtucket Red Sox game. He even told my mother she didn’t have to go. I think he just wanted to give her a break from taking care of my cousins.

“If your aunt Grace doesn’t appreciate the beauty of baseball, there’s no point in wasting the five bucks on a ticket,” he said, winking at the kids. “We’ll just go without her. Okey-doke?”

I had to hand it to him. He kept trying.

My mother gave him a little kiss on the cheek and his face went on red alert. It was sweet but sad.

Happily, nobody made a fuss when I said I didn’t want to go.

So my mother rented
Love Me Tender
. My mother is a big Elvis Presley fan, so we sometimes rent his movies and watch them together. In this one, one of our favorites, Elvis marries his dead brother’s fiancée, only to find that his brother, who was away fighting in the Civil War, isn’t
really dead—he comes back after the war expecting to marry his fiancée, who he still loves.

Another relationship shot to hell.

In the middle of the movie, I was thinking about how Gary kept doing nice things for my mother.

“Are you sure there’s nothing going on between you and Gary?” I asked.

She reached for another handful of popcorn. “No, we’re just friends.”

“Positive?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. I think he likes you, and not just as a friend.”

She shrugged but kept watching the TV. She didn’t normally talk about stuff like this with me. My mother is a very private person. In that way she’s the complete opposite of Lillian.

“Yes, I’m positive,” she said eventually. And then she raised one eyebrow. “Is this a subtle message? Don’t you see enough of Gary already? Do you want me to start writing him romantic notes?”

I studied her face. She was joking.

I had to laugh. I guess it really was a silly idea. My mother wasn’t interested in dating anybody, and even if she had been, I couldn’t imagine her with Gary. He was a nice guy and everything, but he just didn’t seem like her type—too newspaper-and-slippers, too bald, too predictable.

Plus, it’d just be too weird.

“No,” I said. “Actually, I think you’re smart to stay uninvolved.”

A little while later, out of nowhere she said, “I was thinking about Wen today.”

“Yes?” I asked, keeping my voice steady. Finally, she was going to ask about Wen and me. Still, I didn’t want to give anything away or make it too easy.

I waited.

But we were at one of the best parts of the movie, where Elvis is crazy with jealousy because he thinks his brother stole his wife away from him. By the time he’d hidden himself behind the big rock, waiting to shoot his brother, I knew she’d forgotten all about what she’d started to say.

I didn’t remind her. If she wasn’t going to ask me, then I wasn’t going to tell her.