It's an Aardvark-Eat-Turtle World (2 page)

While we look at each other, some guy comes up and says with hate, “Why don't you stick to your own kind?”

I can't believe it.

He repeats what he's just said.

Jason turns to him. “We are the same kind—human. You're the one who isn't our kind. You're scum.”

A year later, Paula's next book,
This Place Has No Atmosphere
, was published and the setting is, of all places, the moon in 2057—a bold departure for Paula, who made the colony on the moon seem real and believable, and who drew us into the life of Aurora Williams on the first page. The book feels futuristic indeed, but Aurora's story of adjusting to a move and finding a serious boyfriend is timeless.

Paula died in 2004, but her stories have already been passed from one generation of passionate fans to another. Her many best friends miss her, but I like to think of the hope with which she ends her books. She wrote great last lines, too.
If you take the letters in the word DIVORCES and rearrange them, they spell DISCOVER
.

Thank you, Paula, for showing us captivating beginnings, hopeful endings, and in between, how to look at life with laughter.

THE WRITING CONNECTION
Annie Flanders, June Foley,
Patricia Reilly Giff, Francine Pascal

THE ARIZONA CONNECTION
Sandra, Charles, and Susan Nelson

THE METUCHEN CONNECTION
Jackie Owen, Bill Contardi

THE CANADA CONNECTION
Jerry and Leona Trainer,
Hy, Judy, Tema, and Jojo Sarick,
Barb Issett

I
f a Prince Charming or a Prince Semi-Charming came up to my door and said, “Rosie Wilson, you are the most beautiful, individualistic fourteen-year-old in the universe,” I certainly wouldn't slam the door in his face.

There's something even more important to me than that, though. What I really want more than anything is to be part of a family, all living happily under one roof.

My parents divorced soon after I was born, a fact that I have tried not to take personally.

I used to beg my mother for a baby brother or sister.

She'd say, “Bite your tongue.”

For a long time, I thought that was how babies were made.

By the time I found out how babies were really born, I had permanent tooth marks on my tongue.

My mother—Mindy—and I get along really well, which is good because we live together in Woodstock, New York.

Until recently I used to ride a bus that is nicknamed the Divorce Express. Almost every weekend I would go down to Greenwich Village, this really great area of New York City, to see my father. Then he and his second wife and her two kids moved to California. Actually, I was glad that his wife and her two kids went. I'm just sorry that my father left with them.

So it's not as if I'm an orphan or anything. I do have a family . . . just not one that's living all together, in the same place.

It's all changing now. I'm finally going to get my
wish. In one week I'll be part of a family. My mother and my best friend's father have fallen in love and are going to live together. Mindy and Jim. Phoebe. Me.

Once before, Mindy and I lived with someone, Andy. It didn't work out for them, for us.

This time I hope it does.

I want this to start out with “ . . . and they lived happily ever after” and get even better.

T
he Donners' dog just ate the pet of the month, and I've called Phoebe to come right over.

The Donners are the people I baby-sit for. They have one three-year-old kid, Donny, whom Phoebe and I refer to privately as the Little Nerdlet.

They also have a dog, Aardvark. Aardvark is the one who just ate the pet of the month.

The Donners joined this club that sends some little pet to kids each month. Last month it was a
goldfish. It died in two days. The Little Nerdlet and I held a burial at sea, actually down the toilet.

So today the new pet arrived. I took the package out of the mailbox and brought it inside. The Little Nerdlet had to go to the bathroom. I went with him. He likes company while he's sitting there.

Aardvark got the package off the table, and by the time I came back the paper was shredded all over.

From the torn feeding instructions and the little pieces of shell, it seems obvious that the pet of the month was once a turtle.

As I wait for Phoebe to arrive at the Donner house, I think of something my father always says about life: “Rosie, it's a dog-eat-dog world.”

In Phoebe's and my lives, I guess, it's an aardvark-eat-turtle world.

B
y the time Phoebe gets to the Donner house, everything is under semicontrol.

The pieces of the turtle are in a Crayola box awaiting burial.

Aardvark is hiding out somewhere under the porch.

The Little Nerdlet is eating a chocolate-covered yogurt pop and talking to Phoebe about turtle heaven.

I'm feeling a little worn out.

“I think we must bury the turtle,” the Little Nerdlet says. He has chocolate all over his face.

“I think we can wait.” I try to clean him up.

“No.” The Little Nerdlet backs away from me. “Don't take it off. I want to be the same color you are.”

I look at him and then at Phoebe.

We both start to laugh.

“It's not funny.” The Little Nerdlet starts to cry. “I want to be the same color Rosie is.”

I pick him up, hugging and kissing him. “Donny. I'm this color because my father's black and my mother's white. You can't be this color. You're white.”

“You're brown. Not black. Not white.” He puts more chocolate on his face. “So now I'm brown too.”

“He's got a point.” Phoebe smiles.

He puts a grubby hand on her face. “Now Phoebe is our color too.”

Phoebe doesn't even take the gunk off her face, although she's usually really careful about looking good. In fact, she puts even more gunk on.

“The turtle went to heaven,” the Little Nerdlet informs me as I put him down.

I decide not to get into it with the kid. With a
white Jewish mother and a black Protestant father, I try to stay out of religious discussions.

I wonder what the turtle was. Protestant. Jewish. Catholic. Muslim. Hindu. Maybe Unitarian.

He probably was shy and didn't come out of his shell easily.

Maybe he was a she.

Thinking about these earth-shattering questions is too overwhelming, so I decide it's time to bury the turtle.

We take the Crayola box outside and put the deceased into the ground.

I look at Phoebe and her chocolate-yogurt-smeared face and am glad that we've been best friends since we met last year, when she moved to Woodstock full-time.

I look at the turtle grave and wonder whether it was excited about going to its new house.

If what happened to the turtle is an omen about what it'll be like going to our new house, I'm going to be shell-shocked.

“W
hose bright idea was it to move both of our households into our new home on the same day?” Jim, Phoebe's father, asks. He sits down on a rolled-up carpet.

“Yours,” Phoebe says. “It was definitely not my idea.”

“Three hair dryers. Four clock radios. Sixteen boxes of books. Two sets of silverware. Assorted dishes and glasses. Three stereos. Hundreds of
albums and tapes.” He puts his head in his hands. “And we've only just begun to unpack.

“It seemed like such a good idea at the time.” He shakes his head. “This way no one feels like he or she was here first. We all start out equal, together, one family.”

“One tired family.” I pretend to faint.

Mindy goes over to Jim and gives him a neck and shoulder massage.

I start to unpack another box because I don't want to look.

I wish they wouldn't touch each other in front of me.

Mindy says, “Maybe we should have a garage sale or put some of this stuff into storage and take it out if the other breaks or wears out.”

“I think we should hold on to everything for a while, just in case this doesn't work out and we have to split up.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

There's silence for a few minutes—a very loud silence.

“I'm sorry.” I bite my fingernail. “I never should have said that.”

It means so much to me that we're a real family. I even had to give up my cat, Fig Newton, and my dog, Salamander, because Jim's allergic. That's how much I care.

Finally Jim says, “On our first night together as a family, let's not talk about breaking up already. I want us to be a family.”

He looks hurt.

I want to cry. “Jim, I want this to work out, more than anything. I just get scared sometimes that the things I really want won't last.”

Jim comes over and hugs me. “Honey, I know that it's hard to be certain of any relationships. But I really want this to work and will do my best.”

“Me too.” Mindy looks determined.

“I'm willing to try,” Phoebe says.

“I've got an idea. Let's make up our own ceremony to commemorate the beginning of our lives together.” Jim claps his hands.

He just loves to turn events into special occasions.

We all look at him, waiting for elaboration.

“We've done enough work for tonight. Why don't we all go back to the old house, take a swim, and have the ceremony there.” He jumps up.

“Jim, there's so much to do,” Mindy says. “Don't you think we should be practical?”

He sits down again.

Mindy starts to laugh. “I don't believe that I just said that we should be practical. That sounded like something my mother would have said. Unpacking all of these boxes must have temporarily deranged me.”

“Actually it's been a very moving experience for me,” I tell everyone.

They all groan, and then Jim says, “Okay, let's all go over to the pool.”

“I don't know where my swimsuit is.” I stare at the mess around us.

“We could always go skinny dipping,” Jim kids.

My mother smiles and nods.

“NO!” Phoebe and I both yell at the same time.

Sometimes parents can be so embarrassing.

“Let's all just go over there in what we're wearing and jump into the pool that way.” Jim's not going to give up on his idea.

We all decide to go for it.

Just before we leave, Mindy says, “Listen, everyone. If we're really going to have the ceremony, let's have it here . . . not at the other place where there
are old memories. This is the time for us to make new memories.”

I understand. The place where Phoebe and her father used to live was the place that her parents bought before their divorce. Her father got it in the settlement and her mother got the New York City apartment.

Jim puts his arm around Mindy and kisses her.

I tie my shoelace so I don't have to watch.

“Honey, I'm sorry. Would you rather we didn't go to the other house at all?” he asks.

She kisses him back.

I tie my other shoelace.

I hope they don't kiss again. I've run out of feet.

Mindy says, “It's hot tonight. It's the last time we can use the pool before the new tenants move in. Of course I want to go swimming. I'd just like to have the ceremony here, not there.”

“Okay, then let's all hold hands right this very instant.” Jim grabs Mindy's hand, then Phoebe's, then mine. Our hands are all mashed together. It's a good thing that he's got such big hands so we all fit.

“This is so sudden,” I say. “It's like we're eloping. I've always wanted a big formal wedding.”

“For your own, your very own, you can do that. For this one, we'll be much less formal.” Jim grins.

What an understatement. He and Mindy are wearing cut-off jeans. He's got one of his political T-shirts on, the one that says A WOMAN'S PLACE IS IN THE HOUSE . . . AND IN THE SENATE. That was a present from Mindy. His ex-wife used to give him shirts with alligators on them.

Mindy's got her long blond hair piled up on top of her head. She's wearing one of Jim's shirts that he uses when he's oil painting.

I'm wearing one of my favorite outfits—a thrift-store Hawaiian shirt, an old pair of gym shorts, and a beaded headband.

Phoebe's wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt that used to belong to her boyfriend, Dave.

We're definitely not going to make the cover of
Bride
with our outfits.

“We should all say something. I'll start.” Jim looks a little nervous. “I just want everyone to know that I love you all very much . . . all in special ways, separately. And I love us together and will do my best to honor our commitment to be a family.”

Mindy nods. “Me too. And we'll all work together
to honor the originality and creativity in each of us.”