Lucy Doesn't Wear Pink (7 page)

Since Dad was along, Aunt Karen shortened the window shopping that had been known to drive Lucy to the brink of hair tearing more than once and, after trying to convince them for the fifty-third time that sushi was wonderful, steered them to her second choice. Dad liked Italian, and Lucy didn’t mind it, as long as Aunt Karen didn’t make her try clam sauce or fried squid. They could call it “calamari” if they wanted, but it still had those little sucker things on it.

While they were eating, the owner came along to chat with them. The owner always came along in any restaurant they went to with Aunt Karen. Dad said it was because she was in public relations and was a people magnet.

“This can’t be your niece,” the woman gushed when she saw Lucy.

“You remember my niece?” Aunt Karen said. She pressed her hand to Lucy’s back as if she were presenting her prized poodle.

“Last time I saw you, you were a little tomboy,” the woman said.

“I still — ”

“Isn’t she a young lady?” Aunt Karen said.

“She is.” Owner Lady leaned close to Lucy and winked. “Would you like your Coke in a wine glass?”

“How fun would that be?” Aunt Karen said.

Not very, as far as Lucy was concerned, but she nodded and Owner Lady swept away as if she were going to fetch a crown for Lucy. It didn’t escape her that the woman hadn’t even looked at Dad.

“Ted, you need to take her out more,” Aunt Karen said, voice lowered.

“Who, the waitress?” Dad said.

“Lucy! She doesn’t even know how to act in a restaurant.”

“What did I do?” Lucy f lipped up her hand, just as a waiter appeared at her elbow with a Coke-in-a-wine-glass on a tray. Coke, glass, tray, and ice flew back into his face and left him blinking.

“That didn’t sound good,” Dad said.

People swarmed to clean up the mess while Aunt Karen ordered Lucy to the restroom to wipe off the spot on her white-with-pink-trim sweater — a spot that could barely be seen without a microscope. Lucy stayed in the stall for a while and considered not ever coming out. Only the thought of Dad out there with people ignoring him drove her back to the table. The conversation over a tangle of calamari on a platter looked serious. Both Dad and Aunt Karen stopped talking when Lucy sat down.

“Sorry about that,” Lucy mumbled. “I didn’t see him.”

“Neither did I, Luce,” Dad said.

Aunt Karen licked her lips and folded her hands on the tabletop. “I know we said we’d hold off talking about this anymore, but, Ted, there is so much Lucy needs to know that you just can’t teach her.”

“Then what about a nanny?” he said.

“A what?” Lucy could feel her eyes bulging from her head like a frog’s.

“Isn’t she a little old for a nanny?”

“You mean, like a babysitter?” Lucy said. “Dad — I AM too old for that!”

She couldn’t believe she was actually agreeing with Aunt Karen.

“Tell me some more,” Aunt Karen said.

“I think you’re doing just fine, Luce,” Dad said. “But it might save you some embarrassing moments if you had somebody to teach you a couple of things.” He smiled. “Like how to keep from taking out waiters with a single blow.”

“So, you’d have somebody come in and live?” Aunt Karen said.

“No!” Lucy said.

Dad shook his head. “I haven’t even formed a plan, and I obviously haven’t discussed it with you, Luce, I’m just thinking out loud here.”

Stop thinking!
Lucy wanted to shout at him.

“What about a lady to come in after school,” he said, “ just for a few hours a day?”

“To do what?” Lucy got up on one knee and ignored Aunt Karen’s we-don’t-do-that look.

Dad’s face got firm. “We’ll talk about it later, you and me.”

That was the only reason Lucy didn’t bolt from the table, out of the restaurant, and into a snowbank.

Aunt Karen pulled out her lip gloss and slathered it on. Then she licked her lips. “That could be a good compromise. I’d like to be in on the interviewing process.”

“I think I can handle it, Karen,” Dad said.

Steaming plates of pasta arrived, and the waiter gave Lucy a wide berth. She didn’t care if he dropped the entire tray — preferably right on Aunt Karen’s head — because her aunt was making a face at Dad that clearly said she didn’t think he could handle it at all.

Lucy hated it when people did that, thinking he couldn’t tell they were disrespecting him. It was the biggest reason of all for Aunt Karen to move to Australia. And the sooner, the better.

She and Dad didn’t talk about the nanny question after Aunt Karen left that afternoon, although Lucy did hear her say, “This isn’t over, Ted.”

Dad had to go to the radio station to record some “packages” for the week, but Lucy didn’t go with him like she usually did. She wanted to stay away from him until he had a chance to forget the whole idea.

“Maybe he just said that to hush Aunt Karen up,” she said to Artemis Hamm that night when she fished both the cat and her school binder out from under the bed.

Artemis pounced on a dust ball that came out with the notebook and seemed disappointed that it wasn’t alive. She gave up on it and jumped to Lucy’s dresser to survey herself in the mirror. She spent the hours when she wasn’t hunting mice and lizards gazing at her own image. Lucy joined her.

Although she’d scrubbed off the makeup Aunt Karen had put on her wounds that morning to cover them up, they didn’t look as red and rough as they had the day before. The ones on her nose blended in with her exactly sixteen freckles. She made sure they were all still there, because her mom had had precisely that many too.

It was the only thing that kept the thought of going back to school tomorrow from driving her under the bed with the dust balls. If she could make it to recess, it would be okay.

She opened her underwear drawer and carefully lifted the Book of Lists. She’d managed to keep it from Aunt Karen, who probably didn’t even realize it existed. It didn’t seem to Lucy that she understood Lucy’s mom, her own sister, at all. She would probably have been surprised at the only list Mom had written.

Lucy took the book to her bed and curled up next to Lolli.

“ ‘Things I Want to Teach Lucy,’ ” she read.

“ ‘One. What it means to be a woman . . . as soon as I find out myself. Two. How to play soccer like Mia Hamm, or at least like me, which isn’t all that bad.’ ”

That was all Mom had written And that was all Lucy needed to know.

“No more messing around with ATVs,” she said to Artemis. “From now on, all my adventures are going to be about soccer.”

As she got ready for school the next morning, Lucy tried to make her mind follow anything good she could think of.

Aunt Karen was gone.

She didn’t have to wear anything pink.

Her hair was back in its regular ponytail with a plain old rubber band.

Dad made waffles.

She could put on her broken-in denim jacket with its fuzzy lining and leave the pink down coat and its furry hood in the back of her closet. She would give it to Januarie if she didn’t know Aunt Karen would demand to know where it was next time she came. Like, the minute she walked in the door.

But one good thing happened that Lucy didn’t expect. When she stepped out the back door, J.J. was there with her bike.

“You fixed it!” Lucy said.

“Kinda.”

J.J. hunched one shoulder up as he rolled the bike forward. The bike basically did the same thing. The new front wheel was a little smaller than the back one, which made it uneven.

“Looks fine to me,” Lucy said.

She couldn’t say that about J.J. himself. His hair hung in greasy groups, and his eyes were puffy. Lucy didn’t ask him why. She just said, “Thanks.”

“Hey — you left without me,” a Chihuahua-voice whined from the other side of the fence.

“You noticed?” J.J. said under his breath.

But Lucy hopped onto her bike and pushed open the gate with it and joined Januarie on the sidewalk. She was decked out in her frog-green coat, and her eyes sparkled as if she were going to Disneyland instead of school.

“Ride slow,” she said. “So I can keep up.”

“Don’t I always?” Lucy said.

Behind her, J.J. grunted and sped his bike past them, crossing Second Street like he was in the Tour de France. Dad asked Lucy just a few days before if J.J. was still doing his Lance Armstrong imitation.

Lucy went so slowly that her front wheel wobbled, and she had to circle around Januarie as they crossed so she wouldn’t get ahead.

“I don’t see why you have to ride your bike to school anyway,” Januarie said. “You could totally walk just as fast.”

That wasn’t the point. A bike just felt freer — like you could go further if you had to.

J.J. waited for them at the rickety bike rack at the end of the sixth-grade wing of the elementary school. He’d already parked his bike between two of the bent rungs, and Lucy deposited hers beside it. Neither locked them in. Nobody was going to steal two pieces of rust-with-wheels.

Lucy looked at the empty space next to hers. “Oscar’s not here yet.”

“He’ll probably show up about Wednesday,” J.J. said. “What do you want to bet he told his mom school didn’t start up again ’til then?”

“But we need him for soccer.”

“I can take his place,” Januarie said.

Before J.J. could open his mouth, Lucy said, “You’ll get your new coat dirty. Can’t have that.”

J.J. pointed toward the trailer where their class met. Teachers called it a “portable” — as in portable classroom. Lucy wished it were portable enough for someone to pick it up and take it away.

“There’s Emanuel and Carla,” J.J. said. “We got enough for soccer.”

“Man,” Lucy said as they trailed to the portable. “Emanuel grew, like, a foot over the holidays.”

Their friend leaned against the metal building, legs stretched out as if they came straight from his neck. His arms dangled like he didn’t know quite what to do with them. Of course, he looked even longer with his dark hair pulled to the back of his head in a ponytail and the sides shaved. He was half Apache, half Hispanic, but to Lucy, he always looked like a race all his own. He was just Emanuel.

Carla Rosa ran to meet them and stood on tiptoes to throw her arms around Lucy’s neck and then Januarie’s. When she got to J.J., he said, “Don’t even think about it.”

Carla didn’t look disappointed. Her face was a collection of dimples and crinkles as she grinned away. Her honey-brown eyes disappeared when she smiled, which she did all the time, so Lucy didn’t ever see much of them. Although Carla wasn’t fat, she seemed to be all cheeks.

“I
love
your hat,” Januarie said to her.

Carla bobbed her head back and forth, jiggling the big white sequins that covered her knit cap. Reddish curls peeked out from underneath it.

“My mom got me it for Christmas,” she said. “Guess what?”

“What?” they all said together. If they didn’t, Carla Rosa would keep asking until they said it.

“We got a new teacher,” she said.

Lucy stiffened. “For what?”

“For our class, silly.”

Emanuel looked at J.J., who shrugged. Lucy craned her neck toward Carla Rosa. “You mean a substitute?”

“No, a new teacher forever.”

“What happened to Mrs. Gomez?” Lucy said.

“She got sick, and now we have Mr. Alligator or something like that — Lucy, you have a big rip in your coat. And guess what?”

Nobody answered.

“We got a guy?” J.J. said. He hunched his shoulders in.

“Don’t ask me,” Emanuel said. “I ain’t seen him.”

“Guess what?”

Januarie inserted herself between Carla and Lucy. “What?”

But Lucy took her by the shoulders and moved her aside. “How do you know this, Carla Rosa?”

“Guess what — my dad’s the mayor,” Carla Rosa said.

“I know that — ”

“Yeah, du-uh,” Januarie said.

“Shut it, Januarie,” J.J. said.

“That’s how I know. There he is — that’s him.” Carla pointed. “And that’s Oscar.”