The Whole Story of Half a Girl (12 page)

My house is still as heavy as burned bran muffins. It’s good that Dad’s not sulking around in his bathrobe anymore, but he works such late hours that he’s never around. Mom’s still working more too. Her classes are all in the morning now, but she spends every night in her office grading papers. We’ve been getting a lot of takeout pizza these days, something we never used to do.

When Mom’s not working, she’s asking me how I feel about
everything
with wide, worried eyes. How do you feel about having new friends? How do you feel about Dad working so much? How do you feel about school? I just answer “okay” or “I don’t know” most of the time. She likes the “okay” answer better, but “I don’t know” is closer to the truth.

Tonight’s different, though. I have to get my homework done early because I’m going back to Community. Not for real of course, just to see the sixth-grade play. Sam invited me before our bad conversation. It’s almost hard to believe that
Community still exists, that Jack and all my old friends are just having another year as if nothing’s changed. It makes my stomach hurt to think about seeing everyone and yet I can’t wait to go.

Dad’s expected home late because of his new job, so he’ll miss the play. I don’t really care since I’m not in it. Mom rushes us through a quick dinner of rice and beans. I can barely eat, I have so many thoughts swirling around. The drive there feels different since it’s dark out.

When I walk through the big gray front doors, the first thing that hits me is the smell. I didn’t even know Community had a smell, but when I walk into the high-ceilinged lobby, with its big jungle-animal mural surrounding me, the combined scent of floor cleaner, and wood, and different foods from people’s lunches—hard to describe but so clear to my nose—grabs me like a fast hug.

Mom takes my hand and pulls me and Natasha toward the auditorium. I see Iris, the art teacher, who stands at the front of the auditorium handing out playbills. “Hi, girls!” she shrieks when she sees us. Then she hands me a playbill. The play is called
The Poodle Mystery
. There are all these drawings in the playbill too. I see a picture of a house with a black poodle in the yard and a rainbow above it. It must be Sam’s work. We follow Iris toward three seats in the seventh row. As I walk past the rows, I see Connor O’Reilly’s father. He waves. He’s hard to miss since he’s very tall, wears his hair
in a ponytail, and has a diamond earring in one ear. He’s a dog trainer, kind of a famous one actually, so he must be excited about the play. I see a bunch of other parents who know us too. Each friendly wave makes me sadder and sadder.

“Sonia,” I hear a man’s deep voice call out behind me. I turn around and see a cheery round face grinning as wide as the open sea.

“Jack!” I say, and run toward him. I dive into his warm arms. I swallow hard so I won’t cry. He pulls me back and holds my shoulders.

“Lemme look at you,” he says. “Ah, you look even smarter. Your new school must be doing a good job.”

My cheeks get hot and I shrug. If I look any smarter it’s probably just an accident.

“We miss you,” he says, and looks up at Mom.

“Sonia misses you guys too,” Mom says, “but she’s really doing well at her new school. She joined the cheerleading team.” I notice that my mom’s voice cracks slightly, like she’s trying to hold back tears herself.

“That’s great. I’m sure she’s dazzling them all.”

I’m about to say that I’m not dazzling anyone and Jack will always be the best teacher I’ve ever had, but the lights flicker, telling everyone to get into their seats.

“That’s my signal. Come talk to me after the show,” Jack says. He walks off down the aisle toward the back of the stage. I picture everyone rushing around straightening their
costumes, bristling with excitement and nervousness. I would give all the green loafers in the world to be back there tonight.

The lights go dim and the stage brightens. A person steps onto the stage in a big fancy dress and a wig piled high with yellow curls. For a second I’m not sure who she is, but then she opens her mouth and Sam’s voice travels out into the auditorium. She starts talking about her wonderful family and friends and all her riches. Above all, she has the prettiest poodle anyone has ever seen. Then someone dressed like a poodle comes bounding onstage. Sam leads him through a series of tricks. He sits, lies down, rolls over, and plays dead. Then he does a little Irish jig and the whole audience laughs. Even though his face is covered, I know it must be Connor. Nobody else could be so funny.

The play is great. Basically it’s about a family who thinks they’re the most perfect people in the world. One day, when no one is home, they leave their safe open by accident. The poodle pulls out a bag filled with jewels and money and buries it in the backyard. Suddenly everyone in the perfect family is blaming one another for the missing riches. At the end, while the family is having a terrible fight, the poodle goes out into the backyard, digs up the bag, and comes in and drops it in the middle of the room. The family just stares and stares in silence. Then the poodle does another jig and the lights go down.

I’m not sure what it all means, but it makes me think
about money and whether my family was happier when it had more. Now that Dad has a new job, if the money thing is true we should all be happy again, right? Not according to the poodle, I guess. Maybe being happy is not how much money you have, but how you spend it.

The audience gives everyone a standing ovation and Sam looks like she’s going to burst. I’m close enough to the stage that I can see her hands shaking with excitement. I know I should go backstage and tell her how fantastic she was. I know I should give her a hug and try to melt away the weirdness between us, but all I want to do is leave.

“Let’s go see Sam,” Mom says, and doesn’t wait for my answer. I shuffle behind Natasha as she gallops after Mom.

Sam’s parents, Jack, and some of my old classmates from Community surround Sam, who’s still in her costume and makeup. Her face is as red as a fire truck. I think she sees me but I’m not sure. I move in closer.

“Sonia!” she finally calls, and waves me over.

“Hi. You were so—” I say, but never get to finish. Everything is a big blur of Mom hugging her, Sadie and Ben hugging me, and Natasha fussing over Sam’s costume. Mom gushes over her and I just stand there smiling with jealousy. And just when I think it couldn’t get any worse, Connor comes over to Sam and they give each other a huge jumping hug. He’s still dressed in most of the poodle costume except for his mask and he looks even more beautiful than I
remembered, with his shiny dark hair, green eyes, and long lashes. He and Sam immediately launch into a breakdown of the play, spurting out all the juicy details—I can’t believe this and I can’t believe that! You were so good! No,
you
were! Did you see when I almost tripped? Did you notice when I forgot my line?

I pull on Mom’s sleeve to give her the “let’s go” signal. She stops talking to Sadie and looks down.

“I’m really tired,” I say. “Can we leave?”

Mom gives me a funny look, but doesn’t argue and starts saying her goodbyes. Just before we head off, I touch Sam on the shoulder. “You were so great,” I say, trying to sound happy for her, but my voice is low and sad.

“Thanks,” she says. Connor finally sees me.

“Hi, Sonia Nadhamuni!” he says.

My stomach does a flip when I hear him say my name so easily. I wave and smile, but I have no words left. Mom puts a hand on my shoulder and I turn toward the door.

“Bye, Sonia,” Sam says. I give her a little wave. Then she goes back to talking to the others about the play. The ringing of their happy voices follows me outside into the dark, cold night.

chapter eighteen

After we get home I go straight to my room, climb to the top of my closet, and lie down on the highest shelf. It’s a big, wide, sliding-door closet, and I use the row of side shelves as a ladder to get up. I used to hang out here a lot when I was younger. So it’s empty except for a pillow and my stuffed bear, who’s called Doggie because when I was little I thought all animals were dogs. I would read with a flashlight or just make up stories and whisper them to myself. It’s my secret place where I get to just be me. I can hardly fit anymore, but it doesn’t matter as I lay my head against the pillow, hold Doggie, and run vocabulary words through my head one by one.

I hear Mom knock on my door. I don’t say anything. Then slowly she pushes it open. “Sonia?”

I sit up quickly and bang my head on the ceiling. “Ow.”

“Where are you?” Mom asks, now standing in the middle of my dark room.

“In here,” I say, and shine my flashlight at her.

“What are you doing?” she says, shielding her eyes from the light.

“I don’t know.” I start climbing down.

“I didn’t think you went up there anymore.”

I just shrug and sit on my bed. She turns on my light and sits next to me.

“Jackie called me,” she says. I look at her and wonder if they’re becoming friends.

“She told me you went to church with them last Sunday and that she heard you telling me on the phone that you were going to brunch, not church.”

I open my mouth to tell her we did go to brunch, after church, that I just forgot to tell her about the church part.

“Wait.” She holds up her finger. “And Jackie said that you told them you weren’t Jewish.”

My face burns. I didn’t think Jackie was the type of mom to call other moms and tell them this kind of stuff. I put my hands on my cheeks and hang my head. “So I guess you’re not going to let me sleep over at Kate’s anymore.”

Mom lifts my chin up gently to face her.

“I didn’t say that, but I do want to know why you lied about going to church, why you said you weren’t Jewish.”

“Because I was afraid Jackie wouldn’t let me come to church with them.”

“Really? That’s why?”

No, but I wasn’t sure how to explain it.

“Do you think Jackie has a problem with you being Jewish?” Mom continues, her voice getting higher, more upset. “Because if that’s what’s going on, I’m going to have to talk to—”

“No, Mom,” I interrupt her. “It’s not like that. It’s me.”

“You never had a problem being Jewish before you met Kate and Jackie.”

“It just seemed easier having to explain less. You’re not that Jewish either, Mom. You didn’t even marry someone Jewish.”

Mom’s face turns from worried and searching to angry. Her mouth sets in a hard, straight line.

“I may not be the most religious person in the world, but I never would have disrespected my background like that. When I married your dad, I felt as Jewish as I ever did.” She wipes the top of her forehead, like she’s hot. “Even if other people didn’t think so.”

I swallow. Why couldn’t Jackie have minded her own business?

“I didn’t mean to disrespect anything, I just …” Mom gets up.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to hang out with Kate so much,” she says. “You need a break from that household.”

And then she’s out my door and down the stairs, end of discussion, which is not like Mom at all. But I’m not really surprised. Why would anything go the way I want it to these days?

The sun wakes me up the next day, and it’s so bright, it seems to erase all that’s come before it. It’s our first home game of the season. All the cheerleaders are supposed to wear their uniforms to school like the older girls do. I put mine on and stare in the mirror. I’ve worn it before, but this is the first time I’ve worn my uniform to school. The blue and white sweater and skirt fit nicely. I actually look kind of cute and not as silly as Sam might think. I scrape up my hair in a high, bouncy ponytail the way Kate always wears her hair for practice and tie it with a white ribbon. Mom smiles at me when I come downstairs, but then tries to yank down my skirt a little. When I wait for the bus, Cindy and Heather even talk to me, which they hardly ever do. And Mr. Totono gives me a high five when he sees me in the hall.

During English, a folded mint-green note lands on my desk just after Mrs. Langley passes out our corrected vocabulary tests. I got a C, which is better than a D. Mom won’t be happy, but I’m too excited to be upset about it. Grades are
still strange to me. At Community we never got grades, just written evaluations that explained all the good things we did and the stuff we needed to work on, so I never had to stare at a red C or worse. At Community no one could fail—another thing Alisha thinks is incredible. I unfold the note carefully while keeping a close eye on Mrs. Lonely, as Kate calls her.

I stare at it. I haven’t been invited to Peter Hanson’s party. I look to the left and see Peter sitting in the back. He’s busy folding up one of his famous paper airplanes. Two days ago he called me a cow-worshipper under his breath in the cafeteria line. I decided then and there that I hated Peter Hanson.

No, are you?
I write back.

She tosses another note my way, this time landing on the floor by my feet. I pretend to scratch my ankle as I pick it up.
Why???
it says. Just then Mrs. Langley shoots me a glance. I quickly tuck the note under my social studies textbook, relieved that I can’t reply just yet. I’m not surprised that Peter didn’t invite me to his party. Most of the boys on the football team haven’t paid much attention to me or, like Peter, have made fun of me. The only boy who has seemed to notice me in a good way is one of Alisha’s friends from Bridgeport, Marcus. When I look at him he smiles and then looks away
fast. I get the feeling he likes me, but he’s never said a word to me, so I don’t really know if I’d like him back. This is something I’ve thought about, though—the only boy who has paid attention to me is black. I wonder if he thinks I’m black.