This Ordinary Life (14 page)

“Yeah, of course! We're hoping all programs get funding and it is possible that they will. The Board of Education is carefully reviewing money allocations and we are hoping to have everything in place that we have this year. Fingers crossed.”

The guy on the line huffs. “So why not put all this stupid carnival money to pay for that stuff instead?”

“Like I said earlier, most of the carnival will be happening because of community donations. Businesses are donating time, services, and sponsoring parts of the carnival to make it happen. I can promise you that not one dollar of SGA or PTA money has gone toward the event. Believe me, if we could raise enough
to pay for everything every student wants, we would. Be sure to check out the student portal page where many fundraising opportunities have been set up and where almost one hundred percent of money raised will go directly toward program funding.”

Farrah sits back in her chair and lets out a breath.

“Thanks for your call,” I say, giving her a thumbs up. “And that is great to know, Farrah. Thanks so hard for the work you and all the other members of the student government do. We are so lucky to have such strong support of the student body.”

We segue into benign and safe topics, like upcoming finals and the seniors' project graduation. I wrap up with a big thanks and switch over to a short playlist as I turn off my traitorous mic and finally let my foot fall from holding the plug in position.

“Wow!” Farrah says. “That was hard. But fun too. Did I sound okay? Especially with that angry caller?”

“You did great. I think it was perfect.” Minus the technical issue, which I don't mention. I swear my pulse is just now returning to normal. Why this happened today of all days, I have no idea. I hope I covered it well enough. The show must go on and all that.

“You made it feel like it was a plain old conversation, but I got this rush, being on the air. Even though I was so nervous!”

I smile, knowing exactly, of course, what she means.

“Seriously though,” I say. “Thank you so much for coming on. There has been so much grumbling and worry about next year and hopefully this will help calm at least some of it for many students.”

Farrah packs up and slips out of the studio just as my set of songs is ending. With my foot back on the plug and my fingers crossed, I turn on my mic, say a quick thanks to listeners and wish them a good school day ahead. My radio show is complete and my interview done. I shut everything down with a huge sigh of relief. When I step out of the room, flowers in hand, Ms.
Hudson is waiting outside. She's wearing lace leggings, a denim dress and huge hoop earrings peeking out from her hair. Not to mention a gigantic smile.

“You knocked it out of the park!” She pulls me into a hug.

“Out of the park?” I raise my eyebrows. “Did you not notice the mic cut out early in the segment?”

She smiles. “I did, but you handled it well. There was hardly any dead air before you switched over.”

“And how is that going to look to WYN60?”

“Like you know how to handle a technical foul up,” she says. “You could have folded and let the show end, but you recovered quickly. But enough about that, the interview was flawless. Even the way you handled the cranky caller.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. You are going to knock the folks in New York dead, you know. This was your best interview yet. Very natural progression. I was working the breakfast hour in the cafeteria and I will tell you, every single person in there was listening.”

Even if I wanted to, there's no way to keep the grin off my face as the energy from the morning show still pumps through me. Even the mess ups are quickly fading.

“What can I say?” I joke. “You taught me everything I know.”

She squeezes my arm. “We'll chat later,” she says. “Have an amazing day. You've more than earned it.”

I practically skip down the hall toward my chemistry class. If a successful radio segment feels this good, I don't ever want to quit. And Ms. Hudson is right, even with the technical issues, it could have been a much worse recovery. At least I didn't freeze. I just hope that's how the folks in New York see it when they hear the lag.

I stop at my locker to drop off the flowers, smiling as I set them on the small shelf and get the books I need. I sashay toward
first period, smiling at every single person I pass. I get more head nods and “good jobs,” than usual, and I'm beaming as I walk down the hall, feeling more than a little like that sunshine Wes is always going on about.

My phone dings with nothing but smiley faces from Wes as I walk into chem. I slide into my seat with a huge grin and text him back, hiding the phone under the desk in case Mr. Karns comes in.

Three days of the week down and interview done! Now to wait for the inevitable horror of Saturday…

His response is nothing but another grinning smile along with a devil face. I giggle and put my phone into my bag.

A
FTER AN AWESOME
after school meeting where Ms. Hudson and I re-listen to this morning's show, I float all the way home. I cringed when I heard the few seconds of dead air when I realized the mic was out, but I'm hoping she's right and my recovery was professional enough. She confirmed that the internship has already been narrowed down to just a handful of people. So me getting this interview is beyond lucky this late in the game. The look on her face when we listened to the interview renewed my hope. If she believes I'm good enough to get this, maybe I really do have a shot.

I'm practically humming when I walk in my front door. The smell of burnt popcorn hangs in the air and other than the dripping kitchen faucet, it's quiet. Too quiet.

“Danny?” I call.

Nothing.

I step back outside. Yep. Mom's car is in the driveway. Would she have walked somewhere with him? The park down the street?

A nice thought, but fat chance.

I see her ratty brown hair draped over the arm of the couch and notice now the scratching of the needle at the end of the album again. I should throw away those few stupid albums Dad left behind. What is wrong with her? Sighing, I make my way over to her, lifting her limp arm, to expose her face: bloated, smeared eye makeup making her look like some deranged
raccoon, and completely passed out. On the coffee table in front of her is all I need to know. An empty vodka bottle and a near-empty two liter of Diet Sprite. The stench of booze wafts off her. Gross.

“Great, Mom. Awesome job.”

And where the hell is Danny?

I check his room, even all his favorite hiding spots, like under his bed or curled up next to his toy box.

Nothing. Panic starts to work its way through me.

Both the front and back yards are empty. I walk up and down our street quickly, peering into every yard I pass, thinking maybe he's playing outside and lost track of time. But of course, he's not. Danny is not the kind of kid to wander off and it's not like he has any neighborhood friends. My pulse drowns out all other sounds. Where the hell is he? I pick up my pace as I walk back to my house, shirt clinging with sweat.

I pull my hair up in a ponytail as I walk back inside, fanning my clammy face.

If something happened to him, I will kill her. What kind of mother—

“Incoming!” Danny's voice echoes off the tiles. He's in the bathroom!

I hear a big splash.

“Boom! Swim away! Swim away! Eeek! Shaaaaarrrrkkk attack!”

I burst through the bathroom door. “Danny!”

“Hey, Jazzy!” Danny squints up at me from the bathtub, plastic sharks and fish bobbing in the water around him. My breathing can't catch up to what my mind sees, but slowly, more slowly than a turtle in mud, my brain gets the telegram. Danny is okay.

But God! He may
not
have been okay. The tub, and pools, and lakes, and any other water in general, are the one and only place, the one and only unbreakable rule, we have. He cannot be
in water alone. Cannot! He has to be watched carefully. If he has a seizure in water and no one is around… Well, he'll have no way to know he's under water. And he'll drown. Die. Simple as that.

Jesus, Mom.

I close the toilet lid and sit on the edge of it, watching him play with his sharks. He swims them back and forth slowly, crashing them into one another.

I take deep breaths but can't steady my brain from thinking of the what-ifs. To leave Danny in the bath like this. It's reckless. It's stupid. My fingernails dig rivets into my palms. Selfish and crazy. That's all she is.

“Jazzy, are you mad at me?”

“What?” I ask absently.

Danny stares up at me, his face as concerned as when he asks if Mommy is sick because she sleeps so much. “You have a mad face. Why are you mad? I didn't do whatever it is.”

Deep breath. “You didn't do anything, buddy. How could you? It's just been a crazy day.” I sit on the floor beside the tub and grab the Sponge Bob cup on the ledge. “Come here, let me wash your hair.”

When I dip the cup in the water, I jump back. “Jeeez! It's freaking freezing. How long have you been in here?”

He holds out his hands. Wrinkled and purple. “I'm a raisin,” he says with the lisp of missing front teeth. “So a long time? I'm doing shark races!”

“Aren't you cold? Why didn't you get out?”

Danny shrugs and tosses another shark into the air. “I was just playing, Jazzy.”

I hit the drain on the tub and grab two towels from the closet. Once I pull him out and the cool air of the bathroom hits his skin, Danny starts chattering teeth and shivering. Up this close, I notice for the first time, the tinge of blue around the edge of his
lips. I wrap him tightly and pick him up like a baby, joking around like I'm pretend-rocking him.

“Rock a bye Danny, on the treetop.” I sing, my voice warbling with emotion at how cold he is in my arms.

“Put me down!” He laughs and laughs, that belly giggle that I love. I deposit him in his room and tell him to get dressed and meet me in the kitchen. He's still giggling when I close his door and turn my eyes upward, thanking the heavens for his resilience. And probably a good dose of plain old luck.

Scanning the mostly empty refrigerator shelves, I try to come up with a dinner plan. I'm a pretty crappy cook but I can usually pull something together. With the state my mind is in, the few things inside the fridge look like a foreign objects. I still can't wrap my mind around Danny being alone in the bathtub.

Slamming the door shut, I shoot a dirty look at Mom, passed out like a gross hobo on our couch. Then I do something I never, ever do. I open Mom's purse, then her wallet, pulling thirty dollars in fives out from her bartending tips.

I walk quickly down the hall and knock on Danny's door. “Put on socks and shoes, too. I'm taking you out.”

A few minutes later, Danny and I walk out the back door, our held hands swinging between us. It may be my imagination, but even in the hot June evening, his fingers are still cold.

“S
TRIKE!
” D
ANNY SCOOTS
backwards, doing the little dance he does every time he bowls a spare or a strike. I high five him and match his huge grin with one of my own. I try and tamp down the sick feeling in my gut that's been swirling there since I found him alone in the tub. The bowling alley sounds are loud and distracting, balls hitting pins, music blaring. I pull apart the slices of our pizza to cool it off, putting one on my plate and one on
Danny's. My phone chimes loudly and I glare at it. If it's her, I'm not answering. Let her worry. She deserves it.

But it's Wes.

“Hey, Wes.” My stomach flutters as I answer the phone. We've texted a bunch of times, but never called.

He blasts the song “Video Killed the Radio Star” into the phone.

I roll my eyes, but can't help laughing. “So dumb.”

“What's up Sunny?”

It's weird, hearing his voice over the phone. I mean, it's obviously the same Wes I talk to in person, but his phone voice sounds different, slightly deeper or something.

I blow out a huge gust of air. “I'm bowling with Danny. Had to get out of my house.”

“You okay? You sound weird.”

I plop down on the plastic seat. “Not really. Long story. But anyway, it's my turn. I have to go.”

“Where are you guys?”

“Pins and Lanes.”

“Mind if I stop by?”

My stomach swirls, a tiny storm. “If you want.”

“I'll be there. And call me Wes when I see you.”

“As opposed to…”

“No. The way you said it, I mean. When you answered, you sounded different. I liked it.” He hangs up before I can answer, and my face instantly warms.
What
way I said his name? All I did was answer the phone. I'm still shaking my head when I go up to take my turn, wondering if I've lost the touch of keeping my game face on, or in this case, my game voice. My ball rolls way right and I throw my hands up in despair.

“Gutter ball!” Danny calls happily, tomato sauce smeared on his face.

I hit two pins on my next turn and wince when I look at the score. “You're killing me. When did you get so good? Wait, come here, your shoe is untied. Let me tie it for you.”

Danny puts his hands on his hips. “Really, Jazz? Like I can't tie my own shoe?”

Sure enough, he drops down and ties the laces on the hideous bowling shoes. Looking smug, he marches up to take his turn. I watch him as I nibble on my pizza, his skinny little kid self shimmying across the slippery floor. My heart swells as I think about how much Danny needs, and how unfair so much of his life is. I vow, like always, to protect every single bit of his life as much as I can. Which apparently means from Mom along with everything else he has to deal with.

We're halfway through the pizza when Wes shows up, wearing plaid shorts, a tee shirt and a Life Is Good hat, his hair curling out around the back and sides of it. He's wearing this totally honest expression too, eyes wide and a huge smile. Like, ear to ear and everything.