This Ordinary Life (17 page)

He throws up a rock and roll sign and bobs his head as if he's going to break out in dance again.

“Yeah,” I say. “Even without that. This weirdo, non-date, cemetery picnic is probably the nicest thing anyone has done for me in a really long time.”

Wes's smile is like the pulse of airwaves broadcasting to a really huge audience. I mean, you can feel the strength of it, like a zillion decibels.

He picks up the cooler and I drape the folded blanket over my arm. We walk to the car, only a few inches of space between us.

“Glad it was a good time,” he says.

“Best non-date ever,” I agree.

“Nice hat, by the way.” He knocks his shoulder into mine. My face goes hot as I bring my hand to my head. I had completely forgotten I was wearing it.

“Keep it on,” he says. “You look cute in it.”

But I pull it off when we reach the car and shake my hair out. I give his messy, every-which-way hair an exaggerated scowl. “You need it more than I do,” I say, plopping his hat back onto his head.

Smile smirk. Smile smirk.

Sigh.

It's not until we're back on the highway and headed toward home that my stomach starts churning with the reality of Mom and everything else I have to get back to. Wes's hand inches toward mine during the drive, but never quite reaches. I'm not sure if I'm happy about that or not.

M
ONDAY MORNING
I'
M
back on the radio with a new idea for a fun segment I can carry over the next few days. Thankfully Mr. Tony replaced the offending wall plug, so hopefully I'll have no more microphone malfunctions.

“Good morning, Easton High! It's Jasmine Torres with your Easy Easton Mornings show. In the last week we've discussed friendships, and school politics and even broken hearts. Today I'd like to turn the tables and talk about the best of things. Love is often in the halls here at Easton, despite the school's strict rules on PDA. Ha ha ha. Anyone out there have a secret crush? I am declaring this week love week on the morning show, with today dedicated solely to secret crushes. Have a dedication for the secret of your admiration? Write to Eastonmornings at Easton dot edu and tell me your story and dedication. We will get it on the airwaves and get your crush closer to knowing where they stand.”

I hit play on the short playlist of love songs I've cued up and turn to my computer, hoping I get some good dedications. I mean, it's high school. There have got to be some secret admirers around here. Let's hope they fess up and give me something good to work with.

I yawn and take a big gulp of my coffee. Last night I got basically no sleep. Mom was working, thankfully, because I'm still not speaking to her, and anyway things feel so much calmer and better when she isn't around. Danny and I played Wii dance for
about two hours before he finally went to sleep. After that I caught up on homework and then ended up chatting online with Wes until way past my normal sleep time.

My phone buzzes on the desk.

“Speak of the devil.” I smile at the screen, excitement zinging through my belly.

can I make a dedication?

My finger hovers over the screen. The phone dings again.

i know you're reading this. do i make u too nervous to respond?;)

I huff a big breath, fingers flying over the keys.

smartass. i'm busy.

rigggggghhhhht.

gotta go! dedication line open for easton students only.

I turn the phone face down so I'm not distracted as I turn back to the microphone.

“Our first batch of dedications are coming in. Here is one dedicated to ‘the red-haired beauty in my algebra class,' from ‘looks dorky but is really sweet.'” I hit play on the song and sit back, grabbing my phone with a smile.

fine. no dedication. but i can't stop thinking about what you said last night.

what i said? what?

all of it. i can't stop thinking about YOU.

My breath catches.

yeah?

What else can I say? God I'm so bad at this. The phone dings again and I read quickly, my smile spreading through me like the warmest syrup.

let me take you out. for real.

I start to type no. But I backspace and delete it. Can it really hurt? We've already hung out, and it's not like our non-dates were really non-dates, right? Wes is so much fun. And I really do like him. Scared or not.

Wes texts again before I can respond:

trust me.

It's simple and I want to. I really really want to.

this time I'll make it a good date.

Take a breath. Fingers hover. To be honest? Or to joke around?

okay. but p.s. the last one was good too.

I put the phone down, knowing I admitted way more than I meant to with my response. But as I scroll through the dedications in the morning show's inbox, I can't help wondering if it was a mistake.

W
HEN
I
GET
home from school, Mom isn't there yet. I throw in a load of Danny's laundry since he was whining about being out of tee shirts this morning.

“Aannnd, we have no detergent left.” I slam the washer shut and go in search of my purse. I have less than four bucks in my wallet, which isn't going to get me far. I drop onto the stool in the kitchen. Damn it, Mom.

I finish my homework just as Danny walks in the back door. Like always, he heads to his room for an after school nap after taking his medicine. Even though I should be voted most likely to stay busy, I decide that a nap is exactly what I need too. I head to my room and fall asleep almost the instant I pull my comforter over myself.

Is there anything worse than being woken up by screaming?

For one terrified minute I jump up, thinking something is wrong with Danny. But then I realize my mom is in the kitchen, going ballistic. I hear my name more than once.

I stumble into the kitchen rubbing my eyes. Danny sits at the table, pencil frozen over a math worksheet while he stares at Mom, pacing by the sink.

“There you are!” she says, her eyes as wild as her hair.

I drop into the seat next to Danny's and look at his homework. She still doesn't deserve me talking to her.

“Jasmine Luz,” she says. “I am talking to you.”

Oooh, middle name. Did you hear that, listeners? Looks like someone showed up on the let's pretend to be a mom show today!

“Great job,” I say to Danny. “Looks like they're all right so far.”

“Subtraction is hard,” he says with a frown.

“Jasmine!”

Danny jumps in his chair, and for that I am angry. I turn in my seat. “What do you want?”

She holds the vodka bottle in front of her. “Do you know what happened to this?”

“To what?” I ask innocently. I have to admit I'm surprised she figured it out. But, I'm happy, too. She deserves to be upset.

“Very funny young lady.” She puts the bottle down and wags a finger at me. “If you remember, I am the one who works and pays the bills around here.”

I snort. “Yeah. You do so much.”

“What's with your attitude lately? I am still your mother you know!”

Hardly.

“Hey, Danny. Can you go take a shower before dinner? I'll help you finish these problems after?”

He looks up at me with a questioning expression. I never ask him to shower before dinner.

“Go on,” I say sternly. “I'll make you mac and cheese?”

With the promise of his favorite meal, he is out the door faster than you can say processed, bright orange, cheese-flavored powder.

“What the hell was that about?” Mom's nostrils flare.

I hold up a finger. “Wait,” I say, venom dripping from the word.

When I hear the shower start and hear Danny start singing his favorite Disney songs I step closer to Mom.

“You,” I say. “Need to get your drinking under control. It's out of hand. I am sick of being the sister
and
the mom around here.”

She steps back as if I've slapped her, but anger darkens her expression. “Excuse me? How dare you!”

“Danny could have died!” I scream.

“What are you talking about?”

“Are you that freaking clueless? Last week. I came home and he was in the bathtub, mom. The bathtub! The water was ice
cold and he had been playing in there a long time. You were passed out in your drunken glory, slobber and vodka all over the couch with the stupid record player turning. If he had a seizure in there! God. I can't even say it.” I press the heels of my hands against my eyes as the sobs rock through me. When I finally look back up at her, she stares out the window.

“You have no right to say these things to me,” she says. “And no idea what it's like to be a single mother to you and your brother.”

“Are you kidding?”

She turns on her heel and stares at me. “Excuse me?”

“For your information,” I say, practically snarling. “I know
exactly
what it feels like to be a single mother.”

She glares at me, arms crossed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Who do you think is doing all the mom things around here! The homework, the doctors, the cooking, the laundry. You can't even stay sober long enough to make sure your son doesn't die in the bathtub! And God forbid I have to leave and get to school early like a normal freaking kid. You don't even wake up to see if he eats breakfast and in the meantime he's having a seizure for who knows how long. Jesus, Mom. If it wasn't for me, who knows what would have happened to him by now!”

“Jasmine!”

“No, Mom! You need to wake up. It started when Dad left, but guess what? He's not coming back! Get over it. Stop playing those stupid three albums he left behind. Sell the stupid stereo so we can pay for some things. He doesn't want you! He doesn't want us! Grow up and start being a mother! You have a family here that wants you, that needs you! Right here! Us! What would have happened to Danny, Mom, if I wasn't here that day? And all the others! What? Tell me! What would have happened to him by now!”

“Jasmine. Stop it. Stop this!” Tears stream down her cheeks and her eyes are wild and frantic, like a trapped animal.

“No! I'm not going to stop.” I'm screaming now. I feel like a crazy girl. Bona fide psychotic. “Act like a mother! Stop making me do everything! Why can't you just be freaking normal so I can have a regular life!”

“Jazzy?”

My head whips around to Danny, standing in the doorway, a towel draped around his little body while he drips shower water onto the floor.

“Why are you so mad? I heard you yelling from the shower.” Danny's eyes are wide with terror and filled with tears. “Don't be mad, Jazzy. I'm sorry you have to help with my homework and cook and stuff. I can try to do those things on my own. Don't cry.”

My heart feels very wrong, like it's doing something really dangerous, like losing its ability to beat. I drop to my knees in front of him and take his small hands in mine.

“No! Danny. That's not what I meant. We were having a grown up conversation. That's not what we were saying at all.”

His little bottom lips quivers, brown eyes wide and framed by still-wet lashes. “I don't want to make you mad, Jazzy. I love you. You don't have to do all that stuff for me.” He throws his arms around me and I pull him into a tight hug.

“No way, kid. I
love
spending time with you and helping you with stuff. It's hands down always the best part of my day.”

Danny pulls back and looks at me skeptically but a small smile pulls the corners of his mouth up.

“Okay?” I ask, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. I can't believe all the stuff he probably heard me say. My legs shake as if they'll give out and dump me on the floor to do what I really feel like doing, crumpling into a ball to cry. But I take a deep breath and steady myself. Forget radio. I should be an actress.
“I have to go out for a little bit. Do you mind if Mom does the homework with you tonight?”

Danny looks up at me and then to Mom. His gaze volleys between us for a minute. Mom, I will admit, smiles reassuringly and puts out a hand.

“Go get dressed,” she says, unable to control the shaking in her own voice. “Mac and cheese, right? And math homework?”

Danny smiles tentatively and looks at me again as if he's scared. Probably plain old confused. It's not like she's ever around for the normal day-to-day stuff like homework.

“It'll be okay,” I say. “You'll have a good night and I'll be home soon.”

“Okay.” He looks down at the ground. His disappointment is like an arrow to my heart, but I can't stay here. I'll explode if I do.

Hands on his shoulders, I turn him toward his room and kiss the top of his head. “You still have a little shampoo in your hair, Danny. You smell good, but you might want to rinse it.”

As soon as I hear Danny in his room I turn back to Mom. “I'll be back,” I say.

“You aren't taking my car.” The cool edge to her voice is like a knife. “I may screw up a lot, but no one is perfect. And I am your mother and will not let you talk to me that way.”

I stare into her eyes. I could point out the obvious: the fact that her own son isn't comfortable having her cook dinner and do homework with him. Or the fact that I'm truly the only reliable one here. But I think she knows these things and after the look on Danny's face and the fact that I put it there, I don't want to keep this argument going. I need to get out of here. Because she may not be perfect, but I obviously hugely screwed up tonight too.

“I'll walk.” I grab my phone from the counter.

“You have a curfew.” A tremor shakes her voice again.

It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes. I may have crossed the line, but I'm right here, and we both know it. Without me, this whole family, what's left of us, would have fallen apart. And that's being generous.