Water Balloon (13 page)

I join Leah in the kitchen. "So do you want to watch a movie or something?"

"My mom has to pick me up soon," Leah says. "But let's do the movie soon."

Like tomorrow?
I want to ask.

"Like tomorrow?" she asks.

Oh, I'm so glad she's back!

***

When she leaves, I find my phone charger and plug it in. And then Dad's house phone rings. He talks for a while, then calls for me to pick up.

"Hi, Marley. I miss you."

"Hi, Mom. I miss you too. How's Grandma?"

"She's great."

"I miss her."

"I know. She misses you. I miss you so much, too. Did your father say Leah's there?"

"She was. She just left."

"Jane too?"

"Uh, no." So much has happened and everything keeps changing. "So when's Grandma's surgery?"

"Later next week."

"She'll be glad to get that over with."

"It'll really make it so much easier for her to get around."

"Can I talk to her?"

"Sure—hold on."

There's a long pause, then the sound of the phone being pulled along a counter or something, and then I hear my grandma. "Hello there, Miss Marley Eden."

Only Grandma uses my middle name. "Hi, Grandma. Are you having a good summer?"

"It's nice to have your mom with me. I miss having you too."

"I know! I wish I were there."

"I do too. How's it going with your father?"

"Okay. I guess. Are you scared about the surgery at all?"

"Not so much," she says. "As I get older, the things that scared me don't look so menacing anymore."

"That must be nice."

"If you put a snake in my bed, I'd still scream."

"You know I'd never do that."

"I do. You're having a good summer, honey?"

I don't want to make her worry, but I don't lie to my grandmother. "There's a lot that's good," I say.

"I think that maybe that's the best you can hope for. I love you, Marley Eden girl. Your mom wants to talk to you again."

"So tomorrow you're back to the Land of Crazy Twins?" Mom asks.

"Yup. That's my summer."

"Is it any better?"

"I'm getting used to it."

"I'll give you a call soon. I love you. Be good. Listen to your dad, okay?"

"I'm not five."

"You're not. Bye."

First thing in the morning, I turn my phone on. It sounds like a hysterically broken doorbell, ringing for each of the messages I've gotten. They're all from Leah.

I start reading them, but it's all Where r u and answer already! and call me! Not the world's most entertaining reading. I'm deleting them when I get a new one: Can i sleep over 2nite?

I check with Dad and then text back yes.

***

Because this is the funnest summer ever, I get talked into helping my dad in the yard after babysitting.

But the lawn already looks so much better. There are almost no dandelions left.

"It looks great. Why don't we go out for ice cream instead?"

"Nice try, Marley. I mowed, but that's just temporary—gets rid of the flowers before they have a chance to go to seed. Now I need to eliminate the plants."

"You want me to dig out wherever I see the leaves?"

"That's my girl. No more talk of this dandelion recovery plan, this dandelions-are-flowers-too propaganda. Help me make this lawn a happy place where blades of grass can be free."

And so we work side by side, taking breaks for drinks. Well, one of us takes breaks.

He brings the radio outside, and the familiar sound of baseball talk carries on the summer air. I dig and pull and pile and pack it all into one of Dad's airtight, keep-the - bad - plants - away - from - the - good - plants containers, so there's no chance of reseeding. At one point he picks up a ball (where did that ball come from? Did Jack leave it here when he was playing catch with Dad?) and asks, "Feel like having a catch?"

I kind of want to, but I throw like a stotal paz. "I've never learned the right way to throw, I don't think. Doctor, is it too late for me?"

"What kind of father didn't teach you how to throw? You throw fine. Let me see." And he tosses the ball to me gently.

I can't even throw my normal abnormal way because I'm thinking about it, trying to remember something about getting my elbow back. "I think thirteen might be too late to start," I say.

"I disagree. Here. Do this." And in slow motion, he pulls his arm back and goes through the throwing motion, stopping with his fingers wide open at the release point. "Ready?"

I try. I throw it as close as I can to the way he showed me, but I know I look lame. It reaches him, though. "How about you don't worry about form and we just throw the ball?"

"Okay," I say. I'm thinking it'll be about as much fun as fishing. It's a little better than that. I sort of feel like it's the least I can do for Dad, another small gesture. He seems so lost around me—the way he raced outside when Leah and I were hanging out—and this—balls, throwing—holds some kind of meaning for him.

So we stand and we throw. He throws grounders and high pops, and we think up goofy challenges for each other, like under the leg while hopping. We throw until my arm starts to get sore.

"I think you should wrap my arm in ice and then a towel on top of that, and then I can walk around with one arm in my jacket sleeve. That would be cool."

"It would be." He smiles at me, a sad smile with a meaning I do not completely understand. "That was fun, Marley. Thank you."

"It
was
fun," I say, surprised that I'm not just telling him what I think he wants to hear. "When I come off the disabled list for overthrowing today, maybe we can do it again."

"Anytime."

***

We roll the TV and DVD player into my room. "So," Leah says. "Tell me what you've been doing all summer."

I tell her all about Grace and Faith and dandelion fairy princess crowns and how they snort and call me Marley Bear, and how nice Lynne seems. Even leaving out the part about playing catch with my daddy, as I'm talking, I realize how ... young ... my summer sounds compared to hers. She's acting, getting to know all these high school kids. I'm hanging with five-year-olds. Leah doesn't seem to notice. She can be a good listener when she finally stops talking. I let myself feel how much I've missed her, and the emotion is strong.

Later, when we're brushing our teeth before the movie, I decide to take a chance. I don't know where the courage comes from, and I don't take the time to debate whether it's courage or stupidity, but before it disappears, I blurt out, "Do you think Jane will ever speak to me again?"

"You really pissed her off. I mean, what could you have even been thinking?" She laughs, a laugh with an edge of something nasty. "She's seriously pissed."

"She was such a ... I mean, the way she..." Leah was there. She saw. Why do I have to explain this? "It was awful, Leah. I made this horrible mistake, but it's not like I did it to be mean or hurt anyone. It was just stupid. But the way she yelled and hissed and screamed at me in front of everyone, it just—Ow. It just really hurt." I half expect the tiled floor to split like an earthquake movie set and for our bodies to slide right in. And I hate that I can't keep the tears from my eyes.

"She was really mad! I mean, no one should have to explain to you that when you're hanging out with high school kids, you don't play stupid little-kid games."

That awful, raw wound I felt the instant I stopped blitzing feels new again. And Leah's poking at it. Hard. With a filthy stick. I know what she's saying is true, but I can't undo it. All I can do is try to move on.

"I can try to talk to her for you, tell her you're really sorry and—"

"I'm not sure I want to keep apologizing."

"Come on, Marley. This is so stupid. Let me start to fix it. I'll tell Jane you're sorry and I'll get her to—"

"Do not tell her I'm sorry."

"Let me do this. I can do this for you."

This is all wrong. "I'm serious, Leah. Do not. Promise me."

"I don't get what the big deal is," Leah says. "I just want to fix—"

"I mean it, Leah. Promise me."

"Fine."

"You have to mean this. That you promise not to talk to Jane about me. Ever."

"I promise. Really. But maybe you should think about apologizing to her."

"But other than the balloon thing, which I totally admit was stupid, I didn't do anything wrong. And I already apologized for that. Or I tried to, and she was a scary alien witch. She hasn't exactly been the best friend to me either, you know."

Leah's eyes bulge, as if I've said the single most ridiculous thing that could ever be said. She does this thing with her hands, this sort of flicking away of something invisible. Something annoying.

"God, Marley. That is so you. Only seeing what you want to see. Think about it. You haven't exactly been a lot of fun since your parents split up." She leans over her small overnight bag, rifles through her stuff. "You're, like, depressed
all
the time. Trust me:
You
wouldn't even want to hang out with you. Maybe you should think about
that
before you tell me it's her and not you."

I want to scream, to accuse her and Jane of being the very worst kind of fair-weather friends, to shout that it's not at all true! To tell her that is an awful thing to say. But there's something about this feeling. I think I remember it. It's a raw-nerve feeling. Leah hit upon something true, something true that hurts.

That seems to be her special talent tonight.

I can scream all I want, but I can't make it untrue.

Have I really been so awful to be around?

I hear the front door close, and Rig and Dad step back into the house. Rig's trotting sound, nails on the hardwood floor, echoes as he goes through all the rooms, looking for me. When he finds me, it's as though we've been apart for months. He's so grateful I'm still here. I hold on to him.

Questions still hang in the air like low, swollen clouds. Did I just miss the signs for a long time? If I hadn't orchestrated the world's most awkward blitz, would there have been something else? Have Leah and Jane been trying to get rid of me? Does it even matter anymore?

And I don't like the way Leah's acting, as if I should be grateful for her willingness to help fix what's broken between Jane and me. Like she has all this power or something. It reminds me of Rig's
I could!
threat-jump at innocent bunnies. Like Leah's saying,
I could chomp you with my big giant dog teeth, Marley. I could make things better if I want to or I could make them worse. Make sure you know that, Marley.

"Are you two going to start the movie now?" Dad calls in. "It's getting late."

I was hoping Leah would go home now. It might be healthy to talk things out, but I feel anything but healthy right now.

"Sure," I say.

And we watch, silently, until Leah falls asleep. Then I lie there, my body still but my mind buzzing, replaying this day. Not believing this day.

In the morning, Leah's still sleeping when I open my eyes. I grab some clothes from the top of the dresser and sneak into the bathroom to change so I don't wake her. Rig sits outside the door, and when I open it, dressed and ready, he thumps his tail in approval.

Outside, I try to look casual, but my eyes are like a sentry lookout's, scanning the horizon for signs of Jack. My whole body feels jazzed at the thought of just seeing him, of spending a few minutes talking to him, making up for the time we lost yesterday.

It's not like we had plans or anything, but I feel close to crying when I realize he's not out. I stare toward his house, my eyes locked on his back door with super willing - Jack-to-come-outsides trength.

I must need some willing guidance. Rig comes over to me as though wondering why his friend isn't where he always is. Or maybe I inadvertently willed my dog over instead of Jack. He sits in front of me, then looks back in the direction of Jack's house. "I know," I say.

I sit down and start to pull dandelions out of the ground. This time, I decide to do it the right way. It's my dad's lawn. He may be claiming to be the new him, but I've been inside his closet. I've seen how he butters his toast.

It's never been easy for me to tell other people how I feel. It seems that even when I do, it's more work than it's worth. I felt like I was going to vomit last night with Leah, and what did that accomplish?

Since talking doesn't always work out for me, when I have an opportunity to show someone how I'm feeling, I try to take it. I guess it's the gesture language of the Baird family. Even though he can be a jerk, I miss my dad when he's not around, and I love him. I do. If he's overwhelmed by his life, well, I can sure relate. If he can't find the time to rid his lawn of dandelions, then I can help.

I don't know if he'll look at a pile of weeds pulled from the ground in the Robert Baird–approved method and know I'm trying to tell him that I love him. But I'll know.

I try to work without a tool, grasping hold near the root and pulling, but no matter how hard I pull, it leaves part of the root in the ground. I go to the garage and take out one of the many dandelion tools Dad bought before he settled on the one he sort of invented. This one's like a very long cookie cutter that reaches down low to get the whole scraggy root. Rig lies beside me as I work. Before long, the lawn around me is full of little holes, like some intense mini-golf course. I've never seen a lawn so infested before, and it's mind-blowing that I can pull out so many and hardly make a dent.

I hear a door slam shut and look toward Jack's house. It's a woman. His mom? She's wearing one of those short-sleeved pastel print smocks that the hygienists at my dentist's office wear. She puts what must be a cup of coffee on her car while she loads some things into the back seat. Then she takes a sip, looks back toward the house, climbs into the car, and pulls out into the street. Jack's mother works on the weekend?

I'm out for what feels like an hour before I hear Leah's voice. "Hey, Marley. Whatcha doing?"