Water Balloon (7 page)

"Where is it?"

"My closet."

"Okay," I say. Then, because we're just looking at each other, I say, "Hi, Jack." I would like to ask why he is playing catch with my father. It's too weird, though. Words won't form.

"Hey, Marley."

I stash the old Monopoly game back in the garage and head back inside, but not before Leah's next to me, looking.

"Who's the guy?"

"Jack. He lives there," I say, pointing.

"He's kind of hot."

"Who's hot?" Jane asks as we walk into the kitchen.

"It's nothing. It's this neighbor, Jack."

"Do you like him?" Jane asks.

"I don't really know him."

"And what does
that
have to do with anything?" Leah says with this big, weird hand motion, as if she's performing for someone with bad vision in the last row of a huge auditorium.

"I'll get the game," I say.

Dad's new room is so ... Dad. In his closet, his teacher shirts are all hanging the same distance from each other, like in an ad for some closet organization system. His shoes are still in the boxes they came in, neatly spaced along the floor. Sweaters are stacked in perfectly sized containers on the left. Sitting all by itself on a shelf at the back is the Monopoly game. I start pulling off the plastic wrap as I walk back to the kitchen table.

This new game feels so different. Not a single corner is frayed or ripped. It's all so crisp, like my dad's version of the world—everything in its place. I hadn't realized how used to the feel of the old game I was. That money was so soft and water-warped; the Community Chest and Opportunity Knocks card corners were all rounded.

Jane hands out the money, slapping the crisp bills down into little piles. She's always the banker.

It feels so great to be playing Monopoly with my friends again!

Leah takes the hat, Jane takes the shoe, and I take the dog. We all roll to see who goes first. I get double sixes; a very good sign. I get to go first.

We haven't even made it around the board once yet when the phone rings. "Don't play without me," I say, stepping into the living room.

"Hello?"

"Marley! God, I miss you!"

"Mom! Why didn't you call me?"

"I did call. You were sleeping. And I'm calling you now. Why? Is everything okay?"

"It is so not okay."

"What?"

"Did you know Daddy got me a job?"

"He said he had something lined up, yes."

"Well, did you know he just
told
me about it? He didn't even ask me. I mean, it's awful and I don't want a job and he can't just do that, right?"

She's quiet for a few seconds. "I think this is between the two of you, Marley."

"What?!"

"What does your father say?"

"That I need something to do. That I can't back out because he made a commitment to the twins' mother."

"There are two of them?"

"Exactly."

"Well, I'm sure they keep you busy. Why don't you just talk to your father some more about it?"

"He doesn't listen. You have to talk to him." She has to. That's how it works. "He won't listen," I say again.

"I can't tell him what to do when you're staying with him. You two need to work it out together."

"He's not willing to work it out. It's a whole do-as-I-say thing."

"I'm sorry you don't like your job. I really am. Try to make the best of it. I'll call you when I get to Yumi's. I'm still at Louise's, for the rest of the week. I'll try to remember to check messages if you need to reach me, okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks a lot."

"I know this is hard. All three of us have a lot to figure out. It's new for all of us. I'm not used to missing my girl. I really miss you. It's hard for me too."

I'm so mad. What exactly are you supposed to do when a problem has no solution?

"Marley, did you get that box?"

"Yeah, thanks for the books," I say.

"And balloons. Did you blitz yet?"

I think of the balloons waiting in the kitchen, how easy it would be to sneak attack them right now.

"Not yet. Isn't there something you can do? I've been waiting for you, to talk to you, to fix this, and—"

"I'm sorry, Marley. I love you."

"You too. Bye."

I feel like throwing something. Something way heavier than a water balloon. Or sweeping all the plates off a set table with my arm, like in a movie, but I just go back to the kitchen and sit down. It's my turn. I get sent to jail. I probably could have predicted that. I do a forward roll on the kitchen floor. (We added that one in third grade, when we were all into gymnastics.) And I move the dog to jail. When Leah takes her turn and lands on St. James, she just buys it and hands the dice to Jane. Jane rolls.

"Hello?" I say.

"What?" Jane says.

"What?" Leah says, annoyed.

"Did you maybe forget something, Leah?"

"I paid!" She looks down. "And I took the card. What?"

"You didn't do your jumping jacks. I mean, duh? St. James? Ten jumping jacks?

"Can't we just skip that part?" Leah says.

Skip it? Why play?

"I'm sorry," Leah says. "We're just tired, Marley. CC is, like, really intense."

When I land on Boardwalk I try to help them get into the game by really hamming it up, singing the whole introduction to "Under the Boardwalk." When it comes time for them to sing backup ("under the boardwalk, boardwalk!"), they're not even halfhearted. They're probably not even quarter-hearted.

"Whoa," I say, stopping midsong. "You call yourselves acting students?"

"To be honest, Marley, I guess I'm not really in the mood for Monopoly," Leah says.

"Really?"

"Thank God," Jane says, "because I cannot play that game another minute."

"So what
do
you want to do?" I ask.

"I have so much to do for tomorrow," Leah says. "We're supposed to practice these exercises for movement class." She starts putting away the board.

"I'll do it," I say.

Leah takes out her phone and I hear her ask her mom to pick them up now. Jane brings the Diet Coke cans to the counter. "We have to meet up with our class partners for scene work later," Jane says. "We really just wanted to come over and see you and hang for a while. We have so much to do."

"Oh, well," I say. "I'm glad you could come." I put the bills and cards, the dog, hat, and shoe back in the box.

"Don't be
mad,
Marley," Leah says as she comes back into the room.

"When am I ever mad?" I say, fitting the snug top back on the Monopoly box. "So whose house for the Fourth this year? Do you guys wanna come here?"

They look at each other. Then Leah says, "Why don't you come to Jane's?"

"Yeah," Jane says. "I might invite some people from CC, but you should definitely come."

"You have to meet them, Marley. They're really great."

"Will Sage be there?" I ask, teasing like a fourth-grade boy.

"You have got to see this guy, Marley," Leah says. "He is so hot and he is so into Jane. I mean, OH! My God!"

"All right," I say. "So you want to get together tomorrow or Thursday or something?"

"We're going to be so busy, but the Fourth is what, Friday? We'll just see you then, okay? Oh, and you won't believe this, but I got my parents to agree to stay inside the whole time!"

"At a pool party?" Her mom is so neurotic—there's no way.

"I know! I talked them into a lifeguard."

"WHAT?"

"I know! Do you know Joe Perkovich? The really tall one? On the basketball team?"

I don't. But wow. A high school lifeguard and no parents.

***

My brain is scanning ahead. I know one thing. Forget that stupid amateur stash in the kitchen trash. I will blitz Leah and Jane at this party. It's kind of brilliant, but maybe a little too obvious. No, mostly brilliant. It meets all the requirements: School's over. Not a ton of days have passed since the last day of school, unless I make the case that this counts as the number of days that have passed since the last day of school
last
year, since no one has blitzed anyone else since then. Plus bonus points for courage! It's at a party! People I don't know will be there. That totally takes courage!

I will win back the blitzing crown on the Fourth.

Unless one of them gets me first.

When my dad picks me up from the Krolls' on Wednesday, he has our tennis rackets in the back of the truck.

"I'm too wiped," I say. "Faith stuck gum in Grace's hair. Twice. They wouldn't eat the lunch I made them, and—"

"Then just a quick volley," he says.

He drives to the park by Mom's house, and I feel this wave of longing as we drive by.

"It's been too long since we played," he says. "Let's have some fun."

I may have figured something out. It seems very possible that my dad does not know the correct definition of
fun.

I'm not very good at tennis, even though both my parents are. Sometimes, and I never know when it'll be, I play really well. It's so weird, because the next time I'll be whacking the ball over the fence or just barely getting it over the net, but every now and then, it all comes together.

Dad and I play for almost an hour. There are balls everywhere (this not being one of the days I play well). Even though I didn't want to play, I'm getting some pleasure out of whacking the ball. It's not exactly a five-year-old's head I'm picturing, but it's not that far off, either.

"Let's gather up the balls and hit one more round," Dad says. He walks around the inside perimeter of the fence, and I step out through the gate to hunt down the balls I hit out.

It's right there for me to see. Still, it takes a minute to get it. First I see the bizarre pink and yellow of Leah's sister's old hand-me-down bike. I think,
Wow, I have to tell Leah there's someone else riding around with that same awful bike.
Then I notice another girl walking in a big group of people who looks just like Jane. And there it is. Duh. Leah and Jane, hanging out together. Without me. Who are those other girls? And those guys?

"Marley? You have those balls?"

I walk back to the court. "Could we just pack up?" I say. "I'm done." Any spark of energy I may have had has been snuffed.

In my brain, I know there's nothing wrong with Leah and Jane hanging out with those Curtain Call people. But they made it sound like they had to be together to get all this work done. Really, they're just hanging out, having fun. Without me.

***

Thursday with the twins is another endless one. Grace skins her knee and refuses to go back outside. Faith won't come inside. I have to stand on the porch, with Grace right inside the front door. I must go in and out that door more than three hundred times.

Grace finally comes running outside, carrying two balloons with ribbons attached. Faith grabs them from her.

"Get off my balloon!" Grace screams, racing after her.

"Come and get it," Faith says.

"It's MINE!" Grace screams. "The pink one's mine! Give it!"

I can't tell if it's on purpose, but at that moment, Faith trips. Of course only one balloon gets loose. And starts soaring straight up to the sky.

It's pink.

"Nooooooooo!" Grace cries. "It was MINE!"

"Quick!" I say.
What, Marley? Quick, what?
I have their attention. What? "Make a wish, Grace!"

"Why?"

"You never heard of wishing on a balloon in the sky? Quick! It was your balloon, so it's your wish!"

Grace closes her eyes to think.

Faith lets go of her balloon too. She closes her eyes.

I want to go lie down somewhere and take a nap.

For the rest of the summer.

***

By the time Dad picks me up, I feel like a capital-S Survivor. I have lived through a week of Grace and Faith, albeit a four-day week. The six twenty-dollar bills in my pocket are nice, but I'm pretty sure I'm being paid well below minimum wage, and I'm also sure that few workers on earth are more challenged by their daily job than I am.

I vow not to look ahead at all the five-day weeks remaining. I will just enjoy this time off, this three-day break. I hum the whole way home.

When I walk in the door, I grab a Diet Coke and sit on the couch with a book, ready to celebrate my freedom.

"Marley?" my dad says. "A little help?"

He so does not get me.

"Can't I just have a few minutes?" I say, not taking any care to hide my mega-annoyance.

"Just a little help and then I'll leave you alone."

"Fine."

Dad stands in front of some new towers of boxes that he neatly stacked in the corner of the living room. "I haven't figured out the trash collection days here yet, but if I get my garbage out there, sooner or later they'll have to take it."

Dad has always been the kind of guy who knows the trash collection schedule for the whole town. But of course, this is the new him. I just stare.

"So are you going to help?"

It's not bad enough my days are spent with year-old spit-bubble-blowing, balloon-releasing, whining five-year-olds; apparently I need to spend my free time carting cartons with my father.

"We need to bring out the ones from here to the street, and then we'll get the ones that are already in the garage."

"Didn't I already bring one of these out?"

"One? Yes, Marley. You did bring out one. Do you notice how many remain?"

"Well, Mr. Baird, sir. I'm not so good at math, sir. So, uh, no?"

He gives me a look. It disguises his love for me quite effectively. "Okay. Why don't you just take the ones from the garage out to the curb, and then you and Rig can go outside for a while. Please. Maybe at a great distance from where I can see you. I'll do the rest."

I haul eight boxes from the garage to the curb, placing the one with the Monopoly box on top of a big pile, the carton's flaps blowing in the light wind. Then I call for Rig and step out the back door to the yard. Jack is just standing there, staring at our house with a bizarre look on his face: almost cross-eyed, and very serious.

"I willed you to come out," he says.