Dolphin Girl Page 15

  “Do you want a new sandwich?”

  “No. I’ll just wipe the sauce off.” She used her napkin to get most of it while John hovered at our table.

  We never went back after that, which was probably fine with John.

  “The hummus here is awesome,” I say to Desiree.

  “Yeah. It is.” She gets up and shuffles to the kitchen, ankles so swollen her legs go straight down from her calves. She’s back a minute later with a plate and chips for us.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I say while filling the last pepper shaker.

  “I know, but it sounded good to me, too.”

  I dig in, not realizing how starved I am. Desiree takes a few tastes but mostly sits with a peaceful Madonna expression on her face. I’m thankful she didn’t ask a bunch of questions.

  About eight, the restaurant fills up. John throws together sandwiches in the back while Desiree shuttles orders between tables and the kitchen, even though moving around is difficult for her. Finally, I can’t stand watching her from my spot in the back. When one table of four leaves, I hop up and hurry over to bus the table.

  Desiree breezes by me with three wicker baskets of food. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I know.” But I seat the next group that walks in and hand out menus, anyway. How could I sit on my butt while she’s running around? That’d be so, so wrong. By the end of the night, I figure out Desiree’s number system for coding tables and I deliver orders, refill drinks and bus tables for her. When the rush is over, she sits at the back table and rests her feet on the milk crate while I keep the few remaining tables serviced, deliver their checks and spiff up the dining room.

  John finishes cleaning the kitchen while I lock the door behind the last party. It’s 11:30 when I climb into the backseat of the Toyota.

  Desiree twists halfway in the seat, resting her arm on the headrest. She holds a wad of cash in her hand. “It’s some of the tips. For you.” I shake my head but she says, “Take it. You earned it. You were a huge help.”

  I’ll need this for living expenses. Tentatively, I take the cash, mostly ones, and whisper an embarrassed thanks.

  ~~~

  Bob Dylan greets us the minute we walk into their apartment. John grabs the leash to walk him.

  Desiree says, “You can have the guest room.”

  The room she mentioned is really a junk room — stacked with the baby stuff Mom and I bought, books piled on the desk and open boxes filled with odds and ends. I toss my duffle bag amongst the other stuff.

  “This is going to be the nursery.” Desiree moves some ratty bath towels and a few of John’s old trophies off the couch and then opens it. Then she waddles to the closet and grabs linens.

  If this were my house, the room would already be painted, decorated and off-limits.

  “I can make it.” Because I want her to get off her feet.

  Desiree watches as I flip sheets this way and that, making up the sofa bed in a style that would pass military muster — the old, will a coin bounce? trick.

  “The bath is down the hall.” She hands me one of the old towels. “Do you need something to sleep in?”

  When I nod, she waves a c’mon motion. As we pass through the apartment, Dylan follows us, tail wagging. John’s back from walking him and playing phone messages.

  Beep. “Hi, John. It’s Mom. Give me a call.”

  Beep. “Hi, John. It’s me again. I’m wondering if you’ve heard anything from Jane.”

  Beep. “John? Mom. It’s ten p.m., and Jane’s not home yet. I’m hoping she’s with you.”

  Beep. “John or Desiree — whoever gets this — please call me. It doesn’t matter what time.”

  I feel a little guilty about not answering any of her calls to my cell, but not so guilty that I want to call her back.

  John ruffles my hair. It’s a gesture from when I was a lot shorter than him. “I’ll call her. You need to get some sleep. School tomorrow.”

  I’d packed everything but my nightshirt, so Desiree gives me an old team jersey of John’s. I’ll be sleeping like I belong with the Trophy-Casers.

  In my room — or rather, Lily’s room — I slip into the shirt and start crying. It’s not a big, wailing cry, but the kind where slow, quiet tears leak from your eyes. Crawling into bed, I tuck myself in and pull the covers tight to my chin.

  Plop, plop.

  Suddenly I remember something I forgot — Flipper. This brings a huge lump to my throat. Could I feel any worse?

  Bob Dylan nudges the partially open door, pads into the room and rests his chin on the mattress. He snuffles my face, licks my cheek. And after consoling me, he curls up next to the sofa bed and lets loose a huge sigh that sounds like, It will get better, Jane. Eventually.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The best thing about hanging by the water fountain is everyone gets thirsty at some point. This morning it’s Travis.

  He stands outside my pod looking for a way through. Ordinarily, we’d part like the Red Sea, but today Lexie and Lucas are talking loudly, ignoring him. Travis better return with Moses if he wants a drink.

  Finally, he clears his throat several times and taps Lexie on the shoulder. She turns and the way she stares at him you’d think he’s some kind of insect. “Oh, hi Travis. I didn’t see you. What do you want?’

  “Some water?” Travis shifts from foot to foot.

  Lexie moves out of his way and grabs me. She pushes me directly behind him as he bends over the fountain. My heart and head pound. I don’t want anything to do with this liar. When I try to back away, Lexie won’t let me budge.

  Okay. Fine. It might be good to get this over with.

  Travis finishes, spins around and runs smack into me.

  “Do do… do do.” I sing the Jaws music and make the shark fin on my head.

  Travis laughs nervously.

  “You lied.” I’m so proud for not being wimpy.

  Travis sways, clears his throat, rubs his nose. “Oh yeah. Well, sorry. But I’m a chick magnet, y’know. Had to maintain my rep.”

  I think Travis has forgotten ninth grade science. “Magnets can repel, too,” I remind him.

  His mouth drops open. “I wanted to make Alana jealous.”

  “How’s that workin’ out for you?” The thumping in my chest is still beating machine gun fast.

  Travis squirms and it makes me feel better. “Not the way I thought.” He looks at the ground.

  A surge of anger. It’s not about the lie; it’s about the result. “Do you even realize you pushed them together? Do you?”

  Travis looks up from the ground and his mouth flops open like a fish. A completely dumbfounded fish. “I didn’t mean to.”

  Yeah. I bet. This is a half-assed apology by a jumbo-sized asshole, but it’s the best I’m going to get. I let him pass.

  ~~~

  Two days later, I’m shocked to see Irwin with Lexie.

  “Lucas will be here in a minute,” she says to him. Willow cruises up and Lexie says, “Hey, girl. Do you know Tad?”

  “Hi, Tad.” Willow leans against the wall in her usual location.

  Lexie faces me. “I had to do something to counteract all your moping.”

  Typical. She’s about five steps ahead of me. I have no idea what she’s talking about.

  “My moping?”

  “Yeah. It’s time for you to raise yourself out of that funk and I know what will do it.” She pauses. “A hunt.”

  Oh, that would be fun!

  Finally, Irwin looks in my direction and smiles. “I’m waiting for Lucas. I understand until now he’s always been the Master of the Scavenger Hunts.”

  Lucas was the original brain behind the hunts. His sense of humor always gave them their special quality.

  “Why? Is he not in charge this time?”

  “Because Irwin — I mean, Tad — is going to do it,” Lexie explains.

  I scowl at her in the way you can only do with your best friend and she reads my confusi
on. Perfectly. “We’re taking it school-wide this time.”

  “Oh no.” I laugh.

  “Oh yes. And this is your chance to settle everything with Alana. Sam will be the trophy.”

  When I glance over my shoulder, Alana watches us from her spot by the glass case.

  “Once everyone knows about the hunt, I hope this doesn’t look as if we’re cheating,” Willow says.

  “If Irwin does a good job on the list, everyone will know there’s no way to cheat,” Lexie says.

  Irwin will probably make an awesome judge. “I’m glad you’re here,” I tell him.

  “It’s only because of the scavenger hunt. I still prefer the darkroom.”

  For some reason this makes me laugh. “That’s cool.”

  Lucas strolls up and hands Irwin a sheaf of papers. “All the past hunts. This should give you a pretty good feel for the rules and the kinds of tasks.”

  Irwin flips through the sheets and snickers. “You can’t even do all these. What does this mean—Pass the point of no return – 15 pts.?”

  “We never made a list that could be completed. You’ll be surprised. Some of those get funky, creative interpretations, but we always include a few impossible items. Just have fun with it. Go wild.”

  Irwin pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Wild?”

  “Yeah,” Lexie agrees. “The weirder, the better.”

  “You just gotta make sure there is something that’s good for everyone,” Lucas says.

  Irwin’s brows knit in confusion.

  “What he means is have an item for every pod,” I explain. Irwin definitely gets the pod thing. We’ve discussed it at length in the darkroom. “Something intellectual for the science lab pod. Something athletic for the trophy case.”

  Irwin nods and continues to flip through the papers, laughing out loud, despite himself.

  ~~~

  By Friday, we’ve talked to Nigel, Karen Perry and Brendan/Brandon. They’re all in. Only the trophy case is not involved. Lexie wants them included so we can kick some Alana Atwood booty is the way she put it. I’m kinda hoping to avoid that confrontation altogether.

  So, naturally, before the first bell, Sam gets thirsty while I’m standing next to the fountain. He presses cool fingertips to the back of my neck, before he stoops low to get a drink. His touch makes my knees wobble.

  He takes a step closer and says in a low voice, “I wanted to let you know — Travis and I talked last night.”

  This comment could mean any one of a thousand things. That they spoke about school or sports, their favorite band, but the way Sam’s dark brown eyes don’t leave mine — I’m pretty sure he means they discussed me.

  “And?” I ask.

  “He told me the truth. And I still don’t get it, but I know that you didn’t — I mean Travis made us all think that a lot more happened.”

  This is an impossible conversation. I mean, we’re in the main hall before school starts for cryin’ out loud. I wish we still had lunches together, because there’s a lot I’d like to talk to him about.

  Shifting my backpack from one shoulder to the other, I say, “I’m not proud of the fact that I kissed Travis.” My eyes are telegraphing I’m sorry, so sorry. Sam blushes and bends to take another swig from the fountain. In my head I lean over him and tell him, The whole time I thought of you.

  He stands and wipes a little water from his mouth with the back of his hand. “How much have you read for Breckenridge’s class?”

  I’d finished the whole play before we’d been assigned this scene. “All of it.”

  “Maybe we should rehearse. You could come to my house, or I could go to yours?”

  Alana would not like that one little bit.

  Maybe he read my mind because Sam looks over his shoulder at her and back at me, waiting for an answer.

  “I don’t drive yet and probably can’t get a ride to your house. I’m staying with my brother and his wife right now. They live over by the mall.”

  If we still ate lunches together, Sam would have known this whole deal. But this is news to him. Once again, we’re into a subject that isn’t great for the main hall.

  There’s so much to tell. Like how John convinced Mom to let things sort themselves out, or how I don’t have someone on my back all the time, or how their apartment is more cluttered than my bedroom has ever been. Life with them is easygoing and a little messy, but the world hasn’t stopped turning on its axis. Yet.

  Sam gives me a look — quizzical and concerned. “I can drive there, but why aren’t you at your house?”

  I lean my backpack against the wall, hoping to be swallowed whole.

  Can I change the subject?

  That’s when help arrives from an unexpected source. Alana strolls up and says, “How are you, Jane?” which is a normal, everyday greeting. Except the pitch of her voice makes it sound more like, Hey bitch! Quit talking to my boyfriend.

  “Good,” I reply. “We were just talking about getting together to rehearse for our scene from Romeo and Juliet.”

  Sam takes a quick breath. Alana narrows her eyes at me, then wraps both arms around his waist. “I hear you guys are having a hunt for the whole school.”

  I shrug.

  “Yeah, well I’ll just get the scoop from Irwin in Yearbook.”

  She just assumes they’re included. Of course they are. They’re the Trophy-Casers. The bell rings and Alana practically pulls Sam from his spot, which takes quite a lot of strength because he’s a big guy. As they walk away, Alana grabs his hand and I can overhear her. “You don’t need to rehearse with her. Breckenridge will let you read from the book.”

  Oh, Lexie is so right. They have to be in it.

  Sam drops her hand and yells back to me over the tops of all the heads between us. “How’s next Tuesday? I’ll come to your brother’s.”

  Wow. If this was the Scavenger Hunt, I’d probably get points for that.

  CHAPTER TWENTY–TWO

  Desiree inhales deeply, straightens her spine and slowly lifts her arms over her head. Her enormous belly hangs over her skinny outstretched legs that end with puffy ankles. She hasn’t tied her hair back, and it fluffs around her tranquil Renaissance Madonna face as she does her evening pre-natal yoga. For a minute her hair and legs make me think of Bob Dylan, who’s curled in the corner.

  She holds the pose while John rummages around for books, folders and pens he needs for his night course at FAU. He’s running late.

  I sprawl on the couch, depressed, and tap his leg as he passes me. “I don’t get it.” I’m talking about the quadratic formula.

  “I never got it either,” Desiree pulls her hands down into a prayer position in the middle of her chest.

  “It’s like any other equation,” John says.

  This is no help. It’s exactly what Mrs. Fonseca says to the class. If it’s just like every other equation, why do so many kids struggle? Why do people have to keep saying that copout answer? If it were, they wouldn’t say that.

  “It’s not,” I tell John. “I’ve solved algebra equations since the eighth grade.”

  “I can’t help you tonight. Sorry. I’ve got class, but tomorrow I’ll sit with you. Okay?”

  Desiree crisscrosses her legs. “Don’t stress. The quadratic formula will have absolutely no bearing on your life. I haven’t used it since I left high school.”

  I’m glad I won’t have to keep using it, but still, I want to pass Algebra.

  “Let it go,” she says.

  “Where’s my text?” John spins around and almost runs over Desiree as she sits up and lifts her arms high over her head.

  She moves in slow motion. “Take a deep breath, hon. It’ll appear.”

  Their apartment is totally chaotic compared to the way Mom keeps the house. There are times, for instance when I’m getting ready for school in the morning, that I miss the organization.

  John sighs, and then finds his book under a pile of maternity bras on a chair with clean laundry.
He frowns at Desiree in a way that reminds me of Mom. It’s so hard to break from nineteen years of indoctrination.

  “I told you it works.” Desiree folds her body as flat as she can with her little belly.

  This makes John laugh and shake his head. “Tomorrow. I promise.” He leans over and kisses my forehead, then stoops over and kisses Desiree on the lips.

  She keeps her eyes closed and says, “Mmmmm… hurry back.”

  After John leaves, she uses the edge of the chair to hoist herself off the floor. “Let me show you something.” She reaches for a magazine from a basket by the chair and opens it to a dog-eared page of a floral garden that is overgrown and wild. It reminds me of a Crayola 64 version of the preserve. “Could you paint this in the nursery?”

  The reminder that we’re less than three weeks from the baby’s arrival twists in my stomach. What will I do after she arrives?

  I study the picture. It would be challenging to paint all those little flowers in a semi-Impressionistic style. “I think so,” I say.

  “Good. Then that will be your rent.”

  I burst into tears. Partly because I don’t have enough money to really pay my own way and also because I don’t know what’s in store for me — with anything.

  “You can stay as long as you need,” Desiree says.

  “It’s not just that. It’s everything. School, friends—” I break off with a sniffle.

  “Your Mom?”

  “Yeah.”

  “A guy?”

  I can’t believe she figured it out. “How did you know?”

  “I was sixteen once. Let’s talk Mom first.”

  I want Desiree — no, change that — I need Desiree to understand how bound Mom makes me feel. “She disapproves of so much. Like your job. She said once she doesn’t want me to end up a waitress the way you did.”

  Desiree laughs. “That won’t happen.”

  How can she laugh? “How do you know?”

  “Because I’m not a waitress. I own the Organic Cornucopia.”

  Wow! Shut my mouth. Shut Mom’s too.

  “Sorry,” I manage. “I didn’t know.”

  “No biggie.” She sighs. “Let’s talk about the guy. That might be an easier fix.” Desiree says this like she expects me to spill and despite myself, I do.