Water Balloon Page 5

"Could you catch us a bunny later?"

  "Why would you want to catch a bunny?"

  "To have it," Faith says. "Duh, Marley."

  "Don't 'duh' me. You don't want to anger the Marley Bear."

  "That's true," Faith says.

  "So could you?" Grace asks.

  "I don't think I could," I say, turning to the sink to start washing the dishes that have been there since breakfast (though I'm not sure which day's breakfast). I wonder what my father would think of the chaos that is the Kroll house. I bet even the new-him dad would be disgusted. "Those bunnies live outside. They don't belong to people."

  "It could," Faith says. "If you caught one. It could be our pet."

  I turn the water off, wondering if Lynne would even want me washing her dishes. Maybe she'd be embarrassed, annoyed that I decided her dishes shouldn't be crookedly stacked on the counter, crusted with food. Where's the manual? I'm never sure what the right thing to do is.

  "The bunnies do too belong to us. They're on our hill!" Grace says.

  I turn the water back on. It has to be better to have someone help you, right? I rinse the dishes under the tap.

  "I don't think the rabbit would be happy." I carefully place the clean plates on top of the already overflowing drying rack.

  "I'd be happy," Grace says.

  "Me too," Faith says. "And the rabbit would too. It would like us."

  "I just like watching them," I say. "If you stuck one in a cage, it wouldn't be right. Those bunnies have been free to go wherever they want since they could hop. How would you feel if someone stuck you in a little and told you you couldn't leave?"

  "I'm not a bunny!" Faith yells.

  "No, you're not. I can tell because bunnies don't wear Little Mermaid shirts."

  Faith laughs. "And my ears are smaller."

  "But not a lot."

  Faith makes a face and starts to touch her ears.

  "Are you guys done?"

  "I'm still drinking my milk," Grace says.

  "Want to bring it outside?"

  "Mom doesn't let us," Faith says.

  "I think it'll be okay."

  "Then I'm taking mine, too." Her taunty voice climbs my spine.

  I put their plates in the sink, and then we head out foro urq uiet after-lunch bunny-watchingtime.

  When you look from a distance, it can take a while to spot a bunny. First all you can see are their twitchy little ears. Then you find the face between the ears. Then, as though they feel you staring, they take off, and there's that bobbing tail. Every time I see it, it just thrills me. I must have read too many Beatrix Potter books when I was little.

  "Do you guys know all the great bunny stories, like Peter Rabbit?"

  Grace spits her milk out in a spray that ends up largely in Faith's hair. Faith yells "HEY!" and knocks over her milk so it spills onto Grace's lap. Grace stands, and I race between them and hold them apart.

  "She spit her milk at me!" Faith yells, furious.

  I bend over so I can see Grace's face. "Why did you do that?"

  There's white liquid all over her. She's trying to find her voice, but she keeps sucking in air.

  "Are you choking?"

  She shakes her head. She's practically wheezing.

  "Are you laughing?" She nods.

  I'm scared that I'll soon be witness to the dreaded milk-out-the-nostrils show, but I'm spared. Finally, she says, "A rabbit named Peter? That's so funny." She looks at Faith, then me. Then back at Faith. And back at me. "Isn't it?"

  "I think a computer named Peter is funnier," Faith says.

  "No," Grace says. "A duck with the name of that boy from school. Felipe. A duck named Felipe."

  "A garbage can named Susan."

  "A zebra named Tyler," Grace says. "That's the funniest."

  "No, I have a funnier one. A dog named Dog. That's funny. Right?"

  "No. A tree named Dog. That's the best."

  "You know what's funnier? A cat named Dog. THAT is funny."

  This might continue for the rest of the day. How did it even start? Right: Peter Rabbit. I remember that long ago, Peter's name was what I liked best. He had siblings with these totally rabbit names: Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cottontail. Then there was Peter. Hello? Whose idea was that? I always assumed that Peter got himself into all that trouble because he felt like he didn't belong, like he was just outside the world of real rabbits, not quite one of the crowd.

  When Am I Ever Mad?

  My dad tries to get me to play tennis with him after work. I have less than no interest in spending time with the person who put me in this situation. I'm mad at him. And at my absent, doesn't-check-her-messages mother.

  Anyway, I'm hoping Leah and Jane will come over. I sit in the living room, looking out the front window to the street, Rig at my side.

  I get bored waiting. I find that bag of balloons and fill up a few. A small, just-the-three-of-us blitz could never win back the title, but it would be fun anyway.

  I try the kitchen sink. The faucet's spout is too big, so I work in the bathroom. I attach the balloon and remember to fill it slowly. It flies right off anyway and soaks me. Nice.

  I try again, with the water even slower. Good. It starts to come back to me. Water balloons that are filled only a little are easier to handle but take more force to break. It's tempting to fill them just to the point of bursting, because those are the best for a blitz—there's an immediate break and soak upon hitting the target. They're hard to handle, though—they sometimes break just from holding them.

  I make a big pile. I take the kitchen garbage and throw it in the outside bin and stash the balloons in the kitchen trash basket.

  And I sit and wait for them to show.

  When I see Jane's mother's car pull into my dad's driveway, I nearly fall to the ground in full-body relief. Thank God!

  As soon as I open the door, things are better, tolerable.

  But different. What's different?

  "Jane! When did you get glasses?"

  "Last week," she says, smiling, reaching up to touch them.

  I cannot believe how different they make her look. Usually the big moment in the makeover scene happens when the plain girl takes off her glasses and the audience realizes she's beautiful. For Jane, apparently, it's the opposite.

  "They look so fantastic."

  "She knows," Leah says. "That's why she got them."

  "Yeah, it had nothing to do with needing to, I don't know, see?" I say.

  Jane shoots Leah a shut up look, then says, "Let's just say that sometimes, like when you really want glasses, that giant E can be really hard to read."

  Whatever. I'm so glad they're here!

  I give them the tour. "This is the bathroom. This is the other bathroom. This is my room," I say. "My room here."

  "Why are your bags on the dresser?" Jane asks. "Can't you put your stuff in drawers?" Her eyes are on the mirror above my dresser.

  I slide open the top drawer. It's empty. "I could, yeah. I guess I just didn't have a chance yet."

  "Will you leave stuff here and have the stuff that's here and the stuff that's at your mom's?" Leah asks. Without giving me a second to answer, she says, "My cousins? The ones who live in Westport? They have two of everything! Like, they have a wardrobe at their mother's house and one at their father's house. They have video games at both places, computers. All that. It's, like, twice as good."

  I lead them out of the room. I point at my father's room. "That's my dad's. Here's the kitchen. Isn't it the most depressing house you've ever seen?"

  Jane walks in behind me. "What do you have to eat?" God, she looks great.

  "Hang on. I missed something. Can't you hurt your eyes wearing glasses if you don't need them?"

  "The prescription's not strong," Jane says. "And even if I don't really need them, I kind of really need them. I love them!"

  Okay.

  We look in the refrigerator while Leah starts opening cabinet doors. "Where's the junk?" she says. "There's nothing to eat
here."

  My fingers are kind of itching to reach into the trash and pull out those water balloons and slam them. My father would have an insane fit if I did something like that in his kitchen, and my friends know him well enough to award tons of bonus points for bravery. Or stupidity. I want the title. But I know this doesn't even come close to Leah's blitz. I'd need tons more witnesses. It would be so fun, though!

  Once we get ourselves Diet Cokes, we're just sort of looking at each other. "My room?" I ask.

  Before long, Leah's on my bed and Jane's sitting on the floor, leaning against the dresser. Just like that, my room here seems brighter, happier.

  "You won't believe this, Marley. We have so much to tell you," Jane says.

  "What won't she believe? About Sage?"

  "No. Shut up, Leah. That was nothing."

  "Right. Twenty-five minutes of nothing."

  "What are you talking about?" I ask.

  Leah leans forward like she has a great story to tell. "There are, like, twenty of us in our division at Curtain Call, okay? There are all these really cool people from Roosevelt. I mean, it's us and all these high school people."

  "So who's Sage?" I ask.

  "It's nothing," Jane says, glaring a little at Leah.

  "Yeah," I say. "It really sounds like nothing. Okay."

  "It's just this guy, this sophomore, who got really into it when we had to do these relaxation exercises together. I mean, he was just really into it." She starts laughing, then watches herself in the mirror, laughing.

  "Really into her, " Leah says. "And I like the way you didn't even mention that improv you guys did. Like that never happened." She picks up the fringe of the bedspread and starts to braid it. "Marley, I wish you were doing Curtain Call, too. It's amazing."

  "Yeah, it sounds just the tiniest bit better than hanging out with five-year-old freaks."

  "It sucks?" Jane asks.

  "Totally."

  "It's only been two days," Leah says with this new, weird bad-actress delivery. "How awful could it be?"

  "Let's just not even talk about it. Tell me more about this guy," I say to Jane.

  "It's no big deal," Jane says.

  We always talk about guys, but whatever. "Do you want to just play Monopoly?"

  "I guess," Leah says, dramatic enthusiasm gone.

  I walk out to the garage to get the old Monopoly game. In the yard I see a ball flying back and forth. I open the door. There's Dad, playing catch with Jack. Yeah, okay. Sure. Dad sees me holding the game and asks, "Why don't you use the new one I got you?"

  "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 co
mes 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!