Keep It Real (From the Files of Madison Finn, 19) (11 page)

“Writing in journals online or off is a very personal matter,” Dad continued. “We’ve talked about this before. I thought you understood. You wouldn’t want Ivy to take just a ‘quick peek’ at your words, would you?”

Dad had his eyes on the road, so he didn’t see Madison make a face. Nor did he hear her make a “hmmmph” sound, as if she were super annoyed at what he’d said. She pressed her cheek firmly against the window on the passenger’s side—a vain attempt at getting as far away from Dad as possible. Of course, “getting away” in a car was an impossible feat. All she could do was squish herself up against the door while her cheek got extra cold from the glass.

Dad pulled the car into the garage of his apartment building and parked alongside an oversized white SUV with tricked-out hubcaps and a big spoiler on the back.

“What a waste,” Dad mumbled when he saw the huge car. “Those things shouldn’t be allowed on the road.”

Madison wasn’t listening. She was too busy staying mad about their earlier conversation. As they exited the car, she had a single-minded plan: to go online. She needed to write down some of the feelings that were swirling around inside her head.

Stephanie wasn’t at the apartment when Madison got there, so Madison went directly into the room reserved for her at Dad’s and booted up the laptop.

The e-mailbox was blinking.

FROM              SUBJECT


GoGramma           Winter Scarf


GoGramma           Winter Scarf


Wetwinz            Re: My Teacher


Bigwheels     JSS


BalletGrl     My Teacher


Gramma Helen had sent the same e-mail twice. She did that sometimes. Once, she’d sent Madison seven copies of the same e-mail.

Today she wanted to know what colors Madison was wearing. Every winter, Gramma knitted a scarf for her granddaughter—and she wanted to make sure that it matched whatever was in Madison’s closet.

After the double e-mail from GoGramma, Madison opened the message from Fiona—a response to an e-mail that Aimee had forwarded to both of them, and to Lindsay, earlier that afternoon.

From: Wetwinz


To: BalletGrl; MadFinn; LINDSAY


Subject: Re: My Teacher


Date: Sun 17 Oct 4:12
PM


OMG Aim I am sososoSO sorry about your teacher. And I’m sorry 2 b/c we’re having guests for dinner and Mom says I can’t go out. Maybe we can all go and visit ur teacher this week? Let me know. I’m thinking of you.


xoxo
Fiona


p.s.: Will u be walking 2 school tomorrow? Chet’s getting sick and Maddie I know ur @ yr dad’s right? LYLAs!


--Original Message--


From: BalletGrl


To: MadFinn; Wetwinz; LINDSAY


Subject: My Teacher


Date: Sun 17 Oct 2:46
PM


I have incredibly bad news and that is my dance teacher is in the hospital again. I guess she had a side effect or something I’m not sure. N e way I’m going to make her a card today and I was wondering if u guys would come over l8r to help me make it. My brothers are being so annoying to me. They just don’t understand what I feel like to know someone so close to me who is sick like this. I don’t know if I will ever be able to dance the same again.


:*;
Aim


Madison hit
REPLY
.

From: MadFinn


To: BalletGrl; Wetwinz; LINDSAY


Subject: Re: My Teacher


Date: Sun 17 Oct 5:38
PM


Wow that is bad news Aim. But I’m @ Dad’s place and can’t come over. Maybe we should talk tonight? I feel so bad. I wish there was someone u could talk 2 who understood what u felt


Madison paused before finishing her sentence. Of course there
was
someone Aimee could talk to—Ivy. If Aimee only knew! Madison typed up something else for the end of her e-mail and hit
SEND
. Then she opened the one remaining unopened e-mail, from her keypal.

At last.

From: Bigwheels


To: MadFinn


Subject: JSS


Date: Sun 17 Oct 4:59
PM


JSS 4 everything. I know u wanted me to talk about the whole blog thing this week and I wasn’t really up for talking. I don’t want u 2 be mad or upset or left out. I WANT to keep it real with you. I do. That’s why I’m writing now.


The thing is--the reason I was writing about all that on the blog--well, it’s because we found out that my brother has been diagnosed with autism. My parents have known for a while but they weren’t talking about it that much. And they say it’s “mild” which makes it seem like it’s not so bad, but it’s hard to be around him sometimes--SO hard.


I know I’m not the only person on earth who has a brother with autism, but I feel like I am sometimes. Most people stare when my brother acts all weird in public and I want to scream at them. He hits himself sometimes. I love him but he embarrasses me, you know? He never sits still and he hates it when I touch him.


So that was what I was not talking about. I just froze up at the thought of telling u. I’ve written and rewritten this e-mail to you about ten times this weekend b/c I wanted it 2 be perfect. Of course u of all ppl should know the truth.


Thanks for listening/reading. I’ll write more l8r.


Yours till the ear waxes (LOL),
Vicki aka Bigwheels


Madison read all the way to the end and then went back up to the top. Was she reading this correctly?
Bigwheels had a brother with autism?

All at once the air around Madison felt heavier than heavy, closing in on her like a wool blanket, choking her. It was hard to breathe.

Wait. Life wasn’t supposed to be this serious—was it?

Madison opened her files.

Keep It Real


Madison paused and read the file name aloud. Then she read it again.

She wanted to type, but the words wouldn’t come. Her fingers remained suspended above the keyboard in a state of paralysis.

All she could do was stare at the cursor.

Blink, blink, blink.

What was Madison supposed to do with this new, difficult information—about Ivy, about Bigwheels?

Was it possible that sometimes
Madison
was the one who didn’t know how to keep it real?

M
R. DANEHY SEEMED TO
be feeling a hundred percent better on Monday.

Actually, it was more like a hundred and ten percent. No more congestion, loud coughing, or spraying sneezes. He was like Tigger bouncing around in front of the blackboard at the front of the room.

“Boys and girls, I have your quizzes from the library the other day,” Mr. Danehy announced with a lilt in his voice. Every move he made was way out of character for him. Madison half expected him to do a backflip. Was it his cold medicine?

Normally when Mr. Danehy passed out tests that he’d graded, he would make a little speech about how everyone could have tried harder or studied longer or done something more, more, MORE. Then he would announce, in a low, serious, and very grouchy voice, that he had decided to grade on a wide curve, “because the grades were just that bad.”

However, today the only curve in Mr. Danehy’s classroom was his ear-to-ear grin.

“You’ll be happy to know, students, that I gave everyone an A,” he said as he walked around the room and dropped the tests on the desks.

Madison’s jaw dropped.
Everyone
had gotten an A? Ivy had gotten an A?!!

“I am so-o-o glad I didn’t waste time studying,” Ivy said under her breath. “Because it didn’t even matter in the end, did it? So there.”

This turn of events made Madison queasy. She didn’t have a head cold, but her head was stuffed nonetheless—with thoughts of Bigwheels’s brother, Aimee’s teacher, Ivy’s mother, and more.

Madison turned to Poison Ivy.

“Um…where were you on Friday?” Madison asked.

“Busy,” Ivy snapped. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” Madison said, drumming her fingers on the lab table. “Um…because…”

Grrrrrr.

Why couldn’t Madison come up with a good follow-up question?

Ivy was unfazed by the entire exchange. She sat up tall in her seat and waited for Madison to talk. But when Madison didn’t come through with the compelling next question, Ivy let out an enormous, annoyed sigh.

Madison watched as Ivy leaned over and wrote a note, probably to Rose Thorn. Normally the enemy was a text-messaging kind of girl, but that wasn’t allowed in classes, not even on Ivy’s perfect pink cell phone. Madison was tempted, but she restrained herself from reading Ivy’s paper note. Glancing at things had gotten her into enough trouble that week.

After folding the note, Ivy checked her face in her compact, puckering up to add a smear of lip gloss that smelled like raspberries.

Up at the front of the classroom, Mr. Danehy wrote a long list of biology vocabulary words on the board. He asked the class to copy down the list and look up the definitions in the backs of their science textbooks.

Madison could barely concentrate. She was distracted by the smell of Ivy’s lip gloss, the chattering of the boys in the next row, the scraping of the chalk on the board, and the squeak of Mr. Danehy’s ugly black shoes.

How could someone whose mom was so sick be acting so…indifferent? Madison knew that if she had been in Ivy’s platform shoes, she’d be crying or throwing up or something just as stressed out.

Just the idea of seeing her own mom get sick with something as serious as breast cancer made Madison swoon. It was the worst possible thought in a sea of impossible thoughts.

Madison wanted to turn to Ivy and ask her what was
really
going on. Forget old wounds. Forget being sworn enemies. This was more real than all of that. Wasn’t it?

“Ivy, I wanted to…” Madison started to speak, but her voice faded away.

“Hey! Guess what happened to me yesterday?” Ivy said.

Madison’s eyes lit up when she realized that this might be the moment when all would be revealed. Her eyes met Ivy’s.

“
What
happened to you yesterday?” Madison asked cautiously.

“Well…I got a ticket to see Jimmy J and a bunch of other bands,” Ivy bragged. “The Wallapawooza concert. It’s in two weeks.”

Madison made a face. “Wallapa-what?”

Ivy sneered, “Wallapawooza. Hello? It’s only, like, the best concert around. I heard they were sold out in under a half hour, or maybe less.”

“Gee,” Madison said. She waited a moment longer, to see if Ivy had anything more to say.

“I bet you wish
you
had tickets to Wallapawooza,” Ivy said.

“Sure,” Madison shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

Madison glanced up and saw Hart looking over from across the room. He crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue. Madison knew he was directing that face at Ivy. She let out a little giggle.

“Who are you laughing at?” Ivy snapped.

“You,” Madison said, giggling a little more.

“Come on, you’re just jealous because I go to cool concerts and you don’t,” Ivy said with a snarl.

Madison sat there without responding, because, of course, she was not jealous. Right now she was worried.

“I know that you wish you had a life like mine,” Ivy went on. “And did I tell you that I get to meet the bands after the concert, too?”

“Oh?” Madison asked.

“Sure. My mom made all the arrangements. She’s been working with this really important concert promoter lately, and they made this deal that she can get the best tickets to all the best concerts. Isn’t that cool?”

“Cooler than cool,” Madison mumbled. She gazed up into Ivy’s eyes to see if her enemy would blink—and let the truth slip. Madison knew Ivy’s mom hadn’t really set that up. But Ivy didn’t blink once. She kept piling on the lies.

“My mom is so-o-o-o connected,” Ivy bragged.

“How is your mom?” Madison asked.

“What do you care?”

“I don’t know. I just haven’t seen her since you had that school party at your house a while ago and…”

“Since when do you care about my mother?” Ivy snapped.

Madison backed off. “It was just a question,” she said.

“Quit acting jealous,” Ivy said again. “You are so predictable.”

That night at home, Madison sat at the kitchen table as Mom flew around her, waving spatulas and forks and wooden spoons. Mom was whistling (and Mom hardly ever whistled). She wasn’t wearing any shoes (and Mom always wore shoes).

Was Madison in the right kitchen?

“I decided to cook us a big dinner tonight,” Mom said. “A really big celebratory dinner of linguini with sun-dried tomatoes and yellow peppers and…”