Notes on a Near-Life Experience (8 page)

To which the respondent often replies, “Erngh.” Chin lift.

At the dinner table, we used to say things like “Please pass the tofu loaf ” or “Are there any more rolls? ”

Now we say, “Rolls.” Or we just point at stuff.

We are like vaults now: just try and get an extra word out of us. I feel like maybe we could train CIA operatives in this language and make a fortune.

W
HEN
I
WAS YOUNG
, I
FELT LIKE
I
NEEDED MY DAD
. I
N MY
mind, he was a human encyclopedia. I'd call him at the drop of a hat.

“Hi, Dad. It's Mia. Do you have time to answer a question?”

“Hello, Mia. Actually, I'm with a client right now….”

“But this'll be really fast. I promise. Allen says that Las Vegas is the capital of Nevada. But my teacher said it's Carson City, and my states and capitals test is tomorrow….”

“It's Carson City, sweetie. Listen, I'll help you study when I get home tonight, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks.”

I don't remember if he helped me study that night or not. But we could always count on him to know the answer to any homework question we ever had. Before he moved out, he
seemed to answer his phone less and less, but now I can never seem to get ahold of him on the first try. Keatie's homework questions always go to Al or to me. She sees Dad as the guy who comes on vacations with us, to family parties, to dinner twice a week. I wonder if she has any idea how much he knows. It's like he's become a different dad.

A
LLEN AND
J
ULIAN ARE COACHING
K
EATIE'S SOCCER TEAM
this season because none of the parents volunteered. Plus, they think it will look good on their college applications. They arrive home after the first practice talking and writing furiously on yellow legal pads. They sit down at the picnic table and don't seem to notice me working on my trig homework.

“Some of those kids suck,” Allen says. “I mean, we've got some little champions, but that kid Mason? I thought he was going to kick himself in the head during drills.”

“Yeah, and I thought Keatie was going to kick him in the head while they were scrimmaging, she was so mad that he couldn't dribble right,” Julian says, laughing. “Either way, he needs some work.” He scribbles something on his notepad.

“Keatie, Luis, and Chewy are the best players we've got. We're going to have to set every play up around them.”

I start laughing.

“What?” Julian asks.

“You guys are acting like this is the NBA or NFL or some-thing…. It's just a kids' soccer team.”

Allen stares at me and takes a deep breath before he speaks, deliberately dramatic. “Listen, Mimoo. You like to dance. You spend hours in the basement making up
dances
. And then you go to competitions with your little friends to see who has the best dance. And sometimes you get all nervous and sweaty before you do your little dance.” He turns to Julian. “Have you seen her do that, dude? It's pretty gross. Not attractive at all.” Back to me. “Anyway, dancing is a helluva lot more ridiculous than soccer, and you get all worked up about that. And I have been nothing but supportive of your dancing, so I'd appreciate it if you'd show me the same courtesy.”

“Supportive? Whatever. You know you've made fun of dance ever since I started.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Allen says. “Back me up here, Julio.”

“Sorry, Mia, I'm with Al. I have no recollection of ever making fun of dancing. Do you really get all sweaty before you compete?” Julian asks. “I'd like to see that.”

He wants to see me sweat? What do these things mean?

“Sick. That was totally uncalled for, dude.” Allen gives
Julian a look of confusion and disgust. He shakes his head. “Whatever. Dance, shmance. On to more important things: the team. We have no name.”

“Right. So, what do you think we should call ourselves?” Julian asks me.

“How about something that uses your and Al's names? Like the…um, Woody Jewels or something?” I suggest.

“Are you kidding me? That sounds like the name of a porn movie or something,” Allen says.

“Everything is sex to you,” I say. “What about the Sharks?”

“Okay, that's good. But why sharks? What about our team makes them
sharks
?” Julian asks.

“I don't know.” I cannot believe they're this serious about anything. “Does the name have to mean something?”

“Hey, what if we do a Yorba Linda–themed name,” Allen says. “Like the Nixons? Or the Fighting Oranges? What about Yorba United? Like Manchester United, you know?”

“That's a possibility,” Julian says. “Write that down.”

“I need to do my homework; can you guys go somewhere else?” I ask.

Allen and Julian decide to move their meeting to the basement. A few minutes later Julian returns.

“Hey, um, I didn't mean to shoot you down about the Sharks. I mean, that was a cool name.”

“No worries. I don't really care what you guys name the team. It's none of my business anyway.”

“Yeah. Okay. Just making sure. See you later,” he says, looking at me kind of weird before going back to the basement.

First the pepperoni, then the sweat, now the apology. Julian is definitely acting strange. With all the changes going on around here, is it possible that one of them is actually good? What if Julian is different? What if he thinks I'm different? What if, amidst the absolute and total annihilation of my family, Julian Paynter has decided he likes me? Just when I have basically gone completely crazy? Or maybe it's the craziness that's making me think he likes me. Should I say something? Start lying out in a bikini in the front yard?

W
HENEVER YOU'RE MARKED ABSENT FROM A CLASS AT MY
school, you get a call from the school district that night, a recorded voice that says:

“According to our records, your child missed one or more classes today. Please contact your school attendance office regarding this absence.”

Today is the third day in a row I've answered the phone and heard the recording. I haven't missed a single class. And I always drive to school with Allen, so I know he's there. At least, he's there at some point…. The last thing this family needs is a delinquent kid.

I tell my mom to call the attendance office about the mistakes they've been making.

J
ULIAN COMES OVER AND
A
LLEN ISN'T AROUND
. I'
M WATCHING MTV
on the couch, and Julian sits down next to me, grabs the remote, and turns off the TV.

“What's going on with you?” he asks.

“What do you mean?” I ask, staring at the blank screen.

“Do you, um, need someone to talk to… about anything?”

“So you and Allen have decided to compete for the role of replacement parent, then,” I say.

“What's that supposed to mean? You're acting like a zombie. And…well, you don't stare at me the way you used to. What's going on?”

Has he noticed how I look at him? Great. Has it really changed or is he just talking crazy? Since when does Julian
notice the way I look at him? Since when does he talk crazy? “The sky is falling. Nine models wore leg warmers in the last issue of
Seventeen
.”

“That's, uh, too bad.” He's acting weird again; he's sitting up too straight. “Did you know that prom is on a Saturday this year?” he asks. What does prom have to do with leg warmers?

“It's on a Saturday every year,” I tell him. “Who cares?”

“So, do you wanna go or what?” Julian asks.

I turn to see if he's being serious; he's staring at the blank TV screen now. He looks pained, as if he's watching someone die rather than staring at an empty gray box.

“Very funny.”

“I'm serious.”

“What? Did Allen tell you to ask me because he thinks I'm depressed or something? Are you asking me because you feel sorry for me? And isn't prom like seven years away?”

“Mia, I don't feel sorry for you. Well, I do if you really think leg warmers are a big deal…. But Allen didn't tell me to ask you. In fact, he'd probably get mad at me and tell me to keep my hands off you if he knew I was asking you.” He pauses and waits for me to say something.

I can't breathe. I can't speak. I mean, I have been preparing for this moment for my entire conscious existence, and I somehow have no idea what to say or do.

Julian continues, “I want to go with you. And I wanted to ask you before anyone else did.”

For some reason, I start staring at the TV again, too; maybe that's what I'm supposed to do and Julian is trying to
show me, so I don't get it wrong…. Or not…“If this is a joke, I will kill you.”

“Can't you make this even a little bit easy? What do I have to do? Get down on one knee?” He stops staring at the TV and looks at me. “C'mon, Meezer.”

I want to shout, “Of course I'll go. I love you. I want to bear your children. I would go snorkeling in a pit of nuclear waste with you if you asked me to.” Instead, I say, “Fine, Julian, I'll go, but only because you begged and because I needed an excuse to buy some silver leg warmers.” Brilliant. Now he probably thinks I hate him.

“Good.” He smiles and looks relieved for a second, but only a second. “Now I have to figure out what to tell your brother.”

So what if in ten years global warming is going to make the ice caps melt and flood the planet and kill off the entire human population? Who cares if my family thinks it's okay to spontaneously combust? I get to think happy thoughts and live in an alternate universe, one where Julian Paynter and I live on love and stare into each other's eyes all day between make-outs. That will be my future. Everyone else can wallow in misery. I am a princess; my fairy tale has finally begun.