The Tori Trilogy (2 page)

Mom and I start putting the steaming bowls on the table. Mom gives Ben a pointed look as we all settle into our seats. She's obviously trying to tell him to get off the phone, but he stares back at her cluelessly, as if he doesn't understand at all.

Dad looks at Ben, too, and clears his throat loudly. Nate and Joey begin to snicker under their breath. Ben finally gets it. He sighs, as though he's been really inconvenienced, and says, “Okay, baby. Listen, I'm really sorry, but I've gotta run. We're eating now. But hey, I'll call you later, all right? Okay. Yeah, I miss you, too. Love you. Bye.”

He ends the call, and Joey cracks up. “Gotta go, baby! Miss you! Love you! Can't live without you! Muuuuah!” He smacks the air with a big phony kiss.

Nate laughs, too, even though he's way too old to think that Joey's immaturity is funny, but Ben looks annoyed. He shoves his phone into the pocket of his jeans. “Lay off, guys,” he says.

Mom must feel a little bad for him because she says, “Really, Joey. There's nothing wrong with that. That's how a boy is supposed to talk to his girlfriend. Although,” she casts a sideways glance at Ben, “I really wish he wouldn't do it at the dinner table.”

“But he's always talking to Jaine,” Joey defends himself. “It's, like, over the top, don't you think, Mom?”

“Over the top is right,” I say. I really wish that at least once in awhile, Ben would try to take interest in someone or something else besides Jaine. Like, maybe, his family. Maybe me.

Joey looks shocked that I've actually agreed with him about something. “See?” he asks everybody. “Even Gory Tori thinks so.”

Gory Tori is one of his obnoxious nicknames for me, which I hate more than I can say.

Luckily, Dad stands up for me, so I don't have to do it myself. “Aw, don't call her that,” he says. “There's nothing gory about Tori.”

For some reason, this strikes my three brothers as super funny. They all glance at each other and crack up all over again.

Welcome to another Wednesday night in the Salinas family.

Chapter Two

Ebony wakes me the next morning, pouncing on top of me and clawing my back through the comforter and blanket and sheet that cover me. A split-second later, Mom calls up the stairs, “Tori, I hope you're getting ready!”

Uh oh. I sit up in bed and push Ebony gently off the mattress. She's my cat, a beautiful mixed-breed with a black coat and white belly and clear green eyes. I've had her since I was seven, and although she can be a real pest at times, I am happy she got me going this morning. Evidently I slept straight through my alarm. Again.

Ugh. School is such a pain with all that homework and everything, and then add to it the fact that you've got to get out of bed at the break of dawn to get there in time.

Ebony yowls and leaps right back onto the mattress, where she settles contentedly in a cozy little ball. “Oh, chill,” I tell her. “You've got nowhere to be and all day to sleep.”

She opens one eye and glares at me in that snotty little way of hers, then closes it and almost smiles, as if she's bragging about being able to sleep while I'm in school. Oh, brother.

“Tori!” Mom calls again.

I swallow over a big yawn. “I'm up!” I call back.

“You'd better be! Breakfast is ready, and it'll be cold if you take too much longer.”

“Okay!” I go into frantic mode. First I sprint down the hall to the bathroom and yank open the door. Or at least I try to. It's locked. Then I start pounding on the door. “Ben, is that you in there? You've gotta get out! I'm in a hurry!”

My hunch proves correct. “Aw, Tori, I'm shaving,” he says.

Momentarily I wonder why Mom never seems concerned about him being ready on time. Then I bang on the door again. “Come on, Ben, not now! You don't even have anything to shave!”

“Shut up, Tori!” His tone makes me jump. I didn't say anything all that that bad...just the truth.

“All right, fine. You've got enough facial hair to count on two hands. Does that make you feel better?” I don't really care about insulting his manhood after the way he snapped. I just need him out of the bathroom so I can get in.

“Leave me alone! I mean it!” he hollers through the door. “Can't you wash up in Mom and Dad's bathroom, or use the one downstairs?”

“But my toothbrush is in this bathroom!” Boys are so dumb.

“So go with bad breath for a day. It won't kill you.” Honestly. You'd think a big old house like ours would have more bathrooms, in which case I could have one all to myself and never need to worry about sharing it with my brothers.

Frustrated, I make a beeline for Mom and Dad's room. Mom's downstairs, of course, and Dad's been up and at the office for a while now. Sure enough, their room is empty and so is the adjoining bathroom, which Dad tells me used to be a huge clothes closet.

I walk in and shut the door behind me. Hard. Then I grab the cake of soap by the sink and wash my face with it. I dry it on some paper towels, and then squirt a blob of blue gel toothpaste onto my forefinger. This is how I brush my teeth when I'm at sleepovers and realize I've forgotten my toothbrush. It's not super effective, but it's better than nothing. At least my breath tastes fresh for a little while.

Still feeling kind of grimy, I head back to my own room. Brothers. Who needs them?

I quickly dress in a long purple sweater and black leggings, and pull my hair up into a ponytail.

“Tori!” Mom calls a third time.

I shove my feet into my new shoes, a pair of purple Converse high-tops that I'm really proud of, and grab my backpack off my desk chair. “I'm coming!” I thunder out the door and down the staircase.

Mom is waiting for me at the bottom. “You slept through your alarm, didn't you?”

I study the floor as I follow her to the kitchen. There's just no getting past her. “Sorry, Mom.”

She sighs. “Maybe I should just get you up in the morning. You can't keep doing this.”

I toss my backpack onto the kitchen floor and slide into my spot at the table. A steaming bowl of oatmeal is waiting for me, with the raisins arranged in a smiley face, the way Mom's made it ever since I can remember.

I pick up my spoon and work it along the edge of the bowl, trying to keep the smiley untouched as long as possible. “I've just been tired lately, I guess. School weeks should be shorter and weekends should be longer. And anyway, Ben was in the bathroom, and he wouldn't get out, so I wasted a few minutes arguing with him in the hallway.”

Mom's eyebrows shoot up under her bangs, and then she takes a sip of coffee, probably so she can hide a smile behind the mug. “You should be out of the bathroom before he even gets in there. Then it wouldn't be an issue for you.”

“But he's gotta get to school, too,” I point out.

“True. But he's in high school. And he insists on carpooling with his friends. It's his responsibility if he's late. But it's mine if you or Joey are late.”

That doesn't sound like much of an excuse to me. “Still, he doesn't have to shave in the morning on a school day. Or any other day, either. Mom, he's got, like, three hairs on his chin. Grandma has more facial hair than he does.”

“Tori!”

Joey struts into the kitchen just then. He's already wearing his jacket, and he's got his backpack slung over one shoulder. He twists his mouth at me in a nasty little grimace. “Still eating, Slowpoke? I've been ready and waiting for ages.”

I stick my tongue out at him and start shoveling my oatmeal into my mouth at warp-speed. Why is it that my brothers always come out on top? Or at least they get to feel like they do. It isn't fair. I'm completely and totally outnumbered in this family. And nobody understands how it makes me feel.

In the school lunchroom later that day, I sit with my friends Shannon and Emily, and my cousin Gina, who is my best friend. Gina and I are exactly the same age (well, she's two months older) and in the same grade at Forest Grove Elementary School, and this year, we were lucky enough to be placed in the same fifth-grade class.

“I can't believe our English assignment,” Shannon moans, as she unwraps her peanut-butter sandwich. Shannon always brings a lunch from home.

Emily raises her eyebrows. “Oh, really? What do you guys have to do?” She's the only one out of the four of us who's not in Mr. London's class. She has Ms. O'Malley, who's old and boring, but a whole lot easier.

“I don't think it's so bad,” Gina says quickly. That's my cousin, always looking on the bright side.

“Well, I do.” I let my face fall into my hands, and then I lift my eyes to look at Emily. “We have to write a ‘family brag paper,'” I moan.

Her already-wide blue eyes grow wider. “What's that?”

I stare down at the contents of my lunch tray, using the tip of my fork to push the extra-stringy string beans into the grayish lumpy mystery meat. I wish I'd brought a lunch from home today. “It's basically what it sounds like,” I explain to Emily. “We have to write a paper that...” I stop to think just how Mr. London worded it “...that emphasizes the good points of our family members. You know, all their nice character traits and the things we like about them.”

“Not the things we like about them,” Shannon corrects me. She drops her voice in a deep phony imitation of our teacher. “Those qualities within them which we treasure.” She rolls her eyes and takes a big bite of her sandwich.

“He actually said that?” Emily giggles.

Gina tosses her curly dark hair over her shoulder. “Of course he did. You know how dramatic Mr. London is. But really,” she looks at Shannon and me, “it's not such a terrible assignment.”

“Easy for you to say,” I argue. “You have the cutest little sister in the whole wide world, and that's it. You don't have any obnoxious big brothers that you're being forced to brag about.”

“Or parents who are divorced and fight with each other all the time,” Shannon says sadly. She drops her eyes to study the tabletop, and we all stare at her a moment.

I begin to feel a little guilty. At least my parents are happily married to each other, and it won't be hard at all to find nice things to say about them. I love my parents. And Andrew and Stephanie, too, for that matter. But all the rest...Nate, Ben, Joey...what am I going to say about them? Mr. London made it very clear that he wants our papers to be accurate and truthful, to portray our families just the way they are, highlighting the good stuff.

“I want them to be the kind of papers that make your reader say, ‘Gee, I'd really like to meet that family,'” he told our class just before lunch. “The kind of papers that make you, yourselves, as the writer, take pause and think for a moment about those traits within each family member that you've never really stopped to consider before. The things that make them special and unique. The things that make you proud to be related to them.”

Blah blah blah. Mr. London is big on assignments that he thinks will help us to grow as individuals. But I don't see at all how this particular one is supposed to help me grow. My teacher just doesn't know my brothers. How loud and obnoxious and invasive and horrible they are. What am I ever going to find to say that's good about them?

I sigh loudly.

Gina gives me a sympathetic pat on the back. “It's okay, Tori. You're really making too big of a deal out of this.”

“No, she isn't,” Shannon says. “I know just how she feels.”

“I don't think I'd have too much difficulty writing a paper like that,” Emily puts in. She's an only child, and her parents kind of spoil her, the way all “only children” are spoiled.

“I wouldn't either, if I didn't have to be truthful,” I say. “I could make up this perfect family and brag about how wonderful they are. But it would only be in my imagination.” Frustrated, I scuff my sneaker on the floor. “Why do we have to write this paper, and why now, at the end of October? My biggest problem should be figuring out my Halloween costume.”

“No luck with that yet?” asks Gina.

I shake my head no.

“Me, neither,” she says.

“Maybe you could come over on Saturday,” I suggest. “You know my parents never mind. And we could come up with some costume ideas then. A little brainstorming together might be all we need to figure something out.”

“Good idea! I'll let you know tomorrow.”

I glance at Emily and Shannon. “You guys are invited, too.”

“Thanks,” replies Shannon, “but I'm with my dad this weekend. He's taking me shopping and to a movie on Saturday.”

“And we're going to visit my grandpa in Wisconsin,” Emily adds.

Just then, the lunch bell rings. We all stand up, bumping into one another as we pick up our trays and trash and head for the garbage cans.

All the while, I can't stop thinking about my “family brag paper” assignment. Out of all of the assignments that he could have come up with, why did Mr. London have to choose that one?

Chapter Three

Saturday is a cold, blustery fall day. The wind whips old dried leaves off the trees and around the corners of the house, which of course is drafty inside.

We all sleep a bit late in the morning, and then have a big family breakfast together at the kitchen table. Mom makes French toast, and Dad scrambles a dozen or so eggs and fries up bacon on the skillet. The little gas fireplace that looks like an old-fashioned stove helps to warm the big room, which is full of good smells. Ebony's curled up on the rug in front of it, snoozing happily.

I am already dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved top, ready for Gina to come over in a while so we can plan our Halloween costumes. Mom's dressed, too, and so is Dad, but my brothers are all in their p.j.'s still.

Nate's hair is a mess and he plows his fingers through it wearily as he yawns one of his infamous “foghorn” yawns. “After breakfast, I'm goin' back to bed,” he announces to no one in particular.