Mom: “What’s in the cartons?”
Meg: “The cartons?” She sounds like she has no idea who put them there.
Mom: “Let’s have a look.” She sticks her hand "jutoninside a carton and pulls out a flyer. “Sale at DSW. Twenty percent off.”
Meg: “Might come in handy!”
Mom: “First rule: nothing will ever come in handy. As for this, it expired six months ago.” She reaches in again and pulls out a trophy.
Meg: “That belongs to my aunt. She won it playing poker in Atlantic City. She had a full house, ha-ha.”
Mom: “You mustn’t get overly attached to objects. You’ll get rid of it, of course.”
Meg (uncertainly): “Of course.”
Mom: “First rule: there’s no room in your place for someone else’s possessions.”
Meg: “But… that’s the second ‘first rule.’”
Mom: “Yes, I know. Each rule is so important, it’s the first. Before returning the trophy to your aunt, you may take a picture of it and keep the picture in an album.” She reaches into a pile and pulls out a sheet of paper. “Let’s see… you’ve got a shopping list here, and a little key, taped to the bottom.”
Meg: “That’s my safe-deposit key! I was looking all over for it! What a blessing you’re here.”
Mom: “For heaven’s sake, don’t keep the important stuff with the unimportant stuff. Safe-deposit keys shouldn’t be taped to shopping lists. Now, have you worn these pants in the past three years?”
Meg: “I’m not sure.”
Mom: “First rule: when in doubt, throw it out.”
Meg: “Yes, ma’am.”
Mike’s mom goes through a few more items, first quickly, then slower, then pausing on a loosely knitted scarf. She pokes at it and her fingers go right through. It unravels a bit. Mike stands there, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He doesn’t know why his mom insisted he come along.
Mom (almost to herself): “You must master the chaos so the chaos doesn’t master you.”
Meg (smiling): “Is that another first rule?”
Mom: “What?”
Meg (still smiling): “Mastering the chaos so the chaos doesn’t master you?”
Mom (staring blankly at Mike): “What’s she talking about?”
Mike: “It’s a joke, Mom.”
Mom: “What is?”
Mike (fear rising in his chest): “What she just said. C’mon, let’s do the closet.”
Mom: “I can’t. I can’t.” She puts the scarf down.
Meg: “What—why? Did I do something wrong?”
Mike: “No, you didn’t. Mom, tell her.”
Mom: “I can’t tell her anything.”
Meg (on the verge of tears): “What did I do?”
Mike’s mom leaves. She’s in the hall.
Mike (to Meg): “I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know why he’s apologizing. He grabs his mom’s book and runs out to the elevator just as the door closes. Was she going to leave her book there—not to mention Mike?
Mike: “What’s going on?”
Mom: [nothing]
Mike: “You know, that lady’s really upset.”
Mom: “I can’t help her. I can’t do anything. Your father …”
Mike: “What about him?”
Mom (biting off her words): “He’s very busy, always busy.”
Mike: “Well, it’s tax time, right?”
Mom: “This is September. Tax time is April. Anyway, he’s a tax lawyer, not an accountant.”
Mike: “Oh.”
Mom: “You can be really out of it, you know that?”
Mike is stunned. Look who’s talking!
Naturally there’s a long wait for the bus. Once they get home, his mom goes straight to bed. Mike eats dinner by himself. He microwaves two Hot Pockets and grabs a pint of ice cream from the freezer. This is an unhealthy meal, even for Mike. Where are the harpies?
Mike is convinced his mom is about to have a nervous breakdown, if she isn’t having one already. Where’s his dad? Hardly ever home. Mike’s on his own. What will he have to do, put his mom in a hospital? He thinks about Valerie. He loves her; if she fell in love with him, too, this could be bearable. They could go through it together.
It’s an absurd plan with no grounding in reality. But he won’t listen to me.
Mike can’t sleep. He turns his body this way and that; he feels like it’s taking up too much space on the bed (no mystery why, after Hot Pockets and ice cream). Mighty Joe Young keeps him company for a while before running off. At some point in the night Mike hears his dad come home, the creak of the floor downstairs, then the creak of his parents’ bedroom door. Mike thinks now he’ll be able to get some sleep.
CHAPTER 8
THE NEXT MORNING MIKE IS UTTERLY EXHAUSTED. His head’s a blurry mess and he can barely see straight. For breakfast he scarfed down way too many Pop-Tarts, and his stomach is in knots. He sees Valerie in homeroom. Now or never, he tells himself, and goes right up to her. He inhales her flowery scent, which only makes him dizzy.
Mike: “So how’d you get that scar?”
Valerie: “My—what?”
Mike: “On your face.” He hadn’t planned on saying this, but words seem to be beyond his control.
Valerie (laughs): “I didn’t know it was that noticeable. I was eight years old, riding the handlebars on my sister’s bicycle. She turned a corner, fast, and—”
Mike: “So you want to do something after school today?”
Valerie (slight smile): “I’ve got dance.”
Mike: “Can I go with you?”
Valerie (no longer smiling): “No, Mike. It’s a school.”
Mike: “I don’t mean I’d dance. I just want to watch you.” He wonders if this sounds creepy. He decides he doesn’t care.
Valerie: “You can’t do that. It’s a school.”
Mike: “Yeah, you said that. So you want to go out sometime, see a movie?”
Valerie: “Well, that’s sweet of you to ask, but no. I know that’s the kind of thing kids our age do, but not me.”
Mike: “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Valerie (taking a step back): “I’m very committed to dance. I don’t have a lot of free time.”
Mike: “You expect me to believe that?”
Valerie: “What?”
Mike: “Do I need to say it again?”
Valerie: “No, I heard you. I just couldn’t… this doesn’t sound like you.”
Considering that she barely knows Mike, this is a strange observation. Mike looks down. He’s surprised to see how big and bloated he’s become, like he’s having an allergic reaction to himself. He should have been looking in the mirror all this time.
Mike: “You think I’m too fat, is that it? If I was some good-looking guy, suddenly you’d have time for me, right?”
He has a point, and Valerie knows it.
Valerie: “You’re freaking me out.”
Mike: “You don’t know what’s going on with me. You don’t know how much I need you right now.” He’s not sure if he’s actually saying this out loud or if he’s only thinking it.
Valerie: “Stop it. Just… stop.”
She’s such a bitch, Mike thinks.
I could have told him that.
Just before his last class, Mike sees something in the hall that stops him dead in his tracks. There’s Valerie talking with Tamio, just as Mike predicted. And Tamio cut his hair! 8" "justify">It’s no longer halfway down his back; it’s thick and short. Tamio is smiling at Valerie, that crooked smile girls like. Tamio could have any girl, Mike thinks; why her?
Valerie goes into the physics lab.
Mike (to Tamio): “You cut your hair.”
Tamio (with a shrug): “I got tired of it. So I donated it to Locks of Love.”