Cages (5 page)

“The court committee has legal clout,” Sergeant Adams warned. “If you’re told to appear, you must do it. Otherwise, we’ll issue a warrant for your arrest. You’ll be brought in again.”

At last, they were allowed to leave. Her mother said nothing as they left the office. Kit trailed her silently through the store, down the escalator, across the mall, and out into the parking lot.

It wasn’t until they were both in the car that Dorothy exploded.

“How could you?” she said. “How could you bring such shame on us? We’ve had our disagreements but I’ve always been proud of you, always been proud to call you my daughter. Well, I’ll tell you something, Kit. Tonight I am not proud.”

All day long, Kit had fought back her tears. She had not
cried when she read the cast list, or when Wayne called her an animal. She had not cried when she watched Marcia and Mr. Homer together, or when the police officer announced that she was under arrest. But as she listened to her mother, Kit turned her head away and stared blindly out the window, letting the tears fall unchecked.

N
OTHING had changed, yet everything was different.

As Kit walked into Kennedy School the next morning, she felt ten years older than she had the day before.

One day earlier, she could think only of
The Member of the Wedding
and her hopes for the part of Frankie. Now the school play hardly mattered.

She dreaded the court committee meeting. At least in Juvenile Court there was just one judge at a time. This committee business sounded threatening. Three or four adults, instead of one, and all of them against her.

What would her punishment be? She supposed she would have to pay a fine, but how much? Where would she get the money? The thought of asking Wayne to pay it made her sick but she really had no other choice. Briefly, she thought of
writing to Grandma and Grandpa Hathaway. When she found out how much the fine was, she could ask them to loan her the money; she could do extra baby-sitting to pay it back. But she knew they wouldn’t agree to a loan unless she told them why she needed the money and she would die before she’d let Grandpa and Grandma find out what she had done.

When she left the house that morning, Wayne was still asleep. She didn’t know if he knew yet what had happened. Probably not. He had been asleep when Kit and Dorothy got home from Pierre’s. Wayne’s binges usually lasted three or four days and during that time, there was no use telling him anything. He wouldn’t understand it at the time or remember it later. She would have to wait a few days to deal with Wayne’s wrath.

“Are you alright?” Tracy asked, as they ate lunch together in the school cafeteria. “You seem sort of distracted.”

“I’m OK,” Kit said.

“Did you do the Triple-B last night?”

“I couldn’t. Wayne the Pain is drinking again and you know how he gets. I didn’t stay home.”

Tracy nodded sympathetically. “Where did you go?”

“To the mall.”

“Alone?”

“I took the bus down and Mom picked me up.”

“Did you get anything?”

Yes, Kit thought, I got arrested. She felt her face flush. For a second, she was tempted to tell Tracy the whole story. Maybe it would be easier to deal with if she could talk about it.

She opened her mouth to tell Tracy, but nothing came out.
She couldn’t do it. It was too awful. She didn’t want Tracy, or anyone else, to know.

She realized Tracy had said something else. “What did you say?”

“What’s the matter with you? What happened last night?”

“Nothing.”

“I know you better than that.” Tracy cocked her head to one side and gave Kit an accusing look. “Did you go out with a guy last night?” she asked.

“No! What makes you think that?”

“You’re being so secretive; I thought maybe you had a big date.” She switched to the voice she always used when she was Harriet Headline, raunchy reporter. “
NINTH-GRADE GIRL ADMITS SECRET LOVE AFFAIR WITH MOVIE STAR
.”

“If I had a big date, you’d be the first to know.” Kit finished her apple and opened her bag of celery sticks. She looked longingly at Tracy’s chocolate chip cookies. Dorothy believed only nutritious food belonged in a lunch bag.

“What did happen, then?” Tracy waited. When Kit still said nothing, Tracy said, “OK. You don’t have to tell me every detail of your life.”

Kit could tell by the way she said it that what Tracy really meant was, you don’t have to tell me every detail of your life but I don’t understand why you’re holding back.

She put the celery sticks back in her lunch bag, crumpled the bag, and tossed it in the trash container. “We get our grades today, for the medical speeches,” she said. “I wonder if anyone will get an
A
.”

“I doubt it,” Tracy said.

On the first day of school, Miss Fenton had announced that she rarely gave an
A
grade. “Anyone who’s taking this class to bring their grade-point average up had better transfer out,” she said. “I give an
A
only when a speech is truly exceptional. It must make the audience want to applaud, or move them to tears, or give them information which motivates them to take action. In my fourteen years as a speech teacher, I’ve only given
A
grades twice.”

Everyone in the class had groaned at that but it was a challenge. Students in Miss Fenton’s class worked hard.

“If anyone deserves an
A
for the medical speech, it is you,” Kit said. “Yours was the best speech anyone has done all year.”

Tracy beamed.

The assignment had been to talk about any medical topic. Most of the kids picked a disease. Kit gave her speech on hiccups. She did a lot of research and ended with six ways to cure hiccups. The other kids were more interested in her information than in some of the weird diseases people told about. Still, Kit knew her speech was not as good as Tracy’s.

Tracy spoke about Alzheimer’s disease. Her grandfather had Alzheimer’s disease, so Tracy not only gave the medical facts, she explained how the family of a patient feels. When Tracy told the class that her grandfather was in a nursing home and could no longer feed himself, there were tears in her eyes.

She had to pause a moment, to get control of herself. No one moved or spoke. The whole class just sat there in silence until Tracy could continue.

After a moment, Tracy forced a smile and said brightly, “We’re pleased with the nursing home. They have lots of special
activities, like music and art. A group of Cub Scouts comes sometimes to do a puppet show. Grandpa likes the puppets.”

As expected, Miss Fenton handed out grades that day. Before Kit looked at hers, she whispered to Tracy, in her Sharon Shocker accent, “
SYNDICATES CLAMOR FOR RIGHT TO PUBLISH SPEECH ON ALZHEIMER’S DISEASE. TV SPECIAL SOLD
.” Tracy giggled and crossed her fingers.

Kit’s grade for the hiccup speech was a
B
. All of her speeches were
B
s. That was better than most of the class got but she wished she could get an
A
, just once. An
A
speech would increase her chances for the scholarship, even without playing the part of Frankie.

Kit watched while Tracy looked at her grade. Tracy shook her head, no, and handed Kit the note from Miss Fenton. Tracy’s grade was a
B
+.

“You came close to getting one of my rare
A
s,” Miss Fenton had written. “At the end of your speech, when you told about your grandfather in the nursing home, you had a chance to bring your audience to tears by honestly sharing your own emotions. Instead, you chose to dismiss your true feelings and pretend that you were happy.”

As usual, Kit thought, Miss Fenton was right. She always was, except for giving the role of Frankie to Marcia. Miss Fenton was wrong that time.

Miss Fenton asked Kit to stay after class that day. When they were alone, Miss Fenton said, “I know you hoped to get the part of Frankie. I want you to know that I think you could handle the part. You might even be a better Frankie than Marcia will be; there’s no way for me to be sure. It was a
judgment call on my part, that’s all. I couldn’t cast both of you and when I had to choose, I chose Marcia. That doesn’t mean Marcia is a better actress than you are. It only means that this time, I picked her.”

Miss Fenton eased herself into her chair. She was a pretty woman, despite her excess weight, and she always dressed with flair. Kit waited.

“When you don’t get cast in a show,” Miss Fenton continued, “it isn’t a rejection of YOU. It only means that this time, with this director, you weren’t chosen for a particular part. Another play and another role, the result could be reversed.” She smiled at Kit. “You’re bright and talented. Next time Marcia can make posters and you can play the lead.”

The words were raindrops on Kit’s parched pride. She hadn’t read poorly, after all. She was just as good an actress as Marcia, maybe even better. And she would have her turn to shine.

She wanted to grab Miss Fenton and whirl her around the room.

Later, she repeated the compliment to herself, considering its implications. Kit knew Miss Fenton was on the selection board for the Ninth Grade Scholarship. If Miss Fenton thought she was bright and talented, maybe she was being considered for the scholarship. Maybe the board members wouldn’t find out about the bracelet. Maybe she still had a chance.

Thank goodness she had not told Tracy about the shoplifting. Even though she trusted Tracy not to tell, it was best to keep the matter secret, not take any chance of other people finding out. If Miss Fenton thought she was bright and talented, Kit didn’t want to change her opinion.

She decided to start the posters right away, give herself plenty of time and make them extra special. Besides, she needed to do something to take her mind off her problems. If she was thinking about the play, she couldn’t worry about what Wayne would say when he found out about the shoplifting, and about her meeting with the court committee.

She hoped she wouldn’t have to wait too long to appear before the committee. She wanted to get it over with. The sooner she knew how much the fine was going to be, the sooner she could deal with Wayne’s fury.

Three days later, Wayne’s car was gone when Kit got home from school. Dorothy was humming in the kitchen, making lasagna. A hot loaf of French bread painted fragrant steam pictures on the windowpane.

“Did Wayne go to work today?” Kit asked.

Dorothy nodded.

“When will he be home?”

“Probably not until seven or so. He had a lot of work to catch up on.”

Seven or so. Kit had three hours to figure out what she was going to say to Wayne when he jumped on her about the bracelet. He would do it while they ate dinner. That’s when he always discussed any family problems.

She decided that her best defense would be honesty. She would admit it was a terrible thing to do, say she was sorry, and offer to work off the fine in whatever way Wayne wanted.

What if Wayne added his own punishment to whatever the court committee decided? She expected to have to pay Wayne back for any fine she was given; that was only fair. But Wayne
would probably decide that wasn’t enough. He was a great one for taking away privileges, such as playing the stereo or watching her favorite TV shows. Once he had forbidden her to talk on the telephone for a whole week, just because he’d tried to call home and the line was busy for an hour.

At dinner that night, Kit kept expecting Wayne to mention the shoplifting. Instead, he told Dorothy about something that had happened at work. He went on and on, while Dorothy smiled and nodded.

Kit picked at her food, even though lasagna was one of her favorite dinners and Dorothy hardly ever made it because it was “too fattening.” When was he going to yell at her? Was he dragging it out like this on purpose?

She waited.

Wayne took a sip of coffee and turned to Kit. Here it comes, she thought.

“So, Kit,” Wayne said. “What’s happened at school this week?”

“Not much. Tracy got a part in the play.”

“What about you? Didn’t you try out for that play?”

“I’m making the posters.”

Wayne nodded. “You’ll be good at that,” he said.

Why was he trying to be nice? This was how he always acted after one of his binges: extra polite, interested in what Kit was doing. She had come to expect this at other times, but not this time. Not after what she’d done.

Finally Kit couldn’t stand it any longer. She decided to bring it up herself. Get it over with so she could quit waiting for the storm to break.

“About my—uh—problem,” she said. “I want you to know . . .”

“Are you sure you don’t want some garlic bread?” Dorothy said. “It’s especially good tonight.”

Surprised, Kit looked at her mother. Dorothy rarely urged Kit to eat anything except vegetables. Usually, she lectured on the hazards of overeating.

“What problem?” Wayne said.

Kit hesitated. Was he being mean, making her spell it out? Or was it possible that Wayne didn’t know? “I’m too full for garlic bread,” she said.

“What problem?” Wayne said.

“It was nothing, really,” Dorothy said. “Kit had some trouble with her math homework while you were sick, that’s all, but we figured it out.”