Lucy Doesn't Wear Pink (25 page)

“I don’t know as many big words as you.” There was a pause. “Can I ask you something, and promise you won’t get mad?”

“Promise,” Lucy said, although she was sure she’d never made that promise to anyone before. It wasn’t something she could usually guarantee.

“You’re way smart, so how come you’re in the, um, support class?”

“I think it’s because I hate school,” Lucy said. She f lipped over on her stomach, feet kicking behind her. “But thanks for saying I’m smart.”

“You totally are. But I don’t see why you don’t like school. If I had Mr. Auggy all day, I would LOVE going.”

Lucy had to admit later, when she was trying to make a list of all the reasons she still hated school, that Dusty had a point.

She chewed on the end of her pen and wondered what would happen if she just told Inez no, she wasn’t doing homework anymore. But she didn’t wonder for long. It wasn’t worth it, and somebody tapped on the door.

“Come in, Dad,” she said.

“It isn’t Dad,” a tiny voice said.

Januarie poked her very round face in.

“What are you doing here?” Lucy said. “It’s like past your bedtime.”

“People are yelling at my house,” she said. “And Mr. Auggy told me that when they yell me and J.J. are supposed to come over here.”

Lucy sat up straight. “Where’s J.J.?”

“He’s waiting on your front steps for Mr. Auggy to come. He called him.”

Januarie looked as if her face were about to crumple. Lucy patted the bed next to her, and Januarie bounded to the spot like a Saint Bernard puppy. She snuggled under Lucy’s arm and gave a long sigh. They stayed that way for a minute, until Lucy realized Januarie was turning the pages of the Book of Lists.

“Don’t!” Lucy said, and snatched it from her.

“What is that?” Januarie said. Her voice began to wind up.

“My personal stuff,” Lucy said.

“Like Mora’s secrets in that thing she’s got?”

“No — more important.” Lucy stuck the book under her shirt. “You’re too little to understand.”

The lip came out like a fold-out couch. “Why don’t you like me anymore?”

“What?”

“You used to always walk with me after school and take me to Pasco’s and get food and let me spy for you guys — and now you don’t.”

Lucy felt a flutter of guilt. “I can’t go to Pasco’s after school now,” she said, although she knew that wasn’t going to help.

Januarie twisted the pillowcase in her fingers. “Do you like Dusty more than you like me?”

“I like her different than I like you,” Lucy said. Whew. She didn’t know where that came from, but she was glad it did.

“If you still liked me, you would let me play soccer with you guys.”

“For Pete’s sake, Januarie — would you give it up?” Lucy squirmed away from her, still clutching her book. “You have to work for it, and even then it doesn’t always turn out all happily ever after. Can’t you just be happy with what you get to do?”

Januarie’s dark eyes filled with tears until they looked like tiny cups of chocolate pudding.

“Don’t cry,” Lucy said.

“I will if I want.” And then she sobbed into Lucy’s pillow until she fell asleep there. Only then did Lollipop peek out of the toy chest.

“Coast is clear,” Lucy said. But she wondered if it ever really would be.

She put the Book of Lists back in the underwear drawer and got up on her knees to look out the window. J.J. sat on the front steps with Mr. Auggy, their heads bent together as if the conversation was very important. Lucy suddenly felt so sad she couldn’t hold her head up. Was it ever going to be the same with her and J.J.?

She knew one thing: until it was, she couldn’t even be close to happily ever after. Maybe if she asked him — God — she might have a better chance. Only she hadn’t found her way yet, like Inez said she would. So she snuggled in next to Januarie and just hoped.

16

J.J. and Januarie showed up at their house at night two more times. J.J. always waited on the steps for Mr. Auggy, and Januarie always came inside and crawled into bed with Lucy, taking all the covers and sometimes even snoring. Lucy didn’t see how Januarie could think she didn’t like her. Who would put up with that if she didn’t?

One night, though, Lucy had different overnight guests. On Tuesday, February 18th, Dad and Mr. Auggy went to the town council meeting, and Dad asked Inez to spend the night since the meeting could run late. Inez staying meant Mora was going to stay too.

“Cool,” Dusty said when Lucy told her before school that day. “It’ll be like a sleepover.” She looked down at her Uggs. “I wish it was me instead.”

“Me too,” Januarie piped up.

Lucy hoped she wouldn’t stir up something at home just so she could come over. She’d actually never had a sleepover, but she said, “Januarie, sleepovers for eleven year olds only have eleven year olds.”

“Right,” Dusty said. “You could have one at your house for eight year olds.”

Lucy had another guilt-flutter. She couldn’t imagine Januarie ever inviting other little girls to her house. Lucy herself had only been in it a few times. It smelled like wet dog and always made her want to go home where it felt safe.

“You want me to work with you on your dribbling, Januarie?” Lucy said.

“No,” she said and stomped herself off to the second- and third-grade wing. The look she sent over her shoulder was meant to wither both of them, Lucy was sure.

Mora arrived that day with two tote bags, one pink and one green, both stuffed so full they wouldn’t zip. All through their homework period, she brought up the fact that she was missing dance class so many times that Inez finally told her if she said it again she was going to take her electronic diary away from her. That hushed her up. It was one of those moments when Lucy liked Inez.

The four of them ate supper together, and Lucy noticed that Mora stared at Dad the entire time, especially when Lucy gave him his plate coordinates.

“So, it’s like a clock,” she said.

“Well, ye-ah,” Lucy said, although she wanted to say, “Duh!”

“It must be so weird not to be able to see your food.”

“Mora!” Inez said sharply, and added something in Spanish that couldn’t have been good. Lucy was ready to add something in English, but Dad just smiled sunshine across the table at Mora.

“It gets weirder,” he said. “Sometimes I come out with some interesting outfits and Lucy tells me to go change my clothes or she won’t be seen with me.”

“Nuh-uh!” Lucy said. She turned to Mora. “Everything’s in the closet by colors, and as long as we don’t change it, we’re fine.”

Mora put her fork down. “So — how do you, like, shave?”

“Mora,” Inez said again.

But Dad shook his head. “It’s all right. I like to educate people on the art of being blind.”

For the rest of dinner, he told Mora how he brushed his teeth and walked to the corner where he got his ride to work and paid the bills by phone. He didn’t reveal how he always knew when Lucy had gotten herself into trouble. She was waiting for that.

“So,” Mora said over their dessert of f lan with caramel sauce, “you can totally take care of your own self.”

“Pretty much,” Dad said.

Pretty much? What about how Lucy read the Sunday paper to him and how she told him what was on the menu when Aunt Karen took them to a strange restaurant and how she protected him from people who acted like he was retarded instead of just blind?

Or was Inez going to start doing all that too, until Dad didn’t really need her anymore?

“Luce?” Dad said.

“Huh?”

“I said, you’ll make sure Inez and Mora have everything they need while I’m at the meeting?”

“Oh,” Lucy said. “Sure.”

Mr. Auggy came by for Dad and assured her they would do all they could to get some equipment for the soccer team. When they left, Mora said, “That’s your teacher?”

“Yeah.”

Mora giggled. “He’s cute.”

Oh, ickety-
ick.

When Inez told them it was time to get ready for bed — like Lucy didn’t know that — Mora spent twenty minutes in the bathroom and emerged decked out in pink pajamas with straps like pieces of spaghetti and ruffles around the bottom. She smelled like a bowl of strawberries and had a large metal thing attached to her teeth that went all the way around her head. She looked like an extraterrestrial to Lucy.

“Don’t say a word,” Mora said. Whatever the thing was, it didn’t keep her from talking.

She looked around Lucy’s room. “Where do your friends usually sleep when they come over?”

“Um — ”

Mora put her hands on her hips. “You’ve had a sleepover before, haven’t you?”

“No.”

“Hello! Where have you been? Okay — do you have a sleeping bag? Extra blankets — ”

Lucy produced everything Mora named, and within minutes, they had two pallets on the floor side by side. Mora parked on one of them, crossed her ankles, and said, “What do you want to talk about?”

Lucy had no idea. Soccer? Mora would so not want to discuss passing strategy.

“So — do you think they’ll give you money for your program?”

Lucy blinked.

“That’s what the meeting’s about, right?” Mora nodded as if she were very wise. “Grown-ups always say there’s no money for stuff, but if you pitch enough of a fit, they find it. You should have seen what we had to go through to get our warm-up suits so we’d all match at competition.” She reached for the pink bag and pulled out a photo album that she f lipped open and displayed as if she were a first-grade teacher ready to read a picture book to the class. Lucy couldn’t help looking at the photograph of Mora in a red tank top, a white, sparkly-striped jacket with her name embroidered on it, and bright blue pants with sparkles up the sides. It was a little too glittery for soccer, but it was definitely cool.

“They cost a lot because the inside is lined in fleece,” Mora said. “But we have to stay warm or our muscles will cramp up. Once it’s all about safety, grown-ups will buy anything.”

“We need cleats and shin guards,” Lucy said.

“That sounds like it’s ugly.”

“Yeah, but it’ll keep us from sliding and getting bruised and stuff.”

“True,” Mora said, as if she actually knew what Lucy was talking about. “You want to see my awards?”

Before Lucy could answer, Mora was back in the pink bag again, pulling out wooden plaques with brass plates announcing FIRST PLACE and pictures of her team. They even wore their hair all the same.

“It is SO much work,” Mora said, rolling her enormous eyes. “But we like to win.”

And then, as if Lucy had asked her to, she launched into an explanation of the techniques she had to learn, complete with demonstrations across Lucy’s floor, which drove Lollipop past the toy chest and completely out of the room. Lucy had to admit it was pretty interesting, although she wasn’t sure why anyone would spend that kind of time going for a perfect toe touch.

When Inez said it was time to turn out the light — like Lucy didn’t know that either — Mora pulled out a blanket with NEW MEXICO DANCE CHAMPIONSHIP embroidered on it and a stuffed dog wearing a replica of her uniform. She snuggled into her pallet and was asleep before Lucy could even lie down. When she did, her eyes wouldn’t close.

Everything was so strange. Why didn’t she want to go get Marmalade and put her next to Mora so she’d freak out if she woke up? Why could she hardly wait to get to school tomorrow to tell Dusty how all into dance Mora was? And why, actually, didn’t that whole dance thing seem weird to her? She herself ate, slept, and breathed soccer. What was the difference?

Dance was girly. That was the difference. There were so many differences between her and other girls that it was hard to know if she even was one. Lucy churned on her pallet for a few minutes and then got up and soundlessly opened her underwear drawer and pulled out the Book of Lists. She peeked out into the hall, but everything was quiet. Inez was probably in the guest room. Lucy wondered as she padded down the hall whether Inez’s hair even got messed up when she was in bed.

Marmalade and a sleepy Artemis joined Lucy on the Napping Couch where she wrapped up in the Navajo blanket and opened the book. There was only one list to make right now.