Something Girl (3 page)

“Yeah,” I said, starting off on my bike. “But will they understand
you
? That’s the real question.”

“Froggy!” said Jujube, holding tight as I went around a corner. “This is serious. I’m sending out important messages.”

Suddenly I knew what she meant. She was sending messages about me into outer space.
They probably went something like this:
I’ve got a loser friend. She’s cracking up. Her life’s a mess and she won’t go live in a group home. But she loves aliens. Come rescue her. Rescue the stupid, no good, nothing girl
.

Yeah right
, I thought.
Me and the aliens in a cosmic group home. That’ll be the day
.

I turned onto 82nd Avenue and biked slowly down the sidewalk. When I got to my probation officer’s building, Jujube got off my bike and I locked it. As usual, I was late and kind of hungry. And also as usual, there was the sign, just waiting for me:

SOLICITOR GENERAL
CORRECTIONAL SERVICES
YOUNG OFFENDERS PROBATION

KNOCK LOUDLY IF YOU HAVE
AN APPOINTMENT

Chapter Five

I opened the door and walked into the office with Jujube behind me. Right away the secretary looked up from her desk and said, “You’re late again, Sophie.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I had to stay after school to do some math.”

The secretary frowned. “Didn’t you tell them you had a meeting with your probation officer?”

I looked at my feet. Sometimes adults were really clued out. How was I supposed to tell my teacher I had a meeting with my probation officer in front of the whole class? The other kids already thought I was a loser.

But if the secretary didn’t already understand this, she never would. So I didn’t explain it to her. “Yeah,” I lied. “My teacher made me stay anyway.”

The secretary sighed. “Go on in,” she said. “Ms. Lee is waiting for you.”

I walked down a short hall to where Ms. Lee’s office was. As I knocked on the door, I could hear Jujube talking to the secretary about aliens.

“Come in,” said a voice.

I opened the door and saw Ms. Lee sitting behind her desk. “Sophie,” she smiled. “Sit down and tell me how you are.”

I sat down and tried to smile back at her.
Act cool
, I told myself.
It’ll be okay if you don’t tell her anything
.

Then I thought,
Is my bruise showing?
I looked at my arm and saw half the bruise sticking out from under the bottom of my sleeve. Quickly I pulled the sleeve down.

One, two, three, four
, I thought, counting slowly in my head.

The questions started. I was on probation because I stole a few things from a store — lipstick, some chocolate bars and cigarettes. The cops caught me a couple of times, but I never had a whole bunch of stuff. I wasn’t a crime wave. The time I took the chocolate bars, I was hungry. The cigarettes were a fluke, just sitting on the counter while a guy paid for them. And the time I took the lipstick, I was mad.

I didn’t even wear lipstick. I knew it was dumb to steal, but some days I couldn’t make myself care much.

“You skipped some classes last week,” said Ms. Lee.

“Yeah,” I said. It was hard to smile, listen and keep counting in my head.
Nine, ten
,
eleven
, I thought. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll try harder.”

“And you need to work harder on your schoolwork,” said Ms. Lee.

“Yeah.”
Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen
. Every time I came here, we went through the same list of questions and answers. Why did we have to go through this crap?

“How are things at home?” asked Ms. Lee.

“Fine,” I said.

“How are things with your dad?” Ms. Lee was watching me like a hawk.

“Fine.” I kept counting in my head.
Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven
.

“How are things with your mom?” Ms. Lee asked.

“Fine,” I said.

Ms. Lee sighed. “Who are you spending time with?”

Finally, an easy question. “Nobody much,” I said. “Just Jujube.”

“Sophie,” Ms. Lee said softly. “Why do you have your hand over your arm?”

I looked at my arm. My hand was hanging onto the bottom of my sleeve, pulling it down over the bruise.
Thirty
, I counted in my head.
Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three
. My heart was pounding so hard I could barely think.

Ms. Lee leaned forward. “Why don’t you want me to see your arm, Sophie?”

“There’s nothing wrong with my arm,” I said. “Why are you making such a big deal out of it?”

“I’m not making a big deal out of it,” she said, getting up. “I just want to see it.” She came around the desk and put a hand on my shoulder. “C’mon, let me see.”

“Skateboarding,” I said quickly. “I was skateboarding with Jujube.” But Ms. Lee just kept looking at me, so I had to take my hand off my arm. Slowly she lifted the bottom of my sleeve. The bruise was almost black, and it didn’t look anything like a falling-down bruise. It looked like a grab bruise for sure.

“That’s a pretty bad bruise,” Ms. Lee said. “How did you really get it, Sophie?”

Forty-one, forty-two, forty-three
. “Skate-boarding with Jujube,” I said, trying to sound as if I meant it. They couldn’t do anything to my dad if I didn’t tell the truth. If I just kept lying, they would have no proof.

Ms. Lee looked at me closely. “And that’s how you got the bump on your forehead too?”

“I’m not very good at skateboarding,” I said. I tried to look her straight in the eye. Did she believe me?
Did
she?

Ms. Lee took a step back. Then she said, “Did your father do this, Sophie?”

My heart just about exploded. “No!” I said. I stood up and took a step toward her. “My dad’s a good dad,” I said loudly. “He does his best for me and never hurts me. Never, not ever. Look, I promise I’ll go to school every single day from now on. I won’t steal anymore. I’ll do whatever you say, okay? Is that okay?”

Ms. Lee went back to her desk and sat down. She looked at me quietly. “You’re a
really nice kid, Sophie,” she said. “I want you to live in a place that’s safe.”

“I’m fine,” I said. I was almost crying. I mean I was just
begging
her to believe me.

“No, you’re not fine,” Ms. Lee said. Then she opened her datebook and said, “I want to see you next week.”

My heart stopped dead. Next week was extra. I was only supposed to see her every two weeks. “How come?” I asked slowly.

Ms. Lee handed me a card with a date and time written on it. “I want to make sure all this skateboarding doesn’t break your leg,” she said. “Next week, Monday at 4:00, like today.”

“Okay,” I said. What was I supposed to say — no?

I took the card and left, just glad to be out of there. One more question and she would have gotten it all out of me. As I walked into the waiting room, Jujube jumped up from her chair. Her green eye was very green, and she was holding something between her fingers.

“Look, Froggy,” she said.

“What?” I asked, heading for the door. I was trying to figure out how I was going to tell my dad I had an extra meeting with Ms. Lee.

Jujube stuck a jawbreaker she’d been sucking into my face. It was slimy.

“Gross,” I said and pushed it away.

“I sucked down to the red layer,” she said, really excited. “I usually check all the layers to see what they look like. This time, on the red layer, three triangles showed up. Can you see it?”

I looked at the jawbreaker, but all I could see were wavy lines. Jujube was really losing it with this alien stuff. I sure knew how to pick my friends — she was crazier than I was!

But Jujube didn’t think she was crazy. “In the Morse code I sent out last night,” she grinned, “I asked them for a sign. I asked them for a sign
today
. And here it is!”

Chapter Six

I couldn’t believe Jujube thought aliens had sent her a sign on her jawbreaker. But she kept going on and on about it, even when we went outside. I unlocked my bike, and she got on behind me. Then I took off, pedaling down 105 A Street. Jujube held out her jawbreaker, letting it dry in the wind. After a few blocks she put it into her pocket. I guess she wanted to keep it as proof of her contact with aliens.
Something was really going wrong with her brain, but I couldn’t worry about it. I had enough to think about.

We headed over to her place. When we got there, Rick was sitting on his front porch. “Hi, Sophie,” he called. “Hi, Jujube.”

I concentrated on locking my bike to a street sign and trying not to turn red. When I looked up, Jujube had walked over to Rick and was sitting down beside him. I looked at the two of them, just sitting there like that. Jujube looked so relaxed, not even wondering whether Rick wanted her there or not. I always wondered if people were about to tell me to get lost.

I didn’t sit down beside them. Instead I stood nearby, trying to look normal — not like I’d just come from an appointment with my probation officer.

“Hey, Rick,” said Jujube. “D’you know anyone who lives in a group home?”

My heart stopped when she said that. For a second I thought Jujube and Rick had
planned this conversation ahead of time. They were trying to get me to change my mind so I would want to move into a group home. That was it — Jujube had finally gotten tired of me. She wanted me to move into a group home so she wouldn’t have to hang around with me anymore. So she’d asked Rick to help her convince me.

But Rick didn’t look as if he was thinking about me at all. “Yeah,” he said. “My friend Bert lives in one. He says it’s not too bad. There are a lot of rules, but at least no one’s taking it out on him just for breathing. And the staff are there to talk to if he wants.”

“Why did he end up there?” asked Jujube.

“His parents kicked him around a lot,” said Rick. “He used to blame himself for it — as if he made them do it. Crazy to think that way, but I guess it happens. He got his head on straight when he moved into the group home and talked things out with the staff.”

I could tell Jujube was thinking hard. “Well, what’s it like there?” she asked. “What do they feed him and stuff?”

Rick laughed. “Bread and water, Jujube.” Then he shrugged. “Normal food, I guess. Just like anywhere else.”

All of a sudden I had to get out of there. Maybe this was just a normal conversation. Maybe Jujube and Rick weren’t trying to get me to move into a group home. Still, I knew my dad wouldn’t want me listening to something like this. He wouldn’t want me even
thinking
about group homes. Because if I moved into a group home, he would get into trouble. And I couldn’t get my dad into trouble. He didn’t deserve that.

“I’ve got to go,” I said to Jujube. I started walking to my bike, and she came running after me. Neither of us said goodbye to Rick.

“Can’t you stay for supper, Froggy?” Jujube said. “I asked Mom this morning and she said it was okay.”

“No,” I said and got onto my bike. “My mom told me to be home for 5:30.”

But Jujube wouldn’t let me go. She ran beside my bike, talking about aliens. More of her crazies. Suddenly it was too much and I blew up.

“Come on, Jujube,” I snapped, stopping my bike. “Get real. There aren’t any aliens except in the outer space inside your head.”

Jujube looked as if I’d slapped her. Then she snapped back, “You’re always mad at me. It’s not my fault your life is so bad. It’s your dad’s. But you just let it happen. Why don’t you want it to stop? Why don’t you tell someone?”

I almost screamed at her, this made me so mad. How could she say something like that? How could she even
think
I wanted to get beat up? I was trying hard to change so my dad could love me. I just couldn’t figure out what he wanted me to be.

I took off on my bike really fast, but Jujube’s words kept running through my
head.
You just let it happen. Why don’t you want it to stop? Why don’t you tell someone?
When I got home, I put my bike into the garage. Then I sat on the back porch and tried to calm down before I went in. My mom didn’t notice when I was upset, but my dad did. If he noticed I was upset, he would ask questions. That was the last thing I needed.

So I made myself calm down, then went into the kitchen. My mom was sitting at the table, smoking. An empty beer bottle sat beside her hand — her usual afternoon drink. She looked okay, not like there had been any trouble. Sometimes my dad had to straighten out her head too. He would kick and hit her, but she was better than me at hiding the bruises. When I saw she was okay, I was so relieved I gave her a hug. She patted my arm.

“Hi, Froggy,” she said. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” I said. Then I waited to see if she would ask about my appointment with my probation officer. She didn’t. She’d probably forgotten that I had one.

“I made you some hamburgers for supper,” she said. “They’re on the stove.”

“Okay.” I put a hamburger on a plate and brought it to the table. I tried not to look disappointed. We’d had hamburgers for supper three times the week before. But I guess my mom had more important things to worry about than making fancy suppers.

“Remember to keep your voice down,” my mom said. “Your dad’s talking to a client in the living room.”

“Okay.” I started to eat my hamburger, but then the kitchen phone rang. I got it after the first ring so it wouldn’t disturb my dad’s meeting.

“Hello?” I said in a low voice.

It was Jujube. “Froggy,” she said. She sounded upset. “I’m sorry I said those things to you. Are you still mad at me?”

“No.” Suddenly I felt mean for getting mad at her and taking off. She was worried about me; I knew that. She wasn’t crazy. She was worried.

“Are you all right? Is everything all right?” Sometimes Jujube worried so much her voice squeaked.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m fine. But I’ve got to eat supper now. I’ll call you later, okay?”

I could tell Jujube didn’t want to hang up. But I couldn’t spend my life on the phone just so she would know I was still kicking. I sat down beside my mom and started eating again. Then my mom stood up.