Ten Ways to Make My Sister Disappear (4 page)

G
OING
home on the school bus, Sprig is trying to remember everything she ever read or heard or saw on the news about Afghanistan, so she can tell Dad when he calls. Last year, Miss Ruthie made that afghan for Mom's birthday, squares of purple and violet and green. Mom keeps it on the foot of her bed. Do they make afghans in Afghanistan? It sounds like a riddle. She'll have to look that up too, and tell Dad.

The bus lumbers slowly through the snow-clogged streets. In the seat behind her, Dakota and Krystee are whispering about boys. Doesn't Dakota care about anything else? She probably never even talks to Krystee about Dad and Afghanistan. “He's a ten,” she hears Dakota saying.

“I'd only give him an eight,” Krystee says. “Or maybe a seven and a half.”

“You're crazy, Buckthorn is at least a nine.”

Sprig twists around. “Will you two please shut up? I'm trying to think here.”

“The child is trying to think,” Krystee says. “I am
so
impressed.”

Next Krystee will cross her eyes. Why doesn't she try that lovely trick on Thomas Buckthorn? The cutest boy on the moon is sitting on the back bench in the middle of a tangle of his friends, who are taking turns giving each other shots in the arm.

“We are having a private conversation,” Dakota says. “Turn around, please.”

“Turn, doggy,” Krystee says.

“Arf. Arf,” Dakota chimes in, elbowing Krystee.

How mean. It's Krystee's fault! She's a total bad influence on Dakota. To Sprig's dismay, her eyes fill. She doesn't
really
care that they're being mean, and she's sure she wouldn't care at all, if Dad was home.

“Doggy,” Dakota says, sounding just like the Bad Influence. “Are you going to cry?”

Is she going to cry? In front of
them
? No! Sprig blinks hard, blinks furiously to hold back the tears. She blinks and blinks and blinks, until Dakota blurs in front of her wet eyes and disappears in a puddle of shimmery dots.

That night, waiting for Dad to call, and already in her pj's, Sprig is looking out the bedroom window at the snowy field behind their house. The waxing moon is almost full, and the field is so bright that she gets caught up in a dream of dancing across that icy slickness, her feet never touching the snow, never feeling the cold. Oh, how graceful she is! All up and down Baylor Street people pour out of their houses to watch her and take her picture. She dances away from the window, dances around the room, between the beds, raising her arms, bending and dipping and —

“What are you
doing
?” Dakota says.

Sprig stops abruptly. Great. Now Dakota will channel Krystee and say something mean like
the whole house is shaking
, or
first time I ever saw a dog dance
. Instead, Dakota grabs Sprig's hands and dances around the room with her. “Faster, faster,” Dakota orders, and they whirl and stamp and gallop together until they collapse on Dakota's bed, laughing and out of breath.

The next morning, Sprig and Dakota are making their lunches at the table when Mom puts down her coffee cup and says, “Girls, last night you were sleeping when your father called. It was almost one o'clock. I was sound asleep myself!”

“Why'd he call so late?” Sprig says.

“I was going to stay up,” Dakota says, “but I got too tired.”

“He was in a meeting that ran really, really late,” Mom says. “Some important decisions were being made, and that's what I need to talk to you both about.”

Sprig freezes, holding the mustard knife in mid-air. She doesn't like the sound of that word
need
. Or the one that came before —
decisions
.

“Your father's going to be in a lot of meetings in the next few days.” Mom glances at her watch.

“What kind of meetings?” Dakota asks.

“We'll talk about all this in more detail later, but the long and the short of it is that, fairly soon, your father will be going —”

“Mom,” Sprig interrupts. A blob of mustard falls to the table. “Mom, we need bread and —”

“Sprig, let me finish what I'm saying, please.”

Maybe Sprig doesn't want Mom to finish. Maybe her somersaulting stomach doesn't want to hear what Mom is about to say. “Lettuce too. I can go to the store after school if you —”

“
Sprig
.” Mom takes her arm. “Listen to me, honey. You need to hear this. Your dad will be going to Afghanistan soon.”

“Afghanistan,” Sprig repeats. So it is bad news.

“We're not sure of the date yet,” Mom says, “but he'll probably be leaving within the next week or so. He'll want to talk to both of you about it, of course, and —”

“Why is he going there?” Sprig says. “Afghanistan is so far away!”

“Well, yes,” Mom says. “But he'll be doing what he always does, consulting about buildings, in this case, schools. That's a really good thing, and he's excited to be part of this project.”

“Mom, what if something happens to him?” Sprig's voice comes out small.

“Nothing's going to happen to Dad,” Dakota snaps. “Don't be stupid.”

Sprig crushes her sandwich into a baggie. Mustard is smeared all over. “People are getting hurt over there. Even killed. Like Iraq! I saw it on the news.”

“Your father's going to Kabul, that's the capital. The U.N. is there to protect people. He won't be going into the danger area.” Mom glances at her watch again. “Look, we'll talk about this a lot more, but right now I have to get going, and you girls hustle too, or you'll miss your bus.” She kisses Sprig on the head. “Try not to worry, honey.”

Sprig nods. She listens as Mom leaves the house. She listens to the sound of the car crunching down the driveway. “Come
on
,” Dakota says. “Why are you just standing there?” She stuffs Sprig's lunch into her backpack and hands it to her. “Hey,” she says, “get that zombie look off your face.”

Sprig puts on her coat and boots and follows Dakota out of the house. Miss Ruthie is at her window, waving to them. “Hi, Miss Ruthie,” Sprig says in a little voice.

“Why are you talking like that?” Dakota looks up. “Hi, Miss Ruthie!” she yells.

“Dakota —” Still, the little voice. “I don't want Dad to go there.”

“Well, do you think I do?”

“No.”

“You've got that right, anyway. Besides, he isn't going this minute. Maybe something will happen, and the plans will change.”

“Really? Do you really think that could happen, Dakota?”

Dakota leans out over the curb, looking for the bus. “I said it, didn't I?”

“I
STILL
think taking care of Cora should have been my job,” Sprig says. She and Bliss are sprawled on Sprig's bed, with a plate of chocolate chip cookies between them. It's Friday afternoon. Tomorrow morning Miss Ruthie is going to Boston.

“Totally right,” Bliss says loyally. She's sleeping over. So is Krystee. Ugh. “Like, guess who's the animal lover.” Bliss points to the pictures of boy singers on Dakota's side of the room, and then to Sprig's wall with its pictures of chimpanzees and dogs. She takes another cookie, munches, and makes appreciative sounds. “These are so good! You could be a professional baker.”

“No thanks. I want to do animal research, like Jane Goodall. Right in the jungle with the chimpanzees. I mean, if there are any left. They're an endangered species, and they're our closest relatives. Bliss, we're letting members of our own family die!”

“Cousins I never knew I had.” Bliss scratches under her arms, hunching her shoulders and making huffing chimp noises.

“Bliss, do you know how intelligent they are? They use tools, they're problem-solvers, they don't talk like we do, but they communicate, and they have fabulous memories. We share ninety-eight percent of our genes with chimps.”

“That's awesome,” Bliss says. “I have to tell that to my dad. He loves numbers — it's the math-teacher thing. Did I tell you that he wants me to be a math teacher? He thinks it's the greatest job.”

“You're good in math too. Do you want to do that?”

Bliss shakes her head. “I'm more the social-worker type, like my mom.”

“I'm definitely going to do something different from my parents.” Sprig rolls over and stares up at the stars painted on the ceiling. Mom put them up there, ages ago. “My mom is always working late and thinking about problems. My dad, you know what my dad does, I told you about him and Afghanistan.” As soon as she says that, she has to clear her throat.

Just then, Dakota walks in with Krystee. “Time's up,” Dakota says. “Good-bye. This is our room. We need our privacy.”

“Why don't you two sleep in the parents' study?” Sprig says.

Dakota smooths her beautiful red hair behind her ears. “You guys are sleeping there. We agreed, that's the plan.”

“That's what I heard,” Krystee drawls. “Don't be a brat.” As if it's her house.

Sprig picks up the plate of cookies. “Come on, Bliss. Let's go!”

Bliss follows her to the door, but then she stops and says sweetly, “Krystee. Do you know that you're a first cousin to a chimpanzee?”

“
What?
” Krystee says.

Sprig and Bliss are still laughing when they close the door to the study. “That was so perfect,” Sprig says. “It was brilliant.”

“Well, you told me,” Bliss says modestly.

They set to work, first blowing up the camp mattresses, then unrolling the sleeping bags. “This is so fun,” Bliss says. “Like camping, without the bugs. That girl Krystee — why is your sister friends with her?”

“I don't know. Fatal attraction or something.” Sprig lies down to test the mattress. “You know what, Bliss, sometimes I love my sister, and sometimes I just
hate
her. Do you think that's sick and terrible?”

“Sometimes I hate my little brother.”

Sprig sits up. “No way! I thought everything was perfect in your family.”

“I wish. My parents dote on Spence, he can't do anything wrong, and whatever happens, it's, like, always my fault.” She smooths out the sleeping bag. “Let's talk about something else. Something silly. What's your favorite color?”

“Blue … of course — my middle name. And ten is my favorite number. I like to make lists of ten things — like my ten favorite foods or my ten best ideas. Or ten ways to make my sister disappear. I thought of a good one yesterday when I was baking the cookies. If I could mix Dakota into the dough and bake her —”

“Then eat it?” Bliss can't stop laughing. “Now that is sick. Do you really have ten things like that?”

“I'm still working on it. Want to see?” Sprig roots around in her backpack, then pulls out her list and hands it to Bliss.

“I just thought of one for you,” Bliss says after she reads the list. She grabs her knees and rocks excitedly. “Put your sister on a raft and float her out to the ocean!”

“That's good. I'm going to write it down.”

“Here's another one I just made up. Send her around the world in a hot-air balloon! Do you like that one?”

“I love it,” Sprig says, scribbling.

“It's really not original,” Bliss says apologetically. “We all watched
Around the World In Eighty Days
last weekend.”

“Sprig,” Mom says, coming in. “How are you doing, honey?” Mom's in her working clothes, a dark skirt and a gray pleated blouse. “Bliss,
hello
,” she says, in that way Sprig loves. She bends over and kisses Sprig. “I see you two are all settled. The beds are okay?”

“Totally! They're supercomfy,” Bliss says enthusiastically, the way she says almost everything, the way she said,
Put her on a raft and float her out to the ocean!

For Bliss, Sprig realizes, her ten ways list is just another game, and in a way it is for Sprig too — but it's also more. Every time she thinks of a new way, it's like letting out a breath that she's been holding.

And now, with Bliss's two great ideas, she has nine ways of making Dakota disappear. Too bad she didn't think of them herself. “Do you think it's sort of cheating to take your ideas?” she asks Bliss, after Mom leaves.

“No,” Bliss says. “Everyone has different ideas. That's how inventions and discoveries happen. My mom says that being open to new ideas makes your life juicy.”

“
Juicy,
” Sprig repeats. “Cute! That gives me another idea.” She smooths out the paper and writes, then shows it to Bliss.

“Euuuw,” Bliss says. “Poor Dakota!”

 

Ten Ways to Make My Sister Disappear

1. Dakota steps onto an ice floe in the Antarctic... and drifts off.
   
2. Put her in prison for stealing my question.
   
3. A cucumber she is... and I crunch her...
   
4. If she were made of paper... oh, so many choices! Crumple! Rumple! Tear and toss!
   
5. Like smoke, she rises into the air, and, poooof.....
   
6. I blink her into a watery puddle.
   
7. Bake her like a cookie...
   
8. Float her out to the ocean on a raft.
   
9. Put her in a hot air balloon and send it around the world.
   
10. Juice her like an orange and drink her down.