Ten Ways to Make My Sister Disappear (6 page)

“W
ELL,
class,” Mr. Julius says, unhinging himself from behind his desk and standing up, “I want to thank you all for your personal essays.”

Sprig notices that he's wearing his orange tie again, the one with pumpkins on it, but somehow she doesn't mind as much as she did just a few days ago. So many other things seem more important, or maybe just one other thing — the news that Dad is going to Afghanistan.

“You're going to correct your essays right now, folks. I saw quite a few careless mistakes and a lot of misspelled words.”

Is he looking at Sprig? She was in such a hurry when she copied over the essay Sunday night. Which seems like a thousand years ago. A thousand years before Mom told them about Dad and Afghanistan. Mr. Julius starts through the aisles, handing back the essays. When he gets to Russell, he says, “Skimpy on the details there, Russell. Your family in
four
lines?”

Sprig turns around. Russell is laughing along with everyone else. He grins at her and holds up four fingers, as if he's proud of his four-line essay.

“Class, one more thing before you start working,” Mr. Julius says, as he goes back to his desk. “Any questions about what I wrote on your paper, consult the person sitting behind you.”

Oh, terrific. That means Russell. But never mind, she's not going to ask him anything. Look what Mr. Julius wrote across the top of her paper:
Nicely done introduction to your family, Sprig
. She's pretty sure he didn't write that for Russell's skimpy four lines! She deflates a little as she looks at her essay and counts the number of misspelled words Mr. Julius circled in red. She's never been a super speller, but seven misspelled words at one blow might be a record. What was she thinking of when she wrote
lite
hearted? Dumb mistake. She corrects it. Next,
engeneer,
a totally careless mistake. Dad taught her to spell that word before she even knew what it meant.
Ridiculus
is another careless mistake — leaving out one letter in her haste to finish the paper. But what about
espechally, sereous, superor,
and
extremly?

Russell taps her on the back. “Hey, Ewing. I'm done with mine. Six more sentences. You having any problems?” Without waiting for an answer, he peers over her shoulder. “Aha! I zee you have zee trouble with zee spelling.”

“Russell, stop bothering me!” Sprig flaps her hand at him. “Go away.” She has to concentrate. Is it
supperier
? Or
souperier
? Or neither?

Russell slides a note onto her desk.

 

To Sprig Ewing — This is a serious note. I am especially good at spelling. I hope you don't think I am acting superior for saying so. I am here to help you.

Your extremely friendly speller, Russell Ezra-Evans

 

“That was so sweet of Russell,” Bliss says, as they sit down in the cafeteria.

“I don't know why I'm such a bad speller,” Sprig says. “I read, I read all the time, but I guess I don't look at the way words are spelled. I'm just reading them! I forget that they're even words. I'm just seeing the pictures that — oh, there's Russell now, coming straight for us.”

“Hey there,” Russell says, sitting down and opening his lunch bag. He takes out a plastic container full of salad.

“Is that all you're having for lunch?” Bliss asks.

“That's it. I'm trying to lose the flab. Did you see Mr. Julius's essay? He put it up on the bulletin board with a picture of his girlfriend. She's so hot. He writes all about her; his whole essay is just about her, practically. Mr. Julius is a cool guy.”

“He's still not as good as Mrs. Foote,” Sprig says loyally, although she hasn't thought about Mrs. Foote for many days now. “He's just the substitute. She's a real teacher.”

Russell kicks her foot under the table. “Bad attitude, Ewing.”

“Keep your feet to yourself, Ezra-Evans!”

“I read Mr. Julius's essay too,” Bliss says. “His girlfriend's name is Megan. Wow, she's so pretty, and she's in the army, a helicopter pilot in Afghanistan. That is so cool.”

“I don't think it's so cool,” Sprig says. “Bliss! Afghanistan is dangerous.”

“Well, she must be really brave,” Bliss says, a little defensively.

“Like my dad,” Sprig says.

“What does that mean?” Russell asks. “Your dad's not in the Army.”

“Thanks for the information. My dad's going to Afghanistan to help build schools there.” Sprig pushes away her food. She doesn't want to talk about it.

“I never want to be in the Army,” Bliss says. “Anyway, I know I couldn't be a pilot. When we fly to Arizona to visit my grandfather? I can't even look out the window or I'll be sick!”

Russell gives his weird laugh, sort of like a seal barking. Bliss seems to like it, though. She laughs with him. Sprig sits back and watches as Russell digs into his pants pocket and brings out a crumpled piece of paper. His essay. “Look at this, Bliss,” he says, “look at all the things Mr. Julius wrote about my essay.”

“The famous four lines,” Sprig says.

“
Now
the famous ten,” Russell says. “I added stuff about my baby brother. He's five months old, and” — Russell forks up a chunk of raw broccoli, looks at it dolefully, then puts it in his mouth — “his name is Wheel.”

“
Wheel?
” Sprig says.

“Clean your ears, Ewing. I said
Will.
Do you like that name?”

“I like it better than Wheel, Ezra-Evans.”

“It was so fun writing about my family,” Bliss says. “My dad has these math jokes that are sort of corny? But they break him up. I put in one for Mr. Julius. Question: Why was the six afraid of the seven?”

“Why?” Russell asks, obligingly.

“Because seven eight nine.”

“Great joke,” Russell says. He eyes Sprig's dessert, a double chocolate cupcake with chocolate frosting. “That cupcake looks pretty good.”

“It's yummy, but you can't have any.”

“Sprig!” Bliss says.

“Well, he's on a diet.” Sprig pushes the cupcake across the table to Bliss. “But you aren't, have some. Come on,” Sprig urges. “I know you love chocolate.”

“Maybe just a sliver.” Bliss cuts off a small slice.

Russell pulls the cupcake over to his side. “I'll have a sliver too. Man cannot live on broccoli alone,” he says, popping a good-size chunk into his mouth. “Bliss, have some more,” he says, as if it's his cupcake. He watches as she cuts another slice. “Good,” he approves.

“It's for you,” Bliss says, handing it to him. They smile at each other.

“My turn,” Sprig says, taking back the cupcake. “Okay with you guys if I have a piece of my cupcake?”

It isn't the remains of her chocolate cupcake that Sprig broods over on the bus going home though, but that shared smile between Bliss and Russell. It doesn't seem fair! Dad is away, he's going to be sent to Afghanistan, and as if all that isn't bad enough, now her best friend is cozying up to — well, not her worst enemy, but the longest-running pest in her life! Her belly aches as if she's swallowed a tiny, sharp-toothed dog. Could this be …
jealousy
?

“Come on up, sweetheart,” Miss Ruthie calls from her doorway, as Sprig is going up the driveway. “Where's your sister? I want you both to meet someone.”

“Dakota went home with her girlfriend,” Sprig says, stamping snow off her boots in Miss Ruthie's kitchen. She looks around, but she doesn't see anyone except Cora, who's lying under the table. “Who did you want me to meet?”

Miss Ruthie beckons her into the bedroom. Cora gets up and comes after Sprig, but Miss Ruthie won't let Cora in. She closes the bedroom door and says, “Now, Sprig, tell me what you see that's new in here.”

Sprig looks around. There's Miss Ruthie's double bed with its lacy spread, there's the tall bureau with the long mirror above it and Miss Ruthie's comb and brush neatly laid out, and there's the wall covered with multiple pictures of Miss Ruthie's two nieces, and there's the window with — “Wow!” Sprig says. “Where did she come from?”

“He,” Miss Ruthie corrects. “Don't insult my new friend.”

The
he
is a skin-and-bones, black-and-white-checkered cat sitting on the windowsill and staring at Sprig with a distinctly unfriendly look.

“He's been showing up on my porch for the past week,” Miss Ruthie says. “I've been feeding him and checking the ‘lost cat' ads, but look how skinny he is, poor thing. I'm sure someone abandoned him.” She presses her lips together. “He's not going to go hungry again!”

“What's his name?”

“Plucky, because he's a survivor. Oh, don't try to pet him,” she warns as Sprig approaches the cat. “He's a wary fellow, he still doesn't even trust me. Look at him! He knows everything we're saying.”

“Does Cora like him?” Sprig asks.

“Oh, Cora! She's jealous as can be. You should hear her! She
growls
at Plucky. Now when did you ever hear Cora growl?” Miss Ruthie laughs. “Oh, she's got the green disease all right.”

Jealousy again! And why shouldn't Cora be jealous, Sprig thinks later, going down the steps. After all, Cora was Miss Ruthie's friend
first
— as Bliss was hers.

S
PRIG
and Dakota are sprawled out on Mom's bed, watching a movie. Mom is supposed to be watching with them but, in reality, she's only half watching. Every once in a while, she looks up from the book she's reading and catches up with the movie.

“Mom,” Dakota says, when the movie is over. “Look, it's almost ten o'clock and Dad hasn't called. Do you think he's in a meeting again? Do you think he'll call you later, like that other time?”

Mom closes her book. “Put the DVD in its case, Sprig, and bring it out to the hall table, so I remember to return it. Dakota, you take the popcorn bowl into the kitchen and wash it. And then both of you come back in here. I have something I need to tell you.”

Sprig shuffles slowly into the hall. Her stomach is beginning to hurt, and she knows it isn't too much popcorn. It's those words again:
something I need to tell you
. Sprig puts the DVD on the little round table, then suddenly sits down on the floor with her back against the wall. She's going to sit right here. She's not going back in Mom's bedroom. She doesn't want to hear what Mom
needs
to tell her. She doesn't have to hear it either. She won't listen, anyway. She just won't!

But, of course, she does. She goes back in the bedroom. She perches on the edge of the bed. And she hears what Mom has to say. Dad is on his way, this very moment, to Afghanistan. Even while they were watching that stupid movie, he was leaving them.

“We didn't even get to say good-bye to him,” Sprig chokes out.

“I know,” Mom says, “and he felt really bad about that, but it's a security thing. It could be dang —” She cuts herself off. “It's better that he just goes this way, quietly, and does his work, and then —”

“What about phone calls?” Dakota says. “We're not going to talk to him again until he comes home?”

“No, no, no,” Mom says. “As soon as he gets settled, he'll start calling us. He'll call us every night, the way he always does.”

“How can he do that?” Sprig cries. “He'll be in
Afghanistan.
”

“They have very good cell phone service,” Mom says. “It's not going to be a problem.” She gathers both girls to her. “I want you to remember that your father will be coming home to us in a month or so. A lot of dads won't be doing that anytime soon.”

“That's true,” Dakota says. “A girl in my class, Mellissa Katter, her father was in Iraq, and —”

“Don't tell me about it,” Sprig says. “I know about her, it's too sad.”

For once, Dakota doesn't argue with her, but now Sprig is remembering how her class wrote a sympathy letter to Mellissa and her family, and how her father's picture was in the
Alliance Post Herald.
All along, the newspaper had been printing pictures of the soldiers killed in Iraq, but this was the first time Sprig knew someone connected to one of those men.

 

In the middle of the night, Sprig wakes, her heart thrumming in her throat. She can't find him. She's been running down one dark street after another, looking for Dad, looking for him everywhere, and not finding him.
She can't find him anywhere.

Before she registers that she's awake, she's across the room, pulling at her sister's blankets. “Dakota, Dakota …” Sprig climbs onto Dakota's bed. She's shivering, shaking, still running down those desolate streets, still looking into dark doorways and empty alleys. “What's happening?” she cries. “What's happening with Dad? Where is he?”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Dakota sits up. She stares at Sprig, then, her voice still sleep-clogged, she says, “You want to sleep with me?”

Without answering, Sprig scrambles under the covers and wraps herself around Dakota's back. Her sister's hair is in her face; it smells good, spicy. Sprig breathes in the smell, holds on to her sister, and in a moment, she's asleep.