The Kissing Diary (2 page)

“Sam made me laugh. He said that the living room reminded him of the Mojave Desert,” said her mother, smiling. “You know, dust balls, tumbleweed. Isn't that funny?”

“Hilarious,” said Rosie, faking a smile. “I guess Sam likes a clean house like Dad did,” she added, watching her mother's face.

Mrs. Goldglitt took the bagel out of the toaster and threw it on the plate with unusual force. “Jimmy!” she called. “Your breakfast is ready.” She buttered the bagel silently.

Rosie pretended to be fascinated by the cereal box. Sometimes, she realized, she could play her mother like a violin. She knew how to rile her, and she was doing it a lot lately.

Jimmy made his entrance, yawning noisily, and plunked himself next to her. Mrs. Goldglitt put the buttered bagel in front of him, and he mumbled thanks.

“You're so spoiled,” Rosie said idly, tracing her finger on the back of the box along the safari trail to the pot of gold.

“She'd make you one, too,” her brother replied, biting into the bagel and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Use a napkin,” said his mother.

“Gross,” said Rosie, savoring a spoonful of sugary cereal. Mrs. Goldglitt, a health-food nut, had relented when they were little by letting them eat junk-food cereal every third day.

Jimmy chewed noisily and swigged down some milk.

“You eat like a pig,” complained Rosie.

“What are you so grouchy about?” said her mother. She poured coffee into her favorite yellow mug, which said
I love you, Mother
across the front.

“I hate my name.” Rosie eyeballed the cup, aware that she wasn't feeling much love for her mother. The coffee looked tempting, steaming and milky.

“It's a fine name.” Her mother started reading the newspaper.

“Can I try some coffee?”

Jimmy piped up. “I'm three years older, and I'm not allowed. Why should you be?”

“It will stunt your growth,” said Mrs. Goldglitt. “No one's allowed.”

“I'm too tall already!” Rosie complained. Then she added what she knew would annoy her mother for sure. “Summer's mother lets her drink coffee every morning.”

“I couldn't care less what Summer's mother lets her do,” her mother said icily. “And what do you mean, you're too tall? You're too tall for what?”

“For Robbie,” Rosie blurted out, instantly sorry. “I'm two inches taller than Robbie Romano.”

“Two inches is nothing.” Mrs. Goldglitt was dismissive. “In a few years, the boys will catch up to the girls.”

“Hey, basketball is a good sport for giraffe girls,” Jimmy teased her.

Rosie was annoyed. “Jimmy and I didn't buy you that
I love you
mug,” she said.

“Hey!” said Jimmy. “Yes we did!”

Rosie ignored him. Why couldn't either of them understand how terrible it was being an oversized giant next to the cutest boy in the seventh grade? She needled her mother some more. “The babysitter bought it for us last year on Mother's Day. You were all upset by the divorce and everything, and she asked us what we were giving you, and Dad was gone, and we told her nothing. So she ran out and got this mug for you with her own money.”

“We didn't have any,” said Jimmy, scanning his mother's face.

Mrs. Goldglitt cupped the mug in her hands. “Hey, I loved it then, and I love it now. Nothing can change that.”

Rosie couldn't seem to help herself and said, “Well, don't believe everything you read.”

Her mother laughed. “You mean you don't love me, like the mug says, because I won't let you drink coffee?”

“No, because I hate my name. Rosie Goldglitt is the worst name in the whole seventh-grade class,” said Rosie. “Michael Kapp says it sounds like I'm an eighty-year-old lady. Couldn't we shorten it to Gold or something?”

Her mother raised an eyebrow. “First of all,” she said, “Kapp was probably short for Kapowitz. And it's your heritage.”

“It's Dad's heritage,” Rosie muttered.

“Yes, Goldglitt is your father's last name, but it used to be Goldglitzen! And we named you Rosie after Grandma Rebecca. My mother was a beautiful lady, who gave birth to me, who gave birth to
you!
Some things can't change, you know, Rosie.”

Rosie battled on. “Grandma Rebecca blew her nose on her scarf when we took her out.”

Her mother laughed again. “She didn't realize. She thought it was her handkerchief.”

“I almost barfed up my pancakes!” Rosie declared.

“Would you stop? I'm eating!” Jimmy yelled.

“Don't you remember, Jimmy?” Rosie continued, happy that her brother had joined the ranks of the grouchy. “We went to the nursing home to see Grandma Rebecca before she died. You, me, and Grandpa Joe took turns wheeling Grandma Rebecca down the street to the diner. Grandma ordered buckwheat pancakes, and while we were waiting—”

“Her nose started running, and she blew it on her scarf. Are you happy now that you've ruined my breakfast?” Jimmy said, tossing his bagel on the plate.

“Then she made the waitress pack up everyone's leftovers, and Grandma gave the soggy chewed-up half-eaten pancakes to her friends,” said Rosie.

Jimmy couldn't help it and started laughing.

Their mother joined in. “I haven't ordered pancakes since!”

“Me either,” said Rosie, mildly happy when Jimmy said, “Jimmy Goldglitt is the worst name in the tenth grade, too, you know.”

But by then Mrs. Goldglitt had turned on the vacuum cleaner, and Rosie cleared her dishes and escaped the kitchen before her mother could find any chores for her to do.

*   *   *

The next morning wasn't much better for Rosie. Her mother was driving them to school wearing the same sparkly pink T-shirt that her best friend, Lauren, owned. It was one thing having a cool mother. But would
any
twelve-year-old girl want her mother dressing like her? Rosie doubted it. Just the other day, Rosie had to stop her from buying a jar of body glitter at the pharmacy. Rosie shuddered at the thought that Sam would like it. A middle-aged mother should be dressing her age, not teetering down the aisle of the supermarket wearing high-heeled boots with pointy toes. Mrs. Goldglitt worked part-time as a receptionist at a local hair salon. She often told Rosie that it was fun playing “dress-up,” which meant younger styles and higher heels and, sometimes, an embarrassed daughter.

“Other mothers wear sneakers,” Rosie told her often.

“Sneakers are for the gym,” her mother always replied.

Rosie's mother never left home without putting on lipstick. She carefully applied it in the car mirror before driving them to school that morning. Jimmy complained, “The crossing guard isn't going to care if you're wearing lipstick or not.”

“I care,” said his mother, blotting her lips on a tissue.

Rosie sniffed the air. “What am I smelling?”

“Jimmy, are you wearing cologne, honey?” said Mrs. Goldglitt.

Jimmy didn't answer, which made Rosie smile. She suspected that her brother had a crush of his own! Rosie had seen him hanging around Linda Reeves at the ice cream shop, looking kind of awkward. “Is Linda in your math class?” she asked him sweetly.

“None of your business,” Jimmy replied.

“Be nice,” said Mrs. Goldglitt, pulling out of the driveway with a lurch.

Homeroom started badly with a substitute teacher, who crucified the names as she read the attendance sheet. “Rosie Goldglatt, is that it? Or is it Goldglitt, or maybe Goldgitt?”

Tony Baskin said, “Goldtwit,” which made a bunch of his friends laugh. Mary Katz joined them, warbling like a bird, saying, “Goldtwitter, Goldtwitter.” Lauren agreed later that it wasn't the least bit funny.

Rosie looked daggers at the girl, a wasted gesture, as she couldn't catch her eye. She hated Mary Katz with every cell in her body. She hated her straight blond hair with its streaky highlights and her turned-up nose and her millionaire clothes. She hated her high-pitched laugh, which most people said was cute. She hated that Mary's mother let her wear black kohl eyeliner. But what Rosie hated most of all was that Mary Katz seemed to hate her back.

In English, Rosie signed her name on a quiz with a cute little rose at the end of it. Dressing up
Goldglitt
made her feel a little better. Lauren had given her a gold jelly pen that jazzed up the page when she signed her name, but it couldn't disguise the ugliness.

Why couldn't her parents have given her one of the popular names, like Jennifer or Jessica or Megan, for heaven's sake? Didn't parents know that they were building a personality when they named a baby? Rosie sighed, only half listening to the teacher babble on about Greek myths. What on earth were the Hoods thinking when they named their daughter Robin? That she would steal from the rich and give to the poor? How dumb was that, saddling their baby with a joke? Lauren's parents were brilliant. They gave their baby a popular name, which was just how Lauren turned out. Everybody liked her, even if she wasn't part of the inner circle. Rosie couldn't imagine what her own parents were thinking. Rosie Goldglitt, ninety-year-old spinster?

By the end of the day, Rosie started feeling better. She met Lauren by her locker, and neither of them had much homework. They walked home slowly in the afternoon sunshine, wondering whose house to visit. Lauren's house had tons of junk food, but Rosie's house had a new computer game. After some debate, Cheez Doodles won.

They were rounding the corner in Lauren's direction when they heard a noise coming from the enormous rosebush at the far end of the school grounds.

“What's that?” Rosie whispered, stopping to listen. Lauren joined her, and when the large shrub shivered and shook, the girls jumped back.

“What are we doing?” Rosie hissed. “It could be a crazy person with a knife or something!”

A branch snapped and a hand emerged from the bottom. Rosie and Lauren screamed so loudly that the hand coming from the bush disappeared. They heard a screech that didn't belong to a girl.

A boy jumped out, wide-eyed as if he'd seen a ghost, holding on to a tennis ball for dear life. “What's the matter?” he yelled, looking around for what he must have thought was a murderer at least. At the sight of the girls, he took one step back, catching his foot on the root of the tree behind him. Robbie Romano, Rosie's biggest crush ever, fell over backward.

“We heard you in the bushes and it scared us,” said Lauren, holding out a hand, which Robbie didn't take. Rosie was envious. Her friend could actually talk to Robbie without stumbling on her words.

He scrambled to his feet and said, “I was looking for my tennis ball, and I heard you guys screaming! I ripped my hand off in that thorny rosebush!”

“Are you okay?” Rosie stammered. “We're sorry we scared you!”

“Scared me?” His voice was shrill. “Don't make me laugh! I should have known it was you! Rosie Gold
twit!
Or is it Rosie
half-wit?
” He practically spat out the names and walked away, shaking his head.

There went the day. The Cheez Doodles didn't help Rosie's mood at all. They left a cheesy taste in her mouth, which added to her feeling of dread. She left Lauren's house early and walked home quickly, up the stairs, and into her bedroom, where she shut the door.

Rosie opened up her pajama drawer and took out her diary, removing the string and the rubber band. Then she wrote:

Monday afternoon

Today was one of the worst days of my life. I finally got to talk to Robbie Romano, and I embarrassed him by saying I was sorry we scared him. What was I thinking? Then he called me Rosie Goldtwit AND Rosie Half-wit, and left me standing there feeling stupid. Lauren says that he'll forget all about it soon. I know he won't. My life is ruined. I'm signing this with sorrow,

Rosie Goldglitt, Twit of the Century

P.S. I snuck some coffee before school this morning, and when I was pouring it out in the sink, my mother came in, but she didn't say anything.

P.P.S. I hate hate hate my name.

P.P.P.S. Coffee smells so good and tastes so bad.

3

Rosie Goldglitt Is So Mad She'd Like to Goldspit

Rosie thought it was odd how the day after disaster struck, nothing had changed. She ate her usual bowl of cereal, cornflakes this time instead of Lucky Charms, and read the back of the box at the kitchen table. Jimmy managed to make her grouchier by pointing out a blemish on her chin. He should talk, with five pimples on his forehead to her one. As usual, the two of them sat in the car waiting for their mother to put on her lipstick. Jimmy grumbled, and Mrs. Goldglitt told him that daylight was best for applying makeup. Jimmy replied that the supermarket checkout girl would not drop dead if she wasn't wearing lipstick. His mother told him not to be fresh. She pulled up to the school as he was laughing derisively, and he let himself out of the car. Rosie followed, straight into Robbie, who turned his back so quickly that she felt a gust of air. How could Rosie's life possibly be the same when her heart was broken?

Shortly after school ended, she was back at Lauren's with her friends, eating vanilla wafers and drinking regular milk, which tasted like a milk shake compared to her mother's skim. Rosie was utterly miserable. The day had gone from bad to worse. Robbie was no longer ignoring her. In order to be ignored, you had to be alive, didn't you? Rosie was less than a speck on the planet. As far as Robbie was concerned, she didn't exist.

Sarah Singer and Summer Adams sat on the couch, urging Rosie to give them all the details.

“Is it true he fell over backward?” Summer asked.

“He took one look at her and fell head over heels,” said Sarah, clasping her hands to her chest.