Chapter 8

Sometimes I just wanted to go back to a simpler time.

Like the fourth grade.

The first half of the fourth grade.

Girls had cooties and were to be avoided, though I never did figure out what a cootie was. Sports were good. Homework was light. Those were the days. Then Maryann Simpson kissed me under the mistletoe at the Christmas party, and nothing's been the same since.

First there was Tami. I loved Tami. At least I was pretty sure I did. One thing I'd figured out from all my reading was that even grown-ups were confused at just what love is. So how the hell was I supposed to know?

Then Tami brings me a girl and tells me to 'do something about it.' That wasn't normal, was it? And Kelly was a fifth grader, too. Almost like Maryann Simpson.

Then there's Robbie. Robbie made me feel funny inside. But a different kind of funny than Tami. It couldn't be love, because it was different from what I felt for Tami. It wasn't just lust. I knew what lust felt like. Lust was Robbie's sister, Samantha, who not only was a swimsuit model but had just missed getting the cover of this year's Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. After sitting across from her at dinner I knew the editors were crazy.

So to recap: I was in love with Tami. I felt something more than lust for Robbie. And I'd give my spleen for a kiss from sister Samantha. And adults talk about the simple times of childhood. To quote Ebenezer Scrooge, 'Bah humbug!'

I wondered where the nearest monastery was and if they had an on-line application form.

Sometimes when you get to thinking you're the center of the universe, life has a way of letting you know you're not.

I'd wasted a Saturday afternoon sitting in my room trying to figure things out. Now I'd gotten hungry. Since it was still a couple of hours to dinner I figured I could get away with a snack.

When I walked into the living room, Mom and Dad were talking. I knew something was wrong because: a) they stopped talking as soon as I walked in, b) they were standing about a foot apart instead of sitting in their normal spots, c) Mom looked like she was about to cry, and d) Dad looked red-faced as if he'd been arguing.

A smart son would have turned around and given them their space, but despite what Tami says, wisdom is not my strong suit.

I stopped beside them and planted my hands on my hips. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, honey."

Mom knows I hate to be called honey. And she's a rotten liar.

"Excuse me. I'm thirteen years old. I realize that may not make me an adult in your eyes, but it should mean I'm on the way. I've gotten twenty-one A's out of twenty-eight classes in my last four report cards, so I'm not stupid. I'll ask again, what's wrong? Now you can tell me it's none of my business and I'll reluctantly accept that. But don't tell me nothing."

For a few seconds, I thought I'd made my mom cry and was kicking myself for sticking my nose in. Then she sniffled. "I'm sorry honey. I mean Tony. Sometimes I forget you're getting to be a big boy."

I hate big boy almost as much as honey, but I let it pass.

"It's Aunt Patti. Her appendix burst, and they've taken her to the hospital."

"Is she okay?"

"They have her in surgery. We haven't heard anything yet," Dad said calmly.

"She's my only sister. I want to go." Mom was almost whining.

"And I don't think she should. It's a three hour drive to Kirkland, over Stevens Pass."

"I thought the roads were clear."

"They are, but we're supposed to get some more weather tonight or tomorrow. Besides your mother's upset, and that's not a good idea for a long drive."

I was about to suggest that Dad drive her when I realized what this was all about. Us. Traci and me.

"Oh. Excuse me," I said and went toward the back of the house. From the look I caught of Mom's face, she thought I didn't care and was a little shocked, but I didn't take the time to set her straight.

I knocked on my sister's door and walked in.

"What do you want?" Ann asked, standing. Paula's little sister could be a major brat, and she had a way of making 'you' sound like a dirty word."

"Sit!" I said sharply. "Good girl. I patted her on the head as she sat on the edge of the bed. "Traci, we need to talk."

"Okay," she said and turned around in her chair. She'd been typing on her computer. She saw me glance at the screen and quickly turned back to blank it.

"Aunt Patti is sick, and Mom wants to go see her."

"Okaaayyy," she said, wondering why I was the one telling her this.

"Dad doesn't want her to drive by herself because she's upset."

"Is Aunt Patti okay?"

"It's serious, but I think she will be. I want to tell dad that it's okay for him to take her. That would mean we'll be on our own for a day or two, and I'll be in charge."