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From, Nica Lorber
My name is Nica Lorber, and I am in a washing machine. I found this place a while ago, when me and Alice and Bubba were all playing Hide And Go Seek. I was the seeker, and I was bored because Alice and Bubba always hide in the same sorts of places, mostly the kinds where they can stand up in. That's because they are grown-ups, and grown-ups have bad knees or bad backs, and so you always find them behind the curtains in the living room, or in the coat closet, or behind the open door to their bedroom. There's only so many of those places. So, I already knew that Alice and Bubba were both upstairs in their bedroom behind the purple drapes because I'd seen their feet. So, I was bored. I walked around for a little while, opening cupboards and drawers and making a lot of noise like I was looking, because I didn't want to hurt their feelings by finding them too soon, and also because we hardly ever played, all of us together. I was back in the laundry room when I saw how humongous the washing machine was. I was really excited about it, but once I said, “Found you!” to Alice and Bubba, and once they'd pretended to be upset that I'd found them, Bubba said, “How about some pizza?” So, we did that and I never got to go into the washer. But now I'm here. The bad thing is that Mallory is over. She is Alice's brother's daughter, which means she's my cousin. I don't know if Uncle Chris knows this, but Mallory's kind of stupid. Like, once I tried doing Lincoln Logs with her, but she didn't know how. She kept making cabins even though I wanted to use all the pieces to make a Condominium Complex. And also, she can't do voices right. Like, when we play with my GI-Joes, she has her guys talk to my guys about stupid things like “Hello, how are you,” which is something a GI-Joe would never say. Mallory is okay, though. I'm not allowed to say I hate anyone, but even if I could I wouldn't say it about Mallory. She doesn't want to be at my house either, probably, but she is because my parents say they have to socialize me, because Alice isn't home-schooling me anymore because she's teaching college in California, and so now I have to go to school with other kids my age. If Mallory didn't have to come over I'd put on my raincoat and take my briefcase for a walk around The Egg, or do The Machine in my Laboratory, or make Salami a dress out of one of the old pillowcases from the bad linens shelf. But those things aren't fun when you have to explain them to someone. I tried asking Bubba a few times what I should do with Mallory, but she always gets a worried look and says, “Just play with her, Nica” and then, “What do other kids your age do?” And I figure that she's probably stressed about school calling home so much. So, I pretend like I've got it, and go tell Mallory to count to one hundred. So, I'm in the washer. It always takes Mallory forever to find me. She's too easy to find, though. That's why, even though Hide n' Seek is great, Hide n' Seek with Mallory is not. Like, she always hides in grown-up places even though she's not a grown-up. Well, last time she hid under the dining room table, but that's kind of a grown-up thing to do anyway, even though she had to crawl. I found her pretty much right away. I've heard her walk by me, like, a bazillion times. She always goes around and looks for me really slow. Like, when she opens up the closet, I hear it make this slow opening sound. When I'm seeking, I don't waste time. When I open closets, they bang. My knees are up against my chest, and my feet are flat against the side of the washer. I feel like I'm in a spaceship. This would be a great place to put into a spaceship, maybe for a place for the astronauts to sleep. I think maybe I'll stop with The Machine and build a spaceship instead. But actually, I don't know if Bubba and Alice would carry it down to the Laboratory for me. And also, all our clothes would get dirty. I hear Bubba come down the stairs. I always know it's her because first of all, everyone makes different noises with their feet when they walk. But also, she whistles. Salami is with her. Salami is always with her, even though Salami was supposed to be mine. I get mad about it sometimes. Bubba always says that Salami follows her around because she feeds him, and that he'd probably follow me around if I fed him. But, I don't want to. The can opener is cool, but getting asked to feed Salami is a lot like getting asked to empty the wastebaskets, which is boring to infinity. I hear Mallory say, “Where's Nica?” “Weren't you two playing? “I can't find her.” Mallory is whining. I'm not allowed to whine. Mallory is so stupid. Also, asking for help when you're the seeker is cheating. I hear Bubba opening the refrigerator. Probably to get one of Mallory's boring snacks. Mallory doesn't know what's good to eat. Her family doesn't even have soda. I put my hands against the bottom of the washer to push my butt up, because it is falling asleep, and the inside of the washer makes a popping noise. If they're going to just sit out there and try to reverse-psychologize me, or whatever, it isn't going to work. The washer is comfy, and I'll wait all day if I have to, and then won't they feel stupid. Bubba's feet clomp out of the kitchen in the wrong direction. The way her feet sound, I think she might be worried. I think maybe this might be one of those stories that she tells my psychologist on Monday. Bubba always gets to Dr. Owen first. So, I kick the washer, to give Bubba a clue, because I still want her to have to find me, but I don't want her to walk around forever and get worried. Salami starts barking and Bubba shushes him and starts walking in the wrong direction again. So, I kick the washer. The whole thing kind of rumbles. She stops again, Salami starts barking again, and I start to hit the sides with my hands, but not the door, because I know it'll pop open and will take me a while to close because there's no handle on the inside. I hear her start walking in the right direction. She's sort of stomping and sounding angry, so I start screaming as if I'm stuck, like being in the washer isn't my fault. Salami gets here first and is sniffing around the washer. I think that maybe he loves me and is trying to rescue me. But probably not, actually. He probably thinks that there's an animal in here. I know that humans are also animals, (mammals), but Salami probably hopes I'm a rabbit, because he chases rabbits in the yard, and we all think that when he growls or yaps when he's asleep that he's chasing them in his dreams. Bubba pulls the washer door open and I can see her feet. I stop pounding and the inside of the washer stops rumbling on my shoulders. Salami sticks his head in and licks my face, but then goes off to do something else. I reach my hand out for Bubba to take it, but she doesn't, and so I have to stick my arms and legs out of the door of the washer at the same time just to fit through. I fall on the floor. I'm not hurt or anything, and I think it's funny until I get up and Bubba bends down to hug me. She puts the side of her face against the side of my face and breathes in like she's smelling my hair. It's loud in my ear and all of a sudden I get that embarrassed feeling like when Alice writes me emails, and at the end she writes “I love you like crazy, I love you all the time.” When I write her emails I write, “From, Nica Lorber” at the end, because I think the stuff she says is like calling the sky beautiful, which also makes me feel embarrassed. When Mallory's mom, who is my aunt Cindy, comes to get her, I try not to say anything to her except “Bye,” but I also say one other thing to Mallory, even though I am trying not to because ever since the teachers started calling home, everyone gets quiet when I say some things, and I never know if what I say will make the room get quiet or make Cindy laugh in that way that actually is the same as being quiet. It was just that Mallory says, “Bye Doggie,” and so, I tell her, for the bazzillionth time, that his name is Salami, and Bubba puts her hand on my shoulder in that way where she's trying to make me feel better in front of people. “Go get ready for din-din,” she says. So I leave to go into the kitchen and hear Cindy and Bubba start whispering, as if Mallory can't hear them. She's not that stupid.
It's Monday and Bubba and I are at the kitchen counter after psychologizing with Dr. Owen, who always raises his eyebrows and asks questions like, “Do you feel different from other children, Veronica?” And I shrug and say, “nope,” and then have to remind him, every time , that it's his turn, otherwise he just keeps staring at me, and asking questions. I could probably jump all of his pieces and get queened like, a bazillion times and he wouldn't even notice. Bubba gives me a plate of chicken nuggets that we're eating because Bubba let me pick out dinners this weekend at the grocery store. She's watching the TV, where there's a show about earthquakes in California, so she doesn't even notice that she slid the plate too fast and some of the chicken fell off. Bubba's eating her chicken in that worried way where she misses her mouth a few times with the fork. She's worried about Alice but I'm not because Alice is a fast runner and is probably faster than an earthquake. Bubba never says anything about what Dr. Owen says to her during the time that they get to talk, which is always before and also after I get to talk to him. But now she puts her fork down and I can tell she's about to ask the same thing she asks every day when we get home from seeing Dr. Owen: “Did you meet anyone today?” “Yep.” I say, like I always do. “Did you meet anyone that you'd like to invite over?” She doesn't know that I heard Dr. Owen telling her that this is a better way to ask if I made friends than asking if I made friends, because he says that the second way makes me feel pressurized. Usually I say something about how I met a bazillion people but that they are in a gang that kills old ladies, or that they torture animals, or that everyone I met has leprosy and so I can't go near them because I don't want me and Bubba and Alice to all have skin that's gross and falling off everywhere. But Bubba's smiling with her eyes sad and all of a sudden I don't know if she's worried about California or what Dr. Owen said. “Yep.” I say. “Really!” Bubba says, and I can tell she's trying not to pressurize me. I nod and tell her how me and my new friend played the whole recess, and how they made me a friendship bracelet in art class, and how they really like me. Next thing I know Bubba's getting the school directory and asking what my new friend's name is and I say, “Katie Wenstrup” because now that she's got the directory I can't stop. And now Bubba is talking to Katie's mom and I'm going over there tomorrow. Katie's in my homeroom. She sits in front of me. But I've never even heard her speak one single word. No one has. And now I start eating my chicken like I'm worried, too, because I'm thinking about how what if tomorrow is when Katie Wenstrup decides to start talking for the first time? Because maybe she's mad that I pretended to be her friend when I'm really not?
The next day is slow and boring, but I still have to look at my teacher, Mrs. Fatsuit, the whole time, even though everything she does is stupid. It's because she's the one who tells the school guidance counselor that I'm “inattentive,” and she's also the one who called a parent-teacher conference about the drawing I did. I'm not allowed to call Mrs. Jaskiw Mrs. Fatsuit to her face. Dr. Owen tells Bubba that I shouldn't call her Mrs. Fatsuit at all, because he says I try to make everyone else into the bad guy. But, sometimes at home I call her that anyway, and Bubba doesn't get mad. Katie sits in front of me, so, when Mrs. Fatsuit turns around to write something on the chalkboard or goes to talk to some other kid, I stare at the back of Katie's head in case she turns around and looks at me, so then I can smile. I get tired of waiting for her to turn around, so, I look at her dandruff. There's a lot of it, and really big pieces, like snow. There's a pile of it where her hair is parted and even though her hair is black, where it's parted her dandruff makes it look grayish. And then it's also stuck between a bunch of the pieces of hair, because she has two braids. I want to ask her why she always does her braids so tight like that—because otherwise the dandruff could probably fall off all the way—but obviously I don't. Bubba had to call the school and ask about the rules for going home with somebody, because I'd never done it before. They said that you have to bring a note to give to the bus driver, and the kid you're going home with has to say something like, “Yes, that's true, she's allowed to come over.” I follow Katie to her bus and give my note to the bus driver lady, but she says, “Oh, yer goin' to Katie's!” and that's it, she doesn't ask Katie anything, and I think that everyone in the world must know the rule about not talking about Katie not talking. Mrs. Jaskiw doesn't get mad when Katie just gets up and leaves to go to the bathroom, even though the rule for everyone else is that you have to raise your hand and ask to get a bathroom pass. And also, Mrs. Jaskiw never calls on Katie, even though she calls on everyone else. A lot of times it's like Katie's not even in our class. And since none of the other kids ask about Katie, I always think maybe there is some rule, or maybe there was a Discussion or Announcement about it that I can't remember. I don't think there was, but sometimes there's things that I don't think happen, or things that I do think happened, and Mrs. Fatsuit says I'm wrong, which means I am, and so I just never ask. I sit next to Katie on the bus, and she looks at the seat in front of us, which is fine because I'm busy anyway. When I'm on the bus, I like to move my head so that the dirt that's stuck on the window jumps over cars that we go by and also houses and signs for extra bonus points. Bubba's car windows are too clean to do that with. Katie's house is humongous and red. Not painted red, but red with bricks. I didn't know what house was hers at first, though, because she lives on an Egg like I do, and so the bus driver has to drop her off at the main street, because the circle that the houses are around is not big enough for turning a bus. We get to the front door and Katie pulls out a key from one of her snap pockets. I don't know what to say because I'm not allowed to go over to places where the parents aren't home. I think I'm going to just pretend like everything's fine until I get to a phone so I can call Bubba. When we get inside, though, there's a lady sitting on the couch in the room to the right, who says she's Katie's Mother and I must be Veronica. “Why was the door locked?” I ask, and I think maybe I shouldn't have. “This isn't a gas station,” she says and stands up. “We can't have everyone coming by and picking up whatever it is they need on their way through.” Katie's mom is short and wears glasses that make her eyes look big like a cartoon fish. I want to ask her why she braids Katie's hair so tight, but obviously I don't. “I'm going upstairs,” Katie's mom says. And she starts to but then stops. “Veronica,” she says, and turns to look at me with her humongous eyes. “Your mother is picking you up at six.” And then she leaves for real. Katie goes and opens the closet under the stairs and stands on her tippy-toes to hang up her coat. Then she looks at me, so, I take my coat off and give it to her, and she hangs it up and puts it away with hers. Katie picks up her backpack and walks upstairs, so I get my backpack and follow her to her room, which is pink and humongous and looks like one of the bedrooms they have set up in a store to show you how all the stuff you buy will look. There's those pajamas folded on the bed that are the kind where the shirt and pants are attached, and Katie puts her backpack by them and then takes mine and does it too. The room is so clean, but it's the kind of clean where it feels empty, and I want to go home. I say, “Aren't footy pajamas uncomfortable?” Obviously she doesn't answer, but I keep going, “Footy pajamas are always polyester, which I'm not allowed to wear because Bubba says it doesn't breathe, did you know that? It strangles your skin. I don't wear underwear, even, because it's good to air out at night.” I stop and decide things are fine. I ask Katie what she wants to do. She scratches her head and dandruff falls off onto her shoulders. “We could walk around The Egg.” I say. “I mean, the cauldron sack.” She undoes and then redoes the folded part of her turtleneck. I pretend this means that she wants to, so I say, “Let's go,” and we do. I think it will take to infinity to leave because at school Katie spends a bazillion years putting her coat on. But this time she doesn't zip it, so, we're ready right away. I don't want my coat because I'm already hot. Katie's mom must turn up the heat to like, infinity, maybe because the house is so clean that it looks cold. We walk out the door and Katie walks next to me and has to kind of skip and bounce to keep up because I'm taller than her. She seems much more like a kid now that we're outside, because her face is red from the cold. I feel normal again. I say, “Do you like Mrs. Jaskiw? Because I don't. I call her Mrs. Fatsuit.” I look at her and she smiles. She has the kind of skin that you can see through, which I like, because it looks like she has red spider webs on her cheeks in the cold. I say, “I'm not supposed to call her Mrs. Fatsuit, but the guy who tells me I'm not supposed to, is a guy who I have to go see because she got me in trouble, so, I mean, duh, I'm going to call her that.” I think that maybe Dr. Owen is a private thing, so I try to explain without telling the truth. “It's because I drew this really, really, really good drawing and she said that I was like, a genius and had to go see him. And he's an art teacher. And, it's just annoying because the time that I have to go see him is the same time that I'm supposed to feed my fish.” I used to have a Japanese Fighting Fish named Frankus. Japanese fighting fish are invisible, so, all the fish food kept falling to the bottom of the bowl and it started to look gross and smell bad so I dumped the whole thing out a while ago. But it used to be true. I never know what stories I can tell. Like, the drawing thing didn't seem like a bad thing to me, but it made Bubba and Alice really worried and then they started worrying about everything. It was just that we were supposed to draw pictures of our families on the first day of school because it was Getting to Know You Day. So, we were going to draw our families and write down our favorites, like colors and animals and stuff, and tell about our summers. So, all I did was that I was drawing Bubba and Alice, and they both have short brown hair (Alice's is light brown, but they don't have many different colors of brown in the crayon box, so for the drawing they both had dark brown hair), and Mrs. Jaskiw was walking around and asking questions about our pictures and when she came to me she said, “Why have you drawn your father twice, Veronica?” and I told her that was my mom . But she said, “There's no reason for you to draw her twice,” and got me another piece of paper. So, I drew one mom with two heads: one with green eyes like Alice, and the other with brown eyes like Bubba. And when Mrs. Jaskiw came back again and wanted to know why I'd done it, I told her about Bubba and Alice, but she didn't get it. Bubba and Alice always tell me that I should tell people whatever I want, but right then I couldn't remember any of the words they'd given me because Mrs. Fatsuit was smiling at me like I was one of the special needs kids I'd seen her talk to in the hallway. “Why don't you come up to my desk so you can explain this to me a little better,” Mrs. Fatsuit said. And I wanted to tell her that I hated her because everyone was looking at us then. “No.” I said. “Pardon me?” I crumpled up the paper and tried to stick it into the stretchy part of my underwear where I keep things sometimes when I wear pants that don't have pockets. “Veronica, look at me when I speak to you.” But I couldn't look at her because I was going to cry if I did. “Veronica Lorber!” Mrs. Fatsuit said, and she tried to grab the drawing from me. That's when I hit her. That night Mrs. Jaskiw called my house and wanted to have a meeting with me and Bubba. She ruined everything because me and Bubba were having such a fun night. I don't remember what we were doing, only that we were laughing before Bubba listened to the answering machine messages and then after we weren't. We went in the next day after school and Mrs. Jaskiw brought out the crumpled picture. I could tell Bubba was trying to make me feel better, because she put her hand on my shoulder and said, “That's one's me, isn't it, Nica?” and I said yeah, and told her the other one was Alice. Mrs. Jaskiw said that she didn't understand, and I hated her so much because who cares? Lots of other kids drew their dogs, and dogs aren't even family. “Alice and I are Nica's parents,” Bubba said. And Mrs. Fatsuit said, “I see,” and put her hands over her fat stomach. “You told me I could only draw one of them,” I said. But Mrs. Fatsuit smiled that smile again, like she was sad for me and said, “I never said that Veronica. That was a decision that you made on your own.” And I looked at Bubba, but she was not looking at me, and all of a sudden I couldn't remember what had happened, because Mrs. Fatsuit and Bubba both didn't think I was right, and they were both grown-ups, and at home if that happens it usually means I lied. “Nica's always been very comfortable explaining Alice and my relationship,” Bubba said. “That doesn't change the fact that when pressed to explain her,” Mrs. Fatsuit said and wiped her big hairy mouth like she was sad for Bubba, “her situation to me— her teacher —she proceeded to throw a tantrum and strike me you-know-where .” Bubba scooted back her chair and turned so that she was looking right at me. “Nica,” she said, “You hit Mrs. Jaskiw?” “Yes,” I said. I wanted to tell Bubba that I didn't mean to hit Mrs. Jaskiw there . Mrs. Fatsuit's you-know-where is probably the grossest place ever. But I didn't know whether to call it a Private Part or a Vagina, and so I didn't say anything. Bubba looked at Mrs. Fatsuit and said, “I'm so sorry,” and I felt really lonely, like I could probably cry forever. “So you can understand my concern that Veronica may be a bit confused about your family's,” she stopped to breathe, “ situation .” And now I have to go and talk to Dr. Owen once a week and Alice and Bubba worry about everything and all of them are always asking if I've got friends yet. But getting invited to Katie's makes them all back to normal about me. So, I'm getting better, I guess. I see a rabbit in one of Katie's neighbor's yards and I say, “let's chase it!” because sometimes I do that with Salami, and Katie smiles. She breathes like she's laughing and so I can see it in the air, and we run. The rabbit gets away, obviously. It's not like I thought we could catch it, I just wanted to make it run because of how funny rabbits look when they run. Their legs move a lot different than mine, even though we're both mammals. There's a swing set in the yard we're in, and there's a forest in the back with tall trees, not like the big bushes in the backyard at my house. I love forests. I wish we had them where I live, but it's not like Bubba or Alice would let me build a tree house anyway, because they say that's dangerous. They let me make forts inside instead. I say, “Come on” because I want to walk into the forest. It's the kind that you kind of have to squeeze into, but once you're in it opens up and there's lots of space, like a fort, but real. We walk through and I tell her about The Machine and how all I need is one of those telephones where you stick your finger in a circle and wind it all the way around—instead of hitting a button like on a regular phone—and then I'll probably be finished and be able to time travel. I tell her that I might let her come with me, as long as she's not afraid of Wooly Mammoths, because that's what I want to go see. The forest is a lot smaller than it looked when we were back in that yard, because just a little after we start walking I can start to hear cars on the other side. Katie stops walking but I pretend like I don't notice and squeeze through to the other end, because I know she'll follow me. There's a big ditch and on the other side of it's a really busy road, the kind that Bubba and Alice would get really mad at me for playing by. But I'm pretty sure they won't find out, because it doesn't seem like Katie's mom cares about a lot except keeping the door locked. All of a sudden I hear something that sounds like a siren and I wonder if the police are after us. But it's too quiet for a siren. I can only hear it when there aren't cars. I climb up the other side of the ditch, which is steep, but I'm a good climber because I know how to grab onto grass without making it break. Katie stays by where the trees end. Probably because she's not a good climber. I hear it again. It's more like a whine than a siren. I look at the side of the road, where the road changes from the paved stuff into pebbles, and I see that it's a cat that's lying down and meowing. I'm excited because I think that maybe the cat is about to have kittens, because it's lying down and sounds upset. Katie is picking at bark on one of the trees and is sucking on her hair, which is gross. I kind of don't want her to see yet, in case there's only one kitten. I bet I could hide it under my turtleneck. She can have the mom cat if she wants. I walk over and when I get close I yell, “Katie, come here,” because the cat's not having kittens, it was hit or something and needs a veternarian. Katie walks along the other side of the ditch, so that she can see me better. When she sees the cat her hair falls out of her mouth, all pointy where she sucked it. The cat's fur is sticky against the ground because of blood. And there's pebbles stuck all over it like the stuff in Katie's hair. It's on its left side with its nose pointing toward the road and it meows again in this way that is not like a cat but like a witch saying “Welllllll.” I think all of a sudden about how I'm going to save the cat from the road and get Bubba to drive it to a veternarian. I'll stand there the whole time, saying its name, which will maybe be Batman or Janet, depending on if it's a boy or a girl, but probably Janet because it looks like a girl. If I save it like that, it'll definitely follow me around, because even an animal knows that getting saved by somebody is way bigger a deal than getting fed by them. Katie is just standing there still, staring at Janet and rolling and unrolling the top part of her turtleneck. I get down on my knees and try to slide my hand under Janet's belly to pick her up, but her fur is so stuck that I can't. So I slip my hands under her butt instead, which is hardly bloody at all, and lift it a little bit just to get a good grip on her. Janet keeps saying “well,” and the way her butt and legs come up from the ground makes it seem like there's no bones in them. I try to drag her a little bit so I don't have to get too much blood on me, and she yells, and screams and I say, “Shhh, Janet, shhhh,” and then I see that there's fur where she used to be, and that it's not just fur but also skin that is stuck to the ground, and that now it's peeling off of her like how you open a banana. Katie is screaming, and I hear lots of rustlysqueaks because she's running through leaves and branches to get back through the forest. There's cars passing so I can't tell if Janet is getting quieter or if I just can't hear her because of the cars. I look and find out that Janet was lying that whole time on where she was most hurt. There's a hole there, and hardly any skin so there's lots of blood showing, and where there is skin there is bones showing through, and it's the grossest thing ever. I stay for a while and pet the fur that is by her butt and not bloody, and try to think about how I can get her back to my house. She puts her paw out in front of her like she's reaching for something or stretching and makes a sound that sounds like a door creaking open. I think about how if I only had that one kind of phone that I need for The Machine, I could probably go back in time to when Janet was just first coming onto the street and I could have made friends with her and kept her away from the cars. She's not moving at all anymore or saying “well,” but I think maybe this is because of the cars again, and so I pet her harder, so that she'll scream like she did before. I still can't hear anything, and so I pick up a stick from the grass next to us and poke it right where she's bleeding from the most. But she still doesn't say anything. I was really careful, but there's some blood on my hands. It's the kind of blood that looks brown instead of red how blood's supposed to look, so I wipe it on my stretch pants because Bubba will probably think it's just dirt, which is more okay to have on my pants. When I get back to Katie's house, the door is locked. I think Katie probably ran straight to her bedroom, but I don't want to knock because maybe Katie isn't there and then maybe I'll be in trouble. So, I sit outside and wait for six to happen, because that's when Bubba's supposed to get me. I pull my heels against my butt and make myself into a ball and whisper, “I killed it,” so that I can barely hear it because my ears are smushed between my knees. I start to cry a little because what if Katie decides to talk and my teachers send me to the police? Our car is starting to pull into The Egg. I'm still crying in that way where I'm trying not to, and so my chest hurts and I close my mouth tight and don't touch my face because I'm pretending there's no tears there. I stand up and go to meet Bubba at the end of the driveway, because I don't want Katie's mom to come out or for Bubba to want to see her. Bubba stops the car when she sees me walking, and leans over to open the door for me and says, “Hi there, you little socialite! Scootch over so I can pull in and meet your buddy and her Mamasita!” She is smiling like she wants me to laugh. I want to put my head into her lap and go to sleep. Her face changes right away when she sees me, which is awful because I might start crying really bad now. “What is it?” She says, and unbuckles her seatbelt and reaches for me. I pretend not to see her trying to hug me because I don't want to cry, and I climb in and buckle my seatbelt and say, “I just missed you,” which ruins everything because now she is hugging me and I'm crying hard like I was trying not to. I tell Bubba to drive home, please, and maybe can't I just get my backpack from Katie tomorrow? Because I don't have any homework and because I don't want the Wenstrups to know that I'm crying. And she says “sure” like she knows exactly what I mean and tells me that we'll eat din-din in front of the TV. “I missed you too,” she says, and asks if I want to call Alice with her when we get back. I say maybe. I say I mostly want to see Salami, no offense. “Don't call Mrs. Wenstrup,” I say, because I think she might. “Okay,” she says, in that way that means she still might. “Because I'm embarrassed,” I say, because I know that will work. “Okay,” she says, and I know that now she won't.
When we get in, Salami goes nuts, and Bubba lets him out to go pee. She tells me to get ready for dinner, and pushes the button to listen to the messages. I start to leave but then I hear Mrs. Wenstrup on the answering machine and so I run up to my room and sit up with the covers over my head to make a tent. In a few minutes I hear Bubba and Salami coming up the stairs. Bubba knocks on my door, which she always does because she thinks that kids should have privacy. I say, “What?” which means she starts talking to me from outside. “Guess who that was,” she says. “Who.” “Mrs. Wenstrup!” I don't say anything. I think that maybe if she's mad I'll tell her that I should be home-schooled again, because I'm not ready, and it's not my fault. “She said Katie had a great time.” I throw the covers off of me and go to open the door. Bubba thinks I'm excited and reaches for me. “They want you to come over again,” she says, messing up my hair. I lean into her and think about how tonight will probably be a really good night if I act like I cried by accident and like I really want to go back. “She asked about tomorrow afternoon. Should I call her back and tell her yes?” Bubba asks, lifting me up and turning me upside down, which she knows I love so much, but which is too hard on her back to do all the time. “Sure,” I say, and put my hands down on the carpet to go into a headstand.
The next day Katie and I walk into her house and put our stuff away like last time, except this time her mom doesn't get up to say anything to us, because she's asleep on the couch. Katie puts her finger against her mouth like when people say “shhhh” in movies, and we go down to the basement. There's a couch and a humongous thing of drawers made out of the stuff that those bendy containers are made out of—the ones that Bubba uses when she needs to send egg salad, or pasta for my lunch. I go over to the drawers because they're big enough for me to fit in, and I think I might want to try. Once I get close to them I see that they're already filled with toys and stuff. They have stickers on the front that say days. Like, the top drawer says Monday, and the bottom one says Sunday. “I have two brothers,” Katie says, and I try to act like she's been talking forever and that this isn't a big deal “Bobby and Jonathan. They're five and seven. They live with my Daddy.” Her voice is squeaky, like a baby. “Why?” I say. “Because they're boys, and boys live with the Daddy.” She says, “they come over to Mother and my house on Thursday nights.” “Why do you call your mom, ‘Mother'?” I say, because it sounds old-fashioned, like something an orphan in a movie would say if they met their mom. “Because Mother wants it,” Katie says. She walks over to me. “It's Wednesday,” she says, opening that drawer. “So we can play with these ones.”
I'm at the top of the stairs and Bubba is down in the kitchen on the phone long-distance to Alice, but I already said goodnight to Alice before, and Bubba already put me to bed a while ago. So, I know that they're talking about me. “I know, I know, it's just so great,” Bubba says, and she's laughing in that way that she laughs with Alice only. “Our baby's got friends!” She stops because Alice must be talking. I peel off some of one of the letters on my tee shirt, which says “Wisconsin” in purple and is Alice's from college. “No, I haven't met her mom yet.” I put a little bit of the “W” on my knee and think about how what if I had purple freckles instead of brown ones. “I've talked to her on the phone a few times. Yeah, she seems fine.” I wonder if I take off enough of these piece thingies from my shirt, if I could put them on my face, and in the morning tell Bubba I have the measles. But I flick the piece of the “W” off my knee instead, because I don't think it will work. “Yep, tomorrow,” Bubba says, “She's going over again tomorrow.”
I'm in a washing machine. Again. I've been gone from the table for really, really long, when I said I had to go to the bathroom because I thought I was going to cry and I didn't want to cry at Mallory's. But on the way to the where the bathroom was, I walked by the laundry room, and decided I wanted to go into the washer instead. I think that maybe I will stay in here all night and all of tomorrow, and then maybe Bubba and Alice will forget about Katie, and I won't ever have to go over there ever again. But I don't know if I'll be able to stay in here for that long, because my butt keeps falling asleep, and also because Mallory's parents will probably do laundry, and I don't know if I could hold my breath underwater for that long. Not to mention that the soap stuff that you put into a washer would probably blind me. Bubba got mad at me at dinner. She told me to stop being rude and answer my Nana's questions. But it's just that Nana kept on asking things about “my new friend Katie,” and so I said, “Why does it matter so much?” Mostly because I didn't want to get in trouble about Bobby. Everything had been normal at Katie's today at first. Like, the door was locked but Katie's mom was on the couch and everything. When we got in was when Katie told me that we were going to Chuck E Cheese. I knew Katie's brothers were there because it's Thursday, but also because I could hear them in the basement, probably playing with stuff from the Thursday drawer. I wanted to go home because I hate Chuck E Cheese because it's loud and smells like hot pennies. But then Katie's mom got up and walked to the basement door and screamed, “Bobby and Jonathan! We're leaving!” And once she did that I couldn't say anything. I couldn't play any of the games at Chuck E Cheese. I pretended to play a couple because on the driving ones you can pretend to do that for a while before it goes back to the screen that tells you to put in money, and then I had to stop because I didn't have any. Katie's mom gave her and her brothers lots of money. But she told me that I should have brought my own. On the way back, it was okay, because at first Katie and I were playing this game where we'd kick the seat in front of us where Bobby was sitting, but then pretend we hadn't. He started doing this thing where when we'd kick him, he'd turn around and stick out his tongue at us. So, then we started doing this thing where we'd tattle on him to Katie's mom, and she would yell at him to stop, and we'd kick his seat again, and he'd tell on us but Katie's mom believed us more. Probably because we're older. We kept screaming, “Bobby's doing it again .” “Cease and desist, Bobby,” Katie's mom said. So, Katie and I kept kicking his seat, but Bobby wouldn't turn around anymore. So, Katie yelled out, “Mother, he's still doing it.” And I said, “Yeah, make him stop.” And we were giggling with our hands over our mouths, but then all of a sudden Katie's mom was pulling over and getting out of the car and Jonathan was turning around from his seat up front to look at us. Katie's mom opened the sliding door on the side where Bobby was sitting, and Bobby started screaming, “I wasn't! I wasn't!” But she crawled in anyway and told him to stand up on the seat and look at me and Katie. Then she pulled down his pants and lifted him so that we could see his thingy over the top of the seat. I closed my eyes but Katie and Jonathan laughed and laughed and Katie's mom said, “Now aren't you embarrassed? Your sister and her friend can see your penis, isn't that embarrassing?” I waited to open my eyes until the car was moving again, and when I did I couldn't see the top of Bobby's head anymore. I was afraid to say anything, even though I thought we'd left him. I looked over the seat, which was okay because Jonathan and Katie were still laughing and so no one could probably tell that I was worried. Bobby was lying down on the seat. He was curled into a ball and had his hands over his ears like they hurt. But he didn't have his eyes closed and he wasn't crying. He didn't even have his seatbelt on, but Katie's mom wasn't saying anything even though he's only five, and I think that maybe when you've five you're still supposed to have a booster seat, even. “No speaking for the rest of the night, Bobby,” Katie's mom said, “Otherwise Daddy's going to find out what you did.” So, I'm in the washer. I can hear Bubba walking around by the laundry room. “Nica?” She says in a way that could maybe be angry. So, I think maybe it's better that I don't give her any clues. I even hold my breath, but somehow she knows and comes into the laundry room and opens the door of the washer. “This isn't funny,” she says, “How old are you.” I start to cry. “How old are you?” She says again, and sits down against the wall across from me. “Eight,” I say, and it sounds slurpy and babyish because I'm crying, and I can't stop because I'm embarrassed. “You can't be eight,” she says, “eight year olds can sit through dinner.” “I'm sorry!” I can't stop crying and I'm drooling too, like Robbie who is in my grade but not in my class or anyone's because he's in a wheelchair and needs a nurse to take him to the bathroom. “What's going on with you?” Bubba says, “You were doing such a good job, you've been making so many friends, and then this again; in front of Alice's whole family!” I don't know what she means because I've only been going to Katie's. I try to shut the door even though there's no handle on the inside and I say, “Do you hate me now?” And all of a sudden Bubba's not mad anymore. She says, “Why would you say that, Nica?” And scootches over to pull the door back open. “Because you're embarrassed of me.” “Where did you get that idea? What could ever make you think that?” “Well at Katie's—“ But I put my hands over my face and close my eyes like then she can't see me. “Did something happen at Katie's?” But I shake my head and squeeze my mouth with my fingers, which are wet because I'm crying on them. “Come here,” Bubba says, and reaches for me. So, I come out of the washer and crawl into her lap and am crying like such a baby and she's saying “shhh” but holding me, and not putting her finger to her lips like in the movies. “Did something happen at Katie's?” She says. But I don't say anything, because I was the one who lied and said that Bobby'd kept on turning even though he hadn't. Bubba pulls me up on her lap so I'm facing her and so my legs are over her legs. She has her hands on my shoulders and she's looking at me like she loves me like crazy. “You are not in trouble,” she says, and keeps looking at me like that, “I promise that whatever happened, you will not get in trouble. Just tell me, Nica, tell Mommy.” And so, I do.
Last night Bubba and Alice talked for like, a bazillion hours after they thought I was in bed. And they decided that Bubba and I would go and talk to the principal about Mrs. Fatsuit, and that it is time for Alice to come home from California, which is supposed to be a surprise for me. At the meeting I sit next to Bubba, who tells Mrs. Fatsuit and the principal that something very wrong has happened. “I just don't understand how one student's not talking can be tolerated and accommodated just because a parent calls in and says it's not the kid's cup of tea, but that my daughter's drawing can be analyzed and picked apart and diagnosed and, really, ultimately, punished because though she talks, you think she says the wrong things.” I don't get it, really, but it seems like Bubba's saying that Mrs. Fatsuit messed up to infinity, or something, which I think is probably true, and Bubba seems like back to normal again, which is all that matters. Like, probably, if I asked her if I could walk around The Egg tonight she'd say, “Sure! That briefcase needs some exercise!” The principal guy seems really upset, and Mrs. Fatsuit is saying things to me like she's sorry, but I'm not really listening because it makes me feel weird that she's in trouble. Besides, I don't really care anymore because from now on I'm going to Mallory's school. Her school is a private school and is even closer to our house than the old one, and Bubba's not going to make me go to my old school anymore and is going to home school me like Alice did until I go to the new one. I didn't even have to tell Bubba I wanted to do home school because I didn't want to see Katie. It's just that if I saw Katie, I'd have to say goodbye. We're going to have dinner tonight with Mallory, and Nana, and Aunt Cindy and Uncle Chris again to celebrate changing schools. When we get there, Mallory says how she's really excited about me being in her class. I think maybe she got smarter than before. The grown-ups are making dinner, so, I ask Mallory what she wants to do, and she says how about we go play stamps, because she has almost every animal there is, and four different kinds of ink, and also lots of paper. All the art supplies are in her room, which is at the very, very end of the hallway upstairs, so we're running to get there fast when I stop and say, “Hey wait,” and pull her into Uncle Chris's office, where there's a speakerphone that he uses to call other business people. “Do you want to hear something?” I say, and pick up the phone off his desk and dial 411, which is what I call when Bubba lets me order the pizza. It costs extra to do it that way, but Bubba says it's okay because I don't know how to use the phone book yet. I say the last name and there's only one, which is good because I don't know the first name, and then it's dialing. “Okay, so, you're going to hear something that no one's ever heard but me,” I say. Her mom picks up, obviously, but she says, “I'll get her,” and I press the speakerphone button while she does. “Hello?” Katie says, and it's louder than I've ever heard her, and I put my hand over my mouth so that she won't hear anything, not even one breath. “Hello?” Katie says again, and Mallory, who's smart, puts her hand over her mouth too, and I can tell she's smiling, even though she doesn't know the story yet.
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