“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” I blubbered as Charlotte K was rushed from the room.
No surprise: Charlotte K wasn’t actually dying, though nobody bothered to tell me. I didn’t find out until I got home that three stitches in her scalp at the emergency room were all it had taken to snatch her from the jaws of death.
Charlie had been standing next to me at the water table, and even though he hadn’t said anything, he hadn’t left my side. He even crawled under the water table with me when I dove under there with paper towels to mop up the blood—it seemed the least I could do. Then, when it came time for yard, he refused to go because I couldn’t. I had to stay inside and think about what I’d done (kill Charlotte K). Kylie and Maria explained to Charlie that this was my punishment, that he couldn’t play with me, that I needed to sit alone to think about my evil, evil ways.
“Fine,” he said and dragged his little chair just outside the classroom. “Then I’ll stay here.” And there he sat for all of yard, tongue glued to his upper lip, watching me, fifteen feet away on my own little chair as I bawled for poor Charlotte K (and myself).
Charlie Kramer was something different. Anything else would be something worse.
Charlie eventually found out we were moving from his mom, who’d found out from my mom. He couldn’t believe I hadn’t told him. I tried to explain about not saying it so it wouldn’t be true, but he didn’t get it. He was too mad. He seemed ever angrier that I hadn’t told him I was moving than he was that I was actually moving, but I got why. Mad feels like it’s going somewhere at least. Sad just sits on your chest making it hard to move or breathe. If I’d had the choice, I would have picked mad too.
At home, I went radio silent. I’m pretty sure my parents didn’t even notice since Jeanine was in an all-out war and wouldn’t stop talking, mostly about how she’d never become president if she went to a school with no G&T.
Whenever anyone asked Zoe about the move, she told them that we were leaving the city so Mom could open a Chinese restaurant. Her true feelings were clear from the number of times Mom had to pick her up early from preschool because she’d bitten someone.
Just so you know, I’m not saying my parents didn’t notice my not talking to make you feel sorry for me. It’s just a fact. When Jeanine’s freaking out, it’s hard to notice anything else. Besides, it was better that way since if my parents had noticed, they would have just kept pestering me to talk, which is about the worst thing you can do to somebody who needs to go quiet for a while.
I just kept thinking, if this move were really about wanting something different and had nothing to do with money, wouldn’t my parents let us finish the school year? Or at least stick around until winter break?
• • •
Everybody thinks where they live is something special. Here’s how I know the place I lived actually was: it sold in just three hours the day of the open house. In case you’re lucky enough not to know, an open house is when complete strangers are invited in off the street to snoop around and see if they want to buy your home.
On November 3, my parents signed the contract selling our apartment. We wouldn’t be kicked out until the closing though, and I figured we had at least a month because my parents hadn’t even started packing. I hadn’t counted on them cheating.
Did you know you can pay extra to get movers to pack your stuff before they move it? Yeah, well, you can, and those guys are fast, because it’s all just stuff to them. Wrap. Box. Repeat. Wrap. Box. Repeat. Smoothe Move was a packing machine. In just one day, everything that wasn’t nailed down was in a box. Two-year-old Halloween candy? Check. Half a Slinky? Check. I watched one guy Bubble Wrap an ant trap without giving it a second thought.
I couldn’t believe how fast everything was happening.
November 15, a month after we’d gone to Petersville for the first time, we’d be living there. We wouldn’t even get one last Thanksgiving at home. No camping out on Seventy-Seventh Street with a thermos of hot chocolate to watch the balloons being blown up for the parade. Not this year. Maybe never again. At least Charlie’s family had promised to come to Petersville to do Thanksgiving together like always.
Our last night at home, my parents took Charlie and me to dinner at Katz’s on Houston Street. Number one hot dogs on the planet. And unlike Barney’s, it’s about as far from the Upper West Side as you can get and still be in Manhattan, so going there was a big deal.
In the car on the way downtown, Charlie and I made bets on how many hot dogs we’d put away. Six is my record. I did eat seven one time, but I don’t count it because I had to use one of Zoe’s buckets on the way home.
Charlie beat me that night by a good three dogs. I had to stop halfway through my second. It didn’t taste right. Nothing tasted right. Not even the Dr. Brown’s cream soda. I guess goodbyes, the everything-is-different-now, I-won’t-be-around-next-time-you-almost-commit-murder-at-the-water-table kind of goodbyes, mess with your taste buds.
Next time I have a goodbye dinner, I’m going to pick some place I don’t love the food.
We didn’t get to Petersville till late that first night because Zoe had handcuffed herself to the refrigerator in our apartment. They were only toy cuffs, but she’d flushed the key down the toilet, and none of us
