The landscape flickered by like the frames of a silent movie. And then Joyce started nudging me.
"Come on, Dani! Stop daydreaming. It's our stop." I rushed off the bus behind Joyce, and the mud-splattered, yellow bus moved on. "You're awfully quiet. Are you thinking about Gar Hansen?" For a moment, the image of his strong, muscular body and handsome face popped into my mind and I felt my heart skip a beat.
"No way, not my type." But then who was? I wasn't exactly deluged with admirers. That was something else Joyce and I shared, lack of boyfriends. I wasn't likely to be asked out by Gar Hansen or anyone like him. I wasn’t Miss Popularity and wasn’t going to be.
Both Joyce's mother and her little brother were home. Mrs. Winslow called to us from the kitchen.
"Milk and cookies are on the table. Help yourselves." Mrs. Winslow smiled at us. She's a nice person and really attractive for a woman her age. She's trimmer than my mom. I often wonder if I'll be heavy when I get older. I refused the cookies and settled for milk.
"When will Dad be coming home?" Joyce's brother asked.
"Hard to tell," Mrs. Winslow answered. "By dinnertime, I hope."
"Think he'll come to my soccer game on Saturday?"
"We'll have to wait and see."
Bobby looked dejected, wrinkling his freckled pug nose. "He's always working."
"You're always complaining," Joyce told him.
"Am not!"
“Are too!”
The argument, which seemed silly to me, escalated and had to be settled by Mrs. Winslow. It was amazing how alike Joyce and her brother looked, both copper-haired and cute, both freckled. But Bobby didn't wear glasses, at least not yet, and he was built much sturdier than Joyce although he was only eleven years old.
"Dani and I are going to study in my room," Joyce said. She sniffed the air in her brother’s direction and wrinkled her nose as if she smelled rotten fruit. "I'd appreciate it if you kept this creature from disturbing us." With a regal gesture, worthy of the queen of England, she motioned me to follow her.
"I think you're so lucky to have a brother. I can't tell you how lonely it is being an only child."
"Anytime you're willing to adopt him, let me know. He's such a pain."
We settled into Joyce's sunny bedroom. Joyce opened her chemistry book and I opened my biology. We studied for several hours until her father came home. Then Mrs. Winslow invited me to dinner and I was happy to stay. I felt very much at home in their large, cheerful kitchen. Later, Mr. Winslow insisted on driving me home and, of course, Joyce came along.
"How's school?" he asked us.
Joyce's father is tall with graying hair at the temples which gives him a distinguished air. There are crinkly lines at the corners of his eyes and his nose looks as if it had once been broken and never reset quite right. It makes him look like a prizefighter.
"I got an A on my French test," Joyce ventured.
Her dad smiled his approval. "That's my girl! How's school for you, Danna?"
"Fine, but since I'm not as smart as Joyce, I only got a B minus on my last language test. My favorite subject is still art."
"You have a lot of talent," he said in his deep, resonant voice. "My wife loves that portrait you did of Joyce."
I thanked him for the compliment. He always said nice things to Joyce and me, not like my stepfather.
"How's everything going for you, Dad? Catch any criminals today?"
"Not a one. But I did take statements at an accident. I just happened to be near the scene. Nasty business not far from the mall on the highway. It involved some kids from your school."
Joyce wanted to know all the details. She loved hearing about her dad’s work, but I kind of tuned it out.
As we pulled up to my house, I thanked Mr. Winslow for the ride.
"Give my regards to your father," he said as I got out of the car. "How's he getting along?"
"All right, I guess." My mom says never to complain about things, so I don't. I think she's right. I mean who wants to hear bad things? But I know that Joyce's father does care about my stepdad because he served in the military too.
My stepdad was asleep in his wheelchair in front of the television set in the living room. I moved around quietly so as not to disturb him. I watched his face as he slept. It looked almost handsome in repose. I liked him best at times like this when his guard was down. He was so different from Mr. Winslow. Joyce's father always struck me as having strength of character and great vitality. Being a policeman had to be a tough job. But he always seemed upbeat. His voice boomed through the house as he entered a room. I couldn't help envying Joyce just a little.
My stepdad was sullen and moody most of the time. I didn’t like spending time with him. When he woke up, it wasn’t any different than usual. I was glad when Mom came home, because things brightened. I told her about my day and she told me about hers. My stepdad just listened. Every now and then he coughed. Although he never smoked, there were problems with his lungs.
“How are you feeling?" Mom asked him, her forehead wrinkling.
"All right. I took a pain killer a while ago. It's kicking in." I thought it might be the need for drugs that made Dad surly and silent, but I was never sure.
Mom began fixing dinner in the kitchen and I gave her a hand.
"We're sculpting for this marking period in art class. I think I'm going to try to do you. Is that okay?"
"Why, Danna, that would be very nice. I’m flattered, but couldn’t you find a better subject?"
"I want to do you. You’re beautiful."
She looked pleased. “I’d be honored, but I’m hardly beautiful.”
“You are, in my eyes.”
My stepdad wheeled
