“But I’m not asking for everything. Only for this one thing!”
Suddenly, I spotted Ms. Farrell leaving the building and getting into her car, a small blue convertible three spots over from us. Oh, great: What if she drove past and saw the three of us sitting in Dad’s car, shouting at each other, all ragged and sniffly?
“Can we please just go home now?” I begged.
“Gladly,” Dad replied, and put the key in the ignition.
SOMETHING I NEED TO TELL YOU
Nobody talked the whole ride home. Did this mean the fight was over? I wondered. It didn’t feel over, but my parents both seemed exhausted. Dad went into his office “to work on an article,” he said (but I saw him in his easy chair with earbuds in), while Mom “rested her eyes” on the living room sofa. I decided to hide out in my bedroom with the door shut. Maybe if we had a break from one another, we’d all calm down, I thought.
Around five thirty, there was a knock on my door, and Mom asked if she could come in. I tilted my laptop away from the door so she couldn’t see the page I was reading: Mythical Creatures.
She sat on the edge of my bed, beckoning me to come over for a snuggle. It felt very comforting, actually, especially when she stroked my hair.
“It’s growing out, sweetie,” she said. “Although I have to say, I’m a little sorry. That pixie cut looks so cute on you.”
“Yeah, I like it too. But I can’t wait for my hair to get really long again.” I hadn’t planned on reporting this, but it just spilled out: “Someone thought I was a boy yesterday.”
Mom looked outraged. “You? You look nothing like a boy!”
“Actually, I do. Not just because of my hair. Because of my whole body.”
“Oh, Norah. Your body’s been busy fighting off cancer! You need to give yourself time.”
I groaned. It’s what she said about everything: Not now. Later. Wait. Even for taking bat mitzvah lessons, which you were supposed to do in seventh grade. “A bat mitzvah is not about being a certain age,” Mom had insisted when I’d brought it up. “It can happen whenever you’re ready.” But when, according to her, would that be? Five years from now? Ten? Fifty?
It felt like all I ever did was sit in waiting rooms, waiting for things. And after losing two entire years, I just needed everything to happen. Fast.
Why couldn’t Mom understand that?
She kissed my cheek. “Not to change the subject, but I wanted to apologize for how emotional I was in the car this afternoon. It must have seemed like a complete overreaction.”
“Yeah, it did,” I said. “But sorry I was late and didn’t tell you.”
Through her glasses, Mom’s eyes looked red. “Are you also sorry you went to Afterschool after Dad and I vetoed it?”
I nodded.
“Okay, good. I think we all need to communicate better. Dad, too.” She paused. When she started talking again, her voice sounded tight and a little hoarse. “And as long as we’re communicating, there’s something I need to tell you: I have to go back to California.”
“Wait, what? You do?”
Mom blinked. I could see she was forcing herself to stay calm, not get weepy. “Yes, honey. I wish I didn’t have to. They’ve been holding my teaching job for me, but they can’t wait forever, so I told them that as soon as you were settled in school, I’d return.”
“Oh,” I said.
She paused. It was longer than a pause should be. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll be back here to see you in just a few weeks. But while I’m away, I need to know that we’re all on the same page, and that you’re not going to pull something like you did today.”
“I promise,” I said, swallowing hard. “When are you leaving?”
“I thought I’d fly out after your checkup next Monday. If all goes the way we think it will.” She knocked on the wooden frame of my bed to warn Lou Kemia not to try anything.
“Okay,” I said in a small voice. All of a sudden, I felt like a toddler on the first day of preschool, desperate to crawl into my mom’s lap and beg her: Don’t go. Please. I promise to be good!
She seemed to read my mind. “Sweetheart, it’s time.”
“I know,” I said.
“Besides, Dad needs to resume his life. I can’t hang around this house forever, and that girlfriend of his—”
“Nicole.”
“—Nicole needs to come out of hiding. It’s really not fair to her, and I know they’ve had dates, but I can tell Dad misses her being part of his everyday life.”
I nodded.
Mom cupped my face in her hand. “Hey, be honest with me, honey. You like her?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “She’s really nice, and she’s an excellent cook.”
“She’s a foodie. But if that’s what Dad wants . . .” Mom laughed, but right away her face got serious again. “So do I have your word, Norah, that we can trust you? And that you won’t simply not show up at dismissal again?”
“Yes! But will you at least consider me staying for Afterschool just one day a week? As long as I’m feeling okay, which I promise to be honest about?”
She sighed. “You don’t give up easily, do you?”
I shook my head.
“I’ll discuss it with Dad,” she said.
“You will?”
“Norah, don’t get so excited. I just said we’d discuss it.”
“But what does that mean, that you’ll ‘discuss’ it?”
“It means I say something, then Dad says something, and then I—”
“Haha.”
She kissed my hair. “Get off that website and do some homework, young lady.”
* * *
The next morning in homeroom, I made sure to sit next to Cait, but it was no use. Kylie and Aria came over anyway.
“Norah, I’m having a party at my house on Saturday night, and you’re invited,” Kylie announced.
“Everyone is going,” Aria added.
I peeked at Cait; she was smiling and nodding, which meant she’d been invited too. Phew. She seemed like the type of person
