Page 55 of Something Rad
Denise nods, a sad smile pulling at her lips. “Yeah, I’ll see you, Robbie.”
I step back, letting Denise get into her car. I give her a wave as she puts it in reverse and drives away. I stand there for a moment, my hands in my pockets, staring after her until her car pulls out of the parking lot.
I’ll think of something.
I’ll get her back.
I start to walk the few steps over to my car, but then stop, my head turning. I see Cooper’s little red journal, still lying face down and open on the bus porch where it must have fallen from off her stack of books. I blow a breath out of my nose, shaking my head. I spin on my heel, walking over to where it lays.
I’ll think of something to get Denise back.
I crouch down, reaching for the journal.
But first…
thirteen
SARA
“Okay, I know it’s the third time I’ve said it,” my mom calls from the kitchen as she scrambles around to grab her things, “but what kind of sick joke is it that the one day you don’t have to stay after school, I get the early shift?”
“I dunno, Mom,” I call back, scrunching my nose at the same algebra homework problem I’ve been staring at for the last fifteen minutes. “I guess the universe just simply won’t allow us to spend more than a few hours a week together.”
“Iswear,” Mom says, her voice much closer now. I hear the familiar sound of her uncapping her blue MaybellineGreat Lashmascara and know she’s frantically applying it as usual in the mirror hanging on the wall right outside my door. “Ninety-five percent ofallThursdays for the lastfifteen years, I go in to the diner at five, but just thisoneday when my girl is actually home–”
“You get scheduled for four.”
“I get scheduled for four!”
“Can you believe this?” Mom asks, recapping her mascara and shoving it into her purse.
“No, actually, I can’t,” I reply, erasing my math work once again, nearing rubbing a hole straight through the paper. “In fact, I think you really aren’t scheduled until five but just want an excuse to leave now. Because you hate me.”
My back is to the cracked door of my room, but I can tell by the close sound of bracelets jangling together that my mom just stuck her head through my door. “Not funny,” she says.
“Kidding,” I say back.
I hear my mom let out a sigh, pulling away from the door. She starts moving about in the kitchen and living room again, the fridge and coat closet opening and closing several different times.
“Alright, well I gotta get going,” she calls, opening the fridge again. “We have beef stroganoff leftovers, but I’m not sure if they’re still good. Worst case scenario, we have things to make sandwiches–”
“I’m great with making a sandwich, Mom,” I respond. I let out a huff, giving up and moving onto the next homework problem.
“Okay,” Mom confirms. “Ah,darn it! I haven’t checked the mail yet today, would you mind–”
“I can grab the mail, Mom. Don’t worry.”
“Okay, okay. Thanks, hon.Oh, and could you bring the trash cans in too?”
“Yes, Mom!” I reply, rereading the problem again, and wondering why we really care whatxis in the first place.
“And don’t forget, if you need anything while I’m gone, Mrs. Granger–”
“Is right next door!”Just like she has been every day for the last seventeen and a half years.“I’m good, Mom. You can go to work!”
“Alright, alright. I’m going!” she calls, her voice drifting farther away as she heads for the front door. “Love you!” I hear the lock click and the squeak of the door starting to open. “I’m proud of–Oh!”
Mom’s voice breaks off, but I don’t think much of it, too focused on my math problem and assuming she just remembered another thing she forgot. Several seconds go by as my eyes bounce back and forth between the numbers I’ve written down and my brain pretends to compute them.
