If a Tree Falls at Lunch Period Page 5

  Rory nods.

  "But since no money was taken and since I was 'proactive' about 'taking responsibility' for my behavior ... That's what Fishhouse said. He said he'd take into consideration that he heard from me first, rather than from Balderis. And I apologized for getting carried away. You know how kids are."

  Rory giggles.

  Brianna clicks her lips, "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Then he said he was a kid once, too." She smiles. "Once they say that, you know you got 'em. And when they say, 'But if it happens again, there will be real trouble,' you know you got it, like, totally wrapped up. So that's it." She brushes her hands together like she's wiping herself free of this. "We're done. You don't even have to talk to him."

  "Really?" I'm impressed despite myself.

  Brianna smiles. "Yeah. Don't worry, Kirsten." She pats my arm. "I took care of it. It's over." She smiles like she knows what a cutie-pie she is.

  "Balderis isn't going to say anything? Fishhouse isn't going to call me in?"

  Brianna shakes her head. "Fishhouse isn't going to call you in. Balderis? He's a little turd—a turdette. Turdité." She looks at Rory.

  Rory laughs.

  "But he got his wallet back," Brianna says, "so what does he care?"

  "So all I do now is show off my footwear?" I point my toe.

  "Exactly," Brianna says.

  "I told you we had it worked out," Rory whispers to me.

  I try not to smile at Rory. Try not to walk with her and Brianna. I'm not a part of their crowd. But my new boots trot to catch up.

  Eighteen

  Walk

  On Monday Walk gets his butt in his seat in plenty of time. He won't be late again, that's for sure.

  Brianna is out in the hall. She comes in with Madison, Lauren, Rory, and Kirsten. Kirsten? She's one of them now? Must have been some catfight got that straightened all out. Walk looks for bite marks, scratches, places been chewed up. But no, they're smiling like they're best girlfriends.

  Balderis is looking at Kirsten, too. His eyebrows jump off his face and his mouth hangs open. He doesn't get it, either. What's with these girls, anyway? They all nuts?

  Nineteen

  Kirsten

  My mom picks me up from school.

  "Where's Kippy?" I ask.

  "After-school care," my mom answers.

  "Why?"

  "You're going to the doctor."

  "I am? What doctor?"

  "A psychiatrist. She specializes in eating disorders."

  "Oh great, now you think I'm a psycho?"

  "No, I don't think you're a psycho."

  "Other people's moms don't haul them off to headshrinkers. Other people's moms take them shopping. That is probably what Rory and her mom are doing right now."

  "I just took you shopping."

  "Oh, yeah, you're right. Thanks."

  My mom glances over at me, her whole face open and hopeful. "How is Rory, anyway?"

  I stare out the passenger side window. "Mom, maybe you and Dad should go to a therapist. Not me."

  "Your dad doesn't believe in therapy. He thinks it's self-indulgent."

  "He's right," I say. "Absolutely."

  My mom rolls her eyes. We pull into an office park. I follow her inside and up a back stairwell that smells suffocatingly stale.

  I hang back, going slower and slower until I come to a complete halt. My mom waits at the top of the stairs.

  "Kirsten, you have no idea the strings I had to pull to get you this appointment. Dr. Markovitz isn't accepting new patients."

  "Why didn't you tell me about it?"

  "I didn't want you to get nervous."

  "Nervous?"

  "Okay, I wanted you to give it a chance."

  "Mom, you and Dad are the ones acting weird. Not me. Why are you making this my problem?" The stairwell echoes my words.

  "Don't you want to be thin?"

  "Mommmmmm!"

  "Okay, okay ... just go this once?" She holds up one finger. "If you don't want to go again, I promise I won't make you, all right?"

  We get to the waiting room and my mom pushes a little light by the name Dr. Marilyn Markovitz. I flip through Seventeen. ARE YOU A JERK MAGNET? BUTT-FRIENDLY BATHING SUITS. WHAT TO DO ABOUT THUNDER THIGHS.

  When Dr. Markovitz appears I see she's normal weight. On the tall side, too. She can probably eat a dozen Krispy Kremes and not gain weight.

  Dr. Markovitz nods to my mom. "Why don't you and I spend a few minutes together, then Kirsten and I will talk."

  I go back to Seventeen. I'm halfway through the "How to Tell If He's a Jerk" quiz when Mom comes out. She nods to me; her lips waver on the edge of a smile.

  "You're feeding me to the dogs," I whisper as I follow Dr. Markovitz's efficient gray pantsuit. The business kind. Not the grandma kind. Her office is surprisingly unoffice-like, though. It's all pink like the inside of your mouth.

  "How's school been going?" Dr. Markovitz asks after introducing herself.

  "Fine," I say when I've settled into a low pink-flowered chair.

  "And home?"

  "Fine."

  "Do you know why you're here?"

  "I'm unsightly? I'm the wart in the house."

  She smiles. "That wasn't exactly how your mother put it, but yes, she did indicate you've gained weight recently."

  I stare at a shelf in the back full of little-kid toys. There's a Slinky, a wagon full of brightly colored blocks, a Raggedy Ann, and a barn with plastic animals. Being a little kid was a lot more fun than being twelve.

  "Do you feel comfortable with the weight gain?"

  What kind of question is that? Sure, I just love being fat. It's every girl's dream.

  " Your mom said you had an incident over your father's ice cream. She says it's happened before."

  Heat chases up my neck. I focus my eyes on a pink wicker wastebasket and imagine myself home in my basement chair in front of my TV.

  "It's interesting you ate his ice cream."

  "My mom doesn't eat ice cream."

  "She said you and your dad used to be quite close."

  I shrug.

  She waits.

  "Everybody loves my dad."

  "And what about you?"

  "He's not home very much anymore. Besides, it's easier to be close to your dad when you're a little kid. It's like babies. Anything is possible with a baby. That's why everyone loves them. But once you're twelve it's all over."

  "It's all over at twelve? Why do you say that?"

  "You're already, you know, formed. You're not going to all of a sudden turn into Albert Einstein or anything."

  "Does your father want you to be Albert Einstein?"

  "No."

  "But you don't think he's happy with who you are?"

  I shrug. "He always calls us his brilliant daughters, but I know he only means Kippy."

  "Kippy is really smart?"

  "Really smart," I say.

  Dr. Marilyn Markovitz nods and says nothing for the longest time. Much longer than you're supposed to wait in conversations. What is the matter with this lady, anyway?

  "Your mother says you get along extremely well with Kippy. Is that what you think?"

  I nod.

  "She also said you're having trouble making friends with the girls at school."

  "She's wrong. I have lots of friends," I snap.

  "So why do you think you've gained thirty pounds in the last four months?"

  "It's not that much."

  She looks at me, her lids low over her eyes.

  "I eat too much." I pick at a thread in my skirt. "So where's the diet?"

  She shakes her head. "No diet."

  "No diet? Does my mom know that?"

  "You're a bright girl, Kirsten. You don't need another diet."

  "No, I'm not. You should check out my grades."

  "I don't need to. I can tell by what you say and the way you say it that you're smart. Your mom can, too."

  I shrug and try to pretend I have no feelings about this, b
ut my eyes are beginning to leak.

  "Is it possible the eating is a way to divert attention from your parents' problems?"

  I shake my head. "It's just that ... it's just"—I look directly at her for the first time—"I want things the way they used to be."

  "When your father really did think you were brilliant and your parents didn't fight?"

  I nod a tiny nod like suddenly I am as small as Kippy.

  My nose is running, but I'm not crying. I'm not. "I'm ready to go now." I stand up.

  "So how was it?" my mom asks when we're walking back down the stale-air stairwell. "What happened? Tell me everything."

  "Nothing happened," I mumble. "And I'm not going back."

  Twenty

  Walk

  At lunch Walk is sitting with Matteo, Hair Boy, and Jade. Jade is busy reading Hair Boy's palm. "You're next," she tells Matteo.

  Matteo makes the sign of the cross like she's a vampire and should stay away.

  "C'mon, Study Boy, loosen up," Jade tells him as a milk carton comes flying through the air dribbling drops of milk on Matteo's head on its way to the trash can.

  "Hey!" Matteo barks.

  Walk turns around and there is Madison with a big stupid smile on her face and Brianna holding her stomach, she's laughing so hard. Matteo bites his lip. His eyes smolder. He turns back to the door, waiting for Dorarian to walk through. She opens the library after she eats her lunch. They know it's open when she walks through the cafeteria to get hot water for her tea.

  "Do another one like that," Brianna says.

  Madison grabs another carton and throws this one behind her back to a second trash can. She lands this one, too. The girl has game, gotta give her that.

  "You're such a guy," Brianna tells her.

  Matteo turns back around.

  Madison makes two more baskets. She's out of empties, so she grabs the carton of a kid with green pool hair. It hits the trash rim and sprays milk everywhere.

  "Hey!" another kid yells, his new Nikes sprayed with milk.

  Then suddenly Dorarian is there, holding her blue fur—covered thermos. She looks at Madison, Brianna, and the milk-splattered floor. "Whoever did this needs to clean it up."

  "It wasn't us, Dorarian," Brianna says. "It was—" She looks around. "Martin Luther King, here," she mutters just loud enough for Walk to hear.

  "What?" Dorarian's hands are on her hips.

  "You gonna say that again so everybody can hear?" Walk asks.

  "Matteo," Brianna says.

  "Matteo?" Dorarian frowns. She turns to them.

  "Did you do this?"

  "Yes," Matteo tells the floor.

  "No, you didn't," Walk snarls.

  "Shut up," Matteo hisses.

  Dorarian's eye is twitching. She knows they're hustling her, but she can't seem to figure out what to do about it. "Come with me, Matteo," she says finally.

  Walk shakes his head. He can't believe this.

  "Matteo," Walk whispers when Matteo comes back with a mop, "what's the matter with you?"

  "I dropped my milk."

  Walk groans. "Come on, man!"

  "You just didn't see," Matteo says, pushing the mop so hard he's practically breaking the head off.

  Later when Walk and Matteo head for the gym, they see Balderis standing at the end of the lockers talking to Dorarian.

  "Hey, Walk, Matteo," Mr. Balderis calls, "you have a minute?"

  "Sure," Walk says.

  "Mrs. Perkins here said something happened at lunch today she thinks I should talk to you two about."

  Dorarian glances quickly at them, then slips back into the library.

  "You want to tell me what happened?" Balderis asks.

  "Nothing happened," Matteo says.

  "We ate lunch," Walk says.

  Balderis looks from Matteo to Walk and back again. "That's it? Nothing happened in the cafeteria with you and Brianna and Madison?"

  They shake their heads.

  Balderis scratches at his sideburns. "All right. You need help, you let me know."

  After he goes, Walk looks at Matteo, wishing he'd say something about this, but Matteo doesn't say a word.

  When Matteo closes up like this it makes Walk miss Jamal. Jamal would tell him what was going on. The old Jamal would anyway. Is this what happens when you grow up—more and more people shut you out?

  Twenty-One

  Kirsten

  On Saturday Kippy goes to her best friend Sam's house. I am glad Kip has Sam. They are like your left and right shoe, a perfect fit in the box. Were Rory and I ever like this, I wonder as my mom and I drive from Sam's.

  In the car my mom has been nattering on and on about trees. I've mostly tuned her out, when suddenly I see what she's been talking about. The big beautiful oak tree in our front yard is gone. The yard is a total mess, and yard guys are feeding branches to a mulcher.

  My dad is standing on the stump where the tree used to be. He's a tall man, but he looks short compared to a tree.

  "Sudden Oak Death!" my mom shouts over the noise. "The tree guy said I had to cut it down."

  "Did he also say you should do it without talking to me?" my father yells back.

  "Don't pretend you care what happens here," she shouts.

  "Please tell me you didn't do this to get back at me."

  "Don't think I'd stoop that—"

  I run inside and slam the door. The grinding noise stops.

  I head straight for our suitcases and pull out the one my dad always uses. When my father comes inside, I'm hauling it up the stairs. "You going somewhere?"

  My face gets hot. "No."

  "Why do you have my suitcase?"

  "You're not going to be needing it, right?" I grip the handle hard so my hand won't shake.

  "Not today."

  I nod. "Kippy's going to be sad about the tree."

  "It was sick."

  "Was it?"

  "Ask your mother, Kirsten."

  "Ask your mother. Ask your father. Ask your—"

  "All right. I get the point."

  "You going to get divorced?"

  He winces. "Your mom and I are going through a rough patch. We'll get through it."

  "Rough patch, my foot."

  He bites his lip and looks away.

  "What's the suitcase for?" he asks.

  "So you can't use it."

  "You're too old to play games like that."

  "I know."

  He breaks out his most charming smile. "You know how much I love my brilliant daughters." He puts his arm around me and tries to hug me, but the hug is like two boards knocking against each other.

  Even so I don't want him to stop—only he does because his beeper goes off.

  He looks at the number, then calls in. "Dr. Mac here, what can I do for you? Yes, yes, okay." He nods, grabs his BlackBerry, and enters some notes. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

  He's gone now. The house is quiet. My mother sighs. "Can't live with him. Can't live without him," she says.

  Twenty-Two

  Walk

  It's Open House at Mountain School. Walk, Matteo, and some girl got asked to come and talk about the project they did on the Supreme Court. Otherwise Open House is just for parents and prospective parents.

  Matteo said he did Open House last year and it was boring; he just sat around. None of the parents said much. The prospective parents were the only ones who wanted to know stuff.

  Sylvia is ironing up a storm. Even ironed Walk's socks. "Can't have you lookin' like something the cat dragged in," she mutters.

  As soon as they get to school, she's all over him about his essay. "None of the other kids' essays are handwritten."

  "It's up on the wall. Only the best ones are up there," Walk tells her like she's stupid.

  She doesn't answer.

  "Gotta get a new printer if you want me to type everything."

  "It works."

  "It doesn't," Walk snorts, but Sylvia is already moving on.


  Parents come and go. None of them ask Walk and Matteo anything. They ask the girl all their questions.

  "Your parents coming?" Walk asks Matteo.

  Matteo shakes his head. "My mom has to work."

  "What about your dad?"

  "Not his, you know"—Matteo shrugs—"kind of thing."

  A man starts reading Walk's essay. So far no one has read all the way through, but this guy puts one hippie-sandal foot on a chair and settles in like he's doing his own word count, spell-check, fact-check, and grammar-check, too.

  Hippie Sandals nods his head. "Nice work," he says.

  "Thanks," Walk says.

  "Anything else yours?"

  Walk points to the current events board. Walk has his paper up there. WHY DO WE STUDY HISTORY? the bulletin board asks.

  "Why do we study history?" Hippie Sandals's blue eyes are straight on him.

  "Otherwise you don't really understand the context of what's happening today." Walk can't help smiling at this. He knows he sounds good.

  "I like the way you think," the man says. He seems satisfied and moves on.

  "Who was that?" Matteo whispers.

  "Beats me," Walk says.

  Then Brianna shows up. Figures she'd come without an invitation. A guy in a suit that looks like it must have cost more than Sylvia's new 350 is walking with her.

  Walk nods at her.

  "Hi," Brianna says, glancing down quickly at Walk's project. "Oh, that one," she mutters, grabbing her father's arm and hurrying him along.

  "Where is your work, Bree?" Brianna's father asks.

  "Didn't put it out." She glances back at Walk. "I'm not the right color," she whispers. "I mean who are they going to ask ... me ... or some inner-city kid?"

  Walk's stomach churns. His mouth tastes like dirt. If he does well they say, "He's black, they lowered the bar." He messes up and it's "I told ya so."

  Walk kicks the table leg. But he can't get angry. Sylvia will kill him for that.

  Now Sylvia is back in Balderis's face, asking him a million questions. Poor guy. He doesn't know what hit him. Then she heads for the bulletin board and gets all snagged up in a group of parents. "Excuse me," she says to Hippie Sandals. They both move left.