That One About Us

That One About Us (Pt. 3)

If we were little it’d be easy, because back then we were always together.  Sometimes I think it’s Miss Allen’s fault we got split up, but sometimes I think it’s Dad’s.  I mean, Miss Allen didn’t have to tell, but Dad didn’t have to get so scared and make it so we had to let him sign us all up for different activities.  Drew got soccer, and he still does it.  Ellie got gymnastics, but she quit last year, which is why she’s sort of fat now.  But I wasn’t good at anything because I always sat down at the ballet recitals or got too hyper at the acting camps.  When I was Catcher in summer softball I made crow noises to scare the batter, which Dad said was embarrassing for him.  Once at horseback riding lessons, I fell off and almost got run over by a cantering pony.  So, finally Dad gave up and let me stay home. 

Drew and Ellie and me had lots more dangerous games than Snowbank Ninjas, but that’s the only one we ever almost died at, I guess, which makes it worse than all the others combined.

The worst part was how Dad made such a thing of it, all coming to my bedroom with his arms behind his back and telling me to meet him in the kitchen in five minutes.  Usually when he grounds me, he just does it wherever he finds me.  So, of course I thought maybe he’d bought me those expensive Nikes I’d been asking for.  I even slipped off my sneakers so that when I walked in, I could put on the new ones right away.  But when I slid across the tiles in my socks and actually saw him, I knew I was in trouble.  See, he had a chair all pulled out for me and was standing there, staring at his feet, which means he’s so mad he can’t even look at you.  Not to mention that then he took a butt-load of time sitting down—all crossing his legs and taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes and sighing, before finally he went ahead and said what all grown-ups say when they’re about to bust you:  “Kippy, is there anything you want to tell me?”

I’m always getting grounded but it’s never that bad because I usually don’t have any friends.  But this time I was literally dying—dying—because Kate Petersen is having a slumber party next weekend and she invited ten girls including me. Plus, there’s this girl Susan George from my bus route, and we’re not friends or anything, but I was sort of planning to hang out at her house this whole summer.  She’s fine, I guess, but she smells like ham.  (No one really likes her but can’t say so because she’s got LD—that’s a Learning Disability.)

Anyway, Maxwell Mann from TV said it’s going to be the hottest June in ten years, which wouldn’t be so bad except Dad never turns on the air conditioning.  (He always says there’s a “breeze.”)  But see, I wasn’t so worried about Dad’s No-Air rule because the Georges just got a pool put in and I figured I could go down there when it got too hot.  I knew, knew, Susan’d let me, because she’s got no friends.  Plus, chlorine probably kills the ham smell she’s got.

So, yeah, my one chance to be friends with Kate Petersen, and also, basically, to have a pool, and I’m grounded for a month.  This sucks balls.

At least Drew and Ellie won’t know.  Our Dad has had this thing since we were kids about tattling where he pretends to be deaf unless someone’s bleeding.  Otherwise he covers his ears and says, “Tattlers help themselves” in this sing-song voice. He only broke his own rule once.  It was a really long time ago, right after Nana died and we drove up to Atlantic City for the funeral.  We still have the van we took.  It’s got seven seats, but that time it felt tiny.  Ellie gets carsick, and so she got to sit up front with Dad, and even though Drew and I literally begged—begged—to sit in the Captain’s chairs, which are in the middle, that’s where Dad put the suitcases for some reason. 

So Drew and I were sitting in the way back because of Ellie and the stupid bags, and what happened was Drew asked if I wanted to play this game where he got to punch me if I touched him.  I told him it sounded pretty boring, but he said he’d give me 15 dollars if I won, so, like an idiot I shook on it.  Then Drew scooted closer and closer to me until I was pressed up against the window and couldn’t go any more over.  Of course he scooted a little bit more and our legs were touching, which he said counted and punched me really hard in the arm.  He did that for the whole car trip, so of course I started to cry after a while.  Just tears, though.  None of us made sob noises when we were kids because Dad’d either tell us to stop playing some fun game, or he’d say “don’t tattle”, and if any of us heard him say that, we’d beat up whoever’d tried to get his attention.