11 Birthdays

Chapter Four

I reach out to turn off my alarm, open my eyes, and scream! Someone's standing in the middle of my room. He's short and squat, and his arms and legs are waving wildly. It's too dark to see anything clearly. Safety tips run through my head. Stop, drop, and roll? That doesn't seem helpful. Duck and cover? That one's better. I throw the covers over my head and lie still. Why isn't the intruder saying something? After a few heart-pounding minutes, I force myself to peek out from the top of the blanket. With one swift move, I flick on my lamp.
     Huh. Okay, so it's not a person. It's SpongeBob SquarePants happy birthday balloon with streamers for arms and legs. My parents must have snuck him in while I was sleeping. That's a heck of a thing to do to someone!
     Once my heart rate returns to normal, I throw on jeans, my favorite red T-shirt, and the beaded necklace I made at Stephanie's birthday party a few months ago. I run a comb through my thick hair, which only makes it more poofy. I look like I'm wearing a helmet.
     Everyone knows that teeth brushing and face washing are things that birthday girls don't have to do, so my bathroom routine is very fast today. I step into the hall and am surprised to find Kylie's door wide open. It's always closed and locked, whether she's in there or not. She must have left it open by mistake when she went to run. No one was more surprised than me when she suddenly took up running first thing in the mornings. This was the same girl who used to make me sign Mom's name to her "get-out-of-gym" slips because she hated breaking a sweat. I glance around to make sure she's not about to run up the stairs, and then stick my head into her room.It looks like a tornado swept through it. Clothes are everywhere. I can't imagine how she finds anything. But the most interesting thing is the purple notebook on the floor by the bed. The one marked KYLIE'S DIARY: KEEP OUT OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES.     I certainly don't want to suffer any consequences, so I hurry on down the stairs. After all, what could it say that would be interesting? Kylie's life is so perfect. Her biggest fear is chipping a nail before homeroom and not having the right color polish to fix it.

     Dad is the only one in the kitchen when I arrive. Unshaven and in his pajamas, he gives me a raspy hello as he pours himself some tea from the pot. My dad doesn't drink tea. Unless he's sick. Oh no!
     "Dad! You can't be sick. My party's tonight. Your the DJ!"
     He sneezes twice in a row and then says, "I'll be fine, honey. Happy . . . achoo . . . birthday . . . achoo! Don't you worry about . . . about . . . achoo!!"
     I cover my mouth and nose. The last thing I want is to get sick today. My mother rushes into the room, fully dressed and made up. She has a big presentation today at the ad agency where she works. I heard her practicing her speech when I was trying to fall asleep.
     "Happy birthday, sweetie!" She leans over to kiss my forehead. She gets my hair instead. "Feel any older?"
     I consider her question as I pour milk on my Corn Pops. "I think I'm growing. My feet were closer to the edge of the bed this morning. Thanks for the balloon, by the way."
     Dad chuckles. It dissolves into a wheeze. When he collects himself he says, "You liked that, eh? And your sister said you were too old for SpongeBob."
     "I am too old, but it's still cute. Especially, you know, when it wasn't trying to attack me."
     "Hmm?" he says, opening the morning newspaper.
     "Nothing," I say, quickly shoveling cereal into my mouth.
     "I've gotta run," Mom says, sticking a granola bar in the pocket of her blazer. "I'll be home early to help you get ready."

     I nod. Images of that uncomfortable-looking Dorothy costume flit across my mind.
     Mom kisses my head again, waves from a safe distance germwise, and strides out of the room.
     Mom usually takes us on her way to work, except when she leaves early like this. I turn to Dad. "I guess you're not going to drive us to school?"
     He shakes his head. "I'm sorry." He sneezes again, just to prove he's really sick. "You'll just have to take the bus today."
     Ugh. The bus Kylie and I are lucky, we only wind up taking the bus a few times a month. It's smelly and loud and my shoes always stick to the floor.
     I hurry to finish my cereal since the bus comes in five minutes. Kylie runs in, grunts hello to Dad, grabs her lunch bag from the fridge, and runs out the door. No good mornings. No happy birthdays.
     "She means well," Dad says.
     "No she doesn't" I reply.
     He laughs, and then starts hacking up a lung.