Find X.
X = what will make everything better.
Now I have to find coefficients that equal X.
Something + Something = X.
. . . I’ve always sucked at algebra.
Valentine’s Day. Yippee, yahoo. Happy, happy day. Connie had tried to apologize to me late last night, but I’d been too angry. Now I just felt guilty.
I sat in my room and tried to figure out how to make sure Max was out of the house for a nice long time so I could bring the decorations there. He would most likely be working all day, but I had no idea when he might burst in on me while I’m decorating. I had to make sure he was out and would stay out.
“Mom?” I called, practically falling down the stairs. “I’m taking my bike to town. I won’t be long!” I didn’t wait for her to ask me why. I slipped on my coat, made sure I had a few coins in my pockets, and ran out the door, my boots slipping on the icy steps.
By car, the ride to town might take about five minutes, and so by bike it was doubled. But for me it took even longer; I was going extra slowly because I was looking for a payphone.
After twenty minutes of the most awkward kind of transportation (riding a bike on ice with a puffy coat and big heavy boots) I found an old-fashioned payphone in the middle of a sort of park. There were trees surrounding it with some benches. There was a fountain in the middle but now it was covered with a tarp. It might’ve been peaceful if it wasn’t right in the center of an intersection.
I dismounted the bike and leaned it against a tree. I felt safe among the trees because if Max or someone drove past, they wouldn’t see me. I dug out several coins from my pocket and dropped them into the slot of the payphone. It was so old-fashion, I didn’t know these things still existed.
I dialed Max’s cell phone number, glad that I had been smart enough to use a payphone. He’d have recognized my cell phone number any day.
“Max’s Towing. Can I help you?” he said when he picked up.
I took a deep breath, pitched my voice five times higher, made it light and airy, and added an English accent just to be on the safe side. English was always my best accent, thanks to all my practice with Mom. “Hello . . . my car’s engine suddenly went up in flames. I–I don’t know what happened. I was driving and then . . . BOOM!”
“Oh dear,” Max said. “I hope you’re okay.”
“Oh yes, never better. I just need to get somewhere very quickly and I guess my car had other plans. I heard you owned the best tow trucking company in the area and so I thought I’d call you.”
“Of course, ma’am. Where are you?”
I looked around, having not thought about where the desperate lady was. “At a payphone in the middle of a street,” I said, sounding miserable and cold.
“Yes but, where?”
I groaned inwardly. I had to choose someplace far enough away so that it would take Max a nice long time to get there. “Somewhere in Gainesville, I think,” I said, choosing a town about forty-five minutes away from Max’s. “Eh, next to the . . . Burger King. My name is Patsy Mullin and I’ll holler when I see your truck. Thank you, bye!” I hung up quickly. I wasn’t sure whether or not I’d given Max enough information and I didn’t want to find out. My brain wasn’t moving as fast as my mouth, making it hard to think of things right on the spot.
Okay, that ought to get Max out of the house for at least an hour and a half. He’d be riding around Gainesville looking for a nonexistent Patsy Mullin for at least a half hour. And then he’d have to drive all the way back. That should give me plenty of time to fix up the house.
I leapt on my bike and started peddling as fast as my tired legs would let me. There was still more work to be done. Hopefully I wouldn’t have to do it alone.
I had to search around the house for Ryan before I saw the bathroom door shut and locked tightly. I knocked. “Ryan?” I asked.
“Yeah?”
I lowered my voice. “I need your help.”
He laughed sourly. “Ha-ha. No-can-do, sister. I am officially retiring from your shenanigans.”
I stomped my foot like a five year-old. “They are not shenanigans. Come on, Ryan. Pleeease? I need your help.”
He groaned loudly. “Stacey!”
“I’ll buy you an ice cream cone,” I bribed, depressing over how my wallet was growing increasingly lighter.
“Time to run away,” Ryan muttered. (Translation: “Of course I’ll help you, dear sister”).
The baskets of our bikes were filled to the brim with paper chains and decorations. We didn’t have to worry about Mom finding us leaving the house because by the time I got back from my fake payphone call, she was already out eating a nice, romantic lunch with Dad.
Ryan was never comfortable riding on the roads and so that’s why I took the side of the bike path that was closest to the cars. When he saw me skirt around him, however, he was furious.
“What do you think I am? A baby? No. Men take the risks.”
“Ha-ha, no thanks. You’re no help to me dead, bro.” When he took a hand off the bike to give me a pretend punch, I snapped, “Both hands on the bike, please. The last thing I need is to drag you home with a broken arm.”
It was a beautiful day. Though it was cold, the sky was blue and cloudless. The sun beat against the cold winter breeze, making me sweat and shiver at the same time, not a comfortable combination. I pumped my legs so hard, they felt numb after five minutes of riding. I kept urging Ryan on.
“We have to get there and do this before Max gets home! We have to move at super speed, bro!” But it was pretty comical, me saying that, because I was about ten yards behind him, yelling, “Hurry! Hurry!”
Ryan looked over his shoulder and laughed. “Okay, Stacey. I’ll hurry.”
I hadn’t told him that I had spilled to Connie. No reason to stress him out. Besides, I didn’t want to have to replay the scenario by describing it to him. I felt my face burning with anger just thinking it. Seriously, I couldn’t wait until she and Max were reunited. I was ready for her to get back to her own house.
Ryan hid his bike in the bushes and I left mine leaning against the railing like I usually did, just in case Max came home early and saw me in the house. I never brought Ryan with me and that would be suspicious. We took armfuls of decorations and lugged them into the house.
Unfortunately, the house was just a bit too messy for my liking. I wanted to make the place perfect. Not just because the decorations were going to be in here, but because if Connie wasn’t feeling well, I wanted her to come home to a clean house. It was dusty and obviously haven’t been vacuumed in a while. Plus there was a slightly musty smell that must’ve come from the windows being closed for days on end. When Connie was living here, she had the windows open almost 24/7 seven, even in the winter time.
The kitchen, there was food on the table and I realized that Max must’ve gotten up to pick up Patsy Mullin so fast he that didn’t have time to put anything away.
As I looked around the house, I felt kind of annoyed at Max. The mess wasn’t terrible, but at least he could’ve tried to maintain the place a little bit. If he was ever home. I sighed at that, feeling an unexpected pang of sadness for Connie.
I turned to Ryan. “I know you’re going to hate me, but I want to make this house look perfect before we decorate.”
He moaned and his legs crumpled beneath him. “What?” he said. “It’s not even that messy!”
“I know, but . . .” I sighed, looking around. “It’s complicated. I just want it to look good for Connie when she comes back.”
Ryan sighed. “Double scoop.”
“What?”
“A double scoop ice cream cone.”
I glared at him. “Fine! Now, we’ve got to hurry. We don’t have a lot of time.”
Ryan found a radio and we blasted music as we ran around the house, quick as a couple of thieving rats. I cleaned up the kitchen; put the food away, swept the floor and wiped crumbs from the counters. After, I found a duster and a sponge which I dampened slightly. I dusted each surface and then ran the sponge over them.
The music was upbeat, modern dance that really quickened my pace. I was cleaning, running, dancing, hopping up and down, and swinging my hips to the beat. As my excitement built, I began to actually enjoy myself. Ryan was more subtle about his pleasure (if he had any to show in the first place). He moved through the house with window spray and napkins with a grim expression on his face. He grumbled every so often. But I didn’t let his attitude thwart mine at all. Every time he passed, I grinned, ruffled his hair, and squealed, “Isn’t this fuuun?”
By the time a half hour of cleaning had passed, the house was sparkling from ceiling to floor. It was beautiful and even Ryan inhaled with deep satisfaction as he looked upon our work.
“One more thing before we start decorating,” I said to his now scowling face. “Let’s open the windows for her. Connie would be devastated if she found out they’ve been closed this whole time.”
We went from the bottom floor to top, opening all the windows and even turning on a few fans. As I unlocked and opened all the windows, I was thinking of what I could do to bring Max and Connie here. I don’t mind admitting that I probably should’ve thought about this earlier. But my mind had been so preoccupied worrying for Connie. I created algebra equations in my head, only not having any way to get X alone.
I went in Max and Connie’s bedroom. There was a large bed with white bedding in the center of the room. Two nightstands sandwiched it. The room was completely white (not like creamy white, but a sterilized, ultra white white). Even the throw rug and curtains were white. Time for some serious redecorations. I don’t think I’ve ever been in here and as I entered the room now, I felt embarrassed and hesitant. As I opened the window on the left wall of the bedroom, I saw something on Max’s nightstand. It was his favorite picture of Connie that was usually hanging on the wall. It was on the edge of the nightstand, facing the bed. She was grinning in the picture. Connie, grinning? She looked pretty when she smiled. Looking at that picture started me thinking . . .
What was wrong with my sister? Her mood has not been just because of depression. I know that she’d been feeling badly: during our argument, she let slip that she’s been nauseous. It must be a problem with her stomach, because I’ve seen her put her hand there several times. I started thinking about her and Mom’s conversation in the kitchen.
“He has to know,” Connie had said. “But he’s never around for me to tell him.” And them Mom started explaining her Dad had been so busy when they were first married. Apparently, Connie was dealing with the same problems Mom had a few hundred years ago, or else why would she be talking with her?
He has to know what? I envisioned Connie, moody as ever, not hungry for dinner and having long, absorbing talks with Mom. I envisioned her telling me she was feeling nauseous and putting a hand to her belly. I envisioned her reading that book, “To Expect When” . . .
“YIPE!” I screamed and leapt up two feet. Okay, THAT was unexpected. She couldn’t . . . I mean, Connie was . . . pregnant?
Now it all fit together, like a puzzle. Of course! She was bugged because she probably wanted to tell Max about it, but he was too busy, as he always was! And of course she’d tell Mom because, hey, Mom is Mom.
I felt dizzy and had to hold myself up by grabbing onto the dresser. Me . . . aunt. Ick.
And then Ryan called from the living room. “Stacey, we’ve been at work for a long time! We’d better start decorating!”
Ryan . . . uncle?
Double ick.
“Eh, er . . .” For a second, I forgot where I was. Oh yeah. I was breaking into my married sister’s house, sneakily cleaning up the mess and making her a party she didn’t even know about. What’s so hard to remember about that? “Right!” I yelled back and hurried out of the room, shaking myself out of my daze.
Ryan was waiting with the sparkly paper chains already in his hands. I found scotch tape in the kitchen and used it to get the chains on the walls. We had three chains, each one about a hundred feet long. The living room was the focal point of our decorating. It was the prettiest room too. With one chain, we encircled the window above the sofa, letting it drape down below the valance. We wrapped another chain around the railing leading up to the living room, making it look almost like a barbershop’s bar. We cut the last one into two shorter chains and delicately arranged the first one on the stained coffee table in front of the sofas. With the other half, since we ran out of ideas, we lazily draped over the piano that was never played.
Boy or girl? I kept thinking. Connie would want a girl but Max would want a boy. Too bad it can’t be half and half.
Ryan arranged his large, 3-D heart design in the center of the coffee table. I dragged a chair from the kitchen and taped paper hearts from the ceiling using thread from Connie’s sewing box that was in the pantry.
When we finally finished, Ryan and I stood back and admired our handiwork. The radio was still blaring but we didn’t even hear it. The room looked beautiful! Pink and red chains were hanging all around the room, creating a romantic aura. (Just what we needed). Not to mention the dangling hearts, spinning softly in the cross-breeze from the open windows. Ryan’s paper heart looked professional. He’d used this special transparent tape that was practically invisible.
As I was looking, Ryan left the room and swaggered into the kitchen, obviously proud of himself for some reason. I followed him and he was rummaging around in a drawer. Then he extracted a CD that had written on it in beautiful, curlicue writing, “Love Songs for Special Occasions”.
“I found it while cleaning,” he explained, grinning.
“Oh, Ryan! This is PERFECT!” I squealed and threw my arms around his neck.
“Hey!” he protested and pushed his glasses up. “Do they have a CD player?”
There was one inside the radio. Ryan had to practically dissect it to figure out how to get it open. We had it plugged in next to the piano and ready to play in the living room.
I sighed contentedly and fell back on the couch. “Wow,” I said. “Hard work, huh?”
Ryan didn’t answer. He was biting his lip nervously.
“What?” I asked him. I wanted him to rejoice with me. We were practically done! I was almost finished with this crazy endeavor!
And my sister is pregnant.
“How are we going to get Max and Connie in here . . . at the same time?”
Ugh. I had been so preoccupied thinking about Connie, I had completely forgotten about that. I sat, my legs drawn up beneath my chin for the longest time, wracking my brain.
“Stacey, he’ll be back soon?” Ryan prompted and I held out a hand.
“Hold it,” I said. “I’m thinking.”
He moaned, “Why couldn’t you have thought of this before?”
His voice was just a muffled background. Equations! Equations! Translate the problem into an equation: then solve. Okay. Deep breaths. I could figure this out. Mom and Dad were out of the house, eating a quiet (hopefully long) lunch, unless they had returned by now. But I doubted it. Dad said they would go to the movies and that they would take their time.
But then I heard a car pulling into the driveway.
Ryan and I whirled around.
“He’s here,” Ryan whispered. “You know yet?” His eyes were wide with anxiousness.
My expression mirrored his. Worried. “No,” I whispered back.
Ryan raked his face with his hands. I could see such bitter disappointment in his eyes and it hurt me. I was just waiting for him to say, “I had such faith in you!”
“STACEY!” He moaned.
“Okay, okay,” I stammered, running a hand through my hair. “We can’t let him come in here without Connie. I’ll go out and do . . . something. Ryan, wait in here for me . . . you know what? Hide somewhere because I might not be able to keep Max out. Just–just hide somewhere until I come back in.”
He looked wary and hesitant, but nodded and started toward his hiding place. Then he turned. “How are you going to get them together?” he shrilled.
“Just get to your hiding spot,” I said, not answering his question because, frankly, I had no idea how. “And do what I said.” Then I took a deep breath and stepped outside, where Max was getting out of his car.