And yep, halfway through the meal, Penny scrunched up her face, burst into tears, and threw up all over Mom and most of the food on the table! What a mess!
Dad and Mom apologized to the waitstaff, paid the bill, and left a massive tip. Then we dashed out of there in a hurry. I felt bad that Penny was sick, but secretly I was so glad that for once it wasn’t me making a mess. We still laugh about that one. What I wasn’t so glad about was that I hadn’t been able to warn my parents that Penny was about to erupt. Yep, serious frustration.
Oddly, I still remember that the bill that night came to $47.47. My brain does that—recalls random numbers, maps, facts, and computations. And don’t mess with me when it comes to trivia—like the average summertime temperatures in Alaska, or Argentina, or Armenia. Or the secret ingredients in the grease that’s used in fast-food places (you don’t want to know), or the shortcut to the final level of just about any online video game. Most of this gets crammed into my head, wandering around with nothing to do. I know mountains of stuff, but I’m pretty much stuck in a valley. Why can my brain do all that, but not know how to tell my body to move? Or talk? Or give my folks a heads-up that Penny’s gonna throw up?
So I prefer to focus on the things that I can do. Like, I can communicate with folks through Elvira. Mom and Dad just had her upgraded to System 9.9. She’s still clunky, but now she’s smaller, faster, and even waterproof, like an iPad that took its vitamins. Plus, she snaps to my wheelchair in seconds. She’s got apps and a full keyboard, so I can send texts, write out whatever’s on my mind, and check online stuff like everybody else. But it’s still impossible to type fast enough to bring up everything I wonder about.
She’s got a speaking voice called “Trish.” It’s the closest thing to a real girl’s voice that I could find in the choices. I sure wish her speaking system was better-sounding, though. I think they ought to let me create my own voice for her. Maybe I’d pick a cool accent, or something really glamorous, or perhaps low and mysterious.
Which makes me think—who knows what my voice would have been like? I can actually make sounds—something that comes out sounding like Uhh to others, my family and my teachers know mean Yes. And I hum when I like something—just not real words. Which kinda sucks. Maybe when I go to college, I can major in creating artificial languages. That would be awesome.
Now that I think about it, I’ve also got a sort of sign language, too. I can’t do ASL—that’s got way too many complicated hand motions—but me and my family have adapted a version that works. For example, my sign for “Mom” is my thumb on my chin, with my fingers as straight as I can get them. “Dad” is thumb on forehead with fingers up. And my sign for “Penny,” even though she’s four and a half and sassy, is both arms hugged together like a baby in a cradle. And I can shake my head to say no, just like everybody else does.
So, it’s a little awkward, but we manage to communicate—sort of.
But right that second, when I saw Mom getting out of our car, I would have simply liked to have an easy way to blurt out what I was thinking. And what was on my mind right then was that I wanted to go to camp.
When Mom came into Mrs. V’s yard, I couldn’t just yell out, Hi Mom! like Penny did, but I didn’t need to spell out anything for my mother—I just hummed, and she knew.
Butterscotch bounded over and yelped with joy as Mom pulled a treat out of the pocket of her scrubs. Penny was right behind the dog, jumping into Mom’s arms. “Spin me, Mommy! Spin!”
Mom kissed her chubby cheek and spun her around, Penny’s legs pinwheeling out.
“More?” Penny begged when Mom put her back down.
“Penny-girl, Mommy needs a break,” she said, laughing. “Can I say hello to Melody now?” She came up onto the porch and leaned over to hug me tight. She smelled so good—a combination of talcum powder, alcohol wipes, and bubble gum. She keeps a big bag of Dubble Bubble in a top cabinet—away from Penny. She says chewing gum helps her relax, so Dad makes sure the bag never goes empty.
Random thought—I’d love to be able to chew bubble gum. The smell makes my nose tickle in a good way. I’d probably pop right with it if I could actually blow a real bubble!
“How’s my girl?” Mom asked.
I hugged her back as best as I could and made that hum sound that we both know means I’m good.
“Hey there, Violet,” Mom said as she poured herself a cup of lemonade. She then collapsed into the other chaise lounge, took a deep sip, and breathed out “Ahhhh.”
Mrs. V pointed to the firefly show. “Glad you got home in time for a little nighttime magic.”
“Oh, they’re out early tonight,” Mom said.
“Mommy! Mommy! Look at mine!” Penny shouted, running across the yard for her jar and back up onto the porch. She plopped the jar of blinking bugs into Mom’s lap.
“They’re beautiful!” Mom held up the jar. “Even better than the sparkle lights in your bedroom.”
“Mrs. V says I can’t keep them, but they like me! So, can I? Pleeeease?”
“Well,” Mom said, “let’s think about this. How did you catch them?”
“They just flew into my jar!” Penny told her solemnly. “And Mrs. V helped me.”
“Do you think some of those bugs might have moms and dads waiting for them in the bushes?”
“Hmm.” Penny pondered this. “Maybe their parents don’t know they’re out playing in the dark. Maybe they snuck out!”
“Well then, we better set them free so they can get home before they get in trouble, okay?”
“Good idea!” Penny agreed.
As Mom opened the jar, Penny whispered, “Hurry home, little bugs!”
And, with a whoosh of the lid, a dozen tiny little light bulbs lifted into the darkness.
CHAPTER 3