“Sure. Why wouldn’t I? You’re lucky your parents are both there.”
Except that my dad wasn’t ever there, but I didn’t really have to explain that to Amanda. She knew.
5
The next year began as a good one for Amanda, but a bad one for me.
Good for Amanda because Jackie moved back in with Tim at Christmastime. When Amanda found out, it was like the times she hit two home runs in the same game, only better because it didn’t happen as often.
Bad for me because when we started baseball in the spring, the coach said I should stay in coach-pitched another year because of my size, even though I was almost nine, and everyone else was moving up to the majors that year.
“They don’t know what they’re talking about,” Amanda said when I told her on the way to Chuck E. Cheese’s. My mother said I could drown my sorrows in pizza and Skee-Ball. “You’re the best player on the team anyway.”
“Yeah, well, you’re the best player on your team, even though you moved up.”
I’d expected to stay in the lower division in football, where they based it on weight as well as age. But I’d been working hard on baseball. Amanda and I practiced almost every day, and I was good enough. At least, I thought I was.
The night before, when I’d complained about it in front of Dad, he’d said, “That’s what happens when you give every kid a trophy. They all think they’re good.”
“You’re wrong,” I said. “I know I’m good. My batting average is higher than most people, and I’m a good fielder. You’d know that if you went to the games!”
“Watch it,” my father had said.
As before, my mother said it was just because I was small. “You just have to grow. It’s a safety issue.”
“Yeah, right.” Like I was some baby who’d get hit with the ball.
When we got to Chuck E. Cheese’s, I made Mom order a large pizza, then I ate half of it.
Jackie quit her job at Bed Bath & Beyond when she moved back in with the family, but she still did the Aurelia Cosmetics makeovers, so sometimes, Mom still drove Amanda to practices. She never asked Jackie to drive me.
One day, when I was having a snack before doing homework, the phone rang. It was Amanda.
“Hey, can Casey and I come over your house?”
“Sure. When?”
“Like, right now? Or in a few minutes? We could walk over from school.”
I lived about a mile from school. Amanda lived farther.
“Sure. Why are you at school? Do you want my mom to come get you?” I’d never walked from school by myself, and now, it was later, so there wouldn’t be as many people out as right after school let out.
“No, I can do it. Just wait outside for me, okay? Maybe you can tell your mom I’m getting dropped off to work on a project for school.”
It didn’t seem super likely that Amanda would come over with Casey to work on a project. The last time Casey had been over, she’d broken a vase in the living room doing a tour jeté, which also scared the cat so badly we didn’t see him for a couple of days. And people thought she was the quieter sister just because she dressed in pink and liked dolls.
Still, I said, “Okay,” and went to tell Mom. “Jackie’s dropping Amanda and Casey off in a few minutes. We have a project to work on, and Jackie has a makeup thing.”
I’d never lied to Mom before. Well, not about anything important anyway, just dumb stuff like who finished the toilet paper and didn’t replace the roll. Probably that was why Mom believed me.
“Let me know when she gets here. I need to talk to Jackie about driving Saturday.”
“Okay.” I knew I wouldn’t, so that was the second lie I told.
When Amanda got there, I said, “What happened?”
“Shh.” She put her finger to her lips. “Let’s go in your room.”
“Mom never came to pick us up,” Casey said.
Amanda elbowed her. “Yeah, that. Now be quiet.”
“Oh, did Jackie already leave?” Mom came up to us. “I wanted to talk to her.”
“Sorry,” I said, “I forgot.” So that was the third lie that day.
We went into my room and closed the door.
“I guess she just forgot,” Amanda said. “She’s forgetful. I called and she didn’t answer. I’ll try again.”
She dialed, and I heard the phone go directly to voice mail.
“I’ll keep trying,” she said. “I just don’t want Dad to know, because . . .”
He’d think she was doing drugs again. Which is what I thought, but I didn’t say it. I mean, moms didn’t forget to pick their kids up from school. At least, not people at our school. Maybe bad moms in movies. Moms at our school called a neighbor if they were running late and had a secret code word people were supposed to use if they picked you up unexpectedly. But I said, “You don’t want him to get mad at her,” at the same time Amanda said, “I don’t want him to think she’s doing drugs again.”