“That’s less type A.”
“I’m not type A. I just like to get homework over with early so I don’t have it hanging over my head all weekend.”
She tapped up the brim of my baseball cap. “That’s the definition of a type A personality.”
“No it’s not.” I adjusted my cap.
“Yeah it is.” She pulled out her phone and did a search. “Rigidly organized, anxious, and concerned with time management.”
“What personality type is it that whips out their phone and looks something up on Wikipedia to win a conversation?”
“I didn’t do that.” She took my cap off and hid it behind her back.
Instead of trying to get it back, I grabbed her phone and read, “A competitive drive which causes stress and—”
“I’m not that competitive.”
“What’s your batting average?”
“Point four seven one. But that’s not really accurate, because they have moms scoring the games, and sometimes they call it an error when it’s really—”
“You’re making my argument for me.” But I didn’t want to argue with her, so I pointed toward the neighbor’s house. “Hey, look. How many are there?”
It was a mother duck with ducklings. They must have come from the canal.
“One, two, three, four, five.” Amanda shook her head. “They keep moving around.”
“They do that.” I counted fast. “Maybe eight, maybe nine. Yeah, nine. Four with spots on their sides, two with brown heads, and three completely yellow ones.”
“Which are the pretty ones?” Amanda said.
“All of them.” I grabbed back my baseball cap when her guard was down.
We approached Amanda’s house. There was a car in the driveway I didn’t recognize, a blue Toyota with a dent on the back.
“Oh shit.” Amanda started to walk away. “My mom’s here.”
“She sees you.”
Sure enough, Jackie was getting out of the car, yelling, “Mandy! Mandy, it’s me!”
“Don’t call me that,” Amanda said.
“Fine, A-man-duh.” Jackie enunciated each syllable in an annoying way. “I’m so glad I found her highness at home.”
I hadn’t seen Jackie in a few years, but I knew sometimes, she randomly showed up at Amanda’s softball games. “Trying to act like a mom,” Amanda said. Or Amanda would see her when she visited her grandmother.
Now she said, “What do you want, Jackie?”
“Mom. And where’s Casey?”
“She’s at school. At aftercare. Dad will pick her up after work like the other single parents.”
“Okay, smarty pants. I came to see you, anyway. Thought we could pick out a dress for the eighth grade dance.”
The eighth grade dance was this sort of mini-prom they had for, obviously, the eighth graders. It had a theme, ranging from Hawaiian to neon, and was held in the ballroom of a nearby office center, with the balcony doors locked so no one would “do anything foolish.”
“Oh, I’m not going to that,” Amanda said.
“You’re not?” Jackie and I both asked at the same time. Everyone went to the dance, even people who sat at home and played computer games every night. People didn’t usually have dates, so it wasn’t only for people who could get one.
“No, I’m not.” Amanda glared at me. “I think it’s stupid. Besides, it has a theme, and they haven’t announced it yet, so I wouldn’t be able to buy a dress even if I was going, which I’m not.”
Now I knew she was lying. They’d sent the invitations the week before, and the theme was “Back to the ’80s.” So Amanda was going. She just didn’t want to shop with Jackie.
Jackie knew too. “I know there’s a theme. One of the other moms told me. Why do you have to be such a brat?”
“Don’t say, ‘One of the other moms,’ like you’re one of the moms. You’re not. And I’m not going to some stupid dance if I have to go shopping with you. So just forget it.” She started running toward the house.
Jackie ran after her, yelling, “Amanda! Amanda!”
“Leave me alone!” Amanda fumbled with the house keys. She was so angry her hands were shaking, and I could hear the keys jingling. I didn’t know what to do, just sort of got between her and Jackie.
“Why can’t it ever be nice with us?” Jackie said.
“Because you’re not nice,” Amanda said. She finally got the door open and went inside. “Come on,” she said to me.
“Maybe I should go.”
“Come on!”
I followed her inside, which was no easy trick with Jackie trying to get past me. Sure, I had defensive experience, but I couldn’t exactly tackle her. Finally, I got past her and into the house. Jackie was screaming at Amanda that she was a brat, a bitch, a few other things. Amanda double locked the door, then went into the family room and turned on the TV loud. Ellen was on. She was dancing to some rap song. Amanda turned the volume up louder and threw herself onto the sofa.
“No,” I said.
“What do you mean, no?”