I can hardly bear it. At first I tried to be at my most Annemarie Wilcox, Star Student. I raised my hand for every question, laughed heartily at the few jokes she made, shushed the other kids when they were too loud. All for nothing. Every time I said a word, her eyes narrowed and her lips tightened. I have no idea what I did to offend her, but I sure wish I could undo it.
In class today I raised my hand, and Ms. Gillybush said, “I think we’ve heard enough from Annemarie for one day. Don’t y’all think so, class? Let’s let someone else have a chance to answer, hmm, Annemarie?”
The class tittered. My face must have been bloodred. I wasn’t just embarrassed, I was mad. What gave her the right to treat me like that? What’d I ever do to her?
The whole rest of the day, it’s all I can think about. Even now, on the bus ride home, I seethe with anger. “I mean, what gives her the right, Elaine?”
“She’s a total cow. Don’t let her get to you,” Elaine advises. I’ve been talking about Ms. Gillybush since lunchtime, and Elaine is holding up pretty well. By this point, most people would have said just get over it already. Mark wouldn’t even have made it through a whole lunch period. Not Elaine, she nods sympathetically and says the sort of things a best friend should say. Things like, “what a witch” and “she’s completely insane.”
“I tell you, she has it in for me,” I gripe, staring out the window.
“Forget her. She’s not even worth it.”
“Easy for you to say, you’ve got Mr. Brandt for English. He’s cool.”
“Yeah, he is cool. Kinda cute, too.” She giggles.
“Elaine, that’s gross! He’s old!”
“He’s not old. He’s like twenty-eight. My cousin Eugene is twenty-six, and we’re totally on the same level. So age really doesn’t mean anything. Anyway, it’s not like I would do anything about it. I just think he’s kinda cute.”
“What about Hugh?”
“I think he might like me.”
“Duh. Do you like him?”
Elaine shrugs. “I don’t know. I’d go out with him, though.”
“Hadley Smith’ll wet her pants.”
The thought leaves a smile on my face the whole ride home.
When we get off the bus, Mark walks with Tommy Malone and they don’t wait for me. I walk extra slow so I can pretend that I’m taking my time on purpose, so it doesn’t look like I’m trailing after them. Which I am, but it’s not like I can help it, seeing as how we’re all walking in the same direction.
Chapter 15
I’m in my room doing math homework when I hear the car pull into the driveway. I keep working on problem number thirteen until I hear Mama call, “Girls, your daddy’s home.”
Daddy is the district manager of a sales company. There’s an office about thirty miles north of Clementon, but the main office is in Atlanta. He used to have to travel all over, but now that he’s district manager, on his way up to becoming regional manager, he’s mostly in Atlanta. But sometimes South Carolina, Alabama, Tennessee, and Florida, if he’s lucky. I don’t know what Daddy sells exactly, but he sells a whole lot of something lately because these days, he’s hardly ever home.
When we were little and Daddy came home, it felt like Christmas. He would stand at the foot of the stairwell and bellow, “Where are my girls?” And Celia and I would come running just as fast as we could. We ran so fast the house would shake. And he would take each of us under an arm and throw us around until we were dizzy. Mama would say, “Be careful, Billy!” and we’d just laugh and laugh. Then Daddy’d pretend he’d forgotten to bring us presents, and we’d have to rifle through his suitcase until we found what we were looking for. Perfume for Celia, maybe a yo-yo for me. Hotel soap and a shower cap, if he hadn’t had time to buy anything. It’s not like that anymore. He still brings presents, but it doesn’t really feel like Christmas.
When Daddy is home, we make more of an effort to be “a real family.” It’s like, Daddy’s home, let’s pretend like we are the family we should be. Let’s go to church on Sunday; let’s go to the diner for dessert; let’s go to the movies and buy popcorn with extra butter. When we’re all together nobody mentions how Daddy’s away more than he is home, or how the gaps in between are getting bigger and bigger. A lot of the time, the Wilcox family feels like make-believe.
Celia never wants to go anywhere with us anyhow. She’s too busy running around town with her way-cool friends. She’d rather be with them than us, not that I really blame her.
But I do miss her.
I head downstairs to say hello to Daddy, and Celia doesn’t even bother to come out of her room. Mama’s cooked a real supper—steak and cauliflower and bread pudding. She’s turning the steaks and Daddy’s already at the table. As soon as he sees me, Daddy stands up and I launch myself into his arms. My daddy is a handsome man, built strong and lean; his hair is dark blond and his eyes are chocolaty brown. He smells the way he always does, like tobacco and spearmint chewing gum.
“Hey, peanut. How much did you miss me?”
“Tons. What’d you bring me?” Getting excited about Daddy’s presents is just for show now. I’m too old to go bananas over a light-up yo-yo or a box of saltwater taffy. But I know he likes giving the presents more than I like receiving them, so I keep up the game.
Daddy laughs. “Wait till after dinner. Where’s your sister?”
My whole life that’s all my father ever says to me. Where’s your sister?
When dinner’s ready, Celia finally comes downstairs. She’s wearing her nubby yellow bathrobe, and half of her hair is curled. The other half is in a denim scrunchie. If only the football team could see her now.
The four of us sit at the kitchen table, and Daddy asks Celia and me how our first week of school was. Celia says fine. She barely even looks at him when she says it. The corners of Daddy’s mouth turn down, and for a moment no one says anything.
Then I say, “Junior high’s all right, but my English teacher hates me.”
Daddy raises his eyebrows. “You? Impossible. What’s her name, Shug?”
“Ms. Gillybush.”
He stops cutting his steak. “Anita Gillybush?”
“I guess so. Yeah, that’s her. Why? You know her?”
Daddy laughs. “Yeah, your mama and I went to high school with her. Imagine that. Did you know about this, Gracie?”
In class today I raised my hand, and Ms. Gillybush said, “I think we’ve heard enough from Annemarie for one day. Don’t y’all think so, class? Let’s let someone else have a chance to answer, hmm, Annemarie?”
The class tittered. My face must have been bloodred. I wasn’t just embarrassed, I was mad. What gave her the right to treat me like that? What’d I ever do to her?
The whole rest of the day, it’s all I can think about. Even now, on the bus ride home, I seethe with anger. “I mean, what gives her the right, Elaine?”
“She’s a total cow. Don’t let her get to you,” Elaine advises. I’ve been talking about Ms. Gillybush since lunchtime, and Elaine is holding up pretty well. By this point, most people would have said just get over it already. Mark wouldn’t even have made it through a whole lunch period. Not Elaine, she nods sympathetically and says the sort of things a best friend should say. Things like, “what a witch” and “she’s completely insane.”
“I tell you, she has it in for me,” I gripe, staring out the window.
“Forget her. She’s not even worth it.”
“Easy for you to say, you’ve got Mr. Brandt for English. He’s cool.”
“Yeah, he is cool. Kinda cute, too.” She giggles.
“Elaine, that’s gross! He’s old!”
“He’s not old. He’s like twenty-eight. My cousin Eugene is twenty-six, and we’re totally on the same level. So age really doesn’t mean anything. Anyway, it’s not like I would do anything about it. I just think he’s kinda cute.”
“What about Hugh?”
“I think he might like me.”
“Duh. Do you like him?”
Elaine shrugs. “I don’t know. I’d go out with him, though.”
“Hadley Smith’ll wet her pants.”
The thought leaves a smile on my face the whole ride home.
When we get off the bus, Mark walks with Tommy Malone and they don’t wait for me. I walk extra slow so I can pretend that I’m taking my time on purpose, so it doesn’t look like I’m trailing after them. Which I am, but it’s not like I can help it, seeing as how we’re all walking in the same direction.
Chapter 15
I’m in my room doing math homework when I hear the car pull into the driveway. I keep working on problem number thirteen until I hear Mama call, “Girls, your daddy’s home.”
Daddy is the district manager of a sales company. There’s an office about thirty miles north of Clementon, but the main office is in Atlanta. He used to have to travel all over, but now that he’s district manager, on his way up to becoming regional manager, he’s mostly in Atlanta. But sometimes South Carolina, Alabama, Tennessee, and Florida, if he’s lucky. I don’t know what Daddy sells exactly, but he sells a whole lot of something lately because these days, he’s hardly ever home.
When we were little and Daddy came home, it felt like Christmas. He would stand at the foot of the stairwell and bellow, “Where are my girls?” And Celia and I would come running just as fast as we could. We ran so fast the house would shake. And he would take each of us under an arm and throw us around until we were dizzy. Mama would say, “Be careful, Billy!” and we’d just laugh and laugh. Then Daddy’d pretend he’d forgotten to bring us presents, and we’d have to rifle through his suitcase until we found what we were looking for. Perfume for Celia, maybe a yo-yo for me. Hotel soap and a shower cap, if he hadn’t had time to buy anything. It’s not like that anymore. He still brings presents, but it doesn’t really feel like Christmas.
When Daddy is home, we make more of an effort to be “a real family.” It’s like, Daddy’s home, let’s pretend like we are the family we should be. Let’s go to church on Sunday; let’s go to the diner for dessert; let’s go to the movies and buy popcorn with extra butter. When we’re all together nobody mentions how Daddy’s away more than he is home, or how the gaps in between are getting bigger and bigger. A lot of the time, the Wilcox family feels like make-believe.
Celia never wants to go anywhere with us anyhow. She’s too busy running around town with her way-cool friends. She’d rather be with them than us, not that I really blame her.
But I do miss her.
I head downstairs to say hello to Daddy, and Celia doesn’t even bother to come out of her room. Mama’s cooked a real supper—steak and cauliflower and bread pudding. She’s turning the steaks and Daddy’s already at the table. As soon as he sees me, Daddy stands up and I launch myself into his arms. My daddy is a handsome man, built strong and lean; his hair is dark blond and his eyes are chocolaty brown. He smells the way he always does, like tobacco and spearmint chewing gum.
“Hey, peanut. How much did you miss me?”
“Tons. What’d you bring me?” Getting excited about Daddy’s presents is just for show now. I’m too old to go bananas over a light-up yo-yo or a box of saltwater taffy. But I know he likes giving the presents more than I like receiving them, so I keep up the game.
Daddy laughs. “Wait till after dinner. Where’s your sister?”
My whole life that’s all my father ever says to me. Where’s your sister?
When dinner’s ready, Celia finally comes downstairs. She’s wearing her nubby yellow bathrobe, and half of her hair is curled. The other half is in a denim scrunchie. If only the football team could see her now.
The four of us sit at the kitchen table, and Daddy asks Celia and me how our first week of school was. Celia says fine. She barely even looks at him when she says it. The corners of Daddy’s mouth turn down, and for a moment no one says anything.
Then I say, “Junior high’s all right, but my English teacher hates me.”
Daddy raises his eyebrows. “You? Impossible. What’s her name, Shug?”
“Ms. Gillybush.”
He stops cutting his steak. “Anita Gillybush?”
“I guess so. Yeah, that’s her. Why? You know her?”
Daddy laughs. “Yeah, your mama and I went to high school with her. Imagine that. Did you know about this, Gracie?”
