Why would anyone do something so mean? Mom and Liz love each other. I’m their daughter. What have we ever done?
Not like this is the first time I’ve had to deal with similar crap.
When I attended the Academy of the Holy Rosary in elementary school, there was a big stink because some parents thought I might morally corrupt the other students since I had two “intrinsically disordered” moms. I dropped out and went to public school.
I’d hoped that everyone would be more accepting in public school, but I was delusional. When people found out I had two moms, there were all kinds of rumors about them, and me too. Even Dub assumed I was a lesbian based on the things he’d heard. None of them was true, of course—I’ve always been attracted to the opposite sex.
“Stop squinting,” Delia says.
“Fine.”
When we walk out of the bathroom a few minutes later, the hall is empty except for a janitor who’s scrubbing the front of my locker. I have to give it to Dub for taking care of this disaster, though I refuse to forget that he created yesterday’s.
I have a chance to thank him after first period when he’s waiting for me in the hallway. He has my entire schedule memorized, and he usually walks me to all my classes.
“Calli, you should know I feel horrible about everything’s that happened.” Dub tries to hug me, but I push him away even though it’s incredibly hard to do.
“Thanks for looking out for me, but it doesn’t change the fact that you kissed Cherish. I need my space.” And just like I walked away from the scene this morning and ran home yesterday, I leave Dub standing there. This time I don’t look back at him.
THE DAY AFTER THE MELTDOWN, CONTINUED
Friday, April 18
THIS LONG SCHOOL DAY is finally over. Delia and I cram onto bus #72 like farm animals, which reminds me of seventh grade when Gunner got some people chanting “Moo! Moo!” after I spilled milk down the front of my shirt in the cafeteria.
Gunner mooed at me every day in the cafeteria for weeks until a cute, tall eighth grader with chopstickthin legs got in his face and told him to shut it. A fight would’ve broken out if a teacher hadn’t stepped in. After that, plus a trip to the office, Gunner left me alone . . . for the most part.
Back then I couldn’t believe Dub would stand up for me. I had no clue he knew I existed, or someone cute like him would care enough to stop Gunner’s bovine antics. We became friends after, and on May 31 of last year, we went to Spar Waterpark in Sulfer together. I slipped on some steps, falling so hard I scraped layers of skin off my knees. Dub picked me up, and when I started to cry, he hugged me. Then that hug turned into a kiss. My very first kiss. We’ve been together since.
Our anniversary is next month, which makes it hurt even worse that he kissed Cherish. I was going to give him a pair of green All Stars with red racing stripes.
I. Must. Stop. Thinking. About. Dub.
My eyes mist up. I play it off the best I can by sniffing like this old bus is aggravating my allergies.
Delia leans in to ask if I’m upset. I shake my head no even though we both know I am.
“You’ll be fine,” she says, loud enough that her friend Torey turns around.
I fake a sneeze.
While we wait for the line of students in front of us to settle into their seats, Delia digs through her bag and pulls out a pack of fluorescent green gum. She offers me a piece but I decline. Braces and gum don’t mix.
Before we slump into a seat in the middle of the bus, I scan the rows out of habit—Cherish usually sits near the emergency exit with the juniors and seniors. Ninth graders usually don’t hang out in the back, but that girl has one heck of a reputation.
Thank God she has some appointment with her caseworker, Michelle, so I don’t have to deal with her. Cherish has additional appointments tomorrow. I’m not sure about all of the fostering details, but I do know Mom and Liz drive her to quite a few places. Our lives seem to have been taken over by fostering.
After Mom and Liz sent in the paperwork to foster, folks from the Department of Children and Family Services interviewed us and inspected our house. It was like my moms were becoming spies with all the FBI and police background checks, plus training. Becoming spies probably would’ve been less traumatic.
I didn’t think Mom and Liz would be allowed to become foster parents because there are laws in place regarding gay people and stuff like marriage and adoption. At least Louisiana isn’t as strict as other states. My moms met the qualifications to become certified even if they got attitude from a few people. I think it might’ve helped that Liz grew up in the foster care system, “aging out” at the age of eighteen without ever getting adopted.
My mother’s illness was a concern too, but lupus isn’t communicable and her doctor approved the documentation. We all had to prove we were free from contagious diseases. I never thought the certification process would end, but here we are now. One big happy family.
The bus is warm. Stuffy. Delia pulls her wild, curly hair into a ponytail. Her curls are so tight and thick that the hair on top of her head looks like waves from the Gulf of Mexico. She smacks her gum and then whispers, “Well, you survived today.”
I’m still fighting back the tears, so I nod again—this time yes.
“Want to hang out?” Delia asks as the bus gets close to her stop on New Orleans Street. Delia doesn’t know about my plans. She’d tell me to let it go.
“Thanks, but my mom’s forcing me to study French.” It isn’t a complete lie.
“Okay,” she says as the bus brakes. “I’ll call you later about the Intervention.”
“Sure.” I watch as she sidesteps past all the knees jutting out in the bus aisle. After I broke down on the phone with her last night, Delia made plans for her mom to take us to Prien Lake Mall tomorrow at noon. Mom said fine as long as she didn’t have to drive us since she has plans with Cherish. I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.
The bus driver takes off quickly after Delia and another girl exit, throwing my head back on the seat. I can’t wait to get home. Only three more stops and one day before the Intervention. I start picturing pretty gowns.
Delia’s sister, Rashell, took the two of us shopping for her senior prom. She let us try on dresses too and listened to our opinions about which gown she should buy. When Rashell moved to New York for college, Delia and I had our first Intervention, trying on prom dresses in her honor at JCPenney. We named the shopping trip an Intervention after watching some after school special about a girl who intervened in her best friend’s drug abuse. Delia isn’t a meth addict (gum maybe) or depressed, although she did keep crying about how no guys were ever interested in her and how lonely it was without Rashell.
“Mom?” I call out as I unlock our front door. Whew! No answer. Fortunately Mom and Cherish are still dealing with foster stuff. Liz is busy at work.
“Hi, Sassy.” Her tail turbo-wags when I toss her a Milk-Bone from underneath the kitchen island. Before eating her treat, she tosses it in the air and rolls on it first.
My stomach grumbles and even Mom’s flaxseed oat snacks sound tasty, but time is ticking away.
I don’t dare flip on the light in Cherish’s room, though it isn’t technically her room. It used to be my grandmother’s room, my mother’s mother, when she visited. This wasn’t often because she didn’t agree with Mom and Liz’s lifestyle. If she were still alive, she’d freak out that they’re foster parents. I can almost hear