Violet and the Pie of Life Page 11

  9. Sometimes she still thought her mom would get clean and take care of her and they’d live happily ever after.

  10. But mostly she didn’t think that anymore.

  Ally was matter-of-fact when she said it. All of it.

  But I wasn’t matter-of-fact when I heard it. I said “Oh, Ally” at least three times. I couldn’t think of much else to say. Ally’s dad being a mystery was even worse than my dad taking his stupid responsibility break. I wasn’t sure where “You don’t know who your dad is” or Ally’s half-sisters’ “Your dad’s in jail” fell on my list of Dad Situations from Bad to Worst, but they were awful.

  Ally gave a little shrug and said, “So let’s neither one of us be embarrassed about our fathers.”

  I couldn’t help saying, “Oh, Ally,” one more time.

  Then Diego came outside again and shouted, “We really need you guys in rehearsal!”

  “Are you ready?” Ally asked me.

  I nodded. “Are you ready?”

  Ally nodded.

  She took my hand, which probably would have felt weird any other time. We walked over to Diego, and back to the auditorium.

  When we got inside, My Goldstein said, “Violet, I’m sorry about your…” He trailed off.

  “Great-aunt,” Ally said.

  “Dad,” I said at the same time.

  Mr. Goldstein’s eyebrows shot up.

  “She means her dad called during rehearsal, even though he should have known what Violet was doing and not disturbed her,” Ally said. “Violet’s dad is the one who should be sorry. Very sorry. He’s rude.”

  “Yeah.” I nodded gratefully at Ally. “He’s really rude.”

  “Violet, are you up to rehearsing with your theater family?” Mr. Goldstein asked.

  I locked arms with Ally and Diego. “Let’s follow the yellow brick road.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  “How was rehearsal?” my mom asked when I got in the car.

  I didn’t even say my usual fine. I just stared out the window into the dark.

  “I felt terrible last night, hearing how upset you were about your dad,” Mom said as she pulled out of the parking lot. “Especially because it’s partly my fault. I made a terrible decision.”

  For a second, I thought she was going to say something like I never should have let your dad go. But I knew what her terrible decision was. I’d figured it out on the phone today. It was a no-brainer, once I realized my dad wouldn’t have sent those nice emails.

  “I deceived you, Violet. I thought I was doing a good thing at the time, but I wasn’t. Then it snowballed.” Her voice cracked like a sixth-grade boy’s. “I have to stop it before it gets any more out of hand, even though you’re going to be furious with me, as well you should.”

  I nodded. For the first time ever, Mom was telling me I should be furious with her. I had been furious with her many times before when she hadn’t told me to be. Tonight I was mad at her, but not really furious.

  “It may be hard for you to believe,” Mom said in an even crackier voice. “But I love you more than anything.”

  It actually wasn’t hard to believe, but I still kept staring out the window. Just because you love someone doesn’t mean you can’t do something wrong to them—something very, very wrong.

  “I wanted to make things easier for you,” she said.

  “Ha,” I muttered, not in a ha-ha laughing way.

  “Like when you were little, and I’d kiss a scrape on your knee and tell you that would make it better.”

  “I’m not little,” I said. I was done muttering. “And kisses don’t make scrapes go away any faster. They could even infect the scrapes and make them worse.”

  “I have no excuse for what I did. It’s awful.”

  I turned to her. “You pretended you were Dad and sent me emails.”

  She let out a little gasp. “You knew?”

  “I figured it out today.”

  She pulled over and parked at a curb, even though we were only a few blocks from our house.

  I stared at Mom’s nervous face, at her hands gripping the steering wheel of the parked car. When I spoke, there wasn’t much anger in my voice—about 15 percent anger and 70 percent sadness and 15 percent curiosity. “How did you even do that? Did you hack into Dad’s email account?”

  “I went into his account after you told me you’d emailed him. I felt bad for you, so I…I know I made things worse, but at the time I thought I was helping.”

  I shook my head. “Yeah, big help.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said again.

  “So you read Dad’s personal emails,” I pointed out.

  “I read his junk email account, the one he gives out to salespeople so his real address doesn’t fill up with spam.”

  “It’s the one on all my school forms. His junk email is the only one I know about.”

  “Oh, Violet,” Mom said, her tone now pitying.

  I looked out my window again so she wouldn’t see me blinking back tears. “How did you know Dad’s password?”

  “He’s always used the same password: Violet. Number sign. One.”

  “As if I’m number one in his life. Ha,” I said.

  “I’m so sorry, Violet. It was stupid and wrong of me.”

  “Your apology is about as useful as a kiss on a knee.” I glared at her, but it was too dark for my glare to hurt her. Anyway, she already seemed pretty hurt.

  I pictured her kissing my knee after I fell off my bike the first day I rode it without training wheels. As I’d pedaled, Dad had held on to the back of the bike, steadying it and promising he wouldn’t let go. But after a few minutes, he gave the bike a push and let go. I’d ridden down a small slope that seemed like the Alps, panicked, and fallen down.

  Mom had yelled, “Why did you do that?”

  “You nagged me to teach her to ride her bike,” Dad had complained. “And when I do, you scream at me.”

  Mom had brought me inside, washed my knee, and kissed it. And her kiss did seem to make my knee feel better.

  The next day, she’d driven me and my bike to a flat, grassy park. Then she walked beside me for hours, holding on to the bike as I pedaled. She did it again the next day. Eventually, with my say-so, she’d let go and I’d learned to ride.

  I cleared my throat and said, “I finally got Dad to talk to me today.”

  “Oh?” Her voice was fake calm.

  “All I had to do was call him a quadrillion times and fill up his voicemail. He called back to tell me to leave him alone.”

  Mom mumbled something that sounded like a very bad word. Then she took a big breath and said, “That’s his loss.”

  I nodded. I didn’t feel mad at her anymore.

  “Violet, what happened with me and him is not your—”

  “Fault. I know. You keep telling me that.”

  “Because it’s true,” Mom said.

  “I know,” I said automatically. Except now I believed it. What happened was hardly Mom’s fault either, I realized. It was mostly because of Dad. He stopped thinking of anyone else, or maybe he never did that much in the first place. If Dad was so sick of Mom’s nagging, why didn’t he just put away his shoes for once or go to the market when he promised he would?

  And wasn’t it better to have a parent nagging you about doing well in school than one who wouldn’t even give your school his real email address? Maybe a lot of what Dad called “nagging” was actually Mom trying to help our family. I suddenly saw all this and wondered why I hadn’t seen it before.

  “I love you, Mom,” I said.

  “I love you, too.” Mom leaned over and put her arms around me. “I promise not to lie to you anymore or keep secrets.”

  I sat up straight. “So tell me where Dad’s been hiding out.”

  “Oh, Violet.” M
om sighed. “He’s renting an apartment at the Shoreham Arms.”

  But that was only a few miles from our house. It was where he’d taken me to sneak into the pool.

  I let out a little whimper. I’d always thought math could solve my parents’ problems and make us a true family, but it’s impossible to bring two people together when one of them refuses to be part of the equation.

  Mom wrapped her arms around me tighter and I pressed myself against her.

  Will Summers

  Shoreham Arms Apts.

  242 Morgridge Way, #6

  Cypress, CA 90630

  Dear Dad,

  Mom gave me your address. Don’t worry. I won’t be writing you, calling you, or emailing you again. And I’m not writing you to try to get you and Mom back together or remind you about my play. I just want to tell you that I might not be so eager to talk to you when you’re ready to talk to me. A lot has happened with me, schoolwise and friendwise and me getting wise, or wiser at least—wise enough to know that what you’re doing is very unwise.

  Well, take care of yourself. Though no one needs to tell you that.

  Sincerely,

  Violet

  TWENTY-TWO

  At lunch the next day, I stood by the entrance to the cafeteria. First, I looked at McKenzie. She was sitting by herself in our usual spot, her shoulders hunched, staring at her phone. Then I looked at Ally. She sat in the middle of the cafeteria with Zahara Khalil, who was even more beautiful than her beautiful name. Zahara modeled for a magazine ad and had been in a commercial for Orange County’s Best Ice Cream. This year she’d started wearing a hijab, which showed off her perfect cheekbones and gorgeous dark eyes. I wondered if Zahara had gone on dates like Ally supposedly had.

  If I were brave, I would have marched to their table and plopped myself between them. But I was not brave. I did not march or plop.

  Except I wasn’t Cowardly Violet anymore either. So I slowly walked to their table, thinking about what to say when I got there. Hi? Or Mind if I sit here? Or maybe—

  “Violet!” Ally gave me a small wave.

  I waved back like I was stranded on an island and she was the first sign of life I’d seen in a week.

  I dropped my stupid arms. But I kept walking over.

  When I got near her, Ally said, “Hey, Violet. Do you know if that ancient bowling alley by City Hall is still open?”

  Had she called me over only for that?

  “Because Zahara and I were talking about going bowling. Do you like to bowl?”

  I loved to bowl with my parents. Used to, anyway. Mom was all about the technique: Take three steps, bend your knee, shake hands with the ball. But Dad would just run over and hurl his ball. I was always Team Dad at the bowling alley. It was more fun to throw the ball down the lane fast and wild.

  “Violet?” Ally said.

  “I think that bowling alley’s still open. I went there a few months ago,” I said.

  “Good. Let’s all go bowling once the play is over.”

  “Cool,” I said. I loved Dad’s way of bowling, but I wished I’d also let Mom teach me so I wouldn’t embarrass myself with Zahara and Ally.

  “Hi. I’m Zahara,” Zahara said, smiling her big model smile.

  “I know. You’re in my math class. I mean, not that you’re expected to know everyone who’s in each of your classes. That’s like thirty or thirty-five people times six classes.” Could I possibly babble any more?

  “Yeah, that’s like a hundred ninety-five people,” Zahara said, actually seeming interested.

  I nodded. “Except some people are in more than one of your classes, right? So you’d have to subtract the duplicates. But, still, it’s a lot. Start with a hundred eighty to two hundred ten people, or a hundred ninety-five on average like you said. Then subtract about…” Yes, I could possibly babble more. A lot more. I pressed my teeth together to shut myself up.

  “I bet you get As in math,” Ally said. She turned to Zahara. “Violet’s really smart.”

  I shrugged. But I did get As in math. With Ms. Merriweather’s supplemental stuff, I’d have to work for my A. But so far, I was really enjoying it.

  “Sorry I didn’t recognize you,” Zahara said. “I’m awful with faces. I think I might have this disease called face blindness I heard about last year. Or more like face nearsightedness or something. Plus, I hardly ever pay attention in math class.”

  “Zahara, this is Violet Summers,” Ally said, because I’d been too busy blabbing about calculating math students to tell Zahara my name.

  “Oh yeah,” Zahara said. “You have a big part in the play, right?”

  I nodded.

  “My parents wouldn’t let me try out. They said I shouldn’t do acting unless I get paid for it.” She sighed. “You’re the Tin Man or the tiger or something?”

  The tiger? If McKenzie heard that, she’d say Zahara was so dumb. When we saw her commercial, McKenzie had said, “You mean Orange County’s Worst Ice Cream.”

  I gazed at McKenzie and caught her looking at me. She quickly stared down at her phone. Maybe she’d called it Orange County’s Worst Ice Cream because she was jealous. She was probably jealous right now.

  I turned away from her.

  “The tiger?” Ally asked with a smile. “Zahara, there’s no tiger in The Wizard of Oz.”

  Zahara shrugged. “Lions and tigers and bears, oh my?”

  “There’s no bear either,” Ally said.

  They both laughed.

  “Hey, can I sit with you guys?” I asked, which would have been a very brave thing to do if I hadn’t been standing by their table for so long already.

  “Oh yeah, sit,” Ally said. “Sit, Miss Tiger.”

  “Or Miss Bear,” Zahara said.

  “Grr.” I raised my hands and shaped them like bear claws.

  We laughed together as I plopped down between them.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Mom drove me nuts the next morning. I couldn’t even lie in bed after hitting my snooze button without her leaning over me, breathing her coffee breath on my face. I couldn’t stand still after my shower and enjoy the warm steam without Mom calling out, “You’ll be late for school!” I couldn’t stare at my bedroom mirror while wearing my striped sweater and then my pink one and then my brown one and then my striped one again without Mom telling me to hurry up. And it was impossible to remember when I’d worn each sweater last and what jeans went best with them, because Mom’s “Violet, come on!” made my brain go blank.

  By the time we left for school, I didn’t know who was madder: me or Mom. Probably Mom. Her eyes narrowed into slits like she was peering out of a Halloween mask. Her lips pressed together so tightly they made one thin line. She looked like she was constipated, though I wasn’t dumb enough to point that out.

  Just when I thought Mom was done telling me what to do, she said, “Put your seat belt on.”

  I sighed.

  “Violet, you have to get ready for school faster,” Mom said like she’d said a quadrillion times before.

  “Okay, I will,” I said for the quadrillionth time. Then I mumbled, “We’re only a few minutes late.”

  Normally I’d text McKenzie something like, “Late. Don’t wait for me.” But McKenzie wouldn’t be waiting for me anymore. Ally and I weren’t good enough friends to wait for each other before school every day. Not yet, anyway.

  “I’m tired of nagging you,” Mom said, “believe it or not.”

  “Not,” I muttered.

  “So I thought about it, and I’m changing things up.” Mom sounded cheery now. She let out a big breath. “I’m done waking you up or telling you to hurry or trying to rush you in the morning.”

  “Really? Is this an early Christmas gift?”

  Mom flashed a smile. “A gift for both of us.”


  I smiled back at her. “Best gift ever! Thanks!”

  “But there’s a catch. From now on, if you’re not in the car by seven forty-five, you walk to school.”

  I groaned. “That’ll make me later than ever. Do you know how long it takes to walk to school?”

  “Twenty minutes or so.”

  “Yeah. And what if I have a big thing to carry, like that history class project?”

  “Then you’d better make sure to get ready for school on time.” Mom flashed another smile.

  I did not smile back. “If I have too many tardies, I’ll get detention.”

  “That’ll be your problem, not mine,” Mom said.

  “I can’t get detention! I have rehearsals every day after school.”

  Mom shrugged. “Well, it’s up to you. I guess you should get yourself ready on time.”

  I glared at her. “I guess you should get me a real Christmas present. Because this one stinks.”

  * * *

  Voicemail from Violet:

  “Hi, McKenzie. It’s me. Obviously. I saw you looking at me in the cafeteria today. And you saw me looking at you. Do you want to sit with me at lunch tomorrow? I mean, with me and Ally and whoever else joins the table. Ally’s nice. We shouldn’t be scared to try new things. I’m not saying you’re scared. But I’m not saying you’re not scared either. You know? Give me a call, okay? We don’t even have to talk that much about my dad. Or about that kick at lunch. And maybe your mom. I wish we could talk about that stuff though. Okay, well, I miss you.”

  * * *

  It had been two days since I’d left the voicemail. McKenzie hadn’t called me back or texted or sat with me at lunch. I missed her. I worried about her too. We only had mothers to look out for us now, and I didn’t think McKenzie’s mother looked out for her too well.

  The day before, I saw her eating with three girls I didn’t know very well: Darcy Bollinger, Pearl something, and a girl named either Maddy or Megan or Molly or Jane. I doubted McKenzie knew those girls very well either.