into Mom’s car, I asked her if I could drive.
She warily handed me the keys and got into the passenger seat.
There wasn’t a lot of traffic on Sunset because it was Sunday morning.
“You’re going a little fast,” my mother said about a mile into the drive.
I accelerated.
“Seriously, Rickie,” my mother said. “Slow down.”
I darted into the left lane to pass a car.
“Slow down,” Mom said sharply. “It’s not funny.”
I nodded and sped up a little bit more, whipping through an intersection before passing another car by moving to the right.
I stole a glance at my mother. Her face was taut with anger but this time she kept her lips tightly pressed together and remained
silent.
The light ahead was turning yellow. I slowed to a stop at the intersection and when it turned green again I went through at
a reasonable speed, which I maintained all the way to the school. My mother didn’t say anything for the rest of the drive,
but when we had parked and were getting Noah out of the backseat, she held her hand out to me.
“Give me the keys,” she said. I handed them to her. She threw them into her purse and walked away from me.
Once we reached the field, she transformed back into her usual outgoing self, hailing and kissing tons of people and gaily
introducing Noah to anyone who might, by some crazy chance, not be aware that her grandson now attended the school where she’d
been on the board for well over a decade.
Noah barely acknowledged the people he was introduced to, sometimes nodding briefly, sometimes just staring off into space,
occasionally picking his nose before I could stop him. I didn’t enjoy the social stuff any more than he did, although I like
to think I smiled a little more and picked my nose a lot less. When I felt we had paid our dues, I told Mom we were going
to go check out the fun stuff and let Noah pull me across the grass toward the carnival games.
“Oh, hey, Rickie!”
I turned. It was Maria Dellaventura, wearing a lacy tanktop and skinny jeans with high spike heels, and flanked by two boys the same age as Noah.
I could tell they were the same age because they were a head taller than him.
Plus I recognized them from his class: one was her son, the other his good friend.
“Hi, Noah,” she said, smiling down at him. “Austin and Oliver are going to go try the Velcro wall. You want to join them?”
“No,” he said, staring shyly down at the grass. Good thing, too—if he hadn’t, he might have seen the two boys rolling their
eyes at each other. Unfortunately,
I
saw it. I felt my whole body tighten up.
“You sure?” Maria said brightly, as if the boys were the three best friends in the world. “I hear it’s really fun.”
Noah just shook his head and clutched my hand tightly.
“You guys go on ahead,” she said to the two similarly blond, tall, and stocky kids. “I’ll find you later.” They raced off.
She turned back to me. “When are you doing your food shift?”
I looked at my watch. “Half an hour.”
“I’m doing the desserts booth later.” She put a hand on her concave stomach. “I’m dreading it—being around all that sweet
stuff kills me. I can’t resist it.”
I was tempted to roll my eyes and say “Oh, please!” but I refrained.
She turned to Noah. “Are you going to help your mom when she’s working?”
“I don’t know,” he said and pushed his body against my side. He often did that when he felt uneasy, like he needed to anchor
himself against me.
“Austin never helps me,” she said, “but Eloise likes to get back there and hand the food out. I don’t know where she isright now—she went running off with a group of girls. Probably to giggle about the boys. It starts early,” she added in a
low voice to me.
“Oh,” I said intelligently.
A short pause. “Well, I guess I should go talk to people.” She sighed. “It always feels like work, you know?”
“Yeah.” God, I was a brilliant
She warily handed me the keys and got into the passenger seat.
There wasn’t a lot of traffic on Sunset because it was Sunday morning.
“You’re going a little fast,” my mother said about a mile into the drive.
I accelerated.
“Seriously, Rickie,” my mother said. “Slow down.”
I darted into the left lane to pass a car.
“Slow down,” Mom said sharply. “It’s not funny.”
I nodded and sped up a little bit more, whipping through an intersection before passing another car by moving to the right.
I stole a glance at my mother. Her face was taut with anger but this time she kept her lips tightly pressed together and remained
silent.
The light ahead was turning yellow. I slowed to a stop at the intersection and when it turned green again I went through at
a reasonable speed, which I maintained all the way to the school. My mother didn’t say anything for the rest of the drive,
but when we had parked and were getting Noah out of the backseat, she held her hand out to me.
“Give me the keys,” she said. I handed them to her. She threw them into her purse and walked away from me.
Once we reached the field, she transformed back into her usual outgoing self, hailing and kissing tons of people and gaily
introducing Noah to anyone who might, by some crazy chance, not be aware that her grandson now attended the school where she’d
been on the board for well over a decade.
Noah barely acknowledged the people he was introduced to, sometimes nodding briefly, sometimes just staring off into space,
occasionally picking his nose before I could stop him. I didn’t enjoy the social stuff any more than he did, although I like
to think I smiled a little more and picked my nose a lot less. When I felt we had paid our dues, I told Mom we were going
to go check out the fun stuff and let Noah pull me across the grass toward the carnival games.
“Oh, hey, Rickie!”
I turned. It was Maria Dellaventura, wearing a lacy tanktop and skinny jeans with high spike heels, and flanked by two boys the same age as Noah.
I could tell they were the same age because they were a head taller than him.
Plus I recognized them from his class: one was her son, the other his good friend.
“Hi, Noah,” she said, smiling down at him. “Austin and Oliver are going to go try the Velcro wall. You want to join them?”
“No,” he said, staring shyly down at the grass. Good thing, too—if he hadn’t, he might have seen the two boys rolling their
eyes at each other. Unfortunately,
I
saw it. I felt my whole body tighten up.
“You sure?” Maria said brightly, as if the boys were the three best friends in the world. “I hear it’s really fun.”
Noah just shook his head and clutched my hand tightly.
“You guys go on ahead,” she said to the two similarly blond, tall, and stocky kids. “I’ll find you later.” They raced off.
She turned back to me. “When are you doing your food shift?”
I looked at my watch. “Half an hour.”
“I’m doing the desserts booth later.” She put a hand on her concave stomach. “I’m dreading it—being around all that sweet
stuff kills me. I can’t resist it.”
I was tempted to roll my eyes and say “Oh, please!” but I refrained.
She turned to Noah. “Are you going to help your mom when she’s working?”
“I don’t know,” he said and pushed his body against my side. He often did that when he felt uneasy, like he needed to anchor
himself against me.
“Austin never helps me,” she said, “but Eloise likes to get back there and hand the food out. I don’t know where she isright now—she went running off with a group of girls. Probably to giggle about the boys. It starts early,” she added in a
low voice to me.
“Oh,” I said intelligently.
A short pause. “Well, I guess I should go talk to people.” She sighed. “It always feels like work, you know?”
“Yeah.” God, I was a brilliant
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