It's an Aardvark-Eat-Turtle World by Paula Danziger Page A

don’t we say that we’ll meet them for lunch and go visit some of the other places that are more fun?”
    â€œGreat idea.” I nod.
    We tell them and make arrangements to meet them for lunch at a place called Mr. Greenjeans and head out the door.
    Going into a store with lots of stickers and fun things, I find the perfect Christmas present for the Little Nerdlet. It’s a pair of earmuffs with each side shaped like mouse heads. I just know that the Little Nerdlet’s going to love it. Even though it’s only August, I buy it to give him in December.
    Walking into another place, I ask Aviva about why her family is Canadian and Duane is American.
    She stops to try on a pair of earrings. “My father’s much younger than Duane, and his politics are different. During the Vietnam War, my father was going to be drafted if he stayed in the United States. So he and Mom moved to Canada. They had a roughtime of it. His family wouldn’t talk to him. He was a fugitive. And then by the time the U.S. offered amnesty, he decided to stay and become a Canadian citizen. He did go back for a while to work it out so that he could go to the U.S. without being arrested. And he kind of made up with his family.”
    â€œThat’s a great story,” I say. “He should write it down. I would if it happened to me.”
    â€œHe’s not a writer.” Aviva smiles. “He loves working with computers.”
    It’s amazing. Duane and his brother are both into computers and they’re so different.
    â€œI’m not great with computers.” I laugh. “Last year in school I was having lots of trouble getting my program to work and I got angry. So I typed in some profanity, telling the computer what to do with its bytes.”
    â€œWhat happened?” Aviva smiles.
    â€œIt printed out ‘Please don’t use such bad language. I’m only a machine and I can’t take it.’”
    â€œIs that true?” Aviva is doubled over laughing.
    I nod. “Then I tried all sorts of other words on it and the computer said the same thing. Some teacher must have programmed it in.”
    â€œCan you imagine?” Aviva still can’t stop laughing. “The teacher probably tried to write in every possible combination of words that a student could use to swear. I thought teachers weren’t supposed to know bad words.”
    When we finally calm down, it’s time to meet Phoebe, Mrs. Carson, and Bev for lunch.
    We go to Mr. Greenjeans. They’re already there. We order hamburgers. They turn out to be the largest I’ve ever seen.
    â€œWhere were you?” Phoebe asks.
    We tell her and show her the Little Nerdlet’s present.
    She’s got several packages next to her but doesn’t show us what’s in them.
    Phoebe doesn’t seem too pleased that Aviva and I went off without her.
    What else should we have done? Been bored with waiting until she picked out her little designer outfits? When we said that we were going, she didn’t say she wanted to come with us.
    She’s very quiet. Too quiet.
    I refuse to feel guilty. Enough is enough. I know I was brought along to keep her company, but shewas busy buying clothes. That was time to spend with her mother—which was the real reason for this trip. Sometimes I think that the only time those two communicate is when they’re shopping.
    I look at Phoebe and try hard to make contact. “We passed a store called Perry’s. They take pictures of people dressed in old-time clothes. Why don’t the three of us go there after lunch and have a picture taken?”
    â€œYou and Aviva . . . and me?” Phoebe looks at us.
    I stare at her. “The three of us . . . .Don’t be silly . . . .You know that I want you in the picture.”
    She holds up a french fry to her face and pretends that it’s a moustache.
    Now she’s acting like the Phoebe that