One Day and One Amazing Morning on Orange Street Page 5

“I know what you mean,” said Little Pop. They often knew what the other meant when no one else did. “Go fish.”

  “Whee-hoo! Game over!” Nelson squawked again. Everyone ignored him.

  Leandra had been talking about that morning’s argument with Ali, as well as complaining about the usual things such as her parents, her brothers, and the Blessed Event.

  “Leandra herself is like an orange isn’t she?” Big Mama gave her husband a poke in the ribs and reached for a card. “Tough on the outside, but inside—”

  “She’s sweet,” said Little Pop. “And tart. But still sweet.” And he winked.

  “Do you have any queens?” asked Leandra.

  “Go fish,” said Big Mom.

  “Fish! Game over!” squawked Nelson.

  True, Leandra felt sweet when she was in 301½. But everywhere else, lately, she mostly thought of herself in lemony terms, like sour.

  That’s because Leandra’s mother was going to have a baby. (The Blessed Event, in her grandparents’ words.) Leandra thought that was one of the most embarrassing things ever to happen to their family. It was fine for a mom to be pregnant when her other children were infants, all hanging out together cluelessly in double- or triple-wide strollers, but it was a different story entirely when one of those children was nine, and the nine-year-old’s twin brothers, P.J. and A.J., were eleven. And all of them totally understood

  (1) how it happened and

  (2) what their family was in for.

  “Maybe you should have consulted us . . . before,” Leandra had said to her parents, the day they had announced the news, months ago. A big ruckus erupted and P.J. and A.J. rolled around on the kitchen floor, giggling wildly. Because of what that “before” implied.

  “We thought you’d be as thrilled as we are,” said Mrs. Jackson. Their father stood grinning by her side. They were holding hands, which was also embarrassing.

  “Thrilled? Uh, no-o,” said Leandra. “Here’s why: Babies poop in their diapers. They also spit up.”

  The giggling from the kitchen floor increased in volume as Leandra continued to describe the serious truth of the situation. “And because of all that, babies stink. They yell, day in and day out. Slimy drool hangs down from their chins. They take over all the rooms with their stuff. They sit in their car seats throwing Cheerios. And all they have to do is take one teeny-weeny step, or smear junk in their hair, or pick their little wet noses, and out comes the camera. Big deal.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Jackson laughed annoyingly, as if Leandra were exaggerating.

  Leandra thought she knew a thing or two about babies. She’d watched enough of them being pushed up and down the neighborhood streets in their thrones on wheels, or lugged around on their parents’ backs or chests. She’d observed them bawling their heads off over nothing, or laughing their heads off over their own private jokes. The parents themselves often had dark circles under their eyes.

  In the videos of Leandra when she was a baby, her parents, too, had dark circles under their eyes. Although Leandra had to admit she herself had looked very adorable with those mashed lima beans in her hair. Then her hair grew longer, up, around and sideways, just like her mother’s. The two of them had loved to brush and braid each other’s hair. And they’d been talking about dreadlocks, which would have been the very next step.

  But one day, just like that, her mother had cut her hair very short. “To save time,” she explained. Now Leandra understood where that saved time would be going.

  And then there was poor little Edgar Garcia. He had acted just like all those other babies, before he got sick and very quiet. That was another thing. That was a very important thing. Babies got sick and everyone worried about them like crazy.

  A.J. came up for air from the floor. “How many are in there, anyway?” he asked.

  “Only one,” said Mrs. Jackson.

  “And it’s a girl,” said Mr. Jackson. “Now our family will have two girls and two boys. Even Steven.” Leandra’s father looked proud of himself, as if he’d planned it that way.

  Leandra had an almost-happy thought, though it was tinged with jealousy around the edges.

  “So you’ll be quitting your job?” she had asked optimistically. It would be fun to have a full-time-at-home-mother, even though that full-time-at-home-mother would probably spend a lot of time doing laundry and breast-pumping and taking care of the baby.

  “Oh, no,” said her mother. “I don’t want to do that. But we’re going to need lots of help with the house and you kids.”

  “A nanny!” Leandra had exclaimed.

  Leandra thought it would be fun to have a cool nanny like one of those ladies you read about in books, with a British accent and lots of fairy tales to tell.

  “No,” said Mr. Jackson. “Nannies can be expensive. Luckily, we have other options.”

  The “other options” were Big Mom and Little Pop. They weren’t British and they weren’t really nannies, but they were cool in their own way. As soon as they and Nelson were settled in, Big Mom and Little Pop introduced the System. Little Pop said he’d learned the System in the Wars, although he didn’t say which wars, or where, or when. Big Mom seemed to have been there, too, because she knew exactly how the System worked.

  “See this?” Big Mom had pointed inside a medium-sized Macy’s shopping bag.

  The three Jackson kids peered into the bag, which was overflowing with a bunch of greasy playing cards.

  “Left over from the Wars,” explained Little Pop, which didn’t explain anything at all.

  But Big Mom continued, “Every time you kids do something positive, like get a nice note from your teacher with compliments, or clean Nelson’s cage, or even make your bed in the morning, you’ll get one of these cards. The better the deed, the higher the card, decided by Little Pop and me. And we’ll keep your cards in your own cookie tin right under our bed.”

  “When you get enough points, you can cash them in for some pretty good stuff,” said Little Pop.

  “Like what?” asked P.J.

  “Oh, dollar bills, bubble gum, sneakers, whatever,” said Big Mom.

  “Sounds good to me,” said A.J.

  “Sounds like bribery to me,” said Leandra.

  “Not at all,” said Big Mom. “Because if you do something not-so-good, like punching, teasing, or running around like a pack of wild coyotes, we’ll take a card out of your cookie tin and throw it right back into the shopping bag.”

  And the best part of the System was that you weren’t penalized if you occasionally admitted to some random imperfect behavior, just sitting around 301½, playing a game of cards. And that did make you feel a bit sweeter inside.

  “So I yelled at Ali and now she’s mad at me,” Leandra said, then told her grandparents about Ali’s idea. “I said her idea was dumb and that I wouldn’t cut off my hair for anybody, even poor little Edgar. Any sevens?”

  With a frown, Big Mom handed over three sevens.

  “Fish!” said Leandra, displaying her hand.

  “Whee-hoo! Fish! Game over!” squawked Nelson.

  Little Pop gathered up the cards for another game. His fancy shuffling made a tall fountain of cards.

  “It’s the yelling that concerns me,” said Big Mom. “Maybe a quiet discussion would have worked better.”

  “That reminds me of something,” said Little Pop. “Do you remember the Yelling Contests?”

  “Of course!” said Big Mom. “They were a big problem.”

  “What Yelling Contests?” asked Leandra.

  “When you were a very little girl, Adam John or Phillip John would yell into your crib to see how many seconds it took to wake you up. The next day the other twin would try to break that record.”

  Big Mom called A.J. and P.J. by their full names because she thought the initials were silly. “Why have names in the first place if you didn’t use them?” she’d say.

  Little Pop shuffled twice more: another fountain of cards, then a quick show-off ripple behind his back. �
��Remember the Pip?” he asked.

  Big Mom rolled her eyes. Just in case Leandra didn’t know the story (she did), Big Mom told it again.

  “You were three when you accidentally swallowed that orange pip, which is another name for seed, as you know. The boys told you a tree would begin growing inside your belly if you drank anything. For two whole days you refused any liquid, and to get you to drink something (anything!), your mama told you orange pips wouldn’t grow in chocolate milkshakes. So you drank chocolate milkshakes for two days, until we assured you the pip had passed. No milkshakes for the twins, of course.”

  “You had to feel sorry for those boys,” said Little Pop. He began to deal the cards. “Changes are hard.”

  “I guess,” said Leandra.

  “But look at them now. Practically model citizens!” said Big Mom. “It’s the System, of course.”

  “But what about the snails? That was only a week ago,” Leandra reminded them.

  A.J. and P.J. had each plopped a snail into Leandra’s tomato soup at dinner. They insisted the snails had already died of natural causes, but that prank cost them quite a few playing cards.

  “As I said, changes are hard,” said Little Pop. Suddenly, Little Pop laid down his cards, his hands shaking. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. “Heat’s getting to me,” he said softly.

  Leandra jumped up to bring Little Pop a glass of water and a cool, damp towel from the Hot Banana kitchen. She wiped her grandfather’s forehead. Then she ran to bring him a footstool from across the room.

  “Better?” asked Leandra anxiously.

  “Better?” asked Nelson, with a small, worried squawk.

  “Much better,” said Little Pop. “Game on.”

  Big Mom gave Leandra her special, piercing look. The look said I’m about to ask you a question, but I already know the answer. Leandra began to deal the cards.

  “This is what I want to know,” said Big Mom, putting her big hand on Leandra’s, so that the dealing was interrupted. “Here’s this girl, OK, a grumpy girl, tough on the outside, but inside, so scared of that baby coming down the pike.”

  “Whee-hoo!” said Little Pop. “Man, is she ever scared. What’s the real reason for that?”

  “I’m not scared about anything! Well, maybe just a bit,” Leandra said.

  “Give us the reason,” said Big Mom. “Come on, let’s hear it.”

  There were actually two reasons. One was obvious, and one was scary—black-magic scary.

  “I’m not so sweet inside,” Leandra said, looking down at the cards on the table.

  “You think we don’t know that?” said Big Mom. “We said tart and sweet. Like an orange.” Suddenly Big Mom stood up from the table, arms akimbo, flesh wiggling.

  “Look at me! Do you think I was always seventy-two years old? Don’t you think I know what it feels like to be a preteen, hormones popping around inside, moods blowing every which way like the wind?”

  “Whee-hoo!” said Little Pop. “And pretty as a princess!”

  Leandra looked up. Actually, it was hard to imagine Big Mom as a preteen and pretty as a princess, no matter how hard she tried. Big Mom was, well, Big Mom. “I’m going to be a terrible older sibling. It runs in the family,” she said. “I wish with all my heart I could be a good one, but I don’t think I can be.”

  “Oh, baloney! What you’re feeling is normal,” said Little Pop.

  “That baby will be lucky to have you,” said Big Mom.

  “I guess,” said Leandra.

  Big Mom’s eyes narrowed. “Is that all?”

  Leandra studied her fingernails. “That’s all,” she lied. She couldn’t tell them the other reason. She didn’t even want to think about that one.

  “OK then. A few other things,” said Big Mom. “Your hair could actually lose a few inches, in my opinion. And do you really want to sit around all summer with two old fogies?”

  Leandra did feel less lemony, all of a sudden, she had to admit. A lot less. “I have to go make some phone calls,” she said.

  li loved Ms. Snoops’s giant-sized Oxford English Dictionary—the OED, as those in the know called it, which now included Ali. The OED was so big it stood on its very own wooden podium by the window in Ms. Snoops’s office. You needed a magnifying glass to read the tiny type on its thousands of pages.

  “Take your time, dear. And I hope your friendships turn out to be as infrangible as mine and Gertrude’s,” said Ms. Snoops, who was curled up on her window seat, happy to have someone else to talk to besides a cat.

  Ali slowly turned the almost see-through pages, blinking at all the delicious words she found on the way to infrangible:

  Ignoble. Imbonity. Imperiwiggle. Incandescent. Infallible. Infossous.

  “Something strange happened this morning,” Ms. Snoops murmured.

  Ali was so engrossed in the wonderful words, she didn’t hear Ms. Snoops at first.

  “So strange, so strange,” repeated Ms. Snoops.

  Now Ali looked up at her friend.

  “I was gazing out my front window, minding my own business,” Ms. Snoops continued, “and, in front of my house, someone was sitting in a green car. It was olive colored. Or maybe sea-green, or a shade close to emerald. I’m not really sure . . .” Ms. Snoops’s voice trailed off, and her forehead was wrinkled in concentration.

  “So what happened?” asked Ali.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You were talking about a green car,” Ali said.

  “I was?”

  “Yes, and someone sitting in it.”

  Ms. Snoops clasped her hands tightly to her chest, as if she were trying to hold on to something. “Oh, right! It was a ghost,” she said.

  “A ghost?” Ali felt a stirring, as if one of those invisible, theoretical angels from the empty lot, having accidentally fallen asleep on her shoulder, was beginning to wake up.

  “Yes. Someone who has been dead for many, many years.”

  Ali couldn’t think of anything to say to that. The invisible, theoretical angel opened one eye.

  Ms. Snoops giggled. “Then, just before the ghost drove away in his green car, I got a better look. And I realized it must have been the slant of the sun, or his bushy beard, or my mind playing a trick on me, reminding me of someone who used to live on Orange Street, years ago.”

  Ms. Snoops had made finger quotes around the word “ghost.” Ali’s little angel yawned and went back to sleep. Ali herself sighed with relief because, for a second or two, she’d thought Ms. Snoops was a bit crazy, talking about ghosts. Ms. Snoops had so many thousands of memories, decades’ and decades’ worth! It was only natural they’d get in each other’s way.

  Ali went back to the OED. There it was. Infrangible.

  Infrangible, in-fran´gi-ble, adj. Not capable of—

  “Is that your friend Leandra, with her dog?” Ms. Snoops asked suddenly. “Or is that the girl with the animal name? I can never remember who is who.”

  Ali ran to the window to look. “That’s Bunny. She’s the one with the dog.”

  It was puzzling to Ali why Ms. Snoops couldn’t seem to remember who was who, when the who’s were so different. If you were comparing Bunny and Leandra, Bunny would be a little breeze, and Leandra would be a blustery, hot Santa Ana wind. Or Bunny would be a whistled tune under your breath, and Leandra would be a marching song, or the loud music they always play during the TV commercials.

  Ali opened the window, leaned out, and called, “Hey!”

  Robert poked his head out from behind the bougainvillea bush.

  “Not you, Robert! I was talking to Bunny,” Ali shouted, even though she knew that was ignoble of her. “Bunny! The meeting was cancelled!”

  Then, to Ali’s joy, there was Leandra herself, strolling down Orange Street toward the empty lot! Leandra looked up and waved at Ali. “Come on down,” said Leandra. “We’ll have another meeting!”

  In the meantime, Robert had raced across the street, carrying his big shoebox. He loped
up Ms. Snoops’s outside and inside stairs, two at a time, and burst into her sunny office.

  “What are you doing here?” Robert asked Ali, panting a little. Robert was a boy some people called chubby. In any case, he wasn’t used to loping up anybody’s outside and inside stairs, two at a time.

  “I guess I should ask you the same question,” said Ali. “I’m looking up a word at the moment.”

  “Which word?” asked Robert.

  “Specifically, infrangible,” said Ali, returning to the OED.

  Infrangible, in-fran´gi-ble, adj. Not capable of being broken or separated into parts.

  “Then I guess I’m here to do that, too,” said Robert.

  “Oh, sure you are,” said Ali, without looking up. “Which word, then?”

  Robert glanced around the room a bit wildly, his ears pinkening (Embarrassment Level One: grapefruit). He couldn’t think of a word as interesting as Ali’s at that moment, so he made one up. “Hifflesnuffle, for starters,” he said. Looking at the size of Ms. Snoops’s dictionary (a dictionary that needed its own table, for halibut’s sake!), Robert gambled that hifflesnuffle was in there, somewhere.

  “I’ll bet that’s not even a real word. But here, be my guest,” Ali said, handing him the magnifying glass.

  Robert stepped up to the podium. He slowly turned the thin pages of the OED. “Well, if hifflesnuffle’s not in here, I can always look it up online.”

  “Remember, if you can’t find it, that doesn’t mean it’s not a real word,” said Ms. Snoops. “New words get invented every day. That’s why the OED is so voluminous.”

  Actually, when you came right down to the truth, neither Robert, Ali, nor Ms. Snoops needed a dictionary or a computer to tell them what hifflesnuffle meant. Ali had had a sudden insight, which may have had something to do with Robert’s pink ears.

  Hifflesnuffle: hif-ul-snuful (v.) -snuffled, -snuffling, -snuffles. (tr). To like someone when that someone doesn’t like you back.

  “What’s in the shoebox?” Ali asked kindly.

  Robert looked up from the OED, startled. “Shoebox?”

  There she was. Wow, oh, wow, thought Robert. The old Ali! His former orange juice–selling business partner, his fellow astronaut in space, on whom his very life had once depended, standing right in front of him, as if she’d never gone away.