I heard the muted clackity-clack of her keyboard as her fingers flew over the keys as I came in. She could type about a bazillion words a minute and she was extremely accurate which meant she was exceptionally good at her job. Under the sound of her typing I heard the drone of her earphones—some doctor in a distant hospital dictating medical reports in a bored, sing-song voice.
The air in the little room was hazy with cigarette smoke. I batted at the grey clouds with one hand and coughed loudly to show I disapproved as I came in to talk to her. She’d promised about a thousand times to quit but she could never even seem to make it a whole day without lighting up again.
I worried about her all the time.
For a while in middle school I used to bring home these public service, anti-smoking pamphlets they handed out to us, that told all the scary, awful diseases we could get if we started smoking. Breast cancer, lung cancer, emphysema and so many others were listed, it scared the crap out of me.
But none of it seemed to stop or even slow my mom’s cigarette consumption. It was an expensive habit and one reason why my own meager earnings at the I Scream were so important to our income.
But as angry and worried as I felt when I saw the cigarette hanging from the corner of Mom’s mouth, I couldn’t help loving her too. She hasn’t exactly had it easy. My dad, who she always described as “the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” left shortly before I was born and my mom had to raise me by herself. She did her best to give me a good childhood, even though we’d always been right on the edge of poverty.
I bent down to peck her on the cheek and she pulled off her headset and stopped her transcription for a minute.
“Hi sweetie,” she mumbled around the cigarette. “Did you get my message? I was trying to call you earlier this week but you never answered.”
“Was that you calling me Monday morning?” I asked in exasperation. “Mom, you nearly got me suspended! I thought I told you my second period teacher has a no cell phone policy.”
“That’s ridiculous. What’s the point of giving you a cell phone if you can’t use it when I need to get hold of you?” She frowned. “Don’t worry, baby—no one’s gonna suspend you. I’ll march right down to that school office and tell him where he can stick his stupid policy.”
I sighed. “Thanks, Mom but it’s taken care of. One of the boys in my class took the fall for me.”
“Oh yeah?” She got an interested light in her faded blue eyes. “Was it that Elian Darkwing you’re so crazy about?”
“No, I wish,” I said.
Although, did I? Actually…I didn’t think I did. I’d had a crush on Elian Darkwing since forever but somehow I couldn’t imagine him handling the situation with the cell phone as smoothly as Bran had or doing all the other things Bran had done for me either. Like comforting me when Spike was so horribly mangled or offering to take the skink before Avery finally figured out a way to get rid of it.
Then I gave myself a mental slap. I wasn’t actually having romantic thoughts about Bran O’Connor was I? He might be a really nice guy, but Morganna would never leave me alone if we started dating. And that’s assuming he wanted to date me, which he never gave any indication that he did, right?
Right, I told myself firmly. The idea of anybody wanting to date plane-Jane me was just stupid.
But still, Bran was on my mind as I gave my mom one last kiss and got on my bike to head down to the I Scream U Scream diner.
“Be careful,” she called to me, squinting in the late afternoon sun as she waved me off.
“I’ll be fine, Mom,” I told her. “Love you.”
“I love you too, sweetheart.” She waved at me and lit another cigarette as I pedaled away.
I had no idea how different everything would be the next time I saw her.
21
The I Scream was the only local eatery in Frostproof that wasn’t a chain restaurant. There was a McDonalds down the street as well as a Taco Bell and an Arbys but those were all soulless corporate shells, at least that was what I heard one of our older customers complain.
The I Scream was also the only place in town with any character. It was made up like an old-fashioned 50s malt shop with old posters on the walls advertising everything from Coke to Rice Krispies to I Love Lucy. There was a juke box in the corner, red vinyl booths, and the floor was tiled in black and white checks. We served twelve flavors of homemade ice cream as well as burgers, fries, shakes, chili, and “the best Cuban Sandwich in the World.”
It was a slow night at work which meant hardly any tips, which sucked because our fridge at home was getting kind of bare. I only ate at home on the weekends, but I knew if I didn’t stock up, my mom wouldn’t bother either. She would just live on a diet of coffee and cigarettes and I would have to worry about her all week. I wanted to at least be able to buy some staples like milk and bread and eggs before I went back to Nocturne Academy on Monday morning.
Of course, I knew Joey, my manager and the owner of the I Scream, would send me home with some leftover fries and onion rings but that wasn’t exactly a filling or nutritious meal. Though it was, of course, better than just caffeine and nicotine.
I was just about to sit in a corner booth and start my homework—that’s how slow it was—when the bell over the door jingled and a whole group of people walked in. Actually, it was a family.
With a little tingle of pleasure, I recognized Bran O’Connor. And the people with him had to be his mom and dad and little sister.
Sadly, they were all just as hard to look at as he was. Though, to be honest, I hardly noticed his looks anymore. Still, his family was really unattractive.
I’m sorry if that makes me sound shallow, but it was true.
Wow, I couldn’t help thinking, as his mother, a short, troll-like woman with a huge, lumpy brown purse came to a stop in front of the hostess stand. She was wearing an absolutely awful orange dress that clashed with her skin, which was almost as bad as Bran’s. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun at the back of her head, showing a neck that looked as wrinkled as a turtle’s.
Bran’s dad wasn’t much to look at either. Almost as short as his son, he had thinning, wispy brown hair combed over an obvious bald spot and watery grey eyes that were comically magnified behind a pair of thick glasses with black frames.
Nerd glasses, I couldn’t help thinking. Because they almost looked like a prop from a movie. Put these on and instant geek—like that.
But Bran’s little sister had to be the saddest sight of all. She had a nose that turned up just like a pig’s snout and tiny mournful, no-color eyes. Her lank brown hair was pulled back into limp pigtails on either side of her head and to top it all off, she had the biggest pair of buckteeth I had ever seen protruding from her thick-lipped mouth.
“I don’t wanna eat here, Mom,” she was moaning as they all trooped into the I Scream. “We might see someone from school. That would be so embarrassing.”
“Your brother sees someone from school and you don’t hear him complaining,” Bran’s mother said as I came to greet them. “Isn’t that the girl you were talking about, Bran? Your lab partner?”
“Yes, that’s her.” Bran smiled at me, an expression that lit up his homely face and made me want to blush, though I tried to control my reaction.