I lie back down and pull the covers over my head. A little more sleep is what I need, not to work on my summer vacation or go sightsee. I'll have to convince the
Sperm Donor just because I happen to be on this stupid trip doesn't mean I have to do anything on it.
I let out a breath when I hear him leave the room. Looking over at Snotty's bed, I see it's empty. She's probably over at Avi's house.
Not that I'm jealous, 'cause I'm not. I just don't know why he's friends with her. She might be pretty, but she's mean.
Or maybe she's just mean to me. Which makes me hate her even more.
I close my eyes and try to think about good things, like going back home.
Nothing really makes me happy now. Is that what being sixteen is all about? If so, I can understand why teenagers express themselves in so many different ways. It's not as if we're stupid, we're just trying to figure out where we fit.
Me? I don't seem to fit anywhere these days. I'm like a square peg trying to fit into a round society. Now that I think about it more, I'm not square or round. More like an octagon. And I don't fit anywhere now. I thought I did, but my nice, super-dictated world has complicated all that. I wonder how Mitch is doing without me. Does he miss me?
I fall asleep again and when I wake up my stomach growls so I head to the kitchen. Everyone is gone and the house is quiet.
I glance over at Sofia, who's sitting in a velour chair reading some book.
"Boker tov, Amy," she says in this dignified voice as I reach into the refrigerator and scan the contents.
"I'm sorry," I say. "I don't know what that means."
I finally learned shalom means three things: hello, goodbye, and peace. My Hebrew knowledge is pathetic, at best.
"Boker tov means 'good morning.'"
"Oh. Boker tov to you, too."
Gram seems a little quiet this morning. I'll sit with her and chitchat while I eat breakfast, maybe that'll cheer her up. In fact, I'll prepare something special for her.
As I arrange a plate of fruit, I take my time and cut little pieces of banana and melon in these shapes Jessica's mom taught me. Jessica calls things people rave about "crowd pleasers." Little cut-up fruit in the shape of a clown face is a definite crowd pleaser.
I set the plate down in front of her on a side table. "Todah" she says.
"You're welcome." I look down at my masterpiece. "It's a clown face."
"Very creative. Do you like cooking?"
"Not really. Eating I like. We go to restaurants mostly back home."
"Your father doesn't cook for you?"
I know what you're thinking. This is a great opportunity for me to tell Sofia how it really is back home. But as I look at the old lady's glowing blue eyes I feel protective of her. As much as I'd like my gram to be ashamed of the Sperm Donor, I just can't make myself upset her.
"Well, every Friday he makes this great lasagna," I say, my mouth moving without my brain thinking too long about it. "And his chicken picatta is out of this world. He even bakes blueberry muffins for me on Sunday mornings."
The of lady has this little twinkle in her eye that I can't decipher.
"Chicken picatta, huh?" she says.
Oh, shit. She's onto me. I probably should have left out the muffins or made it BBQ chicken instead of picatta. But I'm stickin' with my story for better or worse.
"Yep. I'm sure if you ask him he'll make you some," I say as I look down at my feet and notice my toenail polish is chipped.
I hear the door open and Doda Yucky comes floating into the house. "Amy, Safta is starting her chemotherapy treatment in an hour," she says. We both help my grandma up. "Everyone is with the sheeps," Doda Yucky says. "They're waiting for you."
I am bowled over by a terrible sense of worry about Safta. Chemotherapy? Oh no ...that means cancer.
"Can I go with you?" I ask. "I can read to you if you'd like."
Safta pats the back of my hand lightly. "Don't worry, I'll be fine. Go with the young people and enjoy your stay here. You don't want to be hanging around a hospital all day. Okay?"
"Okay."
I want to go with her, to make sure the doctors know she's my Safta and she needs the best care possible. Do they know how important she is?
Doda Yucky shuffles Safta out the door and I'm alone again. I continue to avoid the sheeps today. Ron wants me to help, but what if he gives me a job I can't do?
I don't want to give him a reason to resent I'm his kid. And if the opposite happened, if he bragged to everyone how great I am, I don't want the truth to come out that I'm less than perfect.
Deep down, even though we have major issues to overcome, I want him to be proud of me. I know it's a dumb thought, but it's true.
I spend the next hour rearranging my side of the closet. My eye catches on the skimpy clothes on the other side. Snotty sure does like showing a lot of skin.
I walk outside and wouldn't you know the yelping pup is waiting for me at the door. Great, the only one who likes me here is a dog.
"Arg!"
"Dumb mutt," I mutter.
"Arg!"
I ignore the mop following me at my feet. My spirits lift a bit when in front of the house, right under a nice big tree, is a hammock. I maneuver myself into it and put my hands behind my head as a pillow.
"Arg!"
I look in between the holes in the hammock and notice the mutt under me.