What to Say Next(5)
My mom, however, seems to be pulling herself back together into someone I recognize. You wouldn’t know it from looking at her on the weekends, when she wears yoga pants and sneakers and a ponytail, or from the way she looked right after the accident, shattered and gray and folded up, but in her working life my mom is a hard-core boss lady. She’s CEO of an online-advertising agency called Disruptive Communications. Sometimes I overhear her yelling at her employees and using the kinds of words that would get me grounded. Occasionally her picture is on the cover of trade magazines with headlines like “The Diverse Future of Viral Media.” She’s the one who orchestrated that video with the singing dogs and cats that at last count had sixteen million hits, and that great breakfast cereal pop-up ad with the biracial gay dads. Before entering the throes of widowhood, she was pretty badass.
“Of course I’m going to work. Why wouldn’t I?” my mom asked. And with that she picked up my cereal bowl, even though I wasn’t yet finished, and dropped it into the sink so hard that it shattered.
She left, wearing her “work uniform”—a black cashmere sweater, a pencil skirt, and stilettos. I considered cleaning up the shards of glass in the sink. Maybe even accidentally-on-purpose letting one cut me. Just a little. I was curious whether I’d even feel it. But then I realized that despite my new post-Dad-dying-imbuing-every-single-tiny-thing-with-bigger-meaning stage, like wearing this men’s work shirt to school, that was just way too metaphorical. Even for me. So I left the mess for my mom to clean up later.
After lunch with Kit Lowell, I take off my headphones. Usually I keep them on between classes so that when I walk through the halls the ambient noise is indistinct and muffled. That chatter and movement make me feel amped up and distracted and much more likely to trip. The shortest distance between two points is a straight line, and yet the boys in school dart from side to side full of random aggression. They jab their fists into each other’s backs, tackle necks with smiles on their faces, high-five hard. Why do they want to constantly touch each other? Though the girls don’t weave as much as the guys, they also stop and start, often out of nowhere, hugging every so often even though they just saw each other before last period.
I free-ear it because I am curious to hear if anyone is talking about Kit’s dad. I Googled his name and pulled up this obituary, which was in the Daily Courier, section A16, three weeks and four days ago. Only three short sentences, which, though I appreciate its succinctness, left out some relevant details, like the lollipops and the whole “nice man” part.
Robert Lowell DDS passed away on Friday, January 15, in a car accident. He was born on September 21, 1971, in Princeton, New Jersey, and practiced dentistry in Mapleview for the past twelve years. He is survived by his wife, Mandip, and their daughter, Katherine.
Facts thus far learned from my quick search: (1) Kit’s dad’s name was Robert, which makes sense somehow, a familiar word and an even number of letters. I’ve always just thought of him as Dentist, which now that I think about it is way too limiting. (2) Kit’s dad died in a car accident, which is a misnomer, because in the vast majority of car accidents where people end up dying, they don’t actually die in the car but afterward, in the ambulance or at the hospital. I’ll have to find out the specifics.
As I walk down the hall, I see Gabriel.
GABRIEL FORSYTH: Curly hair. Marble eyes. Clown mouth.
Notable Encounters
1. Seventh grade: Took my Oreos without asking. Snatched them from my insulated lunch bag and walked away.
2. Tenth grade: Held hands with Kit L. (That’s not an encounter with me, but it’s still notable.) 3. Eleventh grade: Sits next to me in physics, because our seats were assigned by the teacher on day one. When he saw how far he was from Justin Cho, he said, “Awww shit, really, Mr. Schmidt?” for which he got a first warning. I did not point out that the seat was a relatively good one in terms of acoustics and board perspective. Miney said it was good that I kept that to myself.
Friends
The lacrosse team, the tennis team (which, of course has considerable overlap due to the seasonal schedules). Best friends with Justin Cho since second grade.
Additional Notes: Miney puts him on the Do Not Trust List.
I do not look at him. Instead I keep my head down, concentrate on keeping up with the stops and starts in front of me.
“Yo, man, after practice. Pizza Palace,” Gabriel says. Based on the sneakers and the context, I’m ninety-nine percent sure he is talking to Justin. I will not put Justin’s notebook entry here, because I am tired of reading and rereading my notes about Justin and wondering why he hates me so much. An unsolvable equation. Our Notable Encounters list is five pages long. He is the president of the Do Not Trust Club.
The Pizza Palace is the second-best Italian restaurant in Mapleview, according to Yelp. Most people prefer Rocco’s. If Gabriel were inviting me, which he is not, I would suggest we go to Pizza Pizza Pizza, which has two slices for the price of one from two to five p.m., and I believe the slight decrease in quality is more than made up for by the value. That said, I do get why they’d choose the Pizza Palace anyway, which is in no way a palace—just a small storefront on Main Street—because no matter how cheap the food is at Pizza Pizza Pizza, it feels funny to say the redundant name out loud.