Peeves. Mike Waes Van

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СКАЧАТЬ day and you’re already insta-famous.” I turned to see Suzie laughing at my video, and cringed out of deathly embarrassment. “Don’t worry, Slim,” she told me in that soothing voice of hers. “Last year I went viral after sitting on a chocolate pudding cup in white trousers. I was ‘Suzie Skidmark’ for weeks. But the news cycle moved on. Your fifteen minutes of fame will be over fast.”

      And that’s when I realised she actually wasn’t laughing at me. She was just smiling at me. Like I wasn’t a total freak. She pulled out one of those organic, vegan, gluten-free, dairy-free, nut-free, sugar-free, all-natural snack bars and took a bite like everything was totally cool and completely normal. I didn’t know what to say but I desperately wanted to say something so that she’d stick around. My mouth made words that sounded like, “IS THAT GOOD?”

      I kind of shouted it really loud and fast and probably turned bright red. “I, um … I like snack bars too,” was my totally smooth follow-up. My mind spun like a buffering laptop as I registered her signature scent. When I snapped out of it, I realised she was in the middle of telling me, “… and they’re made with whole, natural ingredients, which my dads say are much better than all those chemically processed snacks. They’re thinking of selling them in the wellness centre, which means I could eat as many as I want! Not that I would because it’s all about balance, right?”

      I think I nodded my head. “I only like all-natural ingredients. I really, really hate any chemically processed products!” I said-shouted. I didn’t care that I didn’t even know what I was talking about. I was talking to a girl. And not just any girl – Suzie Minkle with those bright eyes and a smile that maybe I helped put there.

      “Ha!” My sister laughed loud enough for Suzie to hear. “Xanax, Ritalin, Zoloft, Lexapro,” she said, naming the entire alien galaxy of chemical wonder-drugs I’ve ingested over the past couple of years. “Not to mention the Twizzlers I know you have stashed in your room. That’s like straight high-fructose corn syrup,” she added.

      Suzie’s smile faded a bit, but didn’t disappear. “You don’t have to pretend to be into the things that I’m into. I like Twizzlers too,” she said. But then Suzie spotted her bus and ran towards it, shouting, “See you tomorrow!” And just like that, the really nice smell was gone too.

      I was left alone with Lucy and her smug-satisfied grin.

      Mom and Dad came outside, which reminded me that at least I’d be spared the indignity of the bus ride home. I could see that they’d agreed to try to get along for a minute and to focus on me. They had that “we’re sorry” look on their faces, like somehow my freak-out was all their fault. “How are you feeling, Slim? Any withdrawal symptoms?” asked Mom in that mom-way they must teach at the hospital before they let new parents bring a baby home. “Any brain shivers? Or are they zaps? It just sounds awful either way.”

      Luckily I wasn’t feeling them this time around. “So far this medication vacation is a first-class getaway. I’m especially enjoying the bottomless margaritas and long walks on the beach,” was the totally sarcastic response my brain formulated, but my mouth could only spit out, “I’m fine.”

      “Your episode in class suggests otherwise,” corrected Dad.

      He was right. Everything was lousy right now, but not because my brain was revolting from a lack of prescription drugs.

      “Are you good now? Do you need a Xanax?” asked Mom, rifling through her bag to no avail. “Oh, I must have left them at the site.”

      Dad scoffed. “The ‘site,’ Leslie? Really? You mean our house?”

      Mom sighed. “Yes. Our house. Except it’s not ours any more. We sold it. And the new owners hired me to renovate it. That’s my job, Dale. That’s how I provide for our kids.”

      “And I don’t?”

      “That’s not what I said.”

      “It’s what you implied.”

      “Look, I just need to know if you can take them now or not? It won’t be safe for them to hang out at the site … the old house … with the fumigation crew.”

      The fact that they were fumigating only after we moved out didn’t seem fair. Why was it okay for us to live with pests but not some strangers? But then again, maybe that was the point. Maybe our pest-filled life needed to be aired out of the house before the next family could move in. Hopefully, they’d have better luck in it than we did. Or maybe they’d end up just like us. Who knows? Who cares?

      Lucy and I slipped into Dad’s Jeep to get away from the bickering, and as she shut the door she couldn’t help but tell me, “You’ve taken so many pills, it’s no wonder you’ve become one yourself.” I was tempted to argue, but I knew she had a point. I’d been on five different medications since that first episode. A couple of them helped for a little while, but they all had different effects – and side effects. Some gave me headaches, some dry skin, some left me unable to sleep, and one even made my symptoms a little worse. Go figure. The doctors always said it would be a process of trial and error, but really it felt more like a trail of errors.

      “Fine, I’ll call the therapist,” Dad told Mom as he climbed into the front seat. “I’ll fix everything,” he muttered to himself as he slammed the car door shut.

      After they broke up this past summer, Dad spent a month in a motel before he moved into a “temporary” two-bedroom apartment. He furnished it with his half of our old life. For whatever reason, he got the old bedroom dresser, the living-room sofa, and a coffee table that we’d kept in the basement. Mom got all the lamps. Why? I have no idea. And the fact that Dad’s apartment had only two bedrooms meant Lucy and I had to share a room when we stayed with him, which I’m pretty sure qualifies as cruel and unusual punishment.

      Things were a little better on Mom’s end, where she had us set up in a new model home in the housing development she’s been putting together in a swankier part of Old Wayford. As if anywhere in Connecticut needs new housing developments – especially ones where all the houses look exactly the same. It was really nice and much roomier than Dad’s apartment, but it didn’t feel like home. Except for a few of the lamps, Mom kept nothing from the old place. And potential new buyers were coming through all the time, so we could barely put anything up to make it look like we even lived there. At that point, I felt like just another decorative design accessory. And I couldn’t help but wonder if things would have been different if I had been less of a problem the past two years.

      “This is never going to work,” I said out loud, but mostly to myself.

      “Great. So then it will be just like it was before,” added Lucy.

      Outside, the buses were pulling away and Mom forced a smile and waved goodbye to us in that way parents smile when they think they’re somehow fooling you that everything is totally fine. I should know. I’ve perfected that face myself.

      Dad shifted the car into gear and flipped on the radio. “Just in time for rush-hour traffic. I’m gonna be late for my focus group,” he said. “So now you get to come to work with me, which will be super fun for everyone!”

      His sarcasm was met with silence. If by “super fun” he meant feeling like a lab rat in a poorly designed experiment called “life”, then he was totally on point. I just wish I knew then how literal that comparison was about to become.

      I used to think that mad science only happens in movies.

      But СКАЧАТЬ