Lily and Dunkin

Girl

Lily Jo is not my name. Yet.
But I’m working on that.

That’s why I’m in the closet. Literally in my mom’s walk-in closet, with Meatball at my heels.

I scratch under Meatball’s chin, and his tiny pink tongue pokes out the side of his mouth. He’s adorable like that.

“Practice,” I tell Meatball.

“Only six days until school starts.” I have to do this. I can’t. Have to. Can’t. I almost feel my best friend (okay, my only friend), Dare, push me toward the dresses.

Thinking about my plan for the first day of eighth grade makes my stomach drop, like I plunged over the crest of a roller coaster at Universal Studios. I’m sure not one other person going to Gator Lake Middle is dealing with what I am, probably not one other person in the entire state of Florida. Statistically, I know that’s not true, because I looked up a lot of information on the Internet, but it feels that way sometimes.

Meatball’s wagging his stubby tail so hard his whole body shakes. I wish the world were made of dogs. They love you one hundred percent of the time, no matter what.

“I’ve got one for you,” I tell Meatball as I pull a hanger from the rack. “The past, the present and the future all walk into a bar.”

I examine the summery red fabric. The tiny white flower print. I remember being with Mom when she bought this dress.

“Ready for the punch line?”

Meatball looks up at me with his big brown eyes, dark fur falling into them.

“It was tense.”

Silence.

Holding the dress to my chest, I say, “The past, the present and the future all walk into a bar. It was tense. Get it?”

Meatball tilts his head, as though he’s trying hard to understand. I scratch under his chin to let him know he’s such a good dog and I’m a total dork for telling a grammar joke to an animal.

Then I focus on the dress.

“These are lilies of the valley,” Mom said, pointing to the flowers when we were in the store. She held the dress to her cheek for a moment. “Those were my favorite flowers when I was growing up in Burlington, New Jersey. We had them in the garden in front of our house, near the pink azalea bushes. They smelled so good!”

I sniff the flowers now, as though the tiny, bell-shaped blossoms will smell like anything other than a dress. “I’m glad Dad’s at Publix,” I tell Meatball. “And Mom’s at her studio. Gives me time to put the first part of my plan into action. The practicing part.”

Half of me is so excited I could explode. It feels good to finally be doing this. The other half where other people’s voices jam together in my brain- is terrified. Excited. Terrified. Yup, those are the right words.

I take off my pajamas and let the dress slide over my head and body. The silky lining feels smooth and soft against my skin. It’s hard to get the zipper up in the back. I consider going to Sarah’s room and asking for help, but decide to do it myself, even though I know she’d help me.

When I was little, I tried on one of Sarah’s old dresses and loved how it felt. How I felt in it. When Mom came home from work that day, she laughed and made me whirl and twirl. Even Dad laughed. Back then.

“What do you think?” I ask Meatball while I twirl, feeling the skirt of the dress drift up, then back down against my legs.

Meatball barks.

“Ill take that as an approval.”

He barks again.

“Or you might have to pee.”

I slip into Mom’s sandals, barely believing my feet have now grown as large as hers, but they have.

In her full-length mirror, I see how the top of the dress bags out. If only I had something up there to fill it out, like Mom and Sarah do. I consider grabbing one of Mom’s bras and stuffing it with socks, to see how it would look. How it would feel.

A blaring car horn shatters my thoughts.
Meatball barks.
Scooping him under my arm, I put my face up close to his. “Come on. Let’s help Dad carry in the groceries.

He licks my nose.
“Oh, Meatball, your breath is so bad.”
He nuzzles into my arm.

“But your heart is so good.” I kiss the top of his head. “Hope Dad remembered Pop-Tarts. Breakfast of champions.”

As we rush down the stairs, I hear Sarah’s bedroom door open behind me. When we reach the bottom, I let Meatball down, then hurry to the front door and fling it open.

Dad’s bent over, grabbing bags from the trunk of his car. I walk down the path to help. It’s so bright and sunny, have to shield my eyes with my forearm, but I can make out the back of Dad’s T shirt: The King Pines. I laugh out loud, realizing it was probably supposed to read The King Pins for one of the local bowling teams. Dad and his mom, Grandmom Ruth, run a T-shirt screen printing business- We’ve Got You Covered- and sometimes orders get messed up.

Because Dad hates to waste anything, we all end up wearing his mistakes. My favorite was when a group of senior citizens asked Dad to make matching shirts for their upcoming vacation with the words The Bus Trippers. Dad goofed on the spacing, and the shirts ended up as The Bu Strippers. He had to redo the whole order. Those shirts got tossed, though, because Dad said there was no way any of us were wearing those rejects. It’s funny how one little letter can make such a big difference to the meaning.

Grandpop Bob, who started the business with Grandmom Ruth about a million years ago, used to say, “Words have the power to change the world. Use them carefully.”
After two years without him, I still miss him and his wise words.

I’m reaching my hand out to help when Dad turns toward me, each of his hands loaded with grocery bags.

I hold my breath, hoping Dad understands how much this means to me. Hoping that this time will be different, that-

“Timothy! What the hell are you doing?”

I deflate like a week-old balloon. Practicing, Dad. I’m practicing being me.

“You know the rule,” he says, letting out a huge breath.

“You can’t be outside the house dressed like that.” Dad shifts the bags in his hands. “Where’s your mother?”

I let my arms fall slack to my sides. I wouldn’t have the energy to carry in the groceries now, if I wanted to. And I certainly don’t have the energy to answer Dad. He should know Mom’s at her yoga studio. It’s not my job to remind him of her schedule.

“Go back in the house, Tim.” Dad sounds like the air has leaked out of him, too. I hate that I caused it. “What if one of your classmates sees you? Imagine how they’d make fun of you when school starts. Get in now. Go.”

They already make fun of me, Dad.
He looks around. “Someone’s coming. Hurry.”

I glance along the sidewalk. Someone is coming. A boy, carrying a Dunkin’ Donuts bag and grooving to some music only he can hear. I love the way he doesn’t seem to care how he looks, dance-walking outside like that. He could be in a commercial for Dunkin’ Donuts: “happy-looking, doughnut carrying boy.” I wish I felt that happy. I wish-

“Go!” Dad says.

I should walk back inside. Make it easier for Dad. Make it easier for myself.

But I don’t.

The boy gets closer to our house. He’s about my age. Tall. Curly, dark hair, kind of like Meatball’s fur. Pants too heavy for this summer heat.

Dad’s face is bright red now. He’s breathing hard through his nostrils, like a bull. I wish he’d go inside and leave me alone, but he’s standing there, sweat drenching the pits of his reject T shirt.

Every molecule in my body tells me to move, but I force myself to wait a few more seconds. Dare would be so proud, but she’s not here. I look back and see Sarah in the doorway-slender, graceful, with her shoulders back and her red hair, long and loose- Meatball, his stumpy tail wagging, at her feet. I can tell by the look in Sarah’s eyes that she’s rooting for me, waiting to see what I’ll do. To see what Dad will do. Practice, I tell myself. This is practice. And I pull my shoulders back, too.

“Timothy McGrother,” Dad says quietly. “If you want to wear that,” he juts his chin toward Mom’s beautiful dress with disgust- “you’ll do it inside our house. Not out here.” He looks at the tall boy with the heavy pants, who is much closer now. “Do… you … understand?”

My heart stampedes.

Sarah steps outside, wearing a skirt, tank top and sandals. No one yells at her to go back inside. No alarm bells clang when she comes outside wearing a skirt. No one’s worried the neighbors in perfectly posh Beckford Palms Estates will see her. No one’s ashamed… of her.

“Now!” Dad explodes, straining from the grocery bags he’s carrying and from his frustration with me.

“I’m going,” I say. “It’s just-

“Hurry, Tim!”

Dad sounds more panicked than angry, so I turn. But then I swivel back because that boy, who I’ve never seen around here before, is on the sidewalk, passing right in front of our house. I can almost hear my friend Dare screaming inside my head, Say hello to him, idiot!

Practice, I tell myself. Say hello, Idiot. Practice. Hello, Idiot. I lift my arm and wave, entirely aware that I’m wearing my mom’s red dress and white sandals. Hello, Idiot.

From the corner of my eye, I see the vein in Dad’s temple pulse.

The boy notices me waving. He stops grooving and looks my way, surprised. What does he see? A girl stuck in a boy’s body or a boy stuck in a girl’s dress? Probably the latter. I expect his features to twist into pure revulsion. My mind shuffles through every way this can go horribly wrong. In front of Dad. What was I thinking?

But the boy smiles. At me. Outside in bright daylight, while I’m wearing my mom’s dress and sandals. Maybe he thinks I’m a girl. I am a girl. Unfortunately, not everyone understands that yet.

Then the boy waves back, with the hand holding the Dunkin’ bag. I officially love that bag. And if I’m not mistaken, he walks with more bounce in his step as he continues on. Could that be because of me or is it the music he’s listening to?

“Happy now?” Dad asks. His voice sounds defeated.

“Please move. These bags are breaking my arms.”

I sashay back up the path to our house, to my sister, who I know saw the whole thing and is smiling, too. “Don’t worry,” Sarah whispers into my ear. “I’ll get the rest of the bags.” Then she adds, “He’s cute. Isn’t he?” And my heart flutters.

I love my sister.

And I can’t keep the smile from my face, even though I know Dad is sad and mad and disappointed. Because of that Dunkin’ Donuts boy, I feel my first practice went pretty well.

Dad drops the grocery bags onto the kitchen counter so hard, I worry the glass jars I hear smack against the counter-top might break. But I don’t stick around to find out if they do, not even to check and see if he remembered Pop-Tarts.

Upstairs in my room, lying on my side atop the ugly brown comforter with Meatball curled behind my knees, I smooth over the tiny flowers on Mom’s dress again and again.

The Dunkin’ Donuts boy smiled when he saw me.
Me.
Lily Jo McGrother.
Girl.

Boy.

Norbert is not a normal name. I would do anything to change it to something less make-fun-able.

But Dad named me after his father and his grandfather. Dad. Don’t think about him.

As if I could ever put the brakes on my brain. My mind is like a multilevel racetrack with dozens of cars zipping in different directions. To stop that much mental activity. it would take something drastic, like getting run over by a Mack truck.

I cross the street out of Beckford Palms Estates, where we’re staying with Bubbie, into the real world of smaller homes and strip malls with Publix grocery stores. And heat. Wet, sticky heat. No Mack trucks, though. In fact, hardly any traffic at all. In New Jersey, where I’m from, you took your life in your hands when you crossed a street this big.

Safely on the opposite side, I try to remember which way to the Dunkin’ Donuts. It’s been a long time since I’ve been here, visiting Bubbie Bernice, and back then Mom drove us to the Dunkin’, so I didn’t pay attention to which way she went. What would I change my name to? Thaddeus Pretentious. Mark? Boring. Phineas? Already taken. This makes me smile. Good old Phineas. I can’t believe I had to leave him behind when we moved to Florida. Leaving my friend Phineas was one of the toughest things about leaving New Jersey and moving here.

But not the toughest thing.
Don’t think about it!

No one here knows me as Norbert. Maybe I could change my name before school starts. I’ll ask Mom.

I can’t believe school starts in only six days. I’ll have to get clothes. I wish they required uniforms so at least I’d know what everyone would be wearing. Are the styles the same here in Florida as they are in New Jersey? I wish Phin were here. He’d know what I should wear. He’s so good at knowing stuff like that–what’s cool and what’s lame.

Even without Phin telling me, it’s obvious what I’m wearing now is super lame. It’s about a million degrees, and I’m sweating in places I didn’t know you could sweat- like the backs of my knees- because I’m wearing corduroy pants. What sane person wears corduroy pants in August in South Florida? But when I realized how Flippin’ hot it was, I didn’t want to go back into the house to change. Mom was crying when I left, and Bubbie was patting her hand and making her tea. When Mom cries this hard, it makes me worry about Dad, and I think maybe he’s not going to be okay. I can’t think negatively, so I had to get out. And stay out for a while, corduroy pants melting my legs and all.

Before I left New Jersey, Phin told me I needed to be relentlessly positive. So that’s what I’m going to do. Dad’s going to be okay. Dad’s going to be okay. Dad’s going to be-

Stop. Thinking. About. It.

To quiet my brain as I walk, I stick in earbuds and turn the volume way up on the music Phineas had chosen for me the last time we hung out. He said he picked all upbeat songs because he knew I’d need them. And here I am, in hotter-than-Hades South Florida, needing them.

I hope I find someone to sit with during lunch at Gator Lake Middle-my new school. We drove by it yesterday. There’s a track and basketball courts behind the one-story building and a small lake. I wonder if there are alligators in the lake. Probably. That might be why it’s called Gator Lake Middle.

Bubbie told me alligators could be in any body of water other than a swimming pool or the ocean. I didn’t believe her, so I looked up some stuff about Florida. She’s right about the alligators. But I’ll bet she didn’t know it’s estimated that there are 1.3 million alligators in Florida.

If you think about it- and I have- there are at least six ways to die in South Florida: being eaten by an alligator, poisonous snakebite (there are six varieties of poisonous snakes in Florida), lightning strike (South Florida is the lightning-strike capital of the United States), hurricane, flood, even fire-ant bites, if there are enough of them.

I wish we hadn’t moved to South Florida. There are too many ways to die here.

I don’t want to die. I don’t want-
Stop! You’re not going to die here in South Florida.
But it could happen. It could happen anywhere.
Sometimes, I wish there were an off switch for my race-car thoughts.

I walk faster with extra-long strides to match my thrumming heartbeat, even though I don’t know where I’m going. I’m sure if I walk long enough, though, I’ll find a Dunkin’ Donuts. They’re everywhere.

I go up one street and down the next, wiping sweat from my forehead and upper lip, wishing I were wearing shorts instead of long corduroy pants, wishing Phin were here, wishing

Stop!

When I see the Dunkin’ Donuts sign, a wave of relief washes over me. I need an iced coffee and a doughnut before I pass out. Caffeine and sugar. Breakfast of champions. Maybe two doughnuts and a really large iced coffee. Maybe two iced coffees.

I have enough money for only one iced coffee, though, and two doughnuts, so that’s what I buy.

After adding several packets of sugar to my coffee and guzzling it, I decide to save the doughnuts till I get back. I’ll need something to get me through this day.

The caffeine gives me a nice buzz, and I feel good. Really good. I’m half dancing, half walking back to Beckford Palms Estates, which is crazy if you think about all the things wrong with my life.

When I pass the grand entrance fountain and walk through the pedestrian gate at Beckford Palms Estates, I think it’s weird that no one’s outside. I dance-walk past one perfectly cut lawn after the next and don’t see a single person. Nor a married person, for that matter. Ha. Ha. Phineas would have appreciated that one.

It feels like I’m on the set of a reality TV show. Maybe I am. What if there are cameras everywhere and none of this is real? What if people are watching us all the time? I stop dance walking just in case. Of course, smart people are probably in the air-conditioning, working or watching TV or being bitten by a battalion of fire ants or whatever people in South Florida do when it’s a million degrees outside. I realize I’m most likely not on a reality TV show, which is a big relief. So I go back to grooving to the upbeat music that’s flooding my brain with happiness through my earbuds.

I glance ahead and see a guy pulling groceries from the trunk of his car.

Life! There is actual life here at Beckford Palms Estates.

A girl rushes down the path toward him. He’s probably her dad. I wish he were my dad. I know that’s dumb, but if he were my dad, my life would definitely be different. Easier. Infinitely better.

Stop thinking.

But he’s not. He’s her dad, and she probably doesn’t realize how lucky she is. Which kind of makes me not like her, even though I don’t know her.

The girl waves. At me! She’s wearing this cute red dress. And suddenly, my opinion changes, and I like her.

I can’t help but smile.

I’m sure I look like a complete idiot, wearing heavy pants in summer and sweating like Niagara Falls, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She’s got the prettiest blue eyes. Amazing eyes, like a shimmering swimming pool I want to dive into. WWPD? What would Phineas do?

He’d wave back, of course. Simple. Perfect. Obvious. Just wave back, dummy.

So I do. Only I wave with the hand holding the Dunkin’ bag because that’s how smooth I am.

But the girl smiles. The blue-eyed girl with the pretty red dress smiles. At me.

I make a mental note of her house number-1205 Lilac Lane- and keep going.

Maybe Beckford Palms won’t be the worst place in the world.

Then I remember why we’re here. I remember where Dad is. Why Mom was crying when I left the house.

And I know for sure it will be the worst.

THE TWO OF US

The moment I cross the foyer into Bubbie Bernice’s house, my sweat turns to ice crystals, even on the backs of my knees. It feels like an igloo in here- a gigantic, five-bedroom, six bathroom igloo with a huge workout room. I wrap my arms across my chest and shiver.

Mom’s in the kitchen sitting at the round table, near the sliding glass doors that lead to the pool. Her eyelids are pink and puffy, but at least she’s not crying anymore. I worry about her. She’s been entirely too sad lately. I hope she snaps out of it soon.

Mom glances at the Dunkin’ bag.

“Breakfast of champions,” I offer lamely, as I slide into a seat near her.

She tilts her head, and her long brown curls fall to one side. “How are you, Norbert?” She gives my hand a squeeze.

“Really?”

How am I? I do a quick inventory of my brain. I feel exhausted from what’s been going on. But I still have butterflies in my stomach because that girl smiled at me. Exhausted. Excited. Exhausted. Excited. Part of me wants to leap up and do something. Another part wants to take a long nap in a cool, dark room. How do I explain all this to Mom?

I shrug. “Where’s Bubbie Bernice?”

“She went for a quick six-mile run.”

A quick six-mile run? I look down at myself. My belly bulges a little–maybe more than a little but I’m tall, so it’s no big deal. Right? “It’s like a million degrees outside.’ I bite into one of my two Boston Kreme doughnuts. “Is she going to be all right running out there?”

Mom taps the table with her chewed fingernails and laughs. “Norbert, your bubbie could run a marathon across Death Valley and be fine.”

I take another sweet, creamy bite and lick the chocolate icing off my upper lip. “That’s prob’ly true.

Mom nods at my doughnut. “Give me a bite.”

I pass Mom the doughnut, and she takes a huge bite from the side I didn’t eat from. “Mmm.” She closes her eyes for a moment. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to take so much.”