Excerpt
Chapter 1. "Joy, youíre not concentrating," said my friend Maple. Weíd just gotten through the first three days of high school. Now we were sprawled on my bedroom rug filling out a Match Quiz. Or rather, Maple was. Iíd spent the past half-hour decorating the form with little kangaroos. " ëWhat do people think is my best quality? 1. Intelligence 2. Personality 3. Honesty 4. Looks Enthusiasm 5. Apartment with our parents.í" "This quiz should come with a manual," I said. "Exactly," she said. "Do I put down who I am or who they are, or who I want people to think I am? I mean are we doing this to attract people I should meet, or the kind of people Iíd really like?" "No clue," I said, giving one kangaroo a pair of shoes. "Well, whatíd you put for number two?" she said. "íThe first word most people think of when they think of me isÖ 1. Hot 2. Cool 3. Funny 4. Interesting 5. Depressing 6. Boring 7. Dead.í" "I donít know. These are all either too normal or too negative," I said. "Whereíre bizarre, bonkers, berserk, bats, bananasó" "What if people donít think of me at all?" Maple said. "What if none of these choices fit? Does that make me a Match Quiz misfit? Does it meant they wonít find matches for me?" The great thing about having a best friend is how you can take turns being anxious. "Maple," I said. "Youíre making this into way too big a deal. Youíre acting like this is our only chance to meet people." "Not people," she said. "Boys. There are sixteen hundred kids in this school, remember? Weíve met what, thirty of them, twenty-nine of them girls? We could be juniors before we have a social life." "Come on," I said, "how serious can you get about questions like ëYour ideal date is: 1. Dinner and a movie 2. Bungee jumping 3. Rock concert 4. I prefer not to meet in person.í" "Yeah, well," she said, "Iíve heard a lot of people talking and they say it works. Boys really call and ask you out. Or you call them. Or meet them, whateverÖ." It wasnít that I didnít want to meet a boy. I thought about it every time I saw a couple who really liked each other. "Fine," I said. "Letís do it." I picked up the sheet and read: " ëWhich of these words most closely describes your hair? 1. Blond 2. Brown 3. Black 4. Lime green 5. Gray 6. I have no hair to speak of.í" "I guess black," she said. "Put lime," I said. Her hair was all black now, but last week only one side was black and the month before it was purplish pink. "It might be by the time they score this. What would you call mine?" "Brown," she said. "Brownís so blah," I said. "Itís so generic. I wish I could put chestnut, or honey, or honey nut." She rolled her eyes. I checked number two, Brown. "My favorite outfits come fromÖ 1. Great-Aunt Minnie 2. Prep Town 3. The land of dead jeans 4. The mall 5. Bloomingdaleís.í" I supposed my ravel-hemmed jeans and T-shirtóthe same jeans and T-shirt as ninety percent of the teenage girls in New York City, if not the universeómade me a number three, but I drew in a sixth box: "Other." Maple loved having other people notice her, which is why she had seven earrings, an orange lace top, overall shorts with fishnet stockings, and one red sneaker and one blue sneaker. "íDo you have an imaginary friend?í " she read. 1. No. 2. His name is Roy and I resent you calling him imaginary.í" "One! No!" I said. In fact, her name was Kestrel and she was a bird girl, though I wasnít sure if she still counted as an imaginary friend, or just a character I drew. Not even Maple had seen my Kestrel notebooks. The door opened. "Can you help me catch Kurt Cobain?" asked my brother. "Close the door!" cried Maple. "We donít want rodents running in here!" "Kurt doesnít like being called a rodent," said Nathan. "But donít worry. Heís under my dresser. Ludwigís still in the cage." "Whyíd you open it?" I asked. This happened at least once a week. Heíd had the mice since last yearís science project, when heíd played Kurt a Nine Inch Nails tape twelve hours a day and locked Ludwig in the closet with nonstop Mozart, to see if it affected their personalities. Clearly it had. "It smelled," he said, jingling the change in his pocket. Nathanís always fiddling or twiddling with something. " I was going to clean it. Come on Joy. It will only take a minute." "Get Mom to help this time," I said. My mother actually thought the mice were cute. But then, she thought Nathan was cute. "Sheís not home yet," he said. "Sheís stopping at the hospital again to see Uncle Max. Come on, please? Iíll catch him. You just have to move the dresser." He picked up my Match Quiz. "íWhen kissing,í" he read, before I could grab it away, " ëdo you keep your eyesÖ 1. Open 2. Closed 3. On your wallet.í What is this?" "Itís a Match Quiz" said Maple. "For freshmen to meet people. For two dollars, you get the names and numbers of the twenty people whose answers most closely match your own. Theyíll match us up with kids from the whole school or just our grade. Itís like a fundraiser, to help pay for school dances, stuff like that.:" " ë How do you usually find a date?í " he read in what he clearly meant to be a TV game-show-host imitation. 1. I ask everyone I meet 2. I continually call them for the homework, even if theyíre not in my grade 3. I wait for him/her to ask me 4. Iím relying on this quiz.í Uh, Joy?" He raised an eyebrow. "Youíve never even had a date." This was a piece of information I did not need to hear out loud. But Maple jumped in and said, so matter-of-factly that I could have kissed her, "Thatís right. Thatís why weíre doing this." "Yeah," he said, "but the questions are so stupid." If I help catch Kurt," I asked him, "will you leave?" He nodded. "Promise?" We went in and moved his dresser. Kurt, as usual, was cowering under it. Nathan grabbed him and plopped him in the cage with Ludwig. Then I went back to my room and shut the door. Maple had moved onto my bed. I sat down next to her and looked at the questions for what must have been the fifteenth time: Your lifestyle can best be described as: 1. Alternative 2. Mainstream 3. Life? What life? If you were an ice-cream flavor, would you be: 1. Chocolate 2. Vanilla 3. Chunky monkey 4. Rocky road. "Nathanís right," I said. "These are stupid questions." "Come on. Just do your best," Maple said. "I am," I said, looking at my answers. "But I mean, vanilla ice cream, brown hair, dead jeans, no life? Thatís not me." "You could change your image," she said. "I could change the questions. I mean, even ëWhatís your favorite color?í would tell you more than these do." I loved every bright colorótulip red, parrot green, dandelion yellowóeven if I didnít wear them. Iíd begun drawing a little guy in a hat climbing out of a kangarooís pouch, but I could see Maple was losing patience with me, so I went back to putting Xís in the little boxes. I was still grappling with what grade-level date I preferred when Mom knocked. "Mapleís staying, okay?" I said, quickly turning over my Match Quiz. "Not tonight, Joy." Mom looked tense and worried. "Why? Whatís up?" I asked. She didnít answer me. "Iím sorry, Maple," she said. The family has something serious to discuss. We need to have a family meeting." "Itís about Uncle Max," she said once Maple had gone and we were all seated at the table. "Joy, are you listening?" "Sorry," I said. I began thinking up my own match questions. If you were a mountain, would you be: 1. Mount Rushmore 2. Mount Everest 3. Mount Vesuvius 4. A molehill. If you were a lower life form, would you be: 1. A coral snake 2. A toadstool 3. A butterfly 4. A chameleon 5. A Venus flytrap 6. An acorn squash. "Weíre going to need everyoneís cooperation," Mom said. "Theyíre letting Uncle Max out Monday, and we donít see how he can possibly go back to the apartment. I talked with Social Services, and I stopped over today to check on the poor dog. That nice lady next door, Mrs. Nussbaum, is still walking him. She told me this wasnít Uncle Maxís first episode. Heís blacked out and fallen a few times and never said anything. He canít live alone! The social worker suggested some sort of aide, but can you see him putting up with that? He never even wanted a cleaning lady." "Heíd fire her the first day," Dad said. "If she didnít jump out the window first." "Marty! Heís not that bad." She gave Dad a warning look. "So what are you saying?" I asked. "We donít have another choice," she said. "Heís going to have to move in with us." "For how long?" Nathan asked. "Just till we can get him situated properly," Dad said. Mom frowned. "Ilene," he said in a way that let me know theyíd been over this a lot, "there has to be some sort of comfortable senior housingó" "What about Sarge?" I asked. "Oh, Lord!" Dad rolled his eyes. I could see his point. Sarge wasnít the worldís most attractive dog. Momís lips tightened. "We wouldnít even have this place if it werenít for Uncle Max." "I know," Dad said. He looked even more stressed out than he usually did after work. "You donít have to keep reminding me. Besides, weíve almost paid him back." "We are not putting my uncle in some nursing home," she said. "It isnít right. Thatís not how you take care of family. You know what he did for me when Mom died, and letís not forget the years you worked for himÖ." "Believe me, I have not forgotten them," Dad said. I looked around our cluttered living room, which already served as a living room and dining room, not to mention my motherís office. "Whereís he going to stay?" I said. "Thereís no room for him." "Heís going to need a real bedroom," Mom said. "You and Nathan will have to double up." ñ From Oy, Joy, by Lucy Frank. (c) October 1999, Lucy Frank used by permission.