ME: Listeners, Liza has opened her journal to the back page, where there are, let me count, five, ten . . . thirty-seven check marks.
LIZA: I started writing it down after that first-day-of-school thing that happened. I stopped wearing the shorts you and I bought together, but no matter what I wore, Fingertip found something wrong. My bra strap was showing, my shirt wasn’t long enough, my pants were too tight, my shirt was too low. Her favorite hobby is looking me up and down and finding something wrong with me. No joke.
ME: How does that make you feel?
LIZA: One time, I had a spider in my bathroom sink. I got my brother’s magnifying glass and followed the spider all over the place. It was fascinating. Eventually, my mom came in and squished it with the magnifying glass, and I felt really bad for it. How does it make me feel? It makes me feel like that spider.
ME: Wow, Liza.
LIZA: Yeah.
ME: How did things change when they decided to bribe us with the camping trip this year?
LIZA: My mom had to go to Target and spend an entire paycheck on ugly clothes two sizes too big for me, like what I’m wearing right now.
ME: That’s not your best look.
LIZA: Right? I know.
ME: Liza, would you like to violate the dress code with me, now that we have nothing to lose?
LIZA: Yes. That would be delightful.
HOW DOES THAT MAKE YOU FEEL?
I learned how to interview people for my podcast by going to therapy. I went to four or five sessions the summer after I quit Lunch Bunch. My mom thought it would be a good idea when she noticed Danny was getting meaner and meaner and I was getting quieter and quieter. The lady (I can’t remember her name) always asked me, “How does that make you feel?” And I would always say my dad’s favorite word, “Lousy.”
Mom told everyone therapy had been a miracle and after only a few sessions I was back to my old self, even though Danny was still being awful.
I was back to my old self because of Treehouse Slime Factory, but the therapy lady helped a little too.
OH, THE PLACES I WON’T GO!
If I sit on the toilet in the half bath near the garage, I can hear everything Mom and Dad say when they’re in the den with the door closed. At first, I wasn’t trying to listen; I was just sitting on the toilet. But then I heard the word passport, and I got curious. Mom tells Dad about the places she wants to move us to so Danny can have a “fresh start.” Every time she brings up a place, Dad says, “Well, do some research. I’d be willing to consider it.” And Mom says, “We need to be researching this together. It’s a big decision.” Then they start arguing, and I flush and run.
Here’s the list (in no particular order):
Thailand
Scotland
Oregon
Toronto
Florida
Seattle
Portugal
New Zealand
I won’t go. I. Won’t. Go.
RAZOR BURN
Liza and I are both going to wear normal-length shorts. We make a plan while our moms talk out in the driveway.
Liza says, “I’ll wear the outfit, but it seems like we could do something bigger than the two of us getting ourselves dress coded and refusing to change our clothes.”
“Okay, like what?”
“Let me think about it.”
“Let’s just wear the outfits tomorrow and see what happens,” I say.
In the morning, I almost remind my mom that she agreed not to be mad if I got dress coded, but I decide against it. I don’t want to give her a chance to take it back. She doesn’t even notice I’m wearing the shorts, and I wear a hoodie over the tank top. When I get to school, the hoodie goes into my locker.
It feels like the first day of seventh grade, when I ran around lost and scared Fingertip would send me to the office. Liza must be feeling the same way. I sit down in homeroom without any issues, probably because Ms. Lane is one of my favorite teachers ever. She would never shame people for wearing a tank top and shorts.
My legs are sticking to the cold seat. I look down and notice a pretty obvious shaving rash on my upper thighs. These rashes have become a big problem for me. I need to see my dermatologist. First, it was acne, now shaving rashes. What’s next?
Liza comes running over during lunch. I’m at the usual lunch table, with Bea, Ashley, Navya, and a kid named Tom who has a traumatic brain injury from a skiing accident and is kind of confused a lot of the time. We’re the only ones who pay attention to him.
“Maybe you should ask Tom to the prom,” my mom has said at least twice, because she has POD—prom obsessive disorder. It will likely get worse between now and three years from now, when I actually need to think about prom.
“Did you get dress coded?” Liza asks, sitting down across from Tom.
“Not yet,” I say. “Did you?”
“Uh. Yes. Fingertip pulled me out of the line for library books and told me my shorts were too short. I told her my mom would sue her for harassment if she bugged me about it again.”
“No, you did not,” Ashley says.
“Okay, I didn’t. But I wanted to. I just said my mom is a nurse and she can’t leave the hospital to get me clothes. She asked me where my dad was, and I said taking care of my sick aunt in Puerto Rico. She told me this was a warning, and if I don’t knock it off, she’ll call my parents in for a meeting and she doesn’t care how far away they are.”
“That’s so rude,” Navya says.
“Hey, Tom,” Bea says. “Do Liza’s shorts distract you from your schoolwork?”
Tom looks at Liza’s shorts. “As in why?” he asks.
“Never mind. Dumb question.”
I spend the rest of the day doing the exact opposite of the first day of seventh grade. I try to get the teachers to dress code me. Nobody does.
Dern sees me and turns to talk to one of the baseball players.
Is it because Liza has boobs and a butt and long legs? Is that why he sees her and ignores me?
Is that why I’m invisible?
THE PARENT MEETING AT THE LIBRARY TAKES A TURN
My mom walks in from the meeting at the library about the camping trip, throws her keys on the counter, and runs up the stairs. I’m assuming she’s excited to tell me she volunteered to chaperone.