with a space between them.
Oh, and now I’m sharing
everything—home, parents,
even my teacher—with my cousin.
I’m not so okay with that.
Definition of Resent:
Feel Bothered By
Cal moved in
a little more than a year ago.
He wasn’t exactly a stranger.
Aunt Caryn was his mom,
and she and my mom were more
than sisters. They were identical twins.
Two halves of a whole,
Mom called them.
They were close, but they
didn’t live near each other.
Aunt Caryn moved to Arizona
before Cal was born.
She visited once in a while
and came to a couple of family
reunions. Talk about trouble!
I guess when Aunt Caryn met
Cal’s dad and dropped out
of college, it made Grandma mad.
They hardly talk at all anymore,
Mom told me once. And when
they do, they end up shouting.
“So why does Aunt Caryn
go to the reunions?” I asked.
“Grandma’s always there.”
Caryn still wants to be part
of the family, and she wants
Cal to know his relatives.
“I think Grandma should
forgive her,” I said.
I think so, too. But my mother
has a hard time with forgiveness.
She thinks it’s a sign of weakness.
Grandma still hadn’t forgiven
her when Aunt Caryn died.
I’ll never forget that day.
Mom cried and cried.
When she finally stopped,
her face was so puffed up,
I could barely see her eyes.
I lost a piece of myself, she said.
Maybe Cal living with us
is like getting that piece back.
Maybe that’s why Mom lets him
get away with everything,
from pranks to meltdowns to lies.
I’m sorry, but I resent that.
Try to find a little sympathy,
Mom urges. After Caryn passed,
things got pretty rough for Cal.
His dad took him after
the funeral, but the details
of the next two years are a mystery.
And no one’s giving out clues.
You’ll have to wait for Cal to tell
you, Mom says. It’s not up to me.
Whatever happened, I feel sorry
for Cal. If my mom died, I’d be lost.
Cal must feel lost sometimes, too.
So, yeah, I want to forgive his quirks.
Definition of Quirk:
Weird Habit
Still, Cal isn’t easy to live
with. I like order. Routine.
He’s the king of chaos.
Our spare room is Cal’s lair
now. Mom let him paint it
charcoal and doesn’t even
yell about the mess—
greasy wrappers here,
dirty clothes there.
Imagine what’s crawling
around in his closet!
Gross.
I have to share a bathroom
with him, which might not
be so bad, except he forgets
to drop the toilet seat.
I’ve splashed down
in the dark
more than once.
Gross squared.
Cal drinks milk straight
from the carton,
and brushes his teeth
without toothpaste.
Sometimes he doesn’t
brush them at all.
Gross cubed.
Those are little things.
But Cal has bigger problems.
Like right now at school,
we’re outside for recess.
It never gets really cold here,
but it’s early November. The sky
is gray and the air is kind of sharp.
Almost everyone is playing ball.
Softball.
Kickball.
Tetherball.
Basketball.
But Cal is sitting against
a wall of the sixth-grade
building, face in a book.
He reads, like, three a week.
Our teacher, Mrs. Peabody,
keeps telling him to slow down.
Comprehension means more
than word count, she says.
But, no. He has to read more
than anyone else, and asks
for books that are long and
advanced. Sometimes it seems
like he’s showing off.
The problem with that
is it can draw the attention
of bullies, especially those
who think it’s hilarious
to make someone freak out.
There go two now,
and they’re headed
in Cal’s direction.
This could be bad.
Definition of Intervene:
Get Involved
Vic Malloy is
taller than average
square
buzz-cut
meaner than snot.
Bradley Jones is
a head shorter
round
faux-hawked
meaner than snot.
They close in on Cal.
I know what they’ve got in mind.
Cal’s been in this school
for a year. They’ve seen