After the final bell, I made my way to the parking lot, and checked my bag for the car keys. Damn. Lin had them--I'd forgotten. Well, there went the idea that I could have some computer time before everyone got home. I sat on the hood of the car, my head in my hands, puzzling out where everybody else was. Mom was at work, obviously, since Tuesday night is Live Band! night and crazy busy. Aunt Phoebe would be at work, aunt Paige might be home—no, she had that date tonight. Rachel was at Science Club until seven, and Lin was…waving a set of car keys in my face.
"Jesus," she said, "Kerry, you've got to stop spacing out like that. It makes you look like a stoner, hon." I climbed into the passenger seat.
"Just drive." I told her sharply.
"Eew, somebody's PMS-ing." I ignored her, and we drove slowly home.
I always made a point not to talk to Lin while she was driving. Usually, because Lin plus anything involving wheels or heavy machinery equals bad, but also because she tended to get talkative in the car, and what would be the point of having one sentence come out of my mouth rather than none, anyway? So, as usual, as we drove down busy streets on our way home, Lin chattered, and I stared out the window.
"So, anyway, then Jason went off about it, you know Jason, right? That, guy, you know? With the…" Lin gestured around her face for a minute, then dropped her hand back to the wheel, "okay, with that humongous freaking boil on his face, I don't even know how he managed to get so popular—must be the car, because he like, drives a frikkin' Beamer," A large pickup truck cut us off, and Lin swerved violently. I grabbed at the dashboard, my fingers scrabbling for purchase, as Lin kept talking.
"You keep twisting your face up like that, and you are going to have wicked bad wrinkles, Kerry. What was I saying? Oh, right, Jason…"
By the time we pulled into the driveway, my eyes were wide as saucers, and I was sure that I'd been scared out of another year's growth. I unlocked the door, then bolted for the kitchen. There was a note on the counter, as usual, filled with the various and sundry things my family felt the need to write about. For example, the first one read, simply;
Rachel—what did you do with the drill? I want it back. Don't stay up too late working on that…thing you're building; Love, mom.
Then;
PAIGE, it read, in my aunt Phoebe's handwriting, STOP PLUGGING UP THE GODDAMN SINK, angrily and in all capitals, which was followed, in the defendant's decidedly flowery script;
I am NOT plugging up the sink, followed by;
Are too, then, in the scratchy writing of a woman incensed;
AM NOT!
My mother's handwriting appears after this, simply stating;
Grow up, the both of you! Lin, don't forget to unload the dishwasher, and toss your laundry in the laundry room when you have a chance. Kerry—got a call from your English teacher. Feed Kit.
After this, there is no more room on the paper, and nothing on the back. What would Mr. B. be calling about? I wondered as I scooped cat food into the cat's bowl. Was it the 'ghost' comment? No, I told myself, why would he bother to call Mom over something so stupid? I poured myself a bowl of cereal and plopped down at the kitchen table.