Every Shiny Thing Read online

  I took a deep breath. “There’s something I want to show you.”

  I dug Audrey’s bracelet out of the old puzzle bin, because it doesn’t matter anymore that she used to be nice to Ryan and come up with the most fun plans for the two of us. I held the bracelet up next to Mom’s ring, and they both glistened under the soft light from Ryan’s lamps.

  “This is gonna sound weird at first, but I have this plan.”

  And I told her. About what everything has been like since Mom and Dad sent Ryan away, and all the stuff they’ve been buying, and what Jenna had said, about people who couldn’t afford enough OT sessions. And the jeans and the jersey, and how Mom and Audrey didn’t need this jewelry—they didn’t even care that it was gone.

  “I could use some help, if you’re interested,” I told Sierra, because I thought it might make her feel better, doing something even if it wouldn’t fix everything. “You could just help with looking out for more stuff people don’t need that I can sell. And getting to the post office to mail stuff if my parents start getting suspicious.”

  Sierra didn’t say anything for a long time. I’m an expert in the meaning of all of Audrey’s expressions, but I couldn’t read the look on Sierra’s face.

  “It just isn’t right,” I said. “That some people have so much and others have so little. This is . . . it’s one way I can start to make things fair.”

  Sierra sat up a little straighter and nodded. “Yeah. I’ll help you.”

  And even though Audrey was probably out trick-or-treating with Emma and Max Sherman, and even though Ryan was gone, I grinned and reached my hand out for Sierra to shake.

  “Partners in . . .” Crime wasn’t quite right, though. Mischief? Not exactly. But then I got it. “Partners in justice.”

  “Partners in justice,” she said back.

  SIERRA

  Mixed Up

  I come home from Lauren’s

  wishing I could have one of her TVs

  and forget

  all of what she just told me.

  I’m the only one who knows her secret.

  It means she really trusts me.

  More than anyone right now, maybe.

  Which makes us almost more like family than friends.

  I lie on my bed,

  look into my kaleidoscope.

  A science teacher told me once

  there are three mirrors in a kaleidoscope.

  It’s not just the colors that matter, it’s the mirrors, he said.

  Now I wonder

  if colors are what guide your day, maybe

  the mirrors are like the people who matter.

  Mom, Lauren,

  reflecting your mood, back to you.

  If Lauren’s happy about this plan,

  then I should be, too.

  Structure

  Mr. Ellis says

  he needs to see me about my report.

  Says it is very good

  that I make strong inferences.

  Not sure what that means.

  He says he can tell I’m a deep thinker.

  This I get.

  I nod.

  But he asks if I ever learned how to structure

  an essay.

  I think back—

  so many school days Mom dropped me

  at the mall, the movies, so she could drink

  or other days she said she was sick,

  I had to skip school

  to take care of her.

  All I see is her,

  glassy eyes, tipsy smile,

  when he asks me about the structure of an essay.

  I shake my head, he says we will work on it.

  “And one more thing,” he says.

  My heart skipping beats.

  Scared suddenly—

  he knows about my family,

  he’s going to ask me about her.

  I sigh, relieved, when all he says is

  next time,

  make sure my essay’s typed.

  Before Blue

  Lauren walks me home.

  I can feel her mood is up,

  so mine follows it,

  like an escaped balloon.

  Asks if I can sleep over on Saturday,

  wonder if she will let me watch one of her TVs.

  Most Saturday nights at Mom’s, I would watch

  marathons of whatever was on,

  eat leftover Chinese,

  frozen pizza.

  Sometimes Cassidy would join me.

  Tell Lauren I can’t wait. Wave.

  Almost ask her to take me with her.

  When I’m with Lauren I forget sometimes

  to miss Mom,

  to feel annoyed with Anne,

  confused by Carl.

  Inside, I pet Seeger, try

  to go straight to my room

  but Carl stops me.

  Home from an early shift.

  He sits me down, says

  Mr. Ellis called, that I need to start

  working on the computer at home.

  He says it like he should’ve thought of that already,

  says before they’ve mostly fostered younger kids.

  Looking past him,

  I wonder for a minute

  all the colors my room’s been

  before blue.

  A Space for Me

  Carl shows me the office.

  It’s a wonder they can find anything in there.

  Papers everywhere,

  old art projects,

  dust.

  He moves things around.

  Makes a space for me.

  He calls it my “workstation.”

  Like he’s hired me, like he’s proud.

  I tell him thanks.

  Because even though it smells kind of moldy,

  and it is full of plants and boxes,

  the computer itself is silver and shiny,

  and when I power it on,

  for a minute

  I can’t help but feel

  greener, luckier.

  Like Mom would smile,

  if she was looking on.

  Her Face

  With the computer, I log on to Mom’s Facebook.

  So I can see her.

  The selfies with new hairdos,

  her and me before the movies,

  her with our old kitten Cameron.

  Her and Lena on their trip to Atlantic City.

  One of our plastic Christmas trees.

  I touch my finger to each picture,

  like maybe she can feel me close.

  Museums

  On the bus the next day I tell Lauren

  about the office and

  then ask her about the secret room.

  She says Anne and Carl’s daughter died

  before we were even born.

  They’ve kept that room like that so long?

  Like how Mr. Ellis says a culture hangs on to its history

  by building museums.

  Building museums is a part of human nature.

  If one of my parents was gone forever,

  I wonder

  if I would try to make a space

  that was just theirs

  or if I would just keep a room for each of them

  in my mind.

  The Spirit of the Day

  Lauren and I head to our Worship & Ministry meeting,

  work on how to get kids excited about the Simplicity-a-Thon.

  Two fifth-grade girls have joined now,

  because they liked one of Lauren’s posters

  and the simplicity costume prize.

  They both have braces

  and matching silver glitter temporary tattoos on

  their hands,

  something Mom and I once did at the mall.

  Lauren, next to me

  but she’s also next to Jake,

  who keeps scribbling on her paper

  and stealing her fries.

  I wonder if she notices

  how his dar
k eyes

  watch her even when she’s quiet

  how he makes a point to let his hand linger by her side?

  If Nan were here, she’d tell Lauren

  not to mess with a boy like that.

  She wouldn’t have said exactly what she meant,

  like when I was friends with Alex from the third apartment complex

  and she told me not to go over to a place like that.

  Mom would always tell me not to listen to Nan,

  she would always let me go over there.

  If she were here, she’d tell

  Lauren now:

  Pay attention, girl, he likes you.

  The group votes to do the Simplicity-a-Thon

  the Tuesday before Thanksgiving

  “in the spirit of the day.”

  Last Thanksgiving,

  Mom let me visit Dad

  for ten minutes

  before going to her new boyfriend’s.

  Dad looked pale, greasy.

  He had drawn a picture for me.

  A cartoon of us walking our old mutt Mr. Little.

  Now Lauren seems mad at something.

  I can tell from her face

  and the way my stomach flips.

  On the way out, I ask her what’s wrong.

  My voice shakes a bit,

  worried I did something.

  She says Thanksgiving is actually a lie.

  That the Indians were slaughtered by Europeans.

  And we celebrate like everything’s all about turkey and gravy.

  She says she’s mad that that even happened at all.

  I take her hand again and say

  we’re going to do something good that week.

  The Simplicity-a-Thon,

  something she made up all her own.

  I tell her she should be

  proud

  not

  sad.

  But maybe there’s something else wrong.

  Maybe like Nan, it’s what

  she isn’t saying

  that really matters.

  Island

  The next day,

  in the cafeteria line,

  Audrey pokes me with her tray.

  Says it isn’t on purpose.

  But I know better.

  I want to tell her

  I know what it is like to lose people.

  That I know Lauren might still be hers

  if I wasn’t here.

  But no one says stuff like that aloud.

  And she did make things worse.

  Tempting the Fates.

  Instead I join Lauren,

  just the two of us,

  our own island

  her old friends

  a churning

  sea away.

  The Questions Underneath

  At the sleepover, I flip on the TV.

  Lauren goes to get us some sodas.

  When she comes back,

  asks what I’m doing.

  My stomach flips.

  I turn it off.

  Lauren’s smile grows as she tells me

  about the jewelry.

  Someone’s bought the bracelet

  but not the ring—

  not yet.

  Later, underneath a crystal chandelier,

  we eat take-out Thai food.

  Her parents

  are nice to me during dinner,

  but I think they’re being polite,

  wondering probably about Audrey.

  That night,

  Lauren and I stay up late,

  laughing, playing with her Magic 8 Ball.

  Asking it questions no one

  could ever predict.

  Will one of us get sick the Tuesday after next?

  Will Max take Emma to prom when we are seniors?

  We giggle into the night.

  As we fall asleep,

  I think how in some ways being with Lauren

  feels like being with Cassidy,

  like we are inventing our own world.

  But Cassidy always

  joked us out of our problems.

  Lauren is the opposite,

  she names a problem, then

  tries to solve it.

  Watch Her Watch

  In the morning,

  Lauren says we’re going to take a walk.

  I ask can we go to CVS.

  She shrugs but doesn’t say no.

  We walk the aisles.

  I smell Mom’s old Suave shampoo.

  Trace my finger on the edge of a tissue box.

  Scan the candy, in the order I’ve memorized.

  All CVSs the same.

  Sober Mom would get her nicotine gum,

  her energy shots,

  I would finger magazines,

  palm the holiday decorations.

  In the aisle now, Halloween on sale, Christmas already begun,

  Lauren holds a snow globe.

  Watch her watch the spinning snow.

  We scan the makeup.

  Lauren says she and Audrey used to practice with it

  but she’s given it up.

  She’s not going to

  “succumb to corporate greed telling us what’s beautiful.”

  Says isn’t it ridiculous

  how some of this makeup costs so much?

  Just this drugstore makeup?

  I wonder

  as she stands there so long

  hovering over eye shadows, cover-up, lipstick,

  if she’s actually going to maybe take it,

  not pay for it.

  Does she think CVS is doing something wrong, too?

  I look at the security cameras, the doors.

  Wonder then—

  like I still have that 8 Ball in my hand—

  If she took it, would I turn her in?

  Innocent

  But The

  she security

  doesn’t mirror

  take watches

  a us

  thing. go.

  Pockets

  On our way home,

  Lauren points, says that’s Emma’s house.

  There’s a yard sale outside

  old Barbies,

  Pokémon cards,

  jewelry,

  scarves.

  She makes chitchat

  with Emma’s mother,

  but when Emma’s mother turns,

  she swipes some cuff links.

  I poke her when Emma’s mom

  turns back around. On the way home

  she says that Emma’s family’s so wealthy,

  they shouldn’t have yard sales,

  they should just donate.

  I feel the cuff links

  heavy now in my own pocket

  as if I was the one who stole them.

  Shut Out

  When I get home from the sleepover,

  I feel tired.

  Realize it’s Sunday again.

  Mom better call.

  Anne says she heard from the social worker.

  Mom’s still in jail

  but not for much longer.

  Her evaluation period’s almost over.

  Then Anne says she won’t let me

  stay up late again, waiting.

  “It is not going to happen.”

  I ask her why not.

  She says I can’t wait around for someone

  who might not show up.

  That it isn’t fair to me.

  Who is she to say anything about my mom?

  What does she know?

  I say:

  “You’re the one who keeps a room for someone who’s never showing up again.”

  As soon as I say it, I can’t believe I have.

  Carl looks sideways at Anne, whose tears are already coming.

  He says I need to go to my room, no dinner,

  that if my mom calls, he will come get me.

  Asks don’t I know the word respect?

  As I climb the stairs,

  See
ger follows.

  But I tell him to scram.

  He cries as I

  shut him

  out.

  Switch Places

  I text Cassidy then

  tell her let’s

  meet up soon.

  Tell her I hate it here

  I just want to be back home.

  She says: She wishes

  she could switch places with me

  like Freaky Friday,

  her sisters are snoring,

  there wasn’t enough pizza at dinner,

  and my new school sounds kind of awesome.

  As usual, no matter how bad things are,

  she makes me laugh.

  But underneath I squish down another feeling.

  One that wants to yell at her:

  I’m not lucky!

  Neither of my parents can take care of me.

  Before I can get angrier, she distracts me again.

  Asks if there are any cute boys at Quaker schools.

  Max’s teasing smile flashes at me.

  Is that how he acts with everyone?

  Hard to imagine a boy actually liking me.

  And who cares, I am just here temporarily.

  So, I just tell her no,

  not a chance,

  no way.

  LAUREN

  Consequences

  Ever since the weekend, Sierra’s had dark circles under her eyes. She says everything’s fine, but she’s been staring off into space a lot or doodling with her head hunched over her notebook. And at the end of the day today, she was standing by herself outside Ms. Meadows’s classroom when I went to get my stuff, and I had to say her name twice before she saw me.

  “I was waiting for you,” she said. “I can’t come to your field hockey game. I’m so sorry.”

  The hallway was full of end-of-the-day chaos—kids laughing and shouting and shoving one another—but all that faded into background static. “What is it? What happened?”

  I was afraid it was something with her parents—like something bad had happened, or it was already time for her to leave Anne and Carl’s and go back to them.

  Mom talked to me the other day, after Sierra slept over. She said how nice Sierra is, how happy she is that Sierra and I are friends. She said she knows three can be a hard number and sometimes friends like Audrey and me need some time apart, and that’s okay. But then, right when I thought the conversation was over, she added, “You know what it means that Sierra’s in foster care, right? You remember how those little boys stayed with Anne and Carl for a while but then they left?”