The Disaster Days Page 2

  She popped out from behind the locker door again. “Bremerton. They’re really good.”

  “You’re really good.” It was true. Neha was the star forward. When I played, even before the asthma attacks, I was the kind of midfielder who got distracted by dandelions and realized three seconds too late that the ball was headed my way.

  She swung the door shut. “Aw, thanks, Hannah.” She already had her backpack on and was spinning her lock. She hoisted her duffel. “I don’t want to make them wait. Text me, okay?”

  I hurried down the hall and followed her through the double doors. “Yeah, I will. I’m babysitting tonight.”

  “Good luck!” She blew me an air kiss and dashed off to Marley’s car. I sighed and trudged toward the bus. I’d have to text Neha my idea.

  While waiting for the bus to fill up, I watched their car leave, Marley’s and Neha’s silhouettes visible in the back seat. I could imagine them giggling and sharing red licorice and probably gossiping and doing all the stuff I loved to share with Neha. Or maybe just talking endlessly about soccer. Somehow this season, the Pelling Pirates had become the most important thing in Neha’s life. Her teammates, the most important people. And I wasn’t one of them.

  The bus ride home always feels thousands of times longer than the ride to school. I watch everyone else get dropped off at their stops and start their after-school lives, while I’m on board till the bitter end. Seriously—my house is the last stop. And Mr. Fisk’s ruthless punctuality only applies to the morning ride; afternoons are for “the scenic route,” according to him. By the time we hit the inlet bridge, and I’m the only kid left on the bus, he announces that he’s become my private chauffeur. Literally, he gets on the PA and tells me that—every single day. On days when I get out at Neha’s stop, about halfway through the ride, he jokes that I’ve fired him.

  I forgot to tell him that I wasn’t getting out at my house, though. “Mr. Fisk?” I called from my seat toward the back.

  “Yes, Miss Hannah?” That’s another part of the joke—calling me “Miss.” Or, when he was really into some British TV show about rich people, “Lady Hannah.”

  “I’m babysitting today—can you drop me off at my neighbors’? They live just past our house.”

  “Not a problem, m’lady.”

  Crossing the inlet bridge, I couldn’t see Mount Rainier anymore. The sky had clouded over. Speeding down the hill on the other side always gives me this peaceful, happy feeling—I’m tucked back in our private little corner of the island, where everything is green and calm and familiar. We passed my house and I smiled, even though I hadn’t been able to shake off the feeling of being left out. Forestview Drive never feels isolated, even though it is. It feels safe—like home should.

  The bus lurched to a stop at the Matlocks’ drive. “This it?” Mr. Fisk called back to me. “I hope so, because I don’t see any other houses. I think I’ve found where the sidewalk ends.”

  I laughed. Actually, we don’t even have sidewalks, because other than people driving into the forest preserve, there’s no traffic on our road. “Yup, this is perfect.” I grabbed my backpack and walked down the aisle. “Thanks, Mr. Fisk.” He saluted me goodbye.

  I stopped to grab the Matlocks’ mail, watching Mr. Fisk navigate the bus into a three-point turn so he could head home. He tooted the horn and I waved.

  The driveway leading up to their house is so long, the cross-country club could use it for trail-running practice. I walked slowly so I could soak up the quiet before the chaos. The serene look of the Matlocks’ house and yard is one big fake-out, because it’s kind of bananas once you get inside. By the time I was halfway to the front door, I could hear the sharp, dissonant strains of someone learning to play a recorder. The butterflies in my stomach fluttered harder in response.

  I rang the bell, waited a few seconds, then opened the door anyway.

  “Hannah? Did anyone let Hannah in?” a voice called from upstairs.

  “I let myself in, Ms. Matlock!”

  “Oh, good. Welcome! I’ll be down in a minute.” A pause. “And seriously, please call me Andrea!” She always said that, but I couldn’t not start out by calling her “Ms.” My mom had drilled that into me since I was a preschooler. It felt too weird to call a grown-up by her first name.

  I put my backpack down next to the mess of shoes and umbrellas and galoshes in the entryway, and I slipped my phone into my pocket. Then I pulled it back out to text my mom. She’s a stickler about making sure I check in.

  I’m at the Matlocks’

  Thanks, honey.

  Have fun with the kiddos!

  Keep me posted on your adventures in babysitting.

  Ok

  The recorder was still going strong somewhere upstairs, and earsplitting crashing and booming noises bellowed from the TV. I wandered into the living room through the open kitchen. Oscar was curled up on the couch, intensely focused on a video game.

  “Hi, Oscar.”

  “Hi, Hannah—watch me get this guy!” Something neon burst on the TV screen, and Oscar jumped up from the cushion, piercing the air with his fist. “Yeah!”

  “Nice,” I said, flopping onto an armchair.

  “Okay, Hannah, I need your opinion.” Andrea had breezed downstairs during the explosion. “These earrings?” She held out a dangly silver pair. “Or these?” The ones in her other hand were jade.

  I hopped up to join her in the kitchen. “I like the dangly ones.”

  She held both palms out and studied her options. “Yup, you’re right. Good taste.” She started fastening them into her ears. “And my dress is okay? Do I need a scarf or anything?” Andrea did a twirl. She looked great—the dress was a deep teal color and made of a very flowy fabric that swirled like waves as she moved.

  “You look amazing,” I said, standing up a little straighter. Andrea grinned at me. I liked how she asked my opinion about her outfits, almost like I was her friend, not just the kid next door. That, plus the fact that I was there to watch Oscar and Zoe, not play with them—it all made me feel pretty mature. The opposite of how it felt when my mom insisted I text her to check in or freaked out about me not always remembering my inhaler.

  “Except there is a teensy bit of lipstick on your teeth,” I pointed out.

  “Lifesaver,” she said, running her index finger over her front teeth to erase it. She smiled wide again. “Better?”

  “Perfect.”

  “I’m going to a gallery opening—a friend’s show. There’ll be lots of people who write reviews or represent artists. Honestly, I’m nervous,” Andrea admitted, stuffing her wallet and keys into a purse. “I’d love to get them interested in my work.”

  Her drawings were all over the house: framed ones lining the walls and in-progress ones covering most flat surfaces. They were awesome-looking, even if I didn’t always quite get what they were supposed to be showing. Sometimes, I thought the people in them were dancing, and sometimes it looked like fighting. Maybe that was on purpose. Her pottery—big tubular vases lining the mantel and the tops of bookshelves—was easier to understand.

  “Anyway,” Andrea continued, glancing around the kitchen. “I’m going to drive all the way there, even though it’ll take forever. I don’t want to be at the mercy of the ferry schedule. Nor do I want to navigate the sidewalks in heels.” She bent to refasten one of the buckles on her fancy shoes. “I’ll have my phone with me the whole time. If anything comes up, I can head back right away.” She paused, chewing on her lip. “Don’t hesitate to call.”

  I nodded and said, very confidently, “I’m sure everything will be fine.” Famous last words.

  The recorder by then was making loud screechy noises that couldn’t be part of a song. It sounded more like a warning siren. Andrea winced. “Well, whenever the racket’s finished, could you help Zoe with her math homework? That would be excellent.” She moti
oned to Oscar in the living room. “For that one, don’t let him play video games the whole night. They both already used up their screen time for the day.” She glanced at a calendar taped to the fridge. “It’s Oscar’s turn to clean Jupiter’s cage.” Jupiter was the Matlocks’ pet guinea pig.

  In between booms from the living room couch: “Noooooo!”

  “Sorry, O. The schedule doesn’t lie.” Andrea pulled open the fridge door and scanned inside. “There’s veggie pasta to heat up for dinner. And basically nothing else to eat—my cupboards are worse than Mother Hubbard’s. Tomorrow’s grocery day. But if you guys get desperate, I think there’s a can of refried beans somewhere.” We both laughed.

  “That’s it for instructions. You know the drill. Emergency numbers are by the phone.” She pointed.

  “Zoe! Come downstairs and say goodbye!” The bleating of the recorder stopped, and I heard her feet thudding down the stairs. Andrea swooped Zoe into a hug, spun her in a circle, and called for Oscar to come over.

  “But I’m almost through this level!”

  Andrea rolled her eyes and walked over to kiss him on the top of his curly head. “After this one, the TV’s off. No more games, okay?” She looked out the window. Blue sky was attempting to pierce through the clouds. “Unless they’re outside. It’s not raining.” To me, she added, “Maybe get them some fresh air?”

  I nodded as my phone buzzed inside my pocket. I didn’t want to pull it out right in front of Andrea, which would make me look distracted, but I was also dying to see if the buzz was from Neha. I sneaked a look. The text was from my dad—a picture of the Seaspray Resort’s roof, covered in cool-looking succulent plants. The ocean glistened in the background.

  Good job! I texted back.

  “Okay, you’re on your own now. Behave, you two!” Andrea slung her purse over her shoulder and grabbed her coat off the back of a kitchen chair. The bracelets on her arms tinkled. “I know they’re in good hands with you, Hannah,” she said, which made me blush. I wish she’d tell my mom that. Andrea paused in the doorway, taking one last look at Zoe and Oscar. She seemed slightly nervous about leaving, so I gave her a big smile.

  Immediately after she walked out of the house, Oscar went back to his video game and Zoe picked up her recorder again. I paused for a moment, next to the door, listening to the car roll down the driveway. I couldn’t tell whether the prickle I felt was nerves or excitement about being in charge. It’s just babysitting, I reminded myself. You got this.

  3

  I decided to tackle the hard stuff first: getting Zoe and Oscar to do the two things their mom had requested. “Zoe, go get your math homework.” She wandered out of the kitchen, recorder still bleating, and came back with her polka-dotted backpack.

  “Math is easier when you’re not playing an instrument,” I suggested, and she put the recorder down. Thank goodness. There’s only so much “Hot Cross Buns” a person can take. At least, I think that’s what she was practicing.

  “I need a calculator. Can I use your phone?”

  “Sure.” I wasn’t sure if she was supposed to use a calculator for the worksheet, but I didn’t think it could hurt. I sent a quick text to Neha.

  What’s up? How’s the game?

  Then I handed over my phone, and Zoe got to work.

  On to Oscar. “It’s time to clean Jupiter’s cage, buddy.”

  “Nooooooooo!” Oscar jumped from the arm of the sofa to the cushions, grabbing at his chest like he’d been wounded. “It’s so stinky.”

  He wasn’t lying. When I walked over to the corner of the living room where Jupiter lived, my nose was hit by the unmistakable combination of musty wood shavings and guinea pig pee. Good thing Jupiter was ridiculously cute. Most guinea pigs I’d seen had short fur, but Jupiter’s was more like thick, glossy locks of hair that fell to his tiny paws. It was so long you could braid it. Zoe and Oscar had done that before. There were pictures of it on the fridge.

  When I stood next to the cage, Jupiter started jumping around and making little squeak-whoop noises. “You’re excited to get a clean cage, aren’t you?” Except I didn’t know how they cleaned it. With soap and water? A vacuum?

  “Zoe, how does your mom clean Jupiter’s cage?” From the kitchen table, she shrugged. “Oscar, do you know?”

  He had hopped off the couch and joined me. “She uses one of the sprays under the kitchen sink.” He reached in and gently pulled out Jupiter, cuddling him in his arms and cooing at him. Jupiter made a contented noise, almost like purring.

  While Oscar held him, I went into the kitchen and checked under the sink. All I saw was blue glass cleaner, and that didn’t seem like what you’d clean a cage with. Maybe they’re out. Better not use the wrong stuff. So I put on some rubber gloves and carried the trash can over to the cage. I grabbed as much of the gross used shavings as I could and dumped them into the trash, then covered the cage floor with fresh stuff. It looked, and smelled, cleaner at least.

  “Good enough,” I pronounced.

  “Yay! I get a checkmark on the calendar,” Oscar said happily, nuzzling Jupiter with his cheek.

  “No, all you did was hold Jups!” Zoe cried from the kitchen table.

  “Actually, I think you’re going to have to clean the cage for real later on. When your mom’s home.” After I put the trash can back, peeled off the gloves, and washed my hands, I checked on Zoe. “How’s the math?”

  “All done,” she said, but she was still hunched over my phone. It was making the camera-snap noise.

  “Zoe, what are you doing with my phone?”

  “Nothing!” She sat upright, and I snatched it back. My photo album was now full of pictures of Zoe’s nose. Along with video: slow motion of her sticking out her tongue and wiggling it.

  “Please tell me you didn’t post any of these?” The last thing I needed was everybody at school seeing close-ups of nostrils and assuming they were mine.

  “I didn’t?” The question in her voice suggested the opposite. I sighed, opening all my apps to check my latest posts. So far, babysitting felt like one long, continuous sigh.

  But everything looked okay—no bizarre posts from Zoe-Me. Also, no texts from Neha. The game was probably running long. I sent another.

  I have an amazing idea for our Earth Day project

  Text me when ur done so I can tell you!

  I thought back to Andrea’s instructions. Zoe’s homework: check, thanks to my phone’s help. Oscar’s cage cleaning: check-ish, thanks to me. No more screen time and maybe play a game: up next. “Hey, how do you guys feel about going outside?” I glanced through the big picture window in the living room, above Jupiter’s less-stinky cage. While most of their property was dense with evergreens and bushes, they did have a large backyard. Spread throughout the open grass was Andrea’s veggie garden; a small fish pond that the previous owner had put in; a firepit; and a redwood swing set with two swings, a platform, slide, and rusted monkey bars. It looked almost exactly like the one Neha used to have in her backyard before the Jains landscaped it and Neha begged for a soccer goal. I smiled, thinking of the hours we’d spent on hers, swinging and climbing and laughing. Before she became the star of the Pelling Pirates, that was our pirate ship. I missed playing like that, sometimes. There was nothing like the feeling of lying back on the grass, letting the blue—or cloud-covered (after all, we live in the Pacific Northwest)—sky overhead help you to catch your breath. Now when we hang out, Neha and I spend almost all our time on laptops or phones. It makes you tired in a different way.

  “Nah,” said Zoe. She’d joined Oscar on the couch. He was back to scrolling through his video game options, and she’d picked up a tablet and was questing for candy on an app. I sank down in the love seat across from them. Suddenly, I was exhausted. Kids wear you out.

  “Guys, your mom said you were out of screen time.” I tried to sound firm. But my phone had fi
nally buzzed with a text.

  “If Oscar puts on his headphones, Mom doesn’t care if he keeps playing,” Zoe said. Oscar obediently grabbed the pair from the coffee table and put them over his ears.

  “Okay, but only for a minute—then we’re going outside,” I murmured, as I swiped to check my messages. Now I had a bunch from Neha.

  Hey! We WON!!!!!

  I got a goal :) And Marley made an awesome save

  Anyway she had this idea to do water-quality testing at the pebble beach by the ferry

  Maybe you could work with us?

  I slumped deeper into the love seat.

  Maybe I could work with them? So she was definitely working with Marley and had ignored me in all this planning. I felt my heartbeat hasten, and my stomach knotted.

  I thought we were doing the project together

  And why wouldn’t I? We did everything together. Or, at least, we had. We were a perfect pair. Even our names were coordinated: Hannah, Neha.

  Dude we can still work together!

  with Marley

  It’s NBD

  Actually it kind of is

  My fingers had started typing without the consent of my brain.

  For the longest time, Neha’s side of our conversation showed three “still typing” dots. I glanced up to check on Zoe and Oscar. Both were totally absorbed in their games. Once, the Pelling community center had hosted a “silent dance party” where everybody danced while listening to music with their own headphones on. So it was a party, but totally quiet. The three of us, sitting in the living room but not playing together at all, glued to our respective devices, reminded me of that. Then, finally, Neha’s reply buzzed through.

  What is ur problem lately?!

  I broke the silence with a huff. Zoe and Oscar didn’t stir.

  My problem?!

  I dunno

  Maybe the fact that all you’re interested in now is Marley

  And soccer