Terrible Terrel Read online

  I think about this. It’s always best to face the enemy head-on and know what you’re dealing with. And I might as well do it on my home turf. “Grocery shopping?” I ask.

  He looks a little surprised, but says, “Of course. I’m sure she’d love to come grocery shopping with us.”

  Good. One minute in that store with me and she’ll see that I’ve got everything under control. And maybe Dad will realize that we don’t need some stupid lady around.

  Or better yet, she won’t want to come at all. What kind of nut goes on a date at a supermarket? I am probably the only person in the world who would like that.

  Feeling happier, I nod. “Okay. Maybe she can come shopping with us. Someday.”

  Dad stands up, bends over, and kisses the top of my head. “Don’t worry, Terrel,” he says. “You’ll like her.”

  We’ll see about that.

  Chapter 7

  When I told Dad it might be okay for Marjory to come shopping with us someday, I meant a long time from now, like next summer. No point in rushing things. But here it is, only a few days later, and we’re in the grocery store waiting for Marjory.

  She’s ten minutes late already. I hate it when people are late. It’s not very organized of them. I feel stupid as we all just stand there in a group by the vending machines waiting for her to show up. At least it’s not our whole family: Danny and Cheng are busy, so it’s just Dad, Edward, Tai, and me. But the store manager has already asked us twice if he can help us with something. Dad says no but doesn’t go into details. I guess he doesn’t want anyone to know he takes women on grocery-store dates.

  Now Marjory’s twelve minutes late. Just as I start to hope she won’t show up at all, Dad’s face lights up and he waves. A tall woman with dark skin and bright pink fingernails walks into the store. She has straight, shiny black hair pulled back into a ponytail. Gold hoops dangle from her earlobes. She looks a little familiar, but I’m not sure why.

  “Marjory!” Dad says, a little flustered. He starts to hug her, but then reconsiders and ends up sticking out his hand awkwardly for a handshake. She shakes his hand as though this were the most normal thing in the world. Although I definitely do not plan to like Marjory, there’s a little part of me that is grateful to her for not making Dad look silly.

  Marjory turns to us. “Let me guess—Edward?”

  Edward blushes and holds out his hand, which she shakes.

  “And Tai, right?”

  Tai nods. Both he and Edward are just staring at Marjory. She is pretty, I guess, but it’s still annoying to have them gaping at her like fish.

  She turns to me. “And you must be Terrel,” she says. Her eyes are warm. “Your dad has told me so much about you.” She holds her hand out to me. I shake it, then let it go really quickly.

  “So,” she says, brightly. “Your dad tells me you’re a grocery-shopping expert. I can’t wait to see you in action.”

  I’m pleased in spite of myself.

  “Shall we get started?” she says. Dad gets a cart. I pull out my binder and look at the list.

  “Okay,” I say as we walk past the frozen foods. “Cereal is the first stop. While we do that, Edward, you go get bananas,” I say.

  Marjory peers over my shoulder at the list. “Frozen corn, huh? I’ll grab that,” she says, heading toward a freezer case.

  “No!” I say. It comes out a little loud, and Dad gives me a warning look. “I mean, if we get it now, it’ll thaw before we go home. We get frozen stuff last.”

  “Of course,” Marjory says. “That’s very smart.”

  “Bananas!” I say to Edward again. “And Tai, you go get toothpaste.”

  But instead of running off the way they usually do, they just stand there.

  “Aw, Terrel,” Edward says, “why don’t we just all go around together?”

  Why aren’t they listening to me? Maybe they just want to hang around and stare at Marjory. Or maybe they don’t want a little kid ordering them around in front of company. Whatever it is, it’s endangering our shopping mission.

  Dad sees I’m getting frustrated. “Edward, Tai, go on,” he says.

  They head off, thank goodness.

  “So, where are we heading?” Marjory asks. “Cereal? I think it’s faster if you go this way.” She starts to pull the cart toward the front of the store.

  I yank back on the cart. “We can’t go that way, because we need to get juice.” So far, this whole Dad-having-a-girlfriend thing stinks.

  Dad points the cart toward the juice aisle and says quickly, “Terrel, Marjory works for the Ballet Company of New York. Isn’t that interesting?”

  “Oh,” I say. This actually is interesting, but I try to hide it. I hunt for the right brand of cornflakes as she answers.

  “Yes,” she says. “I work in their advertising and promotion department.” She comes over and helps me get the cornflakes, since they’re on a high shelf. I guess she’s not totally useless.

  Edward comes back with bananas, followed by Tai with the toothpaste. Marjory starts asking them questions about school and stuff as I check things off on my shopping list. Once the boys start doing what they’re supposed to do, and Marjory learns not to get in the way, the shopping gets done. It takes longer than usual, which is annoying, because I’m trying to break our old speed record (thirty-two items in eight minutes). But it could be worse.

  After we check our stuff out, Dad invites Marjory to come back home with us. She says she can’t.

  “Good,” I say under my breath. Tai hears me and steps on my toe.

  “But I have an idea,” Margory says. “How would you and Terrel like to see Sleeping Beauty? The Ballet Company of London is doing it in our theater. I can get you tickets.”

  Tickets for Sleeping Beauty? The glorious, Important Ballet Sleeping Beauty that costs a billion trillion bucks?

  “That would be really great,” I say. I can’t help myself—I smile big. Marjory smiles back.

  “You boys are welcome to come, too, if you’d like,” she says.

  Edward shakes his head hastily. “No thanks,” he says. He thinks ballet is stupid.

  “How about you, Tai? Or is ballet not your thing, either?” Marjory says.

  “Nope,” Tai says. “But thank you, anyway,” he adds quickly after Dad clears his throat.

  “No worries,” Marjory says. “I have a niece who lives in Florida who can’t stand ballet. But my other niece, the one who spends every Saturday with me, loves it.” She turns to me. “In fact, Terrel, your dad probably told you, but…”

  She’s interrupted by a big crash—Dad has accidentally run the shopping cart into a guardrail in the parking lot. This is not like him. He is usually an excellent shopping-cart driver, which is why that’s his job on our grocery-store trips. But he seems nervous all of a sudden.

  “So, Marjory, thank you very much for coming with us today,” he says quickly. “And we can talk about the ballet later, right?”

  She looks surprised, but says that would be fine. She offers to give us a ride home with the groceries, but it would be hard to have all of us crammed in her little car, so we say we’ll walk, like we usually do.

  Then there’s another awkward moment. Dad and Marjory are standing next to each other, and for a second there I’m afraid they’re going to kiss, which would be totally disgusting. Edward and Tai are staring at them too, probably thinking the same thing.

  But they don’t. Dad just says he’ll call her soon, and she says it was nice to meet all of us, then gets into her car. Phew.

  Dad waves as she drives out of the parking lot. Then he turns to us. “Well, what do you think?” he asks.

  “She’s nice,” Tai says. Edward nods, shifting the two grocery bags he’s carrying.

  We start walking home, kind of slowly, since we all have bags to carry. “Did you like her, Terrel?” Dad asks.

  I consider this. She is definitely not a grocery-shopping genius. But I am excited about seeing Sleeping Beauty. My stomach doe
s a happy little jump at the idea of being in a big theater, watching famous dancers perform a Very Important Ballet.

  “She’s okay,” I say finally. “But maybe grocery shopping should be a family-only thing.”

  Dad seems satisfied with this. “It’s a deal,” he says.

  Chapter 8

  When we get home, there are seven messages from Epatha on our answering machine. Seriously. Seven.

  After we’ve put the groceries away, I call her back. She answers the phone with, “Well? Well? Well?”

  “How did you know it was me?” I ask sus-piciously.

  “Caller ID, ragazza pazza,” she replies. “What’s she like?”

  I know she’s talking about Marjory. “I don’t know. Okay, I guess,” I say. “She was late. And she is terrible at grocery shopping. Even worse than you.” Epatha came with us once and helped us pack up the shopping bags. When I wasn’t watching, she put a bunch of ripe bananas at the bottom of the bag, then put a gallon of apple juice right on top of them.

  Epatha exhales impatiently. “I don’t care how she shops! What does she look like? Is she nice?”

  “She’s pretty, I guess,” I say, sitting down on the couch. “And I guess she’s nice.”

  I can almost hear Epatha bouncing around on the other end of the phone. “Details! I want details!”

  “She was exactly twelve minutes late,” I say.

  “Arrrrrgh!” she says. I have to hold the phone away from my ear. “Did she and your dad hold hands or kiss or anything?”

  “No!” I say. Great—now I feel all shaky and weird again. Eager to get Epatha off this subject, I add, “But she’s getting Dad and me tickets for Sleeping Beauty.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me! How? Is she rich?”

  I explain about Marjory’s job. Thankfully, this gets Epatha off the Dad subject and onto Sleeping Beauty.

  “¡Qué suerte tienes! Lucky you!” she says.

  After I hang up, I lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling. The ballet will be great. But I’m not exactly feeling lucky at the moment. I close my eyes and wish as hard as I can that my family will stay exactly the same. If I’m really lucky, that’s what will happen.

  Do things get any better? No, they do not. Monday after school, I’m in the kitchen watching Tai crunch through a mammoth bowl of cornflakes. “Hurry up,” I tell him. “You need to take me down to Red Rose Cleaners so we can pick up Dad’s shirts.”

  Tai shovels another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “Dmnt nrrdf dd,” he says.

  I swear. Brothers have no manners. “What?” I say, putting my hands on my hips. “Want to try that again?”

  He swallows. “Don’t need to,” he says, motioning to the fridge.

  The dry-cleaning pickup slip is gone.

  “Marjory was over here last night when you were asleep,” he says. “She noticed the slip and says the dry-cleaning place is right by where she works,” Tai says. “She’s going to pick up the shirts and save us the trip.” He scoops up another mound of cereal.

  I exhale in frustration. I’d planned my schedule today around that trip. Now there’s a half-hour hole in my day where the walk to the dry cleaners is supposed to be.

  Tai notices the deadly look on my face. “She’s just trying to be nice, T.,” he says. “Doing us a favor.”

  “If she wants to do us a favor, she can stop messing with the way our house runs,” I say.

  “Whoa.” Tai puts down his spoon. “What’s the matter?”

  I don’t answer. Instead, I flip through my binder, turning the pages hard. “Don’t forget you have to take your science project to school tomorrow,” I tell him. “Unless Little Miss Marjory has already done that, too.”

  I slam the binder and go into my room. Maybe it’s good I have an extra half hour today. I think I need to be annoyed for at least that long.

  That night I remind Dad that we need to make a quick trip to the grocery store to get peanut butter and beans. The midweek trips are always just him and me, not all my brothers, too. It’s fun to get to be alone with Dad.

  “Oh…” he says. “Uh…”

  “What?”

  “Marjory and I had lunch today. We were right by the supermarket, so we picked up the things we need. I checked your binder first,” he says quickly. “Just to make sure.”

  I run to the lowest cupboard and open it up. Sure enough, there’s stuff in there. And it’s all in the wrong place.

  Dad comes into the kitchen. “Marjory helped put some of the things away,” he explains, apologetically.

  I don’t say anything. I start pulling things out so I can put them away correctly. “I can’t reach the peanut butter when it’s up there,” I say, pointing to one of the high cupboards. My voice sounds weird—high and strained, as if it might crack into a million pieces. “I need to be able to reach the peanut butter.”

  Dad quickly starts helping me pull things out of the cupboard.

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he says. “We can put everything back in the right place. Marjory and I were talking, and I guess I wasn’t paying attention. She was just trying to help.”

  “We don’t need her help,” I say, slamming cans of beans on the counter.

  “Terrel, wait,” he says. I turn to face him because he expects me to, but I don’t want to look at him, because I’m so upset. Instead I stare over his shoulder at the lumpy orange refrigerator magnet I made in kindergarten.

  “You do so much to help us around the house,” he says. “It makes me feel bad. You’re just a little girl.” He looks sad.

  “I’m almost nine,” I say. “And I like organizing stuff. And grocery shopping,” I add.

  “I know, but aren’t there other things you might like better?” he asks. “If someday…well, if someday there were two grown-ups around, you wouldn’t have all that responsibility,” he says, tapping his finger gently on my household binder.

  I pull the binder away. I want to tell him that I like that responsibility, just as I like grocery shopping. I’m good at it. It makes me feel important. My dad and my brothers need me, because I make everything run smoothly. If I weren’t doing it, they wouldn’t need me at all. I’d just be a stupid little kid.

  I want to tell Dad this, but I don’t know how. So I turn back to the cupboard and start loading the groceries back inside, in exactly the right places.

  Chapter 9

  “We have ballet tickets for tomorrow night!” Dad says as he comes home one evening, a big grin on his face. Despite all the Marjory Issues, I am looking forward to the ballet. After all the cupboard rearranging and dry-cleaning interfering, I feel like she owes me.

  Dad holds out the envelope, and I look at the tickets. Yep—tomorrow! I carefully tuck them away in my binder for safekeeping, since Dad’s been a bit scatterbrained lately.

  The next night after dinner, I put on my red and black dress and some tights.

  “You look really nice, T.,” Cheng says from the couch, where he’s watching an old movie.

  Dad rushes out in his suit. “The tickets!” he says, checking his pockets. “Where—”

  I hand them to him.

  “What would we do without you?” he says, kissing the top of my head.

  I grin.

  Danny’s head pops out of his room. “Have a good time, you guys,” he says.

  “Yeah—have fun at the bal-llaaaaaaayy,” Edward says, doing a leap, followed by an awkward turn, which sends him reeling into the coffee table.

  “We will,” Dad says.

  We catch a cab right away. The cabdriver is humming to himself, and warm air is blasting through the heating vents. It feels good just sitting here with my dad. It’s been a long time since we did something special together, just the two of us. I press my head against the smooth coldness of the window. Multicolored Christmas lights shine through the night, their colors reflected on the fluffy white snow. I know by tomorrow all the snow will be trampled and muddy, but right now it’s beautiful.

/>   A few minutes later, we pull up in front of the theater. A crowd of well-dressed people is gathered in front. A line snakes away from the box office. Ushers in red uniforms are stationed at the doorways, tearing tickets and letting people in.

  We walk in the door. I’ve never been in a big, fancy theater like this one. All I can say is “Wow.” A huge glass chandelier dangles above the lobby. People are hanging out, sipping champagne, and talking.

  “Our seats are up on the next level,” Dad says, pointing me toward a sweeping stair-way.

  I walk up, my feet sinking into the red carpet with each step. At the top of the stairs there’s a landing; a bar stretches along the back wall, and people are lined up to buy drinks and candy. There’s a mirror on the wall behind the bar that reflects the bartenders with their white shirts and black bow ties, making it look like there are twice as many of them as there really are.

  There’s a door into the main theater on either side of the bar. The restrooms are behind us; I make a note of this in case I have to go at intermission. The good thing about being a kid is that you can move a lot faster than grown-ups if you have to do a bathroom dash; and if you’re all dressed up, like I am now, they think you’re cute even when you accidentally crash into them.

  Dad buys me a fancy souvenir program. Then I crane my neck to look at our tickets, which Dad is holding in his hand. “We’re on the left, so we go in there,” I say, starting to walk toward one of the doors.

  “I think we should wait out here for Marjory,” he says.

  I turn around. “What?” I ask.

  “Oh, Terrel,” he says, seeing my expression. “Didn’t you know she was coming with us?”

  Stupid me. Of course Marjory’s coming. How could I have not figured that out? “Uh, no. I knew,” I say, trying to cover up the fact that I’m upset.

  But Dad can tell. “Honey, I’m sorry. I just assumed you knew it would be the three of us. I should have told you.” He glances around, trying to spot Marjory in the sea of people. “But you do like her, don’t you?” he asks.