chapter 35

CYLIN

WHEN we got back to Falmouth from the cabin in Maine, the sight of our house was depressing. We would be here just long enough to pack up our things; then we would be on our way. The phone rang the next morning while we were helping Mom pack some boxes in the kitchen.

I heard Mom talking to someone; then she came into the room. “It’s for you,” she said, and I grabbed the phone.

“Hi!” It was Amelia. “My mom thought you might want to come over one last time before you guys leave. Want to? We can come and pick you up. And we’ll go in the sprinkler!”

I looked over at Mom, sweating in her shorts and tank top, an old bandanna tied over her hair. “Mom...,” I started to say.

“It’s okay,” Mom said, standing up and wiping her hands on a rag. “You can go over. Be home for dinner.”

An hour later, Amelia’s mom picked me up outside our gate.Amelia and I were wearing almost the exact same outfits: shorts, sandals, and string halter tops. I was glad to see that Amelia hadn’t gotten any boobs while I was gone. “Did you bring your bathing suit?” she asked me. I nodded. I brought the new one that Lauren had given me. I felt a little bad going over to Amelia’s nice house while my mom and brothers were stuck at home packing boxes, but once we got there and starting running around in the sprinkler, I forgot.

“When you girls are done out there, I have some pictures to show you,” Amelia’s mom called outside. We came in, still dripping wet. “Let’s go put your things into the dryer,” her mom said, bringing us into the laundry room. As our suits dried, we stood in our towels while Amelia’s mom showed me the pictures.

“Remember that day?” she asked. I looked at the photo she was holding up—it was Amelia and me on the swings in the backyard, in our princess dresses. We looked beautiful and happy. There was another one of us with lip gloss on, posing in front of a mirror with princess crowns on our heads.

“You can have these, since you’re moving,” Amelia said.

“We’ll never forget you; you’ve been one of Amelia’s best friends,” her mom said.

“Thanks,” I said, holding the pictures. I was glad that I would have these to show the kids at my new school. The pictures made it look like I had a normal life, with friends and everything. Maybe I would tell people that the backyard in the picture was really my backyard and not Amelia’s.

“You know, Cylin,” Amelia’s mom said, “you can tell us where you’re moving; we would never tell anyone, would we, Amelia?”

I looked over at Amelia and saw her nod. I didn’t say anything for a minute. It was quiet in the laundry room; all I could hear was the sound of our bathing suits flopping around in the dryer. Then I looked right at Amelia’s mom. “We don’t know where we’re moving yet,” I lied.

“I thought you were packing up; that’s what your mom said . . .” Amelia’s mom looked skeptical.

“We’re going to stay with friends. They live really far away. Then we’ll move later,” I told her.

“Oh, I see.” Amelia’s mom nodded. I could tell from her face she believed me. “Well, when you do know—,” she started to say.

“I’ll write to Amelia right away!” I said. I gave them a big fake smile. I felt just like I had when we went to see Dad’s psychiatrist. I was lying, and knew I was lying, but I didn’t feel bad about it at all.

Both Amelia and her mom smiled back. They believed everything I was saying.

“Oh gosh, I better get home and help my mom,” I said, looking at the clock.

“Really, so soon?” Amelia’s mom looked sad. “You’re such a good girl to want to help your mom pack.”

I didn’t really want to help Mom; I just wanted to get out of there before she could ask me any more questions. They drove me back to my house, and I hugged Amelia for a long time. “You’ll write to me as soon as you know where you’re going to live, right?” she asked me.

She looked so sad, I almost wished I could tell her the truth. “Sure, you know it,” I told her. I pushed the button on the gate and waited for someone to open it. Then I waved like crazy at Amelia as she drove away.

“You’re back early,” Mom said, looking up at me from the kitchen floor as I walked in. She was wrapping our plates and glasses in newspaper and sticking them in a box. “Do you want to help me or go pack your room?”

I looked at her hands, black with newsprint. “I’ll pack my room.”

“Good.” She stood up and handed me a box. “This should do. Just pack the stuff you really need; we don’t have room for everything.”

I looked at the box she handed me. “All my stuff is supposed to fit in here?” I asked her.

“No, just your toys—I already packed your clothes. You need to decide what you want to bring and what you don’t. You’ve outgrown most of those toys anyhow—and we just don’t have room in the truck.” She sat back down and started wrapping more plates.

I went into my room and started sorting through my toys. There was a big wagon full of stuffed animals at the foot of my bed. I knew I hadn’t played with them in years, but the thought of leaving them behind was still hard. I picked up my Sally doll from the pile—a blond dolly with a red and white pinafore that I’d had since I was a baby. I smoothed back her hair, then put her in the box. Then I got the steak knife from under my mattress and put that in too. I opened my closet and saw that Mom had taken all the clothes out already. There were just a couple of empty hangers left. In the bottom of the closet were some old toys. A Fisher Price radio that hadn’t really worked since some batteries had leaked inside it. I pushed it off to the side. A Monopoly game. That went into the box. I found an old box of sort-of melted crayons and looked at it for a long time. Crayons weren’t that special; I could always get more in Tennessee. But what if I wanted to do some coloring after we moved in and it was a while before we could get to a store? I put the crayons aside and went through the rest of the stuff. Pretty soon I had a pile of things that I would leave behind, and the box was getting full. I sat on the floor of my closet thinking about the stuff I was leaving behind, and I picked up the box of crayons again. I noticed that it was starting to get dark outside, but I didn’t bother to get up and turn on the light, just watched the early-evening shadows creeping across the walls of my room.

Then I took out a red crayon and wrote very small at the back of my closet: “help me.” I wondered who would move into my house after I was gone, and how long it would take them to find my note. Then I wrote it again, right under the first line: “help me.”

“Time for dinner!” Mom yelled. I shoved the red crayon back into the box, then stuffed the crayons deep into the pile of the things I didn’t want anymore. They were melted anyhow.