Conspiracies

That night, Veronica tried to act normal. She set the table and carried out the water pitcher. But she couldn’t keep her mind off being paired with Sylvie and how she might get out of it. A partnership of any kind was the enemy. A partnership would ruin her prospects of getting back on track academically. She felt so bad about how disappointed in her Ms. Padgett must have been about the Monet project. She wanted to redeem herself somehow, and if she did well in science maybe Mr. Bower would talk to Ms. Padgett. If she could work alone, she’d have a chance to work her tail off and do a decent project.

Her hands trembled. She filled the water glasses carefully, certain she was going to flunk out of middle school. Ugh. She had to convince her parents to talk to Mr. Bower and let her do the expo project alone.

Mr. Morgan sat down at the table but got right back up.

“Where are you going?” his wife asked.

“I realized that this evening requires beer,” he said. Veronica looked at her father, then her mother, trying to figure out which parent would be easier to convince that she needed to work alone. Sometimes her mother was the more understanding one, but she’d been pretty tough lately—making her go to the party and write those letters. Her father returned from the kitchen with his beer. He sat down and took a long drink. Her parents conferred with their eyes.

“Veronica, your father and I have something rather difficult we need to discuss with you,” her mother said. Her father took another long drink from his beer and Veronica realized her parents were getting divorced. Why else would he need a drink? This was too much.

“Veronica lovey,” her mother said between bites of falafel, “Mary is having surgery on her hip.” Veronica must have looked terrified because her father jumped into the conversation as though he were rescuing her from imminent danger.

“It is not a tricky operation. Please don’t worry. In fact, hip replacements are so successful and so quick they’ve actually given specialists a good name. Our Mary will come out intact and dancing. They can do them in their sleep. Pass the kibbe.”

Both her father and her mother had a habit of comforting Veronica by chattering so much it was hard to follow what they were saying. Something about Mary and surgery and Middle Eastern food. But at least it seemed her parents were staying married.

“Here, darling,” her mother said. She passed the kibbe to her husband. “No, the only problem with Mary having this operation, which will absolutely be a success, you have nothing to worry about, lovey, people twenty years older than Mary have this done and handle it brilliantly. The only problem with Mary’s surgery is you. I’m not sure how you will feel about this, but you have to go to a friend’s house after school for the three weeks Mary is out.”

The hummus Veronica had in her mouth arrived in her gut with the force of a cinder block dropped from the roof of a ten-story building.

There was no way she could be with normal people. Her life was so abnormal now, all by her own doing, but nonetheless, she couldn’t possibly spend time with someone normal. She was miserable, friendless, flunking out of school, and on top of that she had so much hummus stuck in her stomach, she was probably going to upchuck to death. Mrs. Cohen and Cricket couldn’t begin to understand what she was going through.

But it turned out she was not going to Cricket Cohen’s house for the three weeks Mary was recuperating.

“Sylvie?” Veronica said, spitting water all over herself. She had just taken a large gulp, hoping to dislodge the hummus, and it all came up when she heard the news. “I can’t go to her house! I don’t even know her.”

It was a conspiracy. First Mr. Bower and now her parents. Where would it end? When would it end?

“Honey, you are supposed to be doing a science project together,” her mother said, as though that made everything all right.

Veronica hadn’t even mentioned the science project yet. How did they know?

“Ms. Padgett actually suggested it,” her father interjected. Veronica wanted to scream. They had been talking about her behind her back like everyone else.

“All of us have been very concerned,” her father continued. “We know you’re grieving. Your emotions have been very deep.”

“As they should be,” her mother added.

“Certainly, as they should be. Cadbury was a terrible loss and we know you are working hard with Dr. Snope.”

“We think you are doing a marvelous job, by the way,” her mother said. “You are walking right along the path of grief toward the road of acceptance. There are many detours along the way, anger…”

“Denial,” her father added. “It’s not just a river in Egypt.”

“Oh God!” Veronica said.

“Anger. It is natural for you to act out. It is perfect. It means you are going through the necessary steps of the grieving process. Denial, anger…”

“Honey, we’re so proud of you.”

“Please. Can we not talk about it?” Veronica begged.

“Veronica lovey, it is important that you do this science project. Even while you are completing the cycle of grief.”

“What do you mean?” Veronica asked. But she knew exactly what they meant. She hadn’t done the Monet project so she was being punished, put in lockup with Sylvie Samuels because no one trusted her. Oh, why hadn’t she just gone to the museum with Melody? The repercussions of that decision were apparently endless. She had ruined everything.

“You need to do your science project and you need a babysitter and—”

“I’m not a baby!”

“Your mother doesn’t actually mean you are a baby, she just means you shouldn’t be alone every afternoon.”

Alone every afternoon was exactly what Veronica wanted. Alone for the rest of her life would be even better.

“You hate me!” she said, and ran down the hall. “You hate me!” She slammed her door because at that moment Veronica hated her parents. And Sylvie. And herself. And Cadbury for dying.