Shirley Commack was not in a good mood. “Stacy Commack!” she yelled. “Sometimes I think I don’t even know you.”
“Watch, she’s gonna have a fit,” Stacy whispered to Penelope. It wasn’t strange for Shirley Commack to have a fit; she did so at least twice a day. But she usually tried to keep them out of public places. Either she couldn’t help herself or she’d decided that Empire Szechuan no longer counted as a public place since she and Stacy ate half their meals there.
“What do you mean Oberlin College is an ‘abnormal’ institution for me to have attended? And what’s this college obsession? You’re twelve. Last year you were playing jacks, now you’re — what? — pledging a sorority and picking a major?”
“I haven’t played jacks since I was eight.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I’m just saying —”
“You’re just saying that the college I went to — where my political views were shaped, where I made all of my friends, where I met your father, for god’s sake — you’re just saying the institution I consider closest to my heart is abnormal. And what does this mean, ‘abnormal’?”
“It means I just wouldn’t want to go to school in Ohio. And it’s not Ivy League.”
“Ivy League is normal?”
“Normal for kids at Elston.”
“Kids at Elston don’t go anywhere else for college?”
“The ones who don’t get such good grades go to other schools.”
“I see. So, let me get this straight. ‘Normal’ means you are a wealthy kid, you grow up in New York City, and you go to Harvard because you get good grades in middle school and high school and plan ahead.”
Stacy shrugged.
“You realize that’s not normal. Normal people go to whatever college they can afford, if they go to college at all. Normal people don’t have half the privileges you and your friends have. Normal people —”
Stacy cut her off. “I said ‘normal for Elston,’ Mom. I know I’m privileged. You’ve been telling me that my whole life. It’s not my fault.”
“It’s not your fault, but it’s not your —” Shirley Commack stopped herself. “Oh, forget it. I know you don’t want to hear it. I just hope someday you realize there are no such things as normal and abnormal. And since when is a twelve-year-old a barometer for anything having anything to do with normal?”
“Stop calling me that,” said Stacy.
“Stop calling you what?”
“A twelve-year-old.”
“You say it like it’s a bad thing.”
“A bad thing? It’s a great thing! Don’t you think I’d love to be twelve again? To have no responsibilities? To —”
“But, Mom, I have responsibilities!”
“Yes, to grow up at a reasonable pace. Not at this super-accelerated-head-straight-for-the-investment-banking-job-and-the-apartment-on-Park-Avenue pace. You’re right. It’s not your fault. It’s that school you go to. I’m pulling you out.”
Stacy rolled her eyes at Penelope as if to say she’d heard this all before. Shirley Commack was always threatening to pull her out of Elston Prep and dump her at the local public school. Not that she could; the custody agreement between Clay and Shirley Commack stipulated that Stacy could live full-time with Shirley as long as she attended Clay Commack’s alma mater, Elston Prep.
“At least you’ll have some diversity! Make a friend whose parents don’t have stock portfolios and houses in the Hamptons. No offense, Penelope.”
“My parents don’t have a house in the Hamptons.” She wasn’t sure about the stock portfolio.
“I know, honey.” She reached across the table to pat Penelope’s hand.
“Fine,” said Stacy. “Take me out of Elston Prep. I’ll go live with Dad in L.A.”
Shirley Commack poked at a dumpling with her chopstick. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? All those clothes! All that superficial crap! Get this? The paper’s running a story about a new surgical procedure where they suck the fat out of your body with a huge straw. Whatever happened to eating healthy? Exercising?”
Penelope dunked her spoon in the hot-and-sour soup.
“No,” Shirley Commack said, “people would rather stick a vacuum into their thighs and suck out all the extra glop.”
Penelope put the spoon back in the bowl without taking a sip.
Penelope knew that Shirley Commack drove Stacy crazy, but she liked her. Sure, she agreed with Stacy that her mom’s hair was too frizzy. And, yeah, she thought some of her habits were weird: like not getting out of her robe until dinnertime; like eating candy corn for breakfast; and not believing in credit cards, but never having cash on her.
But there were great things, too. One, she had a secret language with her cat, Mitzi. Two, she paid for Bernice to go to college at night. And three, she loved Chinese food. “God knows what’s in that stuff,” was what Mrs. Schwartzbaum always said when Penelope asked to order it in.
“So, if Oberlin’s too abnormal for you, where, pray tell, are you considering going?”
“I’m looking into a lot of places,” answered Stacy. “Yale, University of Pennsylvania, Cornell.”
Shirley Commack nodded at her daughter with a bemused expression, then turned to Penelope. “Are you equally infected with the collegiate fever?”
Penelope had a mouth full of food, and Stacy took the opportunity to answer for her. “She’ll try to go wherever I go,” she said.
“Oh, will she?” asked Shirley Commack.
“We’re best friends,” replied Stacy, as if that answered everything. Penelope concentrated on the sweet-and-sour chicken, which was a particularly fluorescent shade of pink.
The waiter arrived to ask if they wanted anything else. “No,” said Shirley Commack, “just the check,” which he brought back promptly along with a tray of fortune cookies and sliced oranges. “I think this college thing could be an editorial,” she mused, reaching into her pocket for money. “How they put the pressure on kids so young, and how it affects education.… The hook could be: Does anyone learn for learning’s sake?”
“Whatever, Mom, just as long as you don’t mention me,” muttered Stacy, watching her mom shuffle through a wad of wrinkled bills.
“One, two, oh good, here’s a five, so that’s seven.” Shirley Commack unfolded more bills. “Whoopee, another five! It’s seventeen total, so what should I leave for the tip?”
Stacy had already calculated it.
“Oh, well, I’m a little short, then. I’m sure they’ll understand. I’ll bring Ling Tan the rest when we come back tomorrow.” Stacy’s face turned a deep crimson. “Oh, don’t be so easily embarrassed. It happens to everyone.” Except it didn’t happen to Stacy, who actually kept her money in a wallet. She handed her mother the extra cash. “Well, at least you know I’m good for it,” Shirley Commack said, laughing.
On the way back from Empire Szechuan, Shirley Commack stopped to call her editor from a pay phone, while Penelope and Stacy gazed at the jewelry on display in the window of P.S. I Love You. “Do you think I’ll look like I’m copying if I get the ones Annabella wore today?” Stacy asked, pointing to a pair of fuchsia feather earrings. “It’s not fair, because I thought about getting them a really long time ago.”
It was happening more and more that Penelope had no idea how to respond to questions Stacy posed. Usually she just said what she thought Stacy wanted to hear. “I’m sure no one will notice,” she assured her.
“Really?”
“Uh-huh.”
Penelope waited outside while Stacy bought the earrings. “Where’d my college-bound daughter go?” Shirley Commack asked when she was off the phone.
Penelope pointed inside the store.
“I rue the day her father gave her that credit card,” groaned Shirley Commack, gazing through the store window at her daughter. “Look at her buying accessories like a grown woman. When did twelve-year-olds get so old?”