Chapter 2
After dinner, Peichi called her father to pick her up. Since she lived right down the street from the Petersons, it would be easiest for Peichi to deliver the food and pay everyone on Monday. “Natasha and Shawn, do you guys want a ride?” she asked. “My dad says it doesn’t make sense for your parents to come out in the snow, too.”
“Sure,” Shawn and Natasha said. “Thanks!”
Twenty minutes later, Mr. Cheng arrived. “Sorry it took so long,” he said. “I had to drive very slowly—the visibility is terrible out there!”
“Thanks for taking everyone home, Andrew,” Dad said.
“Drive carefully!” added Mom.
After their friends left, Molly and Amanda started talking about the ski trip. “I cannot wait for this trip!” Amanda exclaimed. “It’s gonna be totally amazing!”
“Me, too!” Molly said.
“Hang on a minute, girls,” Dad replied. “We need to talk about this trip a little more. It’s going to be expensive—especially to send two of you.”
“You’re right, Dad,” Amanda said. “I didn’t think of that.”
“Of course, we want you to go and have a great time!” Mom said quickly. “But we need to talk about this.”
“Hey, how about we chip in some of our own Dish money?” Molly suggested.
“That’s a great idea,” Dad said. “Mom and I can cover the rest.”
“But—I mean—Christmas just ended!” Amanda wailed. “I spent all my money on presents. I don’t have any saved up.”
“That’s because you always blow it on CDs and makeup and stuff,” scolded Molly. She turned to Mom and Dad. “Would you loan Amanda some money for the trip? She could pay you back out of future Dish jobs.”
“I don’t see why not,” Mom agreed. “Does that sound okay to you, sweetie?”
“Absolutely! As long as I get to go on the trip!” Amanda exclaimed.
On the drive home, Peichi, Shawn, and Natasha chatted excitedly about the ski trip. Peichi couldn’t wait to get home to tell her mother about it.
“Mom, Mom!” she yelled.
“I’m upstairs, Peichi!” Mrs. Cheng called from her bedroom.
Peichi found her mother reading in bed. “Mom! Guess what! The entire seventh-grade class is going on a ski trip! Isn’t that amazing? It’s over Presidents’ Day weekend and it’s in Vermont and we’ll be doing all kinds of cool things that colonial settlers used to do like farming and cooking and stuff and I really want to bunk with the Chef Girls—” Peichi paused to take a deep breath.
“How exciting! You’re going to have a great time!”
“Yeah! I can’t wait! We haven’t been skiing in a couple years. I hope I remember how! Do you think I will? Is it like riding a bike?”
Mrs. Cheng laughed gently. “I’m sure it will come right back to you, Peichi. But we’ll need to buy you some new ski clothes. I can’t imagine that your old parka and snow pants from fourth grade still fit!”
Peichi laughed with her mom. “Plus, that parka has a dumb-looking bunny on it! It’s seriously babyish.”
“If the storm clears up by morning and it’s not too cold, perhaps we can go shopping tomorrow. Dad and I need to start buying things for the baby’s room, too.”
Peichi clapped her hands together. “Yay! Thanks, Mom! I’m so excited! Do you think your old skis will fit me?”
“Let’s go check!” replied Mrs. Cheng. “All of that stuff is in the attic. And some of your old baby clothes, too!”
Peichi grinned at her mom, then bounded up the stairs. “Come on! Let’s go!”
“Hey, no fair!” called Mrs. Cheng, laughing. “Slow down!”
“Oops, sorry, Mom!” Peichi said. “I forgot...”
“Don’t worry,” Mrs. Cheng said. “In a few more months, I’ll be able to keep up with you—and your new baby brother or sister!”
When Natasha got home, she found her parents sitting quietly in their elegant living room.
“Goodness, Natasha,” exclaimed Mrs. Ross. “Your cheeks are bright red! It must be freezing out there!” Mrs. Ross hurried over to Natasha and pressed her smooth, perfectly-manicured hands against her face.
“It’s really cold,” Natasha said. “Oh, you lit a fire! Oh, that’s perfect!” She wriggled out of her winter clothes and hurried over to sit by the hearth.
“Let me get you something warm to drink, sweetheart,” Mr. Ross said. “Would you like some hot apple cider? Or cinnamon milk?”
“Cinnamon milk would be great,” Natasha said, smiling at her father. She loved the lightly- sweetened warm milk he’d made for her at bedtime since she was a little girl, with its comforting blend of cinnamon and vanilla.
Mrs. Ross joined Natasha in front of the fire with a thick, leather-bound notebook in which she’d been keeping all the information about Natasha’s bat mitzvah and the huge party that would take place afterwards. In a little over a month, Natasha, who had just turned thirteen, was going to be bat mitzvahed at her temple. She was very excited about the ceremony that would mark her transition to womanhood in the Jewish religion—but also a little nervous. The thought of reading from the Torah, the first five books of the Bible in Hebrew, in front of an entire room full of people, made her anxious.
The guest list was sticking out of Mrs. Ross’s binder. I wish Mom and Dad hadn’t invited, like, the entire world. What if I mess up when I have to read from the Torah? I hate the thought of all those people watching me! Natasha stifled a sigh. Having all their friends at my bat mitzvah is really important to Mom and Dad, she reminded herself. And it’s really nice for them to throw this huge party for me. Anyway, the invitations went out weeks ago. It’s too late to worry about it now.
Mrs. Ross seemed completely unaware of how nervous Natasha felt. “Oh, Natasha, this is so exciting!” she exclaimed. “I can’t believe you’re going to be bat mitzvahed! It seems like just the other day that Daddy and I picked you up at the agency and I held you in my arms for the first time!”
Natasha’s heart started beating faster. Just a few years ago, she’d been shocked to learn that she had been adopted as an infant—and even more shocked that her parents had kept it a secret for over ten years. Even after the truth had come out, her parents had still been reluctant to talk about the adoption.
Just then, Mr. Ross returned to the living room, carrying a tray with three blue porcelain teacups of steaming cinnamon milk and a plate of gingersnaps.
“Thank you, David,” Mrs. Ross said, reaching for a cup. “Now, Natasha, let’s go over your portion of the Torah.”
“Oh, wow!” Natasha suddenly exclaimed. “I can’t believe I almost forgot to tell you! Guess what!”
“What?” asked Mr. Ross.
“The seventh-grade class is going on a ski trip to Chestnut Hill Farm in Vermont over Presidents’ Day weekend!” exclaimed Natasha. “It’s going to be fantastic!”
Mr. and Mrs. Ross exchanged a worried glance.
“It’s, um, it’s an educational field trip,” Natasha continued. “We’ve been studying colonial life, and now we’ll get to see firsthand how the settlers lived.”
Still, her parents said nothing. Finally, Mrs. Ross spoke. “I don’t think so, sweetheart,” she said, shaking her head. “Skiing is very dangerous. You don’t tolerate the cold well. And that’s just a week before your bat mitzvah. What if you catch a cold? Or break your leg? To be honest, Daddy and I aren’t comfortable with you going away without us for such a long time.”
Natasha’s mouth dropped open. “Are you serious?” she gasped. “It’s only four days! And everybody else is going!” She looked at her father for support, but he glanced away.
“Yes, I’m serious,” Mrs. Ross replied, her lips set in a thin line. “Besides, you don’t know that everyone else is going. I’m sure many parents will feel as Daddy and I do.”
“No, they won’t!” Natasha exploded. “Why are you doing this? You didn’t even hear what I had to say about the trip! It’s an educational trip!”
“Let’s—” Mr. Ross began, but Mrs. Ross cut him off.
“Natasha, I’m sure you can learn lots about colonial life without going on a ski trip. Now, I’ve given you perfectly good reasons why I don’t want you to go on this trip. Daddy and I said no. End of discussion.”
“No!” Natasha yelled. “This is something I really want to do. All of my friends are going. Practically the whole school is going! You don’t have a single good reason for saying no, Mom! I’m not a baby anymore—stop treating me like one!”
“Don’t take that tone with me, young lady!” Mrs. Ross raised her voice. “Your behavior shows us that you aren’t mature enough for a trip like this.”
Tears pricked at Natasha’s eyes. “I’m sick of you always getting in the way and ruining my life!” she cried, jumping up. As she turned to run upstairs, Natasha caught a glimpse of her parents’ upset faces. She tried to ignore the guilty feeling in the pit of her stomach. But everything I said was true! Natasha thought angrily. She is always getting in the way!
Once she got to her bedroom, Natasha slammed the door behind her and pulled her journal out from under her mattress. Writing down her thoughts and feelings almost always made her feel better—but tonight, Natasha didn’t think she’d quickly forget the hurt look on her mother’s face.
When Natasha awoke the next morning, her face was puffy and red from crying. That was the worst night of sleep ever, she thought. Every time Natasha remembered what she’d said to her mom, her face flushed in embarrassment. I wish I hadn’t been so mean. But why does Mom always have to be so strict? It’ll be so embarrassing if I’m the only kid in seventh grade who can’t go...but yelling at Mom won’t help anything.
With a sigh, Natasha made the decision to apologize. Natasha slowly walked downstairs, where she found her parents talking quietly in the kitchen over their coffee. They both fell silent when Natasha entered the room.
Natasha took a deep breath. “Um, listen,” she began. “I’m sorry about last night—the yelling and the things I said. I didn’t mean it. I felt really bad all night.” She looked down for a moment, and when she looked back up, her parents were smiling warmly at her.
“Thank you, Natasha,” Mrs. Ross said, rising from her chair. Her voice sounded a little stiff, as if she was still upset, but she gave Natasha a kiss on the cheek. “I’m sorry, too.”
“I still want to go on the trip,” Natasha said quietly. “But I know you guys have to do what you think is best.”
“Thanks for apologizing, sweetheart,” Mr. Ross said warmly. “That’s very mature. We’ll try to work something out so that everyone is happy.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Natasha replied. She started to fix herself a bowl of cereal. I wish they knew how much I want to go on the trip, Natasha thought. I wish they weren’t always so overprotective.
At the Jordans’ house, Shawn and her dad were just finishing breakfast. “That was some delicious French toast, baby,” Mr. Jordan said as he started clearing plates from the table. “Even better than your Grandma Ruthie’s—but don’t tell her I said so!”
Shawn laughed along with her dad. “Don’t worry, Dad, I won’t,” she promised.
“So, what are you up to today?” Mr. Jordan asked.
Shawn shrugged. “Not sure,” she admitted. “I might start my homework this afternoon. Or maybe I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“Get the homework out of the way,” Mr. Jordan advised as he started rinsing the breakfast dishes.
“Well, of course you’d say that,” Shawn retorted playfully. “Professor Jordan!” Shawn’s dad was a professor at Brooklyn College, just like Mrs. Moore.
“Maybe so,” Mr. Jordan said with a smile. “But it’s always nicer to take care of chores early—then you’re free to do whatever you want. For example, I want to work on my new book today. But first I’m going to make myself take down the Christmas decorations. Otherwise, I guarantee it, those decorations will be up for the rest of the month!”
Shawn laughed again. “Okay, okay,” she gave in. “I’ll definitely start my homework today.”
“Great! I’ll finish the dishes, baby girl.”
“Thanks, Dad!” Shawn dried her hands on a dish towel and retreated to her bedroom, closing the door behind her. She glanced at her messenger bag full of heavy textbooks and shook her head. It’s way too early to start doing homework, she thought. The weekend just started!
On Shawn’s bedside table was the photo Mrs. Moore had given her the night before. She had looked at it for a long time before she’d finally fallen asleep. I can’t believe Mom’s been gone for three years, she thought, catching her breath. I never thought life would go on. But it has...
Suddenly, there was a tightness in Shawn’s chest that she hadn’t felt in many months. She took a deep breath. Be calm, she told herself. Sometimes, it frightened her—the overwhelming grief that snuck up on her when she thought about her mother.
Shawn glanced around the room, looking for something—anything—to distract her from feeling sad. She spotted the new easel her father had given her for Christmas. I’ll mess around with my paints, Shawn decided. She rummaged through her art box and pulled out several tubes of blue paint: cobalt, cerulean, azure...Shawn loved the names of the colors. Shawn squeezed blobs of each color onto her shiny tin palette, plus large circles of white and black. With her favorite brush, Shawn swirled the colors together into dozens of shades of blue—light shades, dark shades, cool shades, warm shades. On the blank canvas before her, Shawn could picture the blues creating an image. Focusing on painting helped Shawn feel better for a little while...but she knew it was only a matter of time before the sadness would return.
