Girl Incredible

Chapter 9: Mom On My Side

I like downtown, the hustle and bustle of the sort of city. It's nothing like Cleveland or anything, but it's home and I know all the shops on the street where Mom works. It's fun just to wander through them and hitch a ride home with her when she's done. More fun with Clare and Calvin, though.

I do my best not to be bummed they aren't here. I could ask them what they thought of this KingPin business. I'm sure Calvin would know exactly what it was about and tell me what I needed to know to make it stop.

It might have been funny at first, but one day of it is enough for me, thank you.

I dawdle next to the Chic clothing shop, ogling a pale green dress with checker board trim and make a note to drag Mom across the street before we go home. With a sigh, wishing I'd saved some of my allowance, I finally cross to the plain glass door on the corner and enter the office.

I don't have anything against dentists, don't take it the wrong way. It's just the smell in here makes me sick sometimes, all that sweetness mixed with chemicals and the buzzing of the instruments in the back. Mom sits behind the counter, talking to a patient, taking information. I beam at her, but she doesn't smile back when she sees me. She waves for me to sit down and I instantly obey. Whatever has her upset, I'm sure I can clear it up just as soon as I can talk to her.

She finishes with her patient and I'm about to stand up again when the door opens and Mrs. Brown stomps in. She has Tom with her, dragging him behind her by the elbow. Mom stiffens at the sight of her, two patients dodging out of the way as Mrs. Brown's hips make a path for her sizeable bulk.

"I want to see Dr. Pache immediately." I've always liked her voice. Mrs. Brown never has a problem being heard, all robust and booming. Mom, however, seems to find it-or something nearby-offensive as she wrinkles her nose.

"What seems to be the problem, Helen?" Mom's smile isn't real. Huh. She's usually nicer than that.

"I'm not here to speak to you," Mrs. Brown says, voice elevating further. "I said I wanted to talk to Dr. Pache and I meant it!"

Mom's skinny boss appears around the corner behind the counter, round glasses catching the light as he smiles hesitantly up at Mrs. Brown. He seems uncomfortable, pink spots standing out on his cheeks. "Helen," he says.

"Dr. Pache." She jerks Tom forward, pushing her son against the counter. Really, that can't be comfortable. But he doesn't fight her, going limp in her grasp. "Do you call this dental work? Look at those molars."

I almost giggle, but hold back because the other patients are laughing and Tom looks like he's about to die of embarrassment. I feel terrible for him. I wish I could help. Especially now he's shown some interest in maybe being real friends instead of hanging out on the periphery.

"Why don't we discuss this privately?" Dr. Pache points to the side door, the entry to the clinic area. Mrs. Brown huffs, dragging Tom along. He glances my way, eyes widening and I wave, smile.

He doesn't smile back. In fact, if anything, he jerks his head around and refuses to acknowledge I'm there. Well, fair enough, really. I wouldn't want my friends to know I wasn't 100% happy with my teeth, either.

Silly crooked front tooth.

He disappears with his mother behind the door to the sound of laughter. Really, it's not nice to be amused by someone else's embarrassment. I find I can't stop scowling at them and, at last, the room falls silent again.

"Kit." Mom jerks her hand at me. "Here. Now."

I go to her, hoping she wasn't laughing, too. But, from the expression on her face, laughter is the furthest from her mind. She's emerged from behind the counter and points to the exit door. Confused, I go back outside and stand on the street while Mom hunches close to me, face tight and intense.

She works so hard. Maybe she needs a vacation? Once I know what she's after, I could ask her to help me sort out my weird day. And get my phone back.

I try to hug her, to help her feel better, but she shoves me back instead.

"Mom," I say. "Are you okay? Who upset you?"

She seems flustered, spluttering and unable to speak a moment before she stops and stares. Then laughs and hugs me. "Kitten," she says into my hair. "Why do I even bother?"

"Bother with what?" I pull away. She's really confusing me now.

Mom smooths my hair from my face and I shake my head to settle my bangs even as she pulls me back into the office. I follow her, mute and worried, into the staff room. I set my messenger bag carefully down on the table as she speaks again.

"Getting upset with you when you don't even know you've done something wrong." Mom sighs and I feel my face crumple. I did something to hurt her?

Okay, this day is weird and just got awful.

"I'm sorry," I say. "Whatever it is, I didn't mean it."

Mom squeezes my hand. "We forget sometimes, your father and me, how brilliant you are. And, how carefully you hide it from everyone. Including yourself." She exhales again while I ponder that. Being smart isn't so great. I'm happier being happy than a genius. "Mr. Gladwell called."

He... "About what?" The pictures?

"He said you had your phone in class, Kit." Mom doesn't seem upset anymore. But now I am.

"I told him I was sorry," I say. "I even thanked him for a great class." He called my mother and upset her over that? Anger sizzles down my throat, but I swallow it and pinch the inside of my arm, hard. "I don't think he likes teaching."

Mom rolls her eyes. "Ted Gladwell hated teaching when I was his student." Mom was in his class? Cool fact, consider it stored. "But, Kit, you know phones aren't allowed in class."

I don't bother telling her about all the other students and their phones. Because it isn't relevant. I'm the one in trouble here. "It won't happen again."

Mom nods, kisses my cheek. "I know, Kitten," she says. When she stops and stares at me, I wait, patient. Sometimes it takes my mother a bit to get around to what she really wants to ask me. I'm okay with waiting. Not everyone thinks as fast as I do. "How was your first day?"

Now, normally I would tell Mom everything. I considered even asking her to help me sort out the weird puzzle. But, for some reason, the tone of her voice makes me hesitate. She's worried, nervous. And her reaction to me getting in trouble seemed excessive. She knows me better than that. Does that mean I should be worried? I open my mouth to talk to her and, to my shock, all that comes out is, "Good."

Mom waits again. Which means I have to, too. She's smiling a little, but her blue eyes tell me she's not so sure of my answer. "You usually have more to say than one word."

If I have to be totally honest here, I can be a bit of a motor mouth. "It was fine." I never said I'm a good liar.

Mom doesn't seem to notice I'm not being truthful. She nods and smiles, getting up, grabbing her purse. "I'm going to run to the school and take care of your phone problem," she says. "Coming?"

She drops me at home, leaning over the passenger's seat to tell me out the open door, "I have to go back to the office for a bit, but I'll be home at 5:30. Okay?"

I wave as she drives away, bag tucked over my shoulder, breathing in the quiet afternoon. I wait a long time, for my heart to feel light again, for the buzzing of nerves inside me to settle. Neither happens. Finally, I retreat to the house and upstairs to my room.

The door closes behind me, my boots making soft swishing sounds in the thick carpet. I normally love the sensation, but today I ignore it as I sink to the side of my bed and look out the window into the afternoon sunlight.

So weird this feeling in my chest, like a constriction. It's uncomfortable and I don't like it. But I have no idea what to do about it.

My computer chimes. I dump my bag and take a seat in the swivel chair, squeaking softly as I wiggle my mouse and check the screen. A message waits for me, from Calvin and Clare.

Prrr, Kitten! Have a meowvelous first day of grade 11! Miss you LOTS <3

Their message makes me smile, the photo attached goofy, Calvin's nose scrunched, Clare cross eyed and sticking out her tongue. I love them and miss them suddenly with an ache that's stronger than the tightness in my heart. They'd understand. Maybe I should call them and ask them what they think of my very odd day.

Of this very odd feeling.

Instead, I retreat and fall on my bed, closing my eyes.

I'm wrong. I know exactly how to make myself feel better, normal.

Her name is Kitalia Ore, CIA psychic assassin. And she always has the answers.

***