“Dad’s home for dinner?” I drift into the dining room. As usual, the table is set perfectly with napkins and silverware, a tall vase of fresh lilies in the middle. But unusually, there are three settings. I pause. “What’s the occasion?”
“No occasion, just a nice meal together.” She gives me a distracted smile and then grips the phone suddenly. “Hello? Finally! I want to talk to someone about our billing. . . .”
I charge upstairs and quickly change out of my mud-and-paint-splattered clothes. I should really keep another set in my locker, along with all the other Green Teen essentials: markers, highlighted copy of the Constitution, wire cutters . . .
My phone vibrates with a text from Olivia just as I’m struggling into a dinner-appropriate skirt.
Well? U grounded, or can we party?
So far, so good! I tap out in reply, and scrub a wayward splash of mud off my arm. My parents still have . . . reservations about this environmental “phase,” as they like to call it. They’re happy to take the good parts, like when we got awards for community involvement. They were thrilled to go shake hands with the mayor and listen to what role models we are. But the rest? I can’t even convince Dad to carpool to work. Olivia is so much luckier: her parents were big hippie activists when they were younger, so they completely understand that a few detentions are worth it when it comes to making a difference.
Awesome! Pick u up @ 8.
I hurtle back downstairs and slide into my seat just as Mom brings out the food: tofu for me and a juicy pot roast for them. I waver for a moment, entranced by the delicious meaty aroma. No, I remind myself, dragging my gaze away, back to the nutritious meal in front of me. You don’t need meat to have a good time. See: Tofu. Yum.
“Anything new at school, Jenna?” Dad asks, passing me the rolls. He loosens his tie, looking tired. He’s been working so much recently; our conversations are usually just zombie-like mumbling in the morning over breakfast.
“Nothing much . . .” I bite down on a slice of cucumber. “Oh, wait, I found a great summer internship to apply for. It’s with Earth Now — that nonprofit I told you about? It’ll just be basic reception stuff, answering phones, sorting mail, but they have a really great program of seminars on conservation and environmental entrepreneurship I could attend.”
Mom frowns. “Honey, I don’t think —”
“I’ll still be able to keep my weekend job at Dr. Endelstein’s office,” I add quickly, in case they object. “The hours are flexible, and it’ll look really good on college applications.” There, the masterstroke. Surely they can’t argue with that.
There’s silence. My parents give each other a meaningful look, and then Mom puts down her fork.
“Jenna, there’s something we need to talk about.”
Oh, crap. They know about the protest; I can just tell.
Slouching lower in my seat, I brace myself for the worst: disappointment, concern, and yet more pleas for me to give it up and accept the wanton destruction of the planet. But instead, Dad clears his throat.
“We’re thinking of trying something different this summer.”
“Like what?” I blink, still expecting the patented “Don’t jeopardize your future” lecture, maybe even with a side of “You’ll regret this when you wind up in community college/on the streets/languishing in jail unable to floss.”
“The company is sending me overseas for a few months, to liaise with their European offices.”
“That’s . . . great?” I’m still confused.
“So I decided we should go stay with Grandma,” Mom finishes. She plasters a bright smile on her face, reaching for her glass of wine. “You know she’s been having problems since that hip replacement, and I’ve even found a job teaching a summer session at one of the prep schools nearby.”
I pause, slowly taking it in. “Did you say, ‘we’?” I send a silent plea to the universe that I misheard her, that it was just a slip of the tongue, but to my horror, she nods.
No. Freaking. Way.
“What about my internship, and the Green Teens?” I protest, realizing too late that they won’t care.
Dad pats my hand sympathetically. “I know you have plans, but you can do those things in the fall.”
“I can’t, not for the internship!” I stare at them in dismay. Don’t they realize that the Green Teens have a whole summer of events planned? Thinking quickly, I try to come up with a solution. “I can stay here, with Olivia!”
Mom shakes her head. “It’s far too long to impose on any of your friends.”
“Dad?” I turn, imploring him, but he’s no use.
“It’s already settled, I’m afraid. We’ve found a family to sublet the house, so it’s a done deal.” My horror must be showing, because he tries to comfort me. “Think of it as an adventure! I know it’s not ideal, but you’ll get to explore a new city and make friends. It’s only for a couple of months.”
A couple of months? I slouch back, defeated. But as the news sinks in, I realize that something’s not right — and I don’t just mean the destruction of my summer plans. Mom’s smile is fixed too brightly, and Dad is gulping back his second glass of wine.
And then I remember what happened before.
“Are you . . . ?” I start, nervous, but the words stick in my throat.
Mom looks up. “What’s that, honey?”
I pause, all my earlier courage deserting me. Facing down Principal Turner is nothing compared to real, harsh questions like this. “Nothing,” I say quietly, and push the tofu around my plate for another five minutes while they chatter about all the wholesome activities I’ll be able to do in Orlando. Now I know what people mean when they talk about the elephant in the room. Only to me, it feels like a full circus, complete with acrobats, performing seals, and a marching band trumpeting, “Your parents are splitting up!”
But I don’t say a word.
I tell myself that I’m over-reacting, getting paranoid or something. I mean, Grandma has been having problems with her hip, and Dad did say something about a new client overseas. But no matter how much I try to ignore the hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach, I can’t. Because of last time.
It was during my freshman year. Dad was gone a month — a business trip, they swore — but I caught Mom crying twice, crumpled alone in the laundry room when she thought I was upstairs. And then he came back, and she started going to the hair salon every week, and wearing those outfits, and cooking meals from scratch to serve in the perfect dining room. Nobody ever said a thing about it, and I still can’t find the words to ask.