in case you haven’t noticed, I am really starting to panic now. She is definitely serious!
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Hannah, stop being so dramatic. It’s not about that.”
“Then what’s this about?” I cry.
“Just like I said, we’ve been spending a lot on you lately. You really need to learn the value of money. It doesn’t grow on trees, you know.”
I feel like saying, Duh, what do you think, I’m a moron? Obviously, I know money doesn’t grow on trees! Still, how can she expect me to come up with enough money to buy my own ticket? They’re expensive, you know, and I’m only thirteen, technically still a child. I mean really, what does she expect? I don’t understand where this is coming from.
For the record, they haven’t been spending that much money on me, and most of the stuff they bought me, I really needed. Like my new skateboard, they only bought it for me because my old one broke, and the helmet came with it, so it was free. And, now that I think about it, the skateboard should actually fall under the category of “sporting equipment,” which has to do with exercise, which everyone knows is an important factor in leading an active and healthy lifestyle. They also bought me some Chuck Taylors, but only because my feet are growing and I needed sneakers. And really, how can I help it that I’m growing? I can’t just look down at my feet and yell, “Stop it!” Kids grow … parents just have to deal!
Maybe she’s talking about the books from Amazon. Well if she is, I don’t think that’s fair. Books are educational, and in my opinion, anything educational shouldn’t count, should it? Even if one of them is called A Teenager’s Guide to Perfect Make-Up, it’s still a book. Right? Right! Scratch the books; they totally don’t count!
So that’s it really … I can’t think of another thing. Well, unless she’s counting the four movies I went to this month. That’s only one per week, and really, I’m thinking about studying acting when I go to university someday, so I should probably go to as many movies as I can, you know, for educational purposes.
Hmmm … she wouldn’t be talking about my new iPod, would she? She totally shouldn’t be. I mean, it was a back-to-school present and it was on sale! Maybe Dad told her about the new Josh Taylor album. He gave me his credit card number last week so I could download it off iTunes. Naw, I don’t think she knows; she would have said something.
Right, so if I don’t count:
the skateboard
the helmet
the Chuck Taylors
the books
the movies
the iPod
and the Josh Taylor album …
Who am I kidding? I know my mom, and she’s totally counting all of it, all the stuff she knows about anyway. Crap!
“So, you’re totally serious then?” I ask hopelessly.
“I am.”
“So, can I ask Nan and Pops?”
“Seriously, Hannah! This is not up for debate or discussion. Begging won’t help and you are not allowed to pull the ‘poor old me’ act with your grandparents.”
“I think I need a plan,” I mumble.
Mom nods. “I think you do.”
2
Blame It on the Orange Crush
Okay, so I need a plan … just one little idea. How hard can it be? I mean there’s got to be a million moneymaking ideas out there. Right?
I know what you’re probably thinking: why not mow a few lawns or take up babysitting? Well, for starters, mowing lawns is just out of the question — I have a huge phobia of lawnmowers … long story, tell you later. As for babysitting, we live in a neighbourhood full of old people. There are no little kids on my street, or even close by, which I thought wouldn’t be a problem, because parents want responsible and qualified babysitters, right? Wrong! After months of training, taking the highest-level babysitting course in history, and learning advanced CPR and first aid, I found out parents don’t want to hire babysitters who need a ride home; they want babysitters who live across the street. How messed up is that?
So, I need to think of a plan that doesn’t involve lawn mowers or taking care of small children. Usually I tap when I think. Sometimes I tap the table, sometimes I tap my desk, but right now I’m tapping my head, which by the way, is empty. I mean really, not a single idea, no lightning bolts of inspiration, just nothing, nada. How frustrating! Why can’t I come up with just one little measly idea? Maybe I’m just not an “idea person.” Hey, we can’t all be geniuses. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m no dummy, but I’m definitely not a brainiac like my friend Rachel. Now that’s a girl who’s super-smart, like, I’m talking … brilliant.
Rachel is my very best friend in the world and has been since the day we met, a little over five years ago. It was the first day of third grade. Rachel and I were in the same class but we didn’t know each other because she was new.
So, it was lunchtime, and I was watching her (not in a weird stalker kind of way, but in an I don’t
recognize that girl, she must be new kind of way). Anyway, she opened her lunch bag and pulled out a strange-looking sandwich that had some weird grassy stuff in it. She took a bite and squished up her nose. Then she took out a Thermos, looked inside, and took a swig. It was pretty obvious from the look on her face that whatever was in that Thermos was completely disgusting. I looked down at my delicious, first-day-of-school lunch that Mom packs me every year: a ham-and-cheese croissant, carrot sticks with dip, a Kit Kat bar, and a can of Orange Crush. When I looked back at Rachel, she was stuffing her lunch back into her lunch bag. I think she’d barely eaten a thing. Who could blame her, though? What kind of mother would pack a lunch like that? Then she got up from her desk and just left.
Suddenly, I found myself hopping up from my seat with my prized first day of school can of Orange Crush. What am I doing? I was thinking as I walked toward her empty chair. I thought about how delicious my Orange Crush would be and then about that disgusting stuff in Rachel’s Thermos. I put the can down on her desk, turned to walk back to my seat, and that’s when I caught him! From the corner of my eye I saw Billy Butler booking it for that can of soda. I spun around, and, as fast as lightning, bolted toward her seat. But I was too late; in the split second it took to reach Billy, he’d already grabbed it and chucked it across the room. Zach jumped up, caught it, and pitched it back. In a flash, it became a full-fledged game of Monkey in the Middle. The boys were all flailing their arms and leaping in the air, trying to catch it, while the girls were all ducking for cover. That can had to have been hurled across the classroom at least twenty times before the lunch monitor poked her head in the door and insisted that it be put away at once!
So, the game stopped; the can was put back on Rachel’s
