Can You Say Catastrophe Part 4

5:45 P.M.

In my backyard.

Mom just left to go to the diner. She said she has to go help Dad with something and she left me in charge of May and June. Since I'm the one in charge, I just told my little sisters to walk to Winn-Dixie to buy stuff to make s'mores. While they're gone, I'm going to drag out our fire pit and make a fire in it.

My plan is simple. My sisters will be gone long enough for me to get the fire started in the little part of my driveway that curves around behind the house, which you can't see from the street, but you can see from Matt's house. When Matt sees what I'm doing, he'll think it's cool and come over and hang out with me by the fire. Maybe he'll say something sweet about how girls in California never do cool things like make fires in their driveways. Can they even have driveway fires in California? Who knows? Who cares? Momentarily, Matt Parker and I will be snuggled up by the light of the fire.

Sometimes my sisters actually come in handy. If Mom hadn't asked me to babysit, I'd still be thinking about how I always say and do the stupidest things when Matt's around. But now I'm thinking about my genius plan.

6:02 P.M.

Fireside.

It's a good thing I went to camp all those years. Otherwise I would have no clue what I'm doing. My fire is glowing nicely. All I have to do is wait.

6:12 P.M.

Still waiting.

I look at my watch. I try to visualize sitting next to Matt at my driveway fire. I read in a magazine that the way to make things happen is to visualize them.

But the thing my brain keeps visualizing is sitting around a fire at camp next to Brynn and Billy. I've sat with them at dozens of campfires. I try to push all thoughts of them out of my head. I want to think about sitting next to Matt. It will be fun and cozy. Then, when my sisters are back, I'll get to eat s'mores, my all-time favorite food.

Matt Parker + s'mores = my definition of a perfect day. I'm just getting a little sick of waiting for perfection to begin.

6:42 P.M.

In my room.

Where I will be for a long time.

By choice.

My parents are furious with me. I am more furious with them.

Obviously, some people do not know genius when they see it. My mother is one of those people. My father is another. While I was sitting around the fire, waiting for Matt Parker to come over, my parents pulled into the driveway. I have never seen parents look the way my parents looked. They were crazy-eyed, foaming at the mouth, rabid mad. I hope I never see anyone look like that ever again.

As they got out of the car, Mom was clutching May and June and a Winn-Dixie bag like they were precious little things (which, clearly, they are not, especially my sisters).

Dad slammed the driver's-side door so hard the car was shaking. No kidding. When Dad saw the fire in the fire pit, he ran and grabbed the hose and sprayed the fire like he was putting out a wildfire.

Then he started yelling. My dad yelled so loud I'm sure anyone within a ten-mile radius (including Matt Parker) could hear.

He yelled for so long, I started to think I might be spending the rest of my teenage years in the driveway, with my dad yelling and my mother clutching my sisters and a shopping bag.

Here's the short version of what Dad had to say: Could I imagine how it felt when my parents got a phone call at the diner that someone had found their two young daughters wandering the streets of Faraway? Two young girls, who I was supposed to be taking care of, were alone on a busy street. It was my job to protect them and keep them safe, and then what do my parents find when they come home? A fire in the driveway! My actions are grossly irresponsible!

Then Mom chimed in. Her face was all red and puffy. She honestly looked like she was having an allergic reaction. "April, your sisters could have been lost or hurt or even worse. You're going to be punished!"

But a) none of those things happened, and b) why am I going to be punished for not "taking care" of children who aren't even my children? I didn't have those children. I would never have had those children. G.o.d help me if I ever have children who turn out anything like my sisters.

I could sum this up in one word: OVERREACTION! My parents should be embarra.s.sed.

I'm supposed to be in my room thinking of a punishment that fits the crime. But I don't think I'm the one who deserves to be punished.

7:13 P.M.

Let the punishment fit the crime.

I have thought of a punishment that fits the crime, and it's perfect.

The crime: My parents yelled at me, in public, with no regard for my feelings.

The punishment: I'm boycotting my parents. I won't look at them or talk to them. When they talk to me, I won't answer. When I want or need something, I will no longer use terms of endearment like Mom and Dad. From now on, I'm calling them Flora and Rex (but only when I want or need something). This punishment extends to any and all sp.a.w.n of Flora and Rex Sinclair. Which means, in addition to boycotting my parents, I'm also boycotting my sisters. This punishment is to be enacted immediately and will cover the period of time from now until June 15, when I leave for camp. When I return home from camp four weeks later, I will consider revoking the punishment if, and only if, my parents and my sisters can treat me with the love and respect I deserve.

Hallelujah. I really am a genius.

10:14 P.M.

When my parents came in to tell me goodnight, my light was already off. I was waiting. I knew they'd come knocking. But I'm not talking. Not to them.

When Dad bent down and gave me a kiss on my forehead, I let out a loud pretend snore. Only thirty days till camp. I seriously can't wait.

Life is divided into the horrible and the miserable.

a"Woody Allen.

Monday, May 20, 9:33 P.M.

Official worst day of my life.

Why is this day different from all other days?

On all other days, I have something to look forward to. I have a reason to live.

But on this day, I do not. On this day, all my hopes and dreams and any excitement I had about life were squashed like a bug, because on this day my parents told me I'M NOT GOING TO CAMP! THEY HAVE MADE ALTERNATE SUMMER PLANS FOR ME! THE WORST PLANS I HAVE EVER HEARD OF!

I'm so upset I can hardly write. My tears are falling onto the page. My nose is red and puffy and more misshapen than ever. I'm not sure what cardiac arrest feels like, but I'm pretty sure I'm experiencing it. I want to curl up in a ball and die. I know that sounds dramatic but I don't care. The worst part is that I had no idea I was going to feel this way when I woke up this morning.

When I woke up, it seemed like today was going to be a great day.

When I went into the kitchen for breakfast, I didn't speak to anybody in my family. That's what I've been doing for four days now, and it has been going so well.

At school, I took two of my end-of-the-year exams, which I was totally prepared for. I'd had plenty of time over the weekend to study since I wasn't speaking to anyone in my family and neither of my best friends was saying much to me. My problems started when I walked into the house after school.

The minute I got home, I knew something was wrong. Mom and Dad were both sitting at the kitchen table. Mom hardly ever sits down unless she's sewing something, and there was no sewing machine in sight. And Dad is never at home in the middle of the afternoon. When I walked in, they had serious looks on their faces.

Dad asked me to please sit.

Since I'm not speaking to them, I didn't tell them sitting wasn't what I wanted to do. I handled it the way I've handled all direct requests from any of my family members since Thursday. I wrote my response, which was "No thank you," on a note card and held it up so they could see I wasn't planning to sit.

But that's when Dad pointed to a chair and told me to sit. He said it like he was talking to his dog, not his daughter. I knew I'd better sit, even though I didn't want to.

"April, Mom and I are very upset with your behavior and att.i.tude lately." Dad started talking about how he and Mom don't like the way I've been acting since my birthday party.

Since I'm not talking to them, I didn't tell them I don't like the way they've been acting since my birthday party either.

I thought Dad would be done after that, but he kept going. "Your mother and I see a negative pattern of behavior developing." He talked about how I made everyone late for Gaga's birthday dinner, and how I barely spoke to anyone the whole time I was there.

Since I'm not speaking to my parents, I didn't say that I didn't particularly want to talk to anyone at Gaga's birthday dinner and that I happened to have a whole lot of other things on my mind that night.

I rolled my eyes and looked at the kitchen clock like I had somewhere more important to be. I really thought Dad would take the hint and wrap it up at this point, but he kept going.

"The way you have been acting lately toward other members of this family is unacceptable." Dad brought up that I've been rude to him and mom and that I yell at my sisters.

If I had been speaking, what I would have told Dad is that I'm rude to him and mom because they say annoying things and make me do stuff I don't want to do and that I yell at my sisters because they do all kinds of things they shouldn't do to me, including but not limited to taking my stuff, sneaking into my room, and using my phone for what could easily be cla.s.sified as child p.o.r.nography.

He went on about how I "irresponsibly" sent them off to buy groceries and made a fire in the driveway. If you ask me, what Dad should have been doing was thanking me for babysitting them in the first place.

I REALLY thought Dad should be done at this point, but he was still going strong.

He talked about how I haven't spoken to anyone in this family for days. How it's "completely unacceptable." He said I seem disconnected from this family and that's not good for anyone, particularly me.

I didn't think I should have to explain to Dad that being disconnected from this family is great for me and that I've never been happier. I just sat there with my arms crossed, looking at my parents. I couldn't imagine that there was anything else Dad could possibly say. If I'd had another note card on me, I would have written, "Are we done yet?"

But I didn't have a note card. And it wouldn't have mattered anyway.

Dad was SO not done.

That's when he looked at Mom, and Mom looked at him, and they did this weird nod like it was time. Then Dad looked at me and said the six words that ruined my life. "April, you're not going to camp."

After that, everything was a blur. Dad said all this stuff about how I need to re-bond (which I don't even think is a word) with him and Mom and my sisters. He said that with every right comes responsibility, and as a member of this family, it is my responsibility to conduct myself in an "appropriate manner." He said that it will also be my responsibility to babysit my sisters this summer when school is out. Then he said that he and mom bought an RV and that we're taking a two-week family vacation in it to Florida as part of the re-bonding process.

When I heard all this, I ended my boycott. "ARE YOU SERIOUS?!" I screamed. I've never been so mad in my life. I told them it's unfair to blame me for having bad behavior when the problems start with everyone else. I told them that I am just reacting to how horribly they are all acting. I told them that I am a teenager now and they need to start treating me like one. I told them that they can't just give me responsibilities when I have ABSOLUTELY NO RIGHTS AT ALL!

But no matter what I said, my parents wouldn't change their minds.

I even reminded Dad (who shouldn't have needed reminding) that he just opened a new restaurant. "Can you really afford to leave the diner for two whole weeks?" I asked. I thought I was making a very smart business point and that Dad would see the logic in that and change his mind, but all he did was ramble on about family priorities and his highly capable a.s.sistant manager.

Then he told me the conversation was over and camp was out. He'd already called the director. I was staying home.

In my thirteen years of life, this was categorically the worst moment ever. I started begging. I literally got down on my knees and begged my parents to let me go to camp. I begged and I cried and I told them my heart would break in two if my friends left for camp without me.

But my parents didn't care. They just sat there like nothing I could say or do would make them change their minds.

So I told my parents if they didn't let me go to camp, I would run away from home.

Dad said if I wanted to do that, he would give me a thousand dollars, but if I took the money I could never come back. It was the most insane, stupid, heartless thing I could imagine a parent saying to a kid. I'm going to remember it forever and never say anything like that to my own kids. I'm seriously scarred for life.

Now I'm in my room, where I've been since I had this miserable talk with my parents. I haven't stopped crying. I haven't had anything to eat or drink since lunch. The only person who has even come to check on me is May, who said she just wanted to know if I'm going to stay or take the thousand dollars and leave. She asked if she could have my room if I go.

I hate my life. I really do.

I have nothing more to say.

There is nothing more to say.

I've developed a new philosophy: I only dread one day at a time.