See You at Harry's Page 6

  “Are you taking the bus?” Ran asks as we move along in the sea of students toward the pickup area.

  I nod.

  “Be strong,” he says, and lets himself get pushed along to his own bus line. “All will be well!” he yells to me as he’s carried away.

  I look around for Holden, but I don’t see him anywhere. The Things are at the front of the line, pushing each other.

  Someone grabs my arm and pulls me out of the line.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  Holden pulls me backward until we’re free from the crowd. A guy in a black Volkswagen Bug rolls down his window when we get to the parking lot.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “This is my little sister. Can we drop her off at my parents’ restaurant?”

  “No problem,” the guy says.

  Holden opens the door and tilts the seat up for me. The car smells like Sara’s bedroom. Like incense but like cigarettes, too. As we pull out of the parking lot, the guy turns around. He looks a lot older than Holden.

  “I’m Gray,” he says.

  “Fern.”

  “Cool name. Like the plant?”

  “Like the girl. In Charlotte’s Web.” My cheeks burn.

  “The movie?”

  “The book.”

  “Dude,” he says to Holden. “Your parents are whacked. Did they name all of you after book characters?”

  “They’re kind of eccentric,” Holden says quietly.

  “That’s so cool. Too bad you got named after that depressed kid, though.”

  “Yeah,” Holden says. “Tell me about it.”

  “You got a good one, though,” he says to me. “A pig saver!”

  Terrific.

  I try to smile, but some things you can’t force.

  “Although . . .” Gray says, “if I remember correctly, it’s really that spider who saves the pig. In the end, I mean.”

  “Fern saves him first,” Holden says.

  “Riiiight.” Gray turns up the volume and nods his head to the music. Holden copies him. I look out the window.

  Fern. What kind of a lame name is that? What were my parents thinking, naming me after a kid whose only friend was a pig marked for death?

  At the restaurant, Gray pulls up near the front door, and Holden leans forward with the seat to let me out. “See you later,” he says. He has the glow again.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I tell Gray.

  “No prob.” He’s still tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, even though he turned off the music.

  After they drive off, I stand in front of the restaurant and look up at the huge Harry’s sign towering over me. I never actually met the real Harry, my grandfather. My grandparents died just two months apart. My grandmother died first from cancer and then my grandfather from a heart attack. My mom says it was really a broken heart. We used to have a bunch of photos of them hanging in the restaurant, but that caused confusion once my dad started letting on that he was Harry. People wanted to know who the old couple was, and that meant my dad would have to admit he was a big fake. Sometimes I wonder if my mom sees my dad as a phony the way the Holden in her favorite book sees other people. I hope not.

  I notice my reflection in the huge window in front of the restaurant. I look like a stranger standing here. I look small.

  A tiny head pops up at the bottom of the window from inside. It has bushy brown hair. A little hand spreads across the glass and waves slowly.

  I smile and wave back.

  Inside, the restaurant’s familiar sweet and greasy smell wraps around me. Charlie is sitting at the table under the window with Doll. Doll’s hair has been twisted into dreadlocks and dyed green. Charlie must have fallen asleep with his face against her because the side of his cheek is green, too.

  “Where’s Mom?” I ask, looking around at the empty dining room. The restaurant is still pretty dead during the lull between lunch and the rush of the early-bird special at dinner. I sit across from Charlie at the Formica table. My dad bought the tables from different diners that were going out of business. He thinks people like to be reminded of old-fashioned diners. He says things that make people nostalgic make them happy. The booth seats are red vinyl, and you have to be careful if you sit on them wearing shorts or you’ll leave a layer of skin when you get up. At least it feels that way.

  Charlie wraps Doll in his blanket and sets her on the table. Then he holds his hands out and pinches his fingers as he closes his eyes and says, “Ommmm.” This is his way of telling me that my mom is upstairs meditating.

  “Where’s Sara?”

  He shrugs.

  I look around again at the empty room. “Who’s supposed to be watching you?”

  “Mona. But I a big boy.”

  “Well, where is she?”

  “Potty.”

  The tiny bell on the door jingles, and an enormous woman and man walk in with a skinny kid. Since no one else is around, I go over and say hello and ask if they’re here for lunch or ice cream.

  The couple looks at me closely. Then the lady gets this big grin on her face. “I recognize you!” she says. She looks around the room and spots Charlie kissing Doll. “And there’s that adorable little girl! The one who says ‘See you at Hawee’s!’ ”

  Oh, brother.

  “Look, Justina,” she says to the skinny kid. “Remember the commercial?” She turns to me. “We saw your commercial on the TV in our camper and thought it’d be a hoot to come here. We’re kind of ice-cream connoisseurs. We travel all over and try different kinds. We just went on the tour at Ben & Jerry’s in Vermont last week. Is your ice cream better than theirs?”

  I stare at her. What is it with tourists watching TV in their RVs? Aren’t they supposed to be looking out the windows and enjoying nature or something?

  “Um . . .”

  “Does it matter where we sit?” she asks, sort of waddling around me.

  I grab three menus and follow them. They take the booth next to Charlie, but before they sit down, the woman reaches into her gigantic purse and pulls out a cell phone. “You don’t mind if I take your picture, do you? Oh! Maybe your little sister could say her line for me. My phone has video.”

  Charlie hugs Doll to his chest and eyes the lady suspiciously, which he often does when strangers say he’s cute.

  The lady turns to him. “Do you know your line? From the commercial?”

  Charlie looks at me.

  “See you at Harry’s,” I mumble at him.

  “I don’t talk to stwanjahs,” he tells the lady in a baby voice. Then he dashes across the dining room and hides behind the ice-cream counter.

  “Oh, my, I scared her,” the lady says, as if Charlie is some wild animal.

  “It’s OK,” I say. I hand out the menus and hope she forgot about the photo. “Someone will be with you to take your order in just a minute.”

  I head to the counter and grab Charlie’s hand. Together we go up to my dad’s office to find my mom. The door is closed, with my mom’s go-away sign flipped over. Nice.

  Charlie presses his ear against the door. “I hear the singing bowl!” he whispers loudly.

  I roll my eyes. “C’mon, then. Let’s find Sara.”

  We go back downstairs and wander through the kitchen, but she’s not there, either. Patrick, the head cook, says she was just here but went somewhere with Gil, the busboy. “Try the walk-in,” he tells us.

  Charlie stiffens beside me. He hates the walk-in. It’s cold and smells like rotting vegetables most of the time, so I don’t really blame him. “C’mon, I’ll protect you,” I say.

  Just as I’m about to open the door, Sara pushes it open from the other side.

  “Oh!” she says. “What are you doing here?”

  Charlie reaches for her hand. “You cold,” he says, letting go.

  “Well, yeah. It’s a refrigerator.”

  Gil comes out behind her carrying a plastic bin full of sliced onions. Charlie points at his head and laughs.r />
  “What?” he asks.

  His hair is sticking straight up. Sara pats it down for him.

  “We were just helping Patrick with dinner prep,” Sara says.

  I look at her suspiciously. Since when does Sara ever help? “You’re supposed to be watching Charlie,” I say.

  Sara picks him up, but he squirms to get down and hugs my legs. “Mona said she’d watch him for a bit.”

  “Well she wasn’t,” I say.

  “Oh, Fern, calm down. Everyone looks out for Charlie.”

  “There are customers in the dining room waiting to order. They wanted to take our picture.”

  She sighs. “All right, I’ll handle it.”

  “Need help?” Gil asks her.

  “No,” she says coldly. She leaves us standing there as she marches out to the dining room. Charlie runs after her.

  As soon as Gil takes the cover off the onions, the smell is overpowering. I decide to escape through the back door before Sara can get me to take the ice-cream order. When I open the door, I nearly plow into my dad, who’s standing there talking to a tiny man wearing a Red Sox cap. He’s eating an ice-cream cone.

  “Oh, hey, here’s my daughter Fern. One of the stars of the show,” my dad says, hugging me close to him.

  The guy nods at me and licks his cone.

  “So we could start with just the local stores,” my dad continues as if I’m not there. “And then we’ll move from there. We’ve got to start small. Make it hard to get. A specialty item. And maybe we could use a spot from the commercial on the label, you know? So people recognize it. Like I did with the truck. Did you see the truck out front?”

  The guy looks bored. “Uh-huh.” He licks his cone again.

  “It’ll be just like Ben and What’s-His-Name,” my dad continues. “And I’m thinking we should use an image from the ad, like I said. Only with the whole family, not just Charlie.”

  I look up at him.

  Say what?

  “You know, with all of us standing under the sign. Wouldn’t that be great?”

  He squeezes me tighter, clearly thinking I’m going to share his excitement about this latest brilliant idea. Sure, Dad. Our family photo on pints of ice cream at every store in town? Oh, yeah. That would be faaaaantastic.

  AT DINNER THAT NIGHT, I pick at my garlic mashed potatoes while Sara tries to explain why my dad must not, under any circumstance, put our picture on an ice-cream label. I make a butter pond in my potatoes and slowly sacrifice overcooked lima beans into the butter water. Every time Sara raises her voice, Charlie bangs his feet against his high chair and chants, “See you at Hawee’s!”

  My dad seems to think this is hysterical. “I can always count on you, bud, can’t I?” he says, looking around at the rest of us disappointedly. He reaches across the table to ruffle Charlie’s hair. He pulls his hand away and makes a face, then wipes mashed potato off his fingers. Sara catches my eye, and we share smirks.

  “Where’s Holden, anyway?” my dad asks.

  My mom looks at the clock, then at me. I shrug. I don’t think Holden was expecting my dad to be home for dinner two nights in a row.

  “As I was saying,” Sara goes on, “I don’t understand why you can’t just use Charlie’s photo, Dad. Like the one on the truck.”

  “This is a family restaurant, Sara. Family. I want us all to take part. We’re a team!”

  “I thought team members got a say in their strategy,” she says.

  “Think of me as the team captain. The team captain knows what’s best.”

  Oh, brother. I continue to drown all of my lima beans and wait for Sara to give a good comeback, but then Holden walks through the front door.

  “Sorry I’m late!” he says cheerfully, and disappears into the kitchen. He returns with a huge pile of mashed potatoes on his plate.

  “Why are you in such a good mood?” Sara asks.

  “None of your business,” he says, cramming his mouth full of potato. “Mmm, Mom. These are fantastic.”

  “Well, you won’t be so happy when you find out what Dad’s been up to,” Sara says.

  Holden stops chewing.

  “Oh, Sara, don’t be so dramatic,” my mom says.

  “Dad’s putting our picture on ice-cream cartons that are going to be for sale in all the grocery and convenience stores,” I tell Holden. “Our picture from the commercial.”

  Holden practically chokes on his potatoes. “Why?”

  “That’s what I said!’ Sara agrees. “I’m eighteen. That means I have to give my permission for anyone to use my image. Right, Mom? I mean, legally? Fern, Holden, and Charlie are minors, so you have to make the decision whether or not you want to exploit them, but you can’t exploit me!”

  “What’s essploit?” Charlie asks.

  “Daddy’s not exploiting anyone,” my mom says.

  “That’s exactly what he’s doing! Doesn’t he realize how bad we all look? I mean, give me a break! At least if he wants to use us, let us retake the photo so we look halfway decent.”

  “Am I not sitting at this table?” my dad asks.

  “Why can’t you just use the picture of Charlie that’s on the truck?” Holden asks him.

  “See?” Sara asks. “Charlie’s the perfect solution.”

  Charlie blows a raspberry at her. I’m sure he would’ve wiggled his bum, too, if he wasn’t trapped in his high chair.

  “Fern,” my dad says, “you’ve been pretty quiet about all of this. How do you feel?”

  Everyone looks at me, as if they just now realize I am sitting at the table, even though I spoke six seconds ago.

  My mom eyes my butter pond with disgust.

  “I like the Charlie idea,” I say. “No offense, but we looked pretty lame in that ad. Sorry, Dad.”

  He shakes his head. “What is happening to this family? What happened to our team?”

  “Go, team!” Charlie yells.

  “Maybe we should vote,” my mom suggests.

  My dad’s face is getting redder by the minute. I feel bad for disappointing him, but when I picture our hideous family photo in the freezer of every convenience and grocery store in town, I can’t bring myself to take his side.

  “Never mind.” My dad gets up and clears his plate. My mom follows.

  “Down!” Charlie says.

  Sara pushes his high chair back, and he slides out and runs toward the kitchen after my parents.

  “You could have been a little nicer,” I say.

  “It was the only way to make him listen, Fern. Dad just goes too far. All he cares about is the business.”

  “Even so,” I say. I pick up my plate and head to the kitchen, too.

  The thing is, my dad is the kind of person who gets carried away. When he thinks he has a good idea, there’s just no stopping him. We all know he doesn’t only care about the business. But sometimes . . . yeah. Sometimes it does sort of feel that way.

  THE NEXT DAY, Sara gets up and drives us to school without being asked. Ran is waiting for me at my locker as usual. Cassie sees us from a few lockers down and comes rushing over. “Hey, guys,” she says. “Great shirt.”

  Ran’s shirt is hot pink and says GO WITH THE FLOW.

  “Thank you,” he says.

  For some reason, none of us has anything else to say, so we start to walk toward homeroom. We’re almost there when I see the Things headed our way.

  “Uh-oh,” I say. I move closer to Ran.

  “Hey, Hildy,” one of them says. “Is this your boyfriend?”

  Ran stops in the middle of the hall to face them. People bump into us, but gradually the traffic swerves around us. Cassie looks like she wants to crawl into a locker. I would like to join her.

  “Nice shirt,” Thing One says to Ran in his stupid “gay” voice.

  “Thanks,” Ran says. He is so calm and cool.

  “Excuse us.” I take Ran’s arm and start to lead him away.

  Shockingly, the Things step aside, and the three of us walk on.
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  “See you at Hawee’s!” they call after us. But this time, I don’t cringe. Ran, Cassie, and I look at each other and crack up. Somehow, with Ran around, stuff like that just seems so stupid.

  “What losers,” Cassie says, laughing.

  Ran gets a weird look on his face but doesn’t say anything. I’m sure he would like to, but he has a thing about negativity. He’s always trying to figure out why people act like jerks instead of just letting them be jerks. I’m sure it’s something his parents used to have him do when he was still getting bullied. “Sometimes if you make up a really sad story for them, it’s easier not to take them being mean to you so personally,” he told me once.

  When Cassie realizes Ran isn’t going to agree with her, she blushes. I feel sorry for her because I know she’s going to kick herself again for saying the wrong thing. I wish she would just take the hint that maybe if she is always saying things Ran doesn’t like, they wouldn’t make the best couple in the world. Besides, why can’t we just all stay friends? Them being a couple would ruin everything. And I don’t think that because I think maybe Ran and I could be . . . well, never mind. It just would.

  “They seem pretty secure to me,” I say, hoping to make Cassie feel a little better.

  “Looks can be deceiving,” Ran says.

  Well, he would know.

  After school, Holden waves to me, and I follow him to the curb, where we wait for Gray. Ran walks over to us and asks if he can come, too. Holden shrugs. When Gray pulls up, we climb in.

  “Who’s the new guy?” Gray asks.

  “This is my friend Ran,” I tell him.

  “Cool.” He turns up the music, and Ran and I lean back in our seats. Once we’re on the road, Gray reaches over and takes Holden’s hand as if it is the most natural thing in the world. They start singing to the song on the radio at the top of their lungs. It’s like they’re friends and boyfriends at the same time. It’s the first time I’ve seen Holden look so happy. So comfortable. It’s like he’s a whole new person. I wish he could always be like this. Who he really is.

  When Gray drops us off, Ran and I stand in front of the restaurant. “Gray seems nice,” Ran says. “They make a good couple.” That’s Ran. I knew it wouldn’t faze him a bit to see Holden hold hands with a guy. “But he does seem kind of old, doesn’t he? How old do you think he is?”