Reasons to Be Happy Part 6

In geography, we watched a video about the diamond mines in Sierra Leone. There were all these kids with missing arms or ears or eyes. Rebels had hacked them off with machetes to "send a message."

I closed my eyes. I thought of Aunt Izzy and her doc.u.mentary. I knew she'd interviewed orphans in Sierra Leone. Aunt Izzy. Aunt Izzy. You've got to save me.

I lay in bed breathing my mother's pink cardigan, seething at my dad "sleeping" on the couch, and actually thought, if I were missing an arm or an eye, no one would expect anything from me. If I'd shown up at school with some kind of handicap, the B-Squad would never have given me the time of day. I might still be the authentic Hannah.

38. Chocolate-dipped strawberries

39. Rock climbing 40. The way ducks sound like they're chuckling 41. The scent of vanilla 42. Revenge movies 43. The word "peevish" (I just like it) 44. Manatees 45. The way patriotic marches played by whole orchestras make me feel like I'm going to cry I sat on the plane, on my way to Ohio, flipping through the list I'd started way back in seventh grade. I hadn't added anything to my purple book since the blue icing day. I tried to think of something to be happy about: getting away from Dad (but that didn't count because he'd forced me to go), getting away from the B-Squad...but those weren't things worthy of my list. They were only temporary reasons. I needed real ones.

Starting a new adventure?

Please. Brooke would laugh at that. I was going to Ohio. What kind of an adventure could I possibly have in Ohio, I could hear her mocking.

Brooke was going to the Bahamas for the two-week vacation. Brittany was going to her condo in St. Thomas, and Bebe to Mexico City. Me? I was being banished to Ohio. Woo-hoo.

There were two saving graces in the B-Squad's eyes: Aunt Izzy won an Academy Award for her last doc.u.mentary Need, which was about addiction. Even though none of those losers watches doc.u.mentaries-they'd think I was an even bigger geek if they knew I loved them. Watching doc.u.mentaries is #76 on the list-an Oscar is an Oscar and carries clout. That and the fact that Izzy was in an inpatient program for eating disorders when she was in high school. (I didn't tell them that-they knew because it's always in the coverage about my mom and dad.) "Cool," Brooke said, with wide, admiring eyes as we waited for algebra to start. "That's hardcore. That's serious."

I nodded.

"Maybe," Brooke said, "she could teach you a thing or two."

I thought my face would explode.

"Ouch, Brooke," Bebe said, but her eyes were bright and gleeful.

Brittany just stared down at her book.

My eyes burned. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry. I could not bleed for these sharks.

"Oh, for G.o.d's sake, lighten up," Brooke said. I wasn't sure if she was talking to me or Bebe. "I just meant that your aunt really knows what she's doing, if she had to go into a hospital. Wouldn't we all love to be anorexic? I just meant that you'll be with a master, so pay attention. Bring some tips back for the rest of us."

When the plane finally took off, my chest convulsed as I fought not to cry. I missed my mom. I should've been nicer to my dad. I should've stayed home to help take care of him. I shouldn't be such a monumental screw-up. If I was a normal, good daughter, he'd want me around.

Dad had been scaring me lately. I hated that he scared me-a father's supposed to comfort you. He drank way too much. He forgot to do basic stuff at the house, like buy groceries and have the gra.s.s cut, and his publicist and a.s.sistant were around a lot more than they used to be, doing things like picking me up from school, doing our laundry, and bringing me takeout dinners. Sean and Laila had become a daily presence too, and I knew they were as scared as I was because they were both way too cheerful and perky all the time.

Kevin stopped me in the hall the other day. He'd grabbed my arm, hard, and said, really close to my face, "Your drunk dad better not wreck my movie."

"You better not wreck his movie," I shot back, but the taste of rust rushed through me. Was my dad falling apart enough to derail a film? What Dad did in our house was one thing. What he did in front of my cla.s.smates was another.

L.A. disappeared from view in its perpetual brown smog. We rose above it to pink cotton candy clouds. When the sky looked like a field of snow, I closed my eyes.

I wanted to hurl myself out of the exit door when I remembered the conversation I'd overheard at home. Aunt Izzy called the landline and Dad and I both picked up at the same second in different parts of the house. He spoke first, and even though I hadn't deliberately planned to do it, I stayed on the line, feeling more horrible and creepy with everything they said.

Aunt Izzy got right to her point. "When are you going to get Hannah in treatment?"

Dad sighed. "Izzy, you never quit."

"This is urgent, Caleb. You can't ignore it. You both need help."

"What's next, Iz? You going to tell me I'm anorexic?"

"I'm talking about your daughter. Your daughter who is in a lot of pain."

"Of course she's in pain! Her mother just died! That doesn't mean-Izzy, you think everyone has an eating disorder. It's just your thing."

"When have I ever suggested that someone else had an eating disorder?"

"You just-you just, I mean, come on, Izzy, Hannah's overweight."

I feared they'd hear my intake of breath from that punch to the gut.

"You've never said that to her, have you?" She sounded like she might kick him if she could.

"Well, not so bluntly...but, yeah. Annabeth...and I talked to her about it." Dad tripped on my mom's name.

"Oh, Caleb, she's in trouble. The stealing at school, the shoplifting, all of it is related."

Dad groaned. "Please. She just wants attention."

"Of course she wants attention!" Aunt Izzy snapped. "Her mother just died!"

Silence. I bet my dad felt punched in the stomach too.

"Think about it," Izzy said. "All she wants is attention, Caleb, and is she getting any from you or are you-"

She didn't finish, but I knew what she was going to say and I knew my dad did too, because I'd heard them argue about it before. Or are you just drunk all the time?

That's when I'd hung up.

A lot of good my little secret friend did me.

But still, the SR was as close to a real friend as I had. I actually pictured her as a person.

At least she never betrayed me like my breathing, living friends did. I probably shouldn't even call them friends. I probably only did because otherwise I'd have to face the pathetic fact that no one who actually existed liked me.

There had been someone who actually existed who'd liked me.

Or maybe not liked me, but treated me like a human being. But I'd destroyed that the day before. It wasn't enough that I'd said I didn't like him in front of a whole art room of people. Or that I'd told him I liked Kevin. No, I had to make it worse.

Oh G.o.d. I shrunk down farther in my seat, wishing I could curl in on myself and disappear. Jasper'd seen me. He'd seen me on a binge. It hurt me to remember the look on his face.

I'd been standing in the corner by a trash can, in the tiny room between the kitchen and the cafeteria, the room where the doors could open for the delivery trucks. I stood there scarfing down trash-a bunch of grilled cheese sandwiches we hadn't sold, about seven of them, one after the other-and a sound had made me turn.

The sound had been Jasper. Oh G.o.d, the look on his face. He was appalled. Horrified.

I froze, my mouth full, my cheeks stuffed out, grease and crumbs all over my face I'm sure.

"Hannah?" He asked it like he wasn't even sure it was me.

I couldn't chew. I couldn't swallow. I couldn't speak. I couldn't breathe.

"What are-are-are you okay?" he whispered.

A whole year pa.s.sed before he moved. He stepped toward me and I bolted. I dropped the grilled cheese sandwich in my hand and ran. I ran to the bathroom and threw up, then I ran outside. I just ran and ran and ran. I ran until I got lost and had to leave a panicked message on my dad's voice mail.

Laila came to pick me up. When she hugged me, I tried not to cry.

"Where's my dad?" I asked, missing the smell and hug of my own mother.

Laila looked away and said, "He's working, hon, so he called me."

I knew she lied. What, was he too busy to be bothered if I was lost and wandering L.A.?

Maybe Sean and Laila could adopt me. They didn't have any kids of their own.

I wasn't brave enough to ask her, though.

Maybe the plane would be hijacked by terrorists. Maybe we would crash. Maybe I'd never have to deal with Brooke or Brittany or Bebe or Kevin or any of them again.

But then...I'd never see Jasper again.

I'd never see Dad again. I thought about my dad at another funeral. That wounded defeat in his eyes at Mom's. The desperate way he'd held my hand through the whole thing.

Okay, plane, I take it back. Don't go down.

I was nervous for the rest of the flight, afraid I'd jinxed us with my thought.

Reasons to Be Happy: None.

My dad got arrested.

Again.

He's all over the news and Internet, even here in Ohio. I'd been here for one week already. Things were actually going well. Aunt Izzy was awesome. She was letting me log videotape on her Africa doc.u.mentary. We were having a blast.

Well, except for the fact that for four days, Dad hadn't answered my emails or calls. I just thought he was tired of pretending he cared enough to talk to me. Tired of listening to me blather on about canoeing on the Little Miami, climbing at the Urban Krag, taking Latin Dance cla.s.s at El Meson, or having a picnic on the lawn of the Dayton Art Inst.i.tute.

Then came the morning when Aunt Izzy came into my room while it was still dark. She sat on the edge of my bed in a T-shirt and yoga pants, her hair still all messed up. "Hannah Banana," she whispered, "I have some bad news, sweetie."

Dad had been drunk. He'd been drunk for days, apparently, and hadn't shown up for work on the vampire movie. He'd crashed our Land Rover into a rental car of tourists from Indianapolis. One of them had to go to the hospital with a broken arm, but the rest were okay except for needing some st.i.tches. Both cars were trashed. The pictures in the paper made me feel sick.

They'd been on the Pacific Coast Highway.

All the times we'd driven that highway, all the times I'd thought just one wrong move and we'd end up in the ocean. He could've fallen over the cliff, been trapped in his car, and drowned.

He could've killed that whole family from Indiana.

His mug shot was hideous.

I bet Brooke wouldn't say he was hot when she saw that picture of him. He looked like he actually was a vampire-so pale with black circles around his eyes, cheeks all gaunt, eyes bloodshot. It hurt me to look at him so ashamed and small.

He'd spent the night in jail. Who wants to picture their dad in a jail? In an ugly blue jumpsuit? With maybe a scary cell mate? I couldn't sleep I was so terrified for him.

His publicist had called Aunt Izzy. So had Sean and Laila. Dad hadn't talked to either one of us yet. As much as I wanted him to call, I had no idea what I'd say to him. What could you say after something like that?

What was everyone else saying?

Oh my G.o.d, how could I go to school and face Brooke and the B-Squad? Dad was the only thing I had going for me.

The confusion made me feel sick; I wanted to kick Dad at the same time I wanted to hide him away somewhere and protect him.

Aunt Izzy understood how freaked I was. "What do you need to do?" she asked.

I knew what I needed, but I couldn't tell her that. With my SR, I wouldn't have to feel anything. It would take away all this panic.

My SR wasn't so secret. Aunt Izzy talked about it all the time. She called it what it was.

I couldn't stand to be in my hot, itchy skin, but I held it together most of that first day.

Aunt Izzy took me to Sugarcreek, this great nature preserve. We'd gone there with my mom once years ago. They'd taken me to see the Three Sisters, these enormous oak trees that were over six hundred years old. Me, Mom, and Aunt Izzy together couldn't wrap our arms around one of the trunks, that's how big they were.

That day, when we climbed up to them, my eyes filled with tears and my back started shaking. Aunt Izzy put her arm around me, but I shrugged it off, hard.

"Don't touch me," I said.

She nodded. She didn't seem mad.

"I can't stand to be in my own body," I whispered. "I want-"

"What?"

"I wish I could zip it off, my own skin. I want to run. I want to run really hard."

"So run. You know where the car is. I won't leave without you."

I left her standing there at the Three Sisters and I ran as fast as I could, more like fleeing. Like I was running from something. But, the problem is, you can't run away from yourself. It felt good anyway, to sweat and breathe hard. Made the panicky swirl in my chest spin less.

The muscles in my thighs and fat b.u.t.t warmed up, then burned, as I kept running running running on the muddy trails.