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ISBN 1-59201-040-7
Books Unbound E-Publishing Co.
http://www.booksunbound.com
Publication January 2006
Cover Art by Frank Berger
Moons and Junes
Claire Garden
Copyright 2005
All Rights Reserved
For Kevan, June, and Milan,
whose parents belatedly received Parent Effectiveness Training
With thanks to editors Wayne Arnold and Leslie Cholowsky for their excellent advice and encouragement. Thanks also to my husband Evan, always my first reader. Special thanks to Hoyt DeVane for permitting me to use his "It'll start" anecdote as the basis of a fictional event. My daughter June, sisters Thelma and Joyce, and several East Wind Community members (especially Cara) all gave me invaluable feedback.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and occurrences are either the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not the goal of the author or Books Unbound.
Chapter One
Boxed In
After serving each of us a piece of raisin pie, Grandma Miller brings a coffeepot to Mom's place at the table, but just stands there, watching Mom's face. What's going on? Mom glances at her and then smiles at me. "I have the most wonderful announcement."
Uh oh. Mom sounds too perky for this to be good news for me. I look across Grandma's dining room table at Dad--poker face. Grandma is pouring coffee into Mom's cup while watching me. It's obvious I'm the only one who doesn't know what's coming.
"Your dad and I have reservations for a flight to Hawaii!" Mom uses her paper napkin to mop up the coffee Grandma overflowed into her saucer. "We'll leave on the first Tuesday in June and be gone for three weeks. After all these years, a real honeymoon!"
Mom has been saving for their second honeymoon ever since she became an Avon lady. But I didn't think it was going to happen this soon. "Will we still get our regular vacation at the lake?"
"I'm afraid not, Megan." At least Dad isn't faking a smile. "Three weeks is all I can take off from Thomas & Son. Your Grandpa Thomas can't see why I need any vacation at all. He hasn't taken one in thirty years."
"We'll have separate vacations this year, Megan. You'll stay here in North Falls with Grandma while your dad and I are honeymooning in Hawaii."
I feel like they blasted me into space and left me to float in the dark out there. Some vacation for me! Usually we spend two weeks in a rented cabin on a lake near Branson, Missouri, and go to the Big Surf Water Park and a show or two and Silver Dollar City and play around in the lake the rest of the time.
But summer in North Falls? Three whole weeks in a dead little city in Iowa. I'll be a nut case! I may as well go straight to the funny farm! Bad enough I've had to live my entire thirteen years in Oakton, about forty-five miles from here. Oakton is so puny, it doesn't even have a mall. At least there my best friend Bella Gordon lives just down the block.
Don't get me wrong. I don't mind spending our usual Sunday afternoon once a month with Grandma, even if she doesn't think much of TV and doesn't have cable. I take along the homework I'd have to do sometime that day anyway.
Grandma cuts in on my thoughts, sounding just as perky as Mom. "We'll have a wonderful time. A carnival's coming to the mall the second week. I've got a book of quilt patterns. You can choose a pattern and pick out materials, and we'll start piecing a quilt for you. We'll go to the historical museum and the library and farmers market. In the evenings, we'll read a Shakespeare play out loud to each other. Romeo and Juliet would be fun to read, don't you think?"
I take a big bite of pie so I won't have to answer, but I manage a little nod.
The next day when my English teacher tells us to write an essay describing a family incident we have strong feelings about, I don't have any problem deciding what to write!
On Friday morning, Bella and I are walking to school together, talking about the essays we're supposed to get back first period. "I really blasted Mom. In my essay, I mean. Dad wouldn't even let me explain how unfair it was. Told me to stop whining."
"You whined about staying with your grandma right in front of her?"
"I wasn't whining! And it was while we were on our way home, anyway." I push a long strand of my strawberry blond hair off my face. "They don't care how I feel about it. Mom must think I'm too stupid to figure out that she's stealing my vacation. I get babysat by Grandma while she has a blast in Hawaii with Dad."
"Yeah, like you're a little kid she can stash with a sitter."
"I think teens should have a say in things like this." I turned thirteen in March. Bella won't be thirteen till the middle of the summer, and she's told me more than once to stop bragging about it. Before she can tell me again, I ask her what she wrote about.
She doesn't answer right away. Her dark bangs almost hide her eyes because she's looking down now. "The day my sister left home."
"Your mom threw her out, right?"
"More or less. They had a big fight and then Barb took off. Two years ago when she was sixteen. I tried to give both sides, but I don't really know what it was all about. Mom won't talk about it, and Barb never writes or calls."
Neither of us says anything for a minute. Then she nudges me with an elbow. "Did you give your mom's side, Megan? Ms. Gonzalez told us to look at both sides, you know, if we wrote about a family fight."
"What side could Mom have?" I flip that strand of hair over my shoulder and try to look confident. "Anyway, it's obvious. She thinks it's just fine for parents to control everything." Actually, I'd forgotten the both-sides thing. I was so steamed, the story almost wrote itself. I didn't even revise it the way we're supposed to. Just copied it over to make my handwriting neater.
"My parents don't want me to think for myself." I'm getting into this now. "They try to crush my ideas the way Mom squishes beetles on her rose bushes."
Bella giggles, then puts a look of horror on her face and points at the sidewalk, screeching, "Look, Dear, she had a thought of her own! Get it! Get it!"
I have to grin a little when she stomps the thought-beetle. She can get pretty dramatic when she's trying to make me laugh and forget about being upset. Like, just take whatever my parents are dishing out. She lets her mom get away with stuff like that. Her sister didn't, though, and look what happened to her. Shot out into empty space, that's what!
"Did you put that beetle thing in your paper? Ms. Gonzalez likes images."
"Certainly not." Fact is, I didn't think of it while I was writing. "I just told the story straight out, nothing fancy or tricky. Gonzalez should appreciate that."
Ms. Gonzalez hands the papers back as soon as the bell rings. One glance at mine, and I'm pissed. "C," it says in red ink at the top of my paper. "You were to give the viewpoint of both sides."
I catch Bella's eye and hold up my paper with its big red "C," making a frowny face. Bella holds up hers with a red "B" on it, giving a shrug and trying to look sympathetic. I usually get a "B," too. On the poem we had to write using figures of speech, I even got an "A." My poem was about clouds, which I don't give a hoot about. That was my mistake this time--writing about something that matters.
Okay, so I forgot the part about looking at it from both sides. Would Batman think of the bad guys' viewpoint? All he does is make sure he wins and they lose. Talk about looking at both sides! When do adults ever look at a kid's side?
"Class, there are two essays I want you to hear: George Little's and Athena Pendleton's. Now this is what I want you to listen for...."
Wouldn't you know she'd give Athena an A. Won't be any conflict at all in her essay. Athena always writes about world peace and loving the earth and stuff like that. Gonzalez eats it up like rainbow sherbet. I should have had us eating rainbow sherbet instead of raisin pie when Mom dropped that bombshell. Old Gonzo loves symbolism.
I read my own essay silently as George Little reads aloud. He's a country kid, and his essay is about a cow having a calf as a tornado warning sounded. He wanted to watch, but his parents made him go to the basement. Most of my attention is on my own paper. I draw silly faces after my last line: "The things old ladies think are fun!"
Well, actually, the carnival would be okay. If Bella could go, too. But Shakespeare! "Gee, I can't wait!" Oops! I realize I spoke out loud when Janet in front of me turns around to look. My face gets hot, and I glance at Ms. Gonzalez, who's glaring at me. George doesn't look up, just keeps reading.
My fair complexion shows every little blush. Athena can tan without freckles, and her face hardly ever turns red. Her long, dark-blond hair isn't limp like mine, either. Some people are born lucky. I sure wasn't.
It's like I'm on a Ferris wheel and can't get off--I keep going round and round about this. Mom and Grandma laid their plans on me as a done deal. I wonder if I could have worked the Ferris wheel into my essay. Maybe if I'd rewritten my paper after cooling down, I could have put in some figures of speech. Gonzalez can't resist them.
George is back in his seat now, and Athena is getting up to read her essay. It probably won't be any better than mine, but it'll be what Gonzalez wants to hear. Well maybe I should play that game, too. Yeah, next time I'll play it cool and be tricky.
I don't know Athena very well, though we've been in school together since kindergarten--eight years now that seventh grade is almost over. Athena lives in the country, too, like George.
Country kids have to leave on the school bus right after school, so they don't hang with town kids. Bella always comes over to my house on the days when her mother commutes to North Falls for the afternoon shift at the hospital. She's been my best friend since right after her dad left them and they moved in with her grandma on my street.
Athena is standing up front now. Why would anybody give their kid a weird name like Athena? We used to tease her about it. "Athena hyena!" Maybe the teasing hurt her. That could be why she's quiet, except when she knows the answer to teachers' questions, which is most of the time.
Athena hangs with Janet and the other country kids who ride the bus. I'm glad to be a town kid, even if Oakton is a dinky town in dorky Iowa. Maybe I'll go to Chicago, someday. Like Peter Dean, my older brother. Oakton doesn't even have a video store. Okay, so North Falls is bigger and has a mall. So what? It isn't exactly Chicago. And I don't know anyone there. What fun is it to cruise the mall with your grandma?
"I was born in a stock tank in the music room at Wild Wind," Athena begins. I open my eyes wide. How could anybody be born in a stock tank? Dad sells stock tanks in our farm store. Big galvanized metal things for watering cows. What would that ugly thing be doing in a room?
Wait a minute! Wild Wind? Did I hear right? Wild Wind is a bunch of hippies who weave rugs out there in the woods somewhere; no one seems to know exactly where. Well, the UPS delivery guy must know where it is, because that's who told someone about it a long time ago. Of course it spread all over town.
Bella and I look at each other. We always thought Athena was a little weird, but not like this! I try to focus on what she's saying. What did I miss? Something about a midwife, whatever that is. Maybe the hippie men all have three wives and this is the middle one? I start paying attention.
"When I was in my mother's arms and started breathing, the nurse-midwife cut the umbilical cord and tied it off. No one had to force me to breathe."
Oh. A midwife is some kind of nurse, then.
Athena keeps her eyes on her paper. She looks unhappy about having to read it to the whole class. I wish I could read mine instead. I'd give it so much zip, Gonzo'd see it was worth at least a "B." Athena's voice gets quieter now, and she is blushing a little.
"Friends were singing a hymn, 'Morning has broken, like the first morning,' singing softly so they wouldn't frighten me. My mother said it was a joyful experience, surrounded by people who loved her. She was sitting in tepid water so I could slip out into a familiar environment like the amniotic fluid in her womb. She hadn't needed any anesthetic or stitches because the midwife's oil massage and patience had eased the birth so it could be natural, with no cutting of her tissue or risk of tearing."
Gross! This is more than I want to hear about female anatomy, sitting here in a class with boys. A naked woman with a roomful of germy people watching! I catch Bella's eye and pretend to gag silently. She covers her mouth to keep from giggling.
"The next morning at sunrise," Athena is still not looking up, "my father held me up to introduce me to the Universe, the way some First Nation peoples do. My mother and all those who were at my birth were in a circle with him. Then someone made a little speech about the whole community dedicating themselves to nurturing me and guiding me to live in harmony with Nature."
Athena sits down, her eyes on her desk. The room is silent. Ms. Gonzalez asks if anyone has questions. I know Gonzalez will be upset if anyone says what we think about that hippie place. Everyone else knows it, too, and there are no questions.
Were my parents happy about my birth? No way. Being pregnant with me had to have been a nasty surprise, though they've never said that to me. Peter Dean was eleven and Mark was ten when I was born. They were all the trouble Mom and Dad needed, especially Peter Dean. I'm sure they didn't want to have any more kids. Maybe they hadn't meant to have Peter Dean and Mark, either. But I'm sure I was an oops-baby.
If I hadn't been born, they could have had a second honeymoon years ago. Having me blew it. One more kid to support and stay home with. No wonder they want to dump me on Grandma. I should have put all this in my paper. That would be the other side, all right! How my parents feel about having this kid ruin their lives.
I have to stop thinking about it, or I'll start crying right in class! Think of something fun. What if my parents wanted to make this a family vacation in Hawaii? I could be buying a new bathing suit and smart new casual wear and packing them in the luggage they gave me for my birthday.
I'd get a sky-blue beach towel and lie on the white sand, and I'd meet this awesome Hawaiian guy. His eyes would be deep, liquid brown--I'm remembering scenes in Harlequin romances--he would take my face in his two strong hands, murmuring "Megan, Megan." And look deeply into my pale blue eyes....
And see my pale lashes and pale eyebrows and my flat chest and beanpole hips and limp-straw hair and freckled face. Some turn on! So maybe I should start using mascara and eyebrow pencil and a liquid base to cover my freckles. Mom might let me buy a padded bra. Not much padding, just enough to make me look like the other girls.
But I think of Mrs. Hobbs, our gym teacher. She's lean and strong with golden skin even in winter. Her dark hair is cut short, and she has brown eyes. Doesn't have to use makeup at all with her good coloring. No washed-out look to worry about.
If all women were like Mrs. Hobbs, Mom couldn't make enough selling Avon to pay for a second honeymoon. They couldn't save enough from Dad's share of the store's profits to go to Hawaii. At least not until I grew up and left home. I'd like that.
The clock on the back wall says only three minutes left. Ms. Gonzalez is talking about the way Athena's essay gives the viewpoint of an alternative lifestyle--whatever that is--without needing to mention the conventional one that we all take for granted.
I think about next period and cheer up a little. I get to take attendance for Mrs. Hobbs instead of going to study hall. After attendance, I sit at Mrs. Hobbs' desk and do my homework for math, which is third period. I can see the gym through the window by the desk as I work. Sometimes Mrs. Hobbs comes and stands by the desk watching the girls play volleyball or whatever she set them up to do. She talks to me like I was her daughter. I wish! She'd never treat me the way Mom did.
Once I got up the nerve to ask Mrs. Hobbs about make-up. She grinned at me. "Why should I have to paint my face to be acceptable? My husband goes out with his naked face every day of his life, and no one thinks he looks bad without paint! My face is no uglier than his."
I blurted out: "Your face is beautiful, even without mascara!" Then I was embarrassed. "My face doesn't have any color. Mom says I can start wearing eye makeup. She knows how to put it on so it doesn't look like a..."
"Like a painted doll," Mrs. Hobbs cut in. Actually, I was going to say like a clown. "Don't do it, Megan. You look just fine with your natural face."
So I told Mom I didn't want to wear makeup. Bella doesn't wear it, either. We made a pact to hold out as long as we can. At least until we're the only two in the class not using any. Or until we get zits and have to cover them up.
Maybe Bella and I should just go along with the others. Boys seem to pay more attention to the girls wearing mascara. Maybe I look like a dork with my naked face.
The bell interrupts my thoughts. I put the essay into my English folder, gather my books and follow the kids in my row forward. At the front of the row as I turn toward the door, I see George Little dashing across the back of the room. Suddenly I realize he's watching me, trying to get to the door when I do!
It's a bomb to have a boy interested in me, even if he is a country kid and not very good looking, either. His face is too fair with more freckles than I have, in spite of his brown eyes and straight dark hair. He's tall and slim, though, and has a nice smile.
He does get out into the hall just behind me. "Hi, Megan,... uh, would you like to watch me practice in the tennis court after school?...uh, I mean... uh, I'm getting pretty good... well, if you'd like to, I mean...."
Why would I want to do that? "Sorry, George. I promised my mom I'd come straight home after school today. She wants me to help her with something."
His face falls. He probably knows I'm lying. It must be scary to put yourself out like that and risk being turned down. I feel sorry for him as he turns and goes down the side hall toward the science classroom. Bella has already disappeared down that hall.
I hurry to the gym office for study hall period, thinking about George. I guess he'd like having me there when he slams a ball back where the other guy can't reach it. But, really, watching someone show off wouldn't be much fun for me. Still, he asked me. I haven't had a boyfriend since sixth grade when Jimmy Jackson moved away.
After I get Mrs. Hobbs' attendance slip clipped to the door, I open my math book to the problems that are due next hour. Oh good, word problems that can be solved by the box method. This kind used to panic me because I couldn't remember what to divide by what? Or multiply? Or should I add or subtract something first?
Last fall when I got a "D" in math on my first-quarter report card, Dad showed me a way to set up these proportion problems. I like Dad's box method because I can get started right away without panic. I don't worry about which function to use for which version of the problem. With the box, it's always the same.
On scratch paper I draw a cross--no need to draw the box around it--put the whole in the lower left space, a question mark above it in the upper left space for the part I'm looking for, and make a fraction of the percent in the two spaces on the right.
Okay, now, I've got three numbers and a question mark. Silently I talk myself through the solution. Multiply the two that are on a diagonal. Divide that by what's left. Put the answer in the square with the question mark.
I feel good about every neat solution as I check to prove to myself that it's right. Or prove it's wrong and figure out how to get the right answer. It's the part of my life that I have complete control over now. No surprises, like having the teacher not like how I wrote my essay. Or having Mom and Grandma decide what's going to happen to me.
I'm back to thinking about my "vacation" as I leave the gym office and walk up the stairs to the math classroom. There must be some way I can block my mom's plan. I have to give it some cold, careful calculation. Think of something like the box method to put all the parts of the problem into place. And get the answer I want.
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This is a sample chapter from
Moons and Junes
by
Claire Garden
We at
Books Unbound E-Publishing Co.
www.booksunbound.com
hope you will enjoy the entire book!
Author's Biography
The best of my childhood was the time I spent on my grandparents' Iowa farm--80 acres with horses, cows, chickens, pigs, barn cats and a farm dog--all within the framework of traditional rural neighborliness. This led to my later passion for the community lifestyle, especially in gardening communities.
After my children were grown, some friends and I tried unsuccessfully to start an eco-village in Kansas. Then I decided to join East Wind, a rural community in the Ozarks of Missouri that has been around for decades. It was there I learned about fair fighting and other skills for conflict resolution.
I currently live with my husband in a family-size community in a university town of Missouri. Moons and Junes is the second in my series of young adult novels about living in community to be published as an e-book. I would love to hear your response to my novel(s). Email me at clairenova@juno.com
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