Birdie and Me Read online

  “He’s sleeping.” That’s not really true. I heard him moving around in his room, but Birdie’s not a big fan of Janet. He calls her “an acquired taste, like sushi.” I have no idea where he gets these phrases.

  Janet goes to her room to find a spray bottle and her stand-up mirror. When she returns, she stops in the doorway and does that thing where she pops her hip out and then scowls. “Okay. Spill it.”

  “What?”

  She walks over and sets the mirror in front of me and then starts in on my hair again. “Is it that bad? Patrick’s house?”

  I shrug. “I mean, it’s just such a big house compared to Uncle Carl’s apartment.”

  “Yeah, but don’t you have your own room? Like, it’s got to be better than sleeping on a futon next to some grungy couch.”

  I shrug again.

  “Oh, don’t you go all broody on me. It’s too early for broodiness. This is one fine day, Jack Royland. Do you know what today is?”

  Of course I know what today is. Today Janet starts at Snip ’n’ Shine, the one and only hair salon in town. Janet says she’s been hounding Cherylene, Snip ’n’ Shine’s owner, for three years to let her work there. Janet even offered to work for nothing. I guess Cherylene finally couldn’t pass up the free labor.

  Janet tugs on a piece of her straight black hair and frowns in the mirror. “Why would God waste such beautiful curls on someone who doesn’t even want to look nice? Instead, I get stuck with this hair.” She ties her hair into a bun, then goes back to mine. “Anyway, today is the day. You are looking at a gen-you-ine Snip ’n’ Shine apprentice!”

  She turns my stool so that I’m facing her. She’s totally absorbed. Three bobby pins sit in her mouth an inch from my nose.

  “Maybe I could get you a job there,” she says as she shoves the hundredth bobby pin into my hair. “You know, get you out of that house since you obviously hate it so much even though you’ve only been there for like twelve hours.” She side-eyes me.

  I tell her it’s been more like twenty-two hours and she rolls her eyes and says, “Jack Royland, inmate number one-oh-one at Patrick’s Prison: Close your eyes.”

  She lays the hair spray on thick.

  I wish I could explain the difference between Mama’s house and Patrick’s. But Janet would never understand a place like Mama’s.

  I don’t realize I’m gripping the hard plastic side of the countertop until Janet says, “Hey Hulk-Smash. Don’t break the counter, okay?”

  She’s looking at me with that serious Janet intensity. I let go.

  “I can’t wait to show the girls at the salon the magic I have done with your hair. That’s why I asked you to come over.”

  She wheels my chair around so I can see the final product in the mirror. I barely recognize myself, which is what usually happens when Janet gets ahold of my hair. My normally unruly lion’s mane is transformed like magic, my bangs swept up, meshing with the twisted curls at the top of my head. I look five years older.

  It’s just what I’m hoping for, but I don’t tell her that.

  “I can’t go out like this,” I say, though I can’t help but smile. Even my giant practically unibrow eyebrows aren’t bothering me, my hair looks so good.

  “Oh yes you can. I have to show Cherylene as many hairstyles as possible. That way, I can prove my worth at the salon. Because they might have people who can cut hair there, but I swear to God, no one there can style. I’ve seen the girls that come out of that place on prom day and it is so sad.”

  She tinkers with my hair a little more.

  “So you’re meeting me there, Jack Royland, in a couple of hours when I start my shift. Bring Birdie, if you have to. I need your head as proof.” She flicks her long finger at my curls and then disappears into her room to change.

  * * *

  • • •

  On the day we arrived in California I saw Janet through the windshield of Patrick’s truck. The afternoon sun glinted off the glass and made her look like a mirage. It was the first time I got to see the Janet scowl and that stance she does when she means business.

  She was standing in the doorway of the Lock & Key, the store underneath Uncle Carl’s apartment that he manages. With her hip popped to one side, a skateboard under her arm, she was saying something about having left her cell phone in her mom’s car and could Carl please jimmy the lock for her?

  Me, Birdie, and Patrick walked up to the Lock & Key from the truck and that’s when Uncle Carl came out of the store, frowning at Janet.

  “Get out of here. I’m not going to jimmy a lock for you.”

  “But my phone. What would you do without your cell phone?” Janet said.

  “I don’t have one.”

  “Yes you do. I’ve seen it.”

  “Yeah, well, most of the time it sits at home in between my couch cushions, out of battery.”

  “But the car is right across the street, see, and my mom took off for the night with Ross, maybe the whole weekend. Can never tell with her. And she took her dumb car keys with her.”

  Uncle Carl was about to respond, but that’s when he saw the three of us, me, Patrick, and Birdie, probably looking really tired after driving for more than seven hours. “Well, melt my cheese, there you all are! Look at you!”

  I looked at him, but I couldn’t help staring at the girl behind him. She wore a hot-pink sweatshirt that had a giant mouth with its pierced tongue sticking out on it. Her hair was elaborately done up in two buns, one on each side of her head, and even though it was December, her face was still tan and freckled from summer.

  Uncle Carl came over to us and said, “I wasn’t expecting you for another hour. Come on, let’s go up. You must be tired or hungry. You guys want some food? We can go to the Fry Shack. Birdie, my man, look at you. You have a growth spurt or something?”

  Then Janet was like, “Yeah, let’s go to the Fry Shack, across the street, and before you go in you can stop at my mom’s car, which is right in front, and open it so I can get my cell phone.”

  He didn’t look behind him, he just said, “People, this is Janet, the town menace. Town menace, meet my niece and nephew, Jack and Birdie.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she said quickly, her eyes zeroing on me. “Now, I wonder what you would say to a helpless person just trying to get her cell phone and asking for assistance. Would you leave her high and dry like her mom did and now just like Carl here too? Hmmm? How about you?” She pointed at me.

  I stupidly looked around and then pointed to myself and said, “Me?”

  Janet rolled her eyes and then blew a bunch of air out of her mouth and started turning away.

  I can’t explain why, but all of a sudden my heart constricted like a fist had grabbed it and I felt like everything about this new town was starting out poorly all because Uncle Carl wouldn’t help her get her phone out of the car.

  So then I awkwardly shouted, “I would help that helpless person! I would help that person get their phone!” She stopped and looked back over her shoulder. Then I looked at Uncle Carl, who I hadn’t seen or talked to for almost four years. “Uncle Carl, can’t you help her get her cell phone?”

  After some sighing and huffing and “talk about war on all fronts” comments he went into the Lock & Key, got some kind of long, metal tool, and crossed the street with Janet, pointing it at her like a sword, saying, “You’re lucky I have a soft spot for those kids.”

  He jimmied the lock and she got her cell phone out and then he locked and closed the door again. From across the street she raised her hand, which had the phone, and was like, “Hey you! Girl with the hair! Best friends forever!” Then she skated down the street.

  I wasn’t sure then, because the whole thing had seemed impossible and spontaneous, like something that would happen to Mama. But it turned out, she’d been talking to me.

  **Observation #775: Janet


  She never asks if she can style my hair.

  I sit down and she just does it.

  Being around her is like being around a tornado

  —unpredictable and chaotic

  and I can’t help but get sucked into her storm.

  Which is fine by me.

  CHAPTER 4

  THE LONG WAY TO TOWN

  When I get back from Janet’s trailer, Patrick comes in from the backyard where he’s been trimming the four scraggly trees. They look naked now, and I wonder if he knows what he’s doing. Duke’s outside, looking up from his nap, waiting for him.

  “Where’ve you been?” he asks, wiping his face with his bandanna. He looks at my hair but doesn’t say anything else.

  “Janet’s. She lives down the street.”

  “I know where she lives. When you go somewhere, you should probably leave me a note.” He goes over to a drawer by the phone and takes out a pad of paper and a pen. “Just write it on here.”

  “Okay.”

  He looks at me and then nods and goes back outside. Patrick pats Duke on the head before returning to the trees.

  I don’t mention the plan to go into town. It’s too hard to talk to a clam.

  * * *

  • • •

  Later, it takes Birdie and me almost half an hour to walk to the salon. In town, besides the shops, there are some houses and apartments, along with our schools and the library. But most of the older houses with land are farther out, off the highway. People come through here on their way to the mountain but not a lot of people actually live here. Janet said there used to be a barber shop, but this town is too small to have two places to cut your hair. So I guess the guys have to go to Cherylene too.

  We each eat a Honey Bunny Bun as we go. Birdie licks his sticky fingers and straightens his pink and purple lightning-bolt rings.

  “It’s going to take forever to get to school now,” says Birdie.

  “We used to walk almost as far when we’d go to the reserve.”

  “Yeah, but that wasn’t every day. And I actually like going to the reserve.”

  “Well, Patrick said he’s going to bring us to school tomorrow. He’s going to talk to your teacher.”

  “Don’t remind me.” He changes the subject. “I wonder if Uncle Carl has any new magazines.”

  We’re crossing the street toward the salon, and I’m about to say that I doubt Uncle Carl bought new magazines since yesterday, when I hear Janet’s voice ring across the pavement.

  “Oh my God, I can’t believe you haven’t totally destroyed your hair. Honestly, I am truly in shock. Here, take my pulse. And gimme some Honey Bunny.” She takes a piece of my bun and pokes at my hair one last time.

  “Are we going inside?” I ask.

  “Yes. Okay, so for the big reveal, they will be looking at the hair, of course, the masterpiece, but your posture and facial expression will affect how they see the hair. I can’t have you walking in like some slumped, three-day-old chalupa that’s been rotting in the sun. We can’t do anything about your sad fashion sense, and the track pants that you love so much, but whatever! Be confident! Walk in like you’re wearing a Bob Mackie gown!” She gives me a quick demonstration.

  Birdie smiles and twirls along with her. Janet looks at him and rolls her eyes. “See, even he can do it,” she says. Then she takes a deep breath. “All right—this is it!”

  Bells tied to the door jingle as Janet ushers us in.

  Every chair is filled with a customer getting snipped and shined. Before Janet even has a chance to announce us, Cherylene appears from the back of the building.

  “Janet, come get this broom. Start sweeping. Any longer and we’re going to have a problem tantamount to Captain Kirk’s trouble with tribbles.”

  You might think that a clash between a stick-thin fourteen-year-old girl and a fifty-year-old woman who looks more like a truck driver, except for her hair and nails, would be no contest. But this is Janet.

  “Cherylene—” she starts.

  “That’s Miss Cherylene. Or you can call me Captain.”

  “Right. Miss Captain Cherylene, allow me to introduce my best and most curly-haired friend, Jack Royland.” She nudges me forward and I try to push my shoulders back like she said.

  Cherylene moves around me, batting me away like a fly in her ear, and puts the broom into Janet’s hand. “And allow me to introduce you to your new bestest, most straight-haired friend, the broom.”

  She turns and begins walking to her office in the back.

  “Miss Cherylene, didn’t you notice Jack’s hair? I styled it this morning. And I did it without any product other than a bit of hair spray. Two whole hours ago.”

  Cherylene sighs heavily and then picks up some towels and puts one at each station. “I noticed nothing but our trouble with tribbles.” Her long, neon-orange manicured fingernail points down at the fat clumps of hair.

  “But Cherylene, you have to look—”

  “No, Janet. I don’t have to do anything. You’ve pestered me for years about working here and then I said you could come and sweep and clean and silently soak up the life of salon work. I am captain of this ship, so you either want to sweep the deck, or you don’t want to be here at all.” She glares hard at Janet and then disappears into her office.

  Janet is statue-still, but I can see her fists tightening. The rest of the hair stylists, who had gone silent moments ago, begin to move again and chat with their clients.

  “Come on,” I whisper to Janet. “Let’s go.”

  “No,” Janet says through her teeth. “It’s time for me to sweep.” With the Janet scowl, and her own shoulders pushed back, she walks onto the salon floor between the chairs and raises her voice a little louder. “Because apparently the captain can’t keep her ship’s deck clean.”

  Birdie and me head outside.

  He looks back through the shop window.

  “Come on,” I say to him, tugging his shirt toward Uncle Carl’s apartment down the block. “She’ll be okay.”

  “I’m not worried about Janet,” says Birdie. “But Cherylene doesn’t know what she’s gotten herself into.”

  * * *

  • • •

  When we get to Uncle Carl’s apartment, we pause. Before this weekend, we would’ve just walked right in. I knock three times, but he doesn’t answer. I peek inside, because Uncle Carl never locks the door. The apartment looks the same as it ever did. I call out hello, but no one answers.

  The whole situation with Uncle Carl really started to go wrong when Marlboro died. It happened about nine months after we’d moved in, on the same day as Birdie’s makeup-makeup back-to-school meeting with his teacher. It was a double makeup because Uncle Carl never went to the first two.

  Maybe if Marlboro hadn’t died on that exact same day, we’d still be living above the Lock & Key shop on Main Street.

  Marlboro, “the most noble bearded dragon to crawl the earth,” had been fine that morning. Then, at some point, Uncle Carl fed her some crickets and went downstairs to the Lock & Key. He didn’t come back up for hours and by then it was too late. A fat cricket had lodged itself in her throat and that was that. Sometimes, when I think about my day at school, I try to imagine what class I was in when it happened. I know it’s kind of creepy to do that, but I can’t help it.

  So because he discovered Marlboro like thirty minutes before the back-to-school meeting, Uncle Carl didn’t show up. He spent the time at his apartment crying and I guess probably drinking too.

  Birdie and me were still hanging around his school library when his teacher came and scowled like we had done something wrong. She had her big ham hock arms folded across her chest and said, “Where is your uncle?”

  Birdie and me looked at each other for a second and all I could say was something stupid like, “Isn’t he with you?�
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  “Would I be here if he was?” Her eyes were so narrowed that I couldn’t see her pupils.

  Her pale pink forearms flushed as she said, “This is the third meeting we’ve scheduled. The missed meetings combined with your brother’s already poor attendance means I will have to go to the administration about this. It’s unacceptable.” She turned and went out the door and Birdie and me were left sitting in the quiet library with the nice school librarian looking sad for us.

  Okay, so we did have some attendance issues. Birdie, who had always liked school, started claiming to be sick a lot, but he never felt hot to me except for maybe once. Uncle Carl told me to leave him alone, that it would take time. Well, nine months into it, four weeks into a new school year even, Birdie was still sick at least once a week. Uncle Carl never once took his temperature.

  I’m not saying Uncle Carl didn’t try to cheer us up and fix the problem. Sometimes he’d take us to the mall and we’d all share a giant Cinnabon and then walk around Scare Monkey, the gag gift store. Other times we went miniature golfing, but only on Two-Buck Tuesdays.

  To be honest, I liked not having to go to school on those days too. I never felt like I was missing anything. It’s not like I had any friends at school who would call me up later on and ask, “Hey, where were you today?”

  Still, we didn’t hear anything from Birdie’s teacher until about four weeks after Marlboro died. There was this spelling bee at Birdie’s school. Birdie was not keen on participating, but he was the best speller in his class by far and I think he wanted to try and win his teacher over.

  Uncle Carl was in the middle of trying to get Marlboro back from a taxidermist who he paid five hundred and sixty dollars to get her stuffed and mounted to a piece of shiny wood with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. I guess as a baby she got a twig lodged in her mouth that looked just like a cigarette. So, after carefully getting the stick out, he named her after his favorite cigarette brand and they were best friends for fourteen years before she choked on the cricket.