Free Pack of Dorks by Beth Vrabel Page A

have made a decision. A decision to be happy! And we’re starting today.”
    “I made no such decision.” I yanked the blankets back from the foot of my bed.
    “As your parental units, we’ve decided on your behalf.”
    “Staying in bed will make me happy.” My head fell back in the perfect fluff of my pillow. Now if Dad would just go away.
    “Not today! Molly slept for four hours straight last night. A new record! I’ve never felt so refreshed! We’re going to seize the day!”
    “Stop yelling!”
    “No!” he chirped.
    “Grrr!”
    “That’s the spirit!” Dad clapped his hands and whistled.
    With a huge sigh, I sat up and planted my feet on the floor. “Fine,” I grumped. “I’m up.”
    I’ve got to admit: when I made it to the breakfast table and saw that Mom had arranged orange slices in a flower pattern and Dad had made a smiley face with egg eyes, bacon smile, and a toast triangle nose, I started to catch some of their happiness bug. Not that I’d share that with them yet.
    “So,” I said, eating the bacon smile first, “now that I’m up, what do we have to do today?”
    “Be happy,” Mom said simply and sat beside me. She was holding Molly and patted her rump gently. Molly blinked slowly from where she curled against Mom’s chest. I leaned over and kissed her nose, and she smiled again. Her smile was pretty awesome.
    “Be happy doing what exactly?” I asked, moving on to making my egg face a Cyclops.
    “Let’s take a walk,” Dad said.
    “Yes!” I squealed. Finally!
    But then Mom said, “Great idea! Let’s go to the park. Maybe you’ll see some friends there, Lucy.”
    It took a lot of work to keep that smile on my face. But as much as I wanted to just take my usual wandering walk with Dad, I saw how determined Mom was to be happy and couldn’t suggest she and Molly stay home.
    “Are you sure?” Dad said softly. “It’s T-ball season. I’m sure we’ll see a lot of families at the park. Are you . . . ready for that?”
    “Yes,” Mom said firmly. I wondered what that was about.

    I didn’t have to wonder for long.
    As soon as we got to the park, other moms flocked to Molly’s stroller like Sheldon to a dinosaur exhibit. “The baby!” they shrieked in this annoying stretched-out voice. “Aaaahh!”
    And then they’d lean in and look at her round little face, at her narrow eyes and her flat nose, and at her pink little mouth and the soft double chin. I didn’t understand at first, the face the moms made. I thought maybe Molly had spit up or something, because the moms all reacted the same way. They stopped mid-coo and bit their bottom lips. Their breath left in a wobbly gasp, and they stopped just short of touching Molly. They looked at Mom and their eyes got wet.
    At first, Mom kept her decision to be happy. She smiled brightly and said Mom things such as, “She’s almost two months old already!” and “Our little sweetie-pie! It’s her first time at the park.” But the other moms just nodded and said, “How are you doing? How is everyone adjusting?” I could hear Mom’s teeth grinding behind her smile.
    “What’s wrong with them?” I whispered to Dad, who wasn’t even trying to be happy any more.
    Dad looked at me for a long time, and I didn’t think he was ever going to answer. Finally, he knelt so we were eye to eye. “They’re noticing that Molly has Down syndrome.”
    “Oh,” I said. “That’s it?”
    “Yeah,” Dad sighed and stood again. “That’s it.”
    “But she’s still a baby. I mean, they wanted to see a baby. She’s a baby.”
    Dad stared at me for another minute and then said, “I love you, Lucy.” It was one of those times when someone says they love you and you feel it more than hear it.
    By the time Mrs. Chester dashed over—April’s baby brother stationed on her hip—Mom was losing it. “Let’s go,” she whispered to Dad.
    But Scrappy, wearing a baseball uniform and glove, darted around his mom and ran toward us.