Free The Thing About Leftovers by C.C. Payne Page B

Twice, we practiced the songs we were going to sing for our parents to end Parents’ Night. Then parents started showing up.
    Now, the best part of the actual performance—for me at least—was when Buffy Lawson fell off her riser. I mean, one minute she was standing there singing, and then
SPLAT!
She was on the floor! I didn’t dare look at Miyoko, but I grabbed her hand and squeezed like,
Great gravy!
She squeezed back like,
I know!
    A few teachers and other adults rushed forward to see to Buffy, while Mrs. Gita’s hands continued dancing up and down as she stood in front of us.
Keep singing,
she mouthed.
Keep singing!
So we did.
    Mrs. Sloan—the gypsy guidance counselor—helped Buffy to her feet just as our last song ended. The gym exploded inapplause. I’m pretty sure Buffy thought the applause was for her because she smiled a shy smile and waved at the audience. Yeah, right. I mean, when you get up out of bed in the morning, do people
clap
for you? No, because let’s face it: The ability to stand up isn’t exactly awe inspiring.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    I’d just said good-bye to Miyoko and her parents and was looking for Mom when Christine Cash came up to me chewing pink bubble gum like it was her only purpose in life. (I’m not allowed to chew gum because Mom says it isn’t ladylike.)
    Christine said, “Is it true that Miyoko Hoshi is a black belt in karate?”
Chaw. Chaw. Chaw.
    I started to smile but caught myself, and instead met her eyes with my own very serious ones. “Yeah,” I said. “She knows three ways to kill a grown man instantly with her bare hands—they’re like . . .
weapons
.”
    Christine’s eyes flew open wide and she gasped. Then she had a little coughing fit—she’d nearly choked on her bubble gum.
    â€œUm, are you okay?” I asked.
    â€œFine,” she said before she scurried away.
    Note to self: Chewing gum is not only unattractive, it’s dangerous!
    I spotted Mom by the piano, talking with Mrs. Gita. I made my way over to them and then wished I hadn’t. Mom was trying to sell Mrs. Gita advertising in the newspaper!
    Here’s the thing: It was Mom’s job to sell advertising in the newspaper and that was fine. The problem was that shewas
always
trying to sell advertising, even when she wasn’t at work. Whenever Mom met somebody new, her first question was where they worked and how the company advertised. It was pretty embarrassing.
    I gave Mom a look like,
Please stop.
    â€œFizzy, how would you like to take piano lessons?!” Mom said enthusiastically, as if she were offering me a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
    â€œUm . . . I don’t know,” I said, giving Mrs. Gita an apologetic smile.
    â€œWe’ll discuss it—I’m sure Fizzy would love piano lessons,” Mom told Mrs. Gita.
    Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned.
    â€œHi,” Zach said.
    â€œOh, hi.” I felt fluttery feelings in my stomach, but not like sickness—like something else. Then I realized Mom was staring at us. “Mom, this is my friend Zach Mabry. Zach, this is my mom.”
    â€œA pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Russo,” Zach said. “I can see where Fizzy gets her good looks.”
    My mouth fell open.
Good looks? He thinks I have good looks?
    Mom must’ve been thinking the same thing because she raised one—very suspicious—eyebrow at Zach.
    He showed her his teeth.
    â€œWell, we’d better get going,” Mom said to me, and then she said to Zach, “It was very . . .
interesting
meeting you.”
    â€œYou too,” Zach said to Mom’s back.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    It had turned dark outside and the wind stung my face with cold. Mom and I ducked our heads and hurried to the car.
    As soon as we were inside with the doors shut, I said, “I don’t want to take piano lessons.”
    Mom