I didn't tell mom about the weird stuff with showers and things. I wasn't sure if Mark was trying to tell me something with all that, and I didn't want to seem totally clueless. We had a good time, after all.
I told her about Mark's parents and our discussion about my aunt's horse and how nice everyone was to me (except for Mark, sometimes, but I didn't say that). It seemed to make her happy, which made me happy, of course, and feel less weird about the shower thing. Mom suggested that Mark might come with us the next time we went out to see the horse. That idea made me a little nervous because it practically guaranteed that I would have to finally ride her horse and not chicken out.
By Sunday night, though, I was secreting wishing I hadn't told her anything. Whenever she got a chance, she reminded me how happy she was for me, how lucky I was to find a good friend, how much she liked Mark, and how proud she was of me. She was laying it on so thick I felt like she was surprised that I wasn't the loser she thought I was.
So why was I feeling more immature and pathetic?
Usually, my mom and I have a movie night on Sunday, but once she pulled out the calendar and started looking at dates to bring Mark to my aunt's place, I told her I was too tired and went to my room and lay there instead. Honestly, I felt like she thought of me as some random kid who was lucky to be Mark's friend instead of her son. I wanted to tell her to give it a break.
But I didn't.
I was so worn out from the stress of the sleepover that I slept late Monday morning and woke up when mom had already left for work. I ate breakfast, watched a little television, and was still in pajamas at ten o'clock when someone knocked at the door.
Well, "someone" isn't entirely true. I knew at the first knock that it was Mark. Sooner or later, I wanted to tell him to call before he came over. So I opened the door, knowing what was coming.
He held back a laugh, looking over my pajamas, "Those are worse than the other ones!"
The pajamas I was wearing had pictures of horses. To be honest, they were made for younger kids, but since I was small, my mom bought them for me. I didn't mind wearing them, either; they were comfortable as heck.
I stood up for myself this time, "Well, it's my house, my rules. And anyway, it's not like I'm going to answer the door in my underwear!"
He actually laughed, and I counted that as a small victory. Then, he walked by me into the apartment.
"Do you have plastic bags?"
Random question, I thought, but I didn't think much of it and went to a kitchen cabinet and opened it for him.
He pulled out one of the large trash bags, "You want to go to the mall again?"
I shrugged, "Just gotta get ready," I told him, adding, "I'm going to take a shower." I was going to anyway, but knowing how weird he was about showers, I wanted to make sure he knew. Our bathroom had a lock, at least, so that cut down on the weirdness.
I grabbed my clothes from my room and went to take a shower.
I was in the bathroom for about fifteen minutes before I returned to my bedroom.
"I made some improvements," he told me.195Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfPzD20zysP
The horse poster was gone, replaced with the two posters he'd brought for me the other day. And my bed was missing the stuffed animals.
Including Max.
"Where are they?"195Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNaa1yPcwIn
"Look," he told me, stepping closer to me so that I felt smaller (I was beginning to see that as a regular Mark trick), "I knew you wouldn't do it on your own, so I got rid of them for you."
"Got rid of them?" I went over to the closet to find them.
"I threw them out," he told me, "sometimes you have to just be tough about it."195Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgSpz4Zu9qH
He was partly right, and I didn't care anymore about the other animals. But Max was different.
"Where?" I looked all around the room for the plastic bag, but it was nowhere. I headed from my bedroom door.195Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVfwpqTz4mT
He blocked me.
"Don't be a baby about it."195Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfPJXYWs1jm
He didn't sound angry—but I was.
"You had no right to do that."
"Would you have done it yourself?"
I didn't answer him.
"They're in the dumpster already, so they're as good as gone. So let's go to the mall."195Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbbib8Cd0G0
I wanted to go look for Max right away, but I had to play this carefully. Part of me knew that getting upset about stuffed animals would really tick him off. 195Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtRLQH78Vs7
But Max was the only thing I had that had any connection to my father. My mom says they both gave it to me for my second birthday. I wasn't sure if Matt would understand, though—to him, it was a ratty bear.195Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIrqx8cDA3p
The trash truck had already come by early in the morning, which meant the dumpster wouldn't be emptied again until morning. That meant I could rescue Max when I got home.
"Sure, let's go," I told Mark. I wanted to get the mall over with as soon as possible.195Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnOCJURkoPQ
Unlike the last time, he didn't get mad at me once during the whole time or call me a baby. When we went to the frozen yogurt place again, he didn't rush me to finish. He seemed to be okay with me finally, which felt good.
After lunch, I told him I had some chores, so I had an excuse to go home. As soon as we reached the corner where I went to the left, and he went straight, I started running the second I was out of view.
I headed got back to our building and headed straight for the dumpster. It was already piled high with bags just like the one I'd given Mark.
I didn't care. I climbed over into the bin and started ripping open bags, looking for Max and all the other ones. I dove in even deeper a couple of times to hide when people came by to throw in more garbage. It took me half an hour of ripping into bags of food and dirty diapers until I found my bag.
I was covered in grime and poop and every other gross thing, but at least I found my Max. I knew I was acting like a baby, but I stood there in the dumpster and cried.
195Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡh8bc7EQyvQ
