Mom turned the car into a weathered strip mall.
I thought about holding my breath until she asked me something-like how I was feeling about starting seventh grade, or if there were any boys I liked-but I figured I’d pass out first. Our conversations were usually limited to arguing about chores or exchanging phone messages.
These days it seemed like if we weren’t fighting, we didn’t have much to say to each other. Sarah started singing to herself, and Mom and I were silent. He was staying with a friend up in northern California until they worked things out. Usually when Mom kicked Dad out only a couple of weeks passed before they made up. “Mommy, when’s Daddy coming home?” Sarah, my four-year-old sister, asked from the backseat. “If your father were around-other than via his cell phone-maybe we could afford contacts. Mom’s lips stretched so thin they practically disappeared. “Dad said I should get contacts instead of glasses.” So last night, I’d come up with a plan-a way to make sure I didn’t get stuck wearing glasses, no matter how bad my eyesight was. With my freckles and crazy-frizzy hair, it would be like painting a target on my face and handing out bows and arrows to the student body. No way was I showing up to Pacificview Middle School-my new prison, as of tomorrow-with nerd-tastic glasses on my face. “You’re right, it won’t.” I closed my journal and tucked it under my seat. Your headaches are happening for a reason. People who wear glasses get made fun of.” “There’s nothing to talk about,” I answered, putting the finishing touches on my new story, “Polka Dot and the Cranky Fairy Godmother.” “I don’t want glasses.
“Could you please stop writing in the car and talk to me?” Mom asked, flicking the turn signal and heading into the left lane. “Get yourself some glasses and stop pestering me.” “I’m on a coffee break, kid,” said the fairy godmother. Sweet naive Polka Dot, no one ever told her some fairy godmothers have ginormous attitude issues. So when Polka Dot spotted a fairy godmother resting on a park bench, she kept her wish simple and begged for better eyesight. Poor Polka Dot felt like a total weirdo, and always wished a fairy godmother would appear and cut her some slack.īut that was just too darn bad, because fairy godmothers only care about beautiful girls with wicked stepmothers. Everyone laughed at her and called her Polka Dot. Once there was a girl with hair the color of dead leaves, teeth the size of piano keys, freckles as big as polka dots, and eyes that couldn’t see squat.
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