Amber Brown Sees Red Page 4

  “Exactly,” I say. “Since I was little..... But now I’m in fourth grade and no one wears her hair like this anymore.”

  “It’s so cute,” she repeats.

  “And look at this.” I let my hair down. “I have split ends and the bangs are covering my eyes. I’m having a bad hair day..... No, actually I’m having a bad hair life.”

  “Let me guess.You want to do something different with your hair.” She starts making an omelette.

  I nod.

  My bangs cover my eyes.

  She sighs. “I love the ponytails.”

  “Mom. I’m in the fourth grade .... remember ? ! Nobody wears her hair like this anymore ... and even if they did, I don’t want to anymore.” I put a piece of bacon into my mouth.

  She sighs. “You’re growing up so fast.”

  I, Amber Brown, hope she remembers that when she and my dad make decisions about my life. I hope that she realizes that it’s my hair, it’s my life ... and I have a say in what happens.

  She sighs again. “OK. After breakfast, I’ll call the salon and see if they can fit you in. While I get my hair trimmed and colored, maybe you can get a haircut.”

  “I’d like to get more than ‘a hair’ cut.... I’d like to get all of them cut.” I grin at her.

  She puts our breakfast on plates, we eat, and then we head off to the salon.

  I’m ready.

  Walking into the salon, I look around and try to figure out what I want to do with my hair.

  Do I want them to trim it, just at the edges, to get rid of the split ends?

  Do I want them to cut it shoulder length so that I can still put it up with ponytails and still be able to use scrunchies?

  I, Amber Brown, don’t know.

  I just know that I want to get my hair cut.

  I sit down in the waiting area.

  My mom and I look at fashion magazines and try to pick out a haircut.

  She points to one picture. “How about that look?”

  Shaking my head, I make a face. “No. No. No. I’ll look like an eggshell with bird poop on it.”

  “No you won’t.” My mom playfully taps my arm with the magazine. “You’ll look cute.”

  Cute.

  A woman comes up and takes me over to the sink to wash my hair.

  Torture. It’s total torture.

  I’ve got to sit in this big uncomfortable chair with my head leaning back in this groove.

  The hair washer must have learned how to shampoo at the School of Hair Pain.

  “Stop squirming,” she tells me.

  Stop killing my head, I think, but I’m afraid to say it out loud in case she scrubs my head even harder.

  Finally, I’m shampooed, cream-rinsed, and let free.

  Even though there is a towel around my hurting neck, the water is dripping down my back. It’s dripping all the way down. It’s making my underpants wet.

  Sitting in the styling area, I wait for the haircut guy to come over.

  I, Amber Brown, am getting very nervous.

  He, my mom, and I talk about what to do.

  I just want my hair to look wonderful. I want to look like I can handle anything and should be listened to.

  “Trust me,” he says, starting to cut.

  Halfway through the cut, I realize that he is cutting it too short.

  “Stop!” I yell.

  It’s too late.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I hate my hair. I hate my hair. I hate my hair. I hate my hair. I hate my hair. I hate my hair. I hate my hair. I hate my hair. I hate my hair.

  I, Amber Brown, hate my hair.

  I make one of my first grown-up decisions and it’s a disaster.

  I wonder if the rest of my life is going to be like this, if I can ever trust myself again.

  The haircutting guy, who I now refer to as Hack, ruined my hair.

  He cut it so that the rest of my hair is even with my ears..... My bangs don’t even touch my eyebrows. And my eyebrows are going to catch cold.

  When I want to chew on a strand of my hair, it doesn’t even come close to my mouth.

  I’ve had to change from hair chewing to nail chewing.

  I’m running out of fingernails ... and I don’t think that I’m going to change to toe-nail biting.

  I, Amber Brown, am never going to come out of my room.

  When I go back to school, it’s going to be awful.

  The boys are going to tease me.

  The new boy, Hal, already has given me a new nickname ..... “ ’AMBERger Brown.” I tried to explain that it was hambUrger, not hambErger, but he said, “Same difference.” When he sees me now, I just know that he’s going to call me “chopped ’Amberger.”

  There’s a knock on the door.

  “Go away,” I say. “Nobody’s here.”

  My mom knocks again.

  I say nothing.

  She walks in. “Amber. The mail has just arrived. There’s a present for you from Aunt Pam.”

  “Bring it in here,” I say.

  She shakes her head. “No. If you want it, you’re going to have to come downstairs and get it.”

  “Bring it up here,” I say. “I am never leaving my room again.”

  “Amber Marie Brown.” She’s using that “I’m serious, you better stop this right now” voice. “Either you come down right now and look at it, or I’m putting it away for a while.”

  It’s not fair. It’s a present for me.

  And anyway, I’m not sure that I believe that there really is a present for me. It’s probably a trick.

  I think about it.

  My mom doesn’t lie.

  Aunt Pam does send me lots of surprises.

  I go downstairs.

  There is a package with a California post-mark.

  I open it ..... two wrapped presents, with an envelope.

  I open the envelope first.

  Aunt Pam and Mom have trained me to read the card before opening the present.

  The front of the card is actually a picture that someone took of Aunt Pam and me in front of Big Ben in London.

  Aunt Pam has drawn a speech balloon coming out of the clock. It’s as if the clock is saying, “IT’S TIME TO GIVE AMBER BROWN AN ‘I LOVE YOU’ PRESENT.”

  Inside it says,

  I saw these and thought of you.... ...You know that you can call and - talk to me whenever you want to.

  Love,

  Aunt Pam

  I open the first package.

  It’s personalized crayons with my name on them.

  Aunt Pam knows how the kids are always saying, “Amber Brown is a crayon,” and I’m always saying, “Amber Brown is not a crayon.”

  I can’t believe that she found them.

  It makes me laugh but I hope that none of the kids see them. I’ll really get teased.

  The next package is much bigger.

  I unwrap it.

  “Uggh,” my mother says, “that’s so gross.”

  I really laugh.

  It is gross, so gross, so very gross.

  It’s a game called Gooey Louie.

  I set it up.

  It’s a giant plastic head.

  I put the “gooeys,” green fluorescent snots, into Louie’s nose, set up his brain, and get ready to play the game with my mom.

  We keep putting our fingers up Louie’s nose and pulling gooeys out of it.

  There’s one gooey that’s secretly attached to something so that when that one gets pulled, Louie’s brain pops out of the top of his head.

  I really wish that Justin were here. He would love, Love, LOVE this game. Where he lives now in Alabama, he and his new friends have started a group called the Royal Order of the Snots. He even gave me something called Snap Snots, which you stick up your nose.

  I am having such a good time, I’ve almost forgotten how upset I was.

  Putting my hand on my hair, I remember why I was so upset.

  My hair ....

  I hate my hair.


  “I hate my hair,” I tell my mom. “It’s all your fault that this happened.”

  She looks at me. “Why is it my fault? I liked it the way it looked. I told you not to cut it.... And anyway, your hair looks terrific with this style.”

  I pull out a gooey. “I hate my hair. It’s all your fault ... your fault and Dad’s fault ... I wouldn’t have cut my hair if I didn’t have to be more grown up, if you two would just stop fighting and just let ME be the child.”

  My mother pulls out a gooey and Louie’s brain flies out.

  She loses.

  While I refill Louie’s nose, I say, “I am really angry at you.”

  I say something that I once heard her say. “I’m so angry that I’m seeing red.”

  My mother looks serious for a minute and then she laughs.

  “This is not funny.” I slam Louie’s nose down.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “I just thought ‘Amber Brown sees red.’ That’s very colorful.”

  My own mother, my own mother who named me, making fun of my name..... It’s just more than I can handle.

  I try to stay angry, but I do think it’s funny, kind of.

  I put a gooey by her nose and say, “Careful ... or I’m going to pull this and pop your brain out.”

  “You are so gross,” my mom says.

  “Thank you,” say.

  My mom looks at me and gets serious. “Honey, are you really upset by what’s happening?”

  I nod.

  Usually my mom is pretty smart about things. How can she not think all of this fighting bothers me?

  “I hate it. I hate that you and Daddy got divorced. I hate that you don’t want him to come back to this country. I hate that you two can’t get along. I hate that you always call him HIM or HE and that he always calls you HER or SHE.”

  “It could be worse. We could be calling each other worse names.” My mom tries to joke. “Like IT or WHAT’S-HIS- or -HER-FACE.”

  I don’t say anything.

  My mom makes me really mad when she tries to kid about something this serious .... when I’m trying to tell her something this important.

  I, Amber Brown, am not just seeing red .... I’m seeing purple .... orange ..... magenta.

  It’s very quiet. I’m not saying anything. My mom is not saying anything. Gooey Louie is not saying anything.

  My mom folds her arms in front of her and rests her head on them.

  Finally, she raises her head and sighs. “I try so hard to be a good mother.”

  “I know,” I say.

  Even though I’m mad at her, I know that she tries hard, that she is a good mother.

  “I’ll call your dad and talk to him. I’ll do my best. I hope that he’ll do his best. If we need to, we’ll get counseling,” she says.

  “Thanks.” I get up and hug her.

  She hugs me back.

  We sit down and play Gooey Louie again.

  Again, my mom makes his brain fly.

  I, Amber Brown, am getting very good at this game.

  I think about how Mr. Cohen, my third grade teacher, used to say, “Let your imagination soar.”

  He should see Louie.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Hair today Gone tomorrow.” Hannah Burton looks up at me while we’re choosing our bowling balls. “You looked better when your hair was covering your face.”

  I think about how I’m finally getting used to my hair, how in the beginning I wore my baseball cap to hide it.

  It’s been over a week and everyone else leaves me alone about my hair, but not Hannah.

  I think about dropping the bowling ball on her foot but decide against it.

  I hope that she drops a bowling ball on her own foot.

  “Practice time,” Max calls out. “Pinsters in Lane Six.”

  We rush over to our lanes.

  The practice begins.

  I have trouble concentrating.

  My dad was supposed to meet me this morning before practice but his plane is late.

  Now my mom is waiting at the house to talk to him about stuff, and then they’re going to come over to the bowling alley together. I know that they’ve been talking to each other a lot on the phone.

  It’s hard to concentrate but I try to pay attention to what our team is doing.

  It’s Brandi’s turn.

  She starts walking down the lane with a bowling ball and then walks back. She picks up a second ball and throws them both down the alley at the same time.

  Nine pins are knocked down.

  One of the guys who works at the bowling alley comes over and yells at her.

  Max goes over and calms the guy down. When the guy leaves, Max turns to Brandi and says, “Bulletin. Bulletin. Bulletin.... Late-breaking news. Brandi Colwin, future newscaster, is going to promise NEVER to do that again ... or the next news flash will be that Ms. Colwin has been benched.”

  “I’ve never heard of a bowler getting benched,” Hal says. “Wow, Brandi. That’s cool.”

  She grins at him.

  That makes me a little jealous and nervous but not a lot because Brandi has said that I’m still her best girl friend.

  Max says, “Brandi.”

  Brandi tries to look sorry so that she doesn’t get benched but I can tell that she had fun throwing the two balls down the lane at once.

  “Max,” Brandi says, “I promise to be good. Please, don’t bench me.”

  “OK.” Max tries to look very serious but I can tell that he’s not too upset.

  I, Amber Brown, would like to try throwing two balls down the alley, but it would be hard to do because Max is the coach.

  Max is a great coach. He helps. He’s fun. He’s not too strict, but he’s strict enough.

  I’d be having a great time if I wasn’t so worried about what’s going to happen when my dad gets here.

  “Your turn,” Greg yells.

  I pretend that the pins are everyone who is driving me nuts.

  Strike.

  I knock them all down.

  Going back to my seat, I look around.

  My parents are not here yet.

  In Lane Ten, I see Hannah Burton start to bowl.

  Miss. Miss. Miss, I think.

  Hannah gets a gutter ball.

  Yes.

  Maybe my brain can will things to happen.

  Hannah bowls again.

  Miss. Miss. Miss, I think.

  Hannah knocks them all down.

  So much for my brain wishpower.

  “Amber.” I hear my father’s voice.

  I turn around.

  My father is standing next to my mother.

  “Daddy,” I yell, not caring who hears me calling him Daddy.

  I rush up to him, jump up, hug him, and wrap my legs around his waist, just like I did when I was little.

  He holds me just like he did when I was little but I can feel his legs wobble just a bit.

  “You got taller,” he says.

  I get down.

  “And older,” he says.

  “So did you,” I tease.

  “Taller and older?” he teases back, standing up very straight.

  I look at my dad.

  He doesn’t look as tall as he used to look.

  “And balder,” I tease him again.

  I always used to tease him about his losing his hair and starting to look like my grandpa.

  My dad pats the top of his head and then he looks over at my mom, who is standing next to Max, who has his arm around her waist.

  Max has a lot of hair.

  My dad looks back at me. His eyes are a little sad.

  “I love the way you look, Daddy,” I say, hugging him again.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” my dad says softly. “I was wrong to let them transfer me so far away. I need to be closer to my little girl.... It got so lonely there.”

  It makes me feel so good to know that he felt lonely without me.

  Then, for a second, I think about how he didn’t always
stay in touch, how he told me about this woman he was dating and about her kid. So he wasn’t always so lonely.

  But then I stop thinking about that.

  My dad is back ... and he loves me.

  “Your turn, Amber,” Greg yells.

  Greg bowls after me and he hates to wait.

  I think Greg would like it best if he could be his own bowling team and never wait for anyone else to take a turn.

  I hug my father again and then I go back to the alley.

  Before bowling, I turn around.

  Max and Mom are standing there, together. Their arms are around each other’s waists.

  There’s a look that my mom gets on her face when she’s a little nervous. She’s got it now.

  I look at my father, who is standing there alone.

  “Go!” Gregory yells.

  I turn back to the alley.

  It’s hard to keep my mind on the game when so much is going on in my real life.

  My life is a little like my bowling.

  There’s always something new to learn, some way to do better.

  It’s just about impossible to be perfect all the time. In fact, some days it’s hard to do anything right. But sometimes things go really well. There are a lot of new things to learn, a lot of new rules and regulations.

  Things don’t always work out the way I want them to.

  But I’m learning.

  I’m learning to be part of a team, even if the team doesn’t always do what I want.

  I’m also learning to be the best that I can be on my own.

  I may never bowl a perfect game.

  I may never have a perfect life.

  There is one thing, though, that I know for sure.

  I, Amber Brown, am going to be a winner.