Amber Brown Is on the Move Page 7

  “What kind of things do you talk about?”

  He shrugs. “Life stuff. How to do better with people. How to be a better person. And, of course, how to be a better dad.”

  “Do you ever talk about what to do when you’ve hurt someone or made a bad mistake?”

  Dad looks at me curiously. I can tell he really wants to ask if something has happened. Instead he just says, “My counselor has told me the first thing to do is admit that I screwed up. But she also says that just saying you’re sorry isn’t enough. It’s better if you can show that you’re sorry and then try to figure out a way to make things better. Sometimes it doesn’t happen fast. Think of the times you’ve been so mad at me.”

  I do. And then I think of the fact that I’ve never stopped loving Dad and feeling that he loves me back.

  I need to do something to show Max that I am sorry.

  It’s not until I am going to sleep that night that I finally figure out what it’s going to be.

  Chapter

  Seventeen

  I, Amber Brown, am sitting in my room. Mom and Max are out working in the yard.

  Mom seemed happy to see me. Max acted like he was happy to see me, but he is not a very good actor.

  I am sitting at my desk. Beside me is the pig-taking-a-bubble-bath alarm clock/bank that Aunt Pam gave me.

  I write a note. I don’t use glitter. I don’t use fancy paper. I keep it simple.

  Dear Max,

  Please use the money in this bank to help repair the ceiling. I am very sorry for what I did, and I hope you will forgive me. I know you are proud of this new house, and I feel very bad that I created such a mess.

  Love,

  Amber

  I take my note and the bank down to the kitchen. I put it on the counter. Then I go back to my room.

  I lie down on my bed and start to cry. I am leaking worse than the ceiling. I am not trying to get attention. I am not trying to get sympathy. I just can’t hold it in anymore.

  Even though I thought I was being quiet, Mom comes in.

  “Amber, what is it?” she asks.

  I just shake my head. I can’t answer her. She holds out her arms. I sit up and put my head against her chest.

  She rocks me for a while, then says, “Amber, tell me about it.”

  “It’s not it,” I sob. “It’s everything.”

  It all comes out . . . . . how upset I am about the move . . . . how worried I am about the tests . . . . . . and most of all, how bad I feel about what I did to the house.

  “I think Max hates me,” I sob.

  “I don’t,” says a quiet voice.

  I look up. Max is standing in the doorway.

  He comes into the room and sits on the floor next to the bed.

  “I appreciate your apology, Amber. I could tell it came from your heart, and it made me feel better. But it made me realize that I also owe you an apology. I was really mad about what happened . . . . . too mad. I got so upset about the house that I lost track of the fact that what I really wanted is a home . . . . . a home with you and your mother, the people I love. I got kind of trapped by my anger, and I should have moved on by now. I’m sorry.”

  For a little while, no one says anything. Then Max stands up.

  “Can I have a hug?” he asks softly.

  I stand up. So does Mom. We all hold each other close.

  Maybe this place can be home after all. . . .

  Chapter

  Eighteen

  Testing is weird. The whole school feels different . . . . . especially our classroom. It’s usually so colorful. Now the walls are bare!

  “What happened to this place?” Jimmy Russell asks. “A sneak attack from the bulletin board bandit?”

  Mrs. Holt shakes her head. “State testing rules mandate that our room can’t have anything displaying words or numbers on the walls while testing is taking place.”

  “Why?” Brandi asks. “Are they afraid you’re going to post the answers on the walls?”

  Mrs. Holt gives her a weak smile and says, “Ours is not to reason why, ours is but to test and try.”

  I think she’s mangling an old poem, but I’m not sure.

  Once everyone is in their seats and the room is quiet, she says, “All right, you all know the drill. In a minute I will pass out the test booklets and the number two pencils. Remember, you must not use anything other than the pencil I give you.”

  “You mean we all have to do number two?” Bobby cries.

  A few kids laugh. I want to laugh too, but I think it’s probably not a good idea.

  Hannah Burton rolls her eyes and says, “You are so gross, Bobby!”

  To my surprise, Mrs. Holt doesn’t say anything. Instead, she walks over to Bobby’s desk and stares at him. Everyone is quiet now. The silence goes on for a long time.

  Finally Bobby says, “Sorry, Mrs. Holt,” in a very quiet voice.

  Mrs. Holt nods and goes back to the front of the room. “Remember, class . . . . the machines that score these tests aren’t as smart as you are. They can’t read anything but a number two pencil.”

  We laugh, but it’s not a very easy laugh.

  “I’m going to pass the booklets out now, but don’t open them yet. The state mandates that before you do, I must read you the instructions word for word. All right, before we officially start, everybody take a deep breath. Let it out. Smile.”

  If my smile looks like the ones around me, we could label a photograph of us NOTHING TO SMILE ABOUT.

  I get my booklet.

  Mrs. Holt reads us the instructions.

  We begin.

  I know you are supposed to focus when you are taking the tests, but the people who give them don’t seem to realize that sometimes your life has other things going on that distract you.

  I am glad that things have settled down at home. Otherwise I do not think there would have been any point in me taking the tests at all. But today I am ready to focus.

  I don’t think about missing my old house.

  I don’t think about the leak.

  I don’t think about how much I wish I was outside doing something else.

  I think about sticking to the path. For each question I try to figure out what the test is really asking.

  I pretend I am a camera. I can only take one picture at a time. Each question is a picture and I have to focus on it and nothing else.

  Some of the questions are very easy. Some don’t make any sense at all. I know I do not have to get them all right. . . . . . . Mr. Poindexter told us that we are not even expected to get them all right.

  Before Saturday Academy, I used to worry about that a lot. I would get stuck on a question and it would get me so upset that I couldn’t move on to the next. Today I do the best I can, then pick an answer and go on.

  Mrs. Holt walks around the room. She can’t talk to us, but she’s not allowed to sit down either. You would think the people who make these rules would know how distracting that is.

  Thinking about that makes me start to think about how silly some of these rules are. If I were in charge of the tests, I would make different rules.

  Yikes! I have totally lost my focus.

  I take a deep breath and bring myself back to the path . . . . back to the test.

  This feels different. Maybe part of focusing is learning to know when you’ve left the path and making sure you get back on it.

  I move on to the next question. And the next.

  All the way to the end of the test.

  Chapter

  Nineteen

  “All right, ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the swing. Take your positions. Ready? Five, six, seven, eight, dance!”

  The crowd begins to yell. I know that Mom and Max are watching. And Dad. And Mrs. Holt. And Miss Isobel, and even Ramón. I know, but I don’t fus
s about it.

  Bobby and I bounce to the beat of the music. In swing you’re supposed to smile, and Bobby and I are both grinning. I keep my eyes on him and we don’t miss a step.

  Before the contest started . . . . . and even through the first couple of dances . . . . . . . I had butterflies in my stomach. Now I feel like I’ve got wings on my shoulders.

  Miss Isobel taught us that the swing is a dance where we should let loose and yet remain in control. That never made sense to me before, but suddenly that’s what Bobby and I are doing.

  The judges move around the dance floor, tapping the shoulders of other couples. When they tap your shoulder, you are out.

  During the tango, we were one of the first couples to get tapped. Brandi and Fredrich won that one. I’ve never seen Fredrich look so happy.

  Bobby and I didn’t do that well in the waltz or the fox trot either.

  Swing wasn’t even a dance we thought we were good at. But suddenly we are flying.

  Now there are only three couples left.

  My legs are feeling like jelly. I don’t think we’ve ever danced this long.

  Bobby begins to laugh.

  I do too.

  I hope we win.

  Even if we don’t, I know that I, Amber Brown, will keep dancing . . . . . and keep moving on.