CONTENTS
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TEASER
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALSO AVAILABLE
COPYRIGHT
My name is Amy Kramer, and every Thursday night I feel a little dumb. That’s because Thursday is “Family Sharing Night” at my house.
Sara and Jed think it’s dumb, too. But Mom and Dad won’t listen to our complaints. “It’s the most important night of the week,” Dad says.
“It’s a family tradition,” Mom adds. “It’s something you kids will always remember.”
Right, Mom. It’s something I’ll always remember as really painful and embarrassing.
You’ve probably guessed that on Family Sharing Night, every member of the Kramer family — except for George, our cat — has to share something with the rest of the family.
It isn’t so bad for my sister, Sara. Sara is fourteen — two years older than me — and she’s a genius painter. Really. One of her paintings was chosen for a show at the art museum downtown. Sara may go to a special arts high school next year.
So Sara always shares some sketches she’s working on. Or a new painting.
And Family Sharing Night isn’t so bad for Jed, either. My ten-year-old brother is such a total goof. He doesn’t care what he shares. One Thursday night, he burped really loud and explained that he was sharing his dinner.
Jed laughed like a lunatic.
But Mom and Dad didn’t think it was funny. They gave Jed a stern lecture about taking Family Sharing Night more seriously.
The next Thursday night, my obnoxious brother shared a note that David Miller, a kid at my school, had written to me. A very personal note! Jed found the note in my room and decided to share it with everyone.
Nice?
I wanted to die. I really did.
Jed just thinks he’s so cute and adorable, he can get away with anything. He thinks he’s really special.
I think it’s because he’s the only redhead in the family. Sara and I both have straight black hair, dark green eyes, and very tan skin. With his pale skin, freckled face, and curly red hair, Jed looks like he comes from another family!
And sometimes Sara and I both wish he did.
Anyway, I’m the one with the most problems on Family Sharing Night. Because I’m not really talented the way Sara is. And I’m not a total goof like Jed.
So I never really know what to share.
I mean, I have a seashell collection, which I keep in a jar on my dresser. But it’s really kind of boring to hold up shells and talk about them. And we haven’t been to the ocean for nearly two years. So my shells are kind of old, and everyone has already seen them.
I also have a really good collection of CDs. But no one else in my family is into Bob Marley and reggae music. If I start to share some music with them, they all hold their ears and complain till I shut it off.
So I usually make up some kind of a story — an adventure story about a girl who survives danger after danger. Or a wild fairy tale about princesses who turn into tigers.
After my last story, Dad had a big smile on his face. “Amy is going to be a famous writer,” he announced. “She’s so good at making up stories.” Dad gazed around the room, still smiling. “We have such a talented family!” he exclaimed.
I knew he was just saying that to be a good parent. To “encourage” me. Sara is the real talent in our family. Everyone knows that.
Tonight, Jed was the first to share. Mom and Dad sat on the living room couch. Dad had taken out a tissue and was squinting as he cleaned his glasses. Dad can’t stand to have the tiniest speck of dust on his glasses. He cleans them about twenty times a day.
I settled in the big brown armchair against the wall. Sara sat cross-legged on the carpet beside my chair.
“What are you going to share tonight?” Mom asked Jed. “And I hope it isn’t another horrible burp.”
“That was so gross!” Sara moaned.
“Your face is gross!” Jed shot back. He stuck out his tongue at Sara.
“Jed, please — give us a break tonight,” Dad muttered, slipping his glasses back on, adjusting them on his nose. “Don’t cause trouble.”
“She started it,” Jed insisted, pointing at Sara.
“Just share something,” I told Jed, sighing.
“I’m going to share your freckles,” Sara told him. “I’m going to pull them off one by one and feed them to George.”
Sara and I laughed. George didn’t glance up. He was curled up, napping on the carpet beside the couch.
“That’s not funny, girls,” Mom snapped. “Stop being mean to your brother.”
“This is supposed to be a family night,” Dad wailed. “Why can’t we be a family?”
“We are!” Jed insisted.
Dad frowned and shook his head. He looks like an owl when he does that. “Jed, are you going to share something?” he demanded weakly.
Jed nodded. “Yeah.” He stood in the center of the room and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. He wears loose, baggy jeans about ten sizes too big. They always look as if they’re about to fall down. Jed thinks that’s cool.
“I … uh … learned to whistle through my fingers,” he announced.
“Wow,” Sara muttered sarcastically.
Jed ignored her. He pulled his hands from his pockets. Then he stuck his two little fingers into the sides of his mouth — and let out a long, shrill whistle.
He whistled through his fingers two more times. Then he took a deep bow. The whole family burst into loud applause.
Jed, grinning, took another low bow.
“Such a talented family!” Dad declared. This time, he meant it as a joke.
Jed dropped down on the floor beside George, startling the poor cat awake.
“Your turn next, Amy,” Mom said, turning to me. “Are you going to tell us another story?”
“Her stories are too long!” Jed complained.
George climbed unsteadily to his feet and moved a few feet away from Jed. Yawning, the cat dropped onto his stomach beside Mom’s feet.
“I’m not going to tell a story tonight,” I announced. I picked up Dennis from behind my armchair.
Sara and Jed both groaned.
“Hey — give me a break!” I shouted. I settled back on the edge of the chair, fixing my dummy on my lap. “I thought I’d talk to Dennis tonight,” I told Mom and Dad.
They had half-smiles on their faces. I didn’t care. I’d been practicing with Dennis all week. And I wanted to try out my new comedy routine with him.
“Amy is a lousy ventriloquist,” Jed chimed in. “You can see her lips move.”
“Be quiet, Jed. I think Dennis is funny,” Sara said. She scooted toward the couch so she could see better.
I balanced Dennis on my left knee and wrapped my fingers around the string in his back that worked his mouth. Dennis is a very old ventriloquist’s dummy. The paint on his face is faded. One eye is almost completely white. His turtleneck sweater is torn and tattered.
But I have a lot of fun with him. When my five-year-old cousins come to visit, I like to entertain them with Dennis. They squeal and laugh. They think I’m a riot.
I think I’m getting much better with Dennis. Despite Jed’s complaints.
I
took a deep breath, glanced at Mom and Dad, and began my act.
“How are you tonight, Dennis?” I asked.
“Not too well,” I made the dummy reply in a high, shrill voice. Dennis’s voice.
“Really, Dennis? What’s wrong?”
“I think I caught a bug.”
“You mean you have the flu?” I asked him.
“No. Termites!”
Mom and Dad laughed. Sara smiled. Jed groaned loudly.
I turned back to Dennis. “Well, have you been to a doctor?” I asked him.
“No. A carpenter!”
Mom and Dad smiled at that one, but didn’t laugh. Jed groaned again. Sara stuck her finger down her throat, pretending to puke.
“No one liked that joke, Dennis,” I told him.
“Who’s joking?” I made Dennis reply.
“This is lame,” I heard Jed mutter to Sara. She nodded her head in agreement.
“Let’s change the subject, Dennis,” I said, shifting the dummy to my other knee. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
I leaned Dennis forward, trying to make him nod his head yes. But his head rolled right off his shoulders.
The wooden head hit the floor with a thud and bounced over to George. The cat leaped up and scampered away.
Sara and Jed collapsed in laughter, slapping each other high fives.
I jumped angrily to my feet. “Dad!” I screamed. “You promised you’d buy me a new dummy!”
Jed scurried over to the rug and picked up Dennis’s head. He pulled the string, making the dummy’s mouth move. “Amy reeks! Amy reeks!” Jed made the dummy repeat over and over.
“Give me that!” I grabbed the head angrily from Jed’s hand.
“Amy reeks! Amy reeks!” Jed continued chanting.
“That’s enough!” Mom shouted, jumping up off the couch.
Jed retreated back to the wall.
“I’ve been checking the stores for a new dummy,” Dad told me, pulling off his glasses again and examining them closely. “But they’re all so expensive.”
“Well, how am I ever going to get better at this?” I demanded. “Dennis’s head falls off every time I use him!”
“Do your best,” Mom said.
What did that mean? I always hated it when she said that.
“Instead of Family Sharing Night, we should call this the Thursday Night Fights,” Sara declared.
Jed raised his fists. “Want to fight?” he asked Sara.
“It’s your turn, Sara,” Mom replied, narrowing her eyes at Jed. “What are you sharing tonight?”
“I have a new painting,” Sara announced. “It’s a watercolor.”
“Of what?” Dad asked, settling his glasses back on his face.
“Remember that cabin we had in Maine a few summers ago?” Sara replied, tossing back her straight black hair. “The one overlooking the dark rock cliff? I found a snapshot of it, and I tried to paint it.”
I suddenly felt really angry and upset. I admit it. I was jealous of Sara.
Here she was, about to share another beautiful watercolor. And here I was, rolling a stupid wooden dummy head in my lap.
It just wasn’t fair!
“You’ll have to come to my room to see it,” Sara was saying. “It’s still wet.”
We all stood up and trooped to Sara’s room.
My family lives in a long, one-story, ranch-style house. My room and Jed’s room are at the end of one hallway. The living room, dining room, and kitchen are in the middle. Sara’s room and my parents’ room are down the other hall, way at the other end of the house.
I led the way down the hall. Behind me, Sara was going on and on about all the trouble she’d had with the painting and how she’d solved the problems.
“I remember that cabin so well,” Dad said.
“I can’t wait to see the painting,” Mom added.
I stepped into Sara’s room and clicked on the light.
Then I turned to the easel by the window that held the painting — and let out a scream of horror.
My mouth dropped open in shock. I stared at the painting, unable to speak.
When Sara saw it, she let out a shriek. “I — I don’t believe it!” she screamed. “Who did that?”
Someone had painted a yellow-and-black smiley face in the corner of her painting. Right in the middle of the black rock cliff.
Mom and Dad stepped up to the easel, fretful expressions on their faces. They studied the smiley face, then turned to Jed.
Jed burst out laughing. “Do you like it?” he asked innocently.
“Jed — how could you!” Sara exploded. “I’ll kill you! I really will!”
“The painting was too dark,” Jed explained with a shrug. “I wanted to brighten it up.”
“But … but … but …” my sister sputtered. She balled her hands into fists, shook them at Jed, and uttered a loud cry of rage.
“Jed — what were you doing in Sara’s room?” Mom demanded.
Sara doesn’t like for anyone to go into her precious room without a written invitation!
“Young man, you know you’re never allowed to touch your sister’s paintings,” Dad scolded.
“I can paint, too,” Jed replied. “I’m a good painter.”
“Then do your own paintings!” Sara snapped. “Don’t sneak in here and mess up my work!”
“I didn’t sneak,” Jed insisted. He sneered at Sara. “I was just trying to help.”
“You were not!” Sara screamed, angrily tossing her black hair over her shoulder. “You ruined my painting!”
“Your painting reeks!” Jed shot back.
“Enough!” Mom shouted. She grabbed Jed by both shoulders. “Jed — look at me! You don’t seem to see how serious this is. This is the worst thing you’ve ever done!”
Jed’s smile finally faded.
I took another glance at the ugly smiley face he had slopped on to Sara’s watercolor. Since he’s the baby in the family, Jed thinks he can get away with anything.
But I knew that this time he had gone too far.
After all, Sara is the star of the family. She’s the talented one. The one with the painting that hung in a museum. Messing with Sara’s precious painting was bound to get Jed in major trouble.
Sara is so stuck-up about her paintings. A few times, I even thought about painting something funny on one of them. But of course I only thought it. I would never do anything that horrible.
“You don’t have to be jealous of your sister’s work,” Dad was telling Jed. “We’re all talented in this family.”
“Oh, sure,” Jed muttered. He has this weird habit. Whenever he’s in trouble, he doesn’t say he’s sorry. Instead, he gets really angry. “What’s your talent, Dad?” Jed demanded, sneering.
Dad’s jaw tightened. He narrowed his eyes at Jed. “We’re not discussing me,” he said in a low voice. “But I’ll tell you. My talent is my Chinese cooking. There are all kinds of talents, Jed.”
Dad considers himself a Master of the Wok. Once or twice a week, he chops a ton of vegetables into little pieces and fries them up in the electric wok Mom got him for Christmas.
We pretend it tastes great.
No point in hurting Dad’s feelings.
“Is Jed going to be punished or not?” Sara demanded in a shrill voice.
She had opened her box of watercolor paints and was rolling a brush in the black. Then she began painting over the smiley face with quick, furious strokes.
“Yes, Jed is going to be punished,” Mom replied, glaring at him. Jed lowered his eyes to the floor. “First he’s going to apologize to Sara.”
We all waited.
It took Jed a while. But he finally managed to mutter, “Sorry, Sara.”
He started to leave the room, but Mom grabbed his shoulders again and pulled him back. “Not so fast, Jed,” she told him. “Your punishment is you can’t go to the movies with Josh and Matt on Saturday. And … no video games for a week.”
“Mom — give m
e a break!” Jed whined.
“What you did was really bad,” Mom said sternly. “Maybe this punishment will make you realize how horrible it was.”
“But I have to go to the movies!” Jed protested.
“You can’t,” Mom replied softly. “And no arguing, or I’ll add on to your punishment. Now go to your room.”
“I don’t think it’s enough punishment,” Sara said, dabbing away at her painting.
“Keep out of it, Sara,” Mom snapped.
“Yeah. Keep out of it,” Jed muttered. He stomped out of the room and down the long hall to his room.
Dad sighed. He swept a hand back over his bald head. “Family Sharing Night is over,” he said sadly.
* * *
I stayed in Sara’s room and watched her repair the painting for a while. She kept tsk-tsking and shaking her head.
“I have to make the rocks much darker, or the paint won’t cover the stupid smiley face,” she explained unhappily. “But if I make the rocks darker, I have to change the sky. The whole balance is ruined.”
“I think it looks pretty good,” I told her, trying to cheer her up.
“How could Jed do that?” Sara demanded, dipping her brush in the water jar. “How could he sneak in here and totally destroy a work of art?”
I was feeling sorry for Sara. But that remark made me lose all sympathy. I mean, why couldn’t she just call it a watercolor painting? Why did she have to call it “a work of art”?
Sometimes she is so stuck-up and so in love with herself, it makes me sick.
I turned and left the room. She didn’t even notice.
I went down the hall to my room and called my friend Margo. We talked for a while about stuff. And we made plans to get together the next day.
As I talked on the phone, I could hear Jed in his room next door. He was pacing back and forth, tossing things around, making a lot of noise.
Sometimes I spell the word Jed B-R-A-T.
Margo’s dad made her get off the phone. He’s real strict. He never lets her talk for more than ten or fifteen minutes.
I wandered into the kitchen and made myself a bowl of Frosted Flakes. My favorite late snack. When I was a little kid, I used to have a bowl of cereal every night before bed. And I just never got out of the habit.
I rinsed out the bowl. Then I said good night to Mom and Dad and went to bed.
It was a warm spring night. A soft breeze fluttered the curtains over the window. Pale light from a big half-moon filled the window and spilled onto the floor.