Just Another Day in My Insanely Real Life Read online

  For Alex, Josh, and Lizzy,

  and especially for Chris

  Margaret K. McElderry Books

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2006 by Barbara Dee

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  Book design by Sonia Chaghatzbanian

  The text for this book is set in Proforma.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  10 98765432

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Dee, Barbara.

  Just another day in my insanely real life / Barbara Dee.--1st ed.

  p.cm.

  Summary: With her father “out of the picture” and her mother working long hours, twelve-year-old Cassie unconsciously describes her anger and confusion in a fantasy novel she is writing for school.

  [1. Authorship-Fiction. 2. Family problems-Fiction. 3. Brothers and sisters-Fiction. 4. Single-parent families-Fiction. 5. Schools-Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.D35867Jus 2006

  [Fic]--dc22

  2005037515

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4169-0861-6

  ISBN-10: 1-4169-0861-7

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4424-3142-3

  just another day in my insanely real life

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Cat aimed a precious poisoned arrow at the evil Lord Valdyk. “Put down your sword!” she commanded. “This arrow is dipped in dragonfire! If I shoot, you’ll die at once!”

  “Ah, but you won’t shoot, Lady Catrain! Your father gave you only three such arrows! Just three! He intended that you use them only to defend Queen Alynna from gravest danger! (SUCH AS???) If you waste one of them on me, how do you intend to protect your Queen?”

  “I’ll still have two left, you snake!”

  “Of course. But what if you miss? Will you use your second arrow against me, and leave yourself with but one?

  “I won’t miss, you swine!”

  “Don’t be so sure, Lady Catrain. I’ve heard you’re quite an impressive markswoman, but you are, after all, a mere girl. A girl with certain magical Gifts, but a girl nonetheless. And, as a girl, your hand may tremble, and your breath may shake. And then, my dear, if you shoot, you just might miss. Can you take that chance, Lady Catrain? Can you risk leaving your Queen virtually defenseless?”

  Cat’s green eyes flashed, and her red-gold hair grew fiery with anger. Lord Valdyk was right. She was a Gifted markswoman, but her training wasn’t complete. If she missed, how could she defend her mother’s throne from Lord Valdyk’s men? She had no choice–she had to let Lord Valdyk go. But if she did, who knew what havoc the evil Lord might wreak (wreck?)?

  “Cassie! What are you, brain-dead in there? Let’s go!” screeched my lovely sister Miranda.

  “Be there in a second,” I sang back.

  “Not in a second! Now!”

  So, since I wasn’t prepared for a full-scale war, which, frankly, was always an option when it came to interacting with my big sister, I re-capped my black extra-fine-point Rolling Writer, closed my regulation two-hundred-page college-lined spiral notebook, and went into the kitchen.

  “What were you doing in there?” she grumbled.

  “Homework. English.”

  “Yeah? Well, so sorry to interrupt, Miss Shakespeare, but it’s your turn to make supper. Mom called. She said she’ll be late, around eight thirty, so shell pick up something on the way home from work. So just make something for you, me, and Jackson. Something edible, if you don’t mind.” Then she opened the freezer, took out a Chipwich, took a big bite, put the rest back in the freezer, slammed the freezer door, grabbed the phone, and started dialing.

  “I hope that didn’t ruin your supper, Young Lady,” I said loudly, in my Authority Figure voice.

  “I hope it did.” She grinned evilly. Then she walked out.

  So supper. I sighed. What in the world did I know about making supper? Nothing, completely zero. Usually when it was my turn, Mom left me directions straight out of Microwaving for Morons (“For lasagna, set microwave to five minutes. Use an oven mitt when you take it out—it’s hot!!!”). But this morning she had a superearly “crisis” meeting and had to race out to catch the train. I opened the refrigerator and stared in. Mustard. Yessir, we had lotsa mustard. Honey mustard, spicy brown, country, dijon, tarragon. And a green relish kind that looked like cat barf.

  “Randa!” I called. “Did you do the shopping?”

  No answer.

  I walked into the living room. Miranda was sprawled all over the couch, yakking on the phone.

  “Excuse me for interrupting, Miranda, but did you do the shopping like you promised Mom, or not?”

  “Just a minute, Madison,” she said to Whoever, then rejoined the world of the upright. “Cassie, dear? Did you have a question or a comment?”

  “Yeah. My question is, you forgot to do the shopping.”

  She stared at me. “Omigod,” she said. “Omigod. Mad, gotta go. Yeah. Later, babe.” She put the phone down. “Omigod, Cassie.”

  “Who’s Madison?” I asked. “Isn’t that the name of a street?”

  “Avenue,” Miranda said. “Listen, Cassie, I am so, so sorry. I just totally forgot all about the shopping, but you know I have this killer Math test tomorrow.”

  “And?”

  “And I have a lot on my mind, okay? What do you want from me? I just said I’m really, really sorry. Isn’t there anything else in the fridge?”

  “There’s … mustard. Oh, and some … mustard. And for dessert, there’s… mustard.”

  “That’s all?’

  “Well, there’s that Chipwich. We could split it three ways. What there’s left of it.”

  Now Miranda glared at me. “Shut up, Cassandra. I told you I was sorry. I can’t remember everything. What do you and Jackson want from me? I go to school too, you know.”

  Then Jackson came into the living room. “Can I tell you something? I’m hungry,” he announced.

  Miranda and I looked at each other.

  “When’s Mommy coming home?”

  “Not till later,” Miranda said.

  “What
time?”

  “Later,” Miranda repeated. She held out her hand. “Let’s go look in the kitchen for something to eat, Jackie.”

  “There’s mustard,” I suggested helpfully.

  “Shut up,” Miranda growled.

  I followed them into the kitchen. I was not going to let Miranda off the hook. Now that Mom was working for a big law firm as Coordinator of Legal Support, whatever that meant, she was practically never home before seven during the school week. So Miranda was expected to pick up a few groceries on the way home from school, important stuff we ran out of, you know, like milk and bread. Mom usually did the big shopping after work on Friday, but this time was different: Grandpop had come down with a bad case of flu, so on Friday night we rushed up to his nursing home to be with him. Grandpop’s really old and weak, and Mom was frantic there for a while, but by the end of the weekend his fever was almost normal, so we left. Then, as we pulled into our driveway at around ten on Sunday night, Mom suddenly groaned.

  “Oh, no,” she said. “I just realized. I was in such a hurry to see Grandpop on Friday that I never went shopping!”

  “Oh, don’t worry, Mom,” Miranda said. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow after school. Just write out a list and give me a blank check for the A & P.”

  “You sure?” Mom asked her, looking worried. “That’s a lot for you to handle.”

  “No problem,” Miranda said. “It’s late, and you’re tired. And nothing’s open in town on Sunday night, anyway. I’m sure there’s enough for breakfast. We’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

  Then she kissed Mom’s cheek. Miranda could be such a suck-up sometimes.

  But the thing is, you couldn’t believe a word she ever said. Not one single stupid, pathetic word. Did she actually do what she offered to do? Of course she didn’t. And now here we were on Monday night, with a totally empty refrigerator, nothing but six different kinds of mustard for supper, and of course, guess what, it was now my problem.

  Miranda opened the empty refrigerator, like she didn’t believe me. “Great,” she said.

  She closed it. Then she looked in the pantry.

  “Let’s see,” I announced, peering over her shoulder. “There’s flour, baking soda, Tabasco, Cheerios, ranch dressing, stewed tomatoes, tea bags, maple syrup, canola oil, and Crisco. Oh, and iodized salt.”

  Miranda raised one eyebrow at me. “Got any money? We could order a pizza.”

  I reached into my jeans pocket and pulled out three crumpled dollar bills and some balled-up lint. “This is everything I’ve got. And anyway, I paid for the last three pizzas we ordered. Forget it, Ran.”

  “What? You didn’t pay for them, I did! The last two, definitely! And I also paid for the Chinese food we ordered last Wednesday! Or did you conveniently forget that?”

  “I’m really, really hungry!” Jackson wailed. The situation was clearly deteriorating.

  “What about cereal?” I took the box of Cheerios from the pantry. It wouldn’t be the first time we had Cheerios for supper, and I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be the last.

  But then Jackson started crying. “I want Mommy! I’m really hungry and I hate Cheerios, and I want Mommy to come home right now!”

  Miranda picked him up. Jackson was almost six, the youngest in the family, and he got babied a lot. It disgusted me, if you want to know.

  “Put him down,” I said. “If he’s really hungry, he’ll eat Cheerios. It won’t kill him.”

  “I HATE CHEERIOS!” Jackson shouted. “AND I HAVE A BOOK REPORT!”

  Miranda put him down. “You have a what?”

  “Book re-report,” he hiccupped. “And I want Mommy to help me.”

  “But you’re only in first grade,” I protested. “How can they give you a book report? You can’t even read!”

  Miranda glared at me. “Yes, he can, Cassbrain. Remember the Bob book he brought home last week?”

  “He memorized it, Ran!”

  Now Jackson started wailing again.

  “Well, I totally can’t deal with this,” Miranda announced. “Cassie, if you want to eat Cheerios, eat Cheerios. I’ll be in my room studying.” And then she took the rest of the Chipwich from the freezer and flounced down the hallway to her room.

  So, it was me and Jackson.

  “Listen, Jackie,” I said. “Here’s the deal. You can have Cheerios for supper, or mustard. Miranda forgot to do the shopping, so those are the choices. What’ll it be?”

  “Cheerios,” he sniffed.

  I poured us each a bowl.

  “With milk,” he said.

  “No milk,” I said calmly. “Miranda forgot to buy milk. Would you like some mustard in your Cheerios, señor?”

  Now he started to giggle. “No way, José.”

  “Okeydokey. So we’ll eat ’em raw.” Now that he’d stopped acting like a baby, I was ready to goof around.

  But then, all of a sudden, he started crying again. “BUT WHAT ABOUT MY BOOK REPORT?”

  I just stared at him, my mouth full of dusty Cheerios. “Listen, Jackie, Miranda is very busy studying, and I have a ton of homework myself. I really can’t help you with this. And Mom won’t be back until after your bedtime.”

  Jackson was silent for a second. Then he stuck out his lower lip and dumped his bowl of Cheerios on the floor.

  “WHAT DID YOU JUST DO?” I shouted.

  Now he was wailing again.

  “CASSANDRA, KEEP IT DOWN OUT THERE! I TOLD YOU I’M STUDYING!” Miranda screeched.

  “WELL, GUESS WHAT! I HAVE HOMEWORK TOO!” I yelled back. I turned to Jackson. “Okay, buddy. You’d better pick up every single one of these Cheerios. I’m going back in my room, and when I get out, if there’s a single Cheerio on the floor, you’ll be sorry!”

  Jackson was whimpering as he got on his knees to pick up all three trillion Cheerio smithereens one by one. Part of me felt guilty for being so mean to him, but I knew I had every right to be angry. There was no food in the house, Miranda had bailed out, and I was stuck taking care of a bratty, overgrown baby with a stupid book report. And I was in the middle of work of my own.

  Lord Valdyk laughed He knew he had Cat paralyzed, trapped in the hungry quicksand of her terrible dilemma. Destroy her evil nemesis, (who? whom?) she had labored so hard and so long to face at last? Or let the evil Lord go, preserving the three precious arrows to defend the Queen?

  Just then, little Daeman, Cat’s distant cousin and constant shadow, came running into the Grand Meeting Hall. “Cat! Cat! There’s a problem! Someone broke into the Queen’s Stable and stole two prize warhorses! You must come at once!

  “It will have to wait, Daeman,” Cat replied “I have more pressing matters to attend to right now.” She kept the arrow pointing at Valdyk but she could feel her fingers starting to tremble. Stay focused, she told herself. Forget the horses.

  But just then Daeman realized that Cat was aiming her poisoned arrow at the evil Lord Valdyk. The small boy panicked, backing frantically into the Queen’s Battle Map, which suddenly came crashing to the floor.

  “Daeman! What have you done!” Cried Cat. She stared at the ruined Battle Map, the little pins (signifying royal army units) scattered all over the polished floor.

  “Ha!” triumphed Valdyk. “Let’s see the Queen’s battle plans now!”

  “Cassie? Can I tell you something?”

  “What is it?”

  “I finished.”

  “Finished what?”

  “The Cheerios. I picked them all up.”

  I stared at Jackson. He looked pathetic, pale and red-eyed. And small. Really, really small. Suddenly I felt incredibly sorry for him. “Thanks, Jackie. Now go put on your pj’s, okay?”

  “So early?”

  “It’s not early. It’s almost eight.”

  “Oh. Okay. Cassie?”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay. I’m sorry too.”

  “For what?”

  “For yelling at you. I’ll
tell Mom about the book report, and she’ll work on it with you tomorrow.”

  “That’s when it’s due!”

  “Yeah? Well, your teacher will understand. Don’t worry.”

  Jackson’s lip began to tremble. “But what if Mom’s working late tomorrow night too?”

  “Then I’ll help you. Or Miranda will. Stop worrying so much! Now please just get into your pj’s and brush your teeth, okay?”

  “Okay. Cassie?”

  “What?”

  “Buster and Fuzzy are hungry. I think they want some cat food.”

  I slammed my spiral notebook shut. Was I expected to do everything, solve every single domestic crisis around here?

  “MIRANDA!” I yelled down the hall.

  “WHAT IS IT!”

  “DID YOU FORGET TO BUY CAT FOOD?”

  “WAS IT ON THE SHOPPING LIST?”

  How should I know? Mom made the list for her, not me. “YEAH!”

  “THEN I DIDN’T BUY IT! I DIDN’T GO SHOPPING, REMEMBER?”

  I stormed into her room. “Well, the cats are starving, and we can’t exactly give them Cheerios and mustard, can we?”

  She shrugged dramatically.

  “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

  Now she sighed dramatically. “Cassandra darling, I already told you, like, five thousand times that I’m sorry. What exactly do you want me to do?”

  “Get the stupid cat food!”

  “Get it yourself.”

  I stared at her in disbelief. “How? It’s eight o’clock at night!”

  “So? The CVS is open twenty-four hours. It’s not too far. Take your bike.”

  “But it’s your fault! Why should I have to go?”

  “Cassie,” she said patiently, as if she were explaining things to a retarded toddler with a long-term memory problem. “This is not my fault. None of it. It’s Dad’s fault for leaving us, and forcing Mom to be out working at all hours. I am not a housewife, I am a hardworking student trying to get the best possible grade in Math so I can go to the college of my choice and get out of this madhouse, and if I forgot to buy cat food, I am just very sorry for the ten millionth time, but if you want to go out at night and go shopping, it’s fine with me!”

  “FINE!” I roared. Then I grabbed my sweatshirt, crammed my three dollars into the front pocket, got my bike, and zoomed out of the house.