My Life in the Fish Tank Read online

  I told him what Keira had said, how Scarlett was blabbing to everyone at the high school, disobeying my parents.

  “Well.” Mr. Patrick rubbed his cheek. “I guess I can understand the different sides here. Why your parents asked you to keep this information private, but also why your sister wanted to talk about it. How do you feel about it, Zinny?”

  Uggghhh, here we go again. That question. “I don’t know! A million ways!”

  “Tell me three.”

  “Mad. Tired. Worried.” Then I heard myself say: “Ashamed.”

  He smiled a little. “That’s four.”

  “Yeah. Well, I said a million, so.”

  “You did. And I want you to know that all your feelings—all million of them—are completely okay. There’s no right way to feel about it, and no wrong way either.”

  I chewed my lower lip.

  He watched me for a few seconds. Then he said in a gentle voice, “But let me ask about the last word you said—‘ashamed.’ Where does that come from?”

  “I don’t know,” I muttered. “Not everyone has a crazy brother.”

  “I thought you said he was bipolar.”

  “Yeah, he is.”

  “So that’s a specific treatable medical condition. Let’s try to avoid the word ‘crazy.’ ”

  “Okay. Not everyone has a brother in a mental hospital,” I corrected myself.

  “But you said Gabriel is in a residential treatment center. Not a hospital, right?”

  I nodded.

  “The right words are important, Zinny,” Mr. Patrick said quietly. “As a scientist, you should know that. Are you ashamed that he’s getting help?”

  “No, but—”

  “If he were being treated for cancer or heart problems, would you be ashamed of that?”

  “No, of course not. But mental illness is different.”

  “Why?”

  “It just is. People make fun of it.”

  “Because they don’t understand.” Mr. Patrick sat all the way forward in his chair. “I guess the question is: Why worry about those people, when there are so many other people who really care about you?”

  “Like who?”

  “I can name you a million.” He started counting on his fingers. “Let’s see: Lunch Club, which is four great kids. Ms. Molina. Me. Your friend Kailani—”

  I grunted. “She’s not my friend anymore.”

  Mr. Patrick smiled as if he had a secret. “Not what I hear,” he said.

  Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday

  Talking to Mr. Patrick that Monday morning calmed me down a little. As the day went by (math quiz, fire drill, volleyball in gym), I decided not to yell at Scarlett for blabbing. The more I thought about it, the less sure I felt that Mom and Dad were right. Maybe what happened to Gabriel shouldn’t have been a secret in the first place. Not only because it felt bad to be—or even seem to be—ashamed of him, but also because I knew secrets had a way of getting out, no matter how hard you tried to keep them inside. Sort of like crayfish escaping from tanks—you just knew it was going to happen, sooner or later.

  And I thought that maybe everything at school, all the problems with Maisie and Kailani, might not have happened if I’d talked to them a little.

  Not that I wanted to talk about Gabriel, obviously. The whole thing hurt my heart in a way I couldn’t describe—to them, or the Lunch Club kids, or anyone else, even Mr. Patrick. Gabriel was special to me, my big brother with the Christmas-tree smile, and I couldn’t explain to anyone how it felt to wonder if he’d be okay. And I still definitely didn’t want conversations in the lunchroom, in front of everyone. But maybe thinking that I could talk about it if I wanted to would have changed things.

  Maybe. Maybe not.

  I spent the next two days peeking at Kailani, noticing how she sat with Li-Mei in homeroom, walked to classes with Priya Patel, ate lunch with James Ramos. (I knew this because I had lunch both days with Asher, although at the end of lunch on Tuesday, we went to visit Ms. Molina’s lab. “Always happy to have you bring your friends,” Ms. Molina told me, emphasizing the word “friends.”)

  As for Maisie, she seemed to be talking to Aspen. Hardly anyone else. Whatever that meant.

  Even so, I didn’t say anything to Kailani. The last real conversation we’d had was so weird, and felt so long ago. Besides, I couldn’t think of anything to say. Hey, remember all that time I refused to talk to you? Well, I’m ready now. Aren’t you happy?

  * * *

  And then it was time for Lunch Club.

  LUZ: Behold, earthlings! I made cupcakes for Asher’s birthday!

  ASHER (blushing): Oh God.

  ME: It’s your birthday? Happy birthday, Asher!

  ASHER: Ugh. Can we please not—

  LUZ: Sorry, Asher, we’re celebrating the day you arrived on this planet! This is not a choice!

  ASHER: (covers his head with his arms, groans)

  KEIRA: Those cupcakes are kind of smashed-looking. And blue icing is kind of weird.

  JAYDEN: Who cares! I bet they taste great!

  LUZ: Yeah, bro, they do! I had a couple last night. Under the icing they’re chocolate.

  MR. PATRICK: This was incredibly sweet of you, Luz. Wait a sec, I know where they have candles in the faculty room. (Runs out of room 107B.)

  ASHER (blushing, smiling): Listen, I’ll blow out a candle and make a wish if you guys promise not to sing “Happy Birthday.”

  ME: Deal.

  LUZ: Hey, I didn’t say I agreed—

  ME: Deal. Okay, Luz?

  LUZ (grinning): Whatever, Zin.

  MR. PATRICK (returns with one yellow candle, sticks it in cupcake): Success!

  JAYDEN: Hey, Mr. P, we’ve taken a vote, and we’re not singing “Happy Birthday.”

  MR. PATRICK: Cool. I’ve always hated that song anyway. (Lights candle.)

  (Asher thinks for a few seconds, blows candle out. Everyone cheers.)

  * * *

  Pizza arrived.

  We stuffed ourselves with pizza and cupcakes.

  We talked about nothing:

  A stupid YouTube video of kittens with balloons.

  Luz’s new guinea pig named Trouble.

  The time Jayden got stuck at the top of a Ferris wheel and distracted himself by singing Hamilton.

  A video game Asher’s mom got him for his birthday.

  It was great, like a regular birthday party. Everyone was smiling. Even Asher.

  * * *

  MR. PATRICK: Okay, folks, for the last ten minutes, why don’t we do a little catching up—

  KEIRA: Aww, do we have to? This was fun.

  ASHER: And it’s my birthday.

  MR. PATRICK: Fine, Asher, I’ll go easy on you today. Keira, how was the week with your mom?

  KEIRA: All right, I guess. No major freak-outs.

  MR. PATRICK: Good to hear. And Jayden?

  JAYDEN: My dad saw the doctor yesterday. Everything’s the same.

  MR. PATRICK: Same is awesome. We like the same. (Fist-bumps Jayden.) Luz?

  LUZ: Okay, so last night I had a big long talk with my mom about the checking-up-on-me stuff. She was really upset at first, and she started acting all emotional, but I think she got my feelings by the end. I hope!

  ME: That’s so cool that you could talk to her like that.

  LUZ: Yeah, talking is never my problem, haha! What about you?

  ME (heart stopping): Me?

  LUZ: Yeah, did you ever talk to your friends? About that apology stuff you were telling us about?

  ME (heart beating again): Oh, that. No, I kind of gave up on those friends, I guess.

  LUZ: Well, but you shouldn’t, Zin, you know? How are you going to work stuff out if you just give up on people?

  ME:

  Wednesday, after School

  I rang Kailani’s doorbell. She didn’t answer right away; I thought I saw her peeking out from behind the curtain. Finally the door opened.

  “Hey,” she said softly.


  “Hey,” I said. “I’ve been thinking about Tulip and Daffodil, and I realized I haven’t seen them in forever. Can I come in?”

  “Oh, sure,” she said. But she didn’t sound sure. For a second a thought flashed in my mind: Was Maisie here too? If she was, I could still turn and run.

  I followed Kailani into the sunny kitchen. A very old woman was sitting at the table with a pink plastic bib around her neck, eating orange Jell-O.

  “Nana, this is my friend Zinny,” Kailani said loudly.

  The old woman stared at me. A bit of Jell-O glistened on her chin.

  “You want a snack?” Kailani asked me politely.

  My stomach was still full of pizza and cupcake, so I told her no thanks.

  Kailani leaned into her grandma’s face. “Nana, we’re going into the living room for a minute. I’ll be able to hear if you need anything. Okay, Nana?”

  The woman blinked at her.

  “That’s your grandma?” I whispered as Kailani and I walked down the hall.

  “Yes, she’s been living with us since her stroke last month. It’s been really hard to see her like this. And not be able to do anything about it.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know.”

  “Well, Zinny, you have your own stuff going on.”

  “Yeah, I do, but.” A hot wave of shame passed over me. Thinking Kailani had zero problems had been really unfair to her. Maybe she hadn’t been the best friend in the world, but neither had I, actually.

  “Let me find Tulip and Daffy,” Kailani was saying. “Oh, there’s Tulip under the chair. Come out, silly.” Kailani scooped up the droopy black cat and nuzzled her head. She put Tulip down again, the whole time talking without looking in my direction. “But where’s Daffy? She’s gotten so fat she hardly moves lately! Probably she’s on my bed.”

  I followed Kailani up the stairs to her small bedroom. Daffodil had spread herself all over Kailani’s pillow, and Kailani immediately buried her face in Daffodil’s fur, cooing the silly, soothing things people say to cats: “You sneaky girl, did you think you were hiding from me? Of course I’d find you!”

  All of a sudden it seemed Kailani was hiding from me. Not that I could blame her.

  I took a deep breath. “Kailani?” I said. “Can we please talk a second?”

  She kept her face in Daffodil’s fur. “About what? You said you wanted to see the cats—”

  “No, I wanted to see you.”

  “Oh. Well, here I am.”

  Weird pause.

  “Kailani, are you still friends with Maisie?” I blurted.

  She finally sat up and looked at me. “Not… exactly.”

  “What happened?”

  “You really want to hear?”

  I nodded.

  Kailani blew out some air. “Well, Zinny, when you were being so weird with us, not talking about anything, I got worried, so I went to see Mr. Patrick. That’s how you got invited to that Lunch Club thing. And when I finally told Maisie about it, she got mad at me. Like she thought I went behind her back.”

  “That’s crazy,” I said. Then I corrected myself. “I mean, not crazy, but wrong.”

  “I know.”

  “And how come Maisie was so against me doing Lunch Club, anyway? I mean, I remember she said her sister didn’t like it, but—”

  “She thinks those kids are weird. Especially Asher and Keira.”

  “Well, they are, a bit.” I smiled. “But they’re also nice.”

  “Anyhow, I think she always felt a little jealous about our friendship, how the two of us were friends first. And you know how she likes organizing everybody, so she got mad when we didn’t do what she wanted. But now I’m not friends with either of you anymore, which is so unfair, because all I did was try to help.…” Kailani’s voice was trembling.

  “Kailani, I’m still your friend,” I said quickly.

  “You are?”

  I sat on the bed and ruffled Daffodil’s soft fur. “Of course I am. I know you kept asking how I felt because you cared about me. But I couldn’t talk about it; I’m really sorry.”

  “Zinny, you don’t have to apologize—”

  “No, I think I do. And thanks for going to Mr. Patrick. The Lunch Club is pretty good. Even if I don’t always want to go.”

  “You mean that?”

  I nodded. “But I’m still mad that you stopped walking with me.”

  “Oh, and I’m mad at me too! For letting Maisie boss me around like that! But you kept on pushing me away, so it was just easier to go along with her, you know? Anyhow, I’m so, so sorry about it, Zinny! Do you forgive me?”

  “Yeah. Do you forgive me for pushing you away?”

  She held out her arms, and we hugged for like an entire minute.

  Then Daffodil reached across the pillow to scratch my hand.

  Thursday Supper, Friday Afternoon

  At first Aiden couldn’t stop talking about what a hit his presentation was that day, how all the kids kept punching the green quicksand until finally Ms. Felsenstein had to take the bowl and stick it on a high shelf. Even Rudy called Aiden’s quicksand project “super cool,” Aiden said. Plus, Rudy played with Aiden at recess, which he hadn’t done in like a year.

  As we all ate penne, broccoli, and turkeyballs, Aiden’s cheeks were pink and his eyes glowed. It was great to see my little brother so proud of himself, and so happy. Wait until I tell Asher, I thought.

  But all of a sudden Aiden announced that he wasn’t hungry and that his head hurt.

  “Probably from the excitement,” Mom said, smiling. “Come over here, baby.” She leaned over and kissed his forehead.

  Then she frowned. “You’re a little warm,” she told him. “Does anything else feel funny?”

  Aiden nodded. “My throat.”

  Mom and Dad looked at each other.

  “You’d better not be getting sick, Aid,” Dad said. “Because we’re supposed to be driving up to see Gabriel this weekend.”

  “No problem, you guys can still go,” Scarlett said. “I’ll take care of Aiden.”

  “Scarlett, you can’t,” Mom said.

  “Why not?” Scarlett demanded.

  “Because you don’t know how.”

  “So just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it!”

  Yeah, right, I thought. Because you always follow orders, Scarlett.

  “Anyhow, I’m not even sick,” Aiden promised.

  By Friday morning, it was clear that he was sick—feverish and sniffly. Mom said she’d take him to the doctor, and when I came home from school, I was betting we wouldn’t be driving up to Redwoods Village.

  But Mom said she’d called her friends Carrie and Sondra, and between the two of them popping in, and Scarlett being home with full instructions, she felt sure we could still visit Gabriel for Saturday. “And you know he’s expecting us,” she told me. “It’s important to be consistent.”

  It sounded like something she’d read on a website: How to Survive If Your Kid Is Bipolar.

  “But what about me?” I asked.

  Mom looked at me, confused. “What do you mean?”

  I swallowed. “If Scarlett isn’t going, and Aiden won’t need babysitting at Redwoods Village, what am I supposed to do up there the whole time?”

  Mom stroked my hair. “Sweetheart, Dad and I talked it over, and we think this time it would be wonderful if you joined us in the session.”

  I wasn’t sure I’d heard that right. “You mean be in Gabriel’s therapy?”

  She nodded. “I know he’d appreciate it, Zinny, and so would Dad and I. It’s really intended for the whole family—”

  “But why do I have to do it if Scarlett doesn’t? And Aiden?”

  “Aiden is too young,” Mom replied.

  “Okay, what about Scarlett?”

  “We’re working on that,” Mom said crisply. “Go get packed now, Zinny, okay?”

  I let out a big sigh—more of a groan, really—and stomped off to my bedroom.
/>   Scarlett was sitting on her bed, watching as I tossed some pj’s and underwear in my overnight bag. I didn’t say anything, and I guess she noticed.

  “So are you mad at me?” she asked softly.

  I shrugged. “Yeah. You should be visiting Gabriel, Scarlett.”

  Her face flushed. “Well, of course I can’t! Aiden is sick! Someone has to be home to watch him—”

  “That’s not the only reason you aren’t coming. It’s like you’re afraid of it, Scar. Is that why you keep talking about it at school? Because you’re afraid?”

  Scarlett’s mouth dropped open. And I think it wasn’t just because she was shocked that I knew about her telling everyone at school. I think it was also because it wasn’t a little-sister sort of thing to say.

  Like I’d pushed her off a step, or something.

  “Well, sure I’m afraid,” she said in a small voice. “Aren’t you, Zinny?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I am. We all are. But I bet Gabriel is too.”

  Saturday at Redwoods Village

  “I’m glad you came, Zinny,” Gabriel said as he poured maple syrup on a waffle. “But too bad Aiden is sick.”

  “Just a cold,” Mom said. “He’ll be fine in a couple of days. Zinny, tell Gabriel about your crayfish experiment.”

  To be honest, I didn’t want to—I doubted Gabriel would be interested. But at least it gave me something to talk about. And the whole time I was talking, Gabriel was listening. He’d gotten a haircut, so you could see his eyes.

  He looked… okay. Like Gabriel, really.

  I could feel my shoulders relax.

  Then Dad took a sip of coffee and said it was time for the family therapy session. “We thought Zinny would join us this week,” he said.

  “Yeah?” Gabriel said, like he was doubtful or something.

  My stomach knotted.

  The four of us walked down a long, beige-carpeted hallway to a small room with five wooden chairs and one of those tall potted plants you usually see only in dentist offices. Near the plant was a small square table with a box of tissues. On the walls were big framed paintings—seascapes, landscapes. Nowhere I could identify. They gave me the shivers.