T here is nothing normal about my family. You would never see a picture of us in the encyclopedia under “typical family.” My parents don’t worry about normal parent stuff, like what time I come home at night or my grades. They worry I might buy clothing made in sweatshops and that my love for meat is some kind of character flaw. When I first got my period my mom threw me a “welcome to womanhood party,” where she and her hippie, non-armpit-shaving girlfriends got a little drunk on homemade red wine and sang songs about the cycles of the moon. I was the kid in third grade who, instead of bringing cookies to school on my birthday, brought all-natural organic zucchini cupcakes made with applesauce instead of refined sugar. Even the teacher couldn’t choke one down.
My grandma doesn’t fit the typical grandmother mold either. She doesn’t knit or wear sensible shoes. She paints her toenails bright red and wears high heels. She drinks scotch neat and cuts her hair supershort and styles it so it’s spiked up in different directions. She looks less like she should be at a bingo parlor and more like she just stepped off a set for MTV. She couldn’t be more different from my mom if she tried. You would never know they were related except for the fact that we have the family pictures to prove it. My grandma was the one who got my ears pierced and convinced my parents that a hot dog or two wouldn’t kill me.
I sat on the kitchen counter the next afternoon, talking to her on the phone. My parents were in their room so I could have privacy, but I could hear them practically pressed up against the wall trying to hear what I was saying.
“So your folks are going to go off and stare at their navels, huh? I never did get that ‘learning how to breathe’ thing. Comes natural to me, in and out, regular as clockwork. Given how dumb some people are, you would think more people would just keel over dead if breathing had to be learned.”
“Yeah.”
“Come on now, I know this place isn’t as great as New York, but I’ve got cable and I’ll let you order pepperoni pizza. We’ll even get real cheese instead of that soy crud your mom buys.”
“It’s not that. It’s school.”
“Is this about that snot Lauren?” she asked. One thing I like about my grandma is she doesn’t worry about negative energy; she just calls things as she sees them. “I never was crazy about her. She was a pushy kid, even as a toddler. And her parents? They’re so busy social climbing it’s a wonder they don’t have nosebleeds and a fleet of Sherpas trailing them.”
“My parents say the universe is giving me a chance to come full circle, that this is an opportunity.”
“Might be on to something.”
“Huh?” My mouth dropped open. Was my grandma finally going hippie? Had my mom worn her down with all the talk of chi over the years?
“Look, I don’t think the girl is worth another thought, but it’s clear she’s still stuck in your craw. If she’s bugging you that much, then you should do something about it instead of stewing. You’ll be going away to college soon. You need to lighten your load.”
“Get her out of my craw, so to speak.”
“Exactly. Maybe the universe wants you to come back here to teach her a lesson. Lord knows the girl could use it. You know I’m crazy about your mom and dad, but I’m thinking karma could use a helping hand. ”
I didn’t say anything. I just thought about what she’d said. That was the first time it occurred to me that instead of just thinking about revenge, dreaming about it, I could actually make it happen. Lauren would never see it coming. She would never expect it.
I hung up with my grandma and went back to my room. I pulled the picture of Lauren off my mirror and stared into her face. Revenge didn’t have to be a daydream. It could be reality. All it would take was a bit of planning. I could screw her just the same way she screwed me. Maybe my parents were right and it was time to move back. I crumpled up Lauren’s picture and tossed it into my trash can. Nothing but net. I went back out to tell my parents the news. Well, part of the news. I kept the bit about the revenge plan to myself.