We Don't Need Another Post About Luna

Luna and I went to see another movie last Friday. It was The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, and it was actually pretty good. The basic plot is that a lot of aging Brits decide to go stay at a hotel for the elderly in India, and their stay ends up affecting them all in different ways. There's a racist character (played by Maggie Smith) who overcomes her racism, a gay character who comes to terms with his past (he had a lover in India, where he lived as a young man), an old married couple who realize it's not working out and break it off, etc. It's sort of a funny feel-good movie, on the one hand, since it's a comedy and everyone ends up getting their happy ending (save for one who passes away during the events of the film), but on the other hand it deals with a lot of heavy themes like aging, death, etc.

I'm not sure why Luna picked that movie for us to see, actually. It's true that only three movies were playing at the local theater and we'd already seen one of them, but I expected a twelve-year-old to be more interested in Dark Shadows. Perhaps she heard some bad reviews of it?

I felt a little weird watching that movie with Luna, because there was a lot of stuff in it that might not have been too age-appropriate. (It's a PG-13 movie, but you can get away with a lot in a PG-13 movie.) Some of it probably went over her head. I just hope her parents wouldn't be upset that she saw it, or I could be out of a job.

The funny thing is, while watching the movie I kept thinking about how I'd hate to live in a place like India. It's beautiful, but there are just so many people and so many open spaces that I don't know if my negative reaction is one of claustrophobia or agoraphobia. Or is it something else — fear of being watched? Fear of being around too many people? I'm not sure, but there was definitely something uncomfortable about it. After the movie was over, when Luna and I were walking home, she said to me "I don't think I could live with so many people. I think it would be too hard." I pointed out that she used to live in Manhattan, and she said something like "Manhattan's different. People don't talk to you there, or look at you. So even when you're in a big crowd it's like you're alone."

The more I think about it the more I think she's right. It's probably why some people perceive New Yorkers as unfriendly. New York City is full of busy (or even overworked) people, it's cold half the time, and it used to be pretty dangerous. No wonder people don't stop to acknowledge you on the street. But that's partly what I like about it, and I guess Luna likes that too. It's comforting knowing you probably aren't going to be bothered by anyone.

When you live in an upstate small town, though, it's different because there are rarely enough people around to bother you, but we still act detached. Every TV show, movie, or book I've read featuring an American small town in the 20th or 21st centuries paints the town and its inhabitants as a close-knit group where everybody kind of knows everybody. But when half the people in your town used to live in the city, and come here with the attitude of "don't talk to anyone", then you end up with a place where you really are alone and everyone makes sure you feel that way.

I can't wait to grow up and move out.

Erin

Seeing as how I have little else to talk about, I thought I'd write about my real best friend for a change.

I've mentioned previously that I'm homeschooled, but I wasn't always. I attended public school for all of elementary and part of middle. At my middle school, we had a "buddy system" where the sixth-graders were paired with eighth-graders who (in theory) could show them around, help them out, et cetera.

My eighth grade buddy was a girl named Erin, and she took her job as a buddy quite seriously. We didn't immediately hit it off, but she made sure to go out of her way to be nice to me and include me in her group of friends (most of whom I imagine thought I was a cute little kid or just plain annoying). Even after Erin graduated middle school and went on to ninth grade, she continued to check up on how I was doing in middle school. She really did try to make sure I came out the other side okay, and while she didn't succeed she certainly deserves commendation for her efforts.

Erin's a senior in high school now. We keep in touch, but rarely see each other in person (she moved to another town last year, and neither one of us has a driver's license, though I keep urging her to get hers). Most of my interactions with her are over Skype nowadays.

Erin is someone I truly admire as a person. She's smart and brave and never afraid to be herself. She's funny and honest and an incredibly sweet person at heart. I wish I could be more like her in some ways.

I do wish we could be closer friends, though. Not getting to see her often is a pain, and when we do talk she's always got other friends and other things to be doing. I don't want to seem jealous, because I'm really happy for her that she's got other people to talk to, but it cuts into our time together, which is already fairly minimal at this point.

Where am I going with all this? I'm not even sure. I've just been thinking about Erin today. We haven't talked in almost a month. I really miss her.

I haven't posted in nearly a week because... well, I'm not really sure what I want to do with this blog. I'll keep reporting on the Luna saga if anything interesting happens, I suppose, but I don't anticipate (or hope) that anything will. I didn't make this blog with the intentions of it being Luna-centric, and I don't intend to continue in that vein. It's my blog, not hers.

I guess I could try to talk about my life here, but that's hardly a fascinating topic. On the other hand, though, not many people read this (and no one seems inclined to comment), so I may as well post whatever strikes my fancy. That might mean fewer posts as I try and figure out where I'm going with this blog, but, again, I doubt anyone will mind.

Another lunch

Donna and I met again for lunch today. We had a pretty good talk. I'll try to summarize it in brief:

• I told her I was sorry about missing a day last week. (Used the excuse of "too much homework that night, sorry, tried to contact you," and she bought it.)
• She paid me for Tuesday and tried to pay me for Thursday, too, but I told her she didn't need to pay me for Thursday because she had already paid for my movie ticket.
• I said I thought that going to the movies went well, and suggested that going to movies and other events with Luna would encourage bonding between us and make the friendship feel more natural. She agreed and proposed that Luna and I could meet once a week or so to go somewhere/do something other than just hanging around the house.
• We talked a bit about the CDs she lent me. I'll spare you the details.
• I tried to pay for lunch, but we ended up splitting the bill.

In addition, Donna told me that she thinks Luna "really likes me". To be honest, Luna's starting to grow on me too. She's a strange girl, but a pretty nice one. Better than most twelve-year-olds I've encountered. When it comes right down to it, I suppose that this job could have been considerably worse.

Luna and The Avengers

Luna showed up at my house this afternoon. I was upstairs and didn't realize she'd arrived until my mother called me down. Luna was sitting at the kitchen table.

"Hi," I said, wondering why she was there. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. I brought you the CDs you were going to borrow. You forgot them at my house." She held them out to me.

I took them, thanked her, and stood there awkwardly wondering what to do next. Was she going to want to hang out, or could I go back up to my room? My mother was still hovering around, so attempting to flee would have been risky.

Luckily, Luna broke the silence. "My mom gave me some money so we could both go to the movies. Do you want to go?"

I had to stop and think about it. Getting myself reinvolved with Luna wasn't top on my list of "fun things to do"; it would just mean more deceptions, and more time spent hanging out with a twelve-year-old girl. On the other hand, I'd been wanting to go to the movies for a while, and it wasn't far to the movie theater.

But, in the end, what decided it was my mother staring at me in a way that made it quite clear that she thought going to the movies with Luna was my duty as a pseudo-friend.

So I said yes, and we headed off to the movies.

Our town's main street — creatively named "Main Street" — is home to a handful of shops that confused tourists occasionally visit in the summer, a few cafes, one restaurant, two churches, and the movie theater. It's an old theater with only three screens. Main Street is a bit of a walk from my house, but it isn't terribly far, and it's a downhill walk.

We didn't talk much on the way down. I asked Luna a few questions about school. She said she likes it, but I don't believe her. Middle school is practically hell on earth, especially if you're not good at fitting in. I doubt Luna is any good at fitting in.

The movies playing were The Avengers, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, and Dark Shadows. I don't know a thing about The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel and I'd lost faith in Tim Burton long ago, so The Avengers was the obvious choice as far as I was concerned. Luna didn't seem to care what movie we watched, so I bought two tickets for The Avengers. Donna, God bless her soul, had even given us some extra money for popcorn.

Let me get on to what I thought of the film: I thought it was great. I've never been much for superhero movies; too often they're just dumb flashy action, visually engaging but with no real substance. The Avengers wasn't the most intelligent movie I've seen, but it was smart enough not to take itself too seriously, and it was smart enough not to do anything so glaringly stupid that it pulled me out of the action. In short, it was a fun superhero film with lots of cool special effects, and it was good enough that I didn't feel guilty about watching it. In fact, I'd gladly see it again.

Luna didn't talk to me during the movie — in fact, she didn't make any noise except a few giggles at the appropriate moments (the movie did have a pretty good sense of humor) — but afterwards she immediately turned to me and launched into the longest speech I've ever heard her give. I won't attempt to remember what she said exactly, but the gist of it seemed to be that she'd just had the time of her life. Seeing her so enthusiastic about something struck me as funny, so I started laughing, and then we both cracked up.

We discussed the movie all the way back to my house (which is closer to the movies than hers). I offered to walk her the rest of the way home, but she declined and ran off. Strange kid.

So, in the end, today wasn't such a bad day. I got to watch a movie and eat popcorn without paying a cent. If being Luna's buddy is going to be like this from here on out, sign me up.

I just realized that the email to Donna didn't send. I've written her another one (the same message as before, plus an apology for not being there today and for my email not working), but Mail keeps giving me an error message when I try to send — something about not being able to verify the server's identity. Bloody hell.

It's all over and done.

On Tuesday afternoon, around two o'clock, I headed over to Donna's house. It's within biking distance of my own, which is good because I can't drive. (Not old enough.) I got there early on purpose; Donna was going to come up with some plausible reason why I'd be there, so that Luna wouldn't find it suspicious.

Donna greeted me at the door. 

"Hi, Jackie! Come in!" She sounded slightly giddy. As soon as I got inside, she continued. "I just thought of a reason why you might want to come over. Do you like music?"

I've never understood that question. Who doesn't like music? "Yes, why?"

"I've got a big music collection. You could be over to borrow some CDs." She grinned at me like we were co-conspirators, which I suppose we were. "I don't know what kind of music you're into, but..."

"Sure. That works."

It turns out Donna and I have similar tastes in music — alternative, punk, post-punk, grunge. Her collection is still mostly in boxes waiting to be unpacked from the move. I was still looking through the boxes when Luna got home from school.

"Hi," Luna said to me. "What are you doing?" She didn't look that surprised to see me.

"I was going to borrow a few of your mom's CDs. We like the same music."

Luna nodded. "Okay. Then what?"

"What do you mean, 'then what'?" I had a feeling she was going to ask me if I was going to go home after, and I couldn't think of a plausible reason to stick around unless she asked me to hang out with her.

"Then what do you want to do after that?"

"I don't know," I told her. "Do you want to do something?" Please let her say yes, I was thinking, even though in retrospect I ought to have wanted her to say no. She says she doesn't want to hang with me, I get to go home and return to my normal life of not getting paid to befriend little girls.

"I don't know," Luna said glumly. She let her backpack slide off her shoulders to the floor. "There's nothing to do here. It's boring. Where do you live?"

"A couple streets away from here. And trust me, I know it's boring. I've lived in this town my whole life."

"I've lived in this town for most of mine, too." Luna glanced in the direction of the nearest window. The shades were drawn, but I knew if they were open she'd be able to look across the pond at where her old house used to be. Then she said the magic words: "Do you wanna hang out?"

I didn't hesitate. "Sure."

We went upstairs to Luna's room. The upstairs level of the house is absurdly creaky. Luna's room is thickly carpeted, probably to muffle the noise. The carpet is a hideous shade of baby blue. In fact, the entire room looks like it was designed for an infant. There's rocking-horse wallpaper on the walls, faded and discolored with age. Whatever baby used to inhabit this room must have long since grown up and moved away.

Luna's furniture — twin bed, wooden dresser, bookcase, child-size desk — is set up, but Luna's bed isn't made; it's got a blanket and pillow, but no sheets, and no pillowcase on the pillow. The blanket is off-white and ratty; it looks like a comfort item more than a functional one. Cardboard boxes labeled "LUNA'S THINGS" are stacked everywhere.

"So, um, this is my room." Luna gestured around vaguely. "Yeah."

She didn't seem embarrassed. I know that if I were twelve and showing an older kid around my babyish room, I'd be mortified.

"I still have most of my stuff packed." Luna pointed at the boxes. "It's books, mostly. Every time I take one out I start to read it, so that's why I'm not done."

She had a bunch of books on the shelf already, neatly organized according to series: Harry Potter, the His Dark Materials trilogy, and what looked like an entire set of Oz books were among the ones I spotted. At least the kid has good taste.

"So you like to read?" I asked.

"Yeah." She didn't sound like she wanted to have a conversation about it, so I dropped it. 

There was an uncomfortably long silence.

Standing there in her room, with seemingly nothing to do or talk about, reminded me of how bad the entire situation was to begin with. Here I was being paid to be friends with this girl, who apparently doesn't have anyone her own age to hang out with, and I couldn't even connect with her for money. 

I tried again. "So, what do you want to do?"

"I don't know. There's nothing to do here." Luna flopped down on her bed face-first.

Another silence.

"I guess I should go," I told her awkwardly. "I have some stuff to do at home. You know, homework."

"Okay," Luna said, still face-down on the bed. As I was leaving her room, she sat up and smiled at me. "Thanks for coming over, Jack."

I have to say, I love that she remembered to call me Jack. So I smiled back before leaving.

Donna was down in the kitchen, preparing dinner. When she saw me, she asked how things were going, still with that co-conspiratorial look. I thought about telling her that I didn't think this was going to work out, but instead I just told her that I had a lot of homework due and had forgotten to tell her before, sorry. Donna smiled and thanked me anyway. "Can you come over tomorrow?" she asked. I told her probably, but I didn't mean it.

When I got home, I wrote Donna an email explaining that I liked Luna, she's a very nice girl, but I don't think I'm the right person for the job. That was yesterday. She still hasn't gotten back to me. I didn't go over to see Luna today. I hope Donna gets the hint and doesn't ask me back there.

My mother keeps asking me about how it went. I keep telling her that it went fine and Donna and I are working something out. I think Mother suspects something is up. Dad is fine with it, though. I explained the situation to him, and he's on my side. He's promised to talk to my mother about it if need be.

Thus ends the Luna saga. I hope.

Okay, I've calmed down a little and am ready to stop being so melodramatic. I talked to my dad about all this and he thinks I should just think of it differently. When it comes down to it, I guess I'm being paid to watch her and being her friend is just a side bonus. The only potential bad thing is if I lead her on too much about it. So I just have to stay friendly but detached, maybe come up with something productive to do with her (help her with her homework?) so that she thinks we're hanging out for a reason other than BFF-ness. A little morally gray but not too bad, I guess. She's just a little girl whose parents don't have the time for her. Maybe if I was her I'd take any pal I could get, even if they were being paid to hang around. I don't know. I'll have to see how it goes.

Sunday Lunch

Lunch with Donna was... well, interesting, I suppose is the right word. She seemed apologetic about asking me to be friends with her kid for money, which is good because she should be. I'll spare you the details of the conversation, but here's the gist of what went down:

• Donna says she's had trouble connecting with Luna lately and thinks Luna needs someone closer to her own age to talk to. (Which is more or less what she'd already told me.) She thinks that someone should be me because, according to her, Luna likes me. Also, Luna doesn't relate well to her peers, so the solution is clearly to stick her with an introverted and somewhat misanthropic fifteen-year-old such as myself. 
• She's "a bit tight on cash at the moment" but "understands that this is an inconvenience" for me (which it isn't, it's just weird), so she's going to "do her utmost" to make sure I am fully compensated for my time. She asked me how much I thought was a reasonable salary. I told her I'd ask my parents what they thought as I've never done anything like this before, and she laughed nervously and said she doubted my parents had done anything like this before either. (At least she has a sense of humor, I suppose...)
• Hours, according to her, will be flexible. She understands that "school comes first" and that "if anything comes up and you can't come by, that's fine". Of course, it doesn't matter because 90% of the time I have little to do anyway. "Just for this week," she suggested, "why don't you come by a few times after Luna gets out of school?" (Which is at three o'clock.) I agreed to coming over Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday but asked on what pretense I would be there, since it would seem suspicious if I was there just to visit a girl I barely knew. Donna suggested that maybe I would be there because my parents weren't home, which doesn't make much sense given that I'm fifteen and old enough to be home alone. After I told her that, she seemed stumped on ideas. "Come over early on Tuesday and we'll think of something," she told me.
• She gave me her email address in case I need to contact her.
• She paid for lunch.

Donna also suggested that "maybe we can do this again next week, you know, so I know how it's going with you and Luna". I agreed to this because at this point I've already sold my soul. What's one more crime against human decency at this point? Poor friendless Luna. I've never felt quite so bad for a twelve-year-old, excepting, of course, myself at age twelve. (That's a story for another blog post.)

The greatest tragedy of all is that this is really going to happen. I am going to become a twelve-year-old's paid BFF. Jesus, I need someone to talk to about all this.

It's now the morning and I don't feel any better about being obligated to make friends with a little girl. I'm off to meet Donna for lunch. Let's see how this goes.

The Housewarming Party: or, Why My New Best Friend is a Twelve-Year-Old

I've just returned from the housewarming party, if you could call it that. Jesus, where do I begin with this? The experience was almost surreal. I'm used to my mother's insanity, but this... this is practically unprecedented.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I suppose the best thing to do is to begin at the beginning, go on until I get to the end, and then stop. (If you understand that reference, congratulations.)

We arrived around five-thirty. We were the only people to arrive. No one else had been invited. It was a housewarming party of six. I had resisted my mother's attempts to persuade me to wear a dress and was instead wearing a jacket and dress slacks. I had expected that, being former Manhattanites, the family would expect clothing to be business casual. Not so! We were greeted at the door by the man of the house, who was wearing a band T-shirt (he's apparently a fan of Coldplay) and what I'm fairly certain were actually pajama pants. For a second, I took him to be the older brother of my future babysittee rather than her father. On closer inspection, he wasn't terribly young; just boyish, with wide eyes and scruffy blond hair. The laugh lines about his eyes and the faint stubble on his chin did little to make him look older. I guessed him to be in his mid-thirties.

"Oh, sorry," he said, looking down at himself in embarrassment. "Thought you guys were coming over later. Donna? Donna, honey, they're here!"

They're here. I started to get the sinking feeling that we were the only ones that had been invited.

Donna, thankfully not wearing pajamas like her husband, came downstairs. She's surprisingly good-looking; I'm half-convinced I had a childhood crush on her. (We had met on a few occasions; Donna and my mother belonged to the same circle of friends.) She's quite tall, very slender, dark-haired, elegant. The sort of person often compared to various celebrities.

Various friendly greetings were exchanged and it became clear that my mother had decided it best to have us arrive a full hour in advance "to help with the cooking". I don't have words to do justice to that nonsense. Nonetheless, I smiled and acted polite. No need to ruin the evening further.

"I wonder where Luna is," Donna said to me. "I haven't seen her since lunch. I told her to hang around so she could meet you, hopefully she hasn't gone too far..."

Splendid. Free-range parenting. Letting your twelve-year-old who you believe needs a babysitter wander off on her own without any means of communicating with her — great.

We had by this point moved to the living room. I should say a few words on the house — it's lovely. A Victorian. But it's badly in need of repairs. The paint outside is peeling. The floorboards creak, and I'm still picking splinters out of my socks. The porch has nearly fallen off the house. The entire building is drafty and sagging. So far as haunted houses go, I would say that this is the prime candidate in the area. If ghosts are anything like they're depicted in fiction, this is the sort of place where they'd feel right at home.

Donna got up and pulled the curtains aside, peering out. "Luna might be out by the pond," she told me. "She's been over there a lot lately. I keep telling her to be careful, she might fall in, and she isn't a very good swimmer..."

"I could go see if she's there," I offered.

Donna's face brightened noticeably. "That would be lovely, Jackie. Thank you." Her expression faltered. "I guess I'd better go too, though. Come on."

We headed outside.

Donna and co.'s house is near the end of a dead-end. Their old house would have been at the very end. Between their new house and the old one is a large pond, the surface streaked with algae, and a scattering of trees. At the far end of the pond is a weeping willow.

Donna must have spotted Luna before I did, because as we neared the far end of the pond she broke into an awkward run, nearly stumbling several times. I followed — luckily, I hadn't worn a dress or heels like Donna.

"Luna!" Donna yelled as we approached the willow tree. "Luna, get down from there!" She glanced at me before continuing, more quietly this time. "Luna, you shouldn't be up there. You might fall."

It took me a second to notice Luna. She was lying stomach-down on one of the tree's lower branches, which stretched out over the pond. The foliage hid her partly from view. She was also dressed in greens and blues, which didn't help.

"I'm fine, Mom," Luna said, sitting up. "I'm not going to fall. Also, it's shallow here. I wouldn't drown."

She doesn't look like I had imagined her to. For whatever reason, I had pictured her as her mother in miniature; tall and bony, with big dark eyes and long brown hair. Instead, Luna is blonde, definitely not tall or bony, and her eyes, though big, are gray.

"I just want you to be careful," Donna said. "Don't climb out over the water like that unless someone's watching you." She paused. "Do you need a hand getting down?"

"No." Luna clambered down from the tree slowly, dropping the last few inches to the ground near the edge of the pond.

Up close, she looks even less like her mother. She stops short of being pudgy, but looks at least like she's been eating healthily. Maybe it's baby fat, as she looks younger than twelve and could maybe even pass for nine. Her hair is very long and thick and hangs halfway down her back. Her eyes are ridiculously large; any bigger and I'd take her for an anime character.

"Luna, this is Jackie," Donna said, introducing us.

"I prefer Jack," I said, "but hi."

"Sorry," Donna whispered to me as she retreated a few steps, leaving me with Luna.

Luna didn't say anything for a while, just surveyed me blandly with those big gray eyes. Finally, she looked directly at me. "Hi."

Weird kid. I turned to look at Donna and saw her headed back towards the house. She turned, saw me, and waved. I turned back to Luna, who was twirling a piece of her hair around her finger.

"Should we go back inside?"

"Maybe," Luna said disinterestedly. She looked straight at me suddenly. "Do you like that house?"

"Uh," I said, taken aback, "it's nice."

"No, it's not," Luna told me, shaking her head. "But it's okay. How old are you, Jackie?"

"I'm Jack," I corrected, "and I'm fifteen."

"You're not Jack," she told me. "Jack is a boy's name. You're not a boy."

Oh brother. "My parents named me Patricia Jacqueline," I told her, careful not to say anything like My real name is or I'm actually named, "but I go by Jack."

"Short for Jacqueline?"

"No, short for Patricia." I almost rolled my eyes, then stopped and grinned at her instead. She grinned back. Good, at least she understands sarcasm. Either that or she can copy basic facial expressions.

We started to head back towards the house. I'm not sure why, looking back. Neither of us said anything about it; we just started walking. Luna looked down at her feet for most of the way. She was barefoot; kinda weird for a former city kid, even if she'd only lived there a year.

The adults were making small talk in the living room and eating cheese and crackers. Luna took one look at the scene, made a disinterested face, and grabbed my arm. "Come on, Jack."

"Where are we going?" I asked as she dragged me towards the staircase.

"Upstairs. My room. Come on."

"Jackie!" my mother called to me. "Stay down here with us." She smiled threateningly at me and I knew there would be strong words had if I didn't comply.

"Sorry," I said to Luna, pulling away. "I have to go sit with them."

"It's okay," Luna said. "I'll see you at dinner." She ran upstairs.

The small talk lasted longer than felt necessary, as is usually the case. I was rarely included in the conversation, and spent most of the time staring at the pattern on the wallpaper. Donna kept disappearing to check on the food. Finally, she called us in for dinner. We were all seated before Luna joined us, sitting between her parents. Her dad ruffled her hair affectionately, but awkwardly, as if he wasn't used to it.

After dinner — which was quite good, but I won't waste time describing it — Luna disappeared back up to her room, and the adults suddenly turned their attention to me.

"What do you think of Luna?" Donna asked me. The others all turned towards me expectantly. I felt as though I was on a confession cam.

"She seems nice," I answered lamely, unsure what else to say.

Donna visibly relaxed. "Good. I'm glad."

"So you want me to babysit her?" I asked, thinking I had a sense of where the conversation was headed.

"No, no," Donna said quickly, shaking her head. "I think Luna would feel she's too old for that."

"You're probably right," my dad said. "Some twelve-year-olds are babysitting for other children already."

I looked at my mother in confusion. "Was there a miscommunication? I thought I was being asked to babysit Luna."

"Well..." my mother said, hesitating, "I wasn't sure how to explain it to you. But Donna and Matt need someone to keep Luna company, and they're willing to pay you for your services." She smiled brightly at me as if that cleared everything up.

"So I'm a friend-for-hire?"

Luna's parents and my mother exchanged glances. My dad looked as baffled as I did, but didn't say anything.

"Look," Donna began carefully, "Luna's a very private person, and her father and I feel we have trouble connecting with her. She has trouble making friends and I worry that she's lonely. Your mother tells me you're a very smart kid. I think Luna needs a big-sister figure in her life — someone who can be a role model, but whom she can talk to like a friend as well."

I started to protest. "But—"

"I know she's just a little kid to you," Donna continued, "but I think the two of you could get along very well. She may be only twelve, but she's precocious."

The way she said "precocious" startled me. The undertone was not and-we're-so-proud-of-her; it was and-we-hope-she'll-grow-out-of-it. I was silent.

"We're a little tight on money right now, but we'll do our best to compensate you for your lost time. Hopefully you'll enjoy her company without that, anyway." Donna smiled nervously at me. "And please don't tell her you're being paid. I don't want her to feel bad about it. Does that sound okay?"

They all stared at me, waiting for an answer.

No. No, of course it's not okay. No, of course I'm not going to get surreptitiously paid for hanging out with a twelve-year-old in my free time. This is all kinds of crazy, bizzare, morally wrong behavior. Why would I get involved in that kind of scheme?

But I couldn't refuse. Refusing would mean starting another fight with my mother, something I've managed to avoid for the past three years.

"Sure," I said. "That sounds fine."

Donna and her husband both relaxed. My mother beamed at me.

"Thanks," Donna's husband told me, grinning awkwardly. "Means a lot to us."

"We can meet tomorrow to work out a schedule," Donna told me. "Do you want to get lunch at the café on Elm Street and we can talk it over?"

I nodded, smiling mechanically.

Dessert was served. Luna came down from upstairs and ate her slice of cheesecake contentedly, giving me a half-smile from across the table. I tried to eat my own cheesecake and found I'd lost my appetite.

I've got to stop writing now. It's getting late and I'm exhausted. I'll think about this in the morning. Right now, I need to just go to sleep and see if I figure anything out while unconscious.

Tomorrow I'm going to meet the girl that my mother wants me to babysit. Her parents are having a housewarming party or something along those lines. Oh, get this: their old house burned down while they were living in Manhattan, so now they're renting the house right down the street from their old one. Doesn't that seem masochistic? My mother says they can see where their old house used to be from the window of their new one.

Clarification

I do not hate my mother. Sometimes she just drives me crazy.

The short explanation for why I don't get along with her is because she has expectations that I, as her daughter, will be just like her. Somehow having half her DNA and two X chromosomes is reason enough for her to expect me to be her clone.

Today, for example, she went ahead and told one of her acquaintances that I'd babysit her twelve-year-old daughter. I've never met this girl, I've never babysat in my life, twelve-year-olds are too old for babysitting, and who gave her permission to speak for me? To make matters worse, this isn't a one-time-only thing she's signed me up for. It's a summer job. She wants me to do this all summer.

The worst part is that I can't say no to it. She never takes no for an answer, to begin with, but even if she did, I don't have anything else planned this summer. Under normal circumstances I might even be grateful for something to do, but given my relationship with her and that she signed me up for a job I probably won't enjoy without my consent, I'm less than thrilled.

First things first: honesty.

The truth is, I'm starting this blog to annoy my mother.

It's a bit pointless — completely pointless, actually. She doesn't monitor my online activity, and I don't plan on giving her the link, so in all likelihood she'll never see this.

But over the past few years, I've been committing countless tiny acts of rebellion against her, things I know she'll probably never know about. I do it because then I can look her in the eye and smile and know that I'm not the person she thinks I am, or who she wants me to be. It's become my identity.

Last night, I heard my mother talking to a friend on the phone. "Why would anyone start a blog?" she asked. I expect the question was rhetorical. "Especially if all they're doing is talking about their life," she continued. "Who wants to read about some stranger's day? How narcissistic is it to think that anyone cares?" I listened to her talk and thought, How narcissistic is it to think that blogs are written with you in mind, Mother? And here I am starting a blog because of something she said. Isn't it ironic?

I'm completely new to blogging, but here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to write about my life here. I'm going to draw pictures and post them here. Maybe other people will look at this blog from time to time, but I'm not writing it for them. I'm writing it for me.

I'll start with who I am.

I live in a small town in upstate New York, not far from the Hudson. The name of the town doesn't matter. It's unremarkable. It could be any Northeastern small town you please. I’m sure that I myself — despite the many things about myself that I’d like to call unique — am unremarkable too, and might as well be any homeschooled small-town fifteen-year-old save for a few minor details. My name is Patricia Jacqueline. Call me Jack.

You'll learn the rest as I go along.

One final note: This blog's title (at the time of this posting, "Carry the plague! Amuse your friends!") doesn't mean anything, really. It's just a nonsense phrase that stuck in my head. I expect to be changing it soon.