[color=gray][h3][sup][sup]Sunny hemmed and hawed plenty, but she still ended up calling Mr. Radowicz. Chunxin leaned expectantly on the wall, unwilling to rest until her will was done. Sunny fidgeted with the cord as the phone rang. Finally, the secretary picked up. 

It was his lunch break, the secretary insisted. He didn’t like to be disturbed, she repeated. And so Sunny called again. 

“Would you just tell him Miss Hautala is calling? It’s important, really.”

It took another try of clogging up the line with pleading to get the secretary to relent. The conversation proceeded quickly. Chunxin glared at Sunny as she hung up. She’d not mentioned a name once—in fact, she’d said nothing specific. 

“Sweetie, would you just trust me?” wasn’t enough. Not even when Sunny reminded her that she’d gotten Chunxin into the school in the first place. Chunxin expressed as best as she could through expression and shunning alone that the entire affair was emphatically not her problem—that she didn’t care what it involved; it was Sunny’s fault for not asking her in the first place what she’d have been called at school.

The wordless discussion was interrupted shortly by Mr. Radowicz calling back. He didn’t have time to do anything more than stop by. Mrs. Radowicz was still cooking enough for kids who’d long flown the coop, and would be delighted to have guests. She’d probably send them home with enough leftovers for the others. Miss Hautala and Miss Esposito would be more than welcome. He’d pick them up. And yes, of course, it was a school night—they wouldn’t be out late. It’d be an early dinner.

Sunny hung up the phone, and assured Chunxin that she’d meant what she said. Genny would be Cherry at school. She had Chunxin write down the name she wanted on a piece of paper.

[i]Cherry Chunxin Calvert. Cherry C. Calvert.[/i]

Sunny let out a delighted little sound as she observed the alliteration. It was adorable. It was pretty. It rolled off the tongue. A darling name for a darling little bookworm.

Sunny pinkie-promised that Chunxin would hear her lovely name from all of her lovely teachers, hugged the girl, and helped her up the stairs. Then, it was only a matter of finding a candidate to be Regina at dinner tonight. And to be there when Mr. Radowicz collected his fee afterwards. 

She knocked on the door.

[i]Knocking was always a formality with the younger ones. Sunny remembered it well. The older, stronger kids usually just entered. No need to ask. Nobody else had to, after all. But Sunny even knocked on her own door. Cookie was very clear about knocking, even with the older kids. It was his room, after all.

So Sunny knocked on the new girl’s door. Nothing. Sunny opened and entered. And there she was. Her roommate was out eating dinner. But she was sitting there, head in her hands, and then she looked up at her. Eyes wide, just a bit watery, just a bit confused. She was young, young enough that she might well not have been old enough to go to real school yet. The girl reeled away as Sunny sat next to her on the futon couch. 

“It’s okay,” Sunny cooed, “It’s okay. I just wanna give you a little gift. Something to make things easier on you.”

She produced several little pills from her bra. She split them with her nail, popped the halves in her mouth, swallowed, and offered the others to the girl. The girl looked at them suspiciously. 

“I wanna share, honest,” Sunny insisted, “First year can be scary. But new stuff doesn’t have to be scary. These little guys make new things easy. Everything’s just a happy surprise.”

Sunny sprawled closer to the little girl, holding her hand closer to the girl’s face.

“You won’t puke so easy with these. I used to be pukey too. But that’s just your body overthinking it. Trust me. I got these extra pills, just for you. You’re adorable. Everybody’s gonna love you here. Just gotta calm down and let that love inside. You’ll feel warm and happy, and everybody’ll feel so nice, and you can just float along bein’ the best thing ever.”

The girl hesitantly took the pill fragments from Sunny’s hand. She held them there, hopped up from the couch, and took them with a swig of water from the cup on the bedside table.

Sunny flopped up and delivered an enthusiastic golf clap. She hopped up and embraced the little girl. “Oh, honey, we’re gonna have so much fun skippin’ dinner together!”

She fell to her knees and looked the girl in the eyes. “And I almost forgot. I asked Missus Orta already—we’re gonna be a special together. I’ll show you the ropes. I’ll help you be the best you you can be. Things are gonna get good. Promise.”[/i]

It was time for another special double act. A different kind of act. But Fi wanted the same price. Sunny provided the full pretty cocktail. In just enough of a dose for the nerves. Fi’d get the full fun amount tomorrow night; tonight they needed some wits left over. Sunny got a half of a half of each pill, and Fi got the rest. She was the bigger girl these days, after all. 

The older the two girls got, the more strings came attached to these double acts. They’d be doing a new one tonight—the first new one in quite a while. Dinner. Neither of them ever took dinner, but they’d have to tonight. Mrs. Radowicz would be insulted, terribly insulted, otherwise, and Mr. Radowicz wouldn’t help if his wife was spurned like that. They had to, for Genny, dear Genny, who’d worked hard for everyone else. Besides, one night wouldn’t hurt the figure—and sweet lovely Fi was growing from girl to woman every day, and a lot of the guys who liked grown women were plenty happy with meat on those bones anyway. She was so pretty, Fi. Pretty child, pretty girl, pretty woman. She’d be pretty no matter what, didn’t she know that?

This line of chatter continued as the two floated along getting things ready for the early dinner they’d be taking. Pills made it all easy. Joints didn’t ache. Throats didn’t scratch. Fi’s easy smile said it all. It was like the good old days, back before those nasty words—adulthood and responsibility—rained on parades. But that was silly to think about, wasn’t it? Sally and Miggy would keep things together while they were out having a nice dinner, just being two nice young ladies eating with the lovely grownups who were so generous and charitable and Christian with their donations to the darling orphans of the world. 

But of course, Mr. Radowicz had to come by too soon and sour the mood for Fi. But wait, did he have to sour it? Sunny slid Fi a little something extra as he knocked firmly on the door, and it was flowers and sunshine anyway. 

Mr. Radowicz wasn’t as frustrated as he might’ve been, really. His eyes lit up, in fact, looking at Fi sway from hip to hip with a lazy smile in her Sunday best. He was quick with a plan. Since Sunny didn’t hand him the paperwork last night, the only person who needed to be sold the new version of reality was dear old Mrs. Radowicz. Easy-peasy. 

The Radowicz residence was a lovely suburban place, kept pristine over twenty years of wear, growing up, and tear. In the summer, Sunny told Fi, the Radowicz roses were something to see. And those curtains? Oh, the semi-sheer white curtains with the lacework, Sunny’d loved them since she first fell into them all those years ago. Mrs. Radowicz had found them in a catalogue, and Sunny managed to scrimp enough to get some for the house, and one day she’d get more and make a dress out of them, and—“Honey, I’m home!”

Mrs. Radowicz dropped everything as they stepped through the door and Mr. Radowicz took their coats. She greeted Sunny with a big hug, and asked about the kids. They were all as wonderful as always, and what about her kids? Now, Gary had gotten married, you know, and wouldn’t you know it but they were expecting come February, and then Shirley—she cut herself off, looking to Fi—where were her manners! “And my goodness you’re tall. You must be Regina. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

Her handshake was firm and enthusiastic, like that of a young man looking for a job. Fi tried to keep up, but the Radowiczes effortlessly swept her and Sunny along like children plucking daisies in the garden, and her handshake was soft and placid. Just gotta bob along on the waves like Sunny with these people. Then, Mrs. Radowicz released her and the attention was gone. Mr. and Mrs. Radowicz touched base on the day’s affairs—oh, girls, please make yourselves comfortable, dinner will be ready shortly.

Roast and potatoes and veggies, plenty of gravy, and a bit of wine. Mrs. Radowicz whispered to her husband as she watched Sunny pour some for Fi. Wasn’t Regina, she asked, a bit young to have wine? 

“She’s sixteen, dear, right, Miss Hautala?” Correct. But Regina was going into the 6th grade, wasn’t she? Whatever did she mean? Sixth graders, they were around 11 or 12, weren’t they? Too young to drink. Much too young. 

“Oh, honey, I think you’ve gotten the names mixed up again. Regina—Gina, she likes to be called—she’s not going to St. Rita’s. That’s Cherry. Cherry Calvert. Remember?”

Mrs. Radowicz didn’t remember, of course, how could she have? But as her brow furrowed, and Mr. Radowicz maintained a calm, steady hand at the till, and Sunny chimed in with a “Oh yes, I’d have loved to bring her along and introduce her to you, but poor Cherry’s just not feeling so well today,” Mrs. Radowicz smiled softly and corrected herself. She must have mixed up the names, and she was terribly sorry to Gina for the misunderstanding. And to poor Cherry for what was ailing her. Could she send something back with the girls to help the little darling feel better? Of course, of course she could. She was too kind, too generous, too lovely to them all. 

The unfamiliar, glazed over eyes of someone who had no idea where they’d lost the plot fixated back on Fi. Mr. Radowicz tried to smooth things over by laying out the proposal to have Gina as a maid, and even dangled the idea of tea with Sunny and the kids before her, but Mrs. Radowicz wouldn’t let go. 

“So, Gina, would you tell us about yourself a bit?”

The downside of the good stuff was that it wasn’t just hard to focus on the bad; it was hard to focus on the necessary too. Especially when wrestling with the alien sensation of a hearty meal.

A gentle nudge from Sunny under the table dragged Fi back into the moment. 

“Of course, ma’am. What—uh—what would you like to know?”

The first couple of questions were easy enough. They had proper, correct answers, or easy little white lies—the sort Fi had literally told in her sleep. Until Mrs. Radowicz unknowingly went for something Fi had no good answer for. She should have prepared, and as much as she could muster a half-hearted kick to her own addled mind, she had nothing. She was too out of it to whip together a good response. 

What the hell even was the nearest school to hers? There was just no truth to twist. Or so Fi thought. She stumbled along, trying to assemble even the beginnings of a non-answer, only to be cut off by Sunny.

“Well, you see—” And then Mr. Radowicz cut her off too. His face contorted into a smile that seemed almost genuinely apologetic.

“I’m terribly sorry, Miss Hautala—and to you, Gina,” he began. His eyes settled on the floundering teenager, and they gleamed with that same sort of smugness they’d held as he walked out on Genny. “I should have mentioned your situation privately before dinner. It escaped me.”

Mrs. Radowicz glared inquisitively at her husband, trying her best to keep her curiosity directed at him rather than Fi. Before Mr. Radowicz could move things on, Sunny interjected. 

“Gina, may I share? I’m sure Missus Radowicz will be understanding.” Fi hesitated. Mrs. Radowicz attempted to backpedal, assuring Fi that she meant no offense. Sunny squeezed Fi’s hand under the table, while darting her eyes between Fi and Mr. Radowicz.

Mr. Radowicz looked at Fi with a warm smile. “It’s perfectly fine if you’d rather I privately fill in Lottie—that is, my wife—later.”

Sunny gave Fi a gentle pat under the table as she began to speak—the sort of pat that was supposed to mean everything was going to turn out alright. And Fi found herself insisting that it was fine—that it was simply that she would rather not say it herself. Better the devil you know.

The answer was right in front of her all along. She was just missing Sunny’s incredible talent for making things sound pathetic and pitiable rather than genuinely upsetting. 

Mrs. Radowicz, of course, must have remembered how Sunny had failed to properly graduate, even despite Mr. Radowicz’s best efforts as a devoted tutor. Plenty of kids in such sad situations had even worse troubles; Sunny, after all, had maintained access to school the whole time. She had a foundation. But Gina? Poor Gina had nothing to start from. Why, when the poor thing had ended up on their doorstep—and this was all the way back when Missus Orta was in charge—they were starting from less than scratch. It took a whole lot just to get Gina to be [i]okay[/i]. And, well, as a family of educators, the Radowiczes surely understood how hard it was to catch up. 

“So we’re gonna shoot for a GED one day, maybe, but right now we’re just keeping it simple. One day at a time, you know?”

Mrs. Radowicz nodded along sympathetically, punctuating the lines with all the platitudes Fi could have expected. At least Sunny had spared the full, honest truth. At least she was just struggling, but honestly bright. Maybe Sunny believed it. Maybe Sunny believed her when she said she’d move past Dick and Jane and read with Chunxin instead. 

But when lies are just twistings of the truth, does the difference still matter? 

Maids and bed-warmers don’t need to read or write anyway, do they? 

Mrs. Radowicz evidently finished off that evening feeling terrible for Fi. Mr. Radowicz seemed at most mildly disappointed his hand wasn’t as free with reality as he’d hoped. Did Sunny have discernible feelings, the way a normal person did? Hard to say. 

Fi didn’t know how she felt. The night had gone by easily and everything was put in its place. Most things went by easily with enough drugs. What Sunny had given her wasn’t quite enough, but the night hadn’t been what she’d anticipated either. The other shoe hadn’t dropped. She came away with nothing but another little bruise on a mashed, shredded, dead-purple ego. She was just a bit slow in academics. The kind of girl who could hope for a GED while working as a maid, instead of someone who gave up two years ago on becoming functionally literate. 

And yet that wasn’t really what she was most ashamed of. Fi felt the most shame over the fact that Radowicz just left. She was an I.O.U. She didn’t even get the dignity of sparing her fellow girls something terrible, or the flicker of hope, the light at the end after watching her life flash before her eyes. And yet she was lucky. Lucky she’d gotten away without a beating. Lucky that she didn’t have to watch what little of her life there ever was. And still, she could barely tolerate herself for it. Even on drugs.[/sup][/sup][/h3][/color]