Senior Year Box Set

“Ms. Dixon explained that the big hurdle was the termination of parental rights for Mitch,” Dad explained. “Since he’s already given them up, with Peggy’s approval, your adopting Little David is straightforward. The court may require that someone from Child Services confirm your intentions and certify that you’re willing, able, and would provide a good environment for him to grow up in. Ms. Dixon said it would just be a formality, in your case.”

“Oh, and something else: we need to start calling him Dave,” I said.

“Why?” Mom asked.

“I saw Jeremy Pike again when I was in LA—you remember, that psychic I met when I did The View—and he made a good point. He said Dave will be physically smaller than his siblings. Adding ‘little’ to his name will only highlight that. He doesn’t need to be reminded that he’s different,” I explained.

“I always thought it was because he had your name. It’s like your friend in New York who everyone calls Little Tony,” Dad said.

“Well, I don’t; I call him Tony. I mean, the guy’s married and has a son. It doesn’t feel right to me, adding the ‘little.’”

“I think it’s a great idea. I’ll tell everyone,” Mom said.

“You might want to talk to Peggy before you change her son’s name,” I reminded her.

Mom just waved me off. After all, as THE grandmother, she had some rights. I would have to give Peggy a heads-up about it.

“I’ll have Ms. Dixon move forward,” Dad said.

“Thanks.”

“What else did Jeremy tell you?” Mom asked.

I looked at Dad. He wasn’t about to bail me out since I’d opened my big mouth. I decided he was right; there were just some things not worth fighting about. I gave in and brought them up to date with everything that happened on my trip. Well, not everything … just the PG stuff.

◊◊◊ Tuesday April 18

Tonight, we played the Canton High Little Giants. One of the sillier team names, in my opinion. It wasn’t as bad as the Cornjerkers, Appleknockers, or Bunnies, as three other state high school teams had been labeled. I rather liked ours, the Lincoln High Bulldogs.

While we were warming up, Wolf and Tim cornered me.

“So, we’re all set for Friday?” Tim asked.

We’d decided to move up our plans and have our Senior Skip Day this Friday because of baseball. If we made it to state, we might want to actually play in the game. Moose could be such a hard-ass about some things; skipping school was surely on his list of offenses that would get you benched. If that were to happen, we wanted it to be for a meaningless game.

As a matter of fact, I’d been told that because I’d skipped Monday morning, I was riding the pine today. The real reason was my chest still bothered me. But Moose wasn’t one to miss a chance to set an example. What better way than to bench me?

“It’s all set,” I assured them.

“And you’re really charging everyone ten dollars?” Wolf asked.

I shot him a look, and he gave me a sheepish one back.

“Okay, yeah. It’s not fair to make you pay for everything,” Wolf quickly backtracked.

“Tracy, Tami, and I cleaned up the lake house, and my people have arranged for food and drink. The least everyone can do is help pay for it,” I said.

“You’re getting a keg, right?” Tim asked.

I’d thought about it for about a second, then the reality of teenagers driving home drunk from the lake house sank in. It wasn’t that long ago that our neighboring town, Washington, had lost a carload of teens to drunk driving. We’d invited them to our alternate prom when their school canceled theirs because of the accident.

That, and the fact that teens already got up to stupid stuff, led me to realize I couldn’t see adding alcohol to the mix. Our crowd was capable of having a good time without the need to drink, so it was an easy call to say I wouldn’t provide it.

“We can BYOB, though?” Tim pressed.

“Just don’t tell me about it. I want to be able to say I knew nothing,” I conceded.

That wasn’t a battle I had any chance of winning. If a bunch of teenagers put their minds to something, there was no changing it. If they wanted to go off and sneak a beer or three, I wasn’t their mom.

“Would you prefer schnapps, Jägermeister, or Absolut Citron?” Wolf asked.

I flipped him off.

“We could make Jägerbombs,” Tim added.

I smiled because it was a mixture of Jägermeister and an energy drink. Sometimes alcohol made you sleepy, and this was the perfect cure for that … at least in theory.

“We no longer have our bartender. Mona graduated last year,” I reminded them.

“Oh, I know,” Tim said excitedly. “We should get a celebrity bartender.”

Wolf got thoughtful for a moment.

“Hmmm. Who do we know that’s a celebrity?”

The two comedians could suck it. The juice wasn’t going to be worth the squeeze on that one to see where they were taking their joke.