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  I have not heard of this Autumn chick before from Shrimp. Cyd Charisse: not happy.

  Suddenly I had a bad feeling about Shrimp being lick-free.

  "You're not really going to make me dance around, are you?" I said. Maybe it was the sudden stimulation of being paroled from Alcatraz and drowned in coffee and Shrimpness after too bitter an absence, but I was getting a sudden caffeine headache. "Because I do not feel like dancing and all this coffee is making me want to pee."

  Why I had to be mean and ornery when Delia and Shrimp were being so nice to me, I don't know.

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  "Dude," Shrimp said, "don't harsh my mellow."

  "Well, why don't you go find Miss Autumn and have her un-harsh it for you!" I said. I stomped away to the bathroom.

  While I sat on the toilet with my skirt around my ankles, I rested my elbows on my thighs and put my head in hands. I wanted to cry but all the five-minute insta-gulp coffee was making my hands shake so I couldn't concentrate enough to cry.

  Autumn. AUTUMN?

  "FUCK AUTUMN!" I yelled from the bathroom.

  Autumn was probably some scraggly hippie chick with stringy red-gold hair and hairy armpits who carried around a guitar to strum stupid folk songs when she wasn't trying to be Miss Ocean Beach cool with her surfboard in one hand and Java the Hut latte in the other--decaf probably because of course she would want to maintain a totally mellow vibe at all times, dude. Wouldn't want Little Miss Autumn to harsh anyone's mellow while Cyd Charisse's Pieces is locked away in Alcatraz, breathing onto windows for entertainment.

  When I returned from the bathroom, Delia was gone. Shrimp was staring out the huge windows looking as brooding as a Fernando wannabe.

  "Where's Delia?" I asked.

  "She thought we could use some time alone," he mumbled.

  "But I wanted to learn how to dance!" I said. There was so much caffeine and sugar and head-pounding screaming for release in my body, I was ready to be the Lord of the Dance.

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  "Cyd," Shrimp said, so right away I knew we were not cool. He usually speaks my name silently, with longing in his eyes.

  Some stupid reunion.

  "We need to talk," Shrimp said.

  Here's one superior feature of Justin's. He was not a sensitive Let's Talk About Our Feelings kind of guy. He was all sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll. Sometimes that's a good thing.

  "Talk about what?" I asked. I had to burn off the faux energy so I started to pace around the edges of the furnitureless dance studio.

  "Us," Shrimp said.

  "I can't believe you," I said. The coffee throttle was ready to be let loose from my mouth. "I finally get released from that hellhole called my mother's monster house and you want to 'talk.' Are you breaking up with me cuz if you are then (a) this is kind of a bad time to do it and (b) that is so totally lousy of you to bring me coffee first and be all sweet and fine-lookin' and then turn on me like that."

  Math was my best subject at boarding school. The teacher said I excelled at deductive reasoning.

  " I'm turning on you ?" Shrimp said. "Hello! You're like a totally different person right now. You're like this dog Curl we adopted when I was a kid. Curl had been in a cage for months and was like this wild monster when he was first released. You're reminding me of Curl now. Your parents have really done a number on you while you've been grounded."

  "At least my parents stick around!" I said back as I

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  paced. I instantly regretted my comeback but that's the thing about unkind words: You can try to undo the damage, but (a) it's hard when you're all coffee-ed up, and (b) you can't take it back, ever.

  Shrimp's shoulders went into a slouch and he stopped following my pace with his eyes. It was like a tide change so fast we could have evaporated into the Ocean Beach fog rolling in thick and thunderous outside the windows.

  How had our reunion gone so wrong, so fast?

  There was a silence that lasted too long, broken only by the hard taps of my pounds around the dance floor. When Shrimp finally spoke, he said, "Be still for a minute, would you? You're making me dizzy with all that pacing."

  I stopped exactly in front of him. In my sudden stillness, I wanted to etch his face and smell into the memory which I knew was about to be all I would have left of Shrimp. I touched the platinum spike on his hair, then closed my eyes and pretended I was Helen Keller. Helen molded her hands into Shrimp's cheeks and eyes, his lips and nose, to forever retain the shape of him.

  "So what now?" I asked, my eyes still closed. The silence had been so nice, but I couldn't play deaf forever.

  Shrimp said, "This separation has gotten me thinking. We've been hanging out so much since we met that I've hardly had time to finish a canvas or see my surfing friends or anything. I wasn't sure until just now, but maybe us being apart for a while is a good thing. Maybe your parents aren't as dumb as you think."

  "Do you love me?" I whispered.

  When Shrimp didn't answer, I let my hands fall to my sides and opened Helen's eyes to the mean bitter world.

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  It was like he didn't even hear my question. Shrimp said, "I didn't realize till you were gone how much we've been crowding each other. I need some time and space for my surfing and painting, you know?"

  'And for Autumn?" I said. I looked straight into his beauty eyes so he would know he couldn't lie to me.

  "There's nothing between me and Autumn," he said, not looking straight back at me.

  "You just lied to Helen!" I said. The eyes gave him away.

  "Huh?" Shrimp said.

  "So this is it then?" I asked. Cuz for weeks in Alcatraz I had been hanging on to the time when I could see Shrimp again, touch him, laugh with him. Not fight with him. Certainly not break up with him. Especially not be tweaked by an Autumn.

  "We'll see each other when the school year starts. We'll figure this out then."

  Right.

  As he stepped outside, he turned back once and mumbled, 'And maybe you need some time to figure out your crush on my brother."

  Then he walked out of the studio and into the fog and I closed my eyes so Helen wouldn't have to witness this final horribleness.

  "I thought you were forever," Helen said to his dark shadow.

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  Seventeen

  The new Helen Keller commune is now in session in Alcatraz. It is the speak-no-evil-see-no-evil-hear-no-evil commune.

  We allow new people in only by scent. People who smell like the perfume ladies at Neiman Marcus are out. So sadly Nancy will not be joining us. Martinis and Cuban cigars are always nice to smell, but Sid-dad has not submitted an application for membership. Nicaraguans who smell of empanadas and morning church services might be allowed in if they ask nice. Who doesn't love the smell of sweets? Sugar Pie and your chocolate collection, always glad to have you in the new Helen Keller commune.

  There is no need to invite Blank--he whose name hurts too much to even think so that it's good we don't have to speak it or picture him (seeing as how we're deaf and blind). Blank's brother Java would make an aromatic addition to our commune but we can't risk choking on tears by asking him or Delia and then potentially being tempted to ask about Blank. I have telepathically invited Lucinda, Wallace's former Australian-Indonesian love, and she messaged back: "Gerr-ate!" She knows what it is like to pine and hurt for and be dumped by a beautiful surfer punk-dude.

  Ash and Josh, who always smell of chocolate-chip cookies and mischief, are charter members of the Helen Keller commune. Every day we wander around the Who

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  Cares If It's a House Beautiful Cuz We Can't See It with blindfolds over our eyes and earplugs in our ears. Management unfortunately moved us to the basement after we broke too many vases, but in the basement commune of Helen Keller we can jump on trampolines and not care if we fall and hurt ourselves because we are together and that makes us happy.

  Soon I am going to have to tell Ash and Josh about our prospect
ive new members, Rhonda and Daniel, my other half-sibs. Just because Rhonda and Daniel are a little old for playing Helen Keller commune doesn't mean they won't. I am their sister, their blood, and even if they can't see me or hear me, they can feel me. I know it.

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  Eighteen

  Sometimes playing Helen Keller when you are not actually blind or deaf is not an effective way to not think about being dumped by a Shrimp or the fact that you are dying of boredom and sadness and yearning for something, anything, to change, to make life interesting and exciting again, even when you are grounded into eternity.

  I was wandering around the house after Ash and Josh had gone to "sleep" when I came outside the door to Sid-dad's study.

  Nancy was saying, "I can't take Miss Moping anymore. She's driving me nuts."

  Driving you nuts? Hell-oh! Try driving me nuts.

  Sid said, "So, do you want to let her go? Because much as I missed the hell out of her when she was at boarding school, this grounding experiment is clearly not working. Everyone in the house is miserable. Maybe it's time the little hellion learned to appreciate the people who love and care for her in this family, and sending her you-know-where might be the best way to accomplish that."

  I pulled the earplugs out so I could hear better. This was too much. I knew Nancy and I were not getting along, but I never thought she would want to kick me out over it! And wherever You-Know-Where was, I so was not

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  going. But if I had to run away, then where would I go? Not to Shrimp. Maybe to Wallace. That would show Shrimp. I could have Wallace in a minute if I wanted.

  But there are certain lines even I know better than to cross.

  The only place I would really want to go is to New York. To Frank real-dad's. It is like the body of Cyd Charisse is one big jigsaw puzzle, with pieces picturing Shrimp (mean boy); Sugar Pie; Ash and Josh; Alcatraz-, Gingerbread, of course; Fernando and Leila; and Sid and Nancy. But the pieces are all scattered and can only be put together properly if I can find the pictures with the Empire State Building, Rhonda and Daniel, and my real father.

  Still, it did not feel nice to know that Nancy wanted me gone. I would never want my baby to leave me.

  Nancy said, "Maybe it's time. This family will not survive the summer with all this tension. And as much as I hate to throw her to wolves like that, maybe getting to know Frank--God help her--will be a good thing for her. Allow her to move on."

  Yo! My mother wanted to send me to the one place where I wanted to go! The thought that my mother might be psychic made me practically nauseous.

  "So we're settled then?" Sid-dad said. I could hear a faint tinge of sadness in his voice.

  Nancy's voice wavered just a little. "I guess. You'll call Frank in the morning?"

  "I will," Sid-dad said, then laughed. "Old Frankie boy doesn't know what he set himself up for when he asked to spend some time with the Little Hellion. The King of the

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  New York Advertising World is about to get himself a little lesson in humility."

  I think Sid-dad was paying me a compliment, but I'm not sure.

  I raced back to Alcatraz to tell Gingerbread the news.

  I jumped on the bed, excited about something for the first time since I got a job at Java the Hut, which was only like eight weeks ago but seemed like lifetimes ago. "We're going to New York, Gingerbread! Going to New Yorkie York, and we are going to see Frank and meet Rhonda and Daniel and we are going to ride the subway and feel the grunge and wear black every single day and we are not going to miss Shrimp AT ALL!"

  Gingerbread smiled back. Sometimes she reminds me of Mrs. Butterworth and I can tell she is about to open up her arms to offer me a hug or some syrup.

  I was still jumping when I heard a knock on the door so I fell onto the bed and shouted, "COME IN!" I attached a frown to my face so Nancy wouldn't be too weirded out by my sudden excitement.

  "You don't need to yell," Nancy said. "The kids are sleeping."

  As if. On my way back to my room I saw Ash and Josh playing War with a flashlight under his bed. But I decided to be nice and not point out that fact. Sometimes it's better to let Nancy live in the fantasy world where we're one big, happy, quiet family.

  "Oh, sorry," I whispered.

  "Why are you out of breath?" Nancy asked. She actually had color in her face, maybe because Sid had given Leila the night off and grilled steaks and veggies

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  for dinner and Nancy had actually eaten.

  "Dunno," I said, trying to contain the smile that was ready to burst out of my lips.

  Nancy sat next to me on the puke princess bed. Then she did a shocker. She picked up Gingerbread and placed my doll on her lap. Gingerbread was good; she didn't squirm.

  "I think it's pretty obvious that neither you nor I is happy with the current situation in this house," Nancy said.

  One thing I like about Nancy is that she doesn't mess around getting to her point. None of that "we need to talk" business.

  I wanted to be extra nice because Nancy was holding her sometimes-nemesis, Gingerbread, so I said, "I could try harder."

  Nancy actually laughed! Then she leaned over a little and played with my hair.

  "I know you could, sweetie. I guess I could too." Nancy paused and then she said, 'Are we actually having a conversation that doesn't involve yelling or cursing?"

  "Let's not push it," I said.

  "Right," Nancy said. "You've always wanted to meet your biological father. Well, I have a lot of misgivings about this, but if you are ready, then I am willing. His wife passed away last year and he has been in touch with Sid and me and would like to have you visit, to get to know you. What do you think about that?"

  "Sure," I mumbled. To Gingerbread, I telepathed, "YEAH!"

  My real-dad was a widower. Tragedy about to be

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  remedied by the arrival of one Cyd Charisse, hellion daughter extraordinaire.

  Nancy said, "Maybe some time in New York will help you not think about that boy , the surf stalker."

  "It's slacker, Mom, not stalker," I said.

  "Right," Nancy said. "That boy." She waited, I guess thinking I might give her information as to whether that boy and I had managed to communicate during my Alcatraz incarceration. She waited.

  "Well, do you want to go?" Nancy said. "I could come with you if you want."

  My adventure in New York with Frank real-dad, and did I want Nancy trotting along? Hell, no!

  "No, thank you," I said.

  Even prisoners know how to be polite.

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  Nineteen

  I was so nervous to meet Frank real-dad again that I actually broke out into a sweat when the plane landed in New York. Even Gingerbread was nervous. I could practically feel her bouncing on my lap.

  'Aren't you a little old for dolls?" this creepmeister executive man sitting next to me in first class said. The whole flight he had been pretending not to stare at Gingerbread, who had been sitting on my black tights, right below my short skirt, during the flight.

  "Aren't you?" I said back.

  Creepmeister executive man did not try to help me with my luggage in the overhead bin.

  Since I didn't have a star student report card or Homecoming Queen tiara to impress Frank real-dad, I had brought him real gingerbread that I had baked myself, without Leila's help. It was kind of crumbly but it smelled ginger 'n' cloves yumster under the red bowtie-wrapped tinfoil. Gingerbread-doll was not upset by my baking efforts; it wasn't like when you go to a farm for the day and make friends with cows that you know will be steak one day. She understood the difference between namesake and food chain.

  So there I was, strolling into the arrival area at the airport, carrying Gingerbread-doll and hoping gingerbread-cake would stay together until I could present it to Frank real-dad, but of course I tripped on the strings which had

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  come loose on my four-inch
platform combat boots, and splat I went. Smoosh went gingerbread-cake, flying went Gingerbread-doll, mortificado went Cyd Charisse's Pieces. I saw my usually chalk-white face in a mirror as I stood up, and it was the color of a tomato.

  "You Cyd?" said this guy who sounded like John Travolta. He extended his hand to my shoulder to steady me. His other hand was carrying a sign with my name on it. He was like New York Knicks tall with Puerto Rican honey eyes and luscious cinnamon skin. A certain boy whose name rhymes with chimp, limp, and gimp was the farthest Blank from my mind. Let me just say, even if my name hadn't been Cyd, I'd have been like, "You betcha!"

  "How did you know that?" I asked as I scrambled to pick up Gingerbread.

  He had this insane-sexy New York accent. You could practically hear him saying, "yo!" and "youz guys" every other beat. He said, "You look just like Frank. No way you could be anyone besides his niece. He sent me here to pick you up. I'm Luis. I work for Frank. We'll be seeing a lot of each other these next couple weeks."

  "His niece?" I said. I picked up gingerbread-cake and tossed it in the trash.

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  Twenty

  Maybe Frank suspected our weird resemblance, and that's why he didn't come pick me up at the airport himself. Maybe he was scared to see me, scared that he would fall totally in love with his new daughter and never be able to send me back to my family in San Francisco, and that's why he made me wait with Luis at his apartment for hours and hours until he came home from work. I couldn't help but compare: Sid-dad had taken the day off work to personally drive me to the airport (he said it was because Fernando was still mad at me but we both knew it was because he was going to miss his little hellion) and to lecture me in the car about, like, always wearing a hat in the sun, and trying to find a place in my heart to get along with Nancy, and how I shouldn't let anyone make a Yankees fan out of me when he'd spent years making me a Red Sox fan, and yet Frank-dad couldn't even be bothered to pick me up at the airport, much less hang with me my first hours in Nuevo York.