Just as Long as We're Together (13 page)

"Did Charles get home?" Mom asked. "No, he went to visit a friend from school. in Florida."

"That's a good place to have a friend this~ time of year."

"I know."

"We're going over to Alison's now," I told Mom.

"Be back by eight-thirty," Mom said. "Tomorrow's a school day. And take your flashlight."

As soon as we were outside Rachel said, "Your father must have been really disappointed."

"About what?"

"That your mother went to Venice."

"Oh, yeah. . . but he understood. She had to go. It was a business trip."

"At least she had a nice time, though," Rachel said.

"Yeah." I shined the flashlight on my wrist.

"Look what she brought me." I was wearing a bracelet made of something called Murano beads. Each one is a different color and decorated in a different way.

"It's pretty," Rachel said.

"Thanks."

"Did you and Alison see a lot of each other in California?" Rachel asked.

''No."

"How come?"

"No time," I explained.

"But you at least got to her house in Malibu

right?"

"No, . . we never got together at all."

"What?" Rachel said. "I can't believe it!"

"I know."

"But why?"

"I told you . . . no time. My father had so many plans. Fishing trips, Disneyland. . . every day it was something else."

"How was Disneyland?"

"Bruce thought it was great but I think we're getting kind of old for it." I didn't add that Dad had accused me of acting sullen and unpleasant that day or that I had told him it was all his fault. Actually, Dad and I never really talked again after the night we argued over Iris. I kept hoping he'd call me into his room and say, I've been doing a lot of thinking, Step/i . . . and I realize that you and Bruce and Mom are the most important people in my l~fe. But he didn't. He didn't even say he loves me, that no matter what he'll always love me.

When we got to Alison's the three of us hugged.

"I can't believe you and Steph didn't see each other even once!" Rachel said to Alison.

"I know," Alison said. "I was so disappointed but . . . c'est la vie!"

G'est la vie is French for that's life.

Gena and Leon came out to greet us and wish us a Happy New Year.

Then we went upstairs to Alison's room. Rachel stretched out on the bed and began to brush Maizie. I sat on the floor with Alison. She pulled a gauzy blue shirt and skirt out of a Christmas box and held it up. "Mom and Leon gave it to me. I'm thinking of wearing it to the dance."

"What dance?" I asked.

"The Ground Hog Day dance," Alison said. "Remember?"

"Oh, that." I had forgotten all about it. "I'll bet none of the seventh grade boys even know how to dance."

"So, we'll teach them!" Alison said.

I thought about teaching Peter Klaff to dance. Would I say, Forward, to the side, together .

backward, to the side, together . . . the way Sadie Wishnik had the day she'd taught Alison and me to rumba in her kitchen?

Maizie turned and grabbed the brush out of Rachel's hand. She jumped off the bed with it between her teeth, carried it across the room and hid it, like a bone, behind Alison's desk.

"You are the silliest dog!" Alison said, scooping her up and .kissing her. Maizie wriggled out of Alison's arms and attacked the tissue paper on the floor.

Rachel kind of rolled off the bed, sat behind Alison on the floor and said, "Can I braid your hair?"

"Sure," Alison said.

Last year, when I had long hair, Rachel liked to braid mine.

I made a ball out of tissue paper and tossed it across the room. Maizie chased it.

"Show Ali.son the bracelet your mother brought you from Venice," Rachel said, as she divided Alison's hair into sections.

"I love Venice!" Alison said. "Muscle Beach

the crazies on roller skates . . ."

"Not Venice, California," Rachel said. "Venice, Italy."

"Oh, she went to that Venice," Alison said. "Mom and Pierre took me there when I was little. We rode in a gondola."

"This is what she brought me," 1 said, holding my wrist in front of Alison's face.

"It's beautiful," Alison said.

"Thanks." I made another tissue paper ball and called, "Go get it, Maizie . . ." Then I said,

"It was a business trip. Mom had to check out

the hotels and restaurants for her clients." I glanced over at Rachel, who was fastening Alison's braids with the barrettes I'd given to her for Christmas.

Alison held her braids out to the sides like Pippi Longstocking, making us laugh. "Want to play Spit?" she asked.

"Sure," I said. Alison has figured out a way for the three of us to play at the same time, by using two decks of cards.

She grabbed them off her desk and handed them to me. I shuffled them and handed them back to her, to cut. Then she handed them to Rachel, to deal.

"When are the two of you going to grow up and quit playing this ridiculous game?" Rachel asked. I couldn't tell if she was serious or joking around.

"Probably never!" Alison said, taking it as a joke.

Rachel began to deal our hands but before we got going Alison said, "If you could dance with only one boy at the Ground Hog Day dance who would it be?"

"I can't think of any boy in seventh grade," Rachel said.

"Suppose it could be any boy at school?" Alison asked.

"Ummm. . ." Rachel said, sticking her tongue into her cheek, "I guess it would be Jeremy Dragon."

"He's in love with Dana," I reminded her. Rachel put down the cards. "We're not talking about reality," she said. "We're talking about fantasy."

"Even so," I said, "that's a dumb fantasy because you know it can't happen."

"There's no such thing as a dumb fantasy," Rachel said. "Besides, every girl needs a fantasy boyfriend. Isn't that why you have that stupid poster over your bed?"

"But if I had to choose one boy to dance with at the Ground Hog Day dance I wouldn't choose Benjamin Moore. I would know that Benjamin Moore isn't going to be there!"

Rachel shook her head at me. Her eyes had turned very dark. "I have never . . . ever . seen anyone act so pre-menstrual in my life! Even Jessica doesn't get as tense as you."

"You know," Alison said, looking me up and down, "I think Rachel might be right this time. You look really puffy and my mother says that's a sure sign."

I didn't tell Alison that the reason I look puffy is that I've gained weight. And I didn't tell Rachel that if I'm acting tense it's for reasons that have nothing to do with getting my period.

"You better start carrying your equipment around with you . . ." Rachel said, "just in case."

"Imagine getting it at school!" Alison said. "What would you do? Where would you go?"

"I'd go to the nurse," I said. "And she'd give me a pad."

"Stephanie doesn't worry about things like that," Rachel said.

"Why should I?" I asked. "Worrying is just a waste of time!"

When I got home I found Mom at the kitchen table folding laundry. Bruce and I had come back from L.A. with our suitcases full of dirty clothes. We hadn't washed anything while we were with Dad. I sat down at the table and Mom pushed the basket of clean clothes toward me. "Rachel says I'm acting pre-menstrual," I told her, as I folded a T-shirt.

Mom hooted. "Sometimes Rachel is just too much!"

"You can say that again!"

"Did you tell her I went to Venice?"

"Have you told her about Dad and me?"

"No . . . there's nothing to tell."

28.

Max Wilson.

"Want to see what Jeremy gave me for Christmas?" Dana asked at the bus stop on Monday morning. It was freezing, with snow expected, and we were stomping our feet, trying to keep warm.

I'd never seen Dana look prettier. She was wearing a fuzzy white hat and her cheeks were rosy from the cold. She held out her arm. and shook her wrist. "It's his I.D. bracelet. See . . there's his name."

The bracelet was too big for Dana so she had threaded a small chain through the links. I ran my finger over the letters spelling out Jeremy Kravitz. "It's really nice," I said.

"What'd you give him?" Alison asked.

"I gave him my favorite pin. It's a small gold

dove. He wears it on his. . ." Dana blushed, then paused as she looked around, but there was no one else listening. "He wears it on his underpants," she whispered, "but nobody knows so don't say anything, okay?"

"Don't worry," I told her. "The three of us know how to keep a secret."

The bus came along then and as soon as we were seated Rachel said, "How does she know?"

"Know what?" I asked.

"Know that he actually wears that pin on his underpants?"

"I see what you mean," I said.

Alison, who was sitting in the row in front of us started to giggle.

"And does he wear it pinned to his waist or his butt?" I asked.

"Or someplace else?" Rachel said.

"Oh, no. . ." Alison said, "that's too disgusting!"

"Besides," I said, "wouldn't that hurt?"

By the time Jeremy Dragon got on the bus we were laughing so hard we just about fell off our seats as he passed us. "What's so funny, Macbeth?" he asked. Sometimes he calls the three of us Macbeth as if we are just one person. He didn't wait for us to answer, not that we would

have been able to, anyway. He walked to the middle of the bus where Dana was saving a seat for him.

When Alison and I got to homeroom we found a substitute teacher at Mrs. Remo's desk. She was cleaning her glasses, a routine she repeated about twenty times before the last bell rang. Then she stood and introduced herself. "Good morning, class," she said, in a high-pitched voice. "I'm Mrs. Zeller. This is my first day as a substitute teacher."

Admitting that was a real mistake! Notes started flying across the room;

"I used to teach," Mrs. Zeller continued, "before my children were born, but I taught in high school, not junior high."

That did it. Everyone began to laugh out loud. Mrs. Zeller looked around, trying to figure out the joke. She didn't know she was it. "I taught in Ohio," she said, "not Connecticut."

Now we were roaring, as if that was the funniest line in the history of the world.

Mrs. Zeller fiddled with the blue beads around her neck, tucked a loose strand of hair back into place, then tugged at her skirt and looked down. She probably thought she was losing her underwear.

"Well. . ." she said, "I guess I have to tell you

the bad news. Mrs. Remo's father passed away over the holidays so she's going to be out all week."

A hush fell over the room. I never even knew Mrs. Remo had a father. I hardly ever think of my teachers as regular people with families and lives outside of school. I wonder if they ever think of us that way. I wonder if they know that sometimes kids can't concentrate in class because of what's going on at home. I'm lucky that I can put my family problems out of my mind while I'm at school. I looked over at Alison. She was clutching her favorite stone. I thought back to that day right after Thanksgiving when Mrs. Remo had shouted at Alison and me, then kept us after school. Rachel had said, Maybe Mrs. Remo didn't have a good Thanksgiving. Rachel could have been right.

Amber Ackbourne, who had been laughing harder than anyone before Mrs. Zeller told us the bad news, was crying now. Her shoulders shook and she sounded like a sick cat. I thought how weird it is that one minute you can be having the greatest time and the next. . . wham . . . just like that everything changes.

The door to our homeroom opened and a tall boy walked over to Mrs. Zeller. He handed her a yellow card and said, "I'm Max Wilson. I'm new."

Amber Ackbourne blew her nose and pulled herself together.

"Oh, dear," Mrs. Zeller said, her hands fluttering around her blue beads. "A new boy. What do we do about new people, class?"

Eric Macaulay called, "Give him a desk."

"Yes," Mrs. Zeller said, "of course. A desk. That would be a good place to start. Why don't you find a desk, Max, and make yourself at home. I'm a substitute and this is my first day, so I don't know the ropes yet." She sounded less nervous than before.

Max walked around the room looking for a desk. When he didn't find one he said, "Excuse me, but there's no desk."

"No desk," Mrs. Zeller said. "What now?"

"Give him a chair," Eric Macaulay said. "Then you can ask the janitor to bring up another desk. A big desk because this guy is tall."

"Thank you," Mrs. Zeller said. "That's very good advice. What did you say your name was?"

"Eric Macaulay."

"Well, thank you, Eric, for being so helpful," Mrs. Zeller said.

Max found a chair and sat down.

"Now, Max . . ." Mrs. Zeller said, "why don't you tell us something about yourself. . . something to help us get acquainted with you."

"There's nothing to tell," Max said.

"There must be something," Mrs. Zeller said. "Tell us where you came from and about your family."

Max sat low in his chair, his legs stretched straight out in front of him. He was wearing black hi-tops. "I'm from Kansas City," he said, looking into his lap. "That's in Missouri. There is a Kansas City in Kansas but that's not the big one. My father got transferred up here so that's how come we moved. I've got two sisters and a brother. My brother's older than me and my sisters are younger. That's about it." His voice cracked on every other word. "Oh yeah. . ." he added and this time he looked up. "I was thirteen on New Year's day and I like basketball." He smiled. He looked good when he smiled.

He had short brown hair, hazel eyes and a nose that was too big for his face. Mom says people have to grow into their noses. She says sometimes it takes until you're thirty. That's a long time to wait for your face to catch up with your nose.

"That was very interesting, Max," Mrs. Zeller said.

Eric Macaulay waved his hand and called, "Mrs. Zeller . . . how about if I introduce the rest of the class to Max?"

"What a good idea, Eric," Mrs. Zeller said.

I loved the way Eric was doing his Remarkable

Eyes number on Mrs. Zeller. He walked up and down the rows of desks saying our names, then giving each of us a title. Peter KIaff was Mr. Shy, Amber Ackbourne was the. National Enquirer and Alison was Miss Popularity. When he came to me he rested his hand on my head. I squirmed, trying to move away from him. "And this is Stephanie Hirsch," he said, "also known as Hershey Bar, also known as El Chunko."