Just as Long as We're Together (18 page)

reasons. I hope you understand. If you don't, you can ask Rachel. I will be at Alison's, if my mother calls.

Sincerely,

Stephanie

37.

Personal Stuff.

I would never forgive Rachel for the horrible things she said about me. My parents' separation was none of her business. Besides, what did she know about how I was feeling inside? Which proved that Rachel Robinson was the one who was immature and insensitive, not me!

Mom came back from New York on Sunday afternoon but I didn't tell her about Rachel and me until we sat down to supper. Then, while she dished out tomato-rice soup, I said, "Rachel and I had a fight. We're never speaking to each other again!"

Mom said, "I'm sure you can patch it up if you try."

"I don't want to try."

Mom covered the pot of soup and bit into a cracker. "That's not like you, Steph. After all, you and Rachel have been best friends since second grade."

"Well, we're not anymore!"

"But you've got so much in common."

"No," I said, "we don't have anything in common. That's the problem."

"You shared your childhoods," Mom said. "You'll always have that in common."

"That's not enough!"

"It's stupid to fight with your friends," Bruce said, slurping his soup.

"Rachel is not my friend."

"But she was. . . before you had the fight... right?"

"Before we had the fight doesn't count," I told Bruce.

"That's how wars get started," he said.

"Nobody is talking about war!" I shouted.

"Calm down, Steph. . ." Mom said, "and eat your soup before it gets cold."

When I got into bed that night I went over the fight in my mind again, trying to figure out how it had started. But all I could remember was the part about the designer jeans, and the shouting, and the tears. I had trouble falling asleep. When I finally did, I dreamed I was at the Ground Hog Day dance, naked. Baby. . . baby

baby, Rachel sang, taunting me. Everyone else laughed and pointed. Finally, Mrs. Remo covered me with her coat.

When Dad called the next night I told him that Rachel and I were never speaking again.

He said, "You two will make up in no time."

"We will not."

"Want to bet?" Dad asked.

"Well, I do. I'll bet five dollars that before your birthday you and Rachel are best friends again."

"My birthday's this Friday, so you're definitely going to lose."

"I'll take that chance."

Parents always think they know so much about their kids when really, they hardly know a thing.

"So," Dad said, "how was Mom's weekend in New York?"

"Why don't you ask her yourself?" I thrust the phone at Mom, who was relaxing at the kitchen table, sipping tea and reading the newspaper.

"Yes, Steve. . ." Mom said, taking the phone, "everyone's fine."

I began to peel the label off the jar of mayonnaise that was still sitting on the counter. If I'm really careful I can sometimes peel labels off in one piece, which feels almost as good as peeling sunburned skin.

"A fling?" Mom said into the phone. "No, I

did not have a fling in New York. . . not that it would be any of your business if I had."

I put the mayonnaise jar in the refrigerator and tried to sneak out of the kitchen but I didn't make it. "Stephanie!" Mom called, as she hung up the phone. "Did you tell Dad I was going to New York to have a fling?"

"I might have mentioned something about that," I said. "And by the way. . . how was Carla's party?"

"Don't try to change the subject," Mom said and I could tell by the tone of her voice she was serious. "You had no business discussing my social life behind my back."

"Dad was jealous, wasn't he?"

"This is a marriage, not some junior high romance," Mom said. "We've got to work it out ourselves."

"I don't see why I can't help."

"Because you don't have the power to make it turn out the way you want. . . you'll only wind up disappointed. Do you understand?"

"No!" I shouted, as I ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs. If you asked me, Mom and Dad were behaving just like Jeremy and Dana. I slammed my bedroom door and threw myself on my bed, on top of my stuffed animals. I hated the way Rachel, and now Mom, accused me of butting into their social lives when all I was trying

to do was help. I lay there for a long time, crying. I was sure Mom would come to my room to apologize, but she didn't.'

Word gets around fast at school. By lunchtime on Tuesday everyone knew that. Rachel and I weren't speaking. On the bus Rachel sat with Dana, as far from Alison and me as possible. And in the cafeteria she sat at Stacey Green's table. I saw her fooling around with Max, too.

Kara Klaff asked, "What'd you two fight about anyway?"

"Personal stuff," I answered.

Miri Levine said, "Do you think you'll make up soon, or what?"

"Never," I told her.

Amber Ackbourne came up to me in homeroom. "I can't believe that you and Rachel aren't speaking. I mean, you ~and Rachel have been friends forever. I hope it didn't have anything to do with Max or that gold sweater I bought for the dance."

"Don't flatter yourself," I said. "It didn't."

After school Alison said, "Everybody's asking if I'm on your side or Rachel's. They don't know she called me an insensitive, immature baby, too. I hate fights!"

"It wasn't my idea to have this fight," I told her.

"I know," Alison said. "I was there. . . remember?"

We squeezed hands and I thought how lucky I am to have Alison for my best friend. Because if Rachel had been my only best friend imagine how lonely I'd feel now. As lonely as Rachel would feel if she didn't have Stacey Green.

That night it began to snow and by the time I went to bed it was coming down hard. I had another bad dream. This time Rachel and I were walking along a highway but there was no traffic. Then, suddenly, a speeding car came out of nowhere and headed straight for us. We tried to run but our feet wouldn't move. The car smashed into Rachel. Her body flew up in the air, sailed across the highway and landed with a thud. I raced to her side but it was too late. When the police came they arrested me even though I hadn't done a thing. The policeman who handcuffed me looked exactly like Benjamin Moore. He said, You planned the whole thing, didn't you? I screamed, No! No! and woke up shaking and covered with sweat.

Bruce raced into my room. "What was that?"

"I had a bad dream," I said.

"Scary?"

"Sort of. . ."

"About the bomb?"

"You want me to stay with you?"

"I'm okay now."

He went to my window and looked out. "It's still snowing. I hope school is closed tomorrow."

"Yeah. . . we could use a snow day."

"I guess I'll go back to bed now."

When he got to my door I said, "Bruce. .

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for coming to my room."

"That's okay," he said. "I know what it's like to have bad dreams."

What's weird is, Bruce hasn't had a nightmare since he won second place in the poster contest. Mom says he feels better now that he knows he's not the only one who cares. He's even been invited to become an honorary member of two national organizations that work for peace.

It was still snowing when we woke up on Wednesday morning. School was closed. Bruce and I whooped for joy, then went back to sleep.

The snow stopped and the sun came out around eleven. Bruce and his friend, David, built a snowman in our yard. I tied a scarf around his neck and set Dad's brown felt hat on his head.

Seeing the hat on the snowman reminded me of the old days, when Dad would play with us in the snow. I wonder if we'll ever do that again.

After lunch Alison and I went down to the pond to skate. Rachel was there, too, with Dana, but she just gave me a haughty look. So I gave her one back. I learned that word from Rachel. It means arrogant, which means hoity-toity, which means thinking you are great, which definitely fits Rachel. While I was showing off, skating backwards, I tripped and fell. Alison had to help me to my feet. She sat on a log with me for a while, until the pain in my backside went away. After that I stuck to ordinary skating and when Rachel did a series of figure eights, I didn't act impressed like everyone else at the pond.

Mom had gone to the office for a few hours that afternoon and when she got home, around five, I was sitting in the den nibbling a bowl of carrot sticks and reading. I'd decided to try Gone with the Wind after all, proving that Rachel isn't the only person in seventh grade who can read grown-up books. Mom changed into her exercise clothes and shoved her Jazzercise tape into the VCR. When the leader came on the screen Mom began her warmup stretches.

I put down my book. "I think I'll try that today," I said, standing behind Mom and copying her movements.

When we got to the number where the leader says, "Okay. . . now I want you to make believe you're punching someone you really can't stand! Remember . . . it's a lot better to punch the air than someone you know," I punched as hard as I could. First to the right, then to the left. Take that. . . I thought, and that! Punch. . . punch

punch. . . until Mom touched my arm and said, "The number's over, Steph. You can stop punching now."

38.

Slow Dancing.

A package arrived from Dad on Friday. I took it to my room. The card showed an older elephant talking to a younger one. It said Happy Birthday to someone young enough to enjoy it but old enough to know better. Under that, Dad had written, Wish 1 could be with you to celebrate your thirteenth! Love, Dad. I turned it over to see if it was made of recycled paper. It was. I unwrapped the box and opened it slowly. Inside was an amethyst heart on a gold chain. Amethyst is my birthstone.

I ran downstairs. Mom was fixing an early dinner because the Ground Hog Day dance was starting at seven-thirty. "Look what Dad sent for my birthday," I said, dangling the necklace under her nose.

Mom glanced up from the chicken and vegetables she was stir-frying. "Very pretty."

"You think he picked it out himself?" I asked.

"I hope so," Mom said.

"Me too . . . because if Iris picked it out I'll never wear it. I'll flush it down the toilet first!"

"Really, Steph . . ." Mom laughed. But I think she was glad I said that.

"How would it look with my green outfit?"

"When you get dressed for the dance you can try it and see," Mom said.

"But how can 1 wear this plus my bee-sting necklace?"

"There are no bees at night," Mom said, "especially in the winter."

"Then I guess I'll wear Dad's necklace tonight and tomorrow, when I go to New York, I'll wear Gran Lola's." I paused for a second. "And I'll wear my new boots tomorrow, too." I added that because Mom had given me a pair of cowboy boots for my birthday. They're something like the ones Marcella wore to the movies the night I saw her with Jeremy Dragon, except mine are a soft grayish color and Marcella's are white. I didn't get my own phone. Oh, well. . . there's always next year.

"Steph. . ." Mom began.

"I really love the boots you gave me!" I said. I

didn't want to hurt Mom's feelings, making her think I liked Dad's present better.

But Mom had something else on her mind. "Don't you think we should ask Rachel if she needs a ride to the dance tonight?" she asked.

"No!"

Rachel had written a note to my mother:

Dear Mrs. Hirsch,

Due to a change in plans I won't be able to go to New York on Saturday to help celebrate Stephanie's birthday.

Sincerely,

Rachel Robinson

"I talked to Nell today," Mom said. "You called Mrs. Robinson?" "She called me. Rachel is suffering."

"Good," I said. "Rachel deserves to suffer!"

"Stephanie . . . I'm surprised at you. Where's your compassion?"

"It's my birthday," I said. "Where's her compassion? Besides, you don't know the terrible things she said about me."

"Maybe she's sorry," Mom said

"Then let her tell me herself."

The 'gym looked' great. Besides crepe-paper streamers and balloons in different colors, huge letters spelling out Ground Hog Day were strung across one wall. The other walls were covered with murals of ground hogs looking for their shadows. My two favorite teachers, Mrs. Remo and Mr. Diamond, were chaperones, along with the other seventh grade homeroom teachers.

When Alison and I got there Eric Macaulay, Peter Klaff and Max Wilson were already gathered around the refreshment table, stuffing their faces with cookies and fruit punch. Nobody was dancing yet.

We were there for at least ten minutes before Rachel came in with Stacey Green. She was dressed all in white. I couldn't tell if her white pants were the designerjeans she'd tried at Ollie's on the day of the fight, or not. But I know we hadn't seen her top, which was pleated and shaped like a lamp shade. She had a white flower in her hair, too. A gardenia, I think. I was too far away to smell it. She didn't look like a person who was suffering at all.

We stood around for a while, girls talking to girls and boys talking to boys, until Amber Ackbourne dragged Max Wilson out to the middle of the floor, to dance. Then Toad asked Alison to dance and soon all the boys were cutting in

on each other to get their turns with Alison. All but Eric Macaulay. He just watched. So I was really shocked when he suddenly grabbed my hand and said, "Come on, El Chunko. . . let's dance!"

"My name is Stephanie!" I reminded him.

"Yeah. . . yeah."

Eric surprised me. He. 'actually knew how to dance. And even though we didn't touch because it wasn't a 'slow number, he managed to dance me over to where Peter Kiaff was standing. When we were right in front of Peter, Eric shoved me at him. "Catch. . ." Eric called to Peter, laughing. I almost fell over but Peter caught me. He didn't let go of me right away either.

Next, Eric grabbed Rachel around the waist. He only came up to her chest but he danced her over to Max and Amber. When he was right up close he shoved Rachel at Max, the way he had shoved me at Peter. Rachel went flying, nearly knocking over Amber. Eric rescued Amber and before she knew what was happening he danced her away, leaving Max and Rachel together. Then Eric danced Amber over to Alison and shoved her at Alison's partner. Finally, Eric had Alison to himself.