Like Pickle Juice on a Cookie (4 page)

“What's going on?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I said.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“I'm sure,” I said.

Then,

hoping to distract her,

I said,

“Can we make some grilled cheese?”

It was the perfect distraction.

“I love grilled cheese,” my mom said.

We went into the kitchen.

And as I watched her take the bread

and the cheese

and the butter

out of the refrigerator

I decided

that I never wanted to see

another fancy scarf

again.

The next Sunday,

as my mom was leaving to visit her aunt,

my dad came into my room.

“Guess who I just saw in the lobby?” he asked.

He looked very happy.

I couldn't think of a neighbor

who would make him so happy.

So I said,

“Jorge Posada?”

Jorge Posada is a New York Yankees baseball player.

My dad loves Jorge Posada.

My dad laughed.

“It wasn't Jorge,” he said.

“Then who?” I asked.

“Agnes,” he said.

“From the apartment upstairs.

She was there with her mom.

I invited her to come play with you.

And she's coming!”

My mouth dropped open

and I sat straight up

and I started shaking my hands at my dad.

“I don't like Agnes from upstairs!” I said.

“You don't?” he said.

He didn't look happy anymore.

“No!” I said.

“I don't!”

Agnes from upstairs is scary.

She never talks to me.

Or smiles.

And one time,

in the lobby,

near the doorman's desk,

she jumped on her brother

and they both fell on my feet

and I tripped over them

and landed hard on my arm.

Bibi was there.

She helped us up

and fussed at them.

“You see all these people,” she said,

wagging her finger at them.

“You can't be so wild.”

Then she brought Agnes and her brother to their dad

and took me upstairs

and put ice in a bag

and laid a towel on my arm

and held the ice

on the towel

on my arm

for a good long time.

I liked sitting there,

with Bibi holding ice on my arm.

So I never told her

that before she even started

my arm was feeling fine.

I said to my dad,

“I don't want to play with Agnes.”

“But your friend Pearl is away,”

he said.

“So many of your friends are away.

And I want you to have fun.

Summer is supposed to be fun.”

“Agnes is not fun,” I said.

“Oh dear,” my dad said. “I'm not sure what to do.”

He looked worried.

“Call her mom,” I said.

“Tell them not to come.”

“But Agnes might feel very hurt,” my dad said.

I glared at him.

He still looked worried.

Finally I said,

“If Agnes is coming over,

you have to stay with me.

The
whole
time.”

“I will,” he said. “I promise.”

A little while later the doorbell rang.

Agnes was there with her mom.

“We should do this all the time!”

her mom said.

Agnes didn't say anything.

I didn't say anything.

“Come in!”

my dad said.

“Come in!”

So Agnes came in.

“I'm right upstairs if you need me!”

her mom said.

Then she left.

“Have a seat, you two!”

my dad said.

“Have a seat!”

I pulled on his arm.

“Stop saying everything twice,”

I whispered.

“Oh!”

he whispered back.

“Sorry!”

We all sat down on the couch.

“Aren't you both eight?”

my dad asked.

“No!” I said.

Agnes still didn't say anything.

“She's nine,” I said.

“So you've already been through third grade!”

my dad said.

“How perfect!

Eleanor is starting third grade soon.

You can tell us all about it.”

He waited.

We both waited.

Finally Agnes said,

“It's okay.”

“Do you write any stories in third grade?

I used to love to write stories,” my dad said.

“Yes,”

Agnes said.

“We wrote stories.

And letters.

Other things, too, I guess.

I can't remember.”

I can write stories and letters,

I thought.

We did that in second grade.

And then I thought,

Letters!

I can write letters!

And then I stood up.

“I'm going to write a letter,” I said.

“Right now?”

my dad asked.

“Right now,”

I said.

“Would you like to write a letter, too?”

my dad asked Agnes.

“No thanks,” she said.

Then she said,

“Could I listen to some music?”

My dad looked surprised.

“Sure,” he said.

So my dad took Agnes to look through our music.

I got my best stationery

and I sharpened a pencil.

Then I sat down at the kitchen table.

And I wrote a letter to Bibi.

I wrote:

Yesterday Mom bought me new pants.

So I will have them for school.

They're too big.

Nobody here can sew except for you.

And you left.

So I have to wear a belt.

Here is a picture of me in my too-big pants.

And here is a picture of calm Agnes on our sofa.

I miss you every single day. I really do.

And I love you a million trillion.

Love,

Eleanor

I didn't want Agnes to see my letter.

Because it was private.

And she might feel funny.

Since I wrote about her.

So I folded it up right away