New Year's Eve (8 page)

Lee had grown a mustache. The mustache surprised Kip. She wanted immediately to touch it, and run her finger backwards over it, to see if that tickled Lee.

Kip was still carrying on a conversation with Mike. Her voice climbed an octave. She squeaked like a mouse. She felt nervous and frightened about having to talk to Lee this soon. I wanted more time to get ready, she thought. I wanted to be at the dance, positioned for Lee's entrance.

As if it's a war, she thought sadly. As if I have battalions and strategies to prepare.

As soon as Mike spotted Lee, Mike's whole personality changed. He began grinning and swaggering. He became very affectionate with Kip.

Hug me only to show off for witnesses, will you? she thought. Her quick temper surfaced.

But she didn't yell at Mike. She was absorbed in Lee, as if Lee had vacuumed her up.

Anne is my good, good, good friend, Kip reminded herself. And I originally was going to fix Lee up with her anyway. Lee is good for Anne. Anne is good for Lee. Yes. “Hello, Anne,” she said, smiling as naturally as she could. Her lips felt peeled, like an orange. “Hi there, Lee. How have you been?”

“We're fine, thanks,” Lee said, nodding politely.

And me here with stupid Mike pawing me and George slouching around in his moccasins, Kip thought, dying a thousand deaths. Not to mention Beth Rose guiding her herd of dinosaurs through the lobby.

Lee's eyes lit up.

For me, Kip thought. For me! Just like they used to!

Her heart soared. Maybe Lee wasn't lost forever. Maybe Lee still—maybe New Year's Eve would—maybe—

“Say, it's George! Hey, I haven't seen you in months, kid! How are ya? Tall, huh. Yup, that's how you are.
Tall
.” Lee grinned, shaking hands with George.

“Hi, Lee!” George said happily. “How's college? Say, we really miss you. Is that a mustache?”

Kip flushed. Nobody saw. Not even Mike. Mike would never look at her when Lee was there; he was busy checking out the competition, not his date.

“No,” Mike said in disgust, “it's not a mustache, George, it's yarn Lee glued on.”

Lee never glanced at Mike, but just kept grinning. “Sure is a mustache. It's my pride and joy.” He tilted his chin, showing off the mustache at all angles. “So, George, you're here with Beth? You look great, Beth.”

“Aaah, that's just a lucky guess,” Mike said. “You can't even see Beth. You can't even tell what color her dress is, hidden behind her dinosaurs.”

Lee raised his eyebrows. “You think of those dinosaurs, George?”

“Who else?” Mike muttered. His voice was hard and unpleasant. George shifted his weight, looking guiltily at the dinosaurs.

In her smooth calm way, Anne said, “I'm so jealous. I only get roses. Do you think if we bribed you a lot, a lot, a lot, George, that maybe I could have one dinosaur? Just one? In my fourth grade, you see, I did a class report on tyrannosaurus rex. It was my only brush with violence.”

Beth Rose lowered her dinosaurs. “Well, Anne,” she said. “If you're very careful with him, I guess you could have this one.”

“Thank you,” Anne said seriously. “That's very gracious of you.” She tied her tyrannosaurus to her sash. It rose lightly toward the ceiling. Anne's head tilted back as she watched her balloon rise, and the golden fall of hair lay on Lee's ruffled shirt behind her.

Carrying a dinosaur did not diminish Anne's sophistication at all.

And carrying nine was now infinitely better. Beth did not like to be the only one doing anything. This was supposedly immature, but Beth was tired of fighting off immaturity. It was there, it was part of her, she might as well face it.

Beth Rose hoped she would find eight more girls whose memories of prehistoric animals made them want a tyrannosaurus rex, too. Then she would be setting a trend instead of being a fool.

“You look lovely, Bethie,” Anne said. “I love your haircut. So petite and pixie-like.”

A compliment from Anne could last a person for weeks. “Thank you,” Beth Rose said. She felt safer in her new haircut now that Anne said publicly she liked it. It must be nice to be Anne and be able to stabilize other people's lives just by borrowing dinosaurs or mentioning haircuts.

“I'm afraid of running into Gary,” Beth told Anne. “You look absolutely splendid, by the way.”

“I'm not so secure about seeing Con with Jade either,” Anne murmured.

“Gulp,” Beth Rose said.

The girls laughed helplessly. What else could you do?

“I'll tell you this,” Anne said, “it'll take Gary's breath away to see you in that lavender dress, Beth Rose. It's just right for you. Who would have thought that color would be right for a redhead? And you were afraid you'd turn back into a wallflower again, the way the mice who became Cinderella's coachmen turned back into mice at midnight. You are stunning.”

“Even with my dinosaurs?”

Anne looked up into the flock of dinosaurs hovering over Beth's head. “Actually,” she said, “I lied. Deep down, I believe I prefer roses.” They laughed again.

Kip ached to laugh with them, but Mike was all over her, and short of ripping herself free, she didn't know how to join Anne and Beth Rose.

The elevator came. George entered first, dock shoes and shirttail flapping. “He's going to lose his pants,” Mike remarked.

“He what?” Kip shrieked.

“He's going to lose his pants. He doesn't have a belt. He left the suspenders home with the cummerbund. He starts dancing, the pants slide down. He's a hipless wonder, you know.”

George was busy punching the elevator buttons.

Beth Rose followed him. Lee and Anne helpfully tapped the dinosaurs in after her. Everybody had Mylar in their face.

“George,” Lee said ominously, “did I actually see you punch every floor? Did you actually set this elevator to stop on each of twenty-two floors?”

George grinned joyously.

Mike began swearing.

Kip hardly even heard it. She was standing next to Lee again. Oh, Lee! Lee!

For the space of an elevator ride, she could be next to Lee. George didn't know it, but he had done a very brotherly thing, giving her twenty-two stops instead of one.

Beth Rose was laughing insanely. “All I ask, George, is that you hang onto your pants while we dance. Deal?”

George looked at his pants, which were indeed riding dangerously low. “Well, I don't know,” he said judiciously. “What do I get for keeping my pants up?”

His sister screamed.

Anne and Beth doubled over laughing.

Mike groaned.

And Lee said, “You better watch it, kid. People that get thrown out a window from a twenty-second floor don't have a great survival rate.”

“I
T'S SNOWING, THERE'S ICE
on the road, and unless my nose deceives me, you smell like the beach, M&M,” said Matt.

Emily bounced in her seat. “Famous female trick,” she told him. “Keep man disoriented. Then get what you want.” She rested her hands on his face as he drove and let him sniff the palms of her hands.

“Hmmm, kinky,” Matt said. “A hand sniffer. Dangerous type guy.”

“And? What's the smell?”

“The beach. Low tide. Seaweed,” he guessed. They were laughing. Matt said, “I don't know what the smell is. It certainly isn't a New Year's Eve perfume.”

“Keep trying,” Emily said.

“Boardwalks,” he cried. “Salt water taffy, water skiing, French fries with sand on them! I give up, what do you smell of?”

“Think massage,” Emily said.

“Hey, all right. One of my favorite thoughts.” Matt tried to massage her shoulder, but she put his hand back on the wheel. “I can drive with one hand,” he protested. Emily put his hand back a second time, but this time she let hers rest on his. “I said
think
massage, not do it,” she told him, putting his hand back for the third time. “You're not thinking. You know what the smell is. Get your I.Q. up off the sand and think!”

After a car accident last year, they were careful about seatbelts, but sitting apart was no fun, so Matt had installed a passenger seatbelt right next to his. Emily was so close that she had to shrink back whenever he shifted into third or she'd get an elbow in the stomach. Because of the snow, he slowed constantly. Emily felt as if she were following a TV exercise class, holding in her stomach so often.

He felt her dress. “Velvet,” he commented. “Are you rich? Is it the scent of velvet that's driving me crazy? This a new dress? Color looks good on you. I made that up, I can't tell in the dark. Your mother come through for you after all?”

Emily was used to Matt's disjointed speech. In fact, she loved it. It was like confetti: all his thoughts being tossed lightly toward her. “Oh, Matt, you know what Mother said. She said if I wanted to go and live with strangers, and abandon my own parents, I could also get my clothing at the Salvation Army. No, it's an old dress of Anne's. Isn't it beautiful, though?”

“Beaches,” Matt mused, as if he had not heard her at all. “I know! Coconuts.”

“Suntan oil smell,” she agreed, laughing. “Coconut oil makes the world's best hand-cream.” She put her soft small hand, richly scented with coconut, on the back of his neck and massaged. They didn't speak. He drove slowly and she stared dreamily out the windows.

The snow came down so gently it did not seem to be falling at all: it was suspended in midair, sparkling like stars. She turned off the windshield wipers so that the snow gathered lightly on the glass and the curtain of stars thickened.

Matt said, “Do you mind, Em? Tonight of all nights I am not suicidal.”

She turned the wipers back on.

Snuggling up to Matt was the most soothing activity Emily knew of. All the troubles of her life became insignificant. Matt's warmth and solidity were what mattered. She was stronger, and life was easier, and her parents' cruelty mattered less.

Em had had a terrible conversation with her mother only the week before. Mrs. Edmundson screamed at Emily for being a worthless daughter and Emily said she was sorry, Mother; next Mrs. Edmundson screamed about Emily's father being a worthless husband and Emily said she was sorry, Mother; Mrs. Edmundson screamed about the Stephens family interfering by taking Emily in and Emily said she was sorry, Mother.

When that was done, her mother changed personalities. She chatted happily about her new job with the phone company. She was in Customer Relations. Emily had heard nothing on television lately about Phone Company Customer Relations Deteriorate—Stock Falls as Customers Vanish. So presumably her mother was actually good at customer relations. (Matt's mother had a different theory—she thought Mrs. Edmundson was killing the customers off so they couldn't complain.) Emily tried to get in a word about herself: Matt, school, friends, grades, choir, baseball, Anne.

Mrs. Edmundson could not stand to hear that her daughter was happy.

A dress? Emily thought. My mother doesn't care if I even have a New Year, let alone a gown to start it off with.

Emily loved going over to Matt's house.

His family was loud, talkative, and huggy-kissy. His father and grandfather always had opposite opinions which they shouted at the top of their lungs, with much slamming of fists on table tops. But whereas in her house that would have meant war, in Matt's house, people just laughed, forgot the whole thing in three minutes, and went about their business. Emily's parents could hold grudges for a lifetime. Matt's family couldn't even remember the arguments. At Matt's, there would be noise, jokes, arguments, and then sudden silence as everybody abandoned talking and went out to do whatever they wanted to do anyway.

Emily rearranged the folds of her velvet dress.

“Aw, don't stop,” Matt pleaded. “I love to have my back rubbed.”

She dug her fingers in, kneading his muscles.

In a few hours it would be midnight.

The New Year would begin.

What resolution should I make? Emily thought. It has to be something a little more meaningful than keeping my skin soft! I could resolve to be nicer to my own parents. But I'm trying as hard as I can already.

Even Matt's solid comfort could not keep panic at bay when she thought of the future. Which parent to obey, which to disobey? Which family to mooch off, which darkness to be afraid of?

She snuggled smaller and tighter against Matt.

“Don't be sad,” Matt said. “It's against the rules. On New Year's Eve you have to make loud happy noises and scream in ecstasy and stuff. You know what my grandfather is doing for New Year's Eve? Watching television. I said, Gramp, come on, that's boring. You can do that three hundred sixty-four nights a year. He said, ‘Yes, but I
don't
do that three hundred sixty-four nights a year. This is my sole television night for this entire year.' And my father said, ‘Forget it, we rented a movie, we're not watching dumb old television.' And my mother said, ‘Forget it, we're going dancing. I bought tickets.' And my father said. ‘Dancing? Are you kidding? I don't do dances.' And my grandfather said, ‘Well, actually, I lied, because I did watch television in November to see the election returns….'”

The O'Connors were probably dancing when this discussion took place. Mr. O'C was always swinging Mrs. O'C around the room and tilting her backward like ballroom dancers. She would protest that her spine was going to snap and he would say, A little submission to authority now and then never hurt anybody, my dear. (This was always a good opening for a little yelling.)

The snow continued to fall.

“I love you, Matt.”

He stopped quoting his grandfather. He curled her fingers around his. “I—uh—” his voice caught. He blew a long slow puff of air out toward the frosted windows. “I love you, too, M&M.”

“Well, what was I supposed to do?” Kip yelled.