Class Favorite Page 16

  Mom nodded. “That’s a good idea. Maybe they have someone they can call on too.”

  “Good luck with that,” Elisabeth piped in. “They never go out, and when they do, it’s me they call.”

  “Thank you, Elisabeth.” Mom sighed. She looked back to me and said, “If you give me the number to the Andersens’, I’ll call about the party. If everything is in order, then you can go. But only on the condition that you find a replacement for the Medinas that’s to their satisfaction. If not, then you need to do this favor for your sister.”

  I couldn’t believe she was choosing now to teach me some life lesson. The party was too important to me. Still, there was hope, and it was all in my hands.

  As I stood in my room, looking at the two of them—my own flesh and blood, the only people in the world besides Dad who were legally obligated to like me—I felt like they were against me. “Well, can you at least tell Elisabeth to stop smirking at me?” She looked like she’d just won the Universe Cup or something, she was looking so pleased with herself.

  “Elisabeth,” Mom said wearily. “Behave yourself.”

  “And get out of my room while you’re at it,” I added, giving her a little shove.

  “Mom!” Elisabeth whined.

  “Sara, I said that’s enough. Now I suggest you get to work on this.”

  Before they shut my door, Elisabeth turned back, smiling, and said, “And don’t forget: It’s your night to do the dishes.”

  I stood staring at the closed door and squared my shoulders. It was up to me to get myself out of this mess. I decided to call the Medinas first—maybe they knew of another neighborhood kid who could cover for me. I decided to be up front and honest with them about the whole situation, since honesty was supposed to be the best policy.

  “Normally we’d ask our niece,” Mrs. Medina said. “But she’s got a track meet. Sounds like it’s the same one as Elisabeth’s.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “So you will be here on Saturday, right?”

  “I promise, someone will be there. Don’t worry.”

  I picked up my Bowie Junior High phone directory and started flipping through the names, trying to figure out who I could call without it seeming totally random. With my heart pounding, I called a girl from my gym class named Heidi who I knew loved kids because she always talked about what she was going to name her future children (Michael, Samantha, and Lola, in that order).

  “What’s your name again?” she asked. When I told her, she said, “Oh! The girl who blew up The Ball!”

  I had the exact same conversation with three other girls, but all of them had other plans. I thought of taking an ad out in the Ladel Pennysaver, but it was an outrageous idea, and besides, there wasn’t enough time to do it before Saturday. There was only one person left who I could call, and I couldn’t call her asking for a favor. If I called Arlene at all, it had to be to talk things out. And that was still one call I was avoiding.

  Later, after I’d slaved over the dishes (that chipped beef sauce was especially hard to scrape off), I slumped back to my room. I closed my closet door and stacked my magazines on the corner of my desk and tucked my CF list into my desk drawer. I no longer needed to worry about finding the right clothes and attitude for the party. There would be no great conversations with Jason, no giggling with Rosemary. Come Monday morning I’d still be a nobody, some girl in their class, the one who blew up The Ball that one time. I stared at the Class Favorite pictures I had taped up beside the pictures of Haden Prescott triumphing on the Oscars red carpet. I looked down at my hands and thought of the events of the last few weeks and, before I could tell myself to stop feeling sorry for myself, I started to cry.

  18

  Are You Really Best Friends Forever?

  True or False: I know that I can trust my best friend with anything I tell her.

  The morning of the party I stayed in bed until 11:30, and the only reason I got up at all was because there was a phone call for me.

  “Are you so excited about tonight you’re ready to vomit?” Kirstie asked. I could hear a blender in the background and wondered what she was mixing. Smoothies? I had seriously thought of just not showing up at the Medinas, but in the end I decided that I couldn’t do that. It was a way too mean thing to do.

  “No,” I said flatly. “I’m miserable. I’m not going.”

  “What, got cold feet? Sara, it’s just a party.”

  I sat up in bed, pulled the comforter up to my waist, and realized my eyes were swollen from crying. “Seriously, Kirstie. I can’t go.”

  “Did you get grounded again?” she asked. I could now hear a television in the background. She must have moved rooms, and I had an image of her sitting on the puffy off-white couch, flipping through the channels as I told her my latest heart-crushing moment.

  “No. I have to babysit for my sister. She has some stupid track thing tonight, and I have to cover.”

  “Wait a minute,” she started. “How can you not be going to the one thing you’ve been waiting forever to go to?”

  “I haven’t been waiting forever to go to his party.”

  “But you’ve been drooling over this guy since, what, puberty?”

  I wanted to bury myself at the reminder of anything related to my period. “I know,” I said miserably.

  “But tonight could be your Silent Widow,” she miserably said, referring to Haden Prescott’s Academy Award–nominated role. “How old are the little monsters, anyway?”

  “Six.” I slid back under the covers.

  “At least there’s just one.”

  “No, they’re both six.”

  “What, twins? Oh man, that totally sucks, Sara.”

  “Thanks. I know,” I moaned.

  “Well,” she said, taking a gulp of something. The smoothie? “Do you mind if I still go?”

  “No,” I said. “Of course not.”

  “Cool. I’ve actually been looking forward to it. Make some new friends and all.”

  I swallowed, wondering if she was already over me. She acted so self-assured, talking about showing up at a party by herself—something I’d never do. Kirstie was cute, nice, and bold at times, and I wondered again why a former Most Popular hadn’t made more friends at our school. Maybe I was toxic?

  “Want me to give Jason a message or anything? A big fat sloppy kiss from you?” When I didn’t say anything, Kirstie said, “Kidding! Sara, I was totally kidding.”

  To say that the thought of Kirstie taking my much-dreamed-of night with Jason for herself made me nauseated would be the biggest understatement in the history of humankind. When I got off the phone with her, I lay in bed a while longer, staring across the room.

  I wondered if I should call Jason or maybe e-mail him to tell him I wasn’t coming. Then again, it wasn’t like he was having the party for me. If I didn’t show up, no one would even notice. No one understood the importance of this party. I really liked Jason—he was sweet and totally cute and he seemed to genuinely like me. I thought the party would take us to the next level. Not to mention all the work I’d done on my CF goal and how close I was to getting people to like me for more than making a fool of myself. Now, I thought, come Monday morning, everything would just be the same.

  I managed to drag myself out of bed, pull on a pair of almost-clean socks I found in the corner by my desk and barbeque-stained jeans from the back of my chair, and wiped the sleep out of my eyes in lieu of washing my face. Today, I would do the minimum of everything.

  The house was quiet. I peeked in Elisabeth’s room on my way to the kitchen and saw that her bed was made and she was nowhere in sight. She was probably out running. Elisabeth ran even on the days she ran. I wondered if she ever got frustrated that, despite all that running and all that distance, the only place she ever got was back to where she had started. She was like a fish in a bowl—always in motion but never really getting anywhere.

  In the kitchen I decided to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for my br
eakfast/lunch, then got lazy and decided on a simple peanut butter sandwich. I poured the last of the milk into a glass and ate standing at the counter. I thought about Jason and what could have been.

  Mom’s car pulled up outside, and when she came in carrying grocery bags, she asked, “Did you just get up?”

  “No,” I lied.

  “Why don’t you put on some cleaner clothes?” She rested the bags on the counter near my milk and dropped her keys and purse beside them.

  “I don’t know. I will.”

  Mom rested her hand on the counter and gave me her worried look. “Oh, honey,” she began. “I’m sorry about the party. I know it doesn’t seem fair, and I know it seems like there won’t be any other parties, but trust me: There will be. Running is important to Elisabeth—it could mean a college scholarship for her in a couple of years. There are worse things that could happen than not being able to go to one party.”

  “Mom, I know.” How could I explain to her that this wasn’t just one party—it was the party? “But that doesn’t make me feel better, okay? Look, I don’t even care anymore. I’m babysitting, and that’s that. I can use the money, anyway.”

  “At least you did everything you could to remedy the situation, right?”

  “I guess.”

  I took my sandwich and milk and sat at the table. It was sunny out, and the trees were waving at me in their light breeze. A perfect day for a party, I thought miserably.

  “Oh, shoot,” Mom said, looking in the fridge. “I didn’t realize we were out of milk.” She gave a huge sigh, like this was the worst that could happen. Talk about not listening to your own advice.

  She turned her attention to me and, apparently noticing again how I had obviously just rolled out of bed, said, “Run to Jim’s for me and get some, will you?” She dug some money out of her purse and handed it over to me. “You look like you could use a nice walk. It’s beautiful out, you know.” She smiled at me in a way that made me not want to argue. She was trying so hard.

  It was pretty out. It was cool enough for jeans but warm enough for short sleeves, and the air was somehow weighted with the promise of the hot summer to come. The walk to Jim’s Grocery took about ten minutes, down our street, across Reagan Park to Oak Hill Drive, where one of the volleyball coaches lived, and on to Spring Creek Avenue. Ladel doesn’t have many sidewalks, except in nice neighborhoods and maybe in what passes for our downtown, so I had to walk on the strip of gravel and weeds between the road and the ditch. Mom used to always tell to us to walk with traffic, but Dad told us to walk against it so that we could see the cars coming. I walked against it.

  Jim was from Vietnam and of an indefinite age—he somehow looked old, but didn’t have any wrinkles. He could have been twenty or ninety, I had no idea. His store had been robbed twice—both times at gunpoint—but for some reason the neighborhood was still considered a good one, proven by the fact that Mom let me walk there by myself.

  “Hi!” Jim said enthusiastically when I walked through the chiming door, and I smiled back at him. Mom had given me plenty of money for the milk, so I decided to buy some candy for the walk back.

  The candy aisle was directly in Jim’s view from the cash register, I guess to keep an eye on kids who thought about stealing. When I turned into the aisle from the side of the store, I stopped dead, almost knocking over the Pringles display: Arlene was there, three Tangy Taffy bars in one hand, looking at the rest of her options. I took a step back, hiding behind the single-serving Pringles cans.

  She was wearing cut-off sweatpants and an oversize T-shirt, and her hair was tangled and pulled back into a sloppy ponytail. She looked about as happy to be alive as I felt. I watched her reach down to the bottom rack for a Cherry Mash—two of them—before it hit me. More like smacked me full-on upside my head. It was our night to watch Raspberry Award movies. I had been so completely focused on Jason and making my way toward the Class Favorite ballot that our tradition had slipped from my mind for the first time since we’d started it. And there she was, going through the motions of our ritual alone.

  I assumed she would turn toward the back where the drinks were, but she turned the other way—my way—and suddenly we were standing face-to-face. I felt like I’d been caught spying. I guess I had been.

  “Oh,” Arlene said, stopping abruptly in front of me. I took a little step back, wishing I hadn’t lingered. “I didn’t see you there,” she said, shifting the candy awkwardly in her hands.

  She waited, almost expectantly, though she wouldn’t look at me. She didn’t look angry, and for that, I was grateful. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to ignore her or fight with her or insult her. I wanted to burst out, “I’m sorry!” and give her a big tight hug, even though we weren’t the hugging type. Seeing her at Jim’s, her fists filled with our favorite candy, obviously preparing for a Saturday night alone, made me want to drop everything and just be with her.

  I scratched at the single-serving Pringles cans nervously, and when she realized I wasn’t going to talk, Arlene said, “So. I guess you’re going to Jason’s big party tonight.” Her voice was stiff and strained, as if getting the words out were a major chore. I could tell she wanted to be tough with me, but I heard the hesitation in her voice. “I heard some people talking about it in the halls. Y’all a couple now?”

  “I don’t know,” I muttered, still not looking at her. It seemed like an odd question, in light of what had happened between us. I wanted us—Arlene and I—to be friends again. But it’s hard to just come right out and say that, especially when there was a lingering doubt of loyalty.

  “Well,” Arlene prompted again, taking control of the conversation like I should have done. “I guess you have a lot of exfoliating to do. Or something.” There was no hesitation in her voice now—it was full of edge and anger. She turned her back to me and walked to the cooler, swiftly grabbing a large bottle of Orangina. “So have fun,” she added sarcastically.

  “I’m not going,” I bleated. “I have to babysit the Medina twins. It’s this whole stupid thing with my sister. She has some running thing, and I called everyone I know”—except you! I wanted to say—“but no one can do it, so I have to miss the party.” I took a breath and let out a big sigh, and was amazed that I felt slightly calm.

  “Well,” Arlene began cautiously, her voice softening as she shifted the goodies in her arms. “I can’t say that you don’t deserve it.”

  “Forget it,” I said quickly. The last thing I wanted was to hear her say I told you so. I started to leave, upset I had told her about babysitting.

  “Look, wait a sec.”

  I turned to face her, but only looked at her for a second. In a lightning glance, she looked annoyed.

  “I can’t believe I’m about to do this,” she mumbled. She closed her eyes and inhaled. “I know how much you like Jason—I’ve watched you drool over him all year. I’m sure this party is a huge deal for you, so if you want, I’ll watch the Medinas for you tonight.”

  I think gobsmacked would be the best word to describe my reaction. As in, Wait a second, did I just hear what I think I heard? And then, Is this a trick?

  “I’ve sat for the twins before,” Arlene continued. “They like me. I’m sure their parents won’t mind.”

  I just stood there, completely silent, unable to blink or close my gaping mouth.

  After a long pause, she said, “So, anyway, I’ll call Mrs. Medina and make sure it’s okay and get the details. I guess I’ll call you if there’s a problem. Otherwise,” she said, heading toward Jim’s counter, “have fun with Jason.”

  “No, you don’t have to,” I finally managed.

  “It’s fine,” she said, handing her money over to Jim.

  I felt like grabbing her from behind and giving her a huge hug. It wasn’t just that she was making it possible for me to go to Jason’s party—it was more than that. She was doing something so selfless, especially considering all that had happened to us in the last couple of months. I didn
’t deserve her. I was the world’s worst person getting a mark of kindness from the Goddess of Nice. In those moments, I realized all that I was losing when I didn’t have a friend like Arlene in my life.

  She took her sack of candy from Jim and started toward the door.

  “Arlene, wait!” I called. She turned back to me. There were so many things I wanted to say to her, so much to get out. But all I could manage was the simplest of words: “Thank you.”

  For a moment, she looked like she wanted to smile at me. She didn’t, but she did say, “You’re welcome,” before heading out the door.

  19

  Do You Know How to Party?

  Your swim team just had its third victory in a row, so you invite the team over on Saturday night to celebrate. The vibe is:

  a) raucous—come as you are, bring who you please, and turn the noise up!

  b) low-key—only the girls on the team are invited for a movie-watching marathon complete with tons of junk food.

  c) elegant—below-the-knee skirts are a must at the three-course dinner you’re catering.

  As I walked home from Jim’s Grocery, I found myself in a daze. I was so completely dumbfounded, baffled, and shocked by what had just happened with Arlene that I walked with traffic instead of against it.

  My mind was all over the place. Why would Arlene do that? Was it her way of apologizing to me? Was she just feeling guilty about (possibly) sabotaging my life, or was it possible that I had been wrong all along, that she didn’t tell anyone about the roses or have anything to do with my locker, and this was her way of showing me that she’d always be my friend, no matter what I did?

  Or . . . was it another plot to ruin me? Maybe she told me she would babysit the Medinas but had no intention of ever showing up. I’d still get in huge trouble, Mom would ground me until I graduated from college, and Jason and I would never have a chance to fall in love.