by Judy Blume
“She was just kidding,” Alison told Steph. “Right, Rachel?”
“I was definitely not serious!” I said.
“Is Charles home?” Alison asked.
“I believe he’s in his room.”
Mom and Dad had left for New York on the 4:30 train. They planned to have dinner at their favorite restaurant before the birthday concert at Carnegie Hall. Mom wore her slinky black dress, the one Jessica borrowed for her junior prom. Jess got home from work before they left. “How come you’re so dressed up?” she’d asked when she saw Mom.
“It’s a benefit,” Mom told her, “for the Legal Defense Fund. There’s a party after the concert.”
Jess seemed nervous, especially when Mom looked in the mirror and said, “I don’t know. There’s something about this dress. Does it look odd to you, Victor?”
“It looks great!” Dad said. Obviously no one had told him what Jess wore to the prom.
Mom sniffed herself. “It doesn’t smell like my perfume,” she said.
“Whose could it possibly be?” Jessica asked, sounding defensive.
“I’ve no idea,” Mom said. “Something just doesn’t feel right.”
“It shouldn’t feel any different than it always feels,” Jessica said. I shot her a look, hoping she’d shut up about Mom’s dress, but she didn’t. “It shouldn’t feel any different than when you wore it to that benefit for the homeless.”
“Maybe I’ve gained weight,” Mom said, adjusting the straps.
“You never gain weight,” Jess told her. “It’s probably that you’re not wearing those dangling earrings.” Jess was talking about the earrings she wore to the prom.
“They’d be too much for tonight,” Mom said.
When Mom and Dad finally left, Jessica let out a long sigh. “Do you think she guessed?” Jess asked.
“No, but you were acting so guilty she would have in another minute.”
“I couldn’t help myself,” she said. “I didn’t mean to say anything but the words just kept pouring out. I should have taken the dress to the cleaners.”
“Mom’ll probably send it after tonight. Stop worrying.”
Jess looked at me and laughed. “This must be a first … you telling me not to worry!”
Later Jess went out with Kristen and Richie. Ed and Marcy have the flu.
A few minutes before seven, the three of us took our positions at the windows in my room facing Steph’s house. Even though Steph refuses to meet the StairMaster, she is very curious about him.
At five after seven, a red pickup truck pulled up to Steph’s. A guy in jeans and a leather jacket got out. A guy with a ponytail. Stephanie inhaled sharply.
“It’s probably just a delivery,” Alison told her.
We watched him swagger up to the front door. He wasn’t carrying a package. In fact, his hands were in his pockets until he rang the bell. Mrs. Hirsch answered.
“He’s probably selling magazines,” Alison said.
Steph didn’t say anything.
Mrs. Hirsch was wearing jeans, western boots and a fringed jacket. She linked her arm through his. They laughed as they got into his truck.
“I guess he’s not selling magazines,” Alison said.
“I can’t believe this!” Steph finally said. “How old do you think he is?”
“Over eighteen,” Alison said.
“Probably thirty,” I said.
“Right,” Alison said, glancing at me. “And they’re probably just friends. Younger men and older women make good friends for each other. I read about it in People magazine.”
But Stephanie wasn’t listening. “And with a ponytail!” she said. “This is so embarrassing!”
If I were a Natural Helper right now, what would I do? I reminded myself of the first steps we learned at the introductory meeting. Listen, not just to the spoken but to the unspoken. Be aware of body language. Right now Steph had her arms folded across her chest. An angry pose, a defiant one. Be on her side. Offer encouragement and support, but not advice …
But as soon as the red truck pulled out, Steph said, “Let’s play Spit!” You could tell she didn’t want to talk about her mother and the StairMaster.
So for the next hour we played Spit, a card game Alison had taught us. It’s meant for just two players but we’ve invented a way it can be played with three. I used to hate it, but lately I’ve learned it’s an excellent way to relieve tension. It’s such a fast game you can’t afford the time to think—you just have to react. And it’s so silly we always wind up laughing our heads off and singing “Side by Side,” our theme song.
Tonight, when we got to the section that goes
Through all kinds of weather
What if the sky should fall …
Stephanie stopped and turned to me. “That’s the perfect line for you, Rachel.”
“What line?” I asked.
“That line.” She sang it. “What if the sky should fall?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I told her.
“You always think the sky is falling.”
“I do not think the sky is falling.”
“You think the worst is going to happen,” she said. “And that’s the same thing.”
“I do not think the worst is necessarily going to happen!”
Alison held up her hands. “Let’s not get into one of these stupid arguments,” she said. “Okay?”
“Who’s arguing?” I asked.
“I didn’t mean it was bad or anything,” Steph said. “I just meant …”
But we were interrupted by a sudden blast of music. When I opened my bedroom door, it grew even louder. I walked to the stairway and called downstairs, “Kindly lower the volume!” My choice of words made Alison and Stephanie laugh.
But Charles either couldn’t hear me or chose to ignore my request. Now the neighbors would start calling. There are rules at Palfrey’s Pond and one of them is no noise loud enough to break the tranquillity of the area. I love that word, tranquillity. It means peacefulness, serenity.
I looked at Stephanie and Alison. “I better go tell him to turn it down.” As they followed me, the phone rang. “I knew it,” I said. “Neighbors.”
“Aren’t you going to answer?” Steph asked.
“No,” I said. “Let the machine take the message.”
We paused outside Charles’s bedroom door. The sound of the music was deafening. “Metallica,” Alison said to Steph. They know the names of all the groups. But they don’t know Bach from Beethoven.
Finally I knocked. No response. So I banged on his door with two fists and shouted, “Charles … turn that down!”
Suddenly the music clicked off and the door opened, just enough for Charles to have a look. Stephanie and Alison giggled nervously. They find anything having to do with Charles exciting.
“The neighbors are going to call to complain!” I told him.
“It’s my warden,” Charles announced. As he opened his door all the way, a pungent odor hit us. It was so dark and smoky in his room, it took me a minute to realize he wasn’t alone.
Marcella, the eighth-grade slut, sat on the floor with Adrienne, a ninth grader who has a major attitude. There were also two guys I’d never seen before, swigging beer from bottles. And over in the corner, looking unhappy and out of place, were Dana Carpenter and Jeremy Dragon! What were they doing here?
“Macbeth!” Jeremy said when he saw me. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here,” I told him. Why would Jeremy and Dana be at a party in Charles’s room, especially since everyone knows about their fight over Marcella?
“You live here?” he asked, surprised.
“This is my baby sister,” Charles said. “Rachel Lowilla, the child prodigy.” He grabbed my wrist. “Come in, Rachel …” He beckoned to Stephanie and Alison. “Come in, girls. We’re celebrating my name change. Have a beer … have a joint … loosen up!”
“No thank you!” As I tried to pull away, Dana came up behi
nd him and rested her hand on his arm. “Charles,” she said quietly.
Charles let go of me and wrapped an arm around Dana’s waist. They smiled at each other. What was going on here? “You’re going to read about my little sister someday,” Charles told his guests. “In addition to developing a vaccine to prevent hair balls in lions, she’s going to—”
“Murder her brother!” I shouted, not waiting for him to finish. Then I slammed the door and broke for the stairs, with Alison and Steph following. When we got back to my room, I slammed my door and woke the cats.
“I knew Dana liked Charles!” Steph said, flopping in my chair.
“Some people have no taste,” I muttered.
“And he likes her!” Steph continued.
“I thought he liked me,” Alison said.
Steph and I looked at her.
“Well, he acted like he did … didn’t he?” she asked. “I mean, that night I came over to get a book, he definitely acted like he was interested. You were there, Rachel.”
I shrugged.
Alison continued, “I think what happened is he realized I’m just in seventh grade and he decided I’m too young … for now.”
“Right,” Steph said. She waited for me to agree.
There was no point in hurting Alison, so I said, “It’s possible.”
“Anything’s possible,” Alison said, using one of my favorite lines.
“Right,” Steph and I said at the same time.
We were quiet for a minute, until we heard a voice calling, “Macbeth … where are you, Macbeth?”
Jeremy Dragon?
“Open the door,” Steph whispered. I opened it.
“Hey …” Jeremy said.
“Hey …” I said back. I could not believe this!
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” he asked. I stepped aside. He walked into my room and looked around. “Nice,” he said. “Very … neat.”
“Yeah,” Steph said, “a hot Saturday night for Rachel is folding her socks!” Then she laughed nervously.
I could have killed her!
But Jeremy thought it was a joke. He laughed and said, “So, is that what you’re doing … folding Macbeth’s socks?”
Steph said, “No … we’re just hanging out.”
“Well, if you’re just hanging out,” Jeremy said, “how about a game?”
“A game?” I repeated.
“Yeah, a game … like Monopoly.”
“You want to play Monopoly?” I asked. I definitely could not believe this!
“Yeah,” he said. “That is, I wouldn’t mind.”
I looked at Alison and Steph. We were having trouble keeping straight faces. I went to my closet, reached up to my top shelf and pulled down my Monopoly set, which Tarren had given to me when I was in third grade.
The four of us settled on the floor, with Jeremy seated between me and Steph, across from Alison. He chose the little race car for his token. I took the hat.
We rolled to see who would start. Alison got the high number. None of us asked Jeremy anything about Charles’s party. And he didn’t volunteer any information. For the next two hours we concentrated on Monopoly. Midway through the game I went down to the kitchen and brought up a bottle of apple juice, a bag of pretzels, and a tin of cookies my aunt had sent us. Jeremy ate three-quarters of the cookies and drank half the juice.
The game finally ended when Alison built hotels on Boardwalk and Park Place and the rest of us went bankrupt. By then it was close to eleven and the three of us walked Jeremy downstairs. He didn’t head for Charles’s room or even call goodnight to anyone at the party, which, from the sound of it, was still going strong.
I didn’t want to think about Charles’s party. I’m not the family warden, despite what Charles says. It’s not my job to report on him to my parents. If he does something that directly affects me, that’s different. If not, let them find out on their own.
“Goodnight, Macbeth,” Jeremy said as he went out the door and down the path. “Good game.”
The three of us went back up to my room and fell across my bed, laughing hysterically. Then we were absolutely quiet. Then we began laughing hysterically again, until our sides were splitting.
I woke up sometime later to see Stephanie sitting in the window. I crept out of bed and kneeled beside her. The StairMaster’s truck was parked in front of her house. “It’s been there for an hour at least,” she whispered. “And don’t tell me they’re just talking.”
“It is possible.”
“Please!”
“Sorry.”
“I hate this!” Steph whispered, looking over at Alison, who was totally out of it in her sleeping bag. “It’s so … disgusting!”
I nodded.
She choked up. “If she marries someone like him, I’m moving out. I’ll go live with my dad.”
“You can live with us,” I said.
She smiled. “Thanks.”
I put my arm around her shoulder. “It must be really hard to see your mother with someone like him.”
“It is … it’s so hard.” Then she cried. I held her and patted her back. “Thank you,” she said after a few minutes. “I think I’ll go to sleep now.”
I wish I could just let go and cry like that. I wish I knew how to let my friends comfort me.
At the bus stop on Monday morning, Dana said, “Just so you know … it’s all over between Jeremy and me.”
“You don’t have to explain,” I told her.
“But I want to. You seemed so …” She paused, trying to find the right word. “You seemed so surprised the other night.”
“I was.”
“You really don’t know Charles, do you?” she said. “If you’d just give him half a chance, you might be …” She paused again, then came up with the same word. “Surprised.”
“He’s a very surprising person,” I agreed.
She shook her head at me, obviously annoyed. “I really don’t understand you, Rachel. Most of the time you seem so grown-up, and then you …”
I glanced over at Alison and Stephanie, who were listening to every word.
“I just hope you’ll try to get to know your brother,” Dana continued, “because he’s a very warm and intelligent person.”
“If you say so.”
“And would you, please, stop acting like such a bitch!” With that, she turned and marched away from me in a huff.
Now Stephanie and Alison were really cracking up. I went over to them, took each one by the arm like a mother with two small children, and led them away.
“Is she really going with Charles?” Alison asked.
“It sounds like she thinks so,” Steph said.
“What about him?” Alison asked. “Does he think he’s going with her?”
“I wouldn’t know,” I said. “Charles and I haven’t exchanged a word since Saturday night.”
That afternoon Dana rang our doorbell. “I’m here to see Charles,” she said when I came to the door.
“Charles is with his tutor,” I told her. “He’s busy until five-thirty.”
“I know that,” she said, as if she knows everything about our family. “But they take a break at four-thirty, don’t they?”
“Yes,” I said, “but just for ten minutes.”
She checked her watch. It was quarter after four. “If you don’t mind, I’ll wait.”
“Suit yourself,” I told her. But I didn’t invite her inside.
“And Rachel,” she said, “I’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t discuss this with Jeremy again.”
“Discuss what with Jeremy?” I asked, since I’ve never actually discussed anything with him.
“This,” Dana said, as if I were stupid. “Charles and me.”
“I’ve never discussed you and my brother with Jeremy.”
“Oh, please!” she said. “It’s not like I didn’t see the two of you coming out of math class today.”
But what Jeremy had said on the way out of math class t
oday had nothing to do with Dana.
He’d said, “I can’t say I like your brother, Macbeth.”
“I can’t say I do, either,” I’d answered.
“He’s too full of himself.”
“He’s definitely full of something.”
“He’s not … you know … as real as you,” he’d said, looking directly into my eyes. The way he said it made it sound like a compliment, but I couldn’t be sure.
So Dana sat on the front steps to wait for Charles. Burt rubbed against her leg and she petted him, cooing, “Good kitty … sweet kitty.” I turned away and went back into the house.
At four-thirty, when Charles and Paul came into the kitchen for their break, Charles asked, “Is Dana here?”
“Out front,” I told him.
“You could have invited her in,” he said.
“You didn’t mention you were expecting company,” I answered.
Paul dropped an arm around Charles’s shoulder and said, “No distractions during our time together. Ask her to come back at five-thirty … okay?”
“Okay,” Charles called, on his way to the front door. He didn’t sound angry or even annoyed. I don’t understand how Charles can get along so well with Paul but not with any of us. If Mom or Dad had said no distractions during tutoring, Charles would have told them where to go. But with Paul, he’s a totally different person. He’s keeping up with his schoolwork and even moving ahead of where he would be if he were just finishing ninth grade. Of course since he’s already finished ninth grade once before, that’s not surprising. But still … As soon as Charles left the kitchen, Paul looked at me and said, “What about you, Rachel?”
“What about me?” I asked.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No!” I answered too quickly, feeling my lower lip begin to twitch. I couldn’t look at him. Instead I said, “I have to practice now. Excuse me.” And I ran from the room.
“When am I going to hear you play?” Paul called after me.
“Whenever …” I called back.
I wish I could let Paul know how I feel about him. I often imagine us having deep, meaningful conversations. I often imagine us kissing passionately. Sometimes I imagine more than kisses. If Steph knew what I was thinking, she’d be relieved. She’d say, So you’re normal after all … at least in that way! But she can’t know. No one can. Paul has to remain my secret.
