Ten

by Lauren Myracle

  “A scullery maid?” Karen repeated.

  Louise sighed in a very loud way. “No offense, but could we please not put on one of your plays? You always get to be the heroine, and the rest of us get stuck being butlers or ladies-in-waiting.”

  “I get to be the heroine because I made it up,” I explained. “But you can be the horrible baroness if you want. She’s hunchbacked from riding camels, and she lisps.”

  “I don’t want to be the baroness,” she said. “I don’t want to be anything.”

  This was a problem with Louise. She could be extremely difficult. I tried to appear agreeable while at the same time indicating with my tone that Louise was being a spoilsport. “Well, what do you want to do?”

  “We could give each other makeovers,” Chantelle said.

  “Karen’s mom won’t let her wear makeup,” Louise said. “Not until she’s in junior high.”

  “Maybe that telephone game?” Dinah said. “Where everybody whispers something into the next person’s ear and it comes out all silly?”

  “Wait,” I said, sensing my plans slip from my grasp. “In the play there’s a plague, did I tell you? Sophia-Maria gets horrible boils, and—”

  “I know!” Louise said. “Do you still have that electric chair? The one that old lady used to use?”

  “What old lady?” Karen asked.

  “Mrs. Robinson,” I said. “The lady who lived here before us. But—”

  Karen’s eyes grew big. “She had an electric chair?”

  “Not that kind,” Louise said. “Not where you get electrocuted. Tell them, Winnie.”

  I told them how Mrs. Robinson couldn’t move around very well because she was, like, ninety years old, so she had an electric chair installed in the back staircase. It’s an ugly vinyl chair connected to a steel track, and under the arm of the chair is a button, kind of like a doorbell. When you press it, the chair travels up the track. Or down the track, if you start at the top.

  “It’s not that exciting,” I finished.

  “It’s better than doing a play,” Louise said. She headed for the kitchen, and the others followed. By the time I caught up with them, they were crowded around the foot of the back staircase with Louise perched on the cracked vinyl seat.

  “Everyone watching?” Louise asked. She punched the “start” button, and the chair lurched up the stairs, motor whining. We heard a thunk when the chair got to the top, and Karen shrieked.

  “It’s okay,” Louise called. “It always does that.” The motor whirred and down came Louise, sitting proudly like a queen.

  “Now you,” she said to Karen.

  Karen hesitated, then climbed onto the chair. “Like this?” she said. She pressed the button and squealed as the chair started back up the stairs.

  “Mrs. Robinson?” I said, raising my voice to be heard over the motor. “The lady who lived here? She was so old she died in this house. My sister Sandra was afraid to move in because of ghosts.”

  That wasn’t exactly true. Sandra was just trying to scare me.

  “I think she died in the electric chair,” I said even louder.

  “Ooo!” everyone cried.

  “Karen, you’re sitting on a ghost!”

  “Karen and ghostie, sitting in a tree!”

  “Hey, I want to sit on the ghost!”

  “Me, too!”

  “Hurry up, Karen! You’re squishing the ghostie!”

  Karen climbed down, and Chantelle and Amanda got on to do a partner ride, with Amanda sitting in the seat of the chair and Chantelle balanced on one of the arms. Then Karen went again, although she still didn’t have the hang of it. She kept letting go of the “start” button, making the chair stall out. She giggled each time, and the others yelled, “Karen! Push the button!”

  Louise reclaimed the chair, and I sat down on the lowest step, wrestling with my disappointment. It wasn’t that I wanted to be the boss of everyone, but I’d worked hard on The True Tale of Sophia-Maria. I’d seen in my mind how it would be performed, and how afterward, as everybody congratulated me, I would blush modestly and say, “It was nothing. I just like to make stuff up.”

  And it was a heart-wrenching story. Sophia-Maria lost three fingers due to the plague, and the baroness cast her into the street with nothing but a tattered gray shawl. She had no friends, and she wandered the earth singing mournful songs. Finally she was killed by a pack of wild javelinas, and when everyone found out, they felt terrible for not treating her more nicely. The last line of the play, to be delivered by the butler, was, “For the welfare of all children, for the consideration of poor, innocent girls and boys, and for the bettering of your community as a whole, I beg you: BE KIND TO A STRANGER TODAY!”

  Louise clunked to a halt at the bottom of the staircase. “That’s how you do it,” she said to Karen.

  “Can I have a turn?” Dinah asked.

  “No,” said Louise.

  “Why not?”

  “Because.”

  I roused myself from my slump. Dinah’s eyes had a rabbity look to them, and her cheeks were pink.

  “Yes, you can have a turn,” I told Dinah. “Louise, get off.”

  “I’m not done yet,” Louise said.

  “You’ve gone twice already. You’ve got to share.”

  Louise hesitated, then hopped down as if she’d never cared in the first place. “You better not break it,” she said to Dinah.

  Dinah climbed onto the seat and squeezed her knees together. She pressed the button and off she went.

  “Okay,” I said when she was done. I slapped my hands on my thighs and stood up. “Everyone’s had a turn. Let’s go to the kitchen and—”

  “Hey!” Louise protested. “Karen and I haven’t gone double ! ”

  Chantelle pushed her way forward. “I bet if someone helped me I could do a handstand on the—”

  “My turn to go next—”

  “—not fair, because you already—”

  “But don’t you guys want to eat?” I asked. “We’re going to have pizza, and everyone gets to put on their own toppings.”

  No one paid attention.

  “Amanda?” I pleaded. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  Amanda stopped arguing, and I could tell she’d finally remembered our plans. She stepped toward me. “I love pizza,” she said.

  “Me, too,” said Chantelle.

  Louise put her hands on her hips. “Yeah, but—”

  “Come on,” I said before she could finish. “Last one to the kitchen is a rotten egg.”

  Originally Mom wanted to stay in the kitchen to supervise, but I told her no, I could take care of dinner myself.

  “Here’s how it works,” I told everyone. “We’ve got two crusts. Me and Amanda and Chantelle will make this one, and Louise and Karen and Dinah, you can make the other. The toppings are on the counter, and the sauce is in the blue bowl by the sink.”

  I pulled Amanda and Chantelle toward the counter. My chest felt lighter now that we were back on track. “What should we do?” I asked. “Green pepper and onion? Or, I know! We could make a smiley face, with pepperoni for eyes and a green pepper for the mouth!”

  “Not too much green pepper,” Chantelle said. “I don’t mind a little, but not, like, all over the whole thing.”

  “That’s why I said for the mouth. There’s only one mouth.”

  A worry line formed on Amanda’s forehead, and I stopped talking and followed her gaze. At the end of the counter Louise and Karen were sprinkling cheese onto their pizza while Dinah stood to the side, biting her thumbnail.

  “Dinah, why aren’t you helping?” I asked.

  Dinah pulled her thumb out of her mouth and wiped it on her dress. “Um . . .”

  “She doesn’t like pepperoni,” Louise said. She grabbed a handful of pepperoni slices and scattered them over the cheese.

  “So split the pizza in thirds,” I said.

  Louise mushed the pepperonis into the sauce. “Too late.”

  Dinah gave a w
obbly smile. “I can eat pepperoni. I don’t mind.”

  My heart started beating too fast. “You guys,” I said to Louise and Karen. “You can’t hog that whole pizza to yourselves.”

  “Who says we’re hogging?”

  The silence stretched out. I was afraid I was going to cry, or that it would look like I was going to cry, which would be just as bad. Why did Louise have to act so snotty? And why couldn’t Dinah handle it on her own?

  “Fine,” I said. “Come on, Dinah, I’ll switch with you.”

  “Wait,” Amanda said. She touched my arm. “I’ll go.”

  Amanda joined Karen and Louise, and Dinah stepped up behind me and Chantelle. “I don’t mind pepperoni,” she said in a voice that was barely there. “We can put it on if you want.”

  I didn’t answer. I plucked off the pepperoni eyeballs and dropped them into the sink.

  “But—” Chantelle said.

  “We’ll use mushrooms instead,” I said. I didn’t meet her gaze.

  After pizza we had cake, because Mom forgot we were supposed to open presents first, and once she brought the cake out, it was too late to take it back. When everyone was done eating, we moved into the den and settled down on the sofa and the floor.

  “That’s quite a stash you’ve got there,” Dad said, nodding at the gifts piled up on the coffee table. “Sure they’re all for you?”

  “D-a-ad,” I said. I pressed my palms on my legs and tried to get that birthday feeling back. I reached for the box from Amanda, but she shook her head.

  “Mine last,” she said.

  I picked up the package beside it and read the card: ‘“Happy Birthday, Winnie. Love, Louise.’ And, oh, there’s a puppy dog holding a balloon.” I held out the card for the others to see, and everyone made oohing sounds like they wished that puppy were right here with us.

  I tore the paper from the box. “Body glitter!”

  “You are so lucky,” Amanda said.

  “Pass it around,” said Louise. I handed it to her, and she uncapped the tube.

  Chantelle leaned forward. “Now open mine.”

  I peeled the paper from her present. “Earrings! They’re beautiful! ”

  “They’re clip-ons,” Chantelle said, “but you can still wear them once you get your ears pierced.”

  I took the earrings off the card and put them on. They made my ears feel heavy when I moved my head.

  “They make you look mature,” Louise said. “Like thirteen at least.”

  “Clip-ons stretch out your ears,” Karen warned.

  “Not these,” Chantelle said.

  “They look very nice,” Mom said. She won’t let me pierce my ears until I’m twelve, but these she couldn’t complain about because they were a gift.

  “Here, open this one,” Amanda said, pushing Karen’s present at me. From inside the box I pulled out a set of Bonne Bell Lip-Smackers in all different flavors. The set included five normal Lip-Smackers, plus one huge one with a cord through the top so I could wear it around my neck. Its flavor was “Dr Pepper,” and it smelled exactly like Dr Pepper.

  From Dinah I got a scrunchy with gold stars on it. “I made it myself,” she said, scrunching the hem of her dress. “I can do it over if you don’t like the color.”

  “No, gold’s okay,” I said. “Thanks.”

  Finally, Amanda handed me her present.

  “It feels empty,” I said.

  “Open it,” Amanda said.

  “Open it!” the others cried.

  I ripped off the wrapping paper and lifted the lid from the box. Inside lay a card. “‘Happy Birthday, Winnie,”’ I read aloud. “‘Will you take care of me?’” I peered into the box again. There was nothing there. “I don’t get it. Take care of what?”

  From the doorway came a squeaky meow. Mom was holding a tiny gray-and-white kitten, its whole body smaller than one of my dad’s sneakers. The kitten meowed again, and everyone said, “Ohh!”

  I jumped up and ran to Mom. “To keep? Really?”

  Mom nodded. “Amanda’s mother brought her by when she dropped off Amanda.”

  I turned to Amanda. “Oh, thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I took the kitten from Mom’s arms.

  “She’s a girl,” Amanda said. “Isn’t she adorable?”

  “Hi,” I said to the kitten. “This is where you live now, okay?” She climbed up my chest and pushed at my neck with her head.

  “Happy birthday, squirt,” Dad said. He came forward and tousled my hair. “We’ll leave you girls alone to enjoy your presents. Holler if you need anything.”

  He and Mom left the room, and I sat down on the floor with my kitten.

  “What are you going to name her?” asked Chantelle.

  “How about Socks?” Karen said.

  “Or Mittens,” said Louise, “because of her teensy white feet. And because it rhymes with kitten.”

  Chantelle wrinkled her nose. “Mittens the kitten?”

  I thought for a moment, then said, “Sweetie-Pie.”

  “Like Sweet-Pea, Amanda’s cat!” said Chantelle.

  “Yep. They’re sisters.”

  “Adopted sisters,” Amanda said. She grinned.

  We watched as Sweetie-Pie licked her back leg. Her tongue made spiky spots on her fur.

  “Well?” Louise asked. “Is that all?”

  “All what?” I said.

  “All the presents.”

  “Yeah, I guess, but—”

  “So what are we waiting for?” She stood up and tightened her ponytail. “Let’s go play on the electric chair!”

  “Yeah!” said Karen.

  “Me first!” cried Chantelle as she dashed for the door.

  “Nuh-uh!” Louise said. “It was my idea!”

  Their feet pounded the floor as they ran down the hall, everyone but me. I heard the whine of the chair’s motor, followed by a burst of laughter. Someone must have tried a new trick. Or maybe whoever it was fell off. I hoped it was Louise.

  I held Sweetie-Pie close and rubbed my cheek against hers. “You don’t want to ride on that stupid chair, do you?” I whispered. “Huh?”

  Sweetie-Pie squirmed free. She padded across the room, sniffing in the direction of the back hall.

  “She’s so cute,” Dinah said, appearing at the door. She knelt and scooped Sweetie-Pie into her arms.

  “Why aren’t you riding the chair?” I asked. It came out sounding mean, and my face grew hot.

  “It’s boring,” she said. “Plus, Louise won’t let me. She says I’m too big.”

  “Louise is a turd. Anyway, my dad’s ridden on it and he’s way bigger than you.”

  She sat down beside me. “It’s just a chair.”

  Sweetie-Pie settled into Dinah’s lap. From her chest came a tiny purr.

  “She likes you,” I said grudgingly.

  “I have four cats at home,” Dinah said. “Gypsy, Muffet, Buffy, and Katzy. They like to be scratched behind their ears, like this.” She demonstrated. “Go ahead. Try.”

  I scratched behind Sweetie-Pie’s ears, and her purrs grew louder. From the hall came another burst of giggles, and Dinah and I glanced at each other. She looked anxious, like she thought I might leave.

  “We could try out my new Lip-Smackers,” I suggested, shifting my gaze.

  “You mean it?” Dinah asked. “They’re brand-new.”

  “They’re going to have to get used sometime.” I grabbed the Lip-Smackers from the table and lined them up, the fruit-flavored ones first and then the giant Dr Pepper at the end. I chose a white one called Coconut Crazy and smoothed it over my lips.

  Dinah pointed to a red one called Strawberry Dream. “Can I try this one?”

  “Smell it first to make sure you like it.”

  She held it up to her nose. “I think I like it. Do you?”

  I took a quick sniff. “Yeah. It smells good.”

  She raised it to her lips, crossing her eyes to keep it in sight.

  Today I am eleven, I sai
d to myself. Eleven years old. From down the hall I heard Karen yell that she was being squished, followed by Louise calling her a baby. In Dinah’s lap, Sweetie-Pie continued to purr. I uncapped another Lip-Smacker—Bursting with Blueberries—and breathed in deep.