by Judy Blume
After that there was a minute of silence. Probably Dad was trying to think of some other question for me. When he couldn’t he said, “Well … why don’t you put Bruce on?”
I was at my desk later, doing math homework and humming along with the Top Forty songs on my radio, when Mom came to my room. She stood behind me with her hands resting lightly on my shoulders. “Did something happen between you and Dad over the holidays?” When I didn’t answer Mom continued, “I couldn’t help noticing how distant you were to him on the phone.”
“It has to do with Iris,” I said. This was the first time I’d said Iris’s name at home.
“Is she the woman Dad’s seeing?”
“Yes. I wasn’t sure if you knew.”
“I don’t know the details,” Mom said, “but I know he’s met someone.”
“Doesn’t it bother you?” I asked.
“I guess I don’t like the idea of being replaced so easily.”
I turned around and faced Mom. “You’re not being replaced! Iris is just a fling.”
Mom laughed.
“It’s not funny!”
“I know … and you’re probably right … it’s just a fling.”
I was glad Mom agreed with me. I felt a lot better until she said, “I imagine I’ll have my own fling one of these days.”
“You!” I said. “When?”
“I don’t know.”
“Will it be before or after my birthday?”
Mom laughed again.
“I’m serious,” I told her. “I want to know.”
“Forget it, Steph.”
“No, I’m not going to forget it. Is having a fling part of a trial separation? Is it something everyone does?”
“I was just kidding,” Mom said.
But I knew she wasn’t.
Thoughts
Jeremy Dragon is available again! But the three of us can’t be happy about it because Dana is so miserable. She came to the bus stop the following Monday morning with red and swollen eyes. “It’s all over,” she said, holding up her naked wrist.
“What happened?” Rachel asked.
“We went to a party and he made out with Marcella, that eighth-grade slut.” Tears spilled down her cheeks.
Alison put her arm around Dana’s waist. “I’m really sorry.”
I gave Dana a tissue to blow her nose.
“I trusted him,” Dana said. “I trusted him with my innermost feelings and he betrayed me.”
I felt a lump in my throat. If this was love you could have it!
“I don’t know how I’m going to face him on the bus this morning,” Dana said. “Do you think I could sit with the three of you … because my closest friends don’t ride this bus and …”
“We’d be honored,” Rachel said.
“And we’ll never speak to Jeremy again!” I promised.
When the bus stopped we got on and found seats together. At the next stop, when Jeremy got on and greeted us in his usual way, “Hey, Macbeth!” we turned away from him.
I was very glad to see Mrs. Remo back at her desk in homeroom. Mrs. Zeller had never forgiven me for saying the A-word in class, and I’d felt uncomfortable around her all week long. After Mrs. Remo took attendance she stood and said, “I want to thank all of you for your kind thoughts and generous contribution to the Cancer Society in memory of my father. He was a fine man and I’m going to miss him very much.” She choked up. “But he had a long, productive life and that’s what counts.”
I felt another lump in my throat. This one was even bigger than the one at the bus stop. This one made me think about my father. Sometimes I feel guilty because I don’t miss him that much, especially since the holidays. I think if he would just stay in L.A. everything would be okay. Maybe it would be different if Mom cried all the time or seemed depressed, but she doesn’t. I think it would be a lot harder for us if Dad lived nearby and we had to go visit him and Iris.
Still, as Mrs. Remo told us about her father, I imagined all the terrible things that could happen to Dad. I imagined him crashing into a van on the Freeway, drowning in the ocean, having a heart attack at work. I couldn’t stand the idea of anything happening to him, especially if he didn’t know I still love him.
As soon as I got to math class I opened my notebook and started a letter.
Dear Dad,
I was thinking of you this morning. And I was wondering if you think I don’t love you anymore? In case you don’t know, I still do. But sometimes I get really mad and I don’t know how to tell you. I got really mad about you and Iris because Bruce and I thought we were coming to L.A. to spend the holidays just with you. So naturally we were surprised and disappointed to find Iris there. Also, I hate it when you ask me so many questions over the phone. I especially hate it when you ask me about the weather. You never ask Bruce about the weather. If you want to know about the weather that much why don’t you listen to the national weather report? Another thing is, I was wondering how you feel about me …
Alison tugged at my arm. “Steph … he just called you to the board.”
I looked up and Mr. Burns was staring at me. “I won’t even ask where your mind is this morning, Stephanie. It’s clear that it’s somewhere else. But if you wouldn’t mind taking your turn at the board …”
I walked up to the blackboard and stood between Peter Klaff and Emily Giordano. Somehow I was able to solve the problem quickly and get it right. I would have to finish my letter to Dad during English.
But once a week, when we come into Mr. Diamond’s class, we have a special writing assignment. And today was the day. Mr. Diamond had printed the topic on the board: I Used To Be … But I’m Not Anymore. Mr. Diamond never grades these papers. He just writes comments. Also, spelling and grammar don’t count. What counts is our ideas and how we present them. The following week he’ll choose two or three papers to read out loud but he never tells us who wrote them. Sometimes you can figure it out, though. He always picks the best papers to read, papers that make you think.
I sat for a long time before I started to write. I looked up at the ceiling for inspiration, then out the window, but all I saw were the tops of bare trees. I nibbled on my pencil. I Used To Be … But I’m Not Anymore. I looked around the classroom. Almost everyone else was hard at work.
I thought about the letter I’d started to Dad during math class. I thought about how my life has changed. And then an idea came to me and I began to write. I wrote and wrote, filling up one sheet of paper after another. When the bell rang I looked up at the clock and couldn’t believe the time had gone so quickly. I clipped my five pages together and wrote across the bottom: Please do not read this aloud in class.
At lunchtime Rachel begged me to introduce her to Max. “Please, Steph … I have to meet him!”
“Okay … okay …” I said. The two of us got on line right behind him. “Hey, Max!” I said, tapping him on the back. “How’re you doing?”
He looked at me.
“Stephanie,” I said. “From your homeroom …”
“Oh, yeah …” he said. “You’re El Chunko, right?”
I gritted my teeth. “You can call me either Stephanie or Steph, but that’s it!”
“Sure,” Max said. “It’s nothing to me … you know? I’ll call you whatever you want.”
Rachel gave me a little kick, reminding me to introduce her to him.
“Oh, Max,” I said, “I’d like you to meet my friend, Rachel Robinson. She’s in 7-202 … that’s the homeroom right next to ours.”
“You’re in seventh grade?” Max asked Rachel.
“Yes,” Rachel said.
“You’re tall for seventh grade,” Max said.
“So are you,” Rachel told him.
Max laughed. He sounded like a horse.
“So …” Rachel said, “everything’s up to date in Kansas City … right?”
“Huh?” Max said.
“Never mind,” Rachel said. “It’s just a song.”
“
You know a song about Kansas City?” Max asked.
“Yes … it’s from a musical called Oklahoma!”
“Whoa …” Max said, “this is going too fast for me.”
We reached the food counter and Max took fish cakes, mashed potatoes and peas. Nothing makes the cafeteria smell as bad as fish cakes. Max put mustard on his. “Aren’t you getting anything?” he asked us.
“We bring our lunch,” I told him. “But we buy our milk.”
Max followed us to our table. “Mind if I join you?”
“Uh … all the seats at this table are taken,” Rachel said. “Why don’t you sit with Eric and Peter?”
“They’re not as pretty as you,” Max said to Rachel.
Rachel turned purple and took a deep breath.
Max leaned over and spoke softly. “Some day I’d like to hear that song about Kansas City.”
As soon as he was gone Rachel said, “I’ve got to get something new to wear to the Ground Hog Day dance.”
“He seems to like you fine just the way you are,” I told her.
“He did seem to like me, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“You think he really does or was it just an act?”
“I don’t think it was an act.”
“Suppose he really does like me?”
“So … you want him to, don’t you?”
“I think I do but …” Rachel watched me as I unpacked my lunch. “A hardboiled egg and carrot sticks?” she asked.
“Mom and I are watching our weight.”
“Is it because the boys are calling you El Chunko?”
“It has nothing to do with them!”
The Celebrity
Bruce won second place in the Kids for Peace poster contest. The reporters who came to our house to interview him had questions for me, too. “Tell us, Stephanie … how does it feel to have a brother who’s so involved in the peace movement?”
“I’m very proud of my little brother,” I told them. I kept stressing little and younger when I talked about Bruce. And I didn’t say one word about his nightmares.
“Your brother seems to have a very supportive family. Would you say that’s true?”
“Oh, yes … definitely.”
“Have your parents encouraged him in his quest for peace?”
“Let’s put it this way,” I told them. “They haven’t discouraged him.”
“Then they’re not activists themselves?”
“Pardon?” That’s the word Rachel uses when she’s talking to grown-ups and she doesn’t get what they mean.
Mom had been standing across the living room with Bruce, who was being interviewed by another reporter. Now she walked over to me and put her arm around my shoulder.
“Mrs. Hirsch …” the reporter said, “I was just asking Stephanie if you or Mr. Hirsch are activists in the peace movement?”
“Well, no …” Mom said, “not exactly … although we certainly believe in it. My business takes up most of my time.”
“And your husband?”
“He’s in California … also on business.”
“So what you’re saying is that your ten-year-old son did this on his own?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
War Is Stupid! Says Ten-Year-Old Poster Winner, the headline read in the Sunday paper. Under that was a picture of Bruce and a story about him.
Bruce called Dad to tell him the good news. And Dad called Bruce two more times over the weekend. The first time I answered the phone. He said, “Isn’t it great about your brother!”
And I said, “Yes.”
“I’ll bet the phone hasn’t stopped ringing.”
“Mom’s thinking of taking it off the hook.”
“Wish I were there to celebrate with you.”
I didn’t respond.
“Well, let me talk to Bruce.”
After he called again I asked Bruce, “What’d he want this time?”
Bruce said, “You know … more about being proud of me. And he wanted to remind me to wear a tie and jacket to the White House.”
On Monday, at the bus stop, Dana said, “I saw Bruce’s picture in the paper yesterday. He’s so famous!”
“Yeah … he is,” I said.
“Did he leave for Washington yet?” Rachel asked.
“He’s leaving at nine,” I told her. Mom is going with him. Bruce and the other poster winners are meeting the President this afternoon. Then they’re flying to New York and staying overnight at a hotel because tomorrow morning they’re going to be on the Today show. I’m going to spend the night at Aunt Denise’s.
“Have you heard about me and Jeremy?” Dana asked.
“No … what?” I asked.
She shook her wrist. She was wearing Jeremy’s I.D. bracelet again.
“What happened?” Rachel asked.
“He realized he’d made a terrible mistake and he begged me to forgive him.”
“That’s so romantic,” Alison said.
“I wouldn’t have forgiven him that easily,” Rachel said.
“Just wait until you’re in love!” Dana said.
Rachel didn’t tell her that she’s halfway there.
At school everybody was talking about Bruce, including my teachers. Mrs. Remo said, “What a special brother you must have, Stephanie.”
By the end of the day I was sick of hearing about Bruce and how great he is. So when Mr. Diamond called me up to his desk after class I figured it was going to be more of the same. “Stephanie … that paper was amazing!”
“It wasn’t that great,” I told him, thinking he meant the story in the newspaper.
“Believe me,” he said, “it was very special.”
It wasn’t until he tapped the paper he was holding that I realized he wasn’t talking about the newspaper. He was talking about the paper I’d written in class last week. Across the top in green ink he had printed, Interesting, revealing and straight from the heart!
“I’ve asked Mrs. Balaban to see you this afternoon,” Mr. Diamond said.
“Who’s Mrs. Balaban?”
“The school counselor. She might be able to help you sort out your problems.”
“I don’t have any problems.”
“I know these things are hard to face, Stephanie …”
“What things?”
“The kinds of problems you wrote about.”
“No,” I said, “you’ve got it all wrong!”
“Stephanie …” Mr. Diamond said, “go and see Mrs. Balaban.”
“Sit down, Stephanie,” Mrs. Balaban said.
I sat in the chair at the side of her desk. She was wearing a white sweater with a design knitted into it. On one hand her fingernails were long and polished pink. But on the other, three of her nails were very short and not polished at all. There was a picture of a baby on her desk.
When she caught me looking at it she turned it toward me and said, “This is Hilary … she’s a year old now but she was only eight months when this was taken.”
“She’s cute.”
Mrs. Balaban smiled and flicked her long, dark hair out of her way. “Do you have brothers or sisters?”
“I have one brother. He’s ten. You probably read about him in yesterday’s paper. He won second place in the Kids for Peace poster contest. He’s going to meet the President and be on the Today show.”
“Really …” Mrs. Balaban said. “And how do you feel about that?”
“Me? Well … I’m glad for Bruce but I wouldn’t mind being famous myself.” I laughed. It didn’t sound like my regular laugh.
Mrs. Balaban lowered her voice as if she were telling me a secret. “Everything said in this office is strictly confidential, Stephanie.”
“Good,” I said.
Then we just looked at each other for the longest time. It reminded me of the staring contests we’d had at Girl Scout camp, where whoever blinks first, loses. Mrs. Balaban blinked first. “In February I’m starting an after school group for kids wh
ose parents have split up.”
“My parents haven’t split up.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Balaban studied the hand with the long fingernails. “Well, Stephanie … we can talk about anything that’s on your mind … anything that’s bothering you.”
“Nothing’s bothering me.”
“I see.” She sharpened two yellow pencils. Then she said, “If you ever do want to talk I’ll be here. I’m on your side. I hope you’ll remember that.”
“Okay.”
“Thanks for stopping by.” She reached across her desk and shook my hand. “I’m trying to meet as many new students as I can.”
“There’s a new boy in my homeroom,” I said. “Max Wilson. He’s very tall. Maybe you should meet him.”
“Max Wilson …” Mrs. Balaban repeated, writing it down.
On Tuesday morning Aunt Denise and I watched the Today show together. Bruce came on right after the eight o’clock news. Aunt Denise grabbed my arm and held on during the entire interview, which lasted five minutes. Bruce looked like he was having a good time. The other two poster winners seemed scared. I was glad when the interview was over because Aunt Denise stopped crying and finally let go of my arm.
I decided I’d send Dad the paper I wrote in Mr. Diamond’s class.
I Used To Be An Optimist But I’m Not Anymore
It’s not as easy to be an optimist now that I’m almost thirteen because I know a lot more than I used to …
Dad is always asking how I’m doing in school. This would prove that some of my work is interesting, revealing and straight from the heart.
Making Plans
Mom bought new earrings. They’re shaped like bolts of lightning and they sparkle. “What do you think?” she asked. The earrings dangled from her ear lobes to her chin.
“They’re different,” I said.
“I hope that’s a compliment.”
I didn’t want to hurt Mom’s feelings so I didn’t tell her the earrings were much too flashy. “Are you going to wear them to the office?”
“No,” Mom said, “I’m going to wear them to Carla’s party on Saturday night.”
“I didn’t know Carla’s having a party.”
