BFF*

by Judy Blume

  “You better not let Mom and Dad hear you say that.”

  “Yeah, right. They’d call the language police. And the language police will drag me to the dictionary to find a more acceptable word for my family, like noble … like self-sacrificing … like—”

  “You were despicable tonight!”

  “Thanks, Rachel.”

  “Why’d you have to hurt everyone? What was the point?”

  “The point was to get at the truth.”

  “Well, you didn’t!” I told him. “You didn’t even come close.”

  “Really.”

  “Yes, really! Mom’s not an ice queen.”

  “Maybe not to you. After all, you’re her clone.”

  “I’m not anybody’s clone! And Dad’s not a wimp, either.”

  “Then how come he went to bed for six weeks when Grandpa died? How come he couldn’t make it in the real world? How come he gives the Ice Queen all the power?”

  “He went to bed when Grandpa died because he was sad.”

  “Oh, that’s sweet, Rachel. But plenty of people get sad and they don’t climb into bed and pull the covers over their heads for six weeks!”

  “He wasn’t happy being a lawyer, so he quit. What’s wrong with that?” I paused for a moment. “And Mom doesn’t have all the power. He’s the one who’s always stopping her.”

  “Right … because he’s a wimp! He’ll do anything to avoid confrontation!”

  “He didn’t avoid it tonight, did he? He told you off and so did Mom!”

  “You call that telling me off?” He smirked. “I call that pathetic.”

  “Mom and Dad are not pathetic!”

  “Are we talking about the same Mom and Dad? The Nell and Victor with the bedroom upstairs at the end of the hall?”

  “I’m talking about my parents. I don’t know about yours!”

  “When are you going to face the facts, Rachel? This is a very screwed-up family!”

  “You’re the part that’s screwed up.”

  “I don’t deny it. But the rest of you …” He stopped and shook his head.

  “All families have problems,” I said, thinking of Steph and how angry she is at her mother for dating the StairMaster.

  He laughed. “‘Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.’”

  That sounded familiar but I couldn’t remember where I’d heard it.

  Charles laughed again. “Tolstoy, Rachel. Don’t tell me you haven’t read him yet?”

  “I plan to … this summer.”

  “I certainly hope so. I wouldn’t want you to fall behind. After all, you’ve got to be the best.”

  “I like being the best!”

  “What happens when you find out it’s not always possible?”

  “I’ve already found out and I’m surviving!”

  He paused, as if I’d caught him by surprise. “You know something, Rachel, you’ve got possibilities. With a little coaching …”

  “I don’t need any coaching from you!” I told him. “I’m figuring out life by myself, thank you.”

  “Whatever you say, little sister.” He started to walk away.

  I called, “What do you want from us, Charles?”

  He spun around. “What do I want?” He looked up, as if he’d find the answer on the ceiling. Then he repeated the question, quietly, to himself. “What do I want …?”

  I waited, but for once Charles seemed at a loss for words.

  The next night Charles didn’t come to dinner. I wasn’t surprised. But even without him at the table, it’s become so tense it’s hard to eat. The rest of us didn’t have much to say until Dad announced we’re going to see a family counselor, someone named Dr. Michael Embers.

  “I don’t see why we have to go to a counselor!” Jessica cried, with a nod in my direction. “There’s nothing wrong with Rachel and me!”

  “Because it’s family therapy,” Dad told her, sounding weary.

  “But Charles is the one with the problem!” Jess argued, which is exactly what I was thinking.

  Dad shoved his plate out of the way. “Please don’t make this more difficult than it already is.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of Pepto-Bismol tablets. He popped two into his mouth and chewed them up slowly. He looked very tired. So did Mom. I really and truly resent Charles for making them so unhappy.

  “Well,” Jessica said, “if we have to go, I don’t see why we can’t see a woman!”

  “According to some people,” Mom said, “there are already too many authoritarian women in Charles’s life.”

  Does that mean us? I wondered, looking at Jessica. What a joke! Charles walks all over us. We have no authority over him!

  On Monday night at six, we went to Dr. Embers’s office. He shook hands with each of us, but only Charles introduced himself using two names. “Charles Rybczynski,” he said. If Dr. Embers noticed Charles had a different last name, he didn’t show it.

  He said, “Please, sit down … make yourselves comfortable.”

  His office was arranged like a living room, with a small sofa, two armchairs, a wooden rocker and a couple of other chairs. I sat stiffly in one of the armchairs, next to Jessica, who sat in the other. Mom and Dad shared the sofa, and Charles settled in the rocker.

  Dr. Embers was younger than I’d expected, with wiry light hair, washed-out blue eyes and a runner’s slender body. He sat in a plain wooden chair and crossed his legs. “So …” he said, “you’re having some problems. And you’re here to find a way to resolve them.”

  Mom and Dad nodded.

  Dr. Embers continued, “The good news is you’re all healthy, intelligent people. My job is to help you understand the patterns that cause the difficulties so you can make the changes that will enable you to live together in harmony.” I waited for him to give us the bad news, but he didn’t.

  “Okay, just to break the ice,” he said, “I’d like each of you to describe in one word or phrase how you feel about being here today.” He looked directly at me. “Rachel … why don’t you begin.”

  “Me?” I said. “Why start with me?”

  “Because you’re the child prodigy,” Charles said.

  “You see!” I told Dr. Embers. “There’s the problem!”

  “You seem angry, Rachel,” Dr. Embers said.

  “I am angry!”

  I expected him to say, Can you tell me about that? But he didn’t. He just nodded and said, “Go on …”

  But I couldn’t. I mean, I didn’t really know anything about Dr. Embers. I didn’t know whose side he was on or how much Mom and Dad had told him. And I certainly didn’t know if I could trust him. “I’m angry …” I hesitated for a second. “I’m angry because I don’t want to be here.”

  He nodded again.

  “But I’ve been told I have no choice,” I continued. “I have to be here even though there’s nothing wrong with me or my family … except for …”

  “Except for?” Dr. Embers said, leaning slightly forward. His jacket fell open and I noticed he was wearing a silver belt buckle with an Indian design etched into it. Dad has one almost exactly like it.

  “Except …” Dr. Embers said again, expectantly.

  When I couldn’t get the words out, Jessica did it for me. “Except for Charles!”

  “Except for Charles,” Dr. Embers repeated matter-of-factly.

  “Yes,” Jess continued. “He gets all the attention. He takes up all our time and energy. I’m exhausted just from living in the same house with him. It’s like …” Jessica choked up. “It’s like being slowly poisoned!”

  Dr. Embers turned to Charles, who was rocking back and forth in his chair, a frozen expression on his face. “What are you feeling right now, Charles?”

  “Nothing,” Charles said. “Absolutely nothing.”

  But I didn’t believe him.

  We came home from our session with Dr. Embers with what he called a contract for family living. It runs for two weeks. By
then I’ll be on my way to music camp. I can’t wait! In the contract we each agreed to try to respect one another’s feelings, needs and concerns. We agreed to think before speaking. We agreed to exercise each day, if only for twenty minutes, because Dr. Embers says exercise is a good way to get rid of hostility. And we’re not supposed to go to bed at night feeling angry. Even Charles signed the contract without any snide comments. Even he was too worn down to argue. When we got home, Dad taped it to the refrigerator.

  The next day I signed up for Natural Helpers. I don’t think I’d be a good Natural Helper if I came from a family with no problems. But I know what problems are. I know how they feel. So maybe I can help someone else feel better.

  Charles has new wraparound sunglasses. Dana gave them to him. I remember when she gave Jeremy Dragon a gold dove. He wore it pinned to his underwear. At least that was the rumor. I wonder if he gave it back to her when they broke up. I wonder if Charles will give back the wraparounds if he splits with Dana.

  “So how about it?” Dad said to Charles. He was trying to convince him to go to Ellis Island tomorrow with his sophomore history classes. Ellis Island is the place where our family name was changed from Rybczynski to Robinson.

  “I’m thinking about it,” Charles said. He was wearing his sunglasses even though it was almost dark.

  We were outside on our patio. It was very still, more like August than June. Dad lit a citronella candle to keep the mosquitoes away. Mom was working late at the office again. Now that her big trial is over, she says she has so much to finish up before she’s sworn in as a judge she doesn’t know how she’ll ever get it done. I’m worried about her. A woman like Mom needs kids like Jess and me, who don’t give her any trouble!

  “I can’t make you go,” Dad said to Charles. “But it would mean a lot to me if you did.”

  I really felt for Dad, so I said, “I’ll go.”

  “Me, too,” Jessica added.

  “There!” Charles said to Dad. “Why don’t you take your devoted daughters instead of me?”

  “This isn’t an instead,” Dad said. He looked at Jess and me. “For the two of you it would mean missing a day of school.”

  “Nothing ever happens the last week,” Jess told him. “You know that.”

  “This isn’t the last week,” Dad said.

  “It’s the last full week,” I reminded him. “Next week is all half days.”

  “And you’re going to miss one of those to go to Mom’s swearing-in ceremony,” Dad reminded us.

  “But, Dad …” Jessica argued, “Ellis Island is an example of living history. It’s not something you can learn in a classroom.”

  Dad laughed. He knew Jess had him, and we knew he’d let us come. Then he looked over at Charles, who was picking up pebbles and letting them run through his fingers. “Charles?” he asked hopefully.

  “I told you, I’m thinking about it!” Charles said.

  I was thinking about Paul Medeiros, wondering if he’d be going with us. I hope so! After all, he’s Dad’s student teacher. Then I remembered this is a school trip and almost all school trips use buses for transportation. So I asked, “How will we get there?” I tried to sound casual, as if I didn’t care one way or the other.

  “There’s a ferry from Battery Park,” Dad said. “It’s just a ten-minute trip, past the Statue of Liberty.”

  “No, I mean from here to New York,” I said.

  “Oh …” Dad said. “We’ve got a bus.”

  I knew it! I chose my next words carefully. “I could take the train and meet you in the city.”

  Charles pulled off his sunglasses and looked at me. “Don’t tell me you still get carsick!”

  “I don’t want to discuss it with you!” I told him.

  “Is she ever going to outgrow that?” Charles asked Dad.

  “Of course,” Dad told him. “When she gets her driver’s license … if not before.”

  When I get my driver’s license! That’s three years from now. Mom used to tell me I’d outgrow it by ten, but I didn’t. And for some reason the medicines that work for other people give me excruciating headaches. I hate getting carsick! It’s so embarrassing, especially at my age. A few months ago Alison’s mother invited us to visit her on the set of her TV series and I got sick on the drive into the city. We had to stop so I could throw up.

  But Gena was very nice about it. She opened her purse, pulled out a pair of these things that looked like sweatbands and offered them to me. “I don’t think I’d have survived the first few months of my pregnancy without my Sea-Bands.”

  When I hesitated, she said, “They’re perfectly safe. You wear them above your wrists, with the little button pressing on your Nei-Kuan point. That’s three fingers up from your wrist.”

  I thanked Gena and tucked the Sea-Bands into my purse. But I never wore them. Instead I slept all the way home and didn’t get sick until I was in my own house.

  Now I looked at Dad, hoping he’d say it would be fine for me to take the train. But before he had the chance, Charles started. “She wouldn’t act like such a baby if you didn’t treat her like one.”

  “Who are you to judge?” Jess asked him. She turned to me and said, “I’ll take the train with you, Rachel.”

  I was so grateful I grabbed her hand.

  Charles said, “What are you two … Siamese twins or something?”

  “Yeah,” Jess said. “You have a problem with that?”

  “You see,” Charles said to Dad. “It’s always them against me. That’s how it’s been my whole life!”

  “Oh, please …” Jess said. “You’re not in second grade anymore, so why don’t you stop acting like it!”

  “You know, Jessica …” Charles began, “it could be a lot worse. I could be into drugs. I could be in trouble with the law. I could be a rapist or a serial killer …”

  “Am I supposed to be grateful?” Jess asked.

  “You’re supposed to count your blessings.”

  “I do … every day … and you’re not one of them!”

  I waited for Dad to remind us of our contract for family living but Dana came along at that very moment, calling, “Helloooo … anybody home?”

  Charles stood up and brushed off his hands. He opened the patio gate.

  Dad called, “Be back by ten.”

  “Yeah … yeah …” Charles muttered.

  After he was gone, Dad said, “I think she’s good for him, don’t you?” Jessica and I looked at each other but neither of us answered his question. Then Dad blew out the citronella candle, and Jess and I followed him into the house.

  The weather broke overnight and the next morning was perfect, sunny and breezy. Jess and I were up and dressed at six. By the time Charles came into the kitchen Mom was gone, and it was just as well, because Charles looked like he’d slept in his clothes. “I have a sore throat,” he said. “I think I should stay home.”

  Dad felt his forehead. “No fever.”

  “It could be Lyme disease,” Charles told him. “My neck feels stiff.”

  I looked at him. There was an article about Lyme disease in yesterday’s paper.

  “Just get dressed, Charles,” Dad said.

  “I am dressed,” Charles said. He was wearing his ELVIS IS DEAD T-shirt.

  “Well then, have something to eat,” Dad suggested.

  “You’re starting to sound just like Mom!” Charles said.

  Dad pointed to the contract taped to the refrigerator and Charles shut up.

  Dad dropped Jess and me at the train station in time to catch the 7:10 to New York, which was packed with commuters. When the train came along, we took seats across the aisle from a man carrying a canvas gym bag. As soon as the conductor collected our tickets and moved to the next car, the man, who was wearing a business suit, unzipped his bag and a small dog stuck out his head and looked around. Then the man pulled out a Dixie cup and fed ice cream to the dog from a spoon. Jess and I looked at each other and started laughing.

 
; When we calmed down, I said, “Thanks for coming with me.”

  “I prefer the train,” Jess said. “I always get queasy on the bus.”

  “I never knew that.”

  “Well, I don’t get as sick as you, but with Charles on board …” She didn’t have to finish her sentence. I knew what she meant.

  When Jess pulled out her Elle magazine, I opened the book Dad had given me about Ellis Island. We read quietly for a while. Then I asked, “Do you think it’s going to work with Dr. Embers?”

  “It all depends on Charles,” Jess said, holding her place in the magazine with her thumb. “On whether or not he wants to make the effort.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I have no idea,” Jess said. “But either way I’m not going to let him ruin my senior year!” She flipped through a few pages.

  I wanted to tell her about the other night in the kitchen, when I asked Charles what he wanted from us and he couldn’t answer. But I didn’t.

  “I’ll tell you something, Rachel,” Jess continued. “If he can’t get along with us, that’s his problem! I’ve got too much to look forward to, to let him get in my way.” She flipped a few more pages, then tapped an ad for shampoo. “Just once I’d like to see a model in here with acne. Maybe someday they’ll get real!”

  When we got to the city, we followed Dad’s directions and took the subway from Grand Central Station to Battery Park, which is at the southern tip of Manhattan. We were proud of ourselves for not getting lost.

  Once we were there, we waited in line for tickets. Dad was lucky we went by train because by the time his bus pulled in, the lines for ferry tickets were so long we would have waited till noon.

  When Charles got off the bus, I worried he’d make some rude remark about me in front of Dad’s students but he didn’t even glance my way. He was talking and laughing with a group of kids. I guess he’d recovered from his Lyme disease.

  Paul was the last to get off the bus. I’d held my breath until then, afraid he wasn’t coming after all. But when I saw him, I turned away quickly, so he wouldn’t get any ideas. As Dad rounded up his students and led the way through the park down to the ferry dock, I hung back, feeling slightly out of place until Paul called, “Rachel … wait …”