We reach our first cross street, and just around the corner is a street vendor. His large white cart is topped with a red-striped umbrella and is loaded with relishes and mustard and ketchup. And, of course, plenty of hot dogs.
“Aren’t you amazingly lucky?” I say.
Aidan nods vigorously. “I smelled them way off. Thought I’d play with your mind.”
“Liar,” Seth whispers.
Aidan is silent, like he didn’t hear Seth.
I smile. I would have accepted, even believed, Aidan’s explanation if Seth hadn’t commented. I hand Aidan a bill from my pocket. How much have we spent? But I have more than enough to pay back whatever we have borrowed from the glove box—and then some. Mr. Gardian is always timely and generous with my allowances. I credit him for that because it is not something Mother and Father would remember.
“Get one for us all,” I tell him.
“And soda too,” Seth adds.
“It’s not even lunchtime yet,” Mira reminds us.
“We’re living dangerously, remember?” Seth says.
“Then we really should have dessert first,” she replies.
Aidan pays for four hot dogs, and we load them with condiments. I have never eaten with classmates before except across from them at a table at Hedgebrook, where there is predictable space and routine. I watch Aidan. Three pumps of ketchup. One of mustard. Two heaping spoonfuls of relish. He looks at Mira and then back at the onions. He hesitates, then passes on the onions. Mira mimics him from pump to spoonful, to dutifully passing on the offending vegetable. Seth only adds one artistically squiggled line of mustard down the middle. He doesn’t hesitate at the onions, adding three spoonfuls.
It is not just the new setting that makes this eating experience different from Hedgebrook. The structure that holds us together is not school but one of our own making. Even the air feels different. I notice every distance between us—or the lack of it. Seth watches me as I follow behind him, decorating my hot dog with a wide line of mustard and ketchup. I am surprised how the aroma of the hot dogs has aroused my appetite to monstrous proportions. My stomach rumbles. “Pardon me,” I say, patting my midsection.
“And it’s not even lunchtime,” Seth says in Mira’s warning voice.
I sprinkle on two spoonfuls of onions. That should certainly create some predictable distance. Mira settles herself on a nearby bus bench to eat her prelunch, and we follow her lead. “Tell us another one, Des,” she says between mouthfuls.
“Another what?”
“One of those strange stories you have about coincidences.”
“What makes you think I have more?”
Aidan sighs. “Oh, you do.”
I smile at Mira, long and deliberately so Aidan can experience the full effect. “What kind do you want to—”
“I know one.”
I look at Seth in surprise.
“Let’s hear it!” Mira says.
“It’s a presidential one like Des’s. When I was in fifth grade, my mom brought me back to the states to learn a little American history firsthand. We had a personal tour of the Capitol, and I pointed to a huge painting where one man was stepping on another man’s foot. The tour guide told us that was John Adams stepping on Thomas Jefferson. It was the artist having a little fun over the long rivalry between the two men, which included seeing who would outlive the other. The rivalry went on for years, each one betting he would live the longest.”
“Who won?” Mira asks.
Seth shakes his head. “Neither. They both ended up dying on the very same day.”
“Unbelievable!” Mira says.
“Exactly,” Aidan mumbles.
“Even weirder, they died July 4, 1826, which was the fifty-year anniversary of their signing of the Declaration of Independence.”
“You sure somebody didn’t slip them both something? Like an arsenic cocktail? On a special day, of course.”
“Aidan!” Mira says.
Aidan shrugs.
“Or maybe out-of-the-ordinary things just do happen, Aidan,” I say.
“No cocktails,” Seth says, between bites. “The tour guide said it was only a strange coincidence.”
Mira takes the last bite of her hot dog and washes it down with a long sip of soda. “One time when I was little, I was playing hopscotch with friends and I threw my marker and the way the chain fell it looked just like my initials. MP—Mira Peach—as neat and plain as day. Would you call that a coincidence? Amazing at least!”
I roll my eyes. Only Mira would compare dying to a child’s game. Seth and Aidan chime in with their varied opinions, and I listen to them haggle back and forth and I think that perhaps the most amazing thing of all is that I am sitting on a street corner, eating hot dogs and refusing to allow myself to think of what this day promises, for one day being someone different and trying to control a day that has always controlled me. Turning tables.
Seth’s arm rubs up against mine in a deliberate nudge. “What do you think?”
I think his arm is getting a bit too familiar with my arm. I think I have forgotten the dangers of getting too close to others. I think I am taking in every inch of his bare arm and rolled-up sleeve. I think if he nudges me one more time, Mira will begin making faces that might make me do something regrettable to her. “I think I need to walk.”
22
THE STREETS OF LANGDON are busy. The true lunch hour has brought more cars onto the streets and more people passing on the sidewalks. We have had to explain our lambadoodle three times to various admirers. I even give the name and number of our lambadoodle breeder to one insistent and fairly annoying woman.
“Whose number is that really?” Mira asks after the woman leaves.
“Headmaster Cox,” I tell her.
“The Rule Nazi of Hedgebrook?” Seth says.
“How’d you get his number?” Aidan asks, his voice two octaves higher than normal.
“Numbers are my specialty, remember?”
Seth’s smile is sinister. “He didn’t even listen to my side when Bingham sent me to his office. I hope that lady calls early and often.”
We laugh and Seth pats Lucky’s head. I think he is forgetting that Lucky is not really a dog. We pass an old-fashioned open-air butcher shop in the older part of Langdon. Various meats fill trays in the glass case, and whole animal carcasses hang from hooks.
“Eww.” Mira’s wrinkled nose and commentary speak for us all. The mystery meat at Hedgebrook suddenly has its advantages. Seth spots the skinned-pink lamb carcasses at the same time I do. He picks Lucky up and tucks him under his arm.
“Don’t look, boy,” he says.
We pick up our pace. One lamb saved. For that alone the day has served us well.
We talk as we walk about what we should do once we have found shoes. Again, Aidan proposes a movie, but he is voted down. Mira suggests an amusement park and then asks me if there is one in Langdon. “I don’t think so, Mira.” Seth says he is fine with walking and taking it as it comes. I contemplate what the it might be. Besides four missing students at Hedgebrook, there is someone out there who is also missing a car. I hope the it does not turn out to be a whole police force hunting us down. I am not worried for myself. Mr. Gardian will take care of it as he always has, and I will find myself off to yet another boarding school, because no matter the infraction, Mother and Father will not be bothered to interrupt their travel plans. Especially not on Mother’s birthday. A few phone calls and some fat checks solve problems most agreeably for them. Money is no object, while I am.
“I like Seth’s idea,” Mira says. “Look at the good things that have already happened when we weren’t even trying. The four of us together, games and secrets, finding Lucky, Aidan talking to the president, these great clothes, lunch out of our laps. . . . All we need are new shoes and the day will be perfect!”
“You’re easy to please, ma’am,” Aidan says in his cowboy accent.
I am saved from having to endure any more googly eyes
by a sign with perfect timing: RUPERT’S QUALITY SHOES.
I am not one to worry about fashion. Every school I have ever attended had uniforms for day and strict attire codes for free time. Fashion choice was a freedom I was happy to surrender. Fading into a sea of navy, maroon, and white made everything about who I was easier. But ever since I found this ridiculously fussy black skirt, I have been eager to rid myself of these clunky brown oxfords. Anything small and black and light will be a welcome change.
Seth reaches for the door at the same time as I do and our hands touch. I quickly pull mine away.
“After you,” he says.
We pile through the door to find a busy store. Several other customers browse the displays or are trying on shoes. Three bustling clerks disappear in and out of back rooms with stacks of shoe boxes. Mira and I walk to one side, and Aidan and Seth to the other, where the men’s shoes are displayed.
“Wow! We hit the jackpot!” Mira proclaims. There are hundreds of shoes to choose from.
Mira and I wander the aisles picking up boots, sandals, and everything in between, turning them over to check the prices.
“Too much?” Mira asks.
“They’re fine, Mira. Just choose the ones you want.” Like the money is mine and I really care. Yes, I will have to pony up later, but that won’t be a problem. I walk away to another display, where several varieties of flat Mary Janes are offered. I choose two to take back and show the clerk. As soon as I sit down, I pull the laces on my oxfords and kick them off, my toes wiggling with their newfound freedom. I examine one of the display shoes in my hands. It is black suede with a small suede flower at the buckle. I can’t see a size, but I slip it on anyway. It fits perfectly. I make a lopsided walk to a mirror and admire it, turning my foot one way and then the other. Nice. I glance up to see Seth watching me, and I look away and return to my seat to wait for a clerk. I look up one more time. Seth is still watching me. He smiles and then, thankfully, is interrupted by a clerk. I look back at the shoe on my foot. This one will do.
From across the store I hear a squeal and I turn to see what the commotion is. Mira is hugging a shoe to her chest, grinning so wide she looks like she has sprouted extra teeth. She runs over to join me, plopping down in the seat vigorously. Before she shows me her coveted choice, she takes the time to admire the Mary Jane still on my foot.
“That is so you!” she says.
Really? I lift my foot and twist my ankle one way and then the other. Maybe it is. If there are none in my size, I will take the display pair. “And what did you find, Mira?”
She thrusts her shoe out in front of us to admire. A red peep-toed platform pump with pleated details around the toe and a lace bow. Very red. Very shiny. Very flamboyant. Should I say it is so her? I think not. And I am really not sure she needs the extra height. But I must say something. “They will go with your sweater.”
“That’s just what I thought! And my poodle skirt too.”
“Right. That too.”
“Plus they’re on clearance! They’re practically giving them away! Here comes the clerk. I hope they have my size.” She pulls off both oxfords and stuffs her socks in her bra. “For safekeeping,” she explains.
I look at Mira’s feet. I hadn’t noticed before how large they are.
When the clerk approaches, I pull off the display Mary Jane and hand it to him. “This size fits fine. Do you have another pair?”
He grins. “Most certainly.” He turns to Mira and raises his eyebrows. “And you, miss?”
“These!” she says, jumping up and holding the flashy shoe out to him. “Size ten . . . and a half. Wide.”
The clerk looks up, his short stature accentuated by Mira’s height. The top of his bald head is barely even with her shoulders. His own shoulders pull back, and his eyebrows rise impossibly higher. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer something more . . . practical? Like your friend?”
“Oh, no. These! They’re perfect!”
He clears his throat. “They’ve been on clearance for quite some time. I don’t think—”
“Can you check? Please?”
The clerk’s lips pull tight in a polite smile and he nods. He turns on his heel and disappears into a back room. Almost immediately, he returns with two boxes in his hands and Mira squeaks and claps her hands together. He opens my box first and shows me the suede Mary Janes with the dainty flower at each buckle. I take the box from him. I slip them on at once. It is amazing what the right pair of shoes can do. Perfect.
“That will do it,” I say.
He turns to Mira and opens her box. Her smile vanishes.
“I think you will find these much more comfortable and . . . complementary. They’re one of our bestsellers.”
And much more expensive, I note, looking at the price on the side of the box. They are a pair of black flat slip-ons with a tiny lace bow. They do indeed seem like a much better match for her feet. I think he has chosen well.
“Did you look for the others?” she asks.
He offers an unconvincing nod.
Mira clouds up.
“Don’t be such a baby, Mira,” I say. “They’re only shoes. You don’t have to turn everything into a big deal. If you don’t like the ones he brought, find something else.” And then on a second glance at her feet, I add, “These suit you better anyway.”
A satisfied smile spreads across the clerk’s face. These shoes will certainly result in a much better commission for him.
Mira jumps up and runs from the store.
The clerk and I both look after her in shocked silence. I glance across the store and see Seth watching the whole scene.
It was only a small admonishment. And she was being a baby. Practically making a scene over a silly pair of shoes. A ridiculous pair of shoes.
Seth’s eyes are steady.
“Excuse me,” I tell the clerk. “I’ll be right back.”
I find Mira sitting on the curb outside the store. Her lashes are wet, and her cheeks flushed. She is aware of my presence but says nothing.
“This spot saved?” I ask, pointing to the curb next to her.
She nods, so I remain standing.
I may as well get it over with. We really have to address her outburst. “Quite a fuss you made in there over a pair of shoes.”
She looks up and glares at me, an expression I have never seen on her before, at least not directed at me. She looks away and remains silent.
“The clerk must think—”
“You don’t need to tell me what the clerk thinks. I know what others think of me, Des. Hell, I know what you think of me.”
“Where’d you learn that kind of language?”
“Company I keep, I guess.”
“I don’t think anything of you—”
“Don’t!” she says, jumping to her feet and staring at me eye to eye. “Just because I’m perky and I tend to smile a lot doesn’t mean I’m blind! Or dense!” Her chest is rising and falling in deep breaths, like she is winding up for more. I expect her next words to explode out of her, but instead they come out low and steady and bitter, which is even more frightening. “I know your life has been hell. Maybe that’s why I try to smile so much around you. Being cheerful doesn’t mean there’s nobody home, you know. Maybe it just means someone cares and they wish they could balance out all the garbage but they’re as helpless as everyone else. Maybe that’s me, Des. Have you ever thought of that? Maybe I’m the helpless one. Maybe I’m as afraid as anyone else, and maybe just once I wish someone would back me up for a change.” She tilts her head to the side and offers a sarcastic grin. “Back me up. Yeah. What a thought that is! Maybe a pretty pair of shoes is shallow and stupid to you, but maybe for a fair day—” She looks away, her jaw rigid but her voice wavering. “Never mind. It’s stupid. You’d never understand.”
I stand there unable to utter a word. She’s right. I never have understood. I never tried. I reach out and touch her arm, but she shrugs me off.
“I’ll be
okay. Just give me some time.” She walks away and stops at the corner. I see her shoulders shake.
“I’ve never seen Mira that angry.”
I turn around. Seth is standing just outside the store door. “Guess today didn’t turn out so fair, after all,” he says.
I look down at my feet, the Mary Janes not looking so perfect anymore. “No. It did,” I say. “I got exactly what I deserved. Mira has never been anything but kind to me, and all I have done is returned that kindness with ridicule.”
Seth walks closer to me, looks down the street at Mira and then back at me. “But Mira still hasn’t gotten what she deserved. I suppose for it to be really fair, you’d have to make it right. For her, anyway.”
How can I make it right? I’ve already hurt her. She’s angry with me. And shoeless.
Shoeless.
I look at Seth and then at Mira still in her bare feet on the corner. “Yes,” I say. “I suppose I would.”
23
AIDAN AND SETH ARE WAITING on the sidewalk for us when we exit the store. Aidan peals out a loud, long whistle. Mira strikes a pose. I am still mystified by these two and how just a few hours away from Hedgebrook, their inhibitions have disappeared. Aidan, whistling?
“Nice,” Seth says.
“Yes, Mira,” I agree. “You were right all along. They are perfect.” And they really are. In the space of a few minutes, the shoes look entirely different to me. Maybe because Mira looks entirely different to me. Her perkiness has a layer beneath it I hadn’t noticed before. I’ve heard cafeteria talk that her parents are divorced and she was the center of a long, bitter custody battle. Is that when the smoothing over began? When she didn’t want to choose sides because she loved them both? Why didn’t I see this before?
“The shoes were there all along,” she says. “Just misshelved. Happens all the time with clearance shoes. Isn’t that right, Des?”
“Yes,” I confirm. “Only misshelved.”
She hands Aidan her oxfords, and he drops them in the store bag with our others. “You should have heard Des!”
The Miles Between Page 8
