Paper Chains

by Elaine Vickers

  “Oh, wow!” Ana leaned way over. “That’s awesome.”

  Getting the bracelets to fit together had been the hardest part, and Katie had needed to change each one in little, imperceptible ways. She’d used the whole bag of special snap-together beads her dad had brought her from England. She’d worked so hard on those bracelets that suddenly she wasn’t even sure she wanted to give them away.

  Ana took the bracelets and popped them apart, heart by heart. She handed one to Katie. “They’ll be like best friend bracelets. We can wear them all the time so it’s official.”

  Katie hadn’t even thought of that before, and it was such a nice idea. The bracelets seemed to have finally fixed all that had been unsettled between them for the last two weeks, like the last beads snapping into place. But something at the back of Katie’s brain tried to tell her the bracelets belonged together, and she wished she’d kept them both.

  Stop. Katie thought the word so strongly she almost said it out loud. It had to be that she just wasn’t feeling right.

  “Best friends for sure. Thanks, Ana. Um, is it almost time to go?” she asked. “I’m not feeling so good.”

  Ana gave Katie a soft squeeze on the shoulder. “I’ll go ask a teacher. Take it easy, best friend.”

  Katie leaned her head back against the lockers, wondering what was wrong with her lately. Why couldn’t she feel like anything was enough? A healthy new heart and almost-perfect grades; one bracelet or one best friend or one mom who loved her? Why did it feel like so much was still missing?

  Katie closed her eyes most of the bus ride back and dreamed of crawling into her bed. But when she came through the door after school, her mom was waiting in the kitchen.

  “How was your day?”

  “Great,” Katie said, and the wound hidden under her hat gave a little throb. Her mom could never know about today. Never. Katie gave a gentle nod at the paper in her mom’s hand. “What’s that?”

  “A surprise for you. A good one.”

  Katie unfolded the paper with shaky fingers.

  BOSTON BALLET STAGES STUNNING PRODUCTION OF THE NUTCRACKER

  Katie’s thoughts flew to the nutcracker from the attic. She could still picture its soldier’s uniform and its wobbly jaw with perfectly painted teeth, and suddenly she longed to see it and hold it again.

  Katie’s mom reached over and squeezed her hand. “I know how hard it must have been to miss that field trip, so I called and got us tickets! Just in time, too—they only had a few left for tonight.”

  Guilt scratched inside Katie. Her secret wanted to come out so badly. But how could she let her mom down? And how could she risk being held even more tightly after the freedom she’d felt on the ice today?

  “Wow, Mom. Thanks.” Any other words might lead to the terrible truth.

  “We’ll get pizza and ice cream first at Picco’s. It will be our special date, and maybe it can even become our new Christmas tradition. Your dad doesn’t mind sitting this one out.” She leaned forward with the smallest frown on her face. “What happened to your hat?”

  Katie’s fingers flew to her forehead, expecting to feel a warm, wet circle of blood. Just as her heart began to gallop, she realized what her mom meant.

  “Oh, this is Ana’s hat. We decided to trade. For fun.”

  “Hmm,” said her mom. “Well, be sure you trade back. Now go get ready! We’ll need to leave early to get a parking spot, and I can’t wait for a date with my girl.”

  With the bathroom door locked behind her, Katie carefully pulled off Ana’s hat. The wound growled back at her from the mirror, scary and brown and gross. She folded up a tissue and darted it under the stream from the faucet, then dabbed at her forehead. Once all the dried blood and thin hairs of hat fuzz were off, it didn’t seem nearly as bad. Her mom might not even notice it, if Katie took off the tiny butterfly bandage.

  So she pinched the corner of the bandage and peeled it from her skin. Much, much better. The gash could almost pass for a scratch now, and she could think of a good explanation for a scratch, maybe even one that wouldn’t be a total lie.

  In her bedroom, Katie slipped into the skirt her mom had laid out for her, then pulled a sweater over her head. But as she did it, she felt something else pull too, and something wet and warm trickled down her temple.

  With the beanie pressed to her head again, Katie rushed to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Big drops of blood oozed from the end of the gash. She grabbed a washcloth and held it to her forehead, then checked her sweater. Clean. She pressed the washcloth against the gash for fifty heartbeats before pulling it away.

  The bleeding had stopped. She was okay.

  “Sweetheart?” Her mom knocked softly on the door. “Are you almost ready?”

  “Just a second!” Katie tried to stick the butterfly bandage back on, but it wasn’t quite as sticky as before. She rummaged around in the drawer until she found regular Band-Aids and taped one across the wound.

  Katie begged her heart to stay steady and her head to stop bleeding as she rushed back to her room and scanned her closet, desperate for anything that might cover the bandage. Finally, Katie discovered the thin scarf she’d braided from colorful strips of her family’s old T-shirts. If she stretched it just right, she could wrap it around herself like a headband.

  Okay, a long, awkward headband that, when she checked the mirror, did not look anything close to normal and definitely didn’t match her clothes.

  Oh well. It would have to work.

  Katie’s parents raised their eyebrows a little when they saw her new look.

  “Well, if I’d known we could go in costume,” her dad said with a wink, “I might have joined you.”

  Katie’s mom planted her fists on her hips. “I think the scarf is lovely, and you’re not invited. You always make fun of the story.”

  Katie’s dad switched to his storytelling voice. “Once there was a girl named Clara who wore her nightgown twenty-four/seven.”

  “Dad!” Katie protested.

  “Once there was a toymaker who made creepy, life-size clown dolls, and people actually invited him to their fancy parties.”

  “Yes,” Katie’s mom said, swatting him with her dish towel. “We all know your version, and that’s why you’re not invited.”

  “It’s giant dancing dolls and mice!” Katie’s dad threw his hands up. “It’s grown men running around in matching shirts and tight pants! Which is fine, but not for me.”

  “Yes, I can see that.” Katie’s mom rolled her eyes at the football game he was watching, where dozens of grown men ran around in matching shirts and tight pants. “Katie, are you ready to go?”

  Katie could see her mom’s lips itching to say something more about her scarf, but she bit back the words.

  “I’m ready,” Katie said, even though she knew she’d spend half the evening hoping she wasn’t bleeding through the scarf.

  Except she didn’t. Once they were at the restaurant, she only thought about thin-crust pizza and buttery breadsticks and peppermint snowflake ice cream. And once they were at the ballet, she only thought about the ballet.

  How incredible the costumes were—each one with its own universe of beads and fabrics and bright embroidery. How the scenery transformed the stage from a fancy party to an enchanted forest to a palace of ice, and Katie took every step of the journey. And the theater itself—ivory and gold and the very richest reds. A ceiling that seemed as vast and grand as the sky.

  The story, too, was beautiful, no matter what her dad said. Katie had never known you could tell such a story without a single word, but the movement and music were more than enough. And sometimes when the dancers glided across the stage, it looked almost like skating.

  That part made Katie think about her fall, just a little, but mostly it made her remember the moment when Ana had taken her hands and spun her around and she had finally, finally felt like she could move freely.

  In spite of it all, she’d done it today. She’d skated. An
d maybe someday, if she could get herself fixed up and a little stronger, she could dance too.

  Katie slipped off her bracelet and smoothed her thumb across the beads. She laid her head on her mom’s shoulder. Maybe she didn’t have to be the snow child forever, or the lonely firebird. Maybe she could be this girl, this Clara, strong and graceful and confident.

  As the broken toy was mended and came to life onstage, as the little girl became a princess, as the music rose and swirled around Katie and inside her, anything seemed possible.

  Ana

  Chapter 14

  FOR THE REST of the day, Ana worried about Katie. Every time she’d almost forget, the bracelet would remind her, its red beads like drops of blood around her wrist. Even though Katie had seemed fine on the bus ride back, the image of her lying on the ice kept popping up in Ana’s brain. There had been so much blood—more than Ana had ever seen in any of her hockey games—and she couldn’t help remembering how she’d talked Katie into being out on the ice in the first place.

  By the time she’d gagged down Babushka’s dinner—something like Jell-O, but with meat in it. Meat!—Ana couldn’t take it anymore. She needed to check in with Katie, just to be sure. This was officially an emergency. As soon as she’d finished the dishes, Ana put two candles in her window. She’d go down to the pond as soon as she saw Katie come out the door.

  Any second now.

  Any second now.

  Aaaaany second now.

  Ana started to panic. Katie was always in her room by eight o’clock. What if she’d passed out again and her parents weren’t paying attention? Ana had better check on her.

  “Where are you going?” Mikey asked as Ana pulled on her snow boots.

  “Over to Katie’s,” she said. “Shhh.” If Babushka thought Ana had a free second, she’d put her straight back to work.

  Mikey started to pull the coat closet open, but Ana pushed it shut. “I’d better go by myself this time, buddy. She might be hurt.”

  “She might be hurt?” Mikey’s voice was pinched and scared. “Is she going to have to go to the hospital?”

  “Shhh, Mikey. She’s fine.” Mikey had been crazy-afraid of hospitals ever since they’d visited their dad there after a bad concussion and he hadn’t remembered them. (It probably hadn’t helped that he’d been missing four teeth too.) If there was something wrong with Katie, Mikey was the last person who should be there.

  “I’ll be back soon, buddy, but I need you to cover for me. You’ve got to stay here with Babushka.”

  Mikey’s jaw dropped. “What?”

  “If you show her what a good little boy you are, she’ll see that we’re fine and she’ll go home soon. Listen to her stories. Or sing her a song! Maybe that one from synagogue about the little candle.”

  Mikey wrinkled his nose. “I’m not singing.”

  “Okay, well, there are other ways. You could also rub her feet or paint her toenails.”

  Mikey shook his head.

  “Shave her armpits? Wash her underwear?”

  “Ana!” Mikey covered his ears. “You can’t make me do any of that!” He ran upstairs to his room, which meant he didn’t whine or beg or even notice when Ana left for Katie’s house without him.

  It was only snowing a little, tiny flakes that melted as soon as they touched Ana’s skin or even her coat. She made it to Katie’s house in record time and knocked as loudly as she could. It felt weird not to walk right in, but she’d never come over this late before. She waited patiently on the porch while slow footsteps creaked toward the front door.

  Katie’s dad.

  “Ana,” he said as she zipped past him and into the house. “Come in, won’t you?”

  Since she was already in, she glanced back to make sure he was kidding. She was a little surprised he knew her name. She tried to remember whether her dad had ever known any of her friends’ first names. It seemed like he’d barely known the last names on their jerseys. But they could fix that too, when he came back.

  “Katie’s not here right now,” Mr. Burton said. “She went downtown with her mother.”

  “Downtown again? To the hospital?” Ana asked, afraid of the answer.

  “Oh, no,” said Mr. Burton. “Nothing like that. They’re at the ballet.”

  Ana realized she’d made a face when Mr. Burton answered, “My feelings exactly. Even if I could stay awake that late.”

  “Is it the one with the creepy doll?” Ana asked.

  “Yes,” he answered. “But there are a few of those. It’s the one where the girl’s best friend is a nutcracker, and the poor thing’s head snaps off.”

  Ana’s heart pounded. Did he mean the girl’s head snapped off? Did Katie’s dad know about her accident? Ana wouldn’t give anything away, just in case.

  “Yeah, that’s pretty hilarious.” She stopped. “I mean, that’s not funny at all. Head injuries are serious. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.” Oh my gosh, Ana. Stop talking right now. Beads of sweat began to form at the back of her neck.

  But Katie’s dad didn’t seem to notice. “I can tell her you stopped by, or you’re welcome to leave a note. There’s a pad and pencil by the bulletin board.”

  “I’ll leave her a note,” Ana said. “Thanks.” She turned to the TV. “Bowl games already?”

  “Just like Christmas decorations in stores, huh? Earlier every year, and more of them.”

  He seemed pretty happy about that as he began rinsing dishes, humming something Christmassy and sort of familiar.

  Ana soaked in the rich, homey smell of whatever Mr. Burton had just eaten for dinner. She shrugged off her coat and hung it over the back of a chair, then grabbed the paper and pencil.

  While she was at it, Ana couldn’t help but notice the big bulletin board on the kitchen wall. It was filled with photographs of Katie, drawings by Katie, and every one of Katie’s hundred-percent tests and perfect report cards. The ballet tickets would probably end up there, a happy reminder of the special night between Katie and her mom.

  Meanwhile, Ana’s mom didn’t even talk to her half the time. How long since the two of them had done something like that? Had they ever?

  All the worry Ana had been spending on her best friend slowly turned to a sad kind of wishing. Not jealous, really—not wishing she could take what Katie had. Only wishing somehow she could have it too.

  You will, she told herself. Starting on New Year’s. But she still wasn’t quite back to believing it.

  Ana settled down at the kitchen table to write the note. Dear Katie, she began. Your parents love you more than anything. That’s so lucky. Then she remembered why she’d come over in the first place. I’m sorry you got hurt, but I know you’ll get better soon. I hope you still trust me, because I trust you. And I take back what I said before about you needing to find some courage. Just stay safe, okay? You’re already brave. Ana

  From the other room, Ana could hear a mix of stats and jokes that meant a halftime report. Even though they were talking about football and not hockey (which didn’t even have halftime, just intermissions), her ears still perked up every time she heard words like “goal” or “penalty.”

  Outside the kitchen window, the snow had begun to fall in thick, heavy flakes. Ana looked back at the notepad. She’d done what she came here to do, and Katie was fine. She should get her coat and go home.

  But then Mr. Burton set a round golden roll and a cup of creamy potato soup next to her.

  “Made the soup myself,” he said, before returning to his humming and his dishes.

  It would be rude to just get up and leave. So Ana ate, trying not to be jealous of Katie. It was getting harder, though. The tiny, twinkling lights all around. The soft music and the sweet smells of Mrs. Burton’s baking, still lingering even when she wasn’t home. A dad who made thick, amazing soup for his daughter instead of leaving her behind to chase more minutes on the ice. This was what a home was supposed to feel like.

  Her home had been like that, sort of, only last year.
They’d lit the menorah together and eaten latkes (from a shiksa’s bakery) and filled four chairs with the right four bodies. But this year, Babushka’s latkes had been heavy and hard, and it still gave Ana a little shock sometimes to see her sitting in her dad’s old chair.

  Ana reread her note to Katie, then folded it in half. “I’ll go put this upstairs,” she said to Mr. Burton. He was done with the dishes now, and he smiled and nodded at her as he wiped his hands on a towel.

  “I’m headed up to the attic myself, next commercial break,” he said. “You won’t mind letting yourself out if I’m still up there? I take it you know the way?”

  Ana nodded. “Not a problem. And thanks.”

  Upstairs in Katie’s bedroom, Ana felt a little spark of surprise to see her own hat laid on the dresser, like a part of her had already found its place here. If somebody bled on your hat, did that make you blood sisters? Probably.

  Even though blood sisters went a step or two past best friends, Ana was glad she didn’t see Katie’s half of the bracelet lying around. Hopefully Katie had worn it to the ballet. Hopefully she would always wear it, and her family wouldn’t pick up and move again, leaving Ana behind.

  Mr. Burton passed by the doorway with a roll of wrapping paper in one hand and tape and scissors in the other, just carrying on with his business as though Ana belonged in this house.

  And suddenly, fiercely, she wished she did.

  After Mr. Burton disappeared up the attic stairs, Ana turned off Katie’s lights. The colored bulbs around Katie’s window made the perfect frame for the paper snowflakes they’d cut out together at Thanksgiving and the great white flakes drifting down outside. And it was so quiet and peaceful with no Mikey around.

  Ana tiptoed over to Katie’s bed and only hesitated a second before lying carefully on top of the quilt. This is what it feels like, she thought. To live the perfect life as the perfect daughter in this perfect family.

  Something, though, didn’t feel quite so perfect. A lump, smaller than the hockey puck, dug into Ana’s ribs. She rolled over and reached under the covers, soft and warm even without anybody inside.