by Dyan Sheldon
After Amy’s phone call, though, I started thinking about her again. I thought of all the things we used to do together, and how close we’d been. And how sometimes, when I caught a glimpse of her across the campus or down the corridor with one of her new friends, my heart would sort of flop.
And then, as I lay on my bed thinking, I understood why Amy had suddenly started missing me. It was because she’d noticed me with the Martians. Maybe she’d even seen me in town with Marva, or at the library with Joan, or at the mall on Saturday with everyone. I knew she’d seen me with Marva and Chris. She’d seen me with them, and she wished we were best friends again. Maybe she’d seen me and Tanya fooling around, and she’d thought to herself, That used to be me!, just the way I did when I saw her giggling with Amber and Kim.
I couldn’t help smiling to myself as I got into bed and turned off the light. Jenny Kaliski, I said to myself, you’re about to hit dawn!
“Jenny Kaliski,” said my mother, “just where do you think you’re going?”
I stopped at the front door. It was Monday morning. I was wearing one of my best pairs of jeans, a black shirt, my denim jacket and two silver hoops and a silver bat earring that Chris had given me because he had a pair and he wore only one. I had my book bag over my shoulder and a paper bag with my lunch in it in my hand. Where did she think I was going?
“School?”
“Without any breakfast?”
“I don’t have time for breakfast, Mom. I’ll be late.”
She formed her lips into a straight line. “I don’t care if you’re on a diet or not,” said my mother. “You have to eat.”
“It’s not the diet, Mom, honest,” I said. “I just don’t want to be late for school.”
My mother said, “Um.”
I sprinted through the door before my mother could think of anything else to say. It was true, I didn’t want to be late that morning. Dawn was breaking. I was meeting Amy. I was meeting Amy and she was going to tell me how sorry she was for all the awful things she’d said about me and for treating me so badly and we were going to be friends again. That’s what I was thinking as I hurried down the street. Amy was going to apologize and we’d still be friends.
“Jenny! Jenny, wait up!”
I turned around, Amy was cutting across the Carlotti’s front yard, running towards me, her hair glinting in the sun. I’d been so lost in thought that I’d gone past her street. Seeing Amy jump over the Carlotti’s miniature picket fence and the stone pig in the middle of the lawn, like she always did, was kind of strange. I felt like I was watching a video of my life. “Jenny Kaliski!” boomed a voice in my head. “Jenny Kaliski, this is your life! And here is your best friend since third grade, Amy Ford, racing to meet you on a Monday morning.” Only it wasn’t a video, it was the real thing. I felt such a rush of happiness that for a minute there I even forgot I was hungry.
“Whew,” Amy laughed, falling into step beside me, “I was afraid I might’ve missed you.”
And that was when I realized that only half of me was happy. The other half had an attitude. The half with the attitude felt like saying, You did miss me. You missed me yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that … but I shut that half up. The happy half of me didn’t want to fight with Amy, it wanted to be friends. So I laughed, too, and said, “Is your hair lighter, or is there something wrong with my eyes?”
“Do you like it? Kim did it.”
I thought it was a familiar shade. “It’s nice,” I said. “It’s very blonde.”
“Nordic gold,” said Amy. She was so close to me that our arms touched. “Gosh,” she said, smiling, “it seems like ages since I’ve talked to you.”
I smiled, too. “Thirteen days.”
“There’s that famous sense of humour again!” laughed Amy. She gave me a wink. And then she said, “You know, you look different, somehow.” She gave me another wink. “I mean, besides the hair. I don’t know how you ever had the nerve to cut it so short. Nobody wears their hair that short any more.” She tilted her head to one side and frowned. “I wonder what it is…”
I didn’t say that everyone else, even my parents, thought my hair looked great, I suppose because I was so grateful that she hadn’t noticed it was green. But also because what I really wanted was for her to say I looked thinner. “Why, Jen!” I wanted her to say. “I know what it is! You’re skinny! You must’ve lost pounds. You look absolutely gorgeous!” I willed her to say it.
“You haven’t put on a little weight, have you?” she asked.
Terrific. Amy was getting blonder and blonder, and I was getting fatter and greener. Probably I was getting shorter, too. “No,” I said loudly. “I haven’t put on weight.” One pound didn’t count.
She tilted her head to the other side. “Maybe it’s the earrings,” she said. “You’ve started wearing three earrings again.”
Even my father thought the earrings looked good with my new haircut. Distinctive was what he’d said. I could tell from Amy’s expression that she didn’t agree with my father. As far as she was concerned, this wasn’t the right thing to do either. “Yeah, well, you know…” I started to explain. “You know, I figured since the holes were there already—”
“Maybe it is your hair,” she interrupted, peering. “It looks darker or something.”
I decided to change the subject. “Well, you look really great,” I said brightly. She did, too. She looked like one of the girls in my magazine. The girls who didn’t have cellulite. I looked at her again. “Your eyes even look bluer.”
She smiled. “Tinted lenses. All the girls have them.”
“Oh, right,” I said. “Of course.”
We scuffed along through the leaves in silence for a few minutes. This wasn’t exactly the reunion I’d imagined. Amy and I had been friends for eight years, and here I was walking along with her and I couldn’t think of a thing to say. She wouldn’t be interested in hearing about the telescope. She’d make fun of me if I told her the truth about my hair. She’d be horrified if I told her about my protest. She’d think the things that the Martians and I did and laughed about were dumb or immature. Dawn started fading again.
And then, in a sudden rush, Amy said, “So, Jenny, what have you been up to lately?”
I concentrated on kicking a horse chestnut into the road. There was something about her voice that didn’t really sound natural. I wasn’t sure why, but it made me sort of suspicious,
I shrugged. “Oh, nothing much,” I said. “I go to school and that’s about it. You know, the usual. What about you?”
“Oh, the same,” said Amy. “I mean, I have cheerleading, that keeps me pretty busy, and there’ve been a lot of other things going on lately, social things, you know, and of course Rosie Henley’s Hallowe’en party is coming up and I’ve been working on my costume for that. Did I tell you that I decided to go as a mermaid?”
When do you think you told me? the half of me with attitude wanted to say. In your sleep? But the other half was still in control. “Everyone misses you at swimming,” I said as we turned towards the school.
“Swimming?” She gave me this sort of blank look. “You mean you still go swimming?”
I nodded. “Of course I still go swimming.” Not only did I like swimming but The Ultimate Dieter had recommended it for exercise.
“But it makes your calves so thick.” She gave me a little shiver. “Not to mention what it does to your arms.”
“Oh,” I mumbled. I was glad I was wearing my jacket, so neither of us could check to see what swimming had done to my arms.
We crossed the street.
“So,” said Amy, as we started up the drive, “I hear you’re hanging out with Chris County now.”
She sounded so offhand that all at once I knew that this was it. This was what she’d been leading to. Miss me, my frozen yoghurt, as my mother would say. Chris County, not missing me, was the reason Amy wanted to walk to school with me.
“Not exactly hanging out.�
�� I kept my eyes straight ahead. “I’m friends with his sister.”
“Oh, his sister,” groaned Amy. “She’s peculiar, too.” She tossed her head. “But all those girls you hang out with are a little weird.”
So she had noticed. It just hadn’t broken her heart that I was with Marva, Maria, Joan, Sue and Tanya instead of her. She leaned closer to me. “Do you know what everyone calls them?” She giggled nervously.
I didn’t want to know. I mean, I knew they were Martians and everything, but for some reason I didn’t want to hear what name Amy and her crowd had for them. Only I didn’t say that to Amy. To Amy I said, “Everybody?”
“Well, not me,” she said quickly. “I don’t call them this, but others do.” She gave another nervous giggle. “The Witches of Red Bay!” she said. She was smiling at me as though her face had frozen. “It is kind of funny, isn’t it? The Witches of Red Bay! Couldn’t you just die?”
Yeah, I thought, I think I could. I wondered if she’d noticed that one of my earrings was a bat.
Amy abruptly stopped smiling. “They’re harmless, of course,” she continued. “I mean, hanging out with them isn’t going to help your social life any, but it shouldn’t do you any permanent damage. I mean, if you ever decided to dump them and get in with the right people, everyone would probably forget that you ever knew them at all. At least they’d forgive you.”
Forgive me? Now there was a piece of good news. Things were definitely looking up. Maybe dawn was breaking after all. “Amy,” I began, “I have no intention—”
She cut me off. “But Christopher County is different,” she said sharply. “He is too weird for words.”
I’m not sure what it was, but something in the way she said “too weird for words” made me think she’d rehearsed whatever I was about to hear. I glanced over at her. Her mouth was set and she was staring straight ahead. “He’s not that weird,” I said. “He happens to be very nice. He’s—”
“Weird,” repeated Amy. “He’s as weird as they come. He’s never done one normal thing during his whole high school career. He’s arrogant and antisocial. He gives everyone the creeps.”
“He doesn’t give me the creeps,” I said. “I think he’s really interesting. And anyway, he’s helping me with my protest.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth I remembered that I hadn’t been going to mention the protest to Amy. As soon as I saw the expression on her face, I knew I’d been right.
She was so surprised that she looked at me. “Helping you with what protest?”
I tried to sound matter-of-fact. “Remember I told you about Mr Herrera and the frogs?”
“What frogs?” asked Amy.
“You know,” I said. “I told you about Mr Herrera insisting that I dissect a frog.” I was trying to keep my voice normal, but I was having a little trouble. Because by then her surprise had been replaced by something else. By horror. I looked away. “Well, I decided to stage a protest instead.”
She didn’t say anything, but I could feel her staring at me.
“You know,” I said, talking quickly. “Like Ghandi and Martin Luther King.”
Amy came to a dead stop, but she still didn’t say anything. And because she didn’t say anything, I started to babble.
“I’m going to picket the dissection lab,” I told her. “I’m going to dress up like a frog and I’m going to march outside the classroom with a sign.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Her voice, now that she’d found it, was completely flat.
I shook my head, picking up more speed. “No, I’m not kidding. I’m going to stand up for my principles. I’m going to strike a blow for academic freedom. I’m going to—”
“Humiliate yourself in front of the entire school.” While I’d babbled, the expression of horror on Amy’s face had changed from basic horror to horrified horror. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.” She was almost whispering. “I really can’t believe it. Have you lost your mind, Jenny? Don’t you care at all what other people think? Are you trying to be as weird as you can?”
“No,” I said. “I’m not trying to be weird. I’m trying to stand up for what I believe.”
All of a sudden she smiled. “This is Chris County’s idea, isn’t it?” It was a triumphant smile. “You’re letting Chris County put ideas in your head.” She made a disgusted face. “And I thought you were smart. How can you listen to anything a nut like Chris has to say?” She started walking again. “Well, at least this explains why he’s hanging out with you.”
The way she said “you” made me sound like an earthworm. Well at least that explains why he’s hanging out with an earthworm.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” I had run a few steps to catch up with her. “One minute you’re telling me how weird he is, and the next you’re acting like I’m not good enough for him.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” Amy strode on. “All I meant was that you’re obviously gullible enough to take him seriously.”
If she hadn’t wounded my pride, I might have pointed out that most of the teachers at school took Chris seriously. But she had wounded my pride, so what I said was, “Maybe he likes me, Amy. Did you ever think of that? Maybe he likes being with me.”
“Oh, please,” said my oldest friend. “Chris County looks down on everybody. He hangs out with no one.” She shook her Nordic curls. “Can you believe it? Rosie Henley invited him to a party once and he turned her down flat! Rosie Henley! Who does he think he is?”
Talk about weird… This strange idea suddenly came into my head. Good grief, I thought. Could it be that they’re jealous? Could it be that the Miss Perfect Teenagers are mad because Chris County hangs out with me but won’t speak to them?
Amy gave me another one of her frozen smiles. “But I guess if you’re dumb enough to go along with him…”
“I am not dumb enough to go along with him,” I protested. “It just so happens that Chris likes—”
“To cause trouble,” filled in Amy. “Especially where Mr Herrera’s concerned, from what I’ve heard.” She sighed. “You’re too trusting, Jenny. But I can tell you right now that Chris County is just using you. If he’s helping you it’s for himself, not for you. That’s the way people like him are.”
Using me? I repeated to myself. Using me for what? It was starting to annoy me that she wouldn’t listen to anything I said. “Chris is—”
“Bad news,” said Amy. “Serious bad news. Don’t you know that he’s always in trouble? Didn’t you hear how he nearly got kicked out of school?”
We were no longer walking, we were marching.
Amy means he’s using you to get back at Mr Herrera. I pushed the thought out of my head. “No, he’s not,” I said. “He happens to be one of the smartest people—”
“He’s a pariah,” snapped Amy.
“A pariah?” Where had she gotten that word from? Pariah was not an Amy Ford word.
She shook the golden head. “Being friends with him could ruin your life.”
I couldn’t get over her. You’d think she was an elephant warning another elephant about the ivory traders. “Ruin my life? What are you talking about? How could knowing Chris ruin my life?”
Amy swung her book bag as we marched across the quad. “People are judged by their friends.”
“That’s funny,” I said. “I thought they were judged by their clothes and their hair and how much they weighed.”
She wasn’t listening to that either. “No one likes him, Jenny,” she said with finality. “If they don’t like him, they won’t like you.”
“That’s not true. Lots of people like him. He has—”
“Rosie Henley doesn’t like him,” said Amy evenly. “And neither does Dwayne Miller.”
And Mr Herrera doesn’t like him. I told myself to shut up. “So what? He probably doesn’t like them.”
She stopped dead. She turned to face me. “So what? Jenny, don’t you realize that hanging out with Chris County is committing social suici
de? I was even going to try and get you an invitation to Rosie’s Hallowe’en party, but there’s no way I could do that now…”
“So what?” I said. “I don’t care.”
This genuinely pained expression came into her eyes. “How can you?” she asked. “How can you not care?”
“I just don’t,” I said. “I—”
“Well, maybe you don’t care now,” said Amy. “But what if you decide later that you do care? Chris County will be graduating in June, but you won’t. You’ll be here for another three years. What if you change your mind? What if you realize what a mistake you’ve made? Do you think that anyone will give you the time of day once they know you’re a friend of his?”
“They don’t give me the time of day now,” I reasoned.
“But they would,” said Amy earnestly. She sounded as if she believed it. “They would if you’d make an effort, I know they would.” She moved a little closer, her voice an urgent whisper. “I really worry about you, Jenny. I know you don’t think I do, but I do. I never dreamed we’d drift apart like this. I thought we’d always be close. Remember when your mom used to say we were like two peas in a pod? What happened, Jenny?”
I couldn’t answer. I didn’t know.
We started walking again, but slowly, side by side, our shoulders almost touching.
“I don’t want you to be an outcast,” she said softly. “I want you to belong. Like I do.”
“But, Amy—”
“I knew everything would be different in high school,” she was saying, “but not like this…”
We came to a sudden halt outside the entrance that led directly to Amy’s locker. Amy turned to me. For the first time in weeks it was the old Amy I was seeing. The Amy who loved me. The Amy who was a pea in my pod. “I can’t stand to see you ruining your life like this,” said Amy. Her voice shook. “When I think of what good friends we were…” She trailed off, her eyes on the ground. “I just really can’t,” she whispered.
I opened my mouth, sort of to see if I could speak or not, but Amy was already stepping into the hall. The door banged shut behind her. One of those silly rhymes people write in your yearbook popped into my head as I watched her disappear into the building. Only it was a little different than it usually is. “There are gold ships and there are silver ships,” I recited to myself, “but the sinking ship is friendship.”
