Leave it to Kate to wait until the last minute. She’d always been that way, ever since Marylin had known her. If Halloween was Tuesday, Kate was still figuring out what her costume would be on Monday night. Book report due on Wednesday? Kate was writing it on the bus on the way to school Wednesday morning. Kate’s lifestyle went against everything Marylin believed in. Marylin liked to plan ahead at least one week in advance. It made her nervous to wait to write a paper till the night before it was due. She’d have a breakdown if she waited until the morning she was supposed to hand it in.
She would never say this, but she thought Kate would be happier if she were more like Marylin. For instance, if Kate would just give a little advance thought about what she wore and how she did her hair, if she would make a wardrobe chart and see what she could mix and match, if she would make the tiniest little effort to improve herself, it would make life so much easier for her.
“I’ll go shopping with you if you want,” Marylin had offered. “I could help you pick out stuff that looks good on you.”
Marylin was in love with that idea as soon as she came up with it. She could give Kate a makeover. She knew just what kind of jeans would look great on Kate. And it would take a little doing, but maybe she could get Kate to buy some ballet slipper flats. Kate could totally do a cute look. Not too girly, of course, because the last thing Kate was was girly. But cute and sporty? Definitely.
Kate had blown a long, piercing whistle through her blade of grass. “No thanks,” she’d said, dashing Marylin’s dreams to the dirt. “I already know what I want. Jeans and T-shirts. I call it the casual look. It’s very me.”
Marylin felt her face flush red. She didn’t know why she felt so flustered, but she did. “Kate, we’re starting seventh grade. It’s a chance for a whole new beginning.”
“I don’t need a new beginning.” Kate stood up. “I’m good the way I am.”
Walking back to her house, Marylin had wanted to scream. She wanted to turn around and yell at Kate, “You are not good the way you are! Boys don’t like you! People are starting to think you’re weird.”
But of course she hadn’t. You couldn’t say that to someone who had been your best friend practically your entire life. Not that Kate felt much like a best friend anymore. Well, she did and she didn’t. Kate and Marylin had known each other since preschool. They knew each other’s Pop-Tart preferences. Twice they’d both had bad dreams on the same night: once, in second grade, after they’d watched The Wizard of Oz for the first time, and once the night before the big fourth-grade music recital, when they’d each had a solo. And Kate was the only one Marylin could talk to about her parents getting a divorce. Kate was irritating, but she was a good person, and she was honest. Marylin respected that, even though sometimes it drove her crazy.
But lately Marylin felt like Kate’s goal in life was to be the complete opposite of her. If Marylin said hot, Kate said cold. If Marylin said, “Let’s practice different hairstyles,” Kate said, “Let’s cut all our hair off and be bald.”
Marylin wanted to help Kate, she really did. But how could she, when Kate wouldn’t let her?
I’m good the way I am. Marylin shook her head. What kind of crazy talk was that?
“Sweetie, you look gorgeous,” Marylin’s mother greeted her when she came down for breakfast. “And that T-shirt looks great on you. Red-and-white stripes—very cute.”
Ever since her parents had gotten a divorce, Marylin’s mother had been big on being supportive. One time Marylin had overheard her mom on the phone telling Mrs. Faber that she worried Marylin would get low self-esteem now that she lived in a broken home. The problem was, whenever Marylin’s mom said anything nice, Marylin didn’t know if she meant it or not. Did she really think Marylin’s shirt was cute, or was she just saying that because she was afraid Marylin might flunk out of school now that her parents were divorced?
Marylin sat down across the table from Petey, who also had a striped shirt on, and whose hair was slicked back from his forehead with styling gel. “If you’re going to use gel, don’t comb your hair later,” Marylin advised him. “The gel will crack if you comb it when it’s dry, and it will look like you have really bad dandruff.”
Petey patted his hair gingerly. “Thanks for telling me,” he said. “Gretchen Humboldt says that kids start getting mean in fourth grade. They make fun of you if you’re different from other people. It’s classic herd mentality. That’s what Gretchen says, anyway.”
Marylin took a tiny bite of her scrambled eggs. Sometimes she was pretty sure she knew every opinion Gretchen Humboldt had ever held. Gretchen was the only person in Petey’s class smarter than he was, and Petey was always quoting her, like she was the world’s foremost authority on everything.
“Mom, I’m too nervous to eat,” she said after she swallowed another forkful of eggs. “I’ll drink my juice, but if I eat anything else, I think I’ll throw up.”
That wasn’t exactly true. She didn’t have the throw-up feeling. It was more of a stomach explosion feeling. Not butterflies. Butterflies were light and airy. Whatever was going on in her stomach was more like elephants stomping around.
Her mom walked into the dining room, waving a cereal bar. “At least put this in your backpack,” she insisted. “You can eat it when your stomach calms down. Which it will. The first day of school makes everybody jittery.”
When the doorbell rang, Marylin knew it was Kate. She and Kate had always walked to the bus stop together on the first day of school. There were two bus stops on their street, one in front of Kate’s house and one on the corner five houses down from Marylin’s house, almost an entire block away from Kate’s. In the old days, they switched back and forth, Kate’s bus stop one day, Marylin’s the next. Then last year, when Marylin and Flannery were giving Kate the silent treatment, Kate always caught the bus in front of her house.
Marylin wondered if now that they were friends again, they would go back to switching back and forth. They hadn’t actually discussed it yet, but she thought it might be a babyish thing to do in seventh grade. Besides, Kate was almost always late when it was her day to come to Marylin’s bus stop, and it drove Marylin crazy. She liked staying on the good side of bus drivers, who were often highly irritable people and didn’t care if you missed the bus or not.
This morning, though, Kate was early. Maybe she was turning over a new leaf, Marylin thought. Maybe she’d realized that Marylin’s way of doing things was a really good way if you wanted happiness and low stress in your life. Maybe Kate was finally coming around. Marylin grabbed her backpack—which she had started thinking of as a back pouch, since it was rounder than a backpack and quilted with pretty red and white flowered fabric—picked up her lunch tote, which was made out of the same material, and ran for the door.
“Have a great first day!” her mom called after her. “You look fabulous!”
Did she really look fabulous, Marylin wondered as she opened the door, or was her mom hoping that if she told her she looked fabulous, Marylin wouldn’t suddenly turn into Flannery and dye her hair hot pink? It was impossible to know for sure.
If Marylin had been hoping to find a transformed Kate on her front porch, she knew the minute she opened the door that she was completely out of luck. Kate was dressed in a purple T-shirt without the smallest design or stylish detail, dark jeans, and—what were those things on her feet? Horseback-riding boots? Army shoes? Whatever they were, Marylin was sure of one thing: Nobody else in seventh grade would be wearing them.
She had to force herself not to tell Kate to run home before it was too late and put on some regular shoes. She knew if she said this, Kate would never take off her boots again. They would become a permanent part of her body. So Marylin just smiled at Kate, her best fake smile, a smile that she hoped said, I don’t exactly remember your name, but I’ve seen you around school and I’m sure you’re very nice.
“Why are you smiling at me like that?” Kate asked. “Are you about to throw up?”
“I like your T-shirt,” said Marylin brightly. “Purple’s a great color on you.”
The funny thing was, even though Kate rolled her eyes, Marylin was sure she saw a flash of something right before she did, a little glimpse of the inside of Kate’s thoughts, which said, Do you really think so?
Kate cared what she looked like. Marylin was sure of it.
And for some reason this made her feel all her old best-friend feelings about Kate. Kate might act tough. She might act like she didn’t care anymore what anybody thought. But Marylin knew the truth. Kate cared.
“You can roll your eyes if you want,” Marylin said as they walked down the front path toward the sidewalk. “But you really do look cute. I hate to be the one to tell you that, but it’s true.”
She wouldn’t say a word about the boots, she decided.
Not one single word.
Marylin had become a middle-school cheerleader in April, at the tail end of sixth grade. She had never before walked into school on the first day as a full-fledged cheerleader, a person everyone else knew even if she didn’t know them. She had never walked down the hallway to her locker while newly minted eighth-grade football players checked her out and smiled at her, like somehow she belonged to them.
She was not sure how she felt about eighth-grade football players smiling at her like she belonged to them. Before today, she would have said that was something she would probably enjoy a lot.
Now she wasn’t exactly sure.
And for some reason, when a football player she’d never met named Thomas Langley, the third most popular eighth-grade boy in their school, called out her name as she walked down the hall and then bumped against her hip as she passed him, she thought of Petey and his hair-gelled hair, and it almost made her feel like crying.
She had no idea why.
“There she is!” Mazie was standing by her locker at the end of the hall, surrounded by the other middle-school cheerleaders. “Marylin, get down here right now!”
Marylin turned to say good-bye to Kate, but Kate was no longer by her side. Marylin hated to admit it, especially after having just experienced such warm best-friend feelings, but she was relieved Kate was gone. Now they didn’t have to say, “See you later,” while not actually acknowledging that in no way would Kate be welcome at the cheerleader gathering down the hall, or that Kate would rather spend the day dancing through school in a pink polka-dotted tutu than have to say one single word to Mazie Calloway.
Walking toward her fellow middle-school cheerleaders, all of them dressed in matching red-and-white-striped shirts, it seemed to Marylin like they glowed, the way a flock of angels might glow if they landed in your front yard. Even Kate would have to admit there was something special about this group of cheerleaders, not that she’d ever say so out loud.
“We’re comparing schedules,” Mazie informed her as Marylin joined the group.
“Did something change?” asked Marylin, pulling her own schedule out of her back pouch. They had compared schedules endlessly the week before, e-mailing and instant messaging and calling one another at all hours of the day.
“My mom called the office yesterday and made them switch me from chorus to newspaper,” Ashley Greer moaned. “Which means that I don’t have B lunch anymore.”
Marylin stared at her. They had spent hours coordinating it so that all the middle-school cheerleaders would have B lunch. They already knew which table they were going to sit at, and had discussed whether or not any noncheer-leaders would be allowed to sit with them. Ashley’s moving to another lunch period ruined the whole plan.
“Isn’t there anything you can do?” Marylin asked her. “Can’t you make your mom change her mind?”
“That’s what we’ve been talking about,” said Mazie. “But Ash here says that there’s no way. She’s too wimpy to stick up for herself.”
“That’s not true!” Ashley whined. “I begged her a million times. But she says the newspaper is a much better elective for me than chorus.”
Caitlin Moore leaned toward Marylin and whispered, “Her mom says why should she be in chorus when she can’t sing a note?”
“Don’t keep telling everyone that!” Ashley screeched. “Besides, how am I supposed to become a better singer if I’m not in chorus?”
“More importantly, how can you be a cheerleader and not have B lunch?” Mazie asked.
Ashley paled. “Can I get kicked off the squad for having a different lunch period from everyone else?”
Ruby Santiago stepped forward. “Of course not. It’s just a tradition, that’s all. But maybe you can change electives next quarter. You could practice your singing and show your mom that you really love music. She might change her mind.”
“Thanks, Ruby,” Ashley said, sounding grateful. “That’s an awesome idea.”
“Somebody else will have to drop out of chorus for Ashley to get back in,” Mazie pointed out. “That’s not very likely.”
Marylin felt an opportunity opening up before her. There were clearly two sides here. There was the supportive Ruby side and the completely nonsupportive and pretty mean Mazie side. All Marylin had to do was take a step forward and say something to Ashley like, It will all work out, don’t worry, and she would show the world which side she was on. The nice people’s side. The side that stood for friendliness and making everyone feel included. That was the side where Marylin felt she truly belonged.
She started to make her move. All she had to do was lean toward Ashley and give her a nice pat on the shoulder, say a few words. She took a breath and looked at Ashley’s pale, worried face. She began to open her mouth.
But then Ashley glared at her. It was a look that clearly said, Why don’t you shut up before you even start talking?
Marylin stepped backward, as though she’d been slapped. She tried to smile in what she hoped was a sympathetic way, even though what she really wanted to do was yank out Ashley’s hair.
Clearly she would have to find another time when she could show everyone what a kind, supportive person she was. Maybe she could sit next to Ruby Santiago at lunch. She could give Ruby her Baggie of Mint Milano cookies, which she knew were Ruby’s favorites. Maybe Ruby would invite her over to her house to spend the night on Saturday. It would just be the two of them, and they would discover how much they had in common. Maybe Ruby liked lying on the couch on snowy days, snuggling under a quilt her grandmother had made. Maybe she liked swimming in lakes better than in swimming pools, just like Marylin did.
Mazie reached out and grabbed Marylin’s wrist, pulling her out of her daydream of friendship with Ruby Santiago. “Come on,” she said, dragging Marylin away from the group. “Let’s go down to the gym before the bell rings and see if any cute guys are hanging around.”
Marylin followed reluctantly behind her. Somehow Mazie had done it again, claimed Marylin for her own without bothering to ask if Marylin wanted to be claimed. That didn’t seem fair to Marylin, that other people could say, You’re mine and you couldn’t say, But I don’t want to be yours.
She had a sudden, brief thought that she would like to be her own, but it disappeared in the commotion of the crowded hallway. She followed behind Mazie, halfway hoping there’d be some cute boys in the gym, halfway hoping nobody would be there at all.
“Tell me everything. I want all the gory details.”
Marylin’s mom sat at the kitchen table, a plate of freshly bought chocolate chip cookies in front of her. It was her first-day-of-school tradition to leave work early so she could be there when Marylin and Petey got home. Then, at the dinner table, she’d prompt them as they told their dad about the first day of school, saying, “Now, don’t forget to tell him about your class pet,” or “Does Daddy know who sits two seats behind you who also goes to our church?”
Only tonight Marylin’s dad would not be at the dinner table to hear all their back-to-school stories. Marylin and Petey would have to call him after dinner at his apartment, which was twenty miles and a whole uni
verse away. She knew it would feel fakey to talk to him about school on the phone. In person, her dad was a good conversationalist, but when you talked to him on the phone you could hear the little pings his computer made as he checked his e-mail or surfed the Internet. His voice was enthusiastic—“Really!” he’d exclaim when he thought he was supposed to be excited about something you’d said, “That’s great, honey!”—but you could tell he was only halfway listening.
Marylin sat down across the table from her mom and took a cookie from the plate. She wished she were better at being able to talk about stuff right away. She knew that when Petey had gotten home from school, he’d probably talked nonstop, repeated every word that had come out of Gretchen Humboldt’s mouth, given a five-point presentation on the fourth-grade curriculum, and ended up with a top ten list of his fourth-grade goals. Petey was great at on-the-spot talking.
But Marylin needed time to think the day through. What surprised her was that she didn’t really want to think about who sat at the middle-school cheerleading table during B lunch or the cute boy in the desk behind her in pre-algebra who kept leaning forward to crack jokes in Marylin’s ear, his cool breath on her earlobe making her shiver.
No, what stayed in her mind on the first afternoon after the first day of seventh grade was a new girl named Rhetta Mayes, who sat in front of Marylin in four of her classes, including art and State History. Rhetta Mayes had dyed jet-black hair and four earrings in each ear. She wore a black blouse that was at least three sizes too big, so it looked like a very fancy super sized garbage bag, and black jeans and clunky black shoes with big silver buckles. Her skin was so white, Marylin was sure it couldn’t be real. It was maybe two shades up from clown-makeup white. Rhetta Mayes was, in fact, the scariest-looking person Marylin had ever seen in her life.
As far as Marylin was concerned, seventh grade was not supposed to include people like Rhetta Mayes, people who made you feel nervous in four classes out of seven. In fact, by the time seventh period rolled around and there was Rhetta Mayes again—the same humongous fake leather black bag stuffed with who knew what (a witch hat and raggedy black dress probably) hooked over the back of her desk where it would bump into Marylin’s knees the whole period, the same black eyeliner-lined eyes peering spookily out from her pale face—Marylin was ready to head to the guidance counselor’s office and request a complete schedule change. Just keep me in B lunch, was all she’d ask. But get me away from Rhetta Mayes.
The Kind of Friends We Used to Be Page 3
