If I keep moving, I can forget—about Randi, about Todd’s mysterious wink, about being an outcast. As I disappear into sports, nothing else matters.
Six o’clock. I was dreading this moment, when I have to decide which way to go back. If I go the long way, I might see the dogs. If I go straight home, I might see the Picconis. They don’t have to say anything. I’ll know what they’re thinking.
I don’t want to get bit by the evil Chihuahuas, so I run straight home.
It might be my imagination, this feeling that someone is watching from Randi’s window. I can’t resist the temptation to sneak a glance through the corner of my eye. It looks like the pink curtain moved. Could the wind have blown it? I run faster with my eyes focused on my front door.
What lousy timing! I have to stop and wait for Mr. Picconi to back his Corvette out of the driveway, because he’s reversing and looking the other way. Should I wave to him when he turns his head? I guess I’ll have to unless I can hide behind a few leaves.
Mr. Picconi looks left, then right—right at me. Hey, who is that? A stranger is driving the Corvette away. Should I call the police?
After stuffing the bloody towel into the bottom of the hamper, I greet Mom with fingers crossed again. “Randi was sleeping, so I went to Isabelle’s house.” The lie flows out too easily.
“She must’ve been sleep walking then, since I saw her get in the car with Rita just after you left,” Mom says, folding her arms and arching her eyebrows.
“She must have woken up.”
“What happened to your legs? You look like you were playing in a rosebush.”
I give up. This lie is getting too complicated. “I went straight to Isabelle’s—the long way, so you wouldn’t see me.”
“You could have told me you wanted to go to Isabelle’s house instead. I’d understand.”
You wouldn’t. “Sorry I lied.”
Mom pours hydrogen peroxide over my cuts.
“Ow! You could’ve warned me.”
“It’s just hard to see Randi go through this without you since you were such good friends. We’ve watched her grow up.”
“I didn’t want to go to Randi’s house since she’s mad at me. I have more fun with Isabelle anyway.”
Mom doesn’t say anything which makes me feel worse. Then I remember the car. “I forgot to tell you to call the police. A man stole Mr. Picconi’s car!”
“No, honey. It wasn’t stolen. They sold it.”
“Why would he do that?”
“It’s not our business. You should go do your homework while I finish cooking.”
“Okay.” I run to my room and shut the door until we get on with our usual routine of dinner, showering, an episode of Three’s Company, and bedtime reading.
I can’t concentrate on my book. My parents’ muffled voices are begging me to eavesdrop again. I creep over to their door that never closes properly and listen hard.
“I know. Rita was so upset. She told me she had no idea Sal missed so many days of work this year. And since he was fired, medical bills are piling up. They even had to sell his car. I’m worried about him.”
Dad lets out a long sigh. “He’s got to get it together, or it’s going to get worse.”
Before I go to sleep, after finishing a chapter of Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret, I remember to pray as I always do. Something awful might happen if I don’t. I wonder if God minds that I pray at lightning speed and usually fall asleep before finishing. This time I add a prayer for Randi’s operation—and her dad. Like Margaret in my new favorite book, I ask God, “Are you there and listening…if so please make Randi get better and make her cancer stay away this time. And God, I have one more request. Please give her a friend.”
If Randi has another friend, I won’t feel like a jerk anymore. I repeat my prayers until they fade into dreams.
***
Tires screech…and smash! I wake up to a nightmare.
Dad is the first one out of bed. “What in the world was that?”
Mom comes out tying her robe. “What happened?”
Laurie and I lean against our bedroom doors, half-awake, waiting for an answer as Dad checks out the living room window.
Dad shakes his head and heads for the door. “Sal crashed his car into our mailbox.”
We watch from the den window as Dad helps Mr. Picconi out of the station wagon, which is hissing smoke and now has a dented front fender. It’s hard to see the damage in the dim light of five o’clock in the morning. Mr. Picconi looks all right, except for the way he’s walking with his arm slung over Dad’s shoulders.
As my eyes are just getting heavy again, I hear Dad’s voice in the next room. “He’ll be fine after a few cups of coffee. Sal was actually laughing that he almost had to wave good-bye to two cars in one day. Our mailbox got the worst of it, thank God. He must have been out drinking all night.”
This is serious so I try not to laugh, but the image of our crooked mailbox gives me giggles. What’s wrong with me?
Chapter 20
Hundreds of wet sneakers squeak down the hall under the hum of voices talking about who knows what. I follow the herd until I reach room 6B, Mr. Fortelli’s farm for growing future scientists, doctors, teachers, and artists. My body sits still, but my heart is jumping. Today our class finds out who won the contest. The posters are hanging, and the one my group did looks much better than the others do. I turn back to see Ann smiling. I nod in silent agreement.
Someone knocks at the door. Mrs. Grims from 6A enters with her class following. They line the wall like they’ve entered a foreign country. I wave to Nina.
“Good morning, boys and girls.” Mrs. Grims’ voice is husky, and she peers over her pink tinted glasses. “We are here to congratulate the students who created the best poster.” She maneuvers her way to the displays in the back of the classroom by squeezing her body through the maze of desks. The fat on her rear takes on a new shape, like Play-doh in a stencil.
I hold my breath in anticipation.
“The other sixth grade teachers and I were unanimous in our decision. Will the group who created this please come to the front of the room?” Mrs. Grims places a fire-engine red bow on our poster. Warm color rushes to my face as I join my group at the front of the class. Everyone claps—everyone except Julie and her pack of wolves. I ignore their rolling eyes. Good…be jealous of us commoners.
After lunch, on my way to my seat, I notice Todd smiling at me. Maybe he’s happy my group won the contest. I smile back.
He points to his tooth. I instinctively lick my lips and taste chocolate. No, not a chocolate chip smeared on my face. I must look like an idiot! I’m never eating chocolate cookies again. How come no one else pointed it out to me? Did it have to be Todd? I sit down and try to forget about the chocolate smudge, but I daydream that the chocolate spreads like frosting until it covers my whole face. I’ll never forget this embarrassing moment. Will Todd? Can he ever look at me without laughing at my chocolate smile?
“Can you believe I smiled at Todd with chocolate on my face? How humiliating!” I push my math homework aside. Boy talk is more fun than fractions.
Isabelle laughs and tries to top my embarrassing moment. “When my teacher called on me in class today, I was busy drawing hearts. She picked up the paper to look at it. The entire class could read what I wrote on the back of the page—more hearts with Mike inside. For the rest of the day, kids were whispering, ‘Isabelle loves Mike.’ The sad part is there are two ugly Mikes in my class who both think I like them.”
Isabelle jumps off her bed to search for last year’s yearbook. She finds it right on the top shelf of her closet, in a neat bin with last year’s schoolwork. Why do I pick neatniks for friends?
We sit down on her bedroom rug, lean against her ruffled bedspread, and flip across last year’s memories—but not our memories. The yearbook is filled with candid shots of the popular kids, smiling with arms wrapped around each other. They have better times to remember
than the kids they torment. The yearbook committee—whomever they might be—must have decided photos like chubby James in his bowtie playing chess have no place among the Colgate smiles. I have a sudden urge to color mustaches on their grinning faces.
The pages stick together and release an odor like old bread as we open to the class photos. Isabelle turns to her picture and we chuckle. “How did I think pigtails with ribbons looked good?”
My picture is worse. I have a stiff smile. “Thanks a lot, Ms. Photographer, for parting my bangs in the middle so I look goofy.” Tired of criticizing ourselves, we flip to Carson through Curry. Ahh ... Mike Cilano.
Isabelle sighs. “He definitely gets a ten for that photo.”
“Now let’s find Todd.” We stare. And stare. We stare as long as we want and dream. I love the yearbook—we can stare without anyone knowing.
“Another ten,” we declare in unison.
“I think I’ll give Mike a nickname. Spanish Spice, or Taco, or El Niño.
“Go with Taco. It’s shorter.” Isabelle jots it down.
“You should rename Todd. Prince Toad is a fitting name for a handsome English chap.” Isabelle laughs.
“No way!” When we finish renaming the boys, we move onto the girls, not to rename them, but to compare and envy. I would like to have Kelly’s perfect golden hair, Amanda’s brown eyes with long eyelashes, Lisa’s cute pug nose, Maria’s heart shaped mouth, and Julie’s athletic body. Of course combining them would probably create the Hulk’s sister. Still, we imagine the changes we wish we could make on ourselves. We imagine the changes it would have on our popularity. Boys would start rating us a ten.
“I know something we can change,” I announce. “Our names. I hate the name Francie.” My mind flashes back to the birds at the hospital. The name Randi chose stuck with me. “You can call me…Danielle instead.”
“That’s a cool name. I want to be Kristin, like my brother’s girlfriend.”
“From now on we have to call each other by our new names, even at school.”
“Okay, Danielle.”
“I have to go home for dinner now. I’ll see you tomorrow, Kristin.”
I peddle home chanting, Danielle McLean, Danielle McLean, trying to get accustomed to the name I’ve given myself. I feel like a new person now. Francie was dull. From now on, I’m Danielle, free as a bird.
I drop my books on the kitchen table.
Mom is busy stirring something that smells like stew. “Did you have a good day, honey?”
“It was okay, I guess. My group won the poster contest.” I sink low inside, remembering Julie’s rolling eyes and the lettuce.
“That’s great! I’d love to see it. This seems to be a good day for everyone. Mrs. Picconi says that Randi is doing well and is already out of the intensive care unit. She gets to come home sometime next week.” Mom looks at me with her wide eyes and sweet smile.
“Maybe I’ll visit her when she gets home.” This pleases Mom, but I’m not sure I want to see Randi. It has been two weeks since she told me to go away. I have other friends now.
Chapter 21
Now that the temperature has dropped, and it’s too cold for Wiffle ball, “Kristin” and I have a new obsession—roller skating at Great Skates Roller Rink on Saturday afternoons.
After an hour with the phone attached to my ear, our chauffeur plans are made. Becky’s mom is taking Krisitn, Becky, and me to Great Skates. Dad is picking us up. I’m excited. My parents bought me new skates, and I’m wearing a new outfit I got for school—a pair of pink corduroy pants with a matching plaid blouse and a pink vest. The pants feel soft as kitten fur, the pastel colors complement my fair skin, and according to the experts in Teen magazine, pastels are “in.”
According to Becky, who knows fashion, pastels are not in. She informs me of this the second I sit down in her truck. What if she’s right, and my outfit is horrible? What if I’m the only girl over the age of two wearing pink pants? If so, I’ll be the geek of the roller rink. Usually Isabelle (I mean Kristin) would say something nice. This time Kristin sits quietly while Becky gives me a fashion critique.
“Aren’t you going to get hot wearing corduroys?”
“No,” I answer, more like: “NNN-Ohw,” with a southern drawl. But I do notice sweat trickling down the indentation of my backbone.
“You look like the Easter Bunny.” Becky is on a roll. She might be amused, but I’m not. I’d like to say, Go away. Kristin and I are best friends, and we don’t need you. But Isa-- Kristin might stick up for Becky and make me look like a fool.
“Thanks. That’s the look I was going for.” I wish we could turn around and head home so I could change. Now the color pink is making me sick.
The long line we wait in weaves around the metal bars like amusement parks lines. It is just as thrilling as getting closer to the giant rollercoaster. We can hear the music pound. It’ll be our turn soon. Once inside, the doors shut, and a new atmosphere surrounds us—dark with rainbow lights that flicker and dance to the rhythm. We breathe in the excitement.
The rink reeks of freshly popped popcorn, chocolate candy, floor wax, and sweaty feet. I love the strange combination—the fragrance of fun.
While Becky and Kristin are busy adjusting leg warmers over their skates, I dash over to the bathroom to see how bad I look. Something must be wrong with me—I still like this outfit. Even though I think it fits me well, I will never wear it again. I don’t want to hear any more jokes about my clothes, and I don’t want to look like a dork. I’ll have to wear a bodysuit, spandex tights, and leg warmers next time like all the good skaters do. Maybe taking the barrette out of my hair will help me look cooler. I apply some lip-gloss and comb my hair. No need for blush on my hot cheeks.
“Danielle, are you coming? You’re taking way too long.” Kristin rolls over to me and pulls my arm.
“Okay. I was just fixing my hair.” I can’t say I’m deciding if Becky was right about my pink pants.
As I enter the floor to skate, I sense all eyes are on me. They probably wonder why some girl is skating in an Easter bunny costume, especially since Christmas is in a few weeks. What was I thinking when I bought this outfit? It’s going to be hard for me to have a good time skating today. My mind replays Becky’s words like an annoying commercial stuck in my head.
After a few times around the rink, I manage to forget about what I’m wearing. Becky skates with me, so I can’t look that bad. We hold hands, crossing them like a pretzel, and skate fast, bouncing to the beat of “Heart of Glass,” my favorite Blondie song. Becky drags me around the turn faster than I’m able to skate on my own. Sometimes I miss crashing into the bars or another kid by a fraction of an inch—scary and thrilling at the same time. I’m glad she’s strong and doesn’t drop me. Sometimes Becky skates with Kristin. They make a better team. But then I feel left out, and feeling left out stinks like Swiss cheese.
Skating is fun, but we’re motivated to skate for another reason. Boys. The first half of the session, we scope out who is cute and who can skate. We smile and roll by, hoping someone will ask us to skate for couple’s only. I’m not too good at roller flirting. But maybe as Danielle—I could be.
Kristin leans toward me and shouts something during the girl’s skate. “Look at who is standing near the snack bar.”
I skate one way while my head stays fixed in the other direction. Our eyes lock. Whoa! Kristin pulls me into reality and out of the way of a wobbly skater I was just about to plow into.
“Thanks…that was close! Wow! I can’t believe he’s here.”
“I swear Prince Toad was staring at you!” she winks at me.
“No way. He could have been looking at anyone near me.”
Kristin pulls me to the exit. “Come on…let’s go to the snack bar. Maybe he’ll talk to you.”
I follow her off, protesting. “No, I don’t want to talk to him. I won’t know what to say.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll help you.”
Just
as I head into the snack bar, I feel a tap on my shoulders. My heart immediately leaps into my throat! I’m afraid to turn around.
A voice too high to be Todd’s greets me. “Hi…I didn’t know you skate too. Who did you come with? Not Randi, right? She couldn’t be well enough to skate if she can’t even go to school.” It’s Kimmy. She blabs on and on, loud enough to be heard over the music. “So how is she? You still see her a lot? Too bad she’s not in school. I heard she was going to be in my class again this year.”
I don’t know which question to answer first, and I’d rather not answer Kimmy at all. “Actually, I haven’t seen her in a while.” I’m not supposed to feel a flood of guilt. I’m Danielle. I came here to have a good time, not be reminded of…
Kristin interrupts and saves me from this conversation. “Can you come here? Becky wants to ask you something.”
“Okay, I’m coming.” I look to Kimmy. “I have to go. Maybe I’ll see you later.”
“Right, see ya later. And tell Randi I said hello when you see her.”
Becky rolls her eyes at me as I slide next to her at the table. “What did she want?”
“Nothing—just saying hi. She was in Randi’s class.”
“Oh.”
Silence. I guess hearing Randi’s name bothers Kristin and Becky too.
“Let’s skate. I’m—”
I’m incapable of speaking. I stand up and notice a pair of black skates in front of me. My eyes follow up the light blue jeans and glowing white t-shirt to Todd’s face. He is standing two feet away from me. I think I’m going to pass out.
The lights have dimmed, and the music has slowed down. I forgot it was almost time for couples skate. Is he going to ask me? Please. Please.
Chapter 22
Something must have happened between the time I smiled at Todd and when I bent down to pick up my quarter. Todd isn’t in front of me anymore and neither is Kristin. They are skating hand in hand away from me. I can’t believe it! I thought she was going to help me talk to him.
I want to curl up in a ball and cry, but Becky is standing next to me. Maybe I had it wrong. I do need Becky. She was just being honest about my clothes. Kristin is not acting like a friend.
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