Randi's Steps

by Frances Judge

  After piling on so many clothes, I can barely bend and feel like an unattractive stuffed potato. I need air! I rush outside to help put the sleds in the car. Michael and his dad are building a snowman on their front lawn. As I wave to them, Randi waves back from her dining room window. She is watching them. I smile, but I wonder if I should have invited her, even though I know what the answer would be.

  Thank God we’re at the golf course and can tumble out of the car. Three kids stuffed in puffy coats and snow-pants, buried under sleds, do not make a comfortable ride. I think I’m going to scream if I can’t get to an unreachable itch I have on my back under my layers. And I’m stuck—pinned under piles of snow gear. “Get me out of here!”

  “Hold on. I’m coming.” Dad lifts the sleds off me and helps us slide out of the car.

  I charge up the slippery hill. The scent of a distant fireplace drifts across the golf course. With the sun reflecting off the snow, the ground and sky blend together into a wall of white light, but the trees cast purple shadows to show where they divide. Yesterday’s problems fade into tomorrow. Today’s for flying. Downhill, snow-drenched, sub-zero flying.

  Laurie tries to climb and carry her sled, but her boots must be slippery.

  “Help!” Laurie yells as she falls onto her smooth plastic sled—repeating her skiing trouble—and slides backward to the bottom of the hill, right in the path of some kids coming down. I close my eyes. Yep, they all crash into Laurie. Amazingly, no one is hurt, but my stomach hurts from laughing so hard.

  “Are you okay down there?” I call. She looks helpless in the snow, so I climb down to her.

  “My face is cold.”

  “Here, come this way. It’s less steep.” I take off my bulky scarf and wrap it around her neck and chin to warm her wet cheeks.

  “Thanks.” At the top she catches up to Justin.

  Watching Laurie sledding with Justin, laughing and being silly, I realize I am jealous—not of their friendship, but jealous of their normal friendship. I want to share this good time with Randi, but I can’t.

  Randi was here with us two years ago. Each hill we tried was a new experience. Some were bumpy and jostled us about, throwing us up in the air. Some were smooth and steep, sending us down at rocket speed. Some were gentle slopes, letting us coast for a breather. Some were treacherous if not ridden carefully. Our last ride down was one of those treacherous ones. Randi and I were together on Dad’s old sled made of wood with red handles to steer. We picked up some good speed, but couldn’t stop.

  We fell off and rolled in the snow, seconds before the sled crashed into a massive tree at the edge of the woods. After coming that close to colliding, my parents decided it was time to go. They wanted to bring Randi home in one piece.

  I want it to be that time again—minus the crash. The slopes haven’t changed, but it isn’t the same without her. It’s not nearly as much fun.

  “Ow! What was that?” I turn around to see Todd (of all people) taking aim with another snowball. Todd? It’s hard to tell if it’s him since he’s wearing a hat and scarf, and my eyes are watery in the wind. It has to be—I recognize the blue and white striped Mets jacket. I’ve stared at that coat every day during gym class since Mr. Burke makes everyone brave the frigid temperatures for soccer.

  For a few seconds, I stand there in shock until my senses kick in. I make a quick snowball to get him back. Should I be mad at him? Did he throw it because he likes me, or was he teasing me because he thinks I’m a dork? I want to hit him in the face with a snowball, so I throw a solid round one as hard as I can. It misses him by a few yards (no surprise) and lands on a bulky man who doesn’t look too happy. “What the—!” the man yells.

  Todd falls back in the snow hysterically laughing. I stomp back up the hill, embarrassed at my poor aiming skills and plot my snowy revenge.

  I hop on the sled and aim it where Todd now stands in the snow with his back to me. I’m going fast—too fast. Uh oh. Just at the last second, I tilt my weight and brush by the side of him, but a little too close. Todd is knocked off his feet and lands on his face in the snow.

  “Hey, come here!” he hollers, wiping snow off his mouth with his wool scarf.

  Now I’m nervous. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to bump into you like that.”

  “You didn’t? Sure you weren’t trying to get me back for the snowball I whaled you with?”

  “Well, maybe the thought did cross my mind.” I’m in full blush now, especially on my cold nose. I probably look like Rudolph.

  “Come with me.” Todd grabs my hand and leads me back up the steep side. I love holding his hand, even through thick gloves. At the top, he sits down on his sled and pats the space behind him. “Hop on. We’ll go even faster together, so hold on tight.”

  I’m like a pretzel wrapped around him. A toasty, warm pretzel. We zoom down at what feels like bobsled speed. I’m not as cold with his body blocking the wind. This is the best way to sled. I can’t believe I’m holding on to Todd Williams!

  “Watch out!” Todd shouts, but I don’t know why. Then I do. We hit a bump and fly off, landing next to each other in the snow.

  “That was fun!” I can feel my smiling lips cracking in the cold.

  After zooming down together three more times, it’s over. Dad is calling me to leave. Seems he’s about to turn purple. I wave and wonder if Todd will be different to me at school.

  This time I take off my coat and snow pants before smushing into the seat next to Laurie. I’m warm enough and don’t need to feel like a baked potato.

  “That was fun. Let’s come back tomorrow,” Laurie says as she bounces up and down.

  Justin leans over the front seat. “Thanks for taking me. I’ve never gone sledding before.”

  Dad ruffles his wet hair. “I’m glad you all had a good time,” he adds, “and no broken bones.”

  As I contemplate Justin never going sledding before and stick my head out the open window for fresh air, I notice Todd helping some girl with curly blond hair climb up the hill. He’s holding her hand. Oh my gosh! It’s Julie. She turns and winks at me. Oh, I hate her smug face.

  Dad looks at me in the rear view mirror. “So who was the boy you were sledding with?”

  “No one. Just some jerk from school.”

  “Oh? I thought you and the jerk were having a good time together.”

  “Well, I was at first. But I can’t stand him.” Dad doesn’t press it.

  At home, I slam the car door shut and glance over at the lonely snowman on Randi’s lawn. He’s wearing those same funny glasses. Randi rests at the window again. It seems like a good time to trudge over and say hi.

  “Did you see the snowman Michael made for me? He said it was a gift since I couldn’t build one. Isn’t that thoughtful?”

  “Yeah, Randi, he’s real nice.” Nicer than me.

  Now I’m trying to hold back a stubborn tear that’s determined to fall. It will be good to go to school. I won’t have to look at that sad snowman.

  ***

 

  This month, classes haven’t been so bad. Teachers seem rested from the break, and today we celebrate Inauguration Day. It’s a big deal at school. Ms. Sullivan decorated the room with red, white, and blue balloons. She passes out donuts and throws confetti and hope at us. She voted for Reagan and he won by a landslide. The donuts work. Our class is excited about politics for the first time.

  Of course, Todd is chosen to walk around with the donut box. He brings them to me first. A peace offering maybe? I choose a glazed munchkin. He winks.

  “Yesterday, the same day President Reagan was sworn in, Iran released the fifty-two remaining American hostages. This is more than a coincidence.” Ms. Sullivan bubbles with patriotism. “Reagan brings change and hope to America.”

  We clap with stuffed mouths. I leave class believing America’s problems are over. I want to believe Randi’s getting better too.

  Chapter 35

  The paint in the can looks almost edib
le when I stir it, so smooth and creamy, like a milkshake. I don’t know what flavor purple would be, grape or boysenberry maybe, but it’s my favorite now. I am determined to surround myself in it. My parents wouldn’t let me paint my ugly wallpaper, so I convinced Laurie to switch bedrooms with me. It wasn’t hard to convince her since my room is bigger than hers. My plan is to redecorate and escape my prison of yellow flowers and orange grass-rug. Freedom at last!

  Good thing it’s warm enough to keep the window open and let out the fumes. Otherwise, Mom might find me passed out in the purple paint tray. Actually, I like the smell, especially mixed with the fragrance of the lilac bushes outside. It’s like painting spring in my room.

  This whole renovation project began because of spring cleaning, another one of my most hated activities. At the sound of the first bird chirping, Mom decided we needed to clean our rooms, beginning with our closets. Once I removed the three-foot-high pile of junk, I didn’t want to put anything back. I decided my room needed a whole new look. I’m almost thirteen, almost a teenager. And a teenager should have a cool room. So here I am, creating a purple paradise.

  “Your room looks nice.”

  “Thanks, Laur.”

  “But I still like the yellow room better. There’s more room for my toys.”

  “Well, I’m not finished yet. I need to hang some posters of cute boys from my Teen magazine.” I show Laurie some of my favorite actors, but she is not impressed.

  “Yuck! You should put up pictures of cute animals like I do.”

  “No thanks—hey, look at this model’s hair. I’d love to have long, wavy hair like that.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “Maybe I can convince Mom and Dad to let me get a perm like some girls in school have.”

  “I want one too.”

  “Well, I’ll ask at dinnertime when they’re in a good mood—after I get home from Randi’s. I need a break from decorating.”

  Just as I am about to knock on Randi’s front door, Mrs. Grayson, my fifth-grade teacher comes out. I must look like I’m staring at a ghost. I was definitely not expecting her to open the door. She is lugging an oversized book bag in one hand and juggling more books in the other. I hold the door for her, smiling like a ripe tomato, and not knowing what to say, as usual.

  “Well, hello there, Francie. How’s seventh grade going?” She remembered my name?

  “Okay. My grades are good, but it’s definitely a lot harder.”

  “I’m not surprised you’re doing well. You were always a good student in my class.”

  I’m relieved that she didn’t bring up the giggling fits I used to have while sitting next to Nina. “Thanks. Are you Randi’s tutor?” Well, that was a stupid question—of course she is.

  “Yes, I have been for about a year now. Usually, I leave by twelve o’clock, but today we started late. That’s why you haven’t seen me before today,” she explains. “Randi talks about you a lot. I remember when you first told me about her. You’re both special girls. Well, I better get going. It was nice to see you again.”

  “I didn’t know Mrs. Grayson is your tutor.”

  “I thought—I—told you.” Randi’s eyes droop as she talks to me in slow motion.

  “She was one of my favorite teachers. How do you like her?”

  No answer.

  “Randi! I asked how you like her.” I’m practically screaming. Mrs. Picconi told me that Randi was having trouble hearing lately.

  Miss Barbara’s heavy footsteps make me turn my head. “She’s exhausted today. She could hardly keep her eyes open during her lessons.” Miss Barbara walks me to the door, squeezing my hand. “Here. Randi wanted to give this to you.”

  “Thanks.” I open the card she hands me. It’s an invitation to Randi’s twelfth birthday party at the Ground Round next week. I’m surprised again. I didn’t think Randi would have a party. I wonder if she asked for it, if she knows. On the way back home, I try to come up with a good present to get her, something special.

  Back in my freshly painted purple room, I begin my magazine search for the best-looking movie stars to adorn my walls. I find a nice Michael Jackson poster and a Ralph Maccheo page. I hope doing this cheers me up. There’s nothing more disappointing than wanting to visit my friend and being sent home because she fell asleep. Again.

  As I flip through the pages and search for the picture of the model with the gorgeous, wavy hair, Laurie walks in.

  “Here it is. I’ll show Mom and Dad this picture to explain how we want our hair styled.” I hold the magazine open for Laurie to look.

  “I like it. You could bring it now. Dinner’s ready. Mom sent me to get you.”

  “Okay, here I go. Cross your fingers. What did she make for dinner anyway?”

  “Pepper steak and rice.”

  “UGH! I thought that’s what I smelled, but I won’t complain. I don’t want to ruin our chance for getting perms.”

  Before I even put one forkful in my mouth, Laurie bursts out with our idea. “We want to get our hair wavy like all the other girls in school!”

  So much for easing into the conversation gracefully. I put my fork down.

  “Can we get perms? All the girls at school are doing it, and it will help us get ready faster in the morning. Please?” With Mom’s eyes on me, I force a tiny chunk of steak down my throat.

  Mom raises her eyebrows and looks at Dad. He’s chewing. We look at both of them, pleading with puppy dog eyes. Dad swallows. “Your mother and I will discuss it after dinner and let you know, but I happen to think a neat, chin-length haircut would be classier.”

  “Yuck! We’d look like boys.” I hold my hair up and scrunch my nose for a demonstration. “See.”

  Mom hands me a roll. “Finish your dinner now, and we’ll talk about it later.”

  “Oh, my gosh! That pepper-steak seemed to be growing. I didn’t think I’d ever finish,” I complain to Laurie. We sit on the couch and pretend to watch TV. I don’t think we look convincing though, sitting in front of the news listening to President Reagan talk about the Evil Empire. We strain to hear the muffled conversation going on behind Mom and Dad’s bedroom door. Our eyes grow wide as they come out with the decision. I imagine a drum roll.

  Dad is the first to speak. “Okay girls, we decided that since you both had good grades on your first three report cards, you can get perms to celebrate. Just promise to keep up the good work until the end of the school year.”

  “I’ll make an appointment in a few weeks.” Mom grins. Michael’s Hair Salon is one of her favorite places to go. I’m sure she can relate to our excitement.

  “Yeah! Thanks! In a few weeks we’ll look like movie stars.” Laurie and I dance around, celebrating.

  Dad joins in and spins us around. “Would it be all right for me to shut off the TV now, or do you still want to watch World News Tonight?”

  “I think we saw enough. We got the news we wanted—new hair styles!” Thinking of news, I remember my invitation. “Oh, I almost forgot to show you. I got an invitation to Randi’s birthday party at the Ground Round next Saturday with her family. Can I go?”

  “Sure, you can go. We don’t have any plans next weekend,” says Mom. “Do you know what you’d like to get her?”

  “I’m not sure, but something special and I’ll do a drawing for her also.”

  “Good idea. We can shop after school tomorrow.”

  It’s refreshing to open the door to my new room, crash on the bed, and soak up the purpleness. I’m inspired to make a homemade card for Randi. After hunting for a good picture to copy, I find a sweet photo of a young girl swinging on a tire hanging from a tree. It’s perfect.

  For the rest of the evening, I work on the drawing for Randi until I’m pleased with it. Hours have disappeared. I can’t believe how late it is.

  I try to fall asleep for what feels like forever. My mind keeps racing, thinking about what I should get for Randi—something she’d love, something that shows her how much she means to me. T
hough I’m half-awake, an idea comes to me. Randi once told me she wanted to write about her experience with cancer. I can get her a journal. I picture Randi sitting at her desk and pouring her heart onto the pages as I slip into a dream ... Randi reads it to her children, a boy and a girl identical to her and Michael. They sit with legs folded. They listen and wait—wait to see what will happen on the next page.

  Chapter 36

  I’m ready to go to Randi’s party. Then I wonder. What if I have nothing to say? Maybe I’m not ready. My lips could freeze shut like ice does to the car door after a storm. I have reason to fear this since it has happened before. Nothing’s worse than feeling like a blank piece of paper—so blank there aren’t even blue lines running across.

  So I think about her presents. A rose-colored journal, decorated with white flowers and a statue of two girls sitting on a bench eating ice cream cones with the words Friends Forever written on it. Mom placed them together in one box and wrapped it beautifully with ribbons and shiny silver paper. I may not have anything important to say, but I have the perfect gift that looks ready for royalty.

  “Come on in,” says Mrs. Picconi. “We’ll be leaving for the restaurant in a few minutes. Oh, how beautiful! It’ll be a shame to tear it open.”

  I smile.

  “You can give it to Randi before we leave, if you’d like.”

  Randi is sitting in the den. I rush over to hand it to her.

  First Randi calls her parents over to look at the card. I’m embarrassed and proud at the same time as they ooh and ah over my homemade creation. She attempts to open the present, painstakingly slow, as if it were wrapped with crazy glue instead of tape.

  “Francie, can you help me? I’m a little tired.”

  “Sure.” In a second it’s open, but I’m not as excited anymore. I hate seeing Randi look so weak.

  “Oh! A journal. It’s perfect to write my story in.” She pulls out the statue from the tissue paper. “This is beautiful. I love it! You’ll always be my best friend.” Randi leans over to hug me. I don’t say anything back. The stupid lump is back again and I’m strangling on it.

  Randi has an even harder time going to her party than opening the present. She struggles to walk to the car. She is out of breath walking up the steps to the restaurant, but refuses her father’s offer to help. Even worse, she dozes off while eating her meal. This is not the celebration I expected. The food is good, but I hardly taste it. Watching Randi sleep has my mind racing at full speed. I’m not a blank piece of paper anymore. I’m a sheet with a thousand words with scribbles and doodles all along the edges, making it more difficult to open my mouth and talk than I imagined. If only my life were a story on paper, I could tear it into a million pieces and start over.