by Judy Blume
Douglas mumbled, “Ha ha …”
“Well, she does … not like dumb old Miss Vickers who always made me be in the listener group …”
Douglas tried to grab the phone away but Sally held on and told her father, “Douglas is trying to take the phone from me and I don’t know why because he never even has anything to say and I have a lot to say and listen, Doey … the goldfish in the pool in our courtyard are so big … you never saw goldfish so big in your life and …”
Douglas grabbed again. “Okay, Douglas! Just one more thing, Doey … my friend Andrea has a cat … I wrote you about him … he’s so soft and he purrs when you pet him and I know he hasn’t got any worms. So will you please tell Mom it’s okay for me to play with him? And what about the bathhouse disease? Oh … well, don’t forget … okay, I’ll listen to her … yes, I promise … Douglas is practically breaking my arm … I love you too. Here, Douglas,” Sally said, shoving the phone at him. “I hope you have something important to say this time.”
“Hi, Dad …” Douglas said. “I’m okay … they’re okay … it’s okay … yeah, I feel fine … yeah, I’m trying … yeah, I know … yeah … well, here’s Mom …” He passed the phone to his mother.
“Oh, Arnold …” Mom said, sniffling. Douglas went outside. Sally stayed where she was, hoping to hear the rest of the conversation but Mom waved her away, saying, “Go play …”
“Do I have to?”
“Yes … hurry up … outside …”
“Oh, all right!” Sally went outside, in time to catch Douglas, walking his bicycle from the storage room to the street. “Hey, Douglas, wait up …” she called. “I’ll ride with you.”
“No, thanks …”
“Where are you going, anyway?”
“Exploring.”
“Exploring where?”
“All over,” he said and pedalled away.
Sally sat on the edge of the goldfish pool. It was so quiet this morning. Where was everybody? Probably still sleeping. It was going to be hot today, a real sizzler, as Ma Fanny would say. Later they’d go to the beach. Sally watched a salamander work its way up a bush, changing its color to blend in with its surroundings. Lucky salamander! It would be nice to become invisible like that, sometimes. If she had been able to blend right into the sofa in the lobby she could have listened to Mom talking to Daddy. And what did Mom have to say to him that was so private anyhow? Yes, it would be very nice to be invisible whenever you wanted.
Sally looked into the goldfish pond. I am invisible … I can see you, fish, but you can’t see me … She tossed a pebble at her own reflection and watched as the ripples distorted her face. Invisible … invisible, she thought, closing her eyes.
When she opened them another reflection appeared in the pool, next to hers. She turned around and caught her breath. Mr. Zavodsky! He was standing very close to her. Close enough to reach out and touch her. Close enough to push her into the goldfish pool.
“Hello, little girl … you want some candy?”
“No!” Sally jumped up and tore off into the house. She rushed up the stairs and burst into her apartment. “Do you know Mr. Zavodsky?” she asked Mom.
Mom was sitting in the stuffed chair in the corner, one hand covering her eyes. “I know of him … why?” She sniffled and took her hand away from her face.
“I don’t like him!” Sally said.
“Why … did he do something to you?” Mom looked concerned.
“He offered me candy.”
“I hope you didn’t take any.” Mom wiped her nose with a Kleenex.
“I didn’t … but one time Andrea did.”
“She should know better.”
“That’s what I told her.”
“Stay away from him,” Mom said, “… and where’s your brother?”
“Out on his bike … exploring …”
“Oh, God … what am I going to do?” Mom asked, her voice breaking.
“About what?” Sally said.
But Mom didn’t answer. She ran to the bathroom.
On Thursday schools were closed because of a teachers’ meeting. Sally went down to the lobby to wait for Shelby, who was coming over for lunch. She wondered if Mr. Zavodsky would be there, with his bag of candy. If he was, she’d have to warn Shelby. She’d tell her he was a dangerous stranger, but no more.
Mr. Zavodsky wasn’t in the lobby but Bubbles Daniels from next door was, talking on the pay phone. Sally sat down on the sofa. Bubbles had pretty hair, the color of carrots. She was almost seventeen. Sally wound her braid around her finger, thinking, Bubbles is older than Tante Rose when she had Lila.
Bubbles put her hand over the mouthpiece and spoke to Sally. “I’ll just be another minute.”
“That’s okay,” Sally told her, “I’m not waiting for the phone.”
“Oh … then could you possibly go outside?”
“What for?”
“So I can finish my conversation.”
“I don’t mind if you finish.”
“I’d like to finish in private,” Bubbles said.
“Oh … why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Sally walked outside. As she did, she heard Bubbles say, “Will I be glad when we finally get a phone upstairs!”
“Everybody’s got secrets these days,” Sally muttered to herself.
Sally met Shelby out front. “I brought my Jolly Roger game,” Shelby said.
“Good.”
They went into the lobby. Bubbles was still on the phone. “Just a minute …” she said into it, giving Sally and Shelby a nasty look. When they were on the stairs, Bubbles went back to her conversation. “The children in this house are driving me crazy!”
“She’s my next door neighbor,” Sally told Shelby.
“Lucky you!” Shelby said.
Sally opened the door to her apartment and called, “Shelby’s here …”
Shelby looked around. “Your place is so pretty!”
“Thanks … you should have seen it before …” Sally had to admit that Mom and Ma Fanny had done a nice job. The apartment was bright and cheerful now, with plants and curtains and plaid slipcovers on the day beds. There were pictures of boats and sunsets hanging on the walls and Ma Fanny’s collection of family snapshots standing on all the small tables. There were twenty-two photographs in silver frames, four of them showing Tante Rose and Lila at different ages. Sally picked up her favorite. “This is Lila, my cousin, once removed. She died in a concentration camp.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Doesn’t she have big eyes?”
“Yes.”
“You can tell she’s happy even though she isn’t really smiling, can’t you?”
Sure.
Sally wanted to grow up to look just like Lila. She hoped her eyes would get bigger and her hair heavier, and that you would know she was smiling even when her mouth was closed. And then, when she finally parted her lips—what a surprise—a beautifully chipped front tooth, exactly like Miss Swetnick’s.
Sally and Shelby had sour cream and cottage cheese for lunch and for dessert, ladyfingers with grape jelly. After, they played three games of Jolly Roger.
“Would you like to play something else now?” Sally asked.
“Like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know … we could play Pretend …”
“Pretend what?”
“Cowgirl or Detective or War … something like that.”
“I wouldn’t mind playing Cowgirl,” Shelby said. “What are the rules?”
“There aren’t any … I make up the story and we play … it’s easy …”
“I don’t know … I’m not very good at games without rules.”
“Well … if you don’t want to …”
“What about marbles?” Shelby said. “I like to shoot marbles.”
“I have a great collection!” Sally said, jumping up. “Wait till I show you my favorite … clear green all over …” She pulled her keepsake box out from under the day bed, opened
it, and took out a small cloth bag. She emptied it on the floor, in front of Shelby.
“Next time I’ll bring my collection over,” Shelby said. “I’ve got one that’s pure black!”
That night Mom took Sally and Douglas to the movies to see The Farmer’s Daughter. Even though Sally loved movies she missed seeing them with her father, because without Daddy there was no one to act out scenes with her after the show. And when she asked questions during the movie, Mom and Douglas just said, shush …
But there were some things in Miami Beach that were better than in New Jersey. One of them was Herschel’s Sweet Shoppe. Mom always took them to Herschel’s after the movies. Herschel knew just how to make Sally’s sundae. She never had to remind him. One scoop of chocolate ice cream, one scoop of vanilla, lots of hot fudge sauce, a great pile of whipped cream and just a touch of cherry juice on top, but not the cherry itself. Herschel got it right every time.
It was Wednesday afternoon and Miss Swetnick was dictating a poem to the class. They would be graded on spelling and handwriting. Sally dipped her stick pen into the inkwell in the corner of her desk. She glanced across the aisle at Barbara. Barbara had the best handwriting in the class. At least Miss Swetnick thought so. She always gave her an E for excellent while Sally never got more than a G for good. She was hoping for an E today. She watched Barbara form her letters and she tried to make hers look the same. Big and round with lots of space between each word. She didn’t worry much about spelling because she never got more than one or at the most two words wrong. Not like Peter Hornstein. He sat behind her and got five or six words wrong every week and since you had to write every misspelled word twenty-five times in the back of your book he never caught up and had to stay after school a lot.
When Miss Swetnick had finished dictating they folded their hands on their desks and she walked up and down the aisles grading their papers. Sally dug her nails into her palms. She hoped, she prayed, that today would be the day she’d get an E, but when Miss Swetnick came by she hardly glanced at Sally’s paper. She just made a big G in red pencil at the top, smiled, and said, “Your letters are too big and there’s too much space between each word.”
Barbara got another E for excellent.
As soon as Miss Swetnick moved to another aisle Sally felt a tug on her right braid. She whipped around in her seat to tell Peter Hornstein to leave her hair alone once and for all and when she did her braid hit her face.
“Miss Swetnick … Miss Swetnick …” Sally called, wiping ink off her cheek. “I’ve got ink all over me …” She held up her hand to show Miss Swetnick.
Barbara leaned across the aisle. “It’s on the back of your dress, too,” she whispered.
“Oh … and it’s on my dress … my mother’s going to kill me!”
“How did that happen?” Miss Swetnick asked.
“I don’t know,” Sally said.
“Peter … did you dip Sally’s hair in your inkwell?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Peter said. “By accident.”
Sally turned around in her seat. “You dipped my braid in your ink?”
“It got in the way,” Peter said. “It’s always in the way … hanging onto my desk … tickling my fingers …”
“Peter,” Miss Swetnick said, “Sally’s braids hang straight down her back, not onto your desk. You must have reached out for one of them …”
Sally glared at him.
He smiled back.
“Oh, Peter …” Miss Swetnick sighed and took off her glasses. “What am I going to do with you?”
“I don’t know, Ma’am,” Peter said.
From the back of the room, where the tallest kids in the class sat, Harriet Goodman called, “You should send him to the office, Miss Swetnick.”
“When I want your advice, Harriet, I’ll ask for it,” Miss Swetnick said.
“I thought you did … you said that you don’t know …”
“I know what I said. Thank you, Harriet!” Miss Swetnick came over to Peter’s desk and shook her head. “You’ll have to stay after school again. This time the blackboards get washed, the plants get watered and you’ll write I will not misbehave in class twenty-five times in your best handwriting.”
“But Miss Swetnick …” Peter said, “I have six spelling words to write. I’ll never get done.”
“Maybe you’ll remember that before you start fooling around again.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Sally, go and wash off your face.”
“What about my hair and my dress?”
“You can do that at home.”
“Yes, Miss Swetnick.” She still couldn’t bring herself to say Ma’am.
As they were lining up to go home Harriet Goodman stood behind Sally and said, “Miss Swetnick will never send Peter to the office because she goes with his brother. Everybody knows that … and I still don’t like you …”
After school Sally went to Barbara’s house. She lived a few blocks up from Sally in a yellow building with hibiscus bushes out front. Her apartment was on the first floor and had a damp smell. Sally remembered Mom saying that first floor apartments were no good in Florida because of the dampness. There was nobody home.
“My mother works,” Barbara said. “She gets home at five-thirty.”
“Oh.” Sally didn’t know anybody who had a working mother.
“She’s a secretary for National Airlines.”
“My father might fly National at Thanksgiving.”
“My mother says they’re all the same. Want a glass of milk?”
“If you do.”
“I do if you do.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter to me.”
“Okay … then I’ll have some.”
“Okay … me too.”
“Want a fig newton with it?” Barbara asked. “They’re my favorites.”
“Mine too.”
“My sister likes butter cookies best.”
“I didn’t know you have a sister.”
“Yes … her name’s Marla … she’ll be home later … she’s in tenth grade.”
“My brother’s in ninth … but he should only be in eighth … he’s a genius.”
“My sister’s not … but she’s a majorette … she can twirl two batons at once.”
“I can’t even twirl one.”
“Me neither … but I’m going to learn.”
“Maybe I can too,” Sally suggested.
“Yes, we could learn together.”
“That’d be fun,” Sally said. “Except I don’t have a baton.”
“Maybe you can get one …” Barbara said. “Want to see my room?”
“Sure.”
They grabbed a few more cookies and carried their milk glasses through the small livingroom to the bedroom.
“Peter Hornstein likes you,” Barbara said.
“He does?”
“Yes … otherwise he wouldn’t dip your hair in his inkwell.”
“Really?” This was certainly news to Sally.
“Yes … my sister’s an expert on that stuff and she told me that if a boy teases you it means he likes you.”
“Well … I don’t mind,” Sally said. “I think he’s cute … don’t you?”
“No … I think he looks like a chimpanzee.”
“Just because his ears stick out?” Sally asked.
“That and the shape of his mouth.”
“Harriet Goodman says Miss Swetnick goes with Peter’s brother …”
“She does,” Barbara said. “Everybody knows …”
“I never knew.”
“You do now!” Barbara sat down on a bed. “This is my side of the room … I like my things neat and Marla’s a slob so my mother divided the room for us.”
Barbara’s bed was covered with a white spread and on her shelves were rows of miniature dolls and jelly glasses filled with sharpened pencils. Marla’s side of the room was a mess, with an unmade bed and clothing all over the floor.
“Where does your mo
ther sleep?” Sally asked.
“In the livingroom … on the sofa.”
“How about your father … when he comes down?”
“My father’s dead,” Barbara said, slurping up the last of her milk. She brushed the crumbs off her hands into the waste basket. “You want to see his picture?”
“Sure.” Sally didn’t know what else to say.
Barbara took a silver framed photo from the top of her dresser and handed it to Sally. The picture showed a handsome man in a uniform and across the bottom he had written, For my darling daughters, Marla and Barbara, Love always, Daddy. “He got it in the Pacific,” Barbara said. “Right in the gut …” She punched herself in the stomach. “They sent us his dog tags.”
“Who?”
“Washington … the marines … you know …”
“Oh.”
“I can show them to you if you want … I know where my mother keeps them.”
“Okay.”
Sally followed Barbara into the livingroom where she opened a desk drawer and pulled out a velvet jewelry box. She handed it to Sally. “Go on … open it …”
Sally raised the lid. Inside was a chain with Barbara’s father’s dog tags.
“His name was Jacob Ash … but my mother and everyone else called him Jack. We moved here after … she needed to get away … she cried a lot … he had big hands … when I was little he carried me on his shoulders so I wouldn’t get tired … at first I hated him for dying but now I understand it wasn’t his fault …” Barbara closed the box and put it back in the drawer. “Let’s go outside,” she said. “We can play statues.”
When Sally got home her mother said, “Sally Freedman … what happened to your dress?”
“Nothing much … it’s just ink,” Sally said.
“How did that happen … ink won’t come out … the dress is ruined …”
“It was an accident,” Sally said. “My braid got into Peter Hornstein’s inkwell by mistake and then I shook my head and the ink splattered …”
“That’s no excuse …”
Sally looked around. “Where’s Ma Fanny?”
