“Okay,” Laine said, but I could tell she was going to have a hard time tearing herself away from the adventures of Spectra and the emirs.
I grabbed Laine’s hand and pulled her off the bed. “Come on,” I said. “My room! Help me decide what to wear tonight.”
Laine smiled. “I know. Wear that blue dress we bought last fall when you were in the city. The one we got at The Limited.”
“I can’t,” I said. “I wore that to a dance in November. Anyway, this is a Valentine’s Day dance, remember?”
“Of course. So?”
“So I should wear red.”
“Oh, Anastasia.” Laine sighed.
“What?” I demanded.
“Fourth-graders have to wear red on Valentine’s Day.”
“My mother still wears red on Valentine’s Day,” I said.
“Actually, so does mine,” said Laine. “Maybe it’s a generational thing.”
“Or maybe it’s part of the reason our mothers are such good friends.”
Laine shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Well, anyway, I could wear this.” I pulled a red top and a very short jean skirt out of my closet. “Laine? I could wear this.”
Laine was looking at her hands. “I better touch up my polish,” she said. “It’s chipping. Anastasia, do you have any hot pink? Oh, wait. Never mind,” Laine rushed on. “My nails don’t matter. Pete won’t notice them.” Laine rolled her eyes dramatically.
I frowned. “Okay, okay. Ignore my sartorial dilemma. See if I care.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. I just decided what to wear.” I hung the skirt and blouse on the closet doorknob.
“Oh, good…. Hey, Anastasia?” said Laine vaguely. “Maybe I should touch up my nails after all. I forgot King will be seeing them tomorrow.”
“Well, in that case, by all means,” I replied. “Heavens. If King is going to see them. We wouldn’t want to offend his eyes with chipped polish. What a tragedy.” I rummaged through a drawer in my dressing table. I couldn’t look at Laine. I knew I was being mean, but then, so was she. I located a bottle of hot pink polish and was about to slam it down in front of her when I decided to take another stab at friendship. Or at least at civility.
“Here you go,” I said, handing the bottle to Laine. “I hope King likes the color. You’ll never guess where I got this polish.”
“Where?” asked Laine with interest. “Fiorucci?”
“Nope. I was watching It’s All Yours.”
“What’s It’s All Yours?”
I thought everyone in the tri-state area (that’s New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut) knew about It’s All Yours. I thought everyone watched it. Apparently I was wrong. “It’s that home shopping show,” I told Laine. “In fact, it’s on right now.”
Laine snorted. “A home shopping show?” she exclaimed. “You mean you bought this polish on one of those home shopping shows? What else did you buy? Fake diamond earrings? A china clown?”
Actually, I had bought one of those clowns. I thought he was pretty cute. But all I said was, “So how do you know so much about home shopping shows?”
“Oh, from this girl in my class. She always watches them. And she always comes to school with J-U-N-Q-U-E.”
“Maybe she L-I-Q-U-E-S what she buys,” I said.
Laine didn’t reply. I don’t know whether she’d heard me. I wasn’t sure she was paying attention. The nail polish seemed to be occupying her mind.
I watched her for a few moments. Then I said, “Want to make popcorn?”
“Nah. I’m on a diet, remember?”
“We won’t put butter on it.”
“It’ll ruin my nails.”
Not to mention that the polish would contaminate the popcorn.
“How come you’re on a diet?” I asked.
“I have to lose five pounds.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m too fat. Can’t you see?”
“No.” I was surprised. Laine is thin. She’s never had a weight problem.
“You should go on a diet, too,” Laine informed me.
I should? I’m as thin as a rail. All my friends say so. My mother is constantly telling me to gain weight. I guess all mothers do that. But sometimes even my doctor says I should gain some weight. How many doctors do you know who’ll tell you that? I wondered if Laine was anorexic. But I decided not to ask her. I didn’t want to start an argument. On the other hand, if she was anorexic, I should do something. I was her best friend, wasn’t I? I mean, she was my best friend (well, one of them) … wasn’t she?
In all honesty, when I thought of Claudia, she seemed like much more of a best friend. I admitted to myself that I liked her better than I liked Laine. And that was not easy to admit. Laine and I have been friends much longer than Claudia and I. Our moms have been friends since, like, college or something, which probably means about two decades. An eternity. How could I ignore such history?
Wait a sec, said a voice in the back of my mind. Who says you’re ignoring it? Why are you putting all the blame on yourself? It takes two to tango, as grown-ups always say. (You know what that means? It took me awhile to figure it out. The tango is a dance. And it must be danced by two people. Doing the tango alone is impossible. So is arguing. You cannot argue alone. In order to argue, you need two people, or two voices. When someone — generally an adult — says, “It takes two to tango,” he means there are two sides to every problem; that two people are involved in the problem.)
In other words, if Laine and I were having a problem, I couldn’t blame myself entirely. Laine was part of the problem. But where had the problem come from? I worried over that while Laine worked on her nails. As I watched her, another image took her place. The image was of a much younger Laine. She was standing with her back to me, her arms crossed. We were in sixth grade. And Laine wasn’t speaking to me. I remembered why. We were in the middle of that memorable fight that took place when I learned I had diabetes. Laine was not tolerant of my illness. In fact, we gave each other the silent treatment until after I had moved to Stoneybrook (for the first time). Now, that’s a fight.
What did our fights mean? I tried to tell myself that they were just bad patches in our relationship. After all, Claud and I had hit some bad patches, too. But they had never been as nasty or as long lasting as my fights with Laine. On the other hand, even though people change, friends stick together. Laine and I are growing up, I said to myself. We’re different people than we were a year ago. Our friendship should change to make up for that. I decided to continue making an effort. My mom and Laine’s mom had a history. So did Laine and I. Friends for eight years (off and on). That’s a long time.
“Tonight is going to be so fun,” I said.
“The dance? Yeah.” Laine smiled.
“I just hope there are no fights.”
“Do fights usually break out at your dances?”
“No. I mean, fights among my friends. I hope everyone can just play it very, very cool,” I said.
“Thanks, Charlie!” Kristy called.
Her oldest brother had just dropped her off by the barn on Burnt Hill Road. Also climbing out of the car were Karen, Kristy’s stepsister, and David Michael, Kristy’s youngest brother. (They’re both seven.)
Kristy closed the doors to the Junk Bucket, which is Charlie’s car. And it is fairly junky. (Or, as Laine would say, “junquey.”) It’s secondhand, and Charlie keeps doing things to it. Painting it (it’s at least four colors now), hanging stuff from the rearview mirror, changing the hubcaps, and so forth. Ordinarily, my friends and I are embarrassed to be seen in the Junk Bucket. However, when it’s the only car available, we don’t turn down a ride in it.
“Thanks, Charlie!” echoed David Michael and Karen.
“You’re welcome,” replied Charlie. “I’ll be back at five.”
Charlie drove off slowly. His car may be a mess, but he’s a safe driver. Good-natured, too, considering he drives the BSC around a lot.
“Hey, you guys!” shouted Kristy. She didn’t know whether Dawn and Mary Anne were in the house or the barn, so she just opened her mouth and yelled. (Ever subtle.)
“We’re in here!” Dawn called back, from the direction of the barn.
“Okay!” Kristy turned to her brother and sister. “Do you guys have everything?” she asked them.
“Crêpe paper and balloons,” replied Karen.
“Scissors, tape, and string,” replied David Michael.
“We’re ready to roll.”
Kristy ushered Karen and David Michael into the barn. Immediately, they dropped their packages and ran for the hayloft.
“You’re here to work!” Kristy called after them.
“We’ll be right back,” said Karen. “Just one good jump!” (She and David Michael like to climb above the loft and jump into the piles of old hay. It’s sort of like jumping into raked leaves.)
“Hi, Kristy!” said Mary Anne and Dawn. And Dawn added, “Do you like what we’ve done so far?”
Kristy looked around the barn. “It’s great!” she exclaimed.
Pink and red hearts were taped everywhere. (The hearts were pretty wobbly, and Kristy had a feeling that cutting them out had been a recent baby-sitting project.)
“And look at this,” said Mary Anne, pointing to a table. “We got the paper plates and cups and stuff yesterday.”
“Oh, cute!” The plates were red with white hearts. The cups were white with red hearts, and the handles were heart-shaped. The napkins were red-and-white-striped.
“Well, are you ready to work?” Dawn asked Kristy.
“Yup. Let me call David Michael and Karen. I want them to start blowing up balloons.”
Five minutes later, everyone was busy in the barn. Dawn was taping up more hearts; Mary Anne was opening the packages of plates, cups, and napkins; Kristy was unwinding crêpe paper; and the kids were blowing up heart-shaped balloons.
Karen finished the first one and eyed it. “It doesn’t look much like a heart,” she said. “Just a bumpy balloon.”
“That’s okay. We know they’re hearts,” Kristy told her.
“Hello?” called another voice.
Kristy turned around. Standing uncertainly in the doorway to the barn was Nicky Pike. “Hey!” said Kristy.
“Can I help?” asked Nicky, stepping inside.
“Want to blow up bumpy balloons?” Karen asked him.
“Sure!”
Nicky strode across the barn, and Kristy glanced at Dawn and Mary Anne. My friends hid smiles. Nicky seemed awfully excited about the party. Kristy imagined that over at the Arnolds’ house, Carolyn was excited, too. Saturday probably seemed years away to both kids.
Mary Anne set down a stack of cups and dashed to Kristy and Dawn. “Isn’t Nicky adorable?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Kristy answered, looking fondly at him.
“I wonder what eight-year-olds do when they like each other,” mused Dawn. “They can’t exactly date.”
“Maybe they date, but they go to the toy store and the playground. Stuff like that,” suggested Mary Anne.
Kristy and Dawn grinned.
My friends separated and worked quietly for several minutes.
Then Kristy announced, “By the way, Bart and I are going to the dance tonight after all.”
“You are?” exclaimed Mary Anne. “How come you didn’t tell me sooner?”
“I just found out,” Kristy replied. “Bart called when I got home from school today. Besides, I’m still mad at him.”
“Oh, no,” said Dawn, with a groan.
“Well, I have a right to be. You don’t tell someone you’ll take them to a dance and then say, well, maybe you can’t, after all, and leave the person hanging until the day of the dance.”
“The important thing is that you’re going,” said Dawn.
“I guess.” Kristy turned to Mary Anne. “You and Logan are still going, aren’t you?” she asked her.
“Yeah.” Mary Anne sounded as excited as if she were facing a visit to the dentist.
“Oh, please, you two,” begged Dawn. “Take it easy tonight. All right? No fighting. This evening’s supposed to be fun.”
“Right,” agreed Kristy.
“Right,” agreed Mary Anne.
“Thank you.”
My friends returned to their decorating.
* * *
At about the same time, I was watching Laine paint her nails. By five-thirty, when a BSC meeting should have been starting, Laine and I were dressing for the dance.
“I wonder what Pete will wear,” Laine called from the guest room.
“A suit,” I replied.
“Really?”
“Well, yeah. You’re getting dressed up.”
“I know, but when I get dressed up, King usually wears …”
I didn’t care what King usually wore. I didn’t interrupt Laine, though. I just tuned her out. However, when she was done talking I said, “Laine? Be nice to Pete tonight.” (I knew I sounded like a mother, but I couldn’t help it. It was obvious that Laine was still comparing Pete to King — and that Pete would never compare favorably.)
“What?” Laine yelled.
“Nothing.”
A minute later, Laine entered my room. “How do I look?” she asked.
“Terrific!” I exclaimed. Pete was going to be blown away. Laine was dressed in black from head to toe. Black leotard, long black jacket, black leggings over black stockings, black shoes. Her jewelry was silver, though. And big. I examined her earrings.
“Did I give you those?” I asked.
Laine nodded. “Yup. For my birthday. I wear them all the time.”
“You do?” I grinned. “That’s really nice.”
“You know what else I wear all the time?”
“What?”
“The earrings you asked Claud to make for me. The tropical fish.”
For a moment, I just looked at Laine. Then, impulsively, I hugged her.
“Thanks, Stace,” she said. “What was that for?”
I shrugged and mumbled something about being friends.
Not much later, after a quick and early dinner, Mom was standing in the kitchen, eyeing Laine and me. “Well, you both look gorgeous,” she said. “And at least fifteen years old.”
“Oh, Mom,” I said, laughing.
Laine seemed solemn. “People tell me I could be eighteen.”
Pretty impressive, I thought. But Mom replied, “You’ll have plenty of time to be eighteen five years from now, honey. Why don’t you just enjoy being thirteen?”
“Yeah. Why cut five years out of your life?” I added.
Laine shrugged.
“Okay. Everybody ready?” asked Mom.
“I think so,” I replied, heading for the hall closet. “Here’s your coat, Laine. Let’s go. I want to beat the crush at the door.”
Laine reached for her coat, but she didn’t put it on. She snagged me by the elbow and pulled me around a corner and into the laundry room. “Are we picking up the boys?” she whispered. She looked horrified.
“No. We’re meeting them at the dance.”
“We’re what?”
“Meeting them at school.”
“Oh, Anastasia. That is so immature. The boys are supposed to pick us up. In their cars.”
“The boys,” I replied, my jaw clenched, “can’t drive…. Neither can King, for that matter. And quit calling me Anastasia. My name is Stacey.”
“Sor-reee,” said Laine.
“Okay, Mom. We’re ready,” I said.
The three of us left the house and climbed into the car. Mom drove to Stoneybrook Middle School.
Laine and I didn’t say a word to each other the entire way.
Mom stopped the car by the entrance to the SMS gym. I glanced sideways at her, then over my shoulder at Laine in the backseat. Drawing in my breath, I made a decision. I had a choice that evening. (So did Laine.) I could act mature and rational, try to enjoy myself, and be adult
around Austin Bentley, who was, after all, a friend of mine and had no idea what was going on between Laine and me.
Or I could be an immature brat.
I opted for the first choice.
I stretched a smile across my face and said, a little too cheerfully, “Thanks, Mom. We’ll see you at ten o’clock, okay?”
Mom smiled back, looking relieved. (She knew something was wrong between Laine and me, but she wasn’t sure what.) “Ten o’clock,” she repeated.
“Come on, Laine,” I said. I opened the door and slid out.
Laine followed me, mumbling, “Thank you, Mrs. McGill.”
We walked toward the doorway as Mom drove off.
“Yo, Stacey!” someone yelled.
Laine looked around, mortified.
But I brightened. I knew of only one person with enough nerve to shout, “Yo, Stacey!” on the way to a fancy dance. “Kristy?” I called.
“I’m over here!” She was standing near the entryway, Bart next to her, his arm across her shoulders, and she was smiling. Also, she was wearing an actual dress. Not a dressy dress, but a dress nevertheless. She looked terrific.
Obviously, she and Bart were getting along fine. They were one couple I wouldn’t have to worry about that night. Now, if only Mary Anne and Logan and Mal and Ben could get along as well.
I hurried to Kristy. “You look wonderful!” I exclaimed.
“Thanks,” she replied. “I guess we’re the first ones here.”
My friends and I (all seven of us, plus our dates) had decided to meet at the door and then go to the dance in a pack. Sometimes we like to stick together that way.
The others arrived one or two at a time: Dawn and Mary Anne, Logan and Ben. Last to arrive were Pete and Austin.
“There they are!” I called, when I saw Mr. Black’s car pull into the parking lot. The back door opened and out tumbled Pete and Austin. As I had predicted, Pete was wearing a suit. So was Austin. Both were sporting red carnations and carrying corsage boxes.
“Ooh,” I said softly. “Claud, look. I think they brought flowers.”
Sure enough, when Austin and Pete reached Laine and me, they offered the boxes to us.
“Thank you,” I said breathily. I untied the pink ribbon while my friends crowded in to watch. Then I opened the box and found a red-and-white wrist corsage. Austin lifted it out and slipped it over my hand. If I do say so myself, it looked quite nice with the red blouse I had chosen to wear. Once again, all I could think to say was, “Thank you.”