I smiled as I hung up the phone. I knew Kristy was now in a fever of planning. She’s never happier than when she has a project to do. I could picture her already poring over Mrs. Papadakis’s recipe books, looking for strawberry desserts.
In fact, she told me later that Linny had overheard her phone call and had come up with a great idea of his own. Forgetting about his stomach, he took Kristy to the family computer in the den. Together, they located a strawberry chat room on the Internet. (Can you believe it?)
Kristy logged on, requesting ideas for a Strawberry Festival. In mere minutes, people from all over the country were contributing recipes like crazy. She received ideas for strawberry health drinks, cookies, cakes, pies, and jams. Someone sent a list of songs that contained references to strawberries. Another person gave the address of a catalog that featured nothing but strawberry-related products. Someone else suggested drying and shellacking the berries for jewelry making.
Kristy took it all down. Within an hour, Project Strawberry Festival was well underway.
I nearly went crazy that weekend. All Saturday I waited, hoping Robert would call. I did everything I could to distract myself. I flipped through fashion magazines. I played solitaire on the computer. I even cleaned my room.
I really should have used the time to work on my self-portrait. I started it, but I had a lot of trouble concentrating.
When I remembered learning I had diabetes, it made me think of Robert. He had perfect health. Didn’t he? Did he have some secret health problem he didn’t want to reveal? That would be upsetting.
When I first met Kristy, Mary Anne, and Claudia, I didn’t tell them about my diabetes. They could tell something was strange, though, because of the way I ate. They worried that I had an eating disorder. It took the truth to set their minds at ease.
And awhile back, Abby was worried that she might have scoliosis and would need to wear a brace. (Scoliosis is a condition in which your spine curves to one side or the other.) Fortunately, she didn’t, although Anna wears a brace now. Anyway, I remember how upset she was at the time.
Maybe Robert quit the team because of a health problem.
But he seemed fine. He wasn’t losing weight. He looked normal. Somehow I didn’t think that was it.
Then I remembered how my parents fought all the time in the days before they decided to divorce. Was there a problem in the Brewster house I didn’t know about? It was possible, although I hadn’t seen any evidence of it.
I went over everything I knew about the Brewster family. Robert had said his father was worried about keeping his job. Was that it? I remembered my talk with Patti. She’d been very up-front about her feelings. If there was an obvious family cause, she probably would have mentioned it.
I thought about the role the BSC played in my life. Naturally I thought about my friends — how wonderful and supportive they are. And that led me to think about Robert’s annoying friends. There was certainly no comparison between his friends and mine. (Mine were so much better!)
And yet the more I thought about it, the easier it was to see that Robert’s friends were not the problem either. Robert said he couldn’t talk to them, but Robert was the one who had stopped talking.
After an hour’s time, the paper in front of me had only one sentence written on it: I was born thirteen years ago. It wasn’t much of a start.
Kristy called me again around five o’clock. (And, again, I lunged for the phone, hoping it was Robert.) She gave me a list of clients she wanted me to call about the Strawberry Festival. She was so excited that she wanted to hold the festival the following Tuesday.
Making the calls kept my mind off Robert until nearly seven o’clock. Then I started thinking about him again. I couldn’t keep this up. If I had another day of waiting and worrying, I’d really go nuts. “Can I go to the city tomorrow?” I asked Mom as we were eating supper, around seven-thirty.
“I guess so,” she said. “Do you have something special in mind?”
I shook my head. “I’d like to see Ethan. And Dad, of course.”
After supper, I phoned Ethan, then Dad. And on Sunday morning, I took the train to Grand Central Station in Manhattan. Ethan was on the platform to meet me.
Each time I see Ethan, it’s as if I’m seeing him for the first time. He has the most gorgeous blue eyes. His long hair is nearly black, which makes his eyes look even more dramatic.
He’s also very sensitive. We weren’t even out of the station before he asked me what was wrong. “Something’s on your mind,” he said. “I can see it in your face.”
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” I assured him. “It’s a friend I’m worried about.” For the first time, I told him about Robert. In the beginning, I left out the part about Robert being my ex-boyfriend. It didn’t matter. Ethan guessed.
“It sounds like you know this guy pretty well,” Ethan observed. “Is he the one you were breaking up with when we met?”
“Yes,” I said. “How did you know all that?”
“I don’t know. I had a feeling from the way you were talking about him.”
“Do you mind?” I asked.
He tilted his head as he considered the question. “Maybe. A little. But …” He smiled at me. “You’re here, aren’t you? I don’t think you’d make the trip into the city if you didn’t want to see me.”
I told you he was wonderful! “You don’t know how glad I am to see you.” And that was the absolute truth. For one thing, talking to Ethan wasn’t depressing. It brought me up instead of down.
We walked to a coffeehouse and had lunch. I worked up the nerve to ask Ethan how he felt about my asking Robert to the May dance. “This guy could really use a break,” he said. “If I were bummed out, taking you to a dance would cheer me up.”
“We’d just go as friends. He knows that. We talked about it already,” I assured Ethan.
“I hope so, Stacey. I sure would hate to lose you.”
I can’t tell you how happy that made me. I reached for his hands across the table. “Believe me. That won’t happen. I’d hate to lose you too.”
Then he did look at me, and he smiled. We sat there smiling at each other, holding hands. I know it sounds goofy, but it felt great.
I spent the day with Ethan and had an early dinner with Dad and his girlfriend, Samantha, who’s really nice. By the time I got home it was nearly nine o’clock.
There was no message from Robert, so I decided to call him. “Hi, Stacey,” his mother said. “Robert isn’t here. He went out around six. He should be home soon. I’ll have him call you.”
“All right. Thanks.”
“What did you think of the big game yesterday?” she asked. “Mr. Brewster and I were stuck with a plumbing emergency and couldn’t leave the house. Robert says he didn’t do anything outstanding during the game. Is that it, or is he being modest?”
I didn’t know what to say. Robert had obviously lied to his parents and said he’d played. I don’t like to lie. But I didn’t want to be the one to break Robert’s news to his parents.
“I guess I can understand why he’d say that,” I replied. Although that wasn’t technically a lie, it felt like one and I didn’t like the feeling. I didn’t know what else to say, though.
“Hmmm,” Mrs. Brewster murmured thoughtfully. Did she suspect that something wasn’t right? “Well, then, I’ll tell him you called.”
“Thanks.”
I wandered into the kitchen, where Mom was cleaning out the refrigerator while she listened to some talk show on the radio. The announcer’s voice was peppy and bright. “Hello, this is Dr. Barbara Gupti. You’re on the air.”
Mom asked me about my day as she pulled plastic containers from the back of the fridge and checked the contents. We talked, but part of my mind was focused on the radio program.
One woman had a daughter whom she suspected of taking drugs. “Her behavior has changed so drastically,” the woman said. The radio doctor advised her to confront her daughter and to seek coun
seling for her. She seemed to need it even if drugs weren’t the problem.
The next caller dated a guy who didn’t treat her nicely. The doctor told her to dump him and to ask herself why she put up with him at all. “You have problems with self-esteem you need to explore,” she said.
The third caller was a man who couldn’t get a date. The doctor directed him to become a better conversationalist by being more interested in the women he was talking to. “Don’t always talk about yourself,” Dr. Gupti advised. “Be other-directed. Ask questions about the other person. People like you when they sense you like them and are interested in what they have to say.”
All her answers made sense to me. Then I had a flash of inspiration — or maybe I was feeling desperate. Anyway, I decided to phone Dr. Gupti and ask her about Robert. Maybe she could tell me how to help him.
I took the cordless phone upstairs and punched in the number they’d given over the radio. “If you have a problem, call Dr. Gupti at 555-HELP.”
I definitely had a problem. I had never called a radio station before and didn’t know what to expect. The first four times I dialed, the phone beeped out an annoying busy signal. But on the fifth try a man’s voice told me to hold on, and a few minutes later he picked up again. “Dr. Gupti’s help line. What’s your problem?” he asked.
“Shouldn’t I tell Dr. Gupti?” I replied.
“Tell me first. I have to make sure you’re not a nut before we put you on the air.”
I began telling him about Robert (making an extra effort to sound completely sane). A sharp beeping sound cut me off. “You’re on the air,” the man said abruptly. “Go!”
The next thing I heard was the soothing tones of Dr. Gupti. “Hello, who am I talking to?”
I froze. I couldn’t say my name.
“Hello?” Dr. Gupti prodded. “Who is this?”
What could I do? If anyone I knew heard my name, they’d know who I was talking about. Robert would be mortified. He’d hate me.
Dr. Gupti couldn’t wait any longer. “Can we have our next caller, pl —”
“Annie!” I blurted. “My name is Annie.” (Technically, it could have been true. The name on my birth certificate is Anastasia.)
“How can I help you today, Annie?” Dr. Gupti inquired kindly. “What’s bothering you?”
There was something about her voice that really made me want to talk. But I had to watch what I said. “There’s this boy, uh … Cody. And he’s super-depressed, but no one knows why.” I gave her some details. “He quit the … soccer team. And he doesn’t want to do his schoolwork or hang out with his old friends.”
Dr. Gupti listened quietly while I spoke. She asked about drugs or drinking. I said I didn’t know for sure, but I didn’t think he was involved with that stuff.
She began talking about how teenagers often suffer from depression. The changes in their hormones — the chemicals in their bodies that are important in turning young people into adults — can be one cause. There could be a lot of other causes too: school or family pressure, uncertainty about the future, a changing value system, confusion over identity issues. “I don’t know what your friend’s specific problem is, young lady,” she said, “and the causes or reasons aren’t necessarily the most important issue here, but I can tell you one thing for certain.”
I drew my breath in expectantly, waiting hopefully for the one certain thing.
“You cannot handle this alone.”
“Wha — what do you mean?” I asked.
“Your friend’s problem is beyond your ability to solve. Take yourself off the hook, Annie,” she said. “Help Cody find the help he needs. Have him speak to a responsible adult — a teacher, a relative, a coach, someone who can advise and guide him.”
“All right. Thank you. ’Bye.” I hung up quickly. I sat there with my hand still on the phone thinking about what she’d told me to do. Who could Robert speak to? If I suggested he talk to an adult, would he do it?
The phone rang.
My hand flew off the receiver and my heart pounded in my chest.
Without picking up the receiver again I just knew it was Robert. And that he was furious. He’d heard me on the phone. Now he wanted to wring my neck.
My hand shook as I picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Is that you, Annie?”
I’d been caught, but not by Robert. It was Claudia. “How did you know?” I asked.
“Come on.” She laughed. “I know your voice. Janine loves Dr. Gupti. I was in her room while she was listening and I couldn’t believe it.”
“Do you think Robert knows what I did?” I asked anxiously.
“You mean Cody? If he listens to Dr. Gupti, yes,” she replied. “But most guys don’t listen to that kind of thing. In fact, I thought Janine was the only person on earth who listened to it. I guess not, though.”
“What did you think?” I asked.
“I think Dr. Gupti was dead-on,” Claudia answered. “I agree one hundred percent with her advice.”
In my heart, I did too. Then and there I decided to talk to Robert about seeking out some responsible adult to speak to about his problem. And boy was I not looking forward to doing that.
I was dreading my conversation with Robert. But I worked on my speech the rest of Sunday night, and by the time I went to sleep, I had some idea of what I would say to him. My strategy was to say it quickly and kindly.
On Monday I arrived at school and went straight to Robert’s locker. No Robert. This wasn’t good, because my determination began to fade as I hovered awkwardly around the locker waiting for him. Trying to appear casual and cool, I leaned against the locker, pretended to write a note, fiddled with his combination as if I knew it. Anything to look occupied.
It was nearly time for homeroom when I realized Robert wasn’t coming. I hadn’t missed him, because I’d arrived pretty early. In any case, I couldn’t wait any longer. This put me in a great mood, as if I’d been excused from performing a horrible task.
By first period, though, my happy mood had faded. I was worried. Where was Robert? Was he sick?
In between classes I used the pay phone to call his house. No one picked up. And something was odd: The answering machine wasn’t on. The phone simply rang and rang.
As I was hanging up, Mrs. Boyden passed by. She’s Robert’s homeroom teacher. I ran to catch up with her. “Mrs. Boyden,” I said. “I’m a friend of Robert Brewster’s. Do you know if he’s in school today?”
“No, he’s not,” she replied pleasantly. “I checked at the front office. His father called and said Robert wasn’t feeling well.”
“Oh … okay. Thanks.” My mind raced. If he were home sick, why hadn’t anyone picked up the phone? Had he been taken to the doctor? That thought made me comfortable. Whatever was going on, Mr. and Mrs. Brewster had it under control. I relaxed for a moment — but only for a moment. Less comforting images crept into my mind. I pictured Robert home alone, lying on the couch, too depressed even to answer the phone. Or what if he were out walking around aimlessly. What if he were really falling apart?
Calm down, I commanded myself. You’re jumping to conclusions. There was no sense freaking out when Robert had probably gone to the doctor with a cold or something else minor. The machine was just broken. I was being silly.
The rest of the day was an academic washout. I didn’t hear a word any teacher said. Mr. Zizmore even asked me a math question I couldn’t answer because I had no idea what he’d asked.
I called the Brewsters’ between every class. No Robert, no answering machine, just endless ringing.
After school I went to the BSC meeting and listened as everyone discussed strawberries. To be truthful, this seemed incredibly ridiculous to me. How could I talk, or even think, about berries when Robert might really need me?
It was so … pointless. Uh-oh. That word — pointless — brought me up short. Was I becoming like Robert, thinking everything was meaningless?
No. I was just worried. It?
??s hard to concentrate on fun when something serious and frightening is on your mind.
“Did you have your talk with Robert?” Claudia asked me after the meeting.
I told her that he hadn’t been in school and that no one had answered the phone.
“I have to go home,” I said. “I want to be by my phone. I have a feeling he may really need a friend right now. And I’m the only one he has.”
Claudia nodded. “Okay.” I was at her bedroom door when she spoke again. “Stacey, everything will be all right,” she said.
I nodded and then ran down the stairs.
It didn’t take me long to get home. I was hurrying toward the back door when I saw someone step out from the side of the house. “Robert!” I cried.
Words can’t describe the overwhelming relief I felt. Tears leaped to my eyes. “Oh, Robert, you’re okay!” I cried.
Robert laughed. “Of course I’m okay.”
He was laughing?
“Where were you?” I demanded, roughly wiping the tears from my eyes. “Why weren’t you in school?”
“Can’t a guy be sick?” he asked nervously.
“If you were home sick, why didn’t you answer the phone?”
He shrugged. “I was too sick.”
“You don’t look so sick to me!”
“I started to feel better. Stacey, you’d better chill.”
“You need help, Robert. You’re in a bad way and I can’t help you anymore,” I blurted out. There, I’d said it. And I was glad I had.
“Who asked you to help me?” he shot back. He scowled at me. “I never asked you to.”
“You need help,” I said again, at once furious and tearful. “You need to speak to someone older, some adult who can help you before you just go crazy.”
“You’re the crazy one. You’ve been watching too many daytime dramas or something.”
“You know I’m right.”
He turned away from me. “I can’t take any more of this. I’m getting out of here.” He started to walk down the path.
“That’s right, Robert, run away,” I said, following him. “Just like you ran away from your friends, from the baseball team, and now from school. Just run away — that really solves everything.”