“Ed,” she said, opening her eyes again. “Stacey told me your news…. Yes, she mentioned that you planned to call, but I didn’t want to wait. When’s the big day? … Oh, I see. Well, these things take time. I just wanted to congratulate you…. Of course. We’ll speak again soon, I’m sure. Bye-bye.”
In the mirror I saw her put her hand over her heart. It must have been pounding. She shut her eyes again and just stood there.
I slid off the bed and stood beside her, also facing the mirror, and rested my head on her shoulder.
Two tears ran down her cheeks but she brushed them away and opened her eyes. Turning, she kissed the top of my head lightly.
To my surprise, tears leaped to my eyes. What was I crying about? I really didn’t know. Maybe it was just seeing my mother so sad and admiring her bravery in calling Dad.
Mom noticed my tears. “Are you all right about this?” she asked, looking into my eyes. “Their marriage?”
I nodded. “It doesn’t really change anything,” I said in a choked voice.
“You’re right,” she agreed, her eyes welling once again. “So why are we crying?”
“I have no idea. But I’m very proud of you.”
“The same here,” Mom said. Then we both cried a little harder and held each other very tight.
I stood toweling my hair dry after my shower and staring into my closet. I was trying to decide what to wear to Mallory’s welcome-home party. But all I could think about was Mom and how upset she’d been. I pulled flared-leg khakis from a hanger and held them up for inspection. Instead of checking them out, though, I pictured Mom’s tearstained face.
“Oh, forget it,” I mumbled, tossing the pants onto the bed. I couldn’t leave Mom now. Mallory would just have to understand.
I stepped into the hall and heard Mom moving around downstairs. I followed the sounds to the kitchen, where Mom was unloading the dishwasher.
“How about a game of Monopoly?” I proposed, hoping she’d laugh at the suggestion.
She didn’t, though. Instead, she said, “Don’t you have a party to go to soon?”
I flopped into a kitchen chair. “I don’t feel like going.”
“Since when? You were looking forward to it. On Friday you made a big deal about catching an early train today so you’d be home in time.”
I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You’re staying home to be with me, aren’t you?”
“I don’t mind.”
But I did mind, kind of.
I was dying to see Mallory. Her parents were driving down from Massachusetts with her today. And all my friends would be at her house, waiting for her. I really wanted to see her face when she walked in the door and we surprised her.
Still, this was more important.
“You’re very sweet, honey. I really appreciate it, but I’m fine,” Mom insisted. “There’s absolutely no need for you to stay. Honestly.”
“I’m staying, Mom.” I tried to sound firm.
“Stacey, if you stay home because of me — I’ll go out.”
“What?”
“Yes. In fact, that’s exactly what I’ll do. I mean, what I’ll do anyway. I’ll call Beverly and see if she wants to go to a movie. Maybe I’ll call a bunch of other people from work too. We’ll make a group evening out of it,” she said, taking the receiver from the wall phone.
“Okay.” I gave in, standing up. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m positive,” she said as she punched in her friend’s number. “Now go get dressed.”
As I went back upstairs, I wasn’t sure if she was really feeling better, or if she was just putting on a brave front for me. Either way, going out with her friends from work was probably the best thing she could do tonight. It would take her mind off Dad, and she always seems to have fun with her work friends anyway.
In my room, I slipped into the khakis, pulled on a short-sleeved ribbed tee with a wide stripe running across the top, and slid on my platform slides.
I brushed my hair back off my face and held it in place with small butterfly clips.
“Ready?” Mom called from her room.
“Almost,” I called back.
On tiptoe, I reached up to my closet shelf and pulled down a gift bag. The weekend before last, when I’d been in the city, I had gone to a cool makeup and accessories place on Columbus Avenue. I’d bought Mallory a welcome-home gift.
It was an assortment of fun things — fancy hair clips, a macramé hemp choker, a packet of small pale-colored lip glosses, some colorful rubber bangle bracelets, stuff like that.
When I ran out into the hall, Mom was waiting looking very spiffy, and almost happy. “Let’s go,” she said with a smile.
Outside, the air was warm, definitely springlike. Although it was six-thirty, the sun was still up. That’s one of the things I love most about spring and summer, the long days.
I cut through my backyard to the Pikes’ backyard. I hadn’t been to their house since my last baby-sitting job for the Pike family. I should say my last co-baby-sitting job: There are so many Pike kids — seven plus Mallory! — that the BSC always sends two sitters.
There’s Mallory, who is eleven. She’s not actually there most of the time, since, as I said, she goes to boarding school. And she doesn’t need a sitter. Before she left, she was an important part of the BSC herself. After her come the ten-year-old triplets, Byron, Jordan, and Adam. Next is Vanessa, who is nine. Then comes Nicky, who’s eight, Margo, who’s seven, and finally Claire, who’s five.
It’s a wild household, and it was at its wildest that evening. I knocked on the door and rang the bell for almost a minute before Mary Anne opened it.
“Sorry you had to wait,” said Mary Anne. “It’s so noisy in here I didn’t hear you until just now. Were you there long?”
“Not too long,” I replied, shouting to be heard. The triplets were chasing after Nicky and Vanessa, who were throwing something back and forth between them. All of them were shouting.
Claire wailed loudly as my friend Jessi Ramsey rubbed her elbow and tried to comfort her. Claire stopped crying when she saw me. “I fell,” she explained with a sniff.
Jessi smiled at me and smoothed her hand over her black hair, which she wore pulled back in a bun. “It’s been nuts here,” she reported. “This party needed more planning. We’re kind of throwing it together now.”
“Throwing is not the word!” Another friend, Abby Stevenson, came in from the kitchen holding a bunch of multicolored balloons. (Abby used to be a BSC member too, but dropped out because her schedule was so busy with other things, especially sports.)
She rolled her eyes. “This party is being tossed together in a storm of confusion. If I have to blow up another one of these balloons I’ll pass out.”
Claudia and Margo walked in from the kitchen, their arms piled high with cans of soda. Whatever it was that Nicky was throwing to Vanessa sailed over Adam’s head and hit Margo. She jumped back, knocking Claudia off balance. Both of them dropped their cans, which rolled and spun around the living room. One can opened slightly and began spewing soda in a foamy circle.
Margo screamed.
A piercing whistle came from the stairs.
The sound made me cringe and cover my ears. Looking up, I saw Kristy with two fingers between her lips.
Instantly, the room became quiet. The only sound was the fizz of the slowly spinning can as the last of the cola seeped out.
“Everybody chill!” Kristy commanded. She turned toward Nicky. “What are you guys throwing around?”
“Nothing!” Jordan said quickly. We all looked at Margo’s feet, where a crumpled white cloth was lying.
Pow, the Pikes’ basset hound, trotted to the cloth, which was now soaked with cola, and brought it to Nicky.
He held the dripping cloth up for all to see. “Just a pair of Jordan’s underpants. We were going to hang them outside for a welcome-home flag. But now they’re kind of ruined.”
Jord
an grabbed them from him. “Jerk,” he grumbled.
Kristy shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Mallory should be here any minute,” she said. “And we’re not even halfway ready.”
She began organizing us. (Kristy is the president of the BSC and a natural leader.) She assigned Adam to make microwave popcorn, Jordan to clean the spilled soda, and Byron to pick up the soda cans and set them out neatly on the coffee table. Vanessa was put in charge of opening pretzel and potato chip bags. Margo was to bring out napkins and paper plates. And Claudia was in charge of supervising them.
Kristy told Jessi and Claire to pick out some tapes and CDs.
“Mary Anne, you put out the cake,” she added.
“I’m here now too!” I reminded her.
“Oh, hi, Stacey,” she said, as if she had just noticed me. She gazed around for something I could do. Her eyes lit on a long scroll of paper draped across the sofa. “Could you hang that banner somewhere?”
“I’ll try.”
The banner read WELCOME HOME, MALLORY!!!!
I found tape in a drawer, pulled up a chair to stand on, and began taping up the sign under the archway leading into the dining room.
One end was up when I heard a car pull into the driveway.
“They’re here! They’re here!” Adam cried.
As quickly as I could, I dragged the chair to the other side of the arch and taped up the loose end of the banner. I was climbing off my chair when the front door opened.
Mallory stepped in.
“Welcome home!” we all shouted in one happy voice.
Mallory stepped back, wide-eyed and smiling. “Wow! Thanks, you guys!” she said.
Claire and Margo flung themselves upon her, wrapping her in a hug. The rest of her brothers and sisters were right on top of them.
“You’re squishing me!” Mallory laughed. “One at a time.”
Mr. and Mrs. Pike came in behind her and were almost knocked backward by their children. “Whoa, let her breathe,” Mr. Pike advised them cheerfully.
When her brothers and sisters had gotten their share of hugs, they peeled off one by one. Then it was our turn to swamp Mallory with hugs. By the time we were done, her glasses had slid down her nose and her curls were even more tousled than usual.
“I’m glad to see all of you too,” she said. “I’ve missed everybody so much. Thank goodness for e-mail.”
I stepped back and studied her. Had she changed? Yes, a little. Not her appearance so much as attitude. She seemed to stand straighter, more confidently.
“Are you hungry?” Mary Anne asked her. “We have a chocolate cake, and there are chips and popcorn and pretzels and soda.”
Mallory scooped up a handful of potato chips. “Did Claudia donate these from her private store-house?” she joked.
“If you must know, I did,” Claudia told her. Claudia is a junk food fanatic. Her parents don’t approve of the stuff, so she hides it in her room.
“You know Claudia is our resource for all party treats,” I said.
Mallory grinned at us. “So what have you two been up to lately?”
Claudia and I looked at each other. “Fighting, mostly,” Claudia admitted.
“Everything okay now?” Mal asked cautiously.
Again, I looked to Claudia, checking. She looked to me, also checking. We both nodded, then turned to Mallory. “Yup,” I said.
“Definitely,” Claudia agreed.
Jessi joined us, placing one hand on Mallory’s shoulder. Mallory put her arm around Jessi’s waist. Like Mallory, Jessi is eleven. Before Mallory left, she and Jessi had been best friends.
I wondered how this separation would affect their friendship. Personally, I had seen almost as little of Jessi as I had of Mallory, even though Jessi was still right here in Stoneybrook. Jessi is a talented and devoted ballet dancer, and lately she’d been taking more lessons than ever. She also used to be a BSC member, but she dropped out because she’s so busy with her classes at the Stamford Ballet School. (Stamford is the closest city to Stoneybrook.)
“Jessi, on the way home Mom was telling me about all these neat summer programs the Stoneybrook Community Center is offering this year,” Mallory said. “This year we’re old enough to take the sailing lessons. There are some computer classes I want to check out too, and I thought maybe we could learn tennis together.”
Jessi shook her head. “Can’t,” she said. “I’m really sorry, but I have a full load of dance classes lined up already. The summer program at the ballet school is almost like summer school.”
“Oh,” Mallory said, sounding incredibly disappointed.
“Hey, Mallory,” Claire called.
She stood under the welcome-home banner and held up a big piece of paper with letters scrawled on it in her childish handwriting. “I did this,” she said proudly.
The paper read WE LOVE YOU, MALLORY.
“Your writing has improved so much,” Mallory said, taking the paper.
“Byron helped me,” Claire said, beaming at him.
“Byron?” Mallory repeated.
Claire nodded energetically. “He’s the oldest now. He helps all of us.”
“He’s not older than me!” Adam chimed in, offended.
“Or me,” Jordan objected.
“You’re all the oldest,” Claire agreed diplomatically. Then in a whisper she added, “But Byron is the nicest.”
“I’m the oldest,” Mallory protested. She tried to keep her voice light, but something told me she didn’t like the idea of losing her number one spot in the family order.
“Not when you’re not here you’re not,” Adam argued.
“Even then,” Mallory insisted. As she spoke, the end of the banner I hadn’t fastened securely came undone, and the banner fluttered down on top of her head. “I’m still the oldest,” she said in a muffled voice from beneath the paper.
“Here’s the thing that’s so weird,” Claudia said the next day as we entered my kitchen through the side door.
“I’m actually considering still going out with Alan Gray.” She tossed her backpack on a chair. We’d decided to study together for our science final. Claud sat in the chair beside her pack. “I mean, what do we always say after the name Alan Gray?”
“Ewwwwww! Yuck!” I supplied as I pulled open the refrigerator door.
“Exactly!” she agreed. “Eeeeewwww! Yuck! Why should I want to keep going out with someone like him?”
“Because he’s changed?” I suggested. “He has shown a more serious side of himself lately.”
Alan Gray was basically the class clown. But in the past he’d often gone too far, and my friends and I had thought of him as the class jerk. Lately, though, he and Claudia had been trying out the idea of dating each other.
“I suppose,” Claudia agreed. “I keep thinking about the video interview you did with him for your project — how he complained that no one ever saw the real Alan. It got to me. But I don’t know. What would kids think of me if I dated him seriously?”
“That you have a good sense of humor?” I suggested.
That made her laugh. “Maybe.”
I bit into an apple and tossed one to Claudia. I know she would have preferred a Ring-Ding or something like that, but we just don’t have that kind of food in the house. She bit into it anyway.
“I can’t talk to my mother about it,” she complained. “She’s so old-fashioned. She’d say I shouldn’t be so worried about boys. And Janine is in her own genius world. She never cares what anyone else thinks.”
Janine is Claudia’s sixteen-year-old sister. She has a sky-high IQ. What Claudia had said about her was true. She’d just tell Claudia not to care — to date Alan if she liked him — which, of course, is good advice. But for most people, it’s hard not to care at all about what other people think.
“My mom’s usually pretty good to talk to,” I said. “Want to try her?”
“Is she home?”
“No. She’ll be home around five, though. You c
an probably catch her before we go back to your house for the BSC meeting.”
With our backpacks and apples, we headed out of the kitchen and through the dining room. We were at the stairs when I stopped short.
Mom was sitting on the living room couch. “Mom!”
“Stacey!” she cried. Clearly, she’d been zoning out. Each of us had startled the other.
“Why are you home so early?” I asked, walking into the living room with Claudia behind me. “Are you sick?”
“No,” she answered. “I finished up everything I had to do for the day and I just didn’t feel like being in my office.”
Her expression and tone were serious, as if she had something important on her mind. I noticed she’d begun reading a novel, but it lay facedown on the couch beside her. It seemed she’d just been sitting there, thinking. She was so deep in thought that she hadn’t even heard us come in. What was she thinking about? I wondered. Dad?
I hesitated. “I’m glad you’re home, because Claudia wants to talk to you about something,” I said finally.
Claudia stepped closer. “Oh, yeah. Here’s the thing.” She laid out her conflict over Alan.
“Well,” said Mom, “Anne Bancroft married Mel Brooks.”
“Who are they?” Claudia asked.
“Anne Bancroft is a very well-respected actress who usually does serious roles. She’s very elegant. And Mel Brooks is a zany comedian. What does it say about Anne Bancroft that she married Mel Brooks?”
“That she has a good sense of humor?” I repeated.
Mom smiled. “I suppose so. It also shows that she’s her own person, not too concerned about her image. I suppose some people wondered why she married Mel Brooks, but they seem to be happy. Their marriage is one of the most long-standing in show business.”
“Please!” Claudia objected. “I’m not marrying Alan!”
“You never know,” Mom said. She laughed, but I caught something sad in it. “You can’t always predict who you’re going to marry or how it will work out.”