As soon as we had spread out our food and I had traded Cathryn Lynn my apple for her chocolate-chip cookies and Denise had traded Margie her potato chips for a cinnamon doughnut, I looked around the cafeteria and said, “Where’s Marc? He didn’t say what time to meet him.”
“Probably just whenever you’re done eating,” said Denise.
“Yeah, but I don’t want to make him wait. And I don’t want to get there first.”
Cathryn Lynn elbowed me. “There he is!” she whispered loudly. “Now you can watch him to see when he leaves the cafeteria.”
I looked across the room, and sure enough, there was Marc with Justin and some other boys. As I was watching him, he looked up and saw me. We both blushed and went back to our lunches.
Ten minutes later, I was finished eating. Marc was still at his table.
“Well, now what?” I said, panicking.
“Just wait for him to leave,” said Margie.
“Are you guys sure I look all right?”
“You look great,” said Cathryn Lynn. “Really.”
Just then, Marc scrunched up his lunch bag, tossed it in a garbage can, and strode out the side door of the cafeteria onto the playground.
“Ohhhh …” I said.
“All right,” said Denise. “Now don’t do anything cute. Just be yourself.”
“Myself! Who’s myself?”
“And don’t stammer,” said Margie.
“I don’t stammer.”
“And don’t let any long pauses get into the conversation,” said Cathryn Lynn. “If he’s not talking, then you talk.”
I laughed nervously. “For all I know, he just needs the history assignment or something.”
“I doubt it,” said Denise. “Now brush your hair.”
I opened my purse, pulled out a brush, and fixed my hair. Then I held a mirror up to my mouth to make sure I didn’t have anything stuck between my teeth.
“Okay, go on,” said Margie.
“Wish me luck.”
“Good luck,” said Denise and Margie and Cathryn Lynn at the same time.
I threw my lunch bag out and walked onto the playground. Our playground isn’t actually a playground. It’s more of a cement yard. The school officials had decided that junior high school students were too old for a playground, but not too old to need some outdoor place to use during school hours. Their compromise had been a very nice athletic field for gym classes and sports, and this cement yard for recess.
I saw Marc by the water fountain and headed over to him, my heart hammering away in my chest.
“Hi,” I said brightly.
“Hi,” said Marc.
I smiled at him.
He smiled back.
“Well,” I said, and giggled.
Marc cleared his throat. “Well.” He paused. “What I wanted to say, I mean, what I wanted to ask you is, see, there’s this party coming up. Justin’s parents are letting him give a big party, the kind where you stay for dinner and stuff. And he told me I could invite some kids to it, too, so I was wondering if you’d like to go to the party.”
“Oh! Wow!” I said. I tried to sound excited, but suddenly I felt as if I were a balloon that had just been pricked and all the air was slowly leaking out of me. There was no way Marc could have known how I felt about big parties—that I hated the crowded rooms and the noise. It was part of my stage fright. And there was certainly no way he could have known that I felt guilty about having too much fun—I mean, since Dad had died. Why couldn’t Marc simply have asked me if I wanted to go to the library with him, or take a walk in the woods or something?
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to ruin things with Marc, but there was no way I was going to go to a big party.
“That sounds neat!” I managed to appear reasonably excited. “Um, do you know what day the party is? I’ll have to … have to check with my mother.”
“Oh, sure,” said Marc. “It’s the Saturday after Thanksgiving.”
“Great,” I replied. “I’ll let you know tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay! Meet me here, same time.”
“All right.” I cringed. Marc sounded really happy. And tomorrow I was going to let him down.
I smiled at him again. “Well … see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah! See you!” Marc sauntered over to Justin and their friends, who were standing around a tetherball pole.
Just as Marc left, a big bunch of sixth-graders came running onto the playground, Carrie among them. Their playground schedule somehow overlapped with ours. Suddenly, I felt very relieved that Carrie hadn’t seen me with Marc.
I ran by her, calling hello, and went inside to find Denise.
Chapter Five
THE NEXT DAY, MARC and I met during recess as we had planned. I was a lot less nervous than the day before. I was also feeling like a rat.
“Hi, Liza!” Marc called as I approached him.
“Hi.”
“Did you ask your mom?”
“Yeah, and … and I can’t go to the party,” I lied.
“Oh. Well, that’s okay. Really,” Marc said quickly.
“See, it’s just because we’re going to be out of town. We’re going to spend Thanksgiving with these friends of Mom’s, the Werners, who live in New Hampshire.” This much was true. However, we were coming back on Friday. “We’re not coming back until Saturday night,” I told Marc, surprised at how easy it was to tell lies.
Marc brightened somewhat when he heard why I wasn’t able to go to the party. You couldn’t argue with being out of town. “Well,” he said. “Listen, there’s this funny movie at the Twin Theatre. It’s not new, but it’s really good. It’s called Airplane. Have you ever seen it?”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Well, you have to! It’s so funny. This guy keeps saying to this other guy, ‘Surely you don’t mean … ’ and the other guy keeps saying, ‘Yes, I do, and don’t call me Shirley!’”
I couldn’t help laughing.
“You have to see it. Can you go tomorrow night?”
I thought quickly. The movie sounded like fun, too much fun. “Oh, gee. I just remembered. Tomorrow is Saturday, right? We’re having company tomorrow night.”
I looked across the playground to see Carrie’s class being let loose. Carrie saw me at the same time, and her eyes widened when she realized I was talking to a boy. She wandered toward me and sat down on a stone bench, pretending to read a library book. I knew she was pretending because the book was called All About Integers.
“Mom said we have to be home for the company,” I went on, trying to lower my voice enough so that Carrie couldn’t hear me.
But Marc had no idea what was going on, and he was determined to go out with me. So he didn’t lower his voice. “What about next weekend?” he asked. Then he remembered. “Oh, next weekend is Thanksgiving. But you’re coming home on Saturday, right? So let’s go Sunday afternoon, okay? We can go early.”
Marc looked so eager that I just couldn’t let him down again. “I’ll check with my Mom, okay? I’ll let you know on Monday.”
“Great!” said Marc. “Hey, have you seen that new video?”
“Which one?” I asked.
Marc described it to me, and we started talking. We talked until the bell rang. As we walked inside together, I realized we’d been talking for almost twenty minutes. I couldn’t believe it! It hadn’t been awkward at all.
At dinner that evening, Carrie didn’t even wait until everyone had been served before she opened her big mouth.
“Did you ask Mom yet?” she said, her eyes dancing.
“Ask Mom what?” said Mom suspiciously.
“Whether she can go to the movies with a boy. This boy in eighth grade, Marc Radlay, asked Liza to go to the movies with him. Oh, I’d just die if a boy asked me!” said Carrie rapturously. “I think that’s so exciting.”
I shot Carrie a look that, if she’d known any better, she would have interpreted as lethal. But she was too
caught up in the fantasy—my fantasy—to pay attention.
“Liza, what’s this all about?” asked Mom, amused.
“Oh, it’s nothing.”
“It doesn’t sound like nothing. Come on, tell us.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?” Hopie asked me curiously.
“No, Sissy!” I said, and giggled.
“But a boy asked you for a date?” said Mom.
“No. Just to the movies.”
“Sounds like a date to me,” said Brent.
“It would.”
“Liza!” Mom laughed. “For heaven’s sake. This is wonderful news. It doesn’t really matter whether it’s a real date. What movie are you going to see?”
“You mean I can go?”
“Of course,” replied Mom. “You’re thirteen years old. That’s old enough to go to the movies with a boy.”
“We’re going to see Airplane,” I said slowly. Now how had I gotten into this? Carrie. It was all her fault. I bet if I’d asked Mom if I could go, she’d have thrown a fit, and said that thirteen was too young to be going off with boys.
“What are you going to wear?” asked Mom.
“I don’t know. Jeans, I guess.”
“Jeans! Don’t you want to look a little nicer than that? Maybe you need some new clothes.”
“New clothes!” Brent jumped up. You’d have thought someone had just suggested that we buy a jet airplane for personal use. “Liza and Carrie have enough things hanging in their closet to clothe the entire population of Neuport—twice.”
“We do not,” cried Carrie. “Half of the stuff doesn’t fit. It’s waiting to be hand-me-downs for Hope, but we have to keep it in our closet because Mom’s closet is all cramped up with her clothes and Hope’s clothes. The rest of the stuff in our closet is—”
“—in perfectly good condition,” Brent finished smugly.
“It is not. It’s—”
“Enough!” shouted Mom.
“Yeah. You want Santa Claus to come or not?” threatened Hopie.
Everybody burst out laughing then, and Marc was forgotten.
At least until bedtime. At ten o’clock, Mom came into our room to say good night to Carrie and me. She sat on the edge of my bed and said, “You’re really growing up, sweetheart.” (I didn’t feel grown up.) “If you do want a new sweater or something to wear to the movie, just tell me. I’m sure we can squeeze it out of Brent’s budget.”
“Only if you can squeeze water out of a stone,” I said.
Mom smiled, then leaned over to kiss my forehead. “Good night, Lize.”
“Night, Mom.”
Mom kissed Carrie. “See you two in the morning.”
As soon as she had closed the door, I whispered, “And from now on, butt out of my business.”
“Huh?” said Carrie.
“You opened your big fat mouth. What’d you have to go and tell Mom about Marc for?”
Carrie sounded shocked. “Well, you were going to ask her about the movie yourself. You said so.”
“And how do you know that? I thought you were so interested in the fascinating world of integers.”
Even in the dark I could tell Carrie was blushing. “I don’t know what you’re so upset about,” she said finally.
“Just stay out of my business, that’s all.”
“O-kay!”
“Okay.”
Marc didn’t wait until Monday to find out whether we could go to the movies. He called me at home on Saturday morning. Unfortunately, Carrie answered the phone. “Hello, this is Carrie O’Hara speaking. Who is this please?” she answered mechanically.
I was in the kitchen feeding Fifi, Mouse, and Dr. J. When Carrie heard who was calling, she clapped her hand over the mouthpiece and whispered as loudly as possible, “Liza! It’s him! It’s Marc!”
I dropped a can of cat food in the sink. All the animals jumped.
“You’re kidding,” I said.
Carrie shook her head slowly.
I took the phone from her. “Could I have a little privacy, please?” I whispered.
“Sure, sure.” She left the kitchen. But I had a feeling she didn’t go very far.
“Hello?” I said. Marc was the first boy I’d ever spoken to on the phone. Except for Brent and his friends. And Dad, if he counted as a boy.
“Hi, it’s Marc. I was just wondering what your Mom said about the movies. Can you go?”
I felt trapped. I hadn’t decided what to do. “I—I haven’t exactly asked her yet,” I lied. “She’s been in a really bad mood lately.”
“Oh. Well, when you do ask her, ask if you can go to Burger King with me afterward, okay?”
“Sure. …”
Marc could have gotten more enthusiasm from a fish. Still, it was sort of flattering.
“See you on Monday,” said Marc.
“Okay … and thanks. ’Bye, Marc.”
Marc hung up the phone, but I didn’t. I depressed the button, then lifted it and immediately dialed Denise. “Can you come over?” I asked her urgently. “Better yet, can I come over there? I need the privacy of your room. I have to talk to you.” I paused, then turned away from the phone and yelled, “Carrie, get out of here!” A shadow in the hall outside the kitchen disappeared.
“Liza?” Denise said. “I’m sorry, I have a piano lesson this morning. What’s going on? Can we talk over the phone?”
“Not really. I don’t know … Denise, after your father died, did you feel guilty about things? Like when my dad would take you sledding and you’d have fun, did you feel guilty afterward?”
“Oh, wow. You know, I don’t think so, but I don’t really remember. It’s beginning to fade.”
“What is?”
“The whole thing. His death, the funeral, how sad I felt.”
“Oh.” How could something like that fade? How could someone forget the death of her own father? “Well, thanks,” I said. “You better get to your lesson. I’ll talk to you later.”
As soon as we hung up, Mom came into the kitchen with her pocketbook. “Okay. How about some shopping? I was thinking that if you got a pair of white corduroys to wear with your blue and white Fair Isle sweater, you’d have a pretty nice outfit. And it would be casual enough for the movies. How does that sound?”
“Mom, that’s great, but I really don’t need any new clothes.”
“Oh, come on, honey. We can have a treat every now and then.”
“Well … all right. Thanks.”
Mom and I had a nice time shopping. She asked Carrie to stay home with Hope so the two of us could go off on our own. I tried to forget about Dad, and I managed for a little while. But when I got home and stood in front of the mirror wearing the new outfit and thinking about what it was for, this dreadful guilty feeling came over me, and suddenly I knew what I had to do.
On Monday, I caught Marc in the hall after math class and said, “I’m really sorry. I asked my mom, but she was still in a bad mood, and she said no.”
Marc stared at me with a funny expression on his face. “Okay,” he said, and walked away.
That evening when Mom got home from work and our family was in the kitchen getting ready for supper, she said, “Countdown. Six days until your first date!” It wasn’t a date, but Mom wouldn’t stop calling it that.
I flushed. “I have to tell you something,” I said, trying to sound terribly disappointed. “Um, Marc broke our—our date today.”
“Broke it! Why?” cried Mom.
“What a rat!” exclaimed Carrie.
“Take the pants back,” said Brent.
“I don’t know why,” I said. “He just broke it.”
Now I felt guilty for lying to Marc and guilty for lying to my family, but somehow, it wasn’t as bad as the guilt I would have felt over Dad. I could do something about Marc and my family. I could fix things up. But there was nothing I could do about the guilt over Dad.
Chapter Six
JUST BEFORE THANKSGIVING VACATION began, two things happene
d. My family suddenly seemed to plunge into Christmas preparations, and Denise caught me in my lie to Marc (the first lie, that is). Tuesday and Wednesday were days I’d rather forget, and they led to two weeks I’d rather forget.
Denise called me after school on Tuesday since I’d been trying to avoid her and hadn’t seen much of her. I’d had a feeling she’d hear about the party sooner or later. But I wasn’t expecting what she told me.
“Liza!” she cried.
Inwardly, I groaned. I wasn’t prepared to talk about Marc.
“Guess what! Guess what!” she cried.
“What?” She didn’t sound like someone who was going to accuse me of lying.
“I almost don’t know how to say this, but Justin’s having a party on Saturday, and he asked me to it!”
“Hey! That’s great!” I exclaimed. I meant it. I was thinking about Denise’s reluctance to have boyfriends or consider marriage.
“Yeah! So Marc asked you to go, right? I mean I figured he did, since he’s inviting people, too.”
“Well, actually, I’m not going.”
“You’re not! Didn’t he ask you?”
I paused, wondering whether to start some other lie, and decided against it. The last time I’d lied to Denise was when my father was first in the hospital and I told her it wasn’t anything serious. “Yeah, he asked me, but I told him we’re not coming back from the Werners’ until Saturday night.”
“How come? I mean, why did you say that? You’ll be home on Friday, right?”
“Yeah. Oh, Denise, I don’t know. I just don’t want to go.”
“But Liza, all I’ve been hearing from you for the last two years is how you wish you had a boyfriend. Then you had that crush on Marc when you were in A Christmas Carol—I know you did. Now Marc asks you to this big party, and you won’t go. I don’t get it. … And I think that’s an awful thing to do to Marc. Lying to him.”
“I know.”
“Then why’d you do it?”
“Denise, lay off. I can’t explain it.” I think if she hadn’t sounded so accusing, I might have tried to explain again, but not when she was in this mood. And particularly not if she was letting the death of her father fade away into unimportance.