BFF* (32 page)

“We should have held him back a year before first grade,” Mom said, drumming the counter with her fingertips, “but who knew then?”

“Nell …” Dad said. “Rachel doesn't need to worry about this.”

They looked at each other for a minute. Then Mom said, “You're right.” But she kept drumming the counter. It was amazing how one phone call about Charles could change everything.

“This doesn't mean he's coming home, does it?” I asked. My mouth felt dry, as if I couldn't swallow.

“We won't know until we meet with Mr. Norton at Dorrance,” Dad said.

“You'd better call for a substitute,” Mom told Dad. “And I'll have to cancel my deposition.” She opened a kitchen drawer, pulled out a pad and pencil and began to make a list. Without even looking up, she said, “Let the cats in, would you, Rachel. They're scratching at the screen.”

I held the screen door for Burt and Harry, then bolted from the room with them at my heels. I raced up the stairs and locked myself into my room, throwing open all the windows. The night air smelled like summer. I wished it really
were
summer. I wished I
could go to music camp tomorrow. Then I wouldn't have to think about Charles or what might happen if he came home.

I took my flute out of its case, sat at my music stand and began to play a Handel sonata. Music takes me someplace else. To a world where I feel safe and happy. Sometimes I make mistakes but I can fix them. Sometimes I don't get exactly the sound I want, but I can find it if I keep trying. With music it's up to me. With music I'm in control.

“T
ell me more about Charles,” Alison said.

It was Saturday morning and the three of us—Stephanie, Alison and me—were walking along the water's edge at the town beach. It's not an ocean beach. It's on the Sound. In fourth grade we had to memorize the difference between a sound and a bay. It's funny how you remember things like that.

The weather was still balmy but more humid than yesterday, and we wore shorts and T-shirts for the first time since last September. A few people on the beach were in bathing suits, working on an early tan. I hate baking in the sun. My skin gets freckled, my eyes sting and sometimes I get sneezing fits.

I've decided Alison's fascination with my brother has to do with the fact that until now she's been the only child in her family. Actually she's still the only child. Her mother is pregnant but the baby isn't due until July.

“Well, for one thing, Charles has a great sense of humor,” Steph told Alison. “That is, when he wants to.” She paused for a minute. “And he's extremely cute.”

“Really?” Alison asked me. “I didn't know he was cute.”

“I refuse to participate in this conversation!” I told them both.

Maizie, Alison's small, furry-faced dog, was digging up a bone buried in the sand. When we first met Alison, she told us her dog could talk and Stephanie believed her. Steph is incredibly gullible. She believes anything you tell her. She even believed her father was away on a business trip when it was painfully obvious to the rest of us her parents had separated.

Alison turned to Steph. “If Charles comes home from boarding school, will he finish ninth grade at Fox?” She acted as if Steph had all the answers. I never should have told them my parents went to Vermont. I never should have told them anything. My mother was right. This is family business. You can't expect anyone else to understand.

“Maybe he'll be in Jeremy Dragon's class,” Alison said to Steph. I loved the way they were carrying on this conversation as if I weren't there.

“Oh, that'd be perfect!” Stephanie said, jabbing me in the side. “Right, Rachel?”

“I find that a totally revolting idea!” I said. Jeremy Dragon is our name for the best-looking boy in ninth
grade. He wears a chartreuse satin team jacket with a black dragon on the back. I'm the only seventh grader in his math class.

“But it
is
possible,” Alison said.

“Anything's possible!” I admitted. My mind was filling with
what ifs
. What if Charles comes home today? What if he
does
have to do ninth grade again, and at
my
junior high? What if he makes friends with Jeremy Dragon and Jeremy Dragon starts hanging out at our house and Charles humiliates me in front of him and my parents won't listen and …

“Rachel …” Stephanie sang, waving a hand in front of my face. “Where are you?”

I don't know why but as soon as Stephanie said that, I took off. I ran as fast as I could, with Maizie at my heels, barking.

I could hear Alison and Stephanie laughing and shouting, “Rachel … what are you doing? Rachel … wait! Ra … chel!”

There was no way they could catch me. My legs are twice as long as Alison's. And Steph isn't fast enough. Only Maizie could keep up with me. I kept running, from one end of the beach to the other. Finally I collapsed on the sand, totally out of breath, with a stitch in my side.

W
e went to Alison's house for lunch. Leon, her stepfather, made us grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches.

Alison's mother, Gena Farrell, was at the counter squeezing lemons. Suddenly she put her hands on her belly and said, “Ooh … Matthew's playing soccer this morning.” Gena is a famous TV actress with her own series. But at home she acts like a regular parent. Alison says her pregnancy is a surprise to everyone since she's forty years old and the doctors told her long ago she'd never be able to have biological children. That's why she adopted Alison.

“Let me feel,” Leon said. He put his hands on Gena's belly. “Good going, Matthew. That's a goal!”

They talk about the baby as if he were already born. Gena's had tests to make sure he's okay. That's how they know it's a boy. His full name will be Matthew Farrell Wishnik.

Before we finished lunch there was a rumble of thunder. Maizie whimpered and hid under the table. After lunch, while the rain poured down, the three of us watched a movie. Alison's family has a great collection of tapes. By the time it was over, it was close to four and the rain had stopped. I looked out the window and saw Dad's Explorer parked outside our house.

“I have to go,” I said.

“Promise to call right away and tell us what's happening,” Alison said.

But I wasn't making any promises.

T
he front door to our house was open. I called hello but no one answered. I ran upstairs, looking for Mom or Dad. Instead I found my worst fears coming true. Charles was in my room, at my desk!

I stood in my doorway, frozen. For just a minute I saw Charles the way Steph does—as a boy with dark hair, dreamy hazel eyes and a scar on his forehead. The scar makes him look interesting, not just handsome. Suddenly Grandpa Robinson's voice popped into my head. “Too bad the boy got all the looks in your family, Victor,” he once told Dad. I was incredibly hurt when he said that, even though I was only eight.

Charles began to read aloud from my biography. “Rachel is credited with having discovered the vaccine, now widely used, to prevent hair balls in lions.”

“Put that down!” My heart was pounding but I spoke slowly and quietly.

“Hair balls in lions?” Charles asked, acknowledging my presence. He didn't seem concerned that I'd caught him red-handed. “Hair balls in lions?” he repeated, laughing.

“I
said
put that down!” I sounded just like my mother when she turns on her lawyer voice. But that wasn't enough to stop Charles. He kept right on reading from Part Two of my biography, the part I call “Rachel, The Later Years.” I'd handwritten it on one of Mom's legal pads early this morning. I'd enjoyed inventing my three brilliant careers—first as a veterinarian doing research on large cats in Africa, then as a musician with the New York Philharmonic, and finally as a great stage actress specializing in Shakespeare. I'd also given myself a husband and two children, all wildly successful.

“Her son, Toledo …” Charles paused, looking at me. “You named your son for a town in Ohio?”

“Spain, you idiot!” I tore across the room and reached for my biography. “Toledo, Spain!” I'm taller than Charles, but he's fast and he held the pages high above his head. Every time I grabbed for them, he'd transfer them to his other hand and dance around the room.

I felt so desperate I kicked, catching him on the shin. Then I dug my nails into his arm. I've never had a physical fight in my entire life. But I would have kept it up if he hadn't yelled, “Cut it out, Rachel … 
or kiss your biography good-bye.” He had both hands on my paper now, ready to rip it in half.

I didn't doubt that he'd do it. And there was no other copy. Even though I'd meant to enter it in my computer, I'd been rushing to meet Stephanie and Alison and figured I'd do it later. Tears stung my eyes but I would never cry in front of him. I would never give him that satisfaction!

I backed away and stood at the foot of my bed, my hands grasping the white iron rail. “You mess that up and you're dead!” I told him.

“Then you'll have to rewrite your biography,” he said. “At thirteen Rachel Lowilla Robinson murdered her brother, Charles. She spent the rest of her life in jail. All eighty-four years of it.”

“No,” I said. “It would go more like, Since the judge and jury agreed that her brother provoked her, Rachel was acquitted and lived happily ever after.”

“You won't get off that easy,” he said. “They'll get you for manslaughter, at the very least.”

“I'm a juvenile,” I told him. “At the most I'll get probation.”

“I wouldn't count on that.”

“Really,” I said. “Well, let's go and ask Mom, since she's just been nominated as a judge.”

I could tell by the expression on his face I'd caught him by surprise.
Good!
He laid my biography on the desk. “Isn't that something!” he said. “Another milestone
for our extraordinary family.” He flopped in my favorite chair and draped his legs over the arm. “So … are you surprised to see me, little sister?”

“I'm never surprised by you,” I said, which was a big lie. His moods can switch so fast you never know what to expect, which is the single worst thing about him. “When are you going back to school?” I asked, trying to sound as if I didn't care. “Or were you actually kicked out this time?”

“Expelled, Rachel. The expression is
expelled.”

“Were you
expelled
on purpose?” I asked, wondering what exactly this would mean.

“Yeah. I missed you so much I couldn't wait to come home.” He inspected his arm where I'd dug in my nails. He could have smashed me. But that's not Charles's style. Instead he gave me his best, dimpled smile. “You've done a real job on your room. What color do you call this?”

“Peach,” I answered.

“Peach,” he repeated, looking around. “Maybe I'll switch rooms with you. This one is bigger than mine. And since I'm older, I should have the bigger room, don't you think?”

Was he serious?
I couldn't tell. This
used
to be his room. When we were younger, Jess and I shared her room. But then Charles campaigned for the small room on the first floor, and when Mom and Dad finally agreed, I got this one.

Aunt Joan sent my bed and the wicker furniture from her antique shop in New Hampshire. And Tarren gave me the rag rug for my birthday. I'm not about to give up my room! But Mom and Dad wouldn't ask me to, would they?

Now I felt totally confused, the way I always do around him. I wanted to scream,
Go back to school! Go anywhere! But leave us alone!
Except in our family we don't scream. We swallow hard, instead.

Charles stood up and stretched. “I think I'll go down and unpack. My room has several advantages over yours.…” He walked in front of the bed, where I was sitting. He put his face close to mine and I could smell onions on his breath.