BFF* (42 page)

Paul dropped an arm around Charles's shoulder and said, “No distractions during our time together. Ask her to come back at five-thirty … okay?”

“Okay,” Charles called, on his way to the front door. He didn't sound angry or even annoyed. I don't understand how Charles can get along so well with Paul but not with any of us. If Mom or Dad had said no distractions during tutoring, Charles would have told them where to go. But with Paul, he's a totally different person. He's keeping up with his schoolwork and even moving ahead of where he would be if he were just finishing ninth grade. Of course since he's already finished ninth grade once before, that's not surprising. But still … As soon as Charles left the kitchen, Paul looked at me and said, “What about you, Rachel?”

“What
about me?” I asked.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No!” I answered too quickly, feeling my lower lip begin to twitch. I couldn't look at him. Instead I said, “I have to practice now. Excuse me.” And I ran from the room.

“When am I going to hear you play?” Paul called after me.

“Whenever …” I called back.

I wish I could let Paul know how I feel about him.
I often imagine us having deep, meaningful conversations. I often imagine us kissing passionately. Sometimes I imagine
more
than kisses. If Steph knew what I was thinking, she'd be relieved. She'd say,
So you're normal after all … at least in
that
way!
But she can't know. No one can. Paul has to remain my secret.

M
om lost her big jury trial on the same day I won a major debate against a ninth grader at Kennedy Junior High. Toad Scrudato, the only other seventh grader on our team, said, “Rachel, you were brilliant!” Those were his exact words. So obviously I was feeling pretty good. This was before I found out about Mom. At the time I didn't even mind that Toad's father's car broke down on the Merritt Parkway on the way home from the debate and we had to be towed to a garage, then wait an hour while a new battery was installed.

I called home at quarter to six to say I'd be late. Charles answered. I asked for Dad. He said Dad was coaching at a track meet. When I asked for Mom, he said she wasn't home yet, either. “And neither is Jessica, so that leaves me, Rachel. Do you have a message for me?” I told him about Mr. Scrudato's car but nothing else.

Then Toad and I sat on the curb outside the garage and read while Mr. Scrudato made call after call on his car phone. Toad and I have known each other since kindergarten. We're sort of an odd couple. He's always been the smallest kid in our class and I've always been the tallest, until Max Wilson moved here. But we have a lot in common intellectually.

By the time Toad's father dropped me off at our house, it was after seven. As soon as I walked in, Dad took me aside and said, “Mom lost her case. She's pretty upset.”

“Should I say something?”

Dad shook his head. “You know how she is. She doesn't want to talk about it.”

The same way I was when I missed
sesquipedalian
and lost the state spelling championship last year.

Still, I was surprised when Mom didn't come to dinner. It's not as if this is the first case she's ever lost.

“She's just disappointed,” Dad told Jess and me as he grilled hamburgers on the patio. “She wanted to go out on a high note.”

“Who?” Jess asked, as if she lived on another planet.

“Mom,” Dad said. “This is a blow to her pride but she'll get over it.” He sounded like he was trying to convince not only us, but himself. I must have looked strange because Dad reached out to touch my arm. “Don't worry, Rachel …”

Until then I wasn't worried.

Charles passed by, grabbing a roll. He flipped a
hamburger onto it and smothered it with salsa. “Is it true?” he asked, taking a huge bite. “Did the perfect litigator really lose her final case?”

Dad snapped at him. “A little compassion is in order this evening, Charles!”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, with a mouthful. “I've got compassion. I'm just saying, you know, we'd all be better off if we were less competitive.”

“Speak for yourself,” I said.

“I always speak for myself, Rachel,” he said, going out through the patio gate.

A
fter dinner I went upstairs. The door to Mom and Dad's bedroom was open a crack. I knocked lightly. “Mom …” No answer. I pushed the door open and tiptoed in. She was asleep with an ice pack across her forehead. I looked around and was surprised to see her suit tossed over a chair and her shoes in the middle of the floor as if she'd kicked them off on her way into bed. “I'm sorry you lost your case,” I whispered as I picked them up and put them in her closet. But she didn't hear me.

I went down the hall to my room and sat at my desk, staring out the window. I wasn't in the mood for my math homework. I wondered what my teacher would do if I came in tomorrow and used that as an excuse.
Sorry, I didn't feel like doing my homework last night
. She'd probably call Mrs. Balaban, who would send me to Dr. Sparks!

While I was sitting there, Dad came in. “Tell me about the debate.”

I didn't want to talk about it now. It didn't seem right to be happy about winning when Mom was so unhappy. So I just gave him the basics.

“I'm proud of you, honey,” he said. “But I'd love you just the same if you'd lost today. You know that, don't you?”

“Why do you always say that?”

“Say what?”

“That you'd love me just the same if I lost.”

“Because it's true.”

“That's not what I mean.”

“Then what?”

I wasn't sure how to explain it. “I mean,” I said, trying to find the right words, “why can't you just accept good news?”

“I guess I want you to remember that winning's not the most important thing in life.”

“But it's a lot better than losing,” I told him. “Just ask Mom.”

He ran his hands through his hair. He does that when he's thinking. So I quickly added, “Mom would be glad I won. I don't see why you can't be, too.”

“I
am
glad, Rachel. I just want you to keep it in perspective.” He dropped a kiss on top of my head. “I've got to run over to the library. Be back in an hour.”

When he was gone, I jotted down
Keep it in perspective
on my math worksheet. Under that I wrote
Victor Robinson, Tuesday, June 9
.

T
he next afternoon, right before school ended, I was called to Mr. Herman's office. The one time in my entire life I didn't do my homework and I've been reported to the vice principal! I felt sick. I wondered if this would go down on my permanent record. When I got to his office, Toad was there, too, looking as terrified as me. Mr. Herman told us to make ourselves comfortable but neither of us moved an inch. Even though he has a friendly smile, Mr. Herman's size makes him formidable. Kids call him the sumo wrestler.

“Good news,” he said. “You've both been recommended for Challenge, a new program for junior high students who excel academically. If your parents give permission, you'll be taking courses in math and science at the college next year.”

As he explained it to us, I began to feel like I couldn't breathe. Another program to separate me from my friends! When he asked if we had any questions, I managed to say, “Do we
have
to?”

“Have to what, Rachel?”

“Do this?”

Toad looked at me as if I were totally insane. But I didn't care. I felt light-headed and grabbed hold of the back of a chair facing Mr. Herman's desk.

“It's entirely up to you,” he said. “It's an honor just to be asked.”

“A person can't do everything just because she's asked,” I told him.

“A good point,” he said.

I definitely could not breathe! I closed my eyes and forced myself to count backward from one hundred.

Mr. Herman never noticed. He went right on talking. “Well, I guess this has really caught both of you by surprise!” When neither of us responded, he cleared his throat. “Here's a letter to take home to your parents.” He handed one to Toad and another to me. “Think of this as an opportunity not to be missed.”

As the bell rang, I shoved the letter into my purse. I wish I could explain to Mr. Herman and everyone else that right now I don't
need
another opportunity.

O
n the bus home from school Alison said, “Are you okay, Rachel?”

“Yes … why?”

“You look sort of pale.”

Steph squinted at me. “No, she doesn't. She's always that color.”

“She's usually got
some
pink in her cheeks,” Alison said. “Maybe she's coming down with that flu.”

“She looks fine to me,” Steph said.

While they were arguing, some guy shoved Jeremy
Dragon, who was getting off at the next stop, right into my lap.

“Sorry about that, Macbeth,” he said as he pulled himself up.

I could feel my cheeks burning, especially when the driver yelled at us to quit fooling around.

As Jeremy got off the bus, Alison whispered, “You're not pale anymore, Rachel!”

“I wish he'd fall onto me!” Steph said, making all three of us laugh.

The minute I got home, I folded and refolded the letter from Mr. Herman until it was small enough to fit into the secret compartment of my favorite box. Since Mr. Herman says participating in Challenge is entirely up to me, I don't have to show it to my parents. At least not yet.

J
essica's been taking Accutane for a week. The doctor Rowena recommended told Jess about the possible side effects and gave her a booklet to read. But Jess decided to try it, anyway. I don't blame her. I'd try anything if I had her kind of cystic acne. Before the doctor gave her the prescription Jess had to sign a paper stating she would not get pregnant, because if you take Accutane while you are, it causes serious birth defects. As if Jess would be foolish enough to get pregnant even if she had a boyfriend, which she doesn't.

Jess will have to see the doctor once a month for twenty weeks. She'll need blood tests to make sure everything's going okay. She says Accutane can take up to four months to work but some patients see a difference right away. I hope she'll be one of them.

T
arren and Roddy came over for dinner on Thursday night. Tarren took one look at Jess and said, “Your skin looks … painful.”

“Well, it's not as painful as acne,” Jess told her. Her face was totally dried out and peeling. So far Jessica's only side effects are dry eyes and cracked lips. She carries a tube of medicated lip gloss with her and has to put drops in her eyes twice a day.

Before we sat down to dinner, Tarren cornered me. “Listen, Rachel …” she said, shifting Roddy from one hip to the other, “I wanted to thank you for that day you watched Roddy.”

I nodded. “How's it going with your romantic obstacle?”

“It's going great.”

I nodded again, then looked around to make sure no one was within earshot. “Have you by any chance met Paul Medeiros?” I spoke very softly. “He's a history major at the school of education.”

“You've asked me about him before, haven't you?”

“I thought maybe you've met him since then.”

Tarren shook her head. “Is he someone special?”

“No,” I said quickly, hoping Tarren wouldn't become suspicious. “I mean, he's Charles's tutor … and I'm curious … but other than that …”

“Well, I don't think I know him. Do you want me to ask around?”

“No … forget it … it's nothing.”

“You're sure … because I owe you a favor.”

“I'm sure,” I told her.

C
harles joined us for dinner. I don't know why. He hasn't had a meal with us since Dad's birthday. He sat next to Roddy, who was in a Sassy Seat, which attached to the table.