Class Favorite (6 page)

I felt Kirstie's hand rubbing my back, and felt a tiny bit of comfort in that gesture. Arlene was in the lunchroom already, holding her tray and laughing with some softball girls. When Kirstie and I came up to her, she told the girls, “Oh. I have to go sit with them.” Not for the first time, I felt like Arlene was making a huge sacrifice by sitting with me at lunch.

“You don't have to,” Kirstie said, surprising me. I wasn't sure if she wanted to sit with me alone, or if she
didn't
want Arlene there.

Arlene seemed to feel there was something to her statement too, because she said, “No. I want to.”

There's no way to put a finger on tension. I just knew it was there, floating in the air between Kirstie and Arlene, and I wasn't sure why.

“So where are you from, anyway?” Arlene asked almost as soon as we sat down. Well, she didn't ask so much as snap. I furrowed my brow at her, because I didn't want to be rude.

But Kirstie didn't seem bothered. “Oh, I'm not
from
anywhere, it seems. My mom and I have lived all over the place.” Kirstie told us that she and her mom had been moving from
city to city for as long as she could remember. Her mom works for a big hotel chain, and she constantly has to move to different cities to help open up new branches. Her dad, she said, bailed on them both when she was in second grade and she basically hasn't heard from him since. “Except for the monthly child support and alimony checks he sends,” she told us. She said her dad lives in New York, making tons of money and living with a new family.

“That's gotta be kind of hard,” I said. I thought it was bad enough my dad had moved out, but at least I knew he still thought about me and missed me. I knew because he called and told me so.

“I'm used to it,” Kirstie said. “I'm not saying I like it. But I have made a lot of friends along the way.”

“I don't know how you make new friends every year,” I said. “I wouldn't have a clue how to do it. If Ms. Harrison hadn't sat me and Arlene next to each other in first grade, I might not even have her.”

“Of course you would!” Arlene said. “We'd be friends no matter what.”

“That's what I think,” Kirstie said. “I think that friends are meant to be just like husbands or boyfriends or whatever. You and I are meant to be friends.”

She said that just to me. Not to Arlene.

“So, Kristie,” Arlene began.

“It's
Kir
stie,” she corrected.

I'm not saying Arlene was egging her on, but I'm pretty sure she knew what Kirstie's name was. I wondered why she was being so snotty to her. I meant what I'd said: If I were a new kid at school, I'd be petrified. I was glad to be the one person who was talking to Kirstie, and I was also glad that she was the one person besides Arlene who was talking to me. Win-win.

“Sorry.
Kir
stie. Why did you start school on a Friday? That's sort of weird. Why not just start today?”

I'd been wondering the same thing too. “Mom had to start her job on Friday because of some event that that was going on that night, so she said if she had to jump right in, then I had to too. I didn't mind, though. Friday was exciting, what with all the flowers and everything.” I could feel my face turn red as I set down my lasagna-laden spork. Kirstie nudged my arm and smiled at me. Arlene looked between us. Kirstie asked her, “Hey, what class do you have just before lunch?”

“Math. Why?”

“Just wondering. Where's your class?”

Arlene sighed as if she were being asked to bus the tables. “Mr. Jenkins. He's by the language department. Why?”

“I thought I saw you on Friday, that's all.” Kirstie rolled her lips in and gave the slightest shake of her head. I hadn't forgotten what she'd heard on Friday, and even though her
descriptions were vague—a blonde and a brunette—it seemed like she thought something was up.

 

Later, before I saw Kirstie again in science class, Arlene asked, “What is
up
with that girl?”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “She's okay.” The truth was, I really liked her. I liked how easy she was to get along with, and how readily she had made friends with me.

“A little clingy, don't you think? And what was up with the interrogation of me and my class schedule? Why does she care?”

“She was just making conversation. She's new here. Imagine if you had to start somewhere new and you didn't know a single person. You'd ask questions too.”

“Not like hers. Look, I'm sure she's nice and all, but something about her seems off. That's all.”

I tried not to pay too much attention to what Arlene said. I tried not to think about their reaction to each other at lunch, which had resulted in anything but insta-friends. I tried not to think about the flowers, even though the jokes had been few and far between today. Basically, I tried not to think at all. And it was working out for me.

Until I got to science class and Kirstie slipped me a note that read, “She's the one. Meet me by the marquee after school!”

5

Do You Stand Out from the Crowd, or Blend In with the Scenery?

At the spring dance, you decide to be bold and try out some new dance moves. What happens?

a) A circle forms around you, some people laughing, some cheering you on, but soon, everyone is mimicking your stellar moves.

b) A few people around you ask if you're having an epileptic fit.

c) The dance goes on just the same.

 

Kirstie led me away from the school toward her house, telling me we'd figure it all out as soon as we got to her place. And her place was gargantuan.

It sat at the end of the cul-de-sac atop a small hill in the swanky Sugar Hill subdivision of town. The house was red brick with white shutters and had a half-moon porch as big as my bedroom. The driveway swung around the side of the
house, tossed around back like a rope. Four pillars as tall as the second floor held the house up, making the porch look like a toothless grin held up by Popsicle sticks.

The glass in the front door rippled as we walked closer, making what little I could see of the interior look like it was underwater. Kirstie wrapped her fingers around the brass handle and swung the door open.

“Come in to my lair,” she said, looking at me with exaggerated wide eyes. Despite the unnerving situation, I sort of laughed and stepped inside, eager to see how big it was and what it looked like. I wondered if they had an entire game room, maybe an indoor bowling alley.

Kirstie pulled off her boots and dropped them beside a pair of red satin strappy heels and Nike tennis shoes. I did the same, figuring it was a rule. Wasn't this an Asian thing, taking off your shoes?

“Hello?” she hollered, then stood quietly, listening for an answer. “Mother must still be at work. Probably staying late to impress her new bosses. Come on.” She took my hand, then softly dropped it, sending an unexpected zing through me. She led me down a carpeted hallway as white as piano keys—probably the reason for the no-shoes thing. “Let's go to my room and hash out a war plan,” she said, leading me up a long, curved stairwell.

Upstairs, Kirstie plopped down on her bed, which was red and bigger than my mom's and cluttered with makeup, hairspray,
and old copies of
Cosmopolitan
. “Let's think about this rationally. Why would your
best friend
,” she said, finger-quoting the last two words, “do this to you?”

“I don't know. Are you sure it was Arlene?” I asked for the millionth time since leaving school.

Kirstie looked at me sadly. “I'm sorry. But I'm sure.”

I dropped my messenger bag by the door and sat in a desk chair chipped with lime green paint. Her room was crammed with moving boxes, mostly unopened but a few with clothes hanging limply over the sides. Kirstie looked at me as if we had always been friends, like we had just had a sleepover last weekend. I had been flattered at first that someone was paying so much attention to me and seemed so concerned for me, but I started to wonder what her angle was.

I tugged on the thighs of my jeans and asked, “Why have you been so nice to me? You don't even know me. Maybe I'm a huge jerk.”

She sighed. “I know you're not a jerk. And I completely know what it's like to be in a situation like this, and I know that I would have liked it if someone had helped me along.”

“Oh.” I wondered what had happened to her, but figured if she wanted to tell me, she would.

We sat quietly for a moment, then Kirstie said, “Maybe Arlene and that girl were just talking. If you think about it, it doesn't make sense, anyway. What would anyone have to gain
by doing something like that? Honestly, it sounds like more trouble than it's worth, dragging in that huge box of Kotex. The one doing it might get caught with the box herself.”

“I guess,” I said. “She's innocent until proven guilty, right?”

It seemed like a dumb thing to say, but Kirstie said, “Exactly! It's not even worth bringing up to her. Just wait and see if anything happens, because I bet nothing will. I'm sure she'll prove me wrong.”

“Yeah,” I said, but I didn't feel confident about anything—whether Arlene was up to something, whether Kirstie was mistaken, or whether I was just reading into things too much. I didn't know what to think or feel about any of it, but I didn't want to freak out either. “Besides, before I start to worry if there's going to be some joke played on me, I'm a little freaked out that word got out about them, anyway. I only told one person about it.”

“Arlene?” she guessed, her eyebrows hovering high above her traffic-light eyes.

I gulped. “Yes. But she wouldn't tell anyone.” Despite myself, I added, “I don't think.”

“Oh,” Kirstie said, looking down at her red bedspread. “Look, Sara. I don't know Arlene and I certainly don't know your friendship. But if she's really your best friend, then she wouldn't do anything. Right?”

“Right.” I shook my head. “This is stupid. Maybe I should just ask her. She'll be honest with me.”

“Maybe,” Kirstie said, although she looked doubtful. Another pang rushed through my stomach.

“Anyway,” I began, not wanting to talk about it anymore. Nothing bad like this had ever happened to me and Arlene. We never got in spats—we rarely even got mad at each other. The only time I really got mad at her was when she cancelled our Razzie night in October, but I never said anything to Arlene, and after so long, it wasn't worth mentioning, even if it still irked me. Wanting to change the subject, I asked, “What was your last school like?”

“My last school was awesome,” Katie began, suddenly animated. “We were in Raleigh. It was small, private, elite—my first and only private school so far. I had the best friends in the universe. But it took one awful experience to realize how important having good friends is. The first time I moved to a new school was a nightmare.”

“What happened?”

“It was terrible,” she began. “We had to move to Wyoming, and the kids just did not like me. Everyone had formed their little cliques in, like, preschool, and they weren't keen on letting outsiders in. I spent the whole year there with hardly any friends. Only one girl was nice to me. And she's partly the reason I wanted to help you out. I know what it's like to be the weirdo no one wants to talk to. I think friends should always have each other's backs.”

It was comforting, if a bit odd, knowing that I had a new friend. I didn't like feeling like I was trading one friend in for another, but I was tired of relying on Arlene for my own entertainment. I wondered if she was sick of me, what with all her new softball friends. Was the Razzie thing just a pity party for me?

“What crowds do you usually hang out in?” I asked.

“It depends on the school. Also on me, and how I act. At my last school, I guess you could say I was in the popular crowd.”