Please, Please, Please (9 page)

I tried to remain calm.

Olivia blushed. “Well, what did your mother say?” she asked. “She must be devastated.”

Olivia always says stuff like
devastated
when a normal person would say
mad
. I knew I was furious at Olivia mainly because she had the power to ruin everything for me, but still. I shrugged again. “It’s my decision.”

“When did you realize that?” Morgan asked.

“Yesterday,” I said.

Morgan smiled but quickly blew her bangs out of her eyes to cover it up.

“She’s disappointed, of course,” I added, trying to imagine the ideal scene between me and Mom. “She said she wished I felt differently, but that I have to do what’s right for me.”

I looked at Zoe, who took a huge bite of her sandwich. She’s the only one who knew I was making this all up. I pulled out my yogurt and took a spoonful.

“Well,” said Olivia. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks. And I’m coming apple picking, too.”

Morgan looked up from her lunch. Last year when those kids got caught hay-stacking, we spent lots of afternoons imagining what it would be like when we were finally in seventh grade, and who we’d want to hay-stack with, and promising that even if we had boyfriends we’d tell them sorry, I’m sitting with my best friend. She was planning Tommy for herself and Jonas for me, then.

Olivia unwrapped her box of pretzel sticks and offered some to me. For the first time ever, I accepted. “I was wondering why your name was finally erased from Ms. Cress’s board,” she said.

“That’s why.” I chewed. The pretzel sticks tasted great.

“I guess we won’t be having a class trip to see you in
The Nutcracker
this year, then,” Morgan pointed out.

I took a deep breath and didn’t answer. I tried to smile like, so what? I don’t care about that. The
Nutcracker
music from the entrance of the Polichinelles blared in my head.

Morgan crumpled her lunch bag and tossed it over me into the garbage can. We all watched it arch in perfectly. She leaned toward Olivia and asked, “You ready to go outside?”

Olivia chewed faster, swallowed, and said, “Yeah.”

After they both left, I stopped smiling and leaned toward Zoe. “I’m so caught.”

“I know,” Zoe whispered back and stood up. “Let’s go talk.”

“What am I going to do?” I asked Zoe on the way, trying to block out the
Nutcracker
music inside me. “No way Olivia won’t tell her mother.”

“Shhh,” Zoe said. “Wait till we’re safe.”

When we got into the girls’ room she checked under the stalls—no feet. “OK,” she said.

I smiled.

“What?”

“Nothing.” I shook my head. “I feel like we’re in a movie, checking under the stalls like that.”

Zoe laughed, then whispered, “The nuclear weapons are in the black attache case.”

Roxanne came in, so we both shut up. She went straight into a stall. When she came out and was washing her hands, she looked back at me in the mirror. “You quit dance?”

“Wow. News travels fast,” I said.

She tore a paper towel out of the dispenser, dried her hands, and started to leave. “Can I get the social studies from you, Zoe?” she asked.

“Sure,” Zoe said. “Be out in a few.”

“Thanks.” The door banged Roxanne in the behind as she left. We could hear her say “Ow,” in the hall, and we smiled at each other.

“You’re so nice,” I told Zoe. “No wonder everybody likes you.”

“Please,” Zoe said.

“What? You were sixth-grade president. And fifth.” I was nominated last year for sixth-grade secretary but I lost. My parents helped me make posters with white marker on black oak tag. They were unique, and my dad’s printing is excellent because he’s an architect, but, well, no big deal. Secretary is a lousy job anyway.

“Yeah, well,” Zoe said. “Giving out your homework always helps.”

I shrugged and smiled, but then covered my face with my hands, breathed twice, then looked up at her. “Olivia’s mother and mine talk every day.”

“Yikes.”

“Well,” I said, trying to be confident, the new me. “I’ll just have to keep my mother from talking to her.”

“All weekend?”

“At least until I explain.”

“You’re gonna tell her you forged your permission slip?” Zoe’s eyes opened huge.

“I haven’t actually come up with a plan yet,” I admitted. “I just feel like, something will come to me. You know? Something will happen, and I’ll tell her, and it’ll be fine.”

Zoe shook her head without taking her big blue eyes off me. “OK,” she said. “Sounds good to me.”

“Can you sleep over Saturday?” I asked her.

“I thought you were sleeping over my house.”

I shook my head. “I have to sit by the phone all weekend. Right? Well, actually, except Olivia’s mother volunteers at the science museum Saturdays until three. So we could still go pay our installment on the rings then. I’ll be done with dance and home by noon, and my mom could pick you up and drop us off at Sundries and then pick us up at three. OK?”

“Um, OK,” Zoe said. “Whew, complicated.”

“And then we could do whatever at my house on Saturday and be there in case the phone rings and grab it so Olivia’s mother doesn’t have a chance to tell my mom. And also, in case I figure out a way to tell her, you’ll be there, so she can’t get too furious at me.”

“OK,” Zoe said again, blinking a lot. “Wow, talk about being in the movies. You should be a spy.”

I smiled at her. “Thanks,” I said. “I’m sorry about the whole Lou thing.”

“Forget it already,” Zoe said. “Come on. I have to go cheat with Roxanne.”

thirteen

T
he way to tell my mother didn’t
come to me Friday night. I was so busy trying to make sure she didn’t call Aunt Betsy, I didn’t really get much chance to think. While we were eating dinner, Mom said, “Oh, I have to call Betsy and see how Olivia did today.”

“At what?” I asked, in my best imitation of a calm voice.

“Her braces.”

I had totally forgotten that Olivia was getting her braces put on after school.

“Was she nervous at school today?” Mom asked me, passing the string beans to Paul, who took one.

“Yes, a little,” I guessed. “But she said the whole family was planning to pick her up and go out for frozen yogurt for dinner and then, um, a movie. So, they won’t get home until very late. You know,” I added, “to take her mind off it.”

I waited to see how they would react. Before this year I never even lied about if I’d brushed my teeth. Mom and Dad looked at each other. “Isn’t that nice,” Dad said.

Mom nodded and passed Paul the potatoes. I felt myself smiling—such a powerful thing, lying. Before, I always thought they’d just know if I made something up—like they’d be able to tell, like there was no privacy inside my own head. But, there is.

I swallowed my mashed potatoes and asked, “Can Zoe sleep over here, tomorrow, instead of me going there?”

“Sure, of course,” Mom answered. “Why?”

“She just really likes it here,” I invented. May as well make them feel good. I was feeling powerful enough to be generous.

“I’m glad,” Mom said. “Maybe you and Zoe could baby-sit for Paul, then, and Dad and I could go out?”

They smiled at each other.

“I don’t need a baby-sitter,” Paul said.

“You’re eight,” reminded Dad.

“But I’m very mature.”

“We’d be happy to,” I answered generously. It would be good to get Mom out of the house and away from the possibility of hearing my news from Aunt Betsy—worth having to pay attention to Paul. “Zoe likes Paul, too.” Why not? Zoe likes everybody. I think Paul blushed. “We’ll do fun stuff,” I told him. “I promise.”

I was up this morning before Mom woke me, but I pretended to be asleep. She reminded me to use the exercise bands for my feet at the end of my stretching. I did an extra five on each foot, promising myself that on the way to dance, I’d tell Mom everything.

But I didn’t. Where to start? She’d be so disappointed in everything I’d done—forging, quitting, backing out of my commitment, lying. . . . I decided I’d wait until after class. Another few hours of having her like me and trust me. As Zoe had said, “The longer you can avoid a conflict, the better.”

Class was good, again. I wasn’t falling out of my turns. Sometimes dance class is even better than performing, because it’s like an hour and a half away from thinking anything. Your body works, your mind is in quiet mode. No words, just the teacher counting out beats:
la, yum, ba-bi-bum
. Position! And when you’re on, when you’re focused and pushing, higher on the jumps—straighter legs—longer line—hold! Ah. Yes. There’s nothing else but the clacking of toe shoes or the whispering of ballet slippers against the wood floor, the plonking of the piano, and your fingers brushing the barre.

When Yuri clapped to signal the end of class, I looked up at the clock, surprised it had gone so fast. Next to me, Fiona bent to pull her black sweater pants over her tights. “Strong work today,” she said, the second time in a row.

“Thanks. You, too.” I hadn’t noticed her but she’s always good.

She put on her thin, flowered tank-sweatshirt and strode toward the door. “See you Monday,” she called.

“Monday,” I echoed. “Oh . . .”

“What?” She stopped and turned around. She is so bony even her eyes bulge out.

I felt like I should tell her,
No, I won’t see you Monday because I’ll be apple picking
, but instead I said, “Nothing. I just, nothing.”

She stretched her neck, then left. It’s often between me and Fiona for parts in recitals or now, ballets. I wondered if she would miss my company in class or be happy to be rid of the competition. It’s different with ballet friends. There’s always an edge, and you don’t tell each other your secrets, you just don’t. I think we’re too used to standing silently close in class and in the wings to figure out how to chatter together.

Mom and I walked out to the car, and she started the engine before she told me she had peeked in and seen me, and that she was impressed with my focus. “Your dancing is really blossoming,” she said. “I’m so excited for you. I think this year will be a real jump forward, professionally, for you.”

I couldn’t very well tell her I was quitting after that, so I just changed my clothes and didn’t talk, all the way to Zoe’s house. Aunt Betsy wouldn’t be around until after three anyway, so I had a little leeway.

Zoe was waiting for us on her front lawn, wearing cut-off shorts and a red sweatshirt. She waved as we pulled into her driveway. I had put on the old blue sweatshirt she’d lent me and my short yellow shorts, so we were dressed similarly, which made me happy. I never cared about stuff like that until recently, but I guess since Wednesday, especially, I keep stressing about being the only one wearing the wrong thing.

I unbuckled my seat belt and turned around to smile at Zoe in the backseat. “Hi!”

“Hi.” She raised her eyebrows. I shook my head. She shrugged. We can talk like that, have a whole conversation with no words. It’s so incredible. It feels like we were really meant to be best friends. I turned back around and buckled up as Mom pulled out into the street.

Just before we got to town, Mom started steering with her knee so she could pull out her wallet to give me my allowance.

I grabbed her wallet for her. “Can I get it?”

“Such a worrywart,” she said, smiling at Zoe in the rearview mirror.

I took the bills and thanked her, placing the wallet back into her pocketbook.

“You’re welcome. So I’ll pick you up around four?”

“No!” I panicked. All the calm I had been feeling exploded away. “Three, you said three.” Olivia’s mother could get home, Mom could call her, and Aunt Betsy would definitely say,
Are you devastated that CJ’s quitting dance?
And Mom would be like,
What?
And then I could just see her face when she picked us up—confused, angry, disappointed.

“That’s not much time,” Mom said.

“It’s plenty,” I said. I could feel my heart pounding—tell her, tell her!—but I couldn’t. The time wasn’t right. We had to pay our installment for our friendship rings. “We have, have, h-h-homework. A project. To work on.”

“Yeah,” Zoe agreed.

I closed my eyes and tried not to have a heart attack.

“OK,” Mom said. “OK. See you at four, then.”

“Three!” I opened my eyes. We were in front of Sundries, and Mom was smiling.

“Kidding,” Mom said.

“It’s not funny,” I said, getting out. “It’s an important project.”

“Sorry.”

I leaned into the car. “Sorry,” I whispered. “Love you.”

She blew me a kiss, then peeled out.

I shook my head at Zoe.

She touched her old blue sweatshirt sleeve on my arm and asked, “Tense?”

“Phew, a little.”

We walked into Sundries to pay our weekly two dollars each. I was about to head straight for the counter, but a familiar laugh made me look over toward the card section. Morgan and Olivia were there. They looked up and saw us at the same time. We all waved at each other, and Zoe and I walked back there toward them.

Olivia’s mouth looked full. “How are the braces?” I asked her.

She smiled, sort of, to show them.

“Wow,” Zoe said. Olivia’s mouth was really, really packed with silver. “Does it hurt?”

“It killed, getting them on,” Olivia said. “And I can’t eat anything. I’m starving.” She almost drooled, but covered her mouth in time.

We all shook our heads, sympathetically, but then I panicked. “Did your mother drive you guys here?”

“We walked,” she said, through her hand.

“Because your mother is at the museum until three, right?”

Olivia just nodded.

I smiled at her, so relieved. “Getting psyched for apple picking?”

“We’re buying some candy and stuff,” Morgan said.

“Not that I can eat it,” mumbled Olivia.

“We’ll buy some, too,” I offered.

Zoe shrugged. “I’m always up for candy.”

“I think it’ll be really fun,” I said.

“You don’t still like Tommy, do you?” Morgan asked me. We all looked at her for a few seconds. Morgan carefully replaced the birthday card she’d been holding in the rack. “After yesterday?”