The Girls (3 page)

I had to prove where my loyalties lay. I had to show Candace and the others whose side I was on. I had to save my party. If Candace left, everyone would leave, or at least they'd want to.

I thought fast. The phone was lying on the counter right next to me. I could hear my parents laughing at some TV show, so I knew the coast was clear. I grabbed the phone. My heart thumped as I pressed the speaker button. I felt like I was on a climbing roller coaster as I dialed. The kitchen was electrified with a tingling charge—like that split second before the roller coaster plunges downhill, sucking the screams right out of you.

W
E'D BROUGHT PIZZA HOME. Salt and Pepper were hyped up and giddy. Dad was beat. He'd had all the giggling he could stand. The two-hour drive to Magic Mountain had been hard, with Lena and Ann chattering in the backseat. I'd sat up front with my dad, trying to act like nothing was wrong.

I hadn't realized I was biting my nails until I tasted blood and saw that I'd gnawed my fingers raw. Dad probably noticed but he didn't say anything. He didn't even complain about my radio station. Somehow, his being so extra nice made me feel extra worse.

Waiting in line for the rides, I couldn't help picturing everyone at Darcy's house, having fun without me, talking about me. But once we'd taken our places on the first really fast ride, every thought was whipped right out of my head.

When Salt and Pepper were ready to puke and Dad said his brain was rattling loose in his skull, they stumbled off in search of snow cones. I got back in line and rode again and again, screaming myself hoarse. Roller coasters are great brain cleaners.

The drive home was depressing, though, knowing I was headed back to a world that was just as messed up as it was when I'd left the house that morning. I'd tried to tell myself it was all a mistake and there'd be a message on the machine when I got home, saying, “Where
are
you, Maya? We're all waiting at Darcy's!” Or maybe I'd wake up and discover that this was just a really rotten dream.

But then I'd swing back to reality with a sickening, Tilt-A-Whirl spin and realize that no, this was not a nightmare, it was my life.

Anyway, we were just sitting down to pizza. Momma was telling us about her day. She worked in the emergency room mostly, but sometimes in other parts of the hospital, helping the new Russian immigrants explain their pains to the doctors and nurses, and translating what the doctors and nurses said back. My mother came here from Russia seventeen years ago and remembered how hard it all was in the beginning, so now she tried to make it easier for the newer newcomers. I was proud of the work she did and liked hearing her hospital stories, even though they were often really sad.

That day a woman had brought in her little boy, who'd crashed through a glass window and was all cut up. The woman was hysterical. When Momma tried to explain to her that no one would help her son until she'd filled out a bunch of paperwork, the woman went wild blaming my mother! But later, when the surgeon came to say the boy would be okay, Momma and the woman hugged.

Just as my mother told us that, the phone rang and I answered it, half expecting it to be that woman from the hospital. A muffled voice said something I couldn't make out, and I heard laughing in the background.

I said, “What?”

The voice said something else unclear. The words didn't matter; I suddenly knew who it was. Then Darcy's voice said, “I just wondered if your mother knew that here in America, dentists can put
white
caps on teeth instead of gold. You might want to mention that to her. And on the subject of dental hygiene, we were all wondering if you know what mouthwash is. It comes in bottles, usually it's green . . .”

I dropped the phone onto the cradle. Momma was looking at me. “It was just a crank call,” I mumbled, trying my best to sound casual. “Just some kids.”

The phone immediately rang again. None of us moved until it rang a second time. My sister, Lena, grabbed it and said, “Hello?” Then she said, “Okay, I'll tell her. Bye.”

Lena turned to me and said, “Someone said to tell you it's not nice to hang up on people.”

“Who was that?” my mom asked.

Lena shrugged. “She didn't say her name.”

Ann tapped my arm. “It's true, you know. It
is
rude to hang up on people.”

“What happened here?” my mom asked me. “Who was that calling?”

I wanted to say, “No one.” Or, “Don't worry about it, Momma.” Or, “It was a wrong number.” But nothing came out of my mouth.

“This was someone you know?” Momma asked.

I couldn't answer. My mom grabbed the phone and dialed the number that reconnects you with the person who just called. I put my head down on the table and died, wondering if I had stinky breath for real.

“This is Mrs. Koptiev,” Momma barked. “Who is this? . . . Who? . . . Well, a call came from you, a mean call.” Then there was silence while she listened.

I looked up to watch her face. It was pale with anger. “Well, you tell your sister and those girls that next time, I call the police!”

“Keloryn Griffin, sister of Darcy,” Momma said, hanging up. She peered at me. I didn't look at my dad.

“I don't get it,” Lena said.

“Me neither,” said Ann.

Mom reached for my hand. “These are horrible girls to hurt you.” She shook her head in disbelief. “My Maya they chose for their cruelty?”

There was no stopping my tears then. They gushed out and I ran to my room. Behind me I heard Lena whine, “But I don't GET IT!” Dad told her to hush and eat her pizza.

Momma followed me. “They hate me,” I told her.

“Hate,” she spat. “Hate from such people means less than nothing.”

“I don't even know what I DID!” I wailed.

“Did? You did nothing. This isn't about
did.
This is about bad girls being stupid. I would only love to go wring all their stupid necks!”

“How am I ever going to go back to school?” I cried, feeling like I was going to throw up.

“How? You just go. You ignore those girls and you're better without them. This isn't friends, this is dirt. This is less than dirt.” Momma kept patting my back and trying to rock me. She didn't understand. Maybe things like this didn't happen in Russia.

C
ANDACE PUT HER sleeping bag right smack in front of the fireplace. I'd wanted to sleep next to her, but it wasn't meant to be. It was Darcy's party and she got there first, and Renée, who usually moved like a snail, beat me to Candace's other side. No big deal, no big deal.

I said, “I don't think boys have slumber parties.”

“My bother's afraid to sleep out,” Candace said. “But he's not normal.” Candace always called her brother, her “bother.” And her baby sisters “the twerps,” instead of the twins. I thought she pretended not to like them so we wouldn't be totally jealous every second—she didn't want to sound smug about her perfect family, or for that matter, her perfect everything.

I asked, “Anyone met that new boy, Eric? He's in my art class. He's really, really cute.” Candace looked interested. I wanted to call dibs on Eric, finders keepers, but that was dumb.

I pictured myself getting him to talk to me at school. Then the girls would waltz up and I'd have to introduce them. First he'd see how cute Darcy is, then how blond and feminine Renée is. But when he saw Candace, his eyes would pop out and he'd get that drooly look that boys get at the sight of her. By then he'd have totally forgotten the big-nosed girl he'd been talking to—me.

I sighed, but no one noticed. They were all staring into the flames. I heard Candace say, “Darcy, if you were an animal, you'd be a—let me think.”

“You mean what animal she looks like or acts like?” I asked.

“Both,” Candace said. “How about a whippet? You know, those pointy little dogs with rat tails and ribs showing?” Candace sucked her cheeks in. The firelight and shadows made her face look like a skull. “Skinny and fast!” she said.

Everyone laughed, especially Darcy. We always, always laughed, no matter what. I didn't know how everyone else felt about Candace's games, but I thought they were tests, like walking on hot coals or something, to prove how tough we were.

A few days before, we'd all been sprawled under a tree at the park when Candace told me that if I were a color, it would be blue. I hadn't been offended, praying that she'd meant a bright, interesting blue. But then a washed-out, blah-blue car drove by and Darcy said, “There goes Brianna!” and no one contradicted her. I probably just smiled.

That was colors. We'd done foods too, and I was a sandwich. Now it was animals. I knew they'd say something about my nose when it was time to do me. I hate, hate, hate my nose. I bet they were gong to say I was an anteater.

“How about Renée?” Candace asked.

Well, if it was how Renée looked, it would have to be a white animal. She looked like a picture that had been mostly erased, or hadn't been colored in in the first place. She was like a glass sculpture of a girl. Everything about Renée was hard to see. Pale blue eyes; hair and lashes so blond, they were almost see-through. I thought of those clear, milky jellyfish, but just as I was about to say that, Darcy said, “A sloth.”

No, I thought, that's not right. Renée was slow, but not stupid or lazy like sloths are supposed to be. You could die of old age before she got to the end of a sentence, but not because she was dumb. Renée was careful, watchful. “Not a sloth,” I said. “A white owl. Minus the flying and mouse hunting,” because Renée's a vegetarian.

Candace laughed. “A starving owl with a broken wing?”

“No, no, no!” I said. “An elephant, maybe?”

“She's not
that
fat!” Candace said.

“I don't mean
fat
!” I smiled apologetically at Renée.

“A tortoise,” Candace decided. “And if Renée's a tortoise, who's the hare? You, Darcy?”

“I thought I was a whippet!” Darcy said.

I was next. I secretly prayed for strength and pretended to watch the fire while they decided about me, reminding myself that it was all about being a good sport.

Candace said I was some kind of a bird. The others agreed, probably because of my beak. “Not an eagle, though,” Candace said.

“No, a sparrow!” Darcy offered.

I pictured myself pecking around, peck, peck, hop, hop, hop. A sparrow: plain, common, boring. But I laughed on cue when the others did.

“Sparrows are amazing,” Renée said.

“Yeah, right,” Darcy scoffed.

“No, really!” Renée said. “Remember when I had that ear infection? Well I, um, sat on the balcony watching this sparrow fly back and forth to her nest. Thirty-something trips in an hour! Her babies cheeped their heads off every time, as if they were, as if they were starving to death.”

Candace said, “She should have pointed her beak south and kept on flying.”

Renée stared into the firelight. “Well, I, um, I thought she was remarkable.”

“Remarkably stupid, you mean,” Candace said. Then she said, “Okay, guys, time to do me.”off

That was easy. We all instantly agreed that she was a large cat—a lioness or, because of her dark hair, a panther. Candace practically purred hearing that. Who wouldn't? A powerful, graceful panther sure beat a flappy gray sparrow, working herself to death fetching crumbs.

“Well, this cat is
hungry
!
”
Candace growled. “Beware, tiny creatures!” Darcy made a scared, whipped yelp and sprang to her feet. Candace chased her into the kitchen. Renée and I followed.

“What would Maya be?” Darcy asked, opening the pantry. “Some baby animal.”

I was getting tired of the Maya thing, but Darcy was right—sometimes Maya was kind of babyish. “Puppy?” I said.

“A cockroach!” Candace laughed. “Quick! Step on it!” She jumped down off the stool to stomp an imaginary bug, grinding her heel into the floor.

Darcy yelled, “Gross!” and collapsed in a fit of giggles.

Then we were scooping ice cream, looking in Darcy's fridge, daring each other to try ketchup on vanilla, mayo on chocolate, when Darcy's big sister, Keloryn, came in.

“Mrs. Koptiev called,” Keloryn said.

“Maya's
mother
?” Darcy shrieked. “What animal is
she
?”

“A bear!” Candace laughed. “From the Russian circus!”

I couldn't help laughing. It fit Mrs. Koptiev perfectly!

“What goes around comes around,” Keloryn said, grabbing a plum and heading back out again.

“Your poor sister,” Candace said—loud enough, I thought, for Keloryn to hear. “Who can blame her for being ticked? Another Saturday night at home alone!”

Darcy hooted as if that were the funniest thing in the world, but Renée's eyes got huge, staring at the door Keloryn had left through. Renée's got a thing about Keloryn. I don't, but still, sometimes Candace's gutsiness took my breath away.

D
ARCY'S WHOLE HOUSE was tasteless, but the tackiest room of all was the den. And the tackiest thing about the den was the huge, showy fireplace. It just
screamed
“Look how rich we are!” But with the lights out, all I could see was the fire itself. It felt hot on my face.

It made my heart race just making small talk while two feet in front of us, flames reduced thick, hard logs to nothing but smoke and ash. I don't get why people think it's relaxing to watch fires. If they'd look closer and pay attention, they'd see that there is nothing leisurely about fire. It's
frantic.
The flames are starving! I almost said something about it to the girls lying around me, but what would be the point? They were jabbering away about teachers. They wouldn't get it at all.