A Little Friendly Advice

  Katherine sits in shotgun and gives Maria directions to the gross apartment bungalows near the swampy lake. A few people have already been out pranking, because long dangles of TP flutter in the sky and a few cracked pumpkins splatter the street.

  Katherine points out the windshield and Maria slows. Her father’s brown car is parked under a tree. We pull up a few feet away from it and kill the headlights.

  The street is pretty quiet, except for a few people walking to the corner store up the street and two kids having an egg fight on a driveway.

  “Okay. This is it!” Katherine squeals.

  Beth passes out a can of shaving cream to each of us.

  “Make sure you get all the windows and door handles. I want this thing to be totally undriveable.” Katherine shakes up her can and pulls her sweatshirt hood over her long blond hair. I’ve never seen her look so genuinely happy and excited. “Ready?”

  We all nod.

  Katherine shouts “Ready! Set!” but by “Go!” she’s already out of the car, leaving us to catch up. I take the driver’s-side door and smear a huge dollop of cream across it. Beth is on the back windshield, painting it with long back and forth strokes. Maria is on the opposite side of me, doing the same to the passenger side. Katherine drags her fingers through the cream, branding the front windshield with a bunch of curses.

  Before I know it, I’m laughing, ’cause in a weird way, this actually feels like a release. Katherine’s dad is a jerk. He totally deserves this. I start to get really into it, pressing the nozzle down as hard as I can. I try to draw a hand giving the middle finger, but it looks stupid so I just make a bunch of big goofy loops with the foam.

  After a minute or two, my can sputters empty. I haven’t covered as much of the car as I wanted, so I sweep my hand and spread out the cream until every inch of my panel is covered, at least a little bit.

  “I’m all out!” Beth whispers.

  “Me too,” says Maria.

  I wipe my hands on some big leaves from the pile at my feet and then pull out my camera from my book bag and take a few shots. The car looks crazy, like a big marshmallow with wheels.

  Katherine circles the car manically. She’s not satisfied. A group of four older guys I don’t recognize walk by us and snicker at our prank, like it’s kid stuff. One of them calls out that it’s past our curfew. That only seems to work Katherine up more.

  “This isn’t good enough!” Katherine hisses, her eyes wide and darting around in desperation.

  “Are you kidding?” Beth laughs. “He’s going to be so pissed!”

  Suddenly Katherine takes off running toward one of the nearby bungalows. Somehow I don’t think her dad lives there, because it’s decorated for Halloween with cardboard gravestones on the lawn and spiderwebs on the railings, like a family would do. The rest of us gather at the back bumper, unsure of what to do next.

  “What’s she doing?” Maria whispers.

  “No clue,” I say, burying my face in the sleeve of my borrowed cardigan sweater. The air smells disgustingly musty and minty from all the shaving cream we’ve squirted.

  “We should get out of here before we get spotted,” Beth says.

  Katherine sprints up the bungalow stairs and grabs a huge pumpkin from the doorstep. It’s a bit of a struggle to get the thing up in her arms — it must be at least twenty pounds — but once she does, she runs back over to the car in a full sprint.

  “No, Katherine!” Beth shouts.

  But Katherine can’t hear us. She’s screaming at the top of her lungs like some kind of warrior. When she gets close to her dad’s car, she launches the pumpkin into the air. I try to steady my camera and time the shot right. It falls fast and crashes right down on the windshield, causing the glass to explode and pop into tiny glittering shards that reflect the streetlights.

  “Oh my God!” Beth whispers.

  Maria fumbles with her keys. “Geez, Katherine!”

  Some people down the street turn and look our way. I hear shouting from behind us.

  “Go, go, go!” Katherine leads the charge back to Maria’s Volvo, stealing the keys along the way. Even though I’m practically crapping my pants with fear, I hold my camera over my shoulder and snap two more pictures behind me, praying that I capture some of this madness. Katherine dives into the driver’s seat, and the rest of us cram into the back. No one is buckled up and my door is still open, but Katherine hits the gas so hard the engine roars. We speed off down the street and I fight to close the door against the wind of our escape.

  The entire car is in silent shock, except for Katherine’s breathless giggling. She fumbles to light herself a cigarette. She’s not even looking at the road.

  “Katherine, that was so not cool!” Maria shouts.

  “Come on,” she says. “That was a little bit cool.”

  “What the hell!” I say. “You could get us all in serious trouble!”

  Beth doesn’t say anything. She just climbs over Maria and me into the front seat.

  Katherine’s not at all fazed by my chastising. “How can you, of all people, not get it? Sometimes you gotta call people out or they’ll think they can walk all over you forever.”

  And for the briefest, tiniest second, Beth’s eyes catch mine in the visor mirror.

  The snow seeped through my clothes, but I kept on smiling.

  Beth and I were staring out of our igloo at her mother. A camera blocked most of her face, but you could still see her proud grin during her countdown to the flash.

  We’d carved it out of a snowplow mound with small shovels Mr. Miller had gotten us from the garage. She and I built a tiny snow family to live inside with us. We’d been playing all afternoon.

  I was so happy and proud of what we’d built, but I was also freezing. Every inch of me felt numb. I’d stopped even trying to wipe the snot dripping from my nose, because it just made my face wetter and colder. My snow pants and parka were far too small, leaving wide red bands of exposed skin around my wrists and ankles.

  As much fun as I was having, I was ready to go home.

  The flash popped, and I tried to suck in its warmth.

  As if on cue, Mom’s car pulled up to the curb. Maybe it was the ice, but she drove fast and erratic, almost crashing into the Millers’ mailbox as she parked. She got out and raced toward me on a narrow shoveled-out path that led from the sidewalk up the front lawn to our igloo. She was still in her nursing scrubs and she wasn’t wearing a coat. Her hair was wild and windblown.

  “Isn’t this amazing?” Mrs. Miller cooed, waving her hands around our snow dwelling. She told my mom she’d give her doubles of the pictures she’d taken.

  My mom didn’t say anything except, “Come on, Ruby. Let’s go.”

  I was about to squeeze through our little entryway but Beth blocked my path. “Mom? Can Ruby sleep over? Or at least stay for dinner?”

  Mom answered before the invitation was confirmed. “Sorry, Beth, but Ruby’s going to have to come home now.” Then she walked back to her car and got inside to wait for me.

  I tried to leave the igloo again, but Beth was holding on to the hood of my parka. Her mouth fell into big frown, but I told her it was okay. That I’d see her tomorrow. Mom beeped the horn so I’d hurry up. Beth finally let me go.

  I shivered the whole ride home. Mom said my lips were blue. She mumbled how the school should have tried to reach her if they’d called a snow day. And then, like an afterthought, she added how I could have frozen out there without snow clothes that fit me properly. Her hands wrung the steering wheel.

  The house seemed asleep, even though Dad’s truck was in the driveway. Usually he puttered around when he got home from work, fixing a faucet or attaching molding to the walls. But I couldn’t hear him at all.

  Mom helped me peel off my wet clothes and put me into my dry pajamas. She divided my wet hair into two pigtails and unrolled my sleeping bag out in front of the television set so I could watch Annie and keep warm at the same time.

  I
wake up with a start, nearly catapulting myself out of Beth’s trundle bed. Maybe I was holding my breath while dreaming, because now I’m gasping for air. I press a blanket over my mouth to keep from waking everyone up. Maria and Katherine are sprawled on the floor in a pile of quilts. I step over them and sneak out of the room as quickly and quietly as I can.

  I make it to the bathroom without a second to spare. I sit there, shivering on the toilet, peeing in little sputters. When I finish, I stand up and wash my hands with the nice-smelling soap Beth’s mom always has near the sink. The Millers’ towels are fluffy and soft, not scratchy and threadbare like ours. Right now, they’re seasonal for Halloween, covered in little black cats and candy corn. They’re almost too nice to wipe your hands on.

  Then I flick off the lights. But instead of going back to Beth’s room for a little more sleep, I sit on the side of the tub and try to hold still. Like maybe if I stopped moving, I could suspend time. But the sun slowly rises and burns orange through the window curtains. It’s Saturday, the last day Jim is in town. Even though I made the decision not to see him, I still feel totally unsettled about the whole thing.

  I focus on my dream. Beth and I built that igloo the day he left. Neither of us had any idea what was about to happen a few hours later. I wish I could have warned myself.

  It’s kind of twisted that Beth chose the photo of that day, of all days, to stick on her memory box. Maybe it has to do with the fact that our friendship went to the next level after that. I don’t know.

  If only I knew what was going to happen tomorrow. If not seeing Jim would be a thing I’d regret for the rest of my life, or something that would eventually go away again, like the hurt I felt when he left the first time.

  I continue to sit on the edge of the tub for at least another hour, until Beth’s dad knocks on the door because he has to get a shower. Even then, I still don’t want to move because I don’t know what to do.

  Mrs. Miller has cooked a big birthday breakfast. She’s made everything — waffles, eggs, bacon, home fries with tiny slices of green pepper mixed in, homemade blueberry muffins with little crumbly pieces on top. She’s even squeezed fresh OJ. We all sit down at the long dining room table with Beth’s mom and dad and Martha. Suzy has sent a bouquet of tiger lilies from college. They’re in a big crystal vase at the center of the table.

  I’m not sure who comes up with the idea, because I’m too busy pushing the eggs around on my plate to listen, but everyone goes around in a circle, sharing funny memories of Beth.

  Mr. Miller is more than happy to go first. “When Beth was born, I got so excited making phone calls to my family that I ended up having some pretty major chest pain. So I went back to the delivery room to visit with Mom and asked one of the nurses to take my blood pressure, which was through the roof! I was this close to being admitted for heart palpitations.”

  “You’re always trying to steal my thunder!” Mrs. Miller jokes as she lays another waffle down on her husband’s plate. Then she goes on to tell a story about how when Beth was born, she was so bald that the doctor couldn’t tell if it was her head or her butt coming out first.

  Everyone laughs. Everyone but me.

  Sharing time continues around the room, but I don’t pay much attention. Until all the faces turn to face me. It’s my turn.

  Mrs. Miller’s eyes flutter, because I’ve surely got a plethora of wonderful stories to share about Beth. But those aren’t the things I’m thinking about right now.

  I shrug my shoulders. “There are too many choices.”

  Everyone smiles and laughs politely. But they don’t let me off the hook. Maria kicks my leg underneath the table and gives me a weird look.

  So I think about that day I just dreamt about, that snow day.

  “There was this one time Beth and I built a huge igloo and we played in it all day long. After a couple of hours in Suzy’s snow pants and parka, I was soaking wet and ready to go home. But Beth refused to let me. She made Mrs. Miller bring us out hot chocolate and soup in mugs and we sat in there, freezing our butts off until it was nighttime.”

  Mrs. Miller brightens. “I think I have a picture of that! Hold on one second!” And she takes off for upstairs.

  Beth stabs her fork into a mound of syrupy waffles. She doesn’t look happy. “What made you think of that?”

  “I don’t know. I dreamt about it last night.”

  “Oh, yeah?” she says, like she doesn’t quite believe me. Like I’ve got some ulterior motive or am trying to make her upset.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  Mrs. Miller comes back after a few minutes empty-handed. “I know I gave your mother the double of that picture, Ruby, but I can’t seem to find mine in the albums.”

  Beth doesn’t say anything, even though she knows exactly where the picture is. It’s on that box, in her room. And just the thought of it is making her very, very upset.

  Beth’s mom takes off her cats-eye glasses and cleans the lenses with the hem of her shirt. “Oh, well. I have tons to do today. Okay, girls, which one of you wants to pick up the cake and which one wants to help me make the Jell-O eyeballs?”

  After a long day of running errands and making party plans, everyone’s back in Beth’s room, changing into their costumes and getting started with the birthday punch. I have to say, it’s delicious. Beth has mixed some frozen fruit punch, mint leaves, ice, and Sprite with the raspberry vodka. I keep reminding myself to slow down but it’s like I can’t help but chug it.

  Maria rubs lotion with tiny little sparkles in it on the length of the bare legs stretching out from under her tennis skirt. She looks great in her little outfit. Her phone buzzes next to her with yet another voice mail. It’s been ringing all day, with kids asking what time they should come over and how much alcohol there’s really going to be. She stopped picking it up an hour ago because she wanted to concentrate on her makeup. I bet the possibility of making out with Davey tonight has her all worked up.

  I’m not sure exactly what Katherine’s costume is supposed to be, but my best guess is some kind of prostitute zombie, because she’s wearing lingerie and fishnets and has her makeup done all spooky and pale. She’s perched on the windowsill of Beth’s room, wafting the smoke of her cigarette outside. She balances a small mirror on her knee and lines her eyes in black pencil with her free hand.

  Beth is missing — she wanted to get dressed in her mom’s room, so she could surprise us all with her costume.

  I’m still in my jeans and T-shirt, my costume stuffed into my book bag on the floor. I kind of don’t feel like putting it on. So I pick up the phone and call my mom.

  “Did anyone call me?”

  “No, Ruby.” She sounds really bummed, I guess left over from our last conversation. “Is something wrong? Do you want to come home?”

  “No …” I say, but the o sound rises up like I really mean yes. I guess I was hoping that Charlie would have called. Though why would he? I didn’t really give him much to say to make things better. He’s moving and I made it clear that we were over. I’m just going to have to accept it and get over him. After all, we’ve known each other for barely a week. He’s probably forgotten me by now.

  Just then, there’s a knock at the door. Beth’s voice trills from the hallway, “Are you ready to see my costume?”

  “Yes,” Katherine and Maria say together. I quickly hang up and take another deep sip as the bedroom door swings open.

  Beth’s transformed that plain black slip from the thrift store into a proper flapper’s dress right out of the 1920s. It’s covered in swishy beads and swaying fringe. She’s got on a short blond bob wig with an elastic black headband and a sparkly feather poking out. She removes a silver flask from her garter belt and sips from it.

  “Oh, my God, you look amazing!” Maria coos. “I can’t believe you made that!”

  “Seriously, you look hot,” Katherine says, getting ash all over the carpet.

  “Wow” is all I can manage.

  “Wh
en are you going to put on your costume?” she asks me.

  “Now.” I steal the flask from her hand.

  The girls all coo over each other while I strip down in the corner between big hearty sips. When I bend over to pull up my knee socks, I almost fall down.

  “Nice underwear!” Katherine yells at me.

  Everyone thinks my costume looks great. But I’m just not feeling it. It’s tight in all the most unflattering places, and I don’t look comfortable at all. I should have never picked this as a costume.

  Beth puts my hair up in pigtails, lends me her white beret, and applies some pink blush to the apples of my cheeks. As she’s doing that, she takes notice of my badges.

  “Whoa, what’s all this?” she says, leaning forward to examine them closer. “These don’t look like Girl Scout badges.”

  “They’re not, exactly.”

  “What’re they?” She points to one covered in black blobs.

  “That’s a Rorschach badge.”

  Her eyebrows rise up to her hairline. “A what?”

  “Those stupid black blobs they hold up at the therapist and ask how they make you feel.”

  “And this one? With the squiggly lines?”

  “It’s a broken picture frame. A broken-family badge.”

  Beth wrinkles up her nose. She doesn’t get it. But for all the reasons that I hate my costume, I’m pretty proud of the way my badges turned out. They feel like they fit me perfectly.

  The front doorbell rings, and we all run to Beth’s window to peek at who’s here. It’s a bunch of kids from the drama department dressed in these crazy elaborate Shakespearian costumes. Some of them even have on powdered wigs.

  I guess it’s party time.

  The party is an enormous success. About fifty kids show up in costume, ready to dance, drink, and have a good time. Sure, a few of the boys come in plastic superhero masks made for little kids, but most people have gone all out. It’s almost like how a teen party looks in the movies, except it’s real. I walk around and take a few pictures, but mostly I’m just holding the camera up to my face so no one will talk to me.