Dawn and Whitney, Friends Forever

  A few minutes later, Whitney emerged clutching a shopping bag. “Here,” she said.

  I opened the bag and Whitney reached inside and pulled out a Best Friends necklace. Carefully, ceremoniously, she gave me half.

  “Because you are my best friend,” Whitney said, looking intently at me, her cheeks pink. “My best friend in the whole world.”

  I looked down at the necklace, then back at Whitney.

  Whitney had started out as a job. But she had become a friend, too.

  “Oh, Whitney, thank you,” I said softly. “I’ll keep this forever.”

  And I knew that I would.

  “Dawn, Jeff, I’m glad to meet you.”

  Karina Whitaker held out her hand and shook our hands.

  “Hey!” said Jeff, and I could tell he was impressed.

  “I’m glad to meet you, too,” I said, and this time thought that maybe I meant it.

  We were about to go out on another one of our family dates with our father. But Karina actually seemed nice and normal: not too formal, not too loud, not too anything else.

  “Well, then, let’s go,” said my father, looking pleased. “The wonderful world of performances al fresco waits for no man. Or woman.”

  Performances al fresco meant performances outside. We were going to an outdoor band concert, classical music but cool-sounding classical music, with lots of special effects and neat-looking musicians. At least I thought they were neat-looking when we got there.

  I thought the crowd looked pretty cool, too. Lots of families with their baby-sitting charges, er, I mean their children, and an incredible variety of picnic baskets and chairs and blankets and food smells. We got there early to get a good seat and we did, close enough to watch the band (or maybe I mean orchestra) set up, but far enough away so we weren’t right in the middle of a gazillion people.

  Of course, Jeff spotted somebody he knew immediately and zoomed off after swiping a granola bar out of the basket. Dad and Karina and I laughed and began to spread out the blanket and the picnic.

  It was a pretty great picnic, if I do say so myself. I’d helped Mrs. B prepare it, and I enjoyed listening to Karina and my father ooh and ah as I took out tiny cherry tomatoes stuffed with spicy cheese filling; avocado, spinach, and red onion sandwiches with walnut oil vinaigrette on seven grain bread; mozzarella sandwiches with roasted red peppers and pickled mushrooms on Italian bread; peanut butter and apple butter sandwiches on whole wheat bread; new potato salad with dill; and grapes and strawberries and kiwi fruit salad with poppy seed dressing. Plus granola bars for snacks.

  “And for dessert we have cheesecake with raspberry sauce,” I announced, taking the last bottle of sparkling water out of the cooler.

  “This is amazing, Dawn,” said Karina. “You must have worked for hours.”

  “Healthy and delicious-looking,” said my father. “Thank you, Dawn.”

  “Anytime,” I said airily, but I was pleased. Then I saw Sunny and her family nearby. Sunny hadn’t seen us yet, so I jumped up. “I’m going to go say hello to Sunny,” I told Dad. “I’ll be right back.”

  Sunny didn’t see me until I was right behind her and tapped her on the shoulder. She turned and I realized she was wearing her radio headset.

  “Dawn!” she cried in a voice that you could hear all the way to the ocean.

  I winced and put my hands over my ears and pointed to the headphones.

  Sunny reached up, took them off, and grinned. “Sorry,” she said in a normal tone of voice.

  “This is supposed to be a concert,” I said.

  “Yeah, but what if I don’t like the music?” Sunny asked. “A good baby-sitter is always prepared.”

  “True,” I said. “But I think this is going to be kind of cool. Look, there are the Austins.”

  We turned and waved at the girls, then surveyed the crowd. The slope in front of the park bandshell was filling up fast.

  “Look at that,” said Sunny. “Someone brought a whole sound system practically. You’d think they could go without music until the concert started!”

  “Very prepared,” I said. “Or something!”

  We watched people and did the gossip thing until the musicians finished tuning up. Then I headed back to Dad and Karina. Jeff joined us a minute later and we sat down and began to load our plates.

  I speared a tomato and gave the sky (still blue, but turning dark with a few stars appearing) an approving glance, and a figure plunked down on the blanket next to me.

  “Dawn!” said Whitney happily. “You’re wearing your friendship necklace, just like me.”

  “Whitney, hey! Of course I am,” I said softly. “I didn’t see you.”

  “We just got here,” said Whitney. She turned and pointed behind her and I saw the Caters sitting a little ways away. I waved and they waved back and Mrs. Cater, who’d been leaning slightly forward, leaned back and seemed to relax.

  “What’re you eating? It looks good,” said Whitney.

  “Didn’t you bring a picnic?”

  Whitney shook her head regretfully. “We had dinner at home.”

  “Here,” I said, and fixed Whitney a sort of sampler plate with just a little of everything.

  “Karina, could you hand me the lemon salt?” I asked, pouring Whitney some soda.

  Karina didn’t answer. “Karina?” I handed Whitney the soda and looked over at Karina.

  Karina was looking at Whitney. With a sinking heart, I saw that the expression on her face was a familiar one: repulsion. And embarrassment.

  Hoping I was wrong (after all, it was getting dark), I tried again. “Karina? The lemon salt?”

  Karina looked away.

  I reached over and got the lemon salt myself.

  “MMMMM, this is good, Dawn,” said Whitney.

  “Cherry tomatoes with spicy cheese filling,” I said. “It’s sort of a variation on a recipe I had in this great vegetarian restaurant once.”

  “A vegetable restaurant?” asked Whitney.

  Beside me, Jeff nodded. “That’s exactly what it is,” he said. “No hot dogs. No hamburgers.”

  I laughed. “Not exactly,” I said. “But it’s true they don’t serve meat.”

  “Well, you could open a vegetarian restaurant anytime with this meal,” said Dad.

  Karina remained rigidly silent beside him, her eyes down on her plate, picking at her food.

  One of the musicians leaned forward and grabbed the mike. It made that horrible microphone sound and then he said, “Attention ladies and gentlemen …”

  “Perfect timing,” said my father. “Dessert is cheesecake and music.”

  “Cheesecake. I love cheesecake,” said Whitney happily.

  Karina, not quite looking at Whitney, said, “I think it is time you went back and joined your parents.”

  “That’s okay,” said Whitney. “They said I could stay if it was all right with Dawn.”

  “Great,” I said firmly. “I think you’ll like the cheesecake.”

  I cut cheesecake for Whitney, Dad, Jeff, and me. But not for Karina because when I got to her she said, “I couldn’t possibly.”

  “I ate a lot, too,” said Dad. “Wait a little while. You’ll have room. We’ll save you a piece, won’t we, Sunshine?”

  Poor Dad. I could tell he’d noticed Karina’s behavior, too. Now he was all nervous and jolly, trying to make things okay.

  Karina’s next remark didn’t help. “It’s not that I’m full. It’s just that the scenery has made me lose my appetite.”

  My father frowned. My mouth dropped open. Jeff, of course, kept on eating. And fortunately, Whitney didn’t seem to hear. Or if she did, she didn’t understand.

  “This is good, Dawn,” she said.

  “I’m glad you like it,” I managed to answer. “Listen, the music is about to begin.”

  I’d been right about thinking the music would be cool. It was. The musicians explained a little about each piece, played some variations on the opening bars of each one
so we could see what it might have sounded like at the time it was written, then launched into their own cool, funky versions of the classical pieces by guys like Bach and Mozart.

  “I like this,” said Whitney beside me. As the band launched into another piece, she stood up and began to try to dance, throwing her hands out and making up a song to go with the music. She sang loudly. Of course people turned to look, but Whitney kept on dancing and singing happily, not seeming to notice.

  Okay, it wasn’t the most appropriate thing to do at a concert. But it wasn’t as if it were a formal performance in Carnegie Hall or something, either. And at least Whitney was really enjoying the music, not just nodding off like some of the people around me. I reached up and caught Whitney’s arm and said, “Sounds good, Whitney, but I think some people want to listen to the music without the words.”

  “Oh, okay,” said Whitney cheerfully. She sat back down and turned her face toward the stage, and watched and listened intently all the way through to the end of the piece.

  Karina said, softly but clearly, “That was disgusting.”

  Had Whitney heard? No. I gave Karina the meanest look I could, then grabbed Whitney’s hand, stood up, and pulled her to her feet. “Come on, let’s go back to your parents.”

  We walked to them and Whitney said, “Dawn had a picnic. I had a picnic, too.”

  “Not too much,” I said. “A sample picnic. Whitney said you guys had dinner already.”

  Mrs. Cater smiled and said, “Great. Come on Whitney, sit here by me.” Whitney sat down and I said, “Do you mind if I join you for a while?”

  “Not at all,” said Mr. Cater. The Caters made room for me on their blanket and I stayed with them for the rest of the concert. I knew it was rude of me not to join Dad and Jeff and Karina, but I didn’t care.

  I didn’t care if I never saw Karina again. I couldn’t believe how rude and insensitive and totally obnoxious she had been about Whitney.

  What a big loser Karina was. Mentally, I drew a big, black X through her name on Dad’s date list.

  Mary Anne had a two-part job on Saturday afternoon: stay with the three Barretts while Mrs. Barrett ran errands, then stay with Mrs. Barrett and help her get dinner ready for Franklin and his four children. It was an unusual job, but when she described it to me later, we realized it went beyond unusual.

  Mrs. Barrett opened the door the moment Mary Anne knocked. She was beaming and without saying a word she held out her left hand. A beautiful ring sparkled on her third finger.

  “Oh,” gasped Mary Anne. “An engagement ring!”

  Mrs. Barrett nodded and stepped back. “Yes. The night of that cocktail party. He asked me then. It was so wonderful.”

  Mary Anne remembered that was the night that Claudia and Stacey had been sitting for the seven kids, and she remembered how happy the two adults had been acting. So that’s what it was! Love and a marriage proposal.

  “Ooh, this is so exciting!” cried Mary Anne. She was totally thrilled. A proposal meant a wedding, and to Mary Anne, the world’s most romantic and sensitive person, a wedding is a world-class event. Mary Anne threw her arms around Mrs. Barrett and gave her a big hug.

  Then she began to fire a million questions at Mrs. Barrett, like when was the wedding, and where, and where would they live, and would there be bridesmaids, and what was Mrs. Barrett going to wear.

  “Whoa,” said Mrs. Barrett, laughing. “The wedding is in December. Let’s see — we’ll all be moving into one house. I’ll take DeWitt for my new surname, but Buddy, Suzi, and Marnie will stay Barretts, of course. Buddy will be the ring-bearer and Lindsey will be the flower girl. I don’t know what I’m wearing yet. Or what flowers I’ll carry,” she added, anticipating Mary Anne’s next question.

  Mary Anne nodded but her mind was already racing ahead. “The BSC will help any way it can,” she promised (meaning that she especially would be glad to help with a wedding).

  Mrs. Barrett looked pleased. “Why, thank you, Mary Anne. That’s very sweet of you.”

  “This is so, so, so great,” said Mary Anne, clasping her hands together.

  “I think so, too,” Mrs. Barrett said, looking suddenly shy and actually blushing a little. Then she looked at her watch, shook her wrist, held her watch to her ear and cried, “It is accurate. Oh, I am late!”

  Mrs. Barrett practically flew out the door and it wasn’t until Mary Anne had waved good-bye that she realized that in all her excitement over the upcoming wedding possibilities, she hadn’t seen a single Barrett kid. She knew Marnie was taking a nap, but where were Buddy and Suzi? At least one of them usually met her at the door when she arrived.

  “Buddy?” she called (not too loudly, so she wouldn’t wake up Marnie). “Suzi?”

  No one answered, but she heard the sound of the television from the den.

  Sure enough, Buddy and Suzi were sitting on the sofa in front of the television.

  “Hey,” said Mary Anne, walking in. “What is this? Celebrity Mud Wrestling? I don’t believe it!”

  Buddy just kept staring straight ahead at the TV, his arms folded and his lower lip poked out. So did Suzi.

  “You guys, are you telling me you find mud wrestling more interesting than me? That hurts!”

  Suzi flashed Mary Anne a look out of the corner of her eyes. “You’re glad she’s getting married!” she said. “We heard you!”

  Well, that caught Mary Anne off guard. She’d been so into the whole wedding scenario that she’d forgotten that Buddy and Suzi might not feel the same way.

  “Oh. Yes, I am glad for your mother. She seems very happy,” Mary Anne answered carefully.

  “Well, we’re not!” Buddy burst out. “I hate all those DeWitts.”

  “Me, too!” echoed Suzi.

  “And I don’t want any more brothers and sisters, either.”

  “Me, too.” That was Suzi again.

  “Wow,” said Mary Anne softly, looking at the two highly agitated and very cross children in front of her. She pointed at the TV. “Do you mind if I turn this off?”

  “Okay,” said Buddy grudgingly.

  Mary Anne turned off the television, then turned to face the Barretts.

  “You know, my father got married again,” she began. “And I got a new family when he did. Now I have a new sister who is also one of my best friends and …”

  She didn’t get to finish.

  “No!” said Buddy. “NO! NO! NO!”

  “I don’t want to share my room with them,” cried Suzi. “I like my room. It’s my room.”

  “It’s not so bad to share …” Mary Anne tried again.

  “And it’s our house,” said Buddy. “We don’t need them in our house.” He bounced up off the sofa and looked around. “I know. I know what we can do.”

  “What?” Suzi bounced up, too.

  “We can DeWitt-proof the house. Like in that old movie, Swiss Family Robinson, when they build all those traps for the pirates, remember?”

  Mary Anne tried to look stern, but inside she was stifling a sympathetic laugh. The DeWitts as pirates? Good grief!

  “Yes!” Suzi nodded emphatically. “DeWitt traps!”

  With that, Buddy was off.

  Rather than try to talk Buddy and Suzi out of their project, Mary Anne decided to let them work some steam out of their systems for a while, tagging along to keep an eye on things to make sure they didn’t get out of hand. And maybe she could gradually make Buddy and Suzi see reason while she was at it. Then Mrs. Barrett could talk to them when she got home and help Buddy and Suzi de-DeWitt-proof the house before the dinner party.

  Buddy and Suzi’s first project was DeWitt-proofing their rooms. While Mary Anne watched, the two kids filled pans with water and put them just inside the door, tied strings to the door handles, and attached them to the backs of chairs so that the chairs would tip over when the doors were opened. Then they made big signs that said, “DeWitts keep out, or else!”

  “There,” said Buddy, helping Suzi tape up
the last corner of her sign on her door. “That should do it.”

  “It looks effective,” said Mary Anne truthfully.

  Buddy looked around, then said, “Ha!” A moment later he was carefully rubbing Vaseline on the doorknob of the bathroom he and Suzi shared. “See, I’m leaving this part in the back without Vaseline,” he explained to Suzi. “So we can open it, ’cause we know the secret.”

  Suzi nodded and helped Buddy make a sign that said, “Barrett bathroom only.”

  Next came the den. Buddy and Suzi made signs and put them on the chairs and sofa: Buddy’s, Suzi’s, Marnie’s.

  “You know,” Mary Anne tried again. “Kristy’s family is a combined family and it’s great. They have a lot of fun. There are as many as ten people in Kristy’s house sometimes, not counting their pets. It’s always interesting. Something amazing is always happening.”

  It was like talking to a wall. Buddy said, “I guess we can’t put signs on all the chairs. We’ll have to fix the other chairs special.”

  “I know!” cried Suzi. She charged off and returned a minute later with towels and a big container of cornstarch baby powder. Spreading the white towels across the seats of the unlabelled chairs, she dusted them liberally with powder.

  “When they sit down, it’ll make a big puff!” she said happily.

  “Excellent!” said Buddy.

  The rest of the afternoon went like that. The Barretts went from room to room, labeling things, making DeWitt traps (although Mary Anne stopped them from doing things like putting buckets of water on the edges of partly opened doors) and ignoring any positive thing Mary Anne might have to say about her combined family or Kristy’s, or about how much fun weddings might be.

  Finally she gave up, got Marnie up from her nap, and changed her clothes (and kept the kids from labeling Marnie as Barrett property). By the time they sat down to a snack of fruit and milk just before Mrs. Barrett was due back, the house was thoroughly DeWitt-proofed, and Mary Anne was contemplating spending at least part of the time scheduled for helping Mrs. Barrett with dinner before the DeWitts came over, taking down traps and removing signs.