Starting With Alice

  My lips seemed frozen shut. The Snoopy tie hadn’t helped as much as I thought it would.

  “Ruby tells me that you crossed the driveway in spite of her telling you to go back, and even when she blew her whistle, you went ahead.”

  The patrol girl had a name: Ruby.

  Mr. Serio went on. “It’s hard for me to believe you’d do that, because I haven’t had any bad reports about you from Mrs. Burstin. So what happened?”

  I opened my mouth, but my lips stuck together for a moment, they were that dry. “I did cross the driveway because she always makes me wait longer than anybody. When there’s a bus coming two blocks away, she still makes me wait, and it’s not fair.”

  My heart was beating so hard, I looked down to see if it was thumping through my T-shirt.

  “I know that it can seem a very long time when you’re waiting to cross—” he began, but I interrupted.

  “She hates me because I bumped into her once on the playground by accident and we both fell down. This morning she made me wait for two buses, and the second one was blocks away.”

  “Ruby did! I saw it too!” came a voice behind me, and I saw Megan standing in the doorway. The school secretary was coming up behind her, ready to snatch her away.

  Mr. Serio stared at Megan. So did I.

  “And what’s your name?”

  “Megan Beachy. I was on the other side of the driveway, and it’s just like Alice said.”

  I couldn’t believe Megan was there. That she would do this for me.

  “Well, I’ll have a talk with Ruby,” Mr. Serio said. “But meanwhile, we can’t have students disobeying the patrols, Alice. It’s especially important when younger children are watching. You understand that.”

  I nodded.

  “You too, Megan?” asked Mr. Serio.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “All right. You girls get back to class. And, Megan, when I want you to come to the office, I’ll let you know, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said.

  Out in the hall, I grabbed her hand. “Did you sneak out of class, or what?” I asked.

  “When I heard Mr. Serio call for you, I figured Ruby had told. So I asked to go to the restroom and came here instead. We can’t let her get away with that.”

  “Thanks, Syrup,” I whispered.

  “Anytime, Pancakes,” she said.

  My dad and I have never had secrets, and even though Mr. Serio didn’t send a note home or anything, I began to feel worse and worse that I hadn’t told him I had been called to the principal’s office the first time.

  So that night at dinner, while we were eating our tacos, I said, “I got called to the principal’s office, Dad.” Then I swallowed and said, “For the second time.”

  Dad and Lester both looked at me.

  “Alice!” Dad said, surprised. “What on earth for?”

  “Different reasons,” I said.

  “And… ?” Dad put down his taco, but Lester went right on eating.

  “Well, today it was because I crossed the driveway before the safety patrol girl said I could, and she reported me.”

  “Oh.” Dad picked up his taco again, but he didn’t eat it. “And why did you do that?”

  “Because she was making me wait on purpose. She hates my guts, and I was cold! But Megan heard Mr. Serio announce my name, and she came to the office too, and she said I was right—that Ruby makes me wait for no reason.”

  “And what did Mr. Serio say?”

  “That he’ll talk to Ruby.” I thought about how I was making it all sound like Ruby’s fault, and I wanted Dad to know that I realized this was serious. “And that if I cross the driveway in front of kindergarten kids when I’m not supposed to, they could follow after me and get run over.”

  “Well, that’s right, Alice. I’m glad you see his point.”

  “So what got you called to the principal’s office the first time?” Lester said, wishing for a little more excitement, I guess. He got it.

  I kept my eyes on my plate. “I told everybody that Uncle Charlie was murdered.”

  “You what?” Dad yelped, and this time he dropped his taco. A bean bounced off the edge of the table. Even Lester stopped chewing.

  “Well… he… he didn’t kill himself,” I said.

  “What does that have to do with anything?” asked Dad.

  I started to cry. My voice got tight and high, and I sounded like Oatmeal’s mew when we first got her: “W-When we got back from T-Tennessee, everyone was t-teasing me about being on a honeymoon with Donald Sheavers, and I had to make them s-stop. So I—I told them that—that Uncle Charlie got murdered.”

  Lester was staring as though I had just sprouted two heads.

  “But why would you tell them that?” Dad exclaimed.

  “S-So we could talk about something else besides honeymoons and kissing.”

  “It wouldn’t be enough to just tell them Charlie died?” he asked.

  “That would have made me cry,” I said, and cried all the harder.

  “Well,” Lester said, “you have to admit she’s creative, Dad.”

  Dad didn’t look quite as angry as he had before. He just studied me for a while, and then he asked, “How did Mr. Serio find out what you were telling everyone?”

  “I don’t know.” I sniffled. “I guess he heard the kids talking.”

  “Do they still think your uncle was murdered?”

  “I don’t know,” I said in a tiny little voice. “I told them the police are investigating.”

  Dad pushed his plate away from him and rested his hands on the table. “Sometimes, Alice, I just don’t know what to do with you.”

  I started bawling all over again.

  But suddenly Lester was standing up for me. “You know what this is, Dad? It’s the ‘new kid’ syndrome. Alice is new in school this year and kids are picking on her, and she’s trying to deal with it the best she can.”

  Dad’s shoulders slumped a little, but this time he smiled. “Okay, Al, but can you possibly keep out of the principal’s office for the rest of the year? Can you at least try?”

  That much I could promise. “I promise to try,” I said, wiping my eyes with my sleeve.

  A week later it was my turn to do something for Megan. I got to school about fifteen minutes early, and some of the fifth-grade boys had started a baseball game. They were using one guy’s jacket for third base, a piece of cardboard for second, and Megan’s backpack for first.

  When I walked up to where the Terrible Triplets were standing, I could see that Megan was trying not to cry.

  “They grabbed it right out of my hands,” she said. “They didn’t even ask.”

  “You give that back!” Jody shouted at the boys.

  “Relax! We just borrowed it!” the pitcher yelled. He threw the ball again; the batter hit it and went tearing over to first base, where he landed on the backpack and sent it skidding along in the dirt.

  “Safe!” somebody yelled.

  All the boys were cheering as the next one got up to bat. The first runner was standing with one foot on Megan’s backpack, ready to run to second base the first chance he got, and when the batter sent the ball flying, the first runner made it to second. The boy who hit the ball went racing over to first, jumped on the backpack, then made it to second. All the boys were shouting.

  “They’re ruining it!” Dawn cried.

  The third batter missed the first pitch. He missed a second one too. But when the pitcher threw the ball again, he hit it and ran to first, and the minute he started for second, I raced onto the field, almost colliding with the boy who was running to home base, grabbed Megan’s backpack, and went running back to her as all the boys yelled at me. All four of us, Megan and Jody and Dawn and I, ran to the school steps and stood panting there by the door, waiting to catch our breath.

  The backpack was a mess.

  When Megan unzipped it, the books were okay, but her notebook had come apart and her lunch was totally squashed.

/>   “I guess I should have got it sooner,” I said. Dawn and Jody were staring at me. The bell rang then and we all went inside, but as soon as I got to my desk, Rosalind came over.

  “What were you doing with them?” she asked.

  “Just rescuing a backpack,” I said.

  “They wouldn’t have done it for you,” she said.

  “You never know,” I told her.

  Later, as Megan passed by my desk, she dropped a tiny scrap of paper all folded up into a tiny square. When no one was looking, I unfolded it. Thanks, Pancakes! it read.

  Around the first of May, the Naked Nomads met in our basement again, and Rosalind came along. We invited Sara, too, and while all the noise was going on in the basement, the three of us sat on my bed with a big bowl of popcorn to make plans. I knew what I wanted to say, but I wasn’t sure how to say it.

  “You know,” I said at last, when I was sure both Rosalind and Sara had a mouthful of popcorn and couldn’t interrupt me for a few seconds, “it’s always the same with the Terrible Triplets. Why don’t we do something they couldn’t possibly expect?”

  “Like dump water on them?” said Rosalind.

  “Something they really wouldn’t expect,” I said.

  “Be nice to them?” said Sara.

  “Close,” I said. “Invite them to my birthday party.”

  Rosalind just stared.

  “When’s your birthday?” asked Sara.

  “May fourteenth.”

  “Are you crazy?” said Rosalind. “After all the work we’ve done to show them how stuck-up they are, we’re going to invite them to a party?”

  “That’s just what I mean,” I said. “Look how hard we work to keep on being enemies. They don’t have to be our ‘best’ friends, but why couldn’t they just be ordinary, everyday friends?”

  I could tell she didn’t think much of the idea. “Because they act stupid, trying to be triplets and everything,” she said.

  “But maybe they wouldn’t act so bad if we were nicer,” said Sara.

  “Yeah,” I said. “If they don’t come to the party and go on being stuck-up, well, at least we tried. I don’t want to start fourth grade next fall with the same people hoping I’ll break my neck on the monkey bars or something. I’ve already got Ruby mad at me.”

  “Who’s Ruby?”

  “The big patrol girl in fifth,” I said.

  “Did your dad say you could have a party?” Sara asked.

  “He said I could invite as many people as I am old. So I get to have nine people, counting myself.”

  “So who are you going to invite?” asked Rosalind. “The three of us, the Terrible Triplets, that’s six…”

  “There’s just one problem,” I added. “Dad says I have to invite Donald Sheavers.”

  “A boy?” screeched Rosalind and Sara together.

  “Because he lives next door and his mom takes care of me after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” I explained.

  “Who ever heard of a boy at a girl’s birthday party?” Rosalind said.

  “I thought I’d tell Donald he could invite two other boys from our class. Then there would be three of everything—three of us, the three Triplets, and three boys. Maybe the boys will act crazy enough that we won’t have to sit and glare at Jody and Dawn and Megan all evening.”

  “What if the Triplets don’t show?” said Rosalind.

  “They’ll come,” I said confidently, thinking that Megan would persuade them to come.

  “And if they don’t,” Sara said, grinning, “that’s all the more cake and ice cream for us!”

  It was risky business, I knew. I hadn’t made a very good start in third grade, but now that spring was here and everything was starting to bloom, it just seemed like a good time for change. On Monday, I sent invitations to Jody, Dawn, Megan, Sara, and Rosalind, and I took one next door to Donald and told him to invite two more boys from our class, I didn’t care who.

  “Okay,” said Donald.

  That Friday I still didn’t know whether anyone had received the invitations yet or not. I was thinking about the party when I suddenly heard someone yell, “Stop right there, McKinley!”

  I realized I had stepped off the curb without waiting for the go-ahead from Ruby. I froze, one foot in the air, and then stepped back on the curb. Ruby turned her back to me then, probably hoping I’d try to sneak across so she could report me again. She looked up and down the street. It seemed to take her a long time to figure out that no bus was coming, but finally she turned back to me.

  “Okay, McKinley, you can go,” she said.

  “Mother-May-I?” I said.

  Ruby stared at me a moment, but I was smiling.

  “Yes, you may,” she said, and it almost looked like she was smiling too.

  I crossed the drive taking scissor steps, as though we were playing a game. And Ruby actually laughed out loud. Was it possible that even Ruby and I could be friends?

  I went inside to our room, and when Megan saw me, she gave me the thumbs-up sign. That must have meant that Dawn and Jody had talked it over and decided to come to my party. I knew that Sara and Rosalind would come.

  “What about you, Donald? Have you picked two other boys for my party?” I asked.

  “Not yet,” said Donald.

  I began to wonder if inviting Donald would turn out to be a really huge mistake.

  19

  THE PARTY

  THE DAY OF MY NINTH BIRTHDAY party, I still didn’t know who Donald was going to bring. Dad began to wish he hadn’t said I could invite as many people as I had. “Once you turn ten,” he said, “that’s the limit.”

  “I don’t think there should be more than three,” said Lester.

  “Three!” I cried. “Why three?”

  “You, me, and Dad,” said Lester.

  An hour before the kids came, I took a bath and put some gardenia bubble soap in the water. I washed my hair and combed it. I chose white tights, a green-and-white-checked skirt, and a short-sleeved green top with tiny pearl buttons down the front. I wished I had some perfume. How could it be, I wondered, that I was nine years old now and still didn’t have any perfume or cologne?

  I went in Dad’s bedroom and looked on his dresser. I found a bottle of Calvin Klein cologne. I took the cap off and stuck my finger all the way inside until my whole finger felt wet. Then I wiped it across my forehead, down each cheek, across my chin, behind each ear, and under my elbows.

  I put on my black shoes with the shiny bows and went in the living room to show Lester how beautiful I looked.

  “Whew!” he said. “It smells like the Kiwanis Club just walked in here. What have you got on, Alice?”

  “Just some cologne,” I said.

  “It must be Dad’s. You’ve put on men’s cologne!”

  I stared. “You mean there are men’s cologne and women’s cologne?”

  “Of course.”

  “And they smell different?”

  “Sure do.”

  “How is a man’s smell different from a woman’s?”

  “I don’t know; it just is. Women’s perfumes are more like flowers and fruit, I guess, and men’s are more like animals.”

  What Lester was trying to tell me, I guess, was that I smelled like a skunk.

  I went in the bathroom, took a washcloth, and washed my forehead, my cheeks, my chin, behind my ears, and under my elbows. Then I went out in the kitchen and stuck my finger in a carton of orange juice. I wiped my wet finger across my forehead, down each cheek, across my chin, behind each ear, and under each elbow.

  “Are you ready, Alice?” Dad called from the other room. “I think I see some of your friends arriving.”

  I ran to the window and looked. There were Jody and Dawn getting out of a car. No, not them! I thought. I didn’t want them to be the first! What was I going to say with nobody else around?

  “Dad!” I cried. “It’s Jody and Dawn! What am I going to do?”

  “You’re going to open the door and sa
y, ‘Come in,’” said Dad. So that’s what I did.

  “Hi, Dawn. Hi, Jody. Come in,” I said.

  “Happy birthday,” they both said, and each handed me a present.

  I had a sudden, horrible feeling it would be dog doo. A terrible feeling that I would open their gifts in front of everybody, and it would be something so awful that it would make everyone sick. Like a frog’s intestines, maybe, and Jody would say, “That’s what we think of you!” and walk out.

  But just then Donald came over from next door, and I saw Megan coming up the sidewalk, and pretty soon Sara arrived with her hair freshly washed and combed, and then Rosalind. Finally the two boys came that Donald Sheavers had invited: Ollie Harris and… Cory Schwartz!

  Not Cory Schwartz! I wanted to scream. This party was going to be a disaster. This party was going to be awful!

  The boys wouldn’t even come into the living room. They just set the presents they had brought on the floor in the hallway, and then they started to whisper and laugh and punch one another, as all the girls tried to squeeze together on the couch. I went out in the kitchen to get Dad. Maybe I should just keep walking, I thought. Maybe I should go straight through the kitchen and on out the back door and keep going and not stop until I get to Delaware.

  “Dad!” I said. “What are we going to do now?”

  “Maybe you should play a game,” he said.

  But all the games I’d thought of seemed dumb. I didn’t think anyone wanted to play a game right then. My neck itched, and wherever I scratched, it felt sticky. The orange juice! I had to wash off the orange juice. I grabbed a paper towel and put it under the faucet, then rubbed my face and neck and arms.

  Suddenly I heard a lot of ahs and ohs, and I went back out in the living room. Oatmeal had walked into the room, and the girls had scooped her up in their arms and were passing her from one person to the next. The boys had got as far as the doorway to the living room and were calling to the cat and trying to get her to come over to them.

  I sat down on the floor with a piece of string. I pulled it along the rug, and Oatmeal leaped off the couch and crouched down, her back legs tense, her pupils huge, ready to spring. Everyone laughed.