“Please,” Sandra said.
“I’m not just saying that.” I thought back to how wimpy I was on the phone with Lars, how I couldn’t even come up with a way to say “I want to hang out with you this weekend, end of story.”
I thumped my chest with my fist and said, “Seriously. This—me—is what unbrave looks like, ‘kay?”
“Yes, Marla. Whatever you say, Marla.”
“I’m occasionally brave in certain situations—”
“Security guards named Max?” Sandra said. “Possible threats of incarceration?”
“But when it comes to important stuff, I blow it. Every. Single. Time.”
Sandra considered. She glanced at me and said, “Are you by any chance talking about Lars?”
“No!” I said, horrified that my inadequacies were so glaringly obvious. Then I folded my arms over my chest. “Wait a sec. Are you using your superintuitive big sister vibe, or did you overhear my pathetic phone call?”
She laughed. Slowing down for a light, she said, “But, Winnie.”
“But, Sandra.”
“Didn’t we already discuss this?”
“Discuss what?”
“How you can’t be a bystander in your own life. How you have to take initiative.”
“No,” I said, eyeing her. Was she making things up now, my sister the mute? Had she gone crazy?
“Yeah-huh,” Sandra said. “A couple of months ago, when Lars broke up with you, or you broke up with him. Whatever.”
Oh, that, I thought, sliding down in my seat.
“And when you were in the middle of your little breakup, what did I say? I said, ‘Winnie, if you want him back, you’ve got to tell him that. Grab the bull by the horns!’”
“It’s mean to say my ‘little breakup,’ and actually, no. You never once told me to grab the bull by the horns.”
“And you did, didn’t you?” she said smugly. “You grabbed Lars’s horns—”
“I did not grab Lars’s horns!”
‘And you took control.” The light turned green, and she pressed down on the accelerator. ”You did, Winnie.”
I drew my thumb to my mouth, wedging my thumbnail into the crack between my front tooth and the tooth beside it. Lars and I did have a rough patch a couple of months ago, Sandra was dead right about that. It was around Valentine’s Day—the most awful timing ever—and it centered around the whole Brianna thing. How Lars let Brianna flirt with him, and didn’t discourage her and how it made me feel like dirt.
So I called him on it, and we broke up.
And in the aftermath, Sandra helped me realize that being broken up wasn’t what I wanted. What I wanted was just ... to like him, and have him like me back, and have fun together and be normal together. And not feel nervous about telling him what was on my mind.
Yet what had happened after we got back together? I’d been strong, outspoken Winnie for a second, maybe. But look at me now: I’d totally reverted to wimpy Winnie. Ugh.
“Stop the car!” I barked.
Sandra looked sideways at me.
“Okay, don’t stop the car,” I amended. “But would you turn around? Please? And take me to Lars’s house for one incredibly quick second?”
“Winnie. Mom’s probably got dinner ready. She’s probably wondering where we are.”
“Just for a microsecond. I swear.”
She sighed, then eased up on the accelerator. She pulled into a driveway and turned around.
“Thank you thank you thank you,” I gushed.
“You better remember this when I need one of your kidneys,” she growled.
At Lars’s house, I lobbed pebbles at the window of his upstairs bedroom, something I’d always wanted to do. It was such a “romantic comedy” moment, not that we were in a romantic comedy.
But if we were in a romantic comedy, the guy would—suddenly appear! Yes! There he was, my beautiful sweet Lars, obviously surprised to see me. I gestured for him to come down, and he nodded and disappeared from view.
As I waited, my stomach filled with butterflies. But when Lars slipped through the front door and came over to me, I didn’t hesitate. A single moment of fear could do me in. I knew that.
I grabbed his shoulders, rose to my toes, and kissed him. I was light-headed when I finally pulled away. As for Lars, he looked dazed ... but in a good way.
Sandra honked. “Marla!” she bellowed through the open window. “Get a move on!”
“Marla?” Lars said, confused.
I touched my nose to his. Then I covered his ears with my hands so I wouldn’t burst his eardrums.
“Keep your pants on, Fanny!” I hollered.
Lars drew his eyebrows together. He was so adorable.
“Gotta go,” I told him. “But we have got to figure out a way to hang out this weekend, okay? Maybe Sunday brunch?”
He nodded. “And afterward we could go on a bike ride or something. Um, spend the whole day together.”
“That would be awesome,” I said happily. I kissed him one more time, not afraid at all.
I Stand Corrected
ON APRIL FIFTEENTH, Sandra got her acceptance letter to
Middlebury, which was her top choice college. On April sixteenth, Dinah got suspended from Westminster.
Dinah.
Suspended.
The rumors flying through the junior high halls blew my news about Sandra right out of the water.
“Did you hear about Dinah?” Louise said, running up to me between third and fourth periods.
“Oh. My God,” Malena said to Gail, the two of them miraculously materializing by my locker before Louise could elaborate.
“I know,” Gail replied. “I mean, we all knew she had issues.” She arched her eyebrows. “But a klepto?”
A klepto? My jaw dropped, and Malena smirked. I’d given them just the reaction they’d hoped for.
“Worst thing?” Malena said, supposedly to Gail but really to me. “From all reports, she didn’t even steal good stuff.” Snicker snicker. “All she stole were more of those crap kitty-cat shirts she wears.”
“I know,” Gail said. “If she’s going to steal, she should at least steal Gucci.”
“Pathetic,” Malena said.
I banged shut my locker. “No,” I said, facing them dead on. “What’s pathetic is having a pretend conversation just so I’ll listen in. If you’re so desperate for attention, go make an appointment with the counselor.”
Gail and Malena eyed me with twin sets of narrow eyes. Then Gail altered her features to convey fake sympathy at having to be the one to clue me in.
“Um, y-y-yeah,” Gail said. “Only, like, the counselor’s totally booked? She’s too busy telling Dinah’s father what a klepto his daughter is.”
She and Malena flounced off, peals of laughter trailing behind them like sick moths. I turned to Louise.
“What’s going on?” I said. “Dinah doesn’t steal.”
Louise fidgeted, which was out of character, as Louise was a gossip and loved a good scandal. On the other hand, she did go to elementary school with me and Dinah. The three of us had known each other forever.
She touched my arm. My chest felt fluttery.
“They found all sorts of stuff in her locker,” she said. “Not crap. Not Gucci, either. But not kitty-cat shirts.”
“So? People do keep stuff in their lockers. That’s what lockers are for.”
“It was makeup, mainly.”
“And again ... so? Dinah wears makeup.” Sometimes, I added silently.
“But this was lots of makeup, still in its packaging. Bobbi Brown, MAC, Stila. A supercute bottle of Gwen Stefani perfume called Lil’ Angel, which is, um, kind of ironic.”
I was having trouble breathing. There were too many people in the hall, and too many of them were looking at me, no doubt thinking all sorts of shocked and gleeful thoughts about how Dinah—my best friend—was a makeup hoarder and a shoplifter.
Only, she wasn’t. I knew my Dinah, and she
wasn’t either of those things.
“Louise,” I said. “Dinah does have money. Her dad’s not crazy rich, but Dinah has her own credit card that she’s authorized to sign for. Why would she steal makeup when she could just buy it?”
“I think it was more like—”
“No,” I interrupted. “So Dinah has a lot of unopened makeup; that doesn’t make her a thief. Did anyone come right out and say, ‘Hey, Dinah, what’s up with this?”’
Louise tried to speak. Once more I rode over her.
“Maybe she bought them to give as birthday presents. Or maybe she wants a fresh image. Or maybe she was attacked by a very forceful Sephora salesclerk. You know how hard it is for her to say no!” I set my shoulders. “But if Dinah said the makeup is hers, it’s hers. Case closed.”
Louise nodded. She waited to make sure I was done. And then she said, “Except ... she didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?”
“When Ms. Perkins called her into her office, Dinah had a breakdown and confessed.”
“Confessed what?”
“That the makeup was stolen. Winnie, Dinah admitted flat out that she didn’t pay for any of it.”
My brain operated in slow gear. “But ... I mean ...”
The bell rang.
I’ve got to go to class,” Louise said with unsettling gentleness. ”I just thought you should know.”
Speculation about Dinah ran rampant. Most theories were outlandish: that her father was so furious he was shipping her off to military school. That, in fact, she was already gone. Or that she’d been checked in to Georgia Regional Mental Hospital because she thought she was a vampire, and that’s what the makeup was for—so she could disguise her paleness in the light of day. Or, according to Lucy, a girl in my algebra class, the real issue was Dinah’s bulimia. Only, make that Dinah’s nonexistent bulimia.
“A) Dinah’s not bulimic,” I said flatly. “And B) Just say she was. She’s bulimic ... and so she steals makeup?”
Lucy pulled her algebra book, a binder, and a purple jeweled pen from her messenger bag. She arranged them fastidiously on her desk. “It’s a control issue,” she said. She laid a second pen by the first, lining them up so they were parallel. “Instead of food, she gorges on product.”
I’d never bonded with Lucy. Now I knew why.
Yet some of the stories possessed just enough of a maybe to worry me. I gnawed at the skin around my thumbnail until a whole chunk peeled free. It was gross.
And, making everything infinitely worse, I couldn’t find Dinah all day, or get her to answer any of my texts. Maybe she’d lost her cell phone privileges? I called her landline the minute I got home, and my muscles loosened when she finally picked up.
“Winnie, I’m such a bad friend,” she said. Her voice was thick from crying.
“No, you’re not,” I said. Although what did I know?
“I am,” she insisted. “I’m a horrible, horrible friend!”
“Oh, Dinah,” I said. Off the record, I was gratified at her willingness to admit she’d done me wrong by not coming to me earlier. Way earlier. But this wasn’t about me. This was about her. Anyway, the best way for her to stop being a horrible friend was to simply come clean.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened,” I suggested.
“What happened is that I got Mary suspended! ” Her voice ratcheted to a new level of frenzy. “Now she’s suspended instead of me!”
“I’m sorry ... huh?”
“I’m suspended, too, but only for one day, and I get to make up any work I miss. But Mary’s suspended for a whole week, and it goes on her permanent record!”
I didn’t speak.
“See? I am a bad friend! A horrible, horrible friend!”
I still didn’t speak. I felt cold inside.
“Winnie, say something,” she begged. “Mary already hates me. Now you’re starting to worry me, too!”
“Yes, but you see, I thought you already were worried about me,” I said, pinching off the words. “I thought you meant a bad friend to me, because you didn’t come to me with your shoplifting problem, which I didn’t even know you had.”
Dinah fell silent. Then she started crying again. I could hear the muffled sounds of it, and I couldn’t bear it.
“So Mary’s behind all this?” I asked. “Mary Woods?”
“Well, yeah, it’s her makeup—didn’t you know?”
Irritation resurfaced. “How would I? You sure didn’t tell me!”
“Don’t be mean to me,” she whispered.
I tried to smush my anger back. I did. Or at least to redirect it at Mary, with her crafty fox-face. Cute shirt, Winnie! Cinnamon, love your nails. Dinah ... don’t tell.
“Was she blackmailing you?” I asked.
“What? No.”
“But you said it was her makeup. Hers, as in she owned it? Or hers as in she stole it?”
Dinah didn’t answer.
“Why did she put it in your locker?” I demanded. “Did she do it without your knowing it? Omigod, did she set you up on purpose?”
“Winnie ...”
“So Mary Woods is a shoplifter,” I pronounced. “What a loser.”
“She has a problem,” Dinah said faintly.
“Omigod, are you defending her? ” I should have stopped there, but I didn’t. “Are you a shoplifter, too?”
“Winnie!”
Hey, can’t blame me for asking, I thought. Since there’s so much else you haven’t told me.
“You’re making me feel worse instead of better,” Dinah said. “I’m not a shoplifter, and I would think you would know that.”
“I would think I would, too,” I shot back.
“Mary has a problem,” she repeated, and now her words came out forcefully. “Shoplifting is an addiction, and it’s really hard for her, and it’s not your place to judge her.”
“Dinah—”
“And I let her keep her stuff in my locker because ... well, I don’t know why.” She sniffled. “And I promised I wouldn’t tell, but I broke under pressure! I broke, all right? Are you happy?! ”
I wasn’t. I’d started off mad, and I still was. But now a thread of fear moved through me. She was being ... so not Dinah.
“Okay, um ... wow,” I said at last. I sounded flat. “That really sucks. I’m so sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry.” The fight had gone out of her, and if I sounded flat, she sounded ... well, a step below that, even. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ll, um, talk to you later.”
She hung up.
She didn’t come to school the next day, since she was serving her suspension. I still couldn’t believe it. Dinah.
“Well, maybe that’s why,” Louise said at lunch.
“Maybe what’s why?” Cinnamon said.
“Why Dinah did it. Maybe she wanted to prove there’s more to her than people think.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said.
“Is it?” Louise said, taking a bite of her sandwich. She was sitting with Cinnamon and me, and I think she liked being a member of our group, even though it was only for today. “Maybe she was sick of always being the good girl.”
“But she is a good girl,” I said. “That’s who she is. Weird Mary just corrupted her.”
“Personally, I think people are making too big a deal out of it,” Louise said. “What she did wasn’t even all that bad.”
“Are you kidding me?” I said. “She’s a shoplifter!”
Other kids glanced over. I blushed, realizing I was being a little loud.
“I’m talking about Dinah,” Louise said. She regarded me quizzically. “Dinah didn’t shoplift.”
“Yeah, well, she was an accomplice!” I was aware that I couldn’t have it both ways: Dinah is bad right up there next to Dinah is my sweet, innocent Dinah. My emotions were all tangled up, though. I’d known Mary was bad news. I’d written myself that note on my iPhone application: FIND OUT WHAT’S UP WITH MARY WOODS!
But th
en I’d ignored it. I’d made progress on my To-Do-Before-High-School list—whoopee—but I’d let the Mary Woods issue slide.
Was it too late? Should I add “Kick Mary Woods’s Butt” to my To-Do-Before-High-School list, or would that be cheating?
“Gail says it’s abandonment issues,” Cinnamon said. “Lucy Blare thinks she’s got bulimia.”
“Lucy Blare is an idiot,” I said.
“True dat,” Cinnamon said. “I was like, ‘Lucy, Dinah’s not bulimic. She’s chubby.’ ”
I gaped at her. I flung out my hands to say What?!
“If she was bulimic, she’d be throwing it all up,” Cinnamon explained. “Hence, no calories. Hence, not chubby. Get it?”
“You do know how wrong that is, right?” I stated. “On so many levels?”
Cinnamon pushed a French fry into her mouth as a single piece, from tip to end. She drew out her finger with a pop.
“Go see her,” Louise suggested.
I looked at her from beneath my bangs.
“I’m not saying cut class,” Louise said. “Just, after school. And instead of you talking, let her.”
She made sense. It ticked me off.
“Think Sandra would take us?” Cinnamon asked me. “Probably,” I said reluctantly.
“Can I come?” Louise said. Cinnamon and I shared a glance.
“Maybe it should just be me and Winnie,” Cinnamon said. “But, um, we’ll tell her ‘hey’ for you.”
Dinah lived in a white brick house with yellow flower boxes. The flower boxes were one of Dinah’s favorite projects to care for, and I couldn’t count the times I’d basked in the sun on her front steps as she moved from blossom to blossom with her big-spouted watering can.
Dinah hadn’t planted this year’s flowers yet.
Cinnamon rang the doorbell. “Remember,” she instructed me, “be cool.”
“I’m always cool,” I replied.
“Well, be kind,” she elaborated.
I’m always kind, I almost said, but stopped myself.
She rang the bell again, then rapped on the door.
“Coming!” we heard Dinah call. There were thunky footfalls, and she opened the door. She was pale, and her eyes were puffy.
“Oh,” she said when she saw it was us.