But just as I saw Daphne, Michelle and Tony stepped in between her and me. They were laughing and talking, and as Michelle's eye caught mine, I smiled at her and pretended not to see Daphne.
Stuffing my parka into my locker, I grabbed my books and hurried down the hall to walk with Tracy.
"Oh, Jess, you should've come to Skateland with us. I never had so much fun." Tracy grabbed my arm and giggled. "Scott asked me to skate couples with him twice, and Michelle asked him if he likes me and he said yes!" She hugged her books, her eyes shining. "Michelle thinks he's going to ask me to go with him."
"Really? That's neat, Tracy." I tried to smile at her, but it made me uncomfortable to see her acting more and more like Michelle. If she got a boyfriend, she'd never be my friend again. She would do everything with Michelle and Tony and Scott, and I would never see her.
Before I could say anything else, Michelle rushed up and butted in between Tracy and me. "Guess what Tony told me?" she asked Tracy.
While the two of them talked about Tony and Scott, I walked along, feeling forgotten. Ahead of me in the hall, I saw Daphne all by herself. I wanted to catch up with her, but I didn't have the courage. Instead, I trailed along with Tracy and Michelle, pretending to be interested in what had happened at Skateland.
In English, Mr. O'Brien gave us fifteen minutes to work on our books while he walked around the classroom looking at our outlines and sketches.
Mustering my courage, I tried to get Daphne's attention. She seemed as remote as always, as if Saturday had never happened. Finally she looked up at me.
"When can you come over again?" I asked her.
She shrugged. "Probably next Saturday." Without waiting for an answer, she bent her head over a drawing of Princess Heatherfern. "Look, Jessica," she said to the paper. "You don't have to be my friend just because we're doing this book together. I know you probably didn't want to be my partner, so you don't have to worry about hurting my feelings or anything."
I stared at her hair, falling like a curtain between us, and I wished I could see her face. It was hard to talk to hair.
"It's true," I whispered. "At first I was mad, but I don't feel like that anymore."
Daphne shrugged, making her shoulder blades jut out sharply under her faded black turtleneck. "You didn't seem very friendly this morning."
"When?" I felt my face flush as I remembered how I'd avoided her in the hall.
"At our lockers before school started."
"I didn't see you," I mumbled.
She looked at me then and caught me with a burning red face. "You saw me, Jessica. You just pretended not to."
It was my turn to look away, to stare at my desk and wish I had a long curtain of hair to draw across my face. "I did not pretend. I really didn't see you, Daphne," I muttered.
She sighed. "Well, I'll come over on Saturday so we can finish the story."
Then the bell rang, and she was up and gone before I had even picked up my books.
In the cafeteria I sat down next to Tracy. Daphne was sitting at the end of a table about three rows away, but her back was to me. After our conversation in English, I was too embarrassed to look at her, let alone go and sit beside her.
"Does my hair look funny?" Tracy asked me. "When I was curling it this morning, I just couldn't get the two sides to look the same." She lifted a strand to show me, then dropped it scowling.
"Then, when I was looking for my best jeans, I found them in the dirty-clothes basket, and somebody had thrown a wet towel on top of them. I was going to spray some perfume on them—I thought it would hide the moldy smell from the towel. But then I noticed they had a big spot on the knee like I'd spilled ketchup on them or something, so I had to wear these, and they don't fit me nearly as well." Tracy plucked at her jeans. "Do they look too terrible, Jess?"
I shook my head, wishing I could think of a way to make her talk about something more interesting than her jeans and her hair.
I didn't have to worry long. Michelle and Sherry came over, and Michelle plopped her tray down next to Tracy. Leaning toward me, she said, "You and Daffy looked real friendly in English today."
Embarrassed, I stared down at my sandwich. "We were just talking about our book," I said. I wanted to say more, I wanted to tell them how different Daphne had been from her usual school self, but I knew they wouldn't understand. Somehow they'd turn it all around and start laughing at me.
"What was she like?" Sherry asked.
I saw her nudge Michelle, and I knew Michelle was trying not to laugh. "Yes, Jessica, tell us all about your Saturday with Daffy Duck," Michelle said, pretending to be very serious.
I shrugged. "I showed her the story and she started drawing the pictures. She's really a good artist."
"Is it about ducks?" Sherry asked, trying to keep her face straight.
"No, it's about mice." Somehow I knew they were going to think that was funny.
"Mice?" Sherry and Michelle started laughing. "Your story is about mice?"
Just as Sherry and Michelle were about to have hysterics, Tony, Scott, and Mike sat down at our table. Luckily for me, they forgot all about Daphne and me and concentrated their attention on the boys. Tracy, though, did give me a sympathetic look before she started teasing Scott about something he'd said to her before school.
For the rest of the week Daphne ignored me, and so did everyone else. Tracy, Michelle, and Sherry spent most of their time giggling and following Tony, Scott, and Mike up and down the halls. I was so unhappy that I had to force myself to get up and go to school, but I tried to act as if nothing was wrong. I was sure that if I let Michelle know that she was hurting my feelings, she would do worse things than pass notes like the one I saw in Science.
She had written the note to Sherry. After Sherry read it and giggled, she left it lying on her desk. Since I sat next to her, it was easy for me to see it.
"Once upon a time, Jessica Mouse built a little house," I read. Michelle had illustrated it with a crudely drawn mouse wearing glasses.
Unhappily, I stared at my textbook, trying to read the paragraph Mrs. Kaufmann was talking about, but the words blurred. They thought I was a baby, a mouse, a little nothing. Could I help being short and skinny? Could I help wearing glasses? It just wasn't fair. Nothing was fair.
Glancing across the room, I saw Daphne, half-turned away, gazing out the window at the wintry sky and bare trees. Before I could look away, she stared back at me for a second, her eyes catching mine. Then, tossing her hair, she turned back to the window.
On Saturday, I lounged around the house, afraid to go anywhere in case Daphne came to see me. She hadn't said an other word about doing any more work on the story, but I hoped she would show up.
At two o'clock, the doorbell rang. Daphne and Hope stood on the steps, shivering in the cold cold air.
"It's mice time!" Hope said, hopping up and down. "Squeak, squeak, Jessica!"
I laughed and invited them in for hot cocoa. This time, Mom was home, and she served us all some brownies we'd made earlier in the morning. That pleased Hope very much.
"Where do you put them all?" Mom asked Hope as she finished her fourth one.
"Right here!" Hope rubbed her tummy and laughed. She liked my mother a lot, but Daphne seemed as suspicious of Mom as she was of everybody. No matter how hard Mom tried to get a conversation going, Daphne sat silent as a statue, slowly eating one brownie and sipping her cocoa as if she were afraid of burning her tongue.
"Do you want to work on the story now?" Daphne asked. It was almost the first thing she'd said since she'd sat down at the kitchen table.
"Sure." We rinsed our cups and plates, grabbed our jackets, and ran outside.
As soon as we spotted the mouse house, I knew everything was all right. The roof was intact and, as soon as we took it off, I saw the three mice, still sleeping safely under my mitten.
The creek was frozen near the banks, but we built a raft and let the mice sail down the middle, past ice grottoes where Frost G
iants tried to catch them, between cliffs where trolls hurled boulders down at them, and finally to a safe landing on a pebbly strip of beach near a footbridge.
Once they were safely ashore, we built a new house for them. While the princess and the wizard rested, Hope and Baby Mouse went off to explore the forest.
"Do you still think the story should have an unhappy ending?" I asked Daphne.
She looked up from her sketch book. "Have you found Sir Benjamin in real life?"
I shook my head sadly. "Not a sign of him."
"Well, then, I don't think Princess Heatherfern should find him in the story. Sometimes people really do go away and you never see them again. Never." She shook her head, but she didn't look at me.
It bothered me the way she repeated "never." Her face looked so unhappy and her voice sounded as cold and dull as the winter wind sighing through the branches overhead.
"But this is a magical story," I said. "It doesn't have to be like real life. In stories you can make things come out the way you want them to."
Daphne shook her head. "Sir Benjamin is gone for good, and Princess Heatherfern has to accept that."
A gust of wind found its way down the back of my neck and I shivered. "Maybe you should write the story." Even to me, my voice sounded nasty. Babyish.
Daphne looked at me then. "I'm sorry, Jessica. It's your story. End it any way you please." Closing her sketch book, she got up.
"Where are you going? You haven't finished the drawings yet, have you?" I scrambled up, too.
She shrugged. "I don't want to be so late getting home this time. Just tell me how you want to end the story, and I can draw a few more pictures before I go."
I picked up Princess Heatherfern and stared at her bright little eyes. "Well, suppose she's standing here on this rock." Kneeling down, I stood the little mouse on a rock. "And she's looking down the river and wondering if she'll ever see Sir Benjamin again. Then Cragstar could climb up next to her." I looked at Daphne, silently entreating her to pick up the wizard and start the story going again. Without her help, I knew I couldn't finish the book.
Solemnly, Daphne placed the wizard next to the princess. "Ah, my lady," she said in her deep wizard voice. "Another day has passed and there is still no sign of him. You must accept the sad truth that he is gone forever. You will never see him more. Never, my lady, never."
At each "never" I winced, but I turned the princess toward Cragstar and said in a very brave voice, "But we will keep looking, Cragstar. We will never give up hoping."
Daphne shook her head, but whatever she was about to say was interrupted by a voice above us on the footbridge.
"What on earth are you doing, Jess?" Tracy was staring at Daphne and me.
"They're playing mice!" Michelle shrieked with laughter.
"We are not!" I sprang to my feet, lost my balance, and stepped into the icy creek. Yanking my soaked shoe out of the water, I glared at Tracy and Michelle. "We're writing our story!"
"Oh, sure." Michelle rolled her ten-speed bike along the bridge, still laughing. "Jessica Mouse, that's you. Why don't you grow up, little girl?"
Tracy frowned at Michelle. "They're just doing it so Daphne can draw them better."
Michelle laughed again. "Quack, quack, make way for ducklings!" Shoving off with one foot, she pedaled up the path, still laughing, and Tracy followed her, giving me one vexed look before she disappeared.
In the sudden silence, Daphne and I stared at each other. Nervously I shoved my glasses back up on my nose. Picking up Princess Heatherfern, I moved her to the edge of the rock. "Good-bye, cruel world," I said in a sad little voice and pretended I was going to drop her in the creek.
"No, no, my lady!" Daphne moved Cragstar in front of the princess. "We must never give up hope, remember?"
At that, I started to laugh and so did Daphne. My wet shoe, the expression on Tracy's face, the dumb little pink hat Michelle had been wearing, all seemed so funny that we laughed harder and harder.
"What's so funny? Why are you laughing?" Hope came running out of the woods. "Tell me, tell me!"
But neither of us could stop laughing long enough to tell her. Finally Daphne pulled herself together. "Where have you been, Hope?"
"At the tot lot. Baby Mouse had lots of adventures there." Hope capered about, laughing and singing a little song about Baby Mouse.
"Come on." Daphne swung Hope up and gave her a hug. "We have to go home."
"No, I don't want to." Hope squirmed and tried to get down. "I want to stay here and have some more adventures with the mice."
"No, no, we have to go, Hope." Daphne was insistent. "Remember how upset Grandmother was last week?"
"I'm tired," Hope said, sticking out her lip.
"Mom could give you a ride," I said.
"No, we can walk. Come on, Hopesy-Dopesy, I'll carry you piggyback." Daphne slung Hope around and settled her on her back. "Let's go!"
"Giddyup, horsey!" Hope shouted.
As they started galloping up the path, I called after them. "Are you coming back?"
But Daphne didn't answer. The wind was blowing harder, and Hope was still yelling "Giddyup!" Maybe she didn't hear me.
Stuffing the mice into my pocket, I jumped over the creek and ran across the open space, suddenly aware of how cold and wet my foot was.
"Where are Daphne and Hope?" Mom asked when I came in through the sliding door.
"They went home."
"I would have gladly given them a ride." Mom peered outside at the wintry dusk. "It's so cold out there. And it's such a long way. Do you think we should get the car and go after them?"
I shook my head. "I think it would make Daphne mad."
Mom sighed. "You're probably right." She looked at me. "Is Daphne always that quiet?"
"Not when we're playing the mice game." I blushed, realizing what I'd just said. "Not playing. I mean working out our story."
"She's a strange one." Mom turned to the stove and stirred something that smelled delicious. "Does she live with her parents or what?"
"Hope said their father went away, and they've never said anything about their mother. As far as I can tell, they live with their grandmother." I gave Mom a hug. "I think something sad has happened in their lives."
"Daphne does look unhappy." Mom gave me a nice warm hug in return. "Maybe their parents got a divorce and somehow the kids ended up with their grandmother. That happens a lot."
"Do you think stories should have happy endings or unhappy endings?" I asked Mom.
She looked a little surprised by my question, but she gave it some thought before answering. "I guess it depends on the story, honey. You wouldn't want to put a happy ending on if it would make the story seem false. The ending should be natural." She smiled at me. "Are you worrying about your Write-a-Book story?"
I nodded. "Daphne doesn't think the mice should find Sir Benjamin, but I kind of wanted them to. We compromised, though. They don't find him, but they promise to keep on looking for him. Do you think that sounds like a good ending?"
Mom nodded. "I hope you'll let me read it when you and Daphne are finished." She opened the refrigerator. "Want to fix a salad, Jess?"
"Sure." While I was chopping up a cucumber, I heard the front door slam.
"Hi, everybody. When are we eating?" Josh bellowed from the hall. "I'm starving."
Loping into the kitchen, Josh poked around in the salad bowl and grabbed a wedge of tomato.
"Hey, keep out of that! It's for dinner!" I shouted at him.
Turning to Mom, he picked up a spoon and stirred the contents of the frying pan. "What's all this junk on the chicken? Can't we ever have just plain old-fashioned fried chicken?"
Mom swatted him on the seat of the pants with the spatula. "It's tomato sauce and green peppers," she said. "Now go get cleaned up. Ed will be here in fifteen minutes."
"Is he eating here again tonight? He was just here last week. Can't he cook his own meals?" Josh scowled. "I thought you were so liberated,
and here you are, cooking up all this fancy stuff with tomato sauce all over it."
"That's enough, Josh!" Mom's face reddened, and I thought she was going to use the spatula in earnest on Josh's rear end.
Mumbling something else about tomato sauce, Josh poured himself a glass of milk and disappeared into the living room.
Mom sent me a questioning look, but I returned my attention to the cucumber. Slicing it as thin as possible, I avoided looking at Mom. Secretly I agreed with Josh about Ed, but I didn't want to start a family argument by saying so.
Not that there was anything wrong with Ed. He was nice, and for a man his age, he was still pretty good-looking. But having him around every weekend upset the balance in our house. He took too much of Mom's attention, for one thing, and for another, he made her act silly, like a teenager.
While I was tossing the salad, the doorbell rang, and Mom scurried down the hall to let Ed in. She was patting her hair and tugging at her jeans as if she were Tracy on the way to meet Scott instead of a middle-aged mother. Embarrassed, I glanced at Josh. He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and groaned.
"Hi, Jessie!" Ed bounded into the kitchen, all smiles, a bottle of wine in one hand and a half-gallon of chocolate-chip ice cream in the other. "Hi, Josh!"
We both smiled politely, and Josh caught the ice cream when Ed tossed it to him. Putting it in the freezer, Josh folded his arms, leaned back against the refrigerator door, and tried to look sulky.
"Boy, oh, boy, something sure smells good!" Giving me a wink, Ed followed Mom to the stove. "What does my favorite French chef have on the menu tonight?"
Mom flashed Ed a smile that Tracy would have envied. "Italiano, signore. Chicken cacciatore."
Ed gave Mom a kiss and hovered over the stove, lifting lids, stirring, sniffing, tasting. If he had been Josh, he would have gotten his fingers whacked more than once, but Mom just smiled and watched him.
"Wonderful, wonderful!" Ed smacked his lips and kissed Mom again. "My Italian grandmother couldn't have cooked up a better meal than this." Smiling at Josh and me, he gave us both a taste of the sauce.