Later, when we packed up my Barbies and put them away, we vowed never to tell anyone we had played with them that afternoon.
The next day I was sitting in French class daydreaming about Alison. About how her life sounds just like a fairy tale. It would make a good movie, I thought. It would be called The Alison Monceau Story. It would star Gena Farrell as Alison’s mother and Alison as herself and I would play her best friend. Stephanie Behrens Hirsch it would say on the screen. Maybe Rachel could play Alison’s biological mother. With makeup and a wig she could probably look Vietnamese and she could certainly look fifteen. Jeremy Dragon could play …
“Stephanie!” Mrs. Hillerman shouted. “Will you please wake up!”
“What … me?”
The class laughed.
“I’ve lost my place,” I said.
“I don’t think you ever had it,” Mrs. Hillerman said. And then she said something to me in French, something I didn’t understand, and the whole class laughed again.
Macbeth
Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Rachel taught us this poem from Macbeth, by William Shakespeare. We’re going to dress up as the three witches from the play and recite the poem instead of saying “Trick or Treat” on Halloween. We’re not interested in “Trick or treating.” We’re interested in using it as an excuse to get into a certain person’s yellow house.
On Halloween night we put on the weirdest clothes we could find, plus junk jewelry and witches’ hats. We also used gobs of makeup from Gena Farrell’s makeup collection. Alison showed us how to do our eyes. When Gena saw us she said, “The three of you are really something!”
It took us twenty minutes to walk to my old house. Once you’re on Pine Tree Road you still have to go down a quiet lane to the end, then up a long, steep driveway, through the woods.
“How long did you live here?” Alison asked.
“Almost all my life until last summer.”
The outside lights were on and a carved pumpkin sat on each side of the front door. “It’s a big house,” Alison said, looking around.
“Yeah ….” I nodded and rang the bell. It was hard to think of another family living in my house.
Jeremy answered the door. He wasn’t wearing his chartreuse jacket. “Witches,” he said, looking us over.
We stepped into the foyer. “Not just any witches,” Alison told him. “We’re the three from Macbeth.”
“Macbeth …” Jeremy said. “Wasn’t that on TV?”
“Macbeth is a play by William Shakespeare,” I told him, as if I knew all about it.
“Oh, that Macbeth,” Jeremy said.
Rachel, who hadn’t spoken yet, gave us the sign to recite our poem.
“Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Jeremy said, when we’d finished. Henry, the termite dog, came down the stairs and sniffed us. Then he wandered off through the dining room.
“I used to live here,” I told Jeremy, as he dropped a Heath bar into each of our bags.
“Oh, yeah …” he said, “my father mentioned something about a girl who used to live here.”
“Stephanie,” I said. “Stephanie Hirsch. We met at my mother’s travel agency … remember?”
He gave me a blank look.
“You and your friends needed brochures for a school project,” I reminded him.
“Oh, right …” he said. “You look different.”
“I wasn’t wearing a witch’s hat that day.”
“And you bought brownies from us at the bake sale,” Alison said.
“Those brownies were the best,” Jeremy said. “I could’ve put away a dozen.” Then he looked right at Rachel and he said, “You’re Rachel, right?”
Rachel didn’t say anything. She just gave us the sign to recite our poem again.
“Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.”
When we were outside I grabbed Rachel’s arm and said, “He knew your name.”
Rachel ignored me. So I asked, “How does he know your name?”
“How should I know?” Rachel said, sounding angry, as if it were my fault Jeremy knew her name. She ran the rest of the way down the driveway and when we were back on the road she said, “We’re too old for this! I don’t know what got into me! I don’t know why I agreed to it!” She sounded on the verge of tears. “I’m going home!”
“Don’t go now,” Alison said, running to catch up with her. “We haven’t been anywhere yet. We haven’t been to Eric Macaulay’s or Peter Klaff’s or …”
“You’re going to spoil all our fun!” I called, chasing Rachel, who was walking very fast. “How can we be the three witches from Macbeth without you?”
Rachel sniffled. “Okay … but I’m never doing this again.”
“Fine,” I told her. “You don’t have to.”
But we didn’t have much fun after that. So we headed for home.
The next day, at the end of math class, Mr. Burns gave me a note to take to another math teacher, Mrs. Godfrey. I got to Mrs. Godfrey’s room just as the bell rang and the door opened. Jeremy Dragon was the first one out. “Hey, Macbeth …” he said when he saw me.
At least he recognized me this time.
Then Dana Carpenter came out. “Hi, Steph … what are you doing here?”
“I’ve got a note for Mrs. Godfrey,” I said. “What class is this?”
“Enriched math.”
“Oh,” I said.
“I’ve got to run,” Dana said. “See you later.”
“Okay.”
I waited while the ninth graders trudged out of Mrs. Godfrey’s room. Then, just as I was about to go in with the note, who should come out but Rachel!
We stared at each other.
“What are you doing here?” Rachel asked, sharply.
“I’ve got a note for Mrs. Godfrey,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
Rachel brushed past me and began to walk down the hall. I followed her. “I said what are you doing here?”
“They switched me to this class.”
“They switched you to this class … to enriched math?”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?” I said. “You never said anything about it?”
“What should I have said?” Rachel stopped and we faced each other.
“You should have said that you were switched to enriched ninth grade math!” I told her. “That’s what you should have said.”
“Will you stop saying it like that!” Rachel’s lower lip quivered.
“Like what?”
“Like it’s something bad I’ve done.”
“I didn’t say it was bad,” I told her. “I just said it’s a big surprise!”
Rachel didn’t say anything.
“So how long have you been in this enriched ninth grade class?” I asked.
“Since the second week of school,” Rachel said, quietly, looking at the floor.
“The second week of school!” I said, my voice growing louder. “Well, isn’t that interesting! Were you ever going to tell me?”
“I wanted to,” Rachel said, “but I was afraid you’d be mad.”
“Mad!” I said. “Why should I be mad? Just because Jeremy Dragon knows your name and you tell me you don’t know how? I should be mad over a little thing like that? Just because I’m supposed to be your best friend and you keep a secret like this from me?”
“I wasn’t sure I would like the class,” Rachel said. “I didn’t think there was any point in telling you until I’d made up my mind. And I didn’t know, until last night, that he knew my name.”
I felt this huge bubble of anger rising from my stomach. When it got to my throat I shouted, “Oh … who cares!” and I marched away from Rachel, holding my books tight against my chest.
“Look,” Rachel said, keeping up with me, “I
didn’t ask to be born this way.”
“What way?” I snapped.
“The way I am.”
“What way is that?”
“Smart.” Rachel practically spit out the word.
“You’re not just smart,” I told her.
“Okay … so I’m not just smart. It still isn’t my fault. It just happened. It’s not something I work at, you know. It’s not something I especially like about myself. Most of the time I wish I could be like everyone else … like you!”
“Thanks a lot!”
“I meant that in a friendly way, Steph.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even know what I was feeling. All I knew was this was the first time Rachel had ever kept a secret from me.
“Does this mean you don’t want to be my friend anymore?” Rachel’s voice broke, as if she might cry any second.
“No,” I said. “It doesn’t mean anything except you should have told me about that math class yourself.”
“You’re right,” Rachel said, “I know that now.”
The second bell rang. I ran to my next class and didn’t realize, until I got there, that I still hadn’t given Mrs. Godfrey the note from Mr. Burns. So I ran all the way back to Mrs. Godfrey’s class and was late getting to my own.
Confessions
I know, deep down, it’s not Rachel’s fault she’s so smart or that she was switched to enriched math. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. How can you be best friends with someone who keeps secrets from you? Important secrets, like being in enriched math.
I didn’t say anything to Alison about Rachel that afternoon. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t have the chance. Leon picked us up after school and drove us to town. It was raining. The three of us had to go to the library to look up information for our first social studies report. All the seventh graders have the same assignment: to do a report on someone who has made a major difference to the world.
Leon dropped us off at TCBY, the frozen yogurt place. The letters stand for The Country’s Best Yogurt. Alison is really into frozen yogurt. She says everybody in California loves it. Rachel likes it, too. I used to think it was gross but now I’m getting used to it. I ordered a hot fudge sundae which the menu describes as swirls of french vanilla yogurt with hot fudge and whipped topping sprinkled with pecans. Alison and Rachel ordered Smoothies. A Smoothie is a yogurt and fruit juice drink.
When our order was ready we carried it to a table. As soon as we sat down Rachel said to Alison, “I have something to tell you.” She took a long sip of her Smoothie. “Remember those math tests we took the first week of school?”
“Uh huh,” Alison said. “That’s how Mr. Burns found out I’d lost my skills.”
Mr. Burns is always telling Alison she’s lost her skills. Alison keeps trying to explain she never had those skills in the first place.
“Well …” Rachel said, glancing at me, then turning her attention back to Alison. “After those tests I got transferred to another math class.” She paused and took another sip of her Smoothie. “I got transferred to a more advanced math class.”
“I’m not surprised,” Alison said.
“It’s enriched ninth grade math,” Rachel said.
“No kidding,” Alison said. She licked some Smoothie off her upper lip.
“I’m in Dana Carpenter’s class,” Rachel said.
“I like Dana,” Alison said.
“And Jeremy Dragon is in my class, too.”
Alison put down her glass and did look really surprised. Now she’s going to let Rachel have it, I thought. Now she’s going to tell her that friends don’t keep secrets like that.
But all Alison said was, “I never knew Jeremy was smart. I mean, he thought Macbeth was a TV show!”
“I guess he’s smarter at some things than others,” Rachel said.
“So is that what you wanted to tell me?” Alison asked, slurping up the rest of her Smoothie.
“Yes,” Rachel said.
“Well, congratulations,” Alison said. “Maybe you could help me with my decimals and percentages. I can’t do pre-algebra until I’ve got them down.”
“Sure,” Rachel said, “any time.”
I could see the relief on Rachel’s face, and to tell the truth I couldn’t understand why Alison reacted to Rachel’s news as if it was just ordinary school stuff. But I didn’t say anything. I just sat there spooning up my yogurt sundae, wishing it were ice cream instead.
“I have something to tell you, too,” Alison said to Rachel. “Maizie doesn’t talk. I made that up to get you and Steph to like me.”
“I’ve always known that.” Rachel looked at me. “It’s Steph who believes everything she hears.”
“She already knows about Maizie,” Alison said.
“Really?” Rachel said. “Since when?”
“Since the day we went to Sadie Wishnik’s house to bake brownies,” Alison told her.
“That was weeks ago,” Rachel said, glaring at me. I spooned up the sauce from the bottom of my dish and licked it off the spoon.
“I asked Steph to let me tell you myself,” Alison explained.
“I see,” Rachel said, quietly.
“Just like you got to tell Alison about your enriched math class yourself,” I said to Rachel.
“You knew about her math class?” Alison asked me.
“I wouldn’t exactly say I knew … I just found out today … by accident.”
We just sat there. No one said anything. Finally Rachel stood up and gathered her books. “We should get going. We’ve got a lot to do at the library.”
Alison and I got our things together, too. Outside, it had stopped raining.
“Who are you doing your report on?” Rachel asked Alison as we headed for the library.
“Martha Graham,” Alison said. “She practically invented modern dance. What about you?” she asked Rachel.
“Margaret Mead. She was a famous anthropologist. How about you, Steph … who are you doing?”
“Jane Fonda.”
“Jane Fonda!” Rachel said. “What major difference has she made to the world?”
“She got a lot of people to exercise,” I said.
Rachel snorted. “I don’t think that’s the kind of difference our teachers have in mind.”
“I’m not so sure,” Alison said. “Jane Fonda is a very important person. Everybody in L.A ….”
“We’re talking about the world,” Rachel said, “not L.A.”
“I know,” Alison said, “but besides exercise she’s a very good actress. My mother’s always saying she’d love to be offered half the roles Jane Fonda gets.”
Rachel shook her head. “I don’t know about the two of you.”
That night I went to Mom’s room. She was stretched out on her chaise lounge, reading. That’s her favorite place to relax. “Rachel’s been transferred to enriched math and she never even told me.”
Mom looked at me over the top of her glasses. They’re half glasses. She wears them for reading. She tucks in her chin when she looks over them, giving her face a funny expression.
“She’s so smart!” I said, sitting on the edge of the chaise lounge.
“You’re smart, too, honey,” Mom said.
“Not smart like Rachel.” I picked up a small, white pillow and held it to me.
“Rachel is gifted,” Mom said.
“Gifted,” I repeated, trying out the word.
“Does it bother you that she’s been placed in enriched math?”
“It’s not just any enriched math,” I said. “It’s ninth grade enriched math.”
“You know, Steph … life isn’t easy for Rachel.”
“Are you kidding? She can get straight A’s without even trying.”
“I’m not talking about grades,” Mom said.
I didn’t say anything.
“You’re not going to let this math class come between you, are you?”
I played with the lac
e ruffle on the pillow. “I guess not … unless Rachel does.” I didn’t want to think about Rachel anymore. So I looked across the room at the group of family photos on the wall. There’s one I especially like of Mom and Dad. He’s carrying her piggy-back and she’s laughing so hard her eyes are closed. “I can’t wait until Thanksgiving,” I said. “I can’t wait to see Dad!”
I told Dad I was counting the days when he called the next night.
“So am I,” Dad said. “What’s new in school?”
“I made symphonic band … percussion.”
“Congratulations!”
“And in math we’re following the stock market.”
“That sounds interesting.”
“It is. We each get to pick three stocks and pretend they’re ours. I picked Reebok, Revlon and Jiffy Lube.”
“That’s quite an assortment.”
“I know.”
“How’s the weather?”
“It’s been raining,” I said. “But today the sun came out again.” I paused, trying to come up with something else that would interest Dad. “Have you heard about Bruce?” I asked.
“What about him?”
“Well …” I began, but Bruce grabbed the phone out of my hand and said, “I’ll tell him myself.”
Bruce has entered a national contest. Kids for Peace it’s called. He’s made a poster and sent it to Boston, where it will be judged. The three winners will get a free trip to Washington where they’ll meet the President. In some ways I hope Bruce does win the contest. In other ways I hope he doesn’t. I don’t know how I’d feel having a famous brother. Probably everyone would compare me to him and ask, What contests have you won, Stephanie? And I’d have to think of some clever answer like, I don’t believe in contests. Contests don’t prove anything.
I wonder if Jessica and Charles feel that way, having a younger sister like Rachel. I wonder if they’re always trying to prove that they’re as good as she is. Lucky for me Bruce isn’t gifted. He’s just a regular kid who happens to have made a great poster.
Things
Mom and Aunt Denise are trying to decide whether to make a vegetable stuffing or a chestnut stuffing for the Thanksgiving turkey. They don’t actually put the stuffing inside the turkey. They make it as a side dish. Mom says it’s healthier to roast the turkey without stuffing it. I don’t see why they call it stuffing when it isn’t.