Ten Rules for Living With My Sister

  “I thought maybe if I looked more grown-up—”

  “More grown-up!” I couldn’t help exclaiming.

  “I mean, more grown-up than the Emmas, not than you,” said Lexie. “If I looked more grown-up, they might start including me again. So I’m asking for makeup and this bracelet I saw in the window of Harmon’s and a gift certificate to—”

  “How do you spell ‘certificate’?” I interrupted her.

  My sister pointed to the seventh line of her letter.

  “Thanks. I’ll copy it later.”

  “Anyway, if I got some new clothes—maybe a nice sweater or something—and some makeup so that I look more sophisticated, well, you know …”

  I only sort of knew. But since this was the first time in history that my sister had talked to me about a problem I hadn’t been the cause of, and I didn’t want to ruin the moment, I nodded wisely. “That ought to do the trick,” I said.

  “I hope so.”

  Lexie and I finished our letters, and then Dad made hot chocolate and my whole family sat at the table and talked about Christmas.

  “We always put our tree right over there,” I told Daddy Bo, pointing to a corner of the room near the window.

  “Since we don’t have a fireplace,” added Lexie, “we leave our stockings on the couch.”

  “When can we get our tree?” I asked.

  “Next week,” replied Mom.

  I felt a little prickle of excitement. Christmas is absolutely my favorite time of the year.

  Usually December crawls by so slowly you can’t even feel it. But this year it went faster. Daddy Bo came along to help us pick out the tree. Cards started arriving in the mail. I counted my money and made a list of presents to buy for Mom and Dad and Lexie and Daddy Bo.

  Then on December 19th a very bad thing happened. At first it was just a regular old afternoon. Justine had come home from school with me and we had spent some time making a Santa hat for Bitey that I knew he would never wear. Then Mom had suggested that I start my homework, so Justine had gone home, but ten minutes later she was back. She stood in our family room with her hands clasped in front of her and right away I knew something bad had happened. I don’t know how I knew, but I did.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked her.

  Justine looked down at her shoes. “We’re moving,” she said finally.

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I didn’t say anything.

  “Daddy came home from work and he and Mom said they wanted to talk to me and that’s what they said. ‘Justine, we’re going to move to a new apartment.’”

  “In our building?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

  Justine shook her head and she had that funny pinched look around her mouth like she was trying not to cry.

  “Then … where?” I found that I didn’t want to look at Justine, so instead I looked at the couch where Bitey was lying on his back with all his feet sticking in the air.

  Justine frowned. “We’re moving to Seventy-eighth and Amsterdam,” she said slowly, as if she were trying out the words.

  “Seventy-eighth and Amsterdam!” I wailed. “That’s all the way uptown! It isn’t near here at all.”

  Justine’s face got even more pinched and she added, “I have to go to a new school. I’ll start there after vacation.”

  “In January? You’ll be going to a new school next month?” Who was I going to play with during roof time? Who was going to come over after school? What was I going to do without my best friend?

  “Yup,” said Justine in a small voice. “January.”

  “Why are you moving?”

  “My parents bought a bigger apartment. It’s near this school they want me to go to. And they said we can get a dog.”

  “A dog? What’s so great about a dog?” It would probably smell.

  Justine shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  There didn’t seem to be anything left to say, except maybe, “I hate you, Mr. and Mrs. Lebarro,” but of course I couldn’t really say that. At least, not in front of Justine.

  Justine went back to her apartment and I barged into Lexie’s bedroom, where she was doing her homework with the door closed and announced, “I need my alone hour.”

  Lexie stared at me like I was a roach instead of her sister. “Excuse me, door closed, knocking necessary.”

  “Sorry, but I need some privacy and this is supposed to be my alone hour.”

  Lexie jumped up, pushing her chair back, and it almost tipped over. “Pearl, you can’t just—Hey, are you crying? What’s the matter?”

  “I’m not crying!” I wailed, but clearly I was.

  “What’s the matter?” Lexie asked again, this time in a softer voice. She plunked back down in her chair.

  “Nothing!”

  “Are you mad at me?”

  “Not everything is about you!”

  “Okay, okay. I’m just trying to find out what’s wrong.”

  “Nothing! I already said. Can I please have the room?”

  Lexie gathered up her books and left, closing the door behind her.

  I flung myself onto the bottom bunk and cried. I considered pounding the wall with my shoe, but since technically it was Lexie’s wall, I decided I’d better not. I imagined walking to school without Justine, and walking home without Justine, and walking through the halls of Emily Dickinson Elementary without Justine. I imagined roof time with zero people to play with. Who would I go trick-or-treating with? Who would come to my apartment every afternoon?

  My life was ruined.

  I heard a little creak and lifted my head in time to see the door open.

  “Pearl?” said Lexie.

  “I do not believe my hour is up. And anyway, what about knocking?”

  “You’re right. I should have knocked. But Mrs. Lebarro just came over, so I know why you’re crying. Can’t we talk for a few minutes?”

  I shrugged.

  The door closed and then I felt the bed shake so I knew Lexie had sat down on the end of it. “You know, Justine isn’t moving to Tasmania,” said my sister.

  “Where’s Tasmania?”

  Lexie let out a sigh. “Just … really far away. She’s only moving to the Upper West Side.”

  “She’s switching to a different school.”

  “I know. But you’ll still get to see her.”

  “Only sometimes. And we’ll have to take the subway. I’ll probably get to see her, like, once a month.”

  “I agree, it isn’t ideal.”

  I raised my head and frowned at my sister. “No kidding.”

  “But think of all the things you can do when you do see Justine. Her new apartment isn’t far from the Children’s Museum or the Museum of Natural History.”

  “Justine does like dinosaurs,” I said cautiously.

  “And you can still have sleepovers. In fact, they’ll be more like real sleepovers since you’ll get to pack a bag and also probably go out to breakfast in the morning. Really, you’ll get to do more things, Pearl.”

  This was true. I sat up. “Thanks,” I said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  During dinner that night I got an idea, and later, while Lexie was practicing her piece for the Winter Concert, I sat at our desk with my markers and also some glitter glue and rubber stamps. I made a new sign for the door:

  When Lexie saw the sign she said, “That’s really nice, Pearl.” And she didn’t even take it down.

  18

  Here’s what was wrong with January:

  1. Justine moved.

  2. Christmas was over.

  3. Justine moved.

  4. Lexie was in a bad mood.

  5. Justine moved.

  There was more, like without Justine afternoons were as boring as I’d thought they were going to be, and roof time at school was awful. But at least the weather was sloppy and cold so mostly we had recess in our classroom and then James Brubaker the Third and I would draw pictures of Jill and Rachel and Katie with t
heir hair on fire and holes in their clothes and black eyes. Once Jill saw the pictures by accident and she said, “And who are they supposed to be?” And I said, “Oh, just some mean girls. You don’t know them.” And I could tell Jill didn’t believe me, which was actually the point.

  The very first day I had to go to school without Justine—when Dad and I walked through the lobby of our building, just the two of us—John looked at me with eyes that were tragic like Lexie’s frequently get, but luckily he didn’t say anything, not even, “Have a good day,” since he knew I wouldn’t. Then Dad and I stepped outside and my father reached for my hand as usual, but I pulled it away. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, though, so I said, “Let’s see what Snowball is wearing.” (Snowball’s owner makes him wear doggie coats in the winter.)

  We passed by Quik-Mart and New World and Steve-Dan’s and finally Happy-Go-Lucky, and next came Alice’s stoop, and there she was with Snowball. It was sleeting a little, so this morning Snowball was wearing a red parka, which I think was lined with some sort of fake fur, and on his feet were four tiny yellow rubber boots with black buckles painted on them. Snowball was sitting very still looking like he wanted to die out of embarrassment, and Alice was saying urgently, “Snowball, go make. Go make, Snowball!” I glanced up at Dad and we managed to turn the corner before we started laughing.

  It felt nice to laugh with Dad, even if it was the first day back at school and Christmas was over and my best friend had moved away. So I decided to take his hand after all, and I held on to it until I realized that Rachel and Katie and Jill and Mrs. DiNunzio were ahead of us.

  I stopped in my tracks and let go of his hand.

  “Dad, could I walk the rest of the way without you?” I asked. “You can stand back here and watch me if you want.” (We were about half a block from the front door of Emily Dickinson.)

  “Okay,” Dad replied.

  He bent over and I knew he was going to kiss my forehead, so before he could, I shook his hand. “Have an enjoyable day at the office, Father,” I said.

  I ran to catch up with Rachel and Katie and Jill, and was very pleased by the stunned expressions on their faces when they saw that I was alone. They probably thought I had walked to school by myself.

  “Hey,” I said, and passed right by them on my way to room 4C.

  That was fun, but it didn’t change anything. By lunchtime the sleet had stopped so we had roof time, and I spent it friendless, which I had only had to do once so far in fourth grade, on a day when Justine was home with a cold. I sat on a bench and watched the kids playing four-square and shooting hoops. Katie and Jill and Rachel must all have gotten the very same hair kit thing for Christmas and Hanukkah because each of them came to recess with a purple flowered bag full of barrettes and scrunchies and braid holders, and during all of roof time they invented hairdos like in a fancy salon.

  After school I walked home with Lexie and then spent the afternoon with Daddy Bo, who kept saying, “Why don’t you see if Justine can come over?”

  So January slogged on. The only good school days were the ones when the weather was bad and James Brubaker the Third and I could spend recess drawing alarming pictures of Katie, etc., etc., etc. At home the afternoons were so boring that I just did my homework, which pleased everyone, except me, since I would rather have been playing with Justine.

  One Thursday I sat at the table in the family room, filling out math worksheets and trying to think up a poem about nature. Daddy Bo sat behind me on the couch, studying the rules to Sorry! and reading them aloud, over and over and over and over again.

  The front door opened and in walked Lexie. Usually she’s talking on her cell phone when she comes home, and usually she’s talking to whoever she just spent the afternoon with. Like, downstairs on Twelfth Street she’ll say good-bye to Valerie, and as she enters the lobby and passes John’s desk she’ll snap her phone on and call Valerie so they can continue their conversation. Then Lexie steps onto the elevator and she always has to say, “Wait a sec. I’m on the elevator now,” which I guess means that cell phones don’t work in elevators, but honestly, why should they? Lexie stands there with the useless phone still at her ear while the elevator huffs up to the seventh floor, and the second she steps into the hall, she goes, “Okay, I’m back,” and then she and Valerie keep on talking, and they talk while Lexie comes in the apartment and disappears into her room and closes the door.

  But on that Thursday Lexie’s ear didn’t have a phone stuck to it. And I realized that I hadn’t seen much of the phone the last few days. And that Lexie had been quiet at dinner lately. During the time when we were supposed to talk about our days she would just say, “I got an A on a Spanish test,” or, “We had a substitute in history.” Those were the boring kind of comments I usually made, except that at Emily Dickinson you don’t start Spanish until fifth grade.

  “Where’s Valerie?” I asked, as Lexie marched into the apartment. I hadn’t seen much of Valerie the last few days either.

  “Don’t ask me,” said Lexie and stomped away. I noticed that she hadn’t been wearing her purple shoes.

  On Saturday night Mom and Dad and Daddy Bo went out to dinner. I don’t know why it’s such a treat for grown-ups to eat in restaurants without their children, since they like family time so much. But anyway they went out, looking all excited and happy, and they hired Lexie to be my babysitter. Which meant she got paid. I myself think both of us should have gotten paid for staying home alone, but whatever.

  Lexie took her job seriously. She studied our board games, selected Life, and set it up on the table in the family room. We sat on opposite sides of the board, and Lexie reached for the spinner. I put my chin in my hands and stared at nothing.

  “Pearl? What’s wrong?” she asked.

  I was very sad. “Guess what. Justine won’t be here on my birthday.” My birthday was months away, over summer vacation.

  “She won’t?”

  I shook my head. “She and her parents are going to go to Paris.”

  “Wow. That’s cool.”

  “No, it isn’t! If Justine isn’t here, who will come to my party? No one, that’s who. And I’m going to be ten. Ten. That’s double digits. It’s a very important birthday, Lexie. Don’t you remember your tenth birthday party?”

  A funny look came over Lexie’s face. Sort of pale and strained like when she didn’t want anyone to know how embarrassed she was that I had shown Snuffy to Dallas.

  “Well, don’t you?” I said. “I do. Valerie came, and the Emmas—”

  “I know who was there,” replied Lexie, scowling.

  “So see? You had guests. And who am I going to have? Just you and Mom and Dad and Daddy Bo and Bitey.”

  “What’s wrong with us?”

  “Nothing. It’s just, you know. You aren’t kids.” I slid Life aside. “Let’s play later.” I found a piece of paper and began a sad letter to Mom about the whole birthday party tragedy.

  I had gotten as far as Dear Mom, when I realized that Lexie was just sitting across from me, doing nothing. After a little while, she disappeared, which very soon felt like I was alone in the apartment even though I knew I wasn’t, so I went looking for her.

  I walked down the hall and saw that the door to our room was closed.

  I hesitated. Technically, this was Lexie’s alone time, but since Lexie was my babysitter at the moment I decided it would be okay to knock on the door.

  No answer.

  I knocked again.

  When there was still no answer, I opened the door and stuck my head into the room. “Lexie? Could you come out, please? I don’t like being in the family room all by myself when—”

  I stopped talking. I heard sniffling coming from my sister’s bed. “Lexie?” I called. “What’s wrong?” When she still didn’t answer me I said, “Should I call Mom and Dad at the restaurant?”

  Lexie sat up quickly, and I could see that she’d been crying. “No!” she exclaimed. “Don’t call them. I’m fine.”
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  “You’re crying.”

  “Something’s going on at school.”

  “Is it that thing with the Emmas?”

  “No. That’s over. We’re friends again. This is something different. But everything is really okay.”

  “If it’s okay, why are you crying?”

  “All right, look. I’ll tell you what’s wrong if you’ll just please stop talking about it.”

  As far as I could see, I hadn’t started talking about it, but whatever. I plunked myself down in the desk chair.

  “All right,” said Lexie again. “On our first day back at school after vacation, this new girl, Lindsey, joined our grade. She’s in my homeroom, and Mr. Fourtney”—here I almost yelped, “Mr. Fartney?” but luckily I kept my mouth closed—“who’s my guidance counselor,” continued Lexie, “asked me if I’d be Lindsey’s buddy and show her around school for a week. So I did. I walked her to her classes and showed her where the cafeteria and the library and everything are, and then I introduced her to Dallas and Valerie and the Emmas and everyone so that she would have friends too.”

  “That was nice of you,” I said.

  “I thought so. But then Lindsey and Valerie started spending all their time together, like … like best friends.” (Lexie’s voice wobbled.) “And now they leave me out of things and they’re always on the phone with each other. If I call Valerie she just says, ‘I can’t talk now, Lexie. I’m on with Lindsey.’ Which is so rude. She doesn’t even say, ‘I’ll call you right back.’”

  “You know what you should do?” I exclaimed suddenly. “You should invite both of them to a sleepover or to go to the movies with you or something.”

  I could tell that Lexie was turning this idea over in her mind, even though she didn’t want to, since it had come from me. But at last she said, “Both of them? Valerie and Lindsey together? Well, maybe.”

  I felt inspired. I saw a pad of paper on the desk and I handed it up to Lexie along with a pen. “Make a list of things you and Valerie and Lindsey could do,” I said, like I was Mr. Potter giving an assignment. Then I went back to the family room, which didn’t seem so creepy now, and I finished my letter to Mom. I planned to leave it under her pillow before I went to bed. I wrote: