BFF* (3 page)

Rachel's Room

“Dogs can't talk,” Rachel said that night, when I told her about Alison and Maizie.

I was sitting on Rachel's bed. Her cats, Burt and Harry, were nestled against my legs, purring. They're named after some beer commercial from Rachel's parents' youth.

Rachel was going through her closet, pulling out clothes that don't fit anymore. In her closet everything faces the same way and hangs on white plastic hangers.

In my closet nothing is in order. Last year Rachel tried to organize it for me. But a week later it was all a mess again and she was disappointed.

“Are you giving away your Yale sweatshirt?” I asked.

“No, that still fits.”

“What about your red plaid shirt?”

“Yes … do you want it?”

“I'll try it on and see,” I said.

Rachel took it off a hanger and handed it to me. “I've got to do some back-to-school shopping.”

I did mine last week. I got a skirt, a couple of shirts, a sweater and a pair of designer jeans. Rachel's mother says designer jeans are an incredible rip-off and she won't let Rachel or her sixteen-year-old sister, Jessica, buy them. Rachel also has a brother, Charles. He's fifteen. He doesn't get along with the rest of the family so he goes away to school. I doubt that he cares about designer jeans.

My mother says she admires Mrs. Robinson. “Nell Robinson sticks to her guns,” is how Mom puts it. “I wish I had such strong convictions.” But she doesn't. That's how come I got a pair of
Guess
jeans. It's not that I care about labels. It's just that I like the way they fit.

I pulled my T-shirt over my head.

“Steph!” Rachel cried, lowering the window shades. “I wish you'd remember you're going into junior high. You can't run around like a baby anymore. Where's your bra?”

“At home. It was too hot to wear it.”

I tried on Rachel's red plaid shirt. It's made of flannel that's been washed so many times it's almost as thin as regular cotton. It felt soft against my skin. I buttoned it and rolled up the sleeves. Then I jumped off the bed, waking Burt, who yawned and stretched. I looked at myself in Rachel's mirror. “I like it,” I said.

“It's yours,” Rachel told me.

“Thanks.” I took the shirt off. Even though the shades were down the breeze from the window felt cool against my skin.

“Put your T-shirt on, Steph,” Rachel said, tossing it to me, then turning away.

I slipped it on and flopped back onto Rachel's bed. Burt was chasing a rubber band around on the floor. Harry was still curled in a ball, fast asleep.

Rachel went to her desk. She held up her notebook. It was covered in wallpaper. I recognized the pattern—tiny dots and flowers in pink and green—from their bathroom. It looked great. “Do you have any extra?”

“I think we have some blue stripes left from the dining room. Want me to take a look?”

“Sure.”

I followed Rachel into the hall. She opened the stepladder in the closet and climbed to the top. “Here it is,” she said, handing me the roll.

Then we went downstairs. Mrs. Robinson was at the dining room table with stacks of papers and books spread out in front of her. She's a trial lawyer. “Stephanie …” she said, glancing up for a minute, “good to see you!”

“Mom's got a big case starting tomorrow,” Rachel explained.

Mrs. Robinson is always either starting a big case or in the middle of one.

Mr. Robinson was at the kitchen table, also surrounded by books and papers. He teaches history at the high school. As we walked through the kitchen he popped two Pepto-Bismol tablets into his mouth. “I always get nervous before school starts,” he said, chewing them. “You'd think by now I'd be used to it, but I'm not.”

“I never knew teachers get nervous about starting school,” I said.

Mr. Robinson nodded. “It starts in my stomach in August and doesn't let up until the end of September.” The Pepto-Bismol made his teeth look pink.

“I'm going over to Steph's,” Rachel said. “I'll be back in less than an hour.”

“Okay,” Mr. Robinson said.

Rachel carried the wallpaper. As we passed Number 25 I said, “That's Alison's house. She's in Mrs. Remo's homeroom, too.”

Rachel froze. “That is so unfair!” She has someone
named Ms. Levano for homeroom. “I don't know what I'm going to do if we're not in the same classes.”

“Don't worry,” I said, “we will be.”

“I hope you're right.”

The lights were on in Alison's house but the curtains were pulled closed so we couldn't see anything.

“What's she like?” Rachel asked.

“She's small and friendly,” I said. “She seems okay.”

“Except for that talking-dog business.”

“It
is
possible,” I said.

“Come on, Stephanie! There's no such thing as a talking dog. If there was we'd have heard about it.”

“Maybe so,” I said.

When we got to my house Mom was working at her computer. Since she got it she doesn't have to spend such long hours at the office. “Dad called, Steph. He's waiting for you to call him back.”

“Okay …” I left Rachel in the den with Mom and called Dad from the kitchen phone. It's funny talking to him in L.A. because when it's eight o'clock here it's only five o'clock there. He was still at the office and I was about to get ready for bed.

“I miss you,” Dad said.

“I miss you, too. When will you be home?”

“I'm not sure yet.”

“I hope it won't be long.”

“I'll definitely be home for Thanksgiving.”

“Dad … that's more than two months away.”

“There's no way I can get back before then, Steph. I have to make two trips to Hawaii and one to the Orient.”

I didn't say anything for a minute. Neither did Dad. Then he said, “Well … have a good first day at school.”

“Rachel and I aren't even in the same homeroom,” I said.

“Don't worry … you'll do fine without Rachel.”

“I'm not worried. Who said I was worried? I'm just saying it's not fair since we're best friends.”

“You and Rachel will still see each other after school.”

“What do you mean
after
school?” I asked. “We'll be on the same bus and we'll probably be in all the same classes.”

“So you'll be together all the time … just like before.”

“That's right,” I said.

“What's the weather like?” Dad asked. He loves to hear about the weather.

“Hot and humid with a chance of thunderstorms.”

We talked for a few more minutes, then I went back to the den.

“Rachel's waiting upstairs,” Mom told me.

“Surprise!” Rachel called, when I got to my room. She held up my notebook. She had covered it while I was talking to Dad. “What do you think?” she asked.

I wanted to cover my own notebook
is what I thought. But I couldn't say that to Rachel. Her feelings would be hurt. So I said, “It looks good.”

“It's really hard to get perfect corners with wallpaper,” she said. “Want me to print your name and address inside?”

“I'll do it myself.”

“Okay … but I'll draw the lines so the letters are even.” She searched my desk. “Where's your ruler?” she asked.

“Don't worry about it,” I said. “I'll do it later.”

When Rachel left I took a bath and washed my hair. It feels funny washing short hair when you're used to having it longer. The other night, when Rachel first saw me, she'd asked, “What'd you do to your hair, Steph?”

“I got carried away,” I'd told her. “It was so hot when I came home from camp I decided to cut it all off.”

“Yourself?”

“No, I went to the Final Cut.”

“It's kind of interesting,” Rachel had said. “Especially from the back.”

I liked my short hair for about a week. Now I wish I'd never done it. It'll probably take all year to grow back.

I wrapped myself in a towel and left the steamy bathroom. I still couldn't believe Dad wasn't coming home until Thanksgiving. He's never been away that long. But fall goes a lot faster than winter, I reminded myself. It's my favorite time of year, not counting spring. I also like summer a lot. And winter is fun because of the snow … I began to feel better.

Before I got into bed I found my ruler. It was under Wile E. Coyote, my number one stuffed animal. Dad won him for me last year at the Jaycees' Carnival. I drew four straight lines on the inside of my notebook, then printed my name and address. There, I thought, admiring my work.

I got into bed and looked up at Benjamin Moore. I hope I meet someone just like him at junior high.

Homeroom

I introduced Alison to Rachel at the bus stop the next morning. Alison was wearing baggy pants, a white shirt about ten sizes too big, and running shoes. She had sunglasses around her neck, on a leash, and a canvas bag slung over her shoulder. The tangles were brushed out of her hair but her part was still crooked. All in all she looked great.

Then Rachel introduced us to Dana Carpenter, a ninth grader who also lives at Palfrey's Pond. I was glad we'd have company riding the bus because I'd heard rumors that some people like to give seventh graders a hard time on their first day at junior high.

When the bus came Rachel and I found two
seats together. Alison sat two rows ahead of us with Dana Carpenter. Nobody seemed interested in giving us a hard time.

“You didn't tell me Alison's Chinese,” Rachel whispered when the bus got going.

“She's Vietnamese,” I told Rachel. “She's adopted.”

“Oh,” Rachel said. “She doesn't even seem scared.”

“I don't think she's the type to get scared over school,” I said.

“I wish I weren't,” Rachel said. “I couldn't eat a thing this morning. I was shaking so bad I could hardly brush my teeth.”

I tried to help Rachel calm down by offering her a chocolate chip cookie from my lunch bag. She nibbled at it, then handed it back to me. No point in wasting it, I thought, so I finished it myself.

At the next bus stop six kids got on the bus and one of them was the best looking boy I have ever seen in person in my whole life. He looked almost as good as Benjamin Moore.

“Hey, Jeremy!” a group of boys called. “Back here …”

The boy, Jeremy, walked right by me on his way to the back of the bus. As he did his arm brushed against my shoulder. I turned around to get a better look at him. So did Rachel. So did
most of the girls on the bus. He had brown hair, brown eyes, a great smile and he wore a chartreuse colored jacket. I learned that color from my deluxe Crayola crayon box when I was in third grade. On the back of his jacket it said
Dragons
and under that,
1962
.

“He has a great body,” Rachel whispered to me.