Class Favorite (22 page)

Are You a Stand-up Stephanie or a Push-over Penelope?

You have a huge term paper due tomorrow. Your best friend, Alexis, calls and begs you to go with her to the mall, where she knows her ex-boyfriend will be hanging out with his new girl. After she swears she'll never ask for another favor again, you:

a) agree only after she starts crying and asking how you can be so mean to someone you call “friend.”

b) agree only if she buys you dinner at Wok 'N Roll.

c) tell her that you love her, but you have much more important things to do—and so should she.

 

Thinking about Arlene made my stomach cramp up. Suddenly I understood the expression “You look like you just lost your best friend.” Kirstie had said that to me the day I got the roses, but now I felt it wholeheartedly. All during
basketball practice, as I wrote down times and shots, I was in a daze.

Even with Jason only a few feet from me during practice, sitting on the bench watching plays and commenting with Coach Eckels, Arlene was the only thing I could think about. Except that one time Jason gave me a mischievous little wink and my heart went
pitter-patter-putter
, but other than that, it was all Arlene, all the time. After practice, as I walked past Jim's Grocery, the tiny little store that was our neighborhood's 7-Eleven, I thought sadly of all the Tangy Taffy and Orangina Arlene and I had bought there over the years for Razzie movie viewings and wondered if we'd ever stuff our faces with our favorite candy while watching bad movies again.

When I walked across our front yard, I noticed the Texas flag dangling from its enormous pole. It had been there ever since Dad put it up, and I wondered who would take it down if it rained. I pushed through the door, hoping for a quiet evening. I thought I might even do some homework.

“Any messages?” I asked Mom as she set iced tea on the table. She scooted around the linoleum floor in her black stockings, still wearing her clothes from the bank.

“No, sorry, honey,” she said, pausing to untuck my hair from behind my ear. “You expecting a call?”

“Not really.” I tucked my hair back.

“How was practice?” she asked, pulling plates down from
the cabinet. Since I had killed The Ball she had made a point to ask about my day.

“Fine.” I shrugged.

“How are you?”

“Fine.”

“Are you feeling okay? You've seemed so quiet lately.”

“I'm fine.”

“If you can think of another word other than
fine
, I'll give you five dollars.” When I managed a smile, she sat down next to me. “You've just seemed so down lately. I'm worried. I haven't seen Arlene here in so long.”

A part of me appreciated her making the effort, but it was just too hard to even think about, much less talk about. Then again, maybe part of being a mature woman was learning to deal with difficult stuff. Maybe by keeping mum, I was being immature? I wondered if that's what Mom and Dad did—avoided talking about the hard stuff until, eventually, they couldn't get back to the good stuff. We sat for a moment as I tried to gear up to actually talk about Arlene. I finally said, “Remember how someone trashed my locker?”

“Oh, honey.” Even she seemed to wince at the visual. “I should have listened to you more when you were trying to tell me about that before spring break. I'm sorry.”

“It's okay,” I said. “Anyway, it's possible that it was Arlene who did that to me. We got in a fight—a couple, actually—and she
hasn't admitted she did anything, but I'm still unsure. She's the only one I told about why you sent those roses on Valentine's Day, and word got out, anyway. I just don't know what to think anymore.”

Mom said, “When best friends grow up together, sometimes, at some point, they do start to go in different directions. It's one of the worst realities of growing up—knowing that sometimes you drift apart. But I have to say, that as long as I've known Arlene, I've never known her to have a vindictive bone in her body. Doing something as cruel as defiling your locker just doesn't sound like something she'd do. Does it to you?”

It was a pretty simple question, with a pretty simple answer. “No,” I said. “But how do I know for sure?”

“Sometimes,” Mom said, “you just have to have blind faith. If you believe Arlene didn't do it, then she didn't do it. It can be as simple as that.”

Simple, but not really. I needed to think on it some more. “Thanks, Mom,” I said. “And I'm sorry I got so mad at you about those flowers. It really was a nice gesture, and I'm sorry I acted like such a brat.”

She smoothed down the back of my hair and said, “It's okay.”

 

After dinner that night, I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to KPOP and trying to feel good about something, anything. I ran over every single thing Arlene and I had
said that afternoon, mentally marking places where I should have said or done something differently. I even thought about Kirstie, and Arlene's attack on her. Kirstie had said that she was Most Popular at her last school, but here in Ladel, I was still her only friend.

My stomach became one big pretzel knot. Talking to Mom had made me feel a little better, but the dinner she had cooked didn't do my stomach any favors. She had made chipped beef with white bread and peas—a meal so disgusting, I had a hard time believing anyone actually liked it.

Still, she was right: The locker thing didn't seem like something Arlene would do. Things weren't too far gone to get them back, if it was important enough. I
was
being immature about the whole thing, and although I didn't know who had leaked word about the period roses or who “decorated” my locker, I should have listened to Arlene instead of jumping to my own conclusions. I started to wonder if I'd even given her a chance.

I got up and strolled down the hall to the computer.

I had one new e-mail.

My heart leaped with hope while my head told me it was probably junk mail—a subscription reminder from one of my magazines, a forwarded story from some distant relative, or, better yet, a virus. That would make my life even more perfect.

I clicked on my in box and read: Kirstie Luegner.

 

From:
Kirstie Luegner

To:
Sara Thurman

Subject:
SATURDAY!!!

 

Hey! What's up. I'm so bored. If you finish your science, call me. I'm so not in the mood to do it tonight. Anyway, heard about Jason's party Saturday p.m. You must be so excited! But what will you wear???? Plz no more Mrs. Everly-inspired outfits!! We could go over together, if you want. Wanna get dressed at my house? You can borrow anything you want. We could discuss CF-strategies: clothes, conversation (what WILL you talk about??) and attitude!!

Gotta go. Call me!

XO.

 

The party was just what I needed—something to take the edge off. The what-to-wear dilemma alone could occupy me for days. Focusing on the party as my final step in wooing the eighth-grade class of Bowie Junior High into voting for me for Class Favorite was just the distraction I needed.

 

From:
Sara Thurman

To:
Kirstie Luegner

Subject:
Re: SATURDAY!!!

 

Hey! I'm trying to get into my science HW but haven't made it past filling in the blank where it asks Name. :) I'll probably finish it on the way to school tomorrow, but if I get it done before then, I'll call u. Have you started it at all?

Yes, let's definitely get dressed at your house on Saturday. I'm VERY excited about the party!!!!!!!!! This will be like my Academy Awards night, it's that important. I know it's going to be so much fun. I'm gonna go thru my closet right now and c what I have to wear. It has to be awesome. Suggestions?

C ya tomorrow.

Sara

 

While I waited for her to write me back, I thought about the clothes situation for the party. Should I wear a skirt, a dress, jeans? Sneakers, heels, boots? A low-cut shirt or a belly shirt? I reminded myself that Jason's party would be my red carpet, Haden Prescott moment. I had to look and act sophisticated, mature, and gracious.

I stared at the monitor, clicking the refresh button obsessively. Really, I was just avoiding writing or calling Arlene. I knew I should do it, but something held me back—fear of the truth, and what that might mean for us? Maybe just the fear of the fight. This may sound like an obvious statement, but
I hated fighting with Arlene. It was such an unnatural, scary feeling. I guess by calling her, I feared I might learn a truth about her I'd never be ready to hear.

So, I distracted myself with my magazines. I picked one up off the floor and started flipping. All of “Summer's Saucy Skirts and Shirts” were either too trendy for me to pull off or too expensive. Then I tested my “Fashion IQ” and scored in the “Seriously Slacking” category. It suggested I “explore a little place most towns have, called The Mall. You might even find some great friends there who can help transform you from a Slacker Sister to the Goddess of Your Grade!” I tossed the magazine aside. I considered DIY-ing my Mrs. Everly skirt but decided I didn't have the creative energy. I sighed and clicked refresh again. I wondered if I was overthinking the clothes thing. The key to the party was more than my outward appearance, after all, just as Haden Prescott was more than her golden Oscar gown.

Back in my room I dug up another magazine from the edge of my closet and searched for something more mind-oriented. There was a yoga section that promised to ease the mind and soothe the body—exactly what I needed. I attempted to strike a one-arm balance.

When I finally steadied myself, my arm shaking to hold up my weight, my door flew open; when I looked up, I fell forward onto my stomach, smashing my face in the carpet.

“What was
that
?” Elisabeth stood with an amused and confused look on her tanned face.

“Don't you knock?”

“No.”

“What do you want?”

“It's your night to do the dishes.”

“I'll do them later. Now get out.”

“I need a favor,” she said, plopping down on my bed.

“Don't get sweat all over my sheets,” I said, looking her over. “What do you want?”

“Since you have no life, it's really no big deal. I need you to babysit the Medina twins Saturday night.”

“Forget it,” I said adamantly. “I have plans, for your information.”

“Too bad.” She tightened her ponytail. “I'm running regionals that night. It's a big deal that you wouldn't understand, and I'm not going to miss it. Even Mom said so.”

“She did not,” I snapped. “Why would Mom agree? Besides, those kids hate me. The one and only time I sat for them, they locked me in the closet.”

Elisabeth gave a little chuckle at this.

“Shut up,” I told her, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Remember that time,” she began, gazing up at the ceiling, “I saved your butt by getting Coach Eckels to make you a stat girl?” She was so pleased with herself, she looked like she was
about to pop right out of her sports bra. “Payback time.”

“No way,” I said, standing up. “For your information, I have
plans
Saturday night, and I'm not about to break them. No freakin' way. Uh-uh. Forget it.” I propped my hands on my hips and stood defiantly. I hadn't come all this way just to let my evil sister get petty over a favor owed. Plus, those twins were little monsters. I hated them as much as they hated me.

Elisabeth nodded her head and stayed annoyingly calm. And then:

“Mom!”
she screamed, standing up from my bed and walking to the door. “Mom! Sara's going back on a promise!” This was definitely not good. Every time Elisabeth brought Mom into our fights, she always came out on top.

“Are you kidding? Mom's not going to
make
me babysit. She can't make me!”

“What's this yelling about?” Mom said when she appeared in the doorway. “You know I don't like yelling in my house.”

“Mother, Sara made a promise to me and now she's going back on it. I need her to babysit for me Saturday night so I can run at regionals. Coach will be pissed—”

“Watch your mouth,” Mom warned.

“—and now Sara won't help me out,” Elisabeth finished.

“But I have plans!” I said. “Mom, I can't. I'm going to a party at the
Andersens'
.”

“Big deal,” Elisabeth snipped. “Oooh, the
Andersens'
.”

“Shut up!”

“Mom! She told me to shut up!”

“All right, enough, both of you!” Mom snapped. “I said I don't want yelling in my house. Sara, don't talk to your sister like that.”

“But, Mom—”

“Sara.” She rubbed her hand across her forehead as if a headache were coming on. I knew it just meant she didn't know how to handle the situation. There was still hope. “Elisabeth, tell me what's going on.”

“Fine. A few weeks ago Sara wanted me to get her the position as Coach Eckels's stat girl—which I did—and she promised to do anything I asked.”

“I didn't say I'd do
anything
!”

“Sara!” Mom said, her eyes closed before letting out a big breath. “Let your sister finish.”

“Anyway,” Elisabeth huffed. “She said she'd return the favor when I asked her. And now I'm asking her. I told the Medinas I'd babysit for them and then found out about the track thing. It's usually on Saturday afternoon, but they had scheduling problems, so we're running at night. Mom, you know I can't miss it. It'll totally mess up my record and all this work I've been doing.”

Mom sighed and said, “I know, honey.”

“Can I talk now?” I asked before they really started bonding over how much of a star Elisabeth was.