“Okay,” Julie said.
So we sat and I took a deep breath. It was kind of a shock to just stop running so abruptly like that. She didn’t seem mad. She seemed nice, like the Julie I knew. But maybe I had just caught her off guard and she didn’t have time to get mad. Suddenly I had no idea how to begin. Tell her about Josh cheating on me, even though Jennifer Smalls probably already did? Tell her about Josh asking me to the dance and should I say yes even though he cheated on me? Ask her what happened to our friendship? Remind her that she said true friends would always stick around even though boys would come and go, and wasn’t she a true friend? Before I even said anything, Julie said, “Actually this is kind of weird. I just tried calling you from my dad’s. But I guess you had already left.”
“You tried calling me?” I said.
“Yeah.” Julie looked down at her red-painted thumb-nail.
“How come?”
“’Cause I wanted to talk to you, too.” Oh my God! This was definitely a sign of our connectedness. We both knew we needed to talk at the same time! What were the odds?
“You did?” I asked. “What did you want to talk about?”
“I don’t know. . . .” she said. “You can go first.” I could hear her voice start to go up like she was trying not to cry, and she kept looking down so I wouldn’t see it, and that made me feel the tears behind my eyes. I thought,
The two of us, we’re a mess. How did this happen?
“I thought . . .” she said through tears, without holding them back now. “I knew I would cry.” She cried for a little bit and I didn’t know what to say. All I could think was, Julie was maybe the only person I could cry in front of and not feel self-conscious.
Finally I said, “Um . . . I think you should probably go first. Did something happen?” It was so weird that
I
was saying that to
her
. I was the one things were happening to!
She shook her head and sniffled. “No. Well, yes. But the something that happened was a couple of months ago. The night of your first date with Josh, actually.” She paused for a second, took a deep breath, started crying again, and quickly blurted out, “Julie, I’m sorry I’ve been so horrible. I mean, I never meant to stop being your friend. I never meant for all that stuff to happen. I just didn’t know how to tell you—”
“Tell me what?”
“I’m just so sorry,” she said, still crying. Then her nose was really running and neither of us had any Kleenex. “I feel terrible . . . especially that day in homeroom when you asked me why—”
“Tell me what, Julie? What happened?” I said.
Then, through her sobs and runny nose, she tried to catch her breath. “Remember that Friday we were gonna go shopping together?
I got arrested that day.
At Sak’s,” she said quietly.
“Oh my God,” I said, and I took one of her hands. “Tell me.”
“I was in the women’s department. You know, the fancy expensive section?”
I nodded.
“Well, I was trying to get this silk vest, but it had a plastic tag and I had my little scissors—”
“How much?” I just had to interrupt.
“Um. I think it was, like, a hundred seventy-five dollars or something.”
I gasped. Now Julie’s crying had subsided a little.
“And Jule, there were two-way mirrors there! And a hidden movie camera! They showed me a videotape of me cutting the vest and taking the plastic thing off!”
“Oh my God” was all I could keep saying.
“So this lady security guard comes out of nowhere the second I step out of the dressing room and she grabs my arm and pushes me toward this totally scary, like, French guy in a suit with a big black moustache and he takes me by the wrist and twists my arm behind my back and he pushes me into this dark room behind the dressing rooms. He was so mean. He was such an asshole!”
I just sat there with my mouth open.
“Wait,” Julie said. “It gets worse. They actually
hand-cuffed
me. . . .” And her voice got squeaky as if the memory upset her all over again. Down came more waterworks. “Of course, I was hysterical.” She took her hand out of mine to wipe her nose with it, and then she rubbed it on her jeans. “Gross. Sorry,” she said, and we both started laughing. She took my hand back. I just continued to watch her.
“And there were other security guards in the back room, thank God. I mean, I was so scared of what that French guy was gonna do—”
“How did you know he was French?” I asked.
“His accent.
Vhat do you sink you are doing, Mees, eh? I am going to call zee police!
” she said, doing kind of a bad imitation of a French accent. “I can’t do a French accent. Anyway Jule, I just couldn’t believe it. I was, like, totally bugging out. I was screaming that I was fifteen, they couldn’t arrest me, and the French guy kept saying he could and they were gonna put me in a home for girl criminals and I was crying so hard I could barely see anything and they kept saying they were gonna call the police!”
“Oh my God,” I said softly.
“And I wanted to tell them it was my first time and it was a dare and all that stuff, but I knew they wouldn’t believe me ’cause they had the videotape and I had scissors, which they took from me, by the way—”
“No—”
“
Yes
. They grabbed my bag, you know the Esprit one with the turquoise netting?” I nodded. “They grabbed it and dumped it out on this dirty carpet to make sure I didn’t have any other stolen clothes—thank God I didn’t—and they went through my makeup bag and took my scissors!”
“Jesus,” I said. Julie kept crying.
“Jule,” she sniffled, her nose still running. “I’ve cried so much about this, I didn’t know I could cry any more.” She was breathing short, shallow breaths.
“I wish I could have been there for you,” I said. “Take a deep breath.” We both inhaled a big breath together. Julie laughed a little and let out a huge hiccup, which totally made us laugh more.
“It’s so good to talk to you,” she said, taking another deep breath. “I’m so sorry,” she said in her squeaky voice, and started crying again.
“It’s okay,” I said. “But tell me the rest of what happened, ’cause I have a lot to tell you, too.”
“Okay,” she exhaled again, curling her bottom lip so her bangs flew up. “Somehow I convinced them to let me call my mother, who was actually home—total miracle! She was pissed ’cause she was getting ready for a date with this new guy—oh God, there’s so much to tell you. There’s this new guy she’s dating—Nathan. Nate. He’s a carpenter. Anyway, so she comes all the way to Sak’s to get me and by then this policeman is there and I’m still crying and all she cares about is that she’s totally late for her date with Nate—” Then we both burst into hysterics. “
She’s late for her date with Nate!”
we said together in rhythm, laughing.
“I didn’t mean to say that,” Julie said, still giggling. “It just came out! Anyway, Mom was like, ‘So what’s the big deal?’ to the French guy. ‘My kid tried to steal a silk vest?’ Like, what’s everybody freaking out about? And even though she assured the policeman I’d never steal again, he wrote me a ticket! So I have this court date in a few months but Mom called Harvey, who she broke up with, but he’s a lawyer, and he’ll help us. And everyone at Sak’s thought Mom was totally crazy, of course, like I needed another reason to feel embarrassed, and somehow we got out of there and Mom says, ‘Julie, please, you should know better, ’ or something, like no biggie really, and she hugs me and puts me in a cab to go home so she could go meet Nate.”
“You’re kidding,” I said.
“No,” Julie said. “And I cried the whole cab ride home.”
“Did you tell anyone?” I asked.
“I told Mandy and that was it.”
“Really? Not even Jennifer Smalls? Or Natalie?”
“Nope.” Julie shook her head.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, trying not to sound hurt.
“I don’t know, I guess . . . I just . . .” she said. “Well, you had just said you were gonna stop. . . .”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “Have you been mad at me this whole time for that? I kept telling myself that couldn’t be true.”
“Yeah, well, I guess I was,” Julie said, looking me in the eyes. “You got kind of weird about the whole thing.”
“What do you mean?” I said. Now my voice was getting squeaky. I was scared we were gonna fight again and then not talk for God knows how long.
“I don’t know, you were just bugging out and acting kind of uptight about stopping. I felt like you judged me or something. Like that time we went to Patricia Fields with Jennifer Smalls.”
“I just couldn’t do it anymore,” I said, barely whispering. “Even though I did get something that day.”
Julie just stared at me.
“There was this other time I went to Fiorucci with Daze and Jennifer. I actually took a shirt and made it out of the store, and then I went and put it back. I just couldn’t go through with it,” I said.
“I heard about that,” Julie said.
“Oh.” We paused and sat there a second. I felt like Julie was still mad at me, but I didn’t think I should apologize.
“Anyway, I was also pretty ashamed,” Julie said, crying again. “I felt so stupid—that’s why I didn’t tell you.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “I didn’t know what to think. I wasn’t sure. I just couldn’t figure out how you could stop talking to me over stealing.” Then I started crying again, too. “It was so weird.”
“I know, I’m sorry—” Her voice dissolved into sobs.
“I know,” I said. “You don’t have to say sorry anymore. But are you still mad at me ’cause I stopped?”
Julie just cried silently and shook her head.
“Have you stolen anything since this Sak’s thing?” I asked, lowering my voice.
Julie nodded. “Yes,” she said.
“Julie!” I said. “I know you’re gonna think I’m being uptight or whatever, but come on!”
“I know,” she said. “I don’t think you’re uptight. You’re right.” I could feel my forehead was all scrunched up.
“So what happens at the court date?” I said.
“It’s July seventh, so at least school will be out. Harvey says I just have to go down there with him and look like I’m a really unhappy fucked-up kid, and he says the worst is probably I’ll have to pay a fine.” I must have had a horrified look on my face and Julie knew exactly what I was thinking.
“No! There’s no chance I’m going to jail!” she said.
I exhaled and Julie sighed, too. “God, it’s so good to talk to you,” she said. I suddenly felt this wave of calm.
The world had completely stopped while Julie and I sat on that stoop and talked, until we realized we were both starving, so we walked to the Blimpie on Broadway. I thought,
Julie Braverman and I actually talked again
.
It’s all going to be okay. She’s going to help me figure out the Josh stuff and we’re going to be best friends again
. I thought about Joyce Kazlick and that she’d be proud of me, if therapists felt proud of their patients. I wasn’t sure. I liked going to Joyce, I realized. Even though I wasn’t planning to steal again, I wanted to keep talking to her.
Whoever thought up the Blimpie was a genius. I mean, putting oil and vinegar on a ham and cheese hero with the lettuce, tomato, and mayo—I loved the tangyness of it. We bought Blimpies, sodas, chips, and brownies and brought them back to Julie’s house, where no one else was home. I had told Julie all the Josh Heller stuff while we waited on line for our sandwiches. She said he was a total asshole for going off with Leah Reemer, and as I had imagined, she said if she had been there instead of Jennifer Smalls, she would have told him off. Julie said it was a good sign that he tried to call me so much right after the run-in, that he apologized, and that he said he didn’t want to date Leah Reemer. But the whole Spring Dance question was a toughie.
“Well, let’s put it this way,” Julie said with her mouth full of Blimpie. We were at her round kitchen table, using the paper wrappers from our sandwiches as plates. “Do you actually
want
to go to the dance?”
“I don’t know. . . .” I tried to imagine what it would be like. The dance was going to be at the St. Moritz Hotel on Central Park South.
I imagined the Spring Dance would be in some big ballroom with chandeliers and gold wallpaper. When I told my Mom that Josh asked me to the Spring Dance and that it was at the St. Moritz Hotel, she said, “Ooh! Fancy schmancy!” I imagined myself really dressed up in a taffeta 1950s dress I’d find at Unique Antique Boutique. My dress would be red with black velvet spaghetti straps and tiny black velvet flowers woven all through it. I’d wear red lipstick. I saw Julie in purple—a deep purple antique dress under which she’d wear a big poofy petticoat. She’d have a little purple clutch purse and we’d both have beautiful wrist corsages. And nothing we wore would be stolen. We’d have receipts for everything. But Julie hadn’t been asked to the Spring Dance.
“If you were gonna be there, I think I’d want to go more,” I said, realizing Julie would probably want to go with Oliver, but he didn’t go to P.A. “Are you still going out with Oliver?” I asked.
“No,” Julie said, like,
Don’t remind me
. “He went back to England, that schmuck.”
“You’re kidding!” I said. I was shocked.
“Nope. He broke the news to me, like, a week before he had to leave. His visa was up or something, I don’t know. And of course he waited to tell me till the morning after I spent the night and had sex with him again. I really wanted to tell you that, too. . . .” She looked sad again.
“I wish you had,” I said.
“Me, too.” Then we both looked at each other and smiled.
“Don’t say it!” I started laughing.
“I’m sorry!”
she shouted, and kind of laughed, too.
“No! You are not allowed to say sorry any more! I forbid it!”
I shoved the last bite of my ham-and-cheese Blimpie in my mouth.
“I’ve got an idea: How about you ask Rick DiBiassi to go to the dance?” I suggested. Julie thought for a second. She certainly had the guts for something like that.