Authors: Jenny Han
The Stevensons live in the nice part of our neighborhood, just the three of them in a five-bedroom house. Their brick house is on a hill, and their paved driveway looks about a mile long. They have an outdoor hot tub and a workout room for Mrs. Stevenson.
Mairi has two rooms: one bedroom and one “office” for her books and her computer. It used to be her playroom. That’s where she kept her dollhouse. She had a gigantic dollhouse that used to be her grandmother’s. It had real wallpaper and fancy brocade furniture and even miniature Monet paintings on the walls. I used to love to play with that dollhouse. I’d pretend that I lived in the house with my pretend family. My mother, Beth, my father, John, and my brother, John Junior. It just about broke my heart when Mairi decided she was too old for a dollhouse and Mr. Stevenson had to put it away in the attic. I wanted to ask her if I could have it. I’d have traded Meeks for that dollhouse. But Mrs. Stevenson’s allergic to dogs. And anyway, you don’t go around asking people for a family heirloom, no matter how badly you want it.
Mrs. Stevenson is a good cook. She makes special sleepover food for Mairi’s parties—caramel popcorn, mini gourmet pizzas, macadamia double-fudge brownies. Even though I didn’t want to go to Mairi’s sleepover, I was still looking forward to the snacks. I should have known Mairi is now too grown up for junk food. On the marble-topped kitchen counter, Mrs. Stevenson has set out a platter of raw vegetables, bags of rice cakes, and fancy bottled water.
There’s a great big Christmas tree in the living room. It’s so tall it touches the ceiling, and the ornaments are navy and silver. No homemade Popsicle-stick ornaments for this tree. Not like the Findleys, with their cinnamon and applesauce cookie-cutter ornaments and their popcorn on a
string, and their rag-doll angel that sits on top. But at least the Stevensons have a tree. We don’t. Mama thinks it’s silly, commercial.
Mrs. Stevenson’s on the phone when I get to Mairi’s house, and she’s all dressed up. Her hair is curled in an updo, and she’s wearing a silky black tank top and white pants. She waves at me to sit down as she makes a face into the phone. “Suzy sweetie, I’ve got to run. There’s a thing at the club tonight, and of course Cal and I have to make a little appearance. … I’ll call you later, hon.”
Hanging up, she says to me, “Miss Annemarie, it has been far too long, darlin’. How have you been? How’s your mama? Is she doin’ all right?”
Mrs. Stevenson makes me nervous, always has. My palms are sweating as I say, “I’m fine, Mrs. Stevenson, just fine. Mama’s fine too.”
“And that handsome daddy of yours?” She winks, resting her elbows on the kitchen counter.
“He’s good too.”
“Well, you tell them both that Lindy and Cal say hello.”
The doorbell rings then, and Mrs. Stevenson rushes off to get the door. She returns with Elaine, who sits in the chair next to me. Elaine and I sit at the kitchen table like two inmates waiting to be released for good behavior. My
hands are in my lap, and I’m sitting straight as an arrow.
Mrs. Stevenson says, “The other girls have gone with Mr. Stevenson to rent some movies. They’ll be back any minute now.” She beams at Elaine. “Elaine, I’m so thrilled you and Mairi have gotten to be friends. She’s told me all about you. It was so sweet of you to have her over for dinner at your house.”
I look at Elaine in surprise. When had Mairi gone to Elaine’s house for dinner? And why hadn’t she invited me?
“I told Mairi that she’s so lucky to have a friend from a different culture,” Mrs. Stevenson continues. “I want you to teach her all about where you come from. Maybe she could even learn some Chinese! Imagine that, my baby girl speakin’ Chinese.”
“Oh, I’m not Chinese, Mrs. Stevenson. I’m Korean, Korean American,” Elaine says. “And I’m actually from New York.”
Mrs. Stevenson’s smile doesn’t waver. “Well,
Korean
, then. You could teach her Korean.”
Elaine smiles back. “Well, I’m not that great myself, but I could try.”
Mairi and everyone come home then, and we all go upstairs. After we drop off our overnight bags in Mairi’s
room, she tells us that her mom and dad are going to a country club party and won’t be back till late. She and Hadley exchange grins. Suddenly the air feels charged, and I have no idea what’s coming.
We change into our pajamas—Mairi in a hot pink camisole set, Hadley in a crop top and boxer shorts, Jo Jo in a striped tank top with matching shorts, and Elaine in an oversized T-shirt with a ripped shoulder. Me, I’m wearing a white tank top I borrowed from Elaine and a pair of Celia’s terry cloth shorts.
I haven’t been in Mairi’s bedroom in a long time, and there are little differences now. Your feet still sink into the marshmallowy pink carpet, she still has twin beds, but she has new sheets. There’s a framed Degas print where her Beauty and the Beast poster used to be, and her collection of glass ballerina figurines is gone. Whenever I came to her house, I would count the ballerinas and name them—Suzette, Violetta, Antoinette, Bridgette, all fancy double-
t
names. I wonder where they went, if they’re with that dollhouse in the attic.
We’re sprawled out on Mairi’s twin beds doing our nails when Mairi jumps up suddenly. “Be right back, girls.” She disappears.
“What do you think?” I ask, holding out my hands for
Elaine’s inspection. The color is called Arabian Nights, and my nails sparkle like rubies. I hardly ever wear nail polish, and I can’t stop looking at my nails.
“Hot,” she says. Then she lifts up her hand—her nails are glittery pink.
“White hot,” I say. “What’s it called?” I like to know the names of things.
Elaine inspects the bottom of the nail polish bottle. “Disco Bubblegum.”
“So, Annemarie, who do you like?” Hadley says suddenly. She and Jo Jo are sitting in the bed across from Elaine and me.
I swallow. “No one.”
“That’s not what I heard,” she says, blowing on her nails.
I look at Elaine, who shrugs helplessly. “What did you hear?” I say. My heart is thudding loud as can be, and all I can think is, don’t say Mark. Don’t say Mark.
Hadley smiles. She is enjoying this moment, wielding this power over me. “I heard you like Jack Connelly. Is it true?”
Relief washes over me like a warm wave. “Ew. No way. I just tutor him in English.”
“I think he’s kind of cute,” Jo Jo says. Then she sees the look on Hadley’s face. “What? What’s wrong with him?”
“Are you kidding me?” Hadley shrieks. “He’s
so
immature. He’s like, total redneck trash. His dad’s a drunk, you know. And his mother works at a
diner
. … No offense, Annemarie.”
More than anything, I would like to throttle Hadley Smith. I would kick her butt clear across Clementon. I hate that girl something fierce.
The room has gone quiet, and everyone’s waiting for me to say something. I say, “I already told you I don’t like him.”
Hadley squints her eyes at me. “Well then, who
do
you like?”
Then the door flings open, and it’s Mairi with five cans of Budweiser. She sashays around the room, grinning widely and clutching the cans to her chest. Hadley squeals and claps her hands. “You’re so bad, Mair!”
Mairi does a little dance and puts the beers on the floor. She pops off the tab and says, “Cheers, y’all.”
I look at Elaine, but she just shrugs and smiles. She reaches for a can, opens it, and takes a swig. Elaine grimaces, but then she drinks more.
“All right!” Mairi cheers. They high-five, and Hadley frowns. She grabs a can and takes a long drink, throwing her head back. Coughing, she throws a can to Jo Jo. Jo Jo looks uncertain for a moment, then follows suit. Everyone’s
laughing and drinking, and I just sit on Mairi’s bed, arms wrapped around my knees, trying to make myself invisible.
Then Mairi looks at me, her glossy lips curved in a smile. “Your turn, Annemarie.” It’s a direct challenge, and every one of us knows it.
The last thing I want to do is drink. I’ve tasted beer before. It was late at night. I was thirsty, and I thought it was flat ginger ale. It tasted like bad medicine. No way do I want to drink that stuff again. No way do I want to be like Mama.
Every other girl in the room is staring at me, including Elaine. “What’s the matter, sugar?” Mairi taunts. “Too chicken?”
Swallowing, I say, “No … I just don’t feel well today. It’d probably be better if I laid off alcohol.”
“Like you ever drink,” Hadley scoffs, waving her Pretty in Pink nails in the air.
“I do so drink. I just don’t feel like it tonight.”
Rolling her eyes, she says, “Sure.” She runs her hand through her streaky brown curls, searching for split ends. She won’t find any. Girls like Hadley don’t get split ends.
“Annemarie, you don’t have to drink if you don’t feel like it,” Elaine says. But her eyes are saying something else, and I can tell she wants me to. She wants me to be a part of the
group almost as much as I want to be a part of it, and for some reason, this makes me mad. Why does she need this so bad? Why wasn’t it enough when it was just me and her?
Mairi puts her arm around me. Her buttery blond hair smells like apples and Dove soap. “Hadley, it’s okay if Annemarie doesn’t want to drink. She’s still too young.” She releases me and smiles knowingly at the other girls.
“It’s not that,” I protest.
“Then?” She holds the beer in front of me, arm outstretched. “Come on.”
Slowly I take the can from her. It is cold and sweaty. “Just a little sip then … Seriously guys, I don’t feel good.” Now I really do feel sick. The smell of the beer and the nail polish remover makes my stomach turn.
I put the top of the can to my lips and drink. It tastes bitter, and I feel hollow, like someone’s spooned my insides out like a gourd. I wish I could spit it back out, take that moment back, do it over.
Everyone claps, and Mairi turns her stereo on loud. It’s already forgotten. It never mattered in the first place. The girls start dancing around, and I sit on Mairi’s bed watching them. Not one of them understands. They have no idea.
That night Hadley and Mairi sleep in one of the twin beds, and Elaine and I sleep in the other. Jo Jo sleeps on
the cot.
It takes me a long time to fall asleep, but I do.
I wake up the next morning to the smell of frying bacon and the sound of Mrs. Stevenson shrieking. She’s brought us a pitcher of orange juice, and she’s found the empty cans of Budweiser. We forgot to throw them away; they’re just lying there on the floor for all the world to see.
Everyone scrambles out of bed. “Mama, we were just playing around, we didn’t really drink any,” Mairi says.
“Don’t you lie to me, Mairi Leigh. And to think your father and I trusted you. We trusted you girls to conduct yourselves as ladies, even with us gone.” She shakes her head at us, and then her eyes land on me. Her thin lips tighten. “Girls, get dressed. I won’t be telling your parents about this. We’ll keep it our little secret, but this can never happen again, do you understand?”
Eyes lowered, we all murmur yes ma’am, we understand. Except for Elaine, who’s from the North and never says sir or ma’am to anybody. “You, miss, are coming with me.” She grabs Mairi’s arm and marches her out of the room.
The rest of us stare at one another helplessly. “You think she’ll tell our parents?” Jo Jo says, biting her lip. We sink back down onto the beds. Without Mairi, we don’t know what to do.
Hadley’s the first to recover. “No way. She cares too much about what the other country clubbers will think. She’d die if they found out.”
“Are you sure?” Jo Jo asks.
“Yes, I’m sure,” she snaps. “Now let’s just get dressed and get out of here.”
My mind is on that bacon. Mrs. Stevenson makes an incredible sleepover breakfast—bacon, sausage, eggs, pecan waffles. Restaurant-quality food. If I can smell bacon, she must have made all the other stuff too, Mairi’s diet be damned. My mouth waters and I say, “But what about breakfast?”
Hadley looks at me like I’m the village idiot. “We’re not staying for breakfast.”
During lunch Jack got into a fight with an eighth grader. There was chocolate pudding everywhere. He got out-of-school suspension, and his mother had to come pick him up from school. I watched from the window in science class. I saw them walking to their car. Mrs. Connelly was wiping tears from her eyes, and Jack looked miserable. I felt sorry for him.
It’s Jack’s third fight this school year, and we’re barely even halfway through. I really don’t understand him. If he’d quit getting into fights and talking back to teachers, maybe he’d actually learn something.
After school I ride my bike over to Jack’s with his assignments for the week. I only volunteered to do it
because no one else came forward. And also, I feel sort of guilty for not sticking up for him at Mairi’s sleepover. Not that he would ever find out about it, and not that I have any reason to stick up for him, but it was wrong of me not to say
something
. On behalf of his mama, at least. I could’ve told them that she doesn’t work at a diner; she works at a
steakhouse
. And his daddy’s in AA, which means he’s not even a drunk anymore. I could’ve and should’ve said both those things, but instead I kept my mouth shut like a yellow-bellied coward.
When I pass Mark’s house, he’s shooting hoops in the driveway. I wave. It’s the first time I’ve seen him at home in a long while. I’m really not planning on stopping, but
he
comes over to
me
. He’s wearing a black T-shirt with the sleeves cut off even though it’s pretty cold out. “What are you up to?” Mark asks, dribbling the ball with his left hand.
“Going over to Jack’s house.”
He pushes his hair out of his eyes and squints at me. “Oh yeah? You guys have tutoring today?”
“No, I’m just bringing his homework to him.”
“I can’t believe he was stupid enough to get into another fight. Sometimes he’s a real idiot.” He dribbles the basketball between his legs. “You wanna play Horse?”
“Nah, I gotta drop this off at Jack’s.”
“Aw, come on, just one game.”