The Mistaken Masterpiece (24 page)

“Oh,” I say, feeling myself blush. “You’re not paranoid.
That was us. I thought for sure we ducked behind that car in time. Jeez, this is embarrassing. We weren’t being intentionally nosy; we were just on our way back from the park and we saw you. I’m sorry. We were just curious—honest.”

“I didn’t know you had a dog.”

“I don’t, really. I’m watching her for, um, a friend for a few weeks.”

I could tell her that it’s Nate Etan’s dog, but one, I doubt that she would believe me, and two, I hate people who name-drop like that. It’s
so
pretentious.

But now that we’re on the subject of the diner, I wonder if this is a good time to ask her about the woman in the wheelchair. I don’t want her to think I’m prying into her personal life, even if that is exactly what I’m doing.

It’s like Livvy reads my mind. “Look, I know you’re wondering who I was with.”

I play it cool. “Now that you mention it, yeah, I am a
little
curious.”

“She’s my old nanny; her name is Julia Demarest, and she basically raised me while my parents were both working a million hours a week and traveling all the time. Then, about four or five years ago, she found out she has MS—multiple sclerosis—and it finally got so bad that she had to stop working.”

“Ohmigosh. That’s terrible. It’s nice, though, that you help her out like that.”

I hear Livvy’s coat rustle as she shrugs. “It’s the least
I can do. I owe her so much. Everything. She’s amazing. All the good parts of me are because of her.” She lets that sink in for a moment. “I know what you’re thinking: Livvy has
good
parts? But I do, really.”

“I believe you,” I say. “Especially now.”

“And I don’t know why—maybe it’s because she’s more like family than my real family—but I love spending time with her. Here she has this horrible, incredibly painful disease, and she never complains. I know I’m not always a good person … okay, I’m never a good person, but she makes me want to
try
at least. I don’t know how she does it, but she’s always positive. Even when that
awful
woman in the diner said that stuff about me and her, she just laughed it off. She’s like, ‘Life is too short to worry about what people like that say.’ God, I can’t believe I’m telling you all this. I’ve never talked about her to
anyone.
”

“Well, we all thought you were going to strangle that lady, and we were ready to jump in and help you. We’d been sitting there for a while; she was loony tunes. I mean, I knew there were people like that, but I’ve never actually met one before. Have you ever seen her? I mean, since she lives in the same building as your friend and everything.”

“She
what
?”

“I’m afraid so. We’ve sort of been snooping on her, and she came out of the same building where we saw you that day—over on Ninety-fourth, right?”

“Why were you snooping on
her
?”

“It’s kind of a long story; we’re doing a favor for Father Julian.”

“A priest hired you to spy on a crazy old lady with fluorescent orange hair?”

When you put it like that, it does sound a bit peculiar, I guess. “They’re kinda sorta related, and there’s a … ‘family dispute,’ ” I say, adding air quotes even though Livvy can’t see them in the dark.

“Ohhh.”

“Livvy?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you one more question?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Finally, she says, “About that time we ditched you after the meet, right?”

“How’d you know?”

“Because I know how it must have made you feel. It was stupid, and I am so sorry.”

“But … why? I mean, we worked on that project in English, and then we were having so much fun on the bus ride back from that meet, and then …”

Livvy sniffs. “I don’t know why I do it,” she says. “I had this big fight with my parents that morning when they told me that they’ll be leaving me home with my aunt—who I hate—for
two months
while they go off to Europe for
business
. Or so they say. They just got back from a month in China. And before that, three weeks in Singapore. So they’re doing all that—without me—but then they say they can’t afford to send me to Quincy,
where I really want to go; it’s where all my real friends go. Or at least I thought they were my friends, because that was also the day I found out that one of them had this huge birthday party—and I didn’t get invited. It was just for kids from Quincy, they all said. You have to believe me, Sophie, that when I ditched you, it wasn’t about
you
. After that day in class, I was actually starting to like you. It was just, well, I was having a really crappy day, and I needed to get even with the world.”

“And I happened to have a bull’s-eye painted on my back.”

“Something like that. I know it’s too late now, but I really am sorry. It was a crummy thing to do.”

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad,” I lie. “And you know, Livvy, the girls at St. Veronica’s—even Margaret—we’re not so bad, either. Maybe if you gave us a chance. We might surprise you.”

“I don’t doubt it,” she says.

Nine twenty-three. I jerk awake, completely disoriented and shivering from the icy floor. Was I dreaming, or did I hear voices outside the elevator? I pull my coat zipper as high as it will go and wrap my arms around myself, listening for sounds other than Livvy’s soft breathing.

Wait! Voices!

“Livvy! I think someone’s here. Ring the bell!”

She fumbles around with her keys for a few seconds, looking for her flashlight, but then gives up and starts pounding away on the panel until she hits the button for
the bell. She holds it down for a couple of good long rings, and then we listen.

“Sophie! Livvy!”

It’s Michelle, and even through the elevator walls, I can hear the guilt in her voice.

“Hello!” we shout.

I hear a few people say “Thank God” on the other side of the elevator door. Mom is there, too, along with Margaret and Sister Bernadette.

“Are you two okay?” Mom asks.

“We’re cold. And a little hungry. But yeah, we’re good.”

Okay. Stop and think about
that
for a second (I’m sure Margaret did): Livvy and me, together in an elevator for four hours … and we’re
good
. To some eyes, the fact that we’re both alive could be viewed as a minor miracle.

“We’re going to get you out of there, but it’s going to take a few minutes,” Sister Bernadette announces. “The last time he was here, the elevator serviceman showed me how to reset the system—sometimes that’s all it needs. Say a little prayer, and sit tight.”

Livvy snorts. “I don’t think we’re going anywhere.”

“You poor kids,” Mom says.

“Ohmigosh, you guys, I am
so
sorry,” says Michelle. “I feel just terrible.”

A minute later, the light inside the elevator comes on. Livvy and I shield our eyes and then drop our hands, squinting at each other. I hold out my hand to shake hers. She takes it, a little sheepishly.

“Thanks, Sophie.”

“For what?”

“For listening. For just being, I don’t know, a friend. In case you hadn’t noticed, most of my other friends are jerks. I don’t want to go all
Breakfast Club
on you, but you’re, um, okay.”

“Yeah, you too. But I forget—on Monday morning, didn’t all those kids go back to who they were before?”

She hesitates just a moment too long before insisting that isn’t going to happen. “We’re more like those two guys in ‘The Interlopers’ than those dumb kids in the movie,” she says. “Remember, after they become friends, they talk about how surprised everyone will be when they walk into town together. That’ll be us.”

I nod at her, touching her on the arm.

We’ll see. I haven’t forgotten how
that
story ends.

In the last few lines, the two men are still trapped, their feud now a thing of the past, with the temperature, darkness, and snow falling all around them. Suddenly one of the men spots several figures running toward them, and the only question remaining seems to be whether they’re Georg’s or Ulrich’s men.

When Mr. Eliot gave us the copies of the story, he deliberately left off the last line, which answers the question. We had a great discussion about how the story
should
end. In wrapping things up, the writer had a choice: the “happy” ending, in which the two former enemies are rescued and we can imagine them going forward with their lives as friends; the “realistic” ending,
in which they are rescued but immediately resume their quarrel; or the cruelly ironic ending, where fate takes a hand.

The class was about evenly divided among the three endings. For me, though, there was no choice; the writer absolutely
had
to go with the ironic one. What would be the point, I argued, of a story like that with a happy ending? The two men walking off into the sunset together and unharmed isn’t an ending—it’s a cop-out.

Saki, apparently, agreed with me.

The story’s last sentence: “Wolves.”

Now
that’s
an ending.

A few minutes later, the elevator lurches, and four hours after we began our journey from the fifth floor, Livvy and I reach our destination. The door opens and I am immediately smothered by my mom, who is crying uncontrollably. Michelle is hugging Livvy, apologizing over and over, and explaining how it all happened.

“I went into the office to make a quick call, and when I came out, the other girls said that everyone was out of the bathrooms. They said you two were nowhere in sight—that you must have been in a hurry and taken off.”

“We went to our lockers,” I say. “And then …”

“Margaret figured it out,” Mom says. “She knew exactly where you’d be.”

I give Margaret a big hug. “I knew she would. That’s why I love her.”

Meanwhile, I realize that poor Raf is just standing
there looking extremely cute, and more than a little lost at the back of this pack of very emotional women.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. Even though I’m dying to throw my arms around him and give him a big kiss, I’m not ready to do that in front of Mom—or, for that matter, Sister Bernadette. So I take his hands and ask, “How long did you wait for me?”

“At first, I just figured you forgot to charge your phone
again
. But after about half an hour, I called your apartment.”

“And scared me to death!” says Mom. “I thought you were late getting back from New Jersey, and then when no one could get hold of you …”

More sobbing.

“Well, thank the Lord we have a happy ending,” says Sister Bernadette. “Miss Klack, do you need to call anyone?”

“Nobody will be home, anyway,” Livvy says matter-of-factly. “My parents have plans, I’m sure.”

“Then you’re coming with us,” Mom announces. “You girls must be
starving
. And
freezing
. Come on, what is everybody hungry for? My treat.”

I consider my favorite sushi place because it is nearby, but my body is crying out for something besides cold, raw fish. I need a hot, juicy burger. With lots of gooey cheese. And onion rings. And maybe an order of fried calamari to start. (All right, so maybe it’s not going to be the healthiest dinner ever, but I just lived through a traumatic experience.)

We try our best, but there’s no talking Livvy into joining us.

I can kind of see why. Being stuck in the elevator with me is one thing; it was neutral territory. Dinner with my mom, my best friend, and my friend-who’s-a-boy-but-not-my-boyfriend, on the other hand, is a whole different kettle of crustaceans.

“Thanks, but I’m going home and going right to bed,” Livvy says, and I think I believe her.

“See you Monday,” I say as we prepare to go our separate ways.

With a quick wave, but not another word, she turns and walks off into the cold New York night.

And there’s not a single wolf in sight.

“What did you two do for four hours?” Margaret asks, handing me another napkin to wipe the cheeseburger juice from my chin.

“Froze, mostly. It was dark. And really cold.”

“But, you know, what did you do? What did you talk about?”

I give her a very uncharacteristic shrug. Maybe I’m just hungry and trying to get my body temperature up above ninety-five degrees, but I really don’t feel like talking about Livvy and everything that happened in the elevator. Livvy and I have had some ups and downs in the past, but I saw a different, private side of her and don’t feel like I need to blab about it to everyone—or even to Margaret.

“Oh, nothing. I’ll tell you all about it later.”

Margaret’s eyes narrow and she leans her head across the table, motioning to Raf and me to come closer.

Uh-oh. I can tell she means it, so I lean in and take what I have coming.

“Now you listen to me, Sophie Jeanette,” she says. “I understand you’ve had a long day.
However
, unless you two would like me to share with your mom a certain story about a ride around the city with a certain boy on a certain
motorized
vehicle, I would advise you to start talking. Fast. So, one more time: what happened on that elevator for four hours?”