Thirteen (12 page)

“I'm going to have a new brother or sister!” I exclaimed.

“And I'm going to have a new son or daughter.” She smiled. “Holy pickles!”

“Do you know yet? Which it'll be?”

“I'm only eight weeks along. We won't know the baby's sex for another couple of months.”

“When is he or she due?” I asked. I was pretty sure that was the right term, “due.”

“Well, the baby was conceived in June, so to figure out the due date, you count nine months further.”

I did the calculation. My eyebrows shot up. “His birthday will be in March, just like me!”

“Or hers, if it's a girl. Isn't that cool?”

“As long as it's not on the eleventh,” I qualified.

“I'll do my best,” Mom said.

“Hey, Mo-o-m,” Sandra called from the kitchen. “Ty's using your hairbrush to brush his hair turd! Just FYI!”

“You mean
Jimbo
!” Ty yelled. “He was looking scraggly!”

Mom groaned. “That thing really is revolting. One good thing about babies—they're generally too little to collect hairballs.”

I giggled. “Do they know? Sandra and Ty?”

She shook her head. “You're the first person I told. Other than your dad, of course.”

“Oh.”

She put her arm around me and drew me close. “Love you, Winnie.”

“Love you, too.” I rested against her for a moment, long enough to inhale her perfume, then hopped to my feet and pulled her up.

“Come on,” I said. “Let's go tell them the news.”

T
HANK
GOD
YOU'RE HERE,”
Cinnamon said, panting. She'd jogged up the hill to the stone bench south of the junior high building, our rendezvous spot for the first day of eighth grade. She, Dinah, and I had decided to meet early so that we could stride in as a group of three. But Dinah had yet to arrive.

Cinnamon glanced around to make sure we were alone, then kicked her leg up like a Rockette. “Am I okay?” she asked.

“Huh?” I said. She was wearing brown gauchos. They were adorable and gave me serious doubts about my own wardrobe choices.

“I got my period,” she said furtively. “This morning, like fifteen freaking minutes ago. Is that fair? Does God hate me?” She eyeballed me hard, then did another high-kick. I quick-checked for a telltale spot, then shook my head.

“You're good,” I said.

She turned around, glancing at me from over her shoulder. “From the back?”

I gave her a thumbs-up, noting with a sinking feeling how her white cami hit just right to reveal a sexy stripe of summer-tanned skin. “A-okay.”

She faced me and slicked her hands through her hair. She'd gotten her period for the first time only last month, so she wasn't yet completely with the program. And periods were hard, granted. They were a pain in the butt. No, a pain in the bagina—tee hee.

Cinnamon and I both thought it was ironic that Cinnamon started her period right around the time that Mom's period ceased. Cinnamon was excited for me about the new baby (Dinah was, too—even more so) but it drove home the point of what periods were all about. Cinnamon had turned green when she put it all together. “You mean babies eat
blood
?” she'd said. “That's why your period goes away when you're pregnant?”

“
No
,” I said, making a
you foolish mortal
face. Of course, the only reason I knew this was because of the crash course Mom had given me when I'd posed the same question. “The baby gets its food from the mom's umbilical cord. Whatever Mom eats, the baby eats. The period blood forms the lining of the uterus.”

“Uh-huh,” Cinnamon said. “And the uterus…?”

“Is where the baby lives. The womb.”

“Oh,” Cinnamon said.

It wasn't often that out of the two of us, I was the more knowledgeable. But I'd had my period since seventh grade, and now I was the one with a preggo mom. So go figure.

Being the resident menstruation expert meant zilch, however, when it came to the first day of the new school year. First days scared me. They always had. Even though we were eighth graders now—and therefore the top dogs of the junior high—there was still so much pressure! Especially since today would be my first time to see Lars in three months. Eeek, eek, eekie-eek!

We'd talked on the phone since he'd gotten back from Prague, but only once. And it had been awkward.

How was Prague?

Aw, man, it was great. Prague was great.

Yeah?

Pause.

Pause.

Pause.

Crickets chirping.

Well…that's great!

I knew things would be better when we saw each other in person, but until the actual moment of “better” occurred, I was stuck stressing about it. And to make matters worse, my way of responding to stress—any stress—was phenomenally self-defeating.

First, I'd get totally freaked out about whatever it was: in this case, going back to school and seeing Lars again. Then I'd think way too hard about how I was going to handle it: in this case, what I was going to wear and how I'd do my hair and whether I'd go for makeup or not. Blah blah blah. And finally I'd get disgusted with myself for being such a freak, and in my brain I'd be like, “Ah, screw it.” I'd decide to not even bother, which would feel good at the time, but would leave me in the lurch when the actual scary pressure moment arrived.

As it always did
.

Curse the onward marching of time! Curse Cinnamon's adorable gauchos and clingy white cami! And curse curse curse my boring jeans and “Candyland” T-shirt! The look I was going for was Girl Who Is Above It All. The look I'd achieved, I now realized, was Girl Who Belongs Back in Pre-School.

“I should have worn a panty liner,” Cinnamon said, still dwelling on her female problems. “Or at least jeans, which are so much less likely to let anything show. Why oh why didn't I wear jeans?”

“Because unlike me you wanted to look cute?” I said.

“What are you talking about? You look cute.” She gave me her full attention, for the first time actually registering what I was wearing. She lifted her eyebrows.

“Uh, Winnie?”

“I know. I know! Let's not dwell on it, 'kay?”

“Guys!” Dinah called, puffing up the hill in high-waisted khakis and a tucked-in pink Polo. “Hi! Omigod, you both look so great!”

Cinnamon smiled and waved. “You, too!” she called gaily. To me, she whispered, “Okay, guess what? I've decided you look
fine
. At least you're not dressed like the president of the P.T.A.”

I laughed, then immediately felt guilty. But it was part of our dynamic that sometimes Cinnamon would make fun of Dinah, and sometimes I would laugh.

“Don't be mean,” I told her. That, too, was part of our dynamic.

Dinah reached us, flushed and beaming. “Yay! I am so glad to see you guys!” She bounced on her heels. “I can't believe we're eighth graders. I can't
believe
it!”

“It's going to be a big year,” Cinnamon said. Down by the junior high's main entrance, more and more kids poured from their parents' cars. There was squealing and hugging among the girls; among the boys, knuckle punching and high fives. From our hilltop vantage point, everything was muted and only remotely threatening.

Hello, little ant children
, I said in my head. And then my stomach tightened, knowing I'd soon be joining the ranks.

“Winnie, look,” Dinah said, pointing. “There's Amanda.”

I slapped down her hand. What if Amanda had seen? Amanda was doing the all-black thing, I noticed, and I could see even from here that she was still in her heavy eyeliner stage.

“And oh, look, there's the lovely Gail,” Cinnamon said. “Did you guys hear? She's a
model
now. She did the back-to-school issue of the Sears catalogue, whoop-di-doo.”

I groaned. “Great, her ego's going to bounce right out of her head.”

“I know,” Cinnamon said. “But
Sears
?” She laughed. “It's hilarious when you think about it. It's like being a model for Kmart.”

“What's wrong with Kmart?” Dinah asked.

Cinnamon tilted her head.

“I'm serious!” Dinah said. “I like Kmart. This shirt came from Kmart!”

Cinnamon clucked her tongue, like
the girl will never learn
.

I spotted Malena-of-the-boobs emerging from her father's Lexus, and I jerked my head to alert Cinnamon and Dinah. Malena wore a V-neck tank and a miniskirt that just barely met the dress-code requirements, and when she lifted her hand to wave at Amanda and Gail, the heads of every single male turned in gawking appreciation.

“Did you hear?” Dinah said. “She fooled around with a guy from a brand-new Disney Channel show. It was during her family's beach vacation in L.A.”

“Nuh-uh,” Cinnamon said.

I was skeptical, too. Seriously, a sitcom star? And how would Dinah know?

“It's true,” Dinah said, reading our expressions. “Louise told me. I ran into her at Bennigan's. Malena met this guy, I think his name's Gage, on the beach in L.A. And they totally fooled around. And now Malena IMs him, like, every day, and she's hoping to be an extra on his show!
If
they need extras, which Malena thinks they will.”

“What a slut,” Cinnamon said.

“Cinnamon!” Dinah scolded.

“It's true! And why should girls like Gail and Malena…why should they be the ones who get to be in Sears catalogues and kiss movie stars? Why not us?”

“Do you want to be in the Sears catalogue?” I asked. “I thought you said it was hilarious.”

“Still.”

I gave her a subtle once-over. Yes, she was adorable in her gauchos and cami, but it was also true that she had a bit of tummy poking out. It was a cute little roll above her waistband. She'd had it since we first met. I didn't mind it at all. But I kind of didn't think she was model material, even for Sears.

The bell rang announcing homeroom.

“Oh, crud,” Cinnamon said. “It's time.”

“Yikes, yikes, yikes!” Dinah said, smoothing the pleats on her khakis. “I
really
want this to be a good year. The best year ever!”

Cinnamon lifted her chin. “Ready, you guys?”

“Ready,” Dinah said.

“Winnie?”

I closed my eyes, instructing myself to be calm and confident and fabulous. And witty, if possible, but not in a show-off-y way. And kind. Always kind, which meant no more making fun of Dinah behind her back—or going along with Cinnamon when she did.

“
Win
nie?” Cinnamon repeated. She jabbed my arm with a series of impatient pokes.

I opened my eyes. “Let's do it.”

 

I didn't see Lars and I didn't see Lars and I didn't see Lars. And why? Because he was in high school now—duh—and the high school buildings were in a different part of the campus than the junior high. It was unnerving to think of him out there in high school land, doing high school things with other high school kids. High school kids like my very own sister, Sandra, who was a senior now, which blew my mind.

Not that Sandra and Lars would move in the same circles. To us lowly eighth graders, the ninth graders were hot stuff. But to the seniors? They were nothing but lowly freshmen, just as the seventh graders, to us seasoned eighth graders, were nothing but scrawny, trembling newbies.

But the junior high and the high school shared the same cafeteria, and depending on which lunch you had, it was possible for an eighth grader and a ninth grader to cross paths. That's what I was hoping for, and that's what I got. I passed Lars as he was exiting the cafeteria, and he grinned at me and saluted. Saluted! So cute!

And oh my God, he'd only gotten more gorgeous since the beginning of the summer. His dark hair was longer, and his shoulders were broader. He was a total guy in his slouchy jeans and untucked button-down, and I had the crazy thought that I didn't know him anymore, this world-traveler-stud-boy with squinty hazel eyes. It threw me into a state of panic, no doubt because of too much nervous anticipation for this very moment.

“Off to class?” I managed, moving out of the throng of lunch traffic so we could talk.

“Nah, I've got a free,” he said. He paused, too, but his eyes followed his buddies as they headed out the door. He focused back on me.

“Going to hang out on the quad?” I said. “Soak up some rays?”

“You know it.”

“Nice.”

He glanced at the door. “Well…”

“Well…”

“Guess I'm out of here,” he said. “Enjoy the fried chicken.”

“Yessir,” I replied. He grinned, and my heart soared.

When I caught up with Dinah and Cinnamon, I told them they had to eat fast so we could get to the quad before Lars's free period ended. They were dear darling sweeties and complied, scarfing down their chicken in record time while I nibbled a few bites of my own and tried to think of clever conversation openers. We put away our trays, made a speedy bathroom pit stop, and headed outside.

“There he is!” Cinnamon squealed, spotting him under a tree with his best friend Bryce and two girls I didn't recognize.

“Yes, I know,” I said. “Time to hush now.”

“Geez Louise, when'd he get so tall?” Dinah asked.

“Shut up shut up shut up,” I said under my breath.

“Crap, Winnie, he's, like…gorgeous,” Cinnamon said.

“Is there something about ‘close your pie hole' that you don't understand?” We were within yards of him. My palms grew sweaty.

“Lars, hi!” Cinnamon called out. “Long time no see!”

Lars glanced up. A smile stretched across his face. Bryce looked up, too, as well as the two girls, who must have been sophomores or even juniors, because I really think I would have known them if they were freshmen. I would have at least seen them in the junior high halls last year.