When (v5) - Rebecca Stead

“Oh, stuff it, Mr. Perfect!” Mom stomped off to her bedroom without even giving him a chance to tap his right knee.

Richard looked at me. “What did the zero say to the eight?”

I rolled my eyes. “Nice belt.” He’d been telling me that one for at least a year.

Later, Mom stacked the dishes in the sink, turned the faucet on, and went to change her clothes. I stood there and watched as the greasy saucepan overflowed onto the plates underneath. The oily water reflected the light and made the whole thing look like a sparkly fountain. Sometimes I can stare at something like that for a long time.

Mom came back wearing sweatpants and started washing the dishes. I opened my math workbook at the kitchen table. A minute later, Richard came in and said, “Didn’t I leave that extra pair of work shoes here a few months ago? I know they were in the closet, but I can’t find them anywhere.”

Mom’s head snapped up. “I knew it. I just knew it.”

We had been robbed after all.

Things You Pretend

The Monday after Thanksgiving we were stuck in the school cafeteria for lunch. The naked guy was back, running down Broadway, and they wouldn’t let any kids out of the building.

“Kind of cold out to be running around in your birthday suit!” Colin called over to us on his way to a table of boys. Annemarie giggled. I could see Sal over there. He’d glanced toward us once, but acted like he didn’t see me.

I watched the boys for a few seconds, all of them trying to talk louder than the other ones. Sal was doing it, too—every once in a while I could hear his voice on top, and it reminded me of this game we used to play on the crosstown bus on our way to the city pool. Sal would be holding on to the silver bus pole, and I would grab the pole right above his hand. Then he’d move his hand so it was right above mine, and I’d put mine on top of his, until we were on our tiptoes, holding on to the pole near the very top, and usually some grown-up would say to stop fooling around, couldn’t we see the bus was crowded and one of us was going to fall and knock somebody over.

Annemarie picked at her food. The worst part of being stuck inside for lunch was that we had to get school lunch, which was gross.

“I wonder if Jimmy will count the bread order himself,” I said. “I bet he won’t. I think he just likes to make me do it.”

She nodded. “To give you something to do.”

“Gee, thanks.” I threw my milk straw at her.

“Hey! I didn’t mean—”

“Sure you didn’t!”

Then her smile faded. She was still looking at me, but something had changed, like a switch had been flicked inside her. Like she was still there but was doing something else in her head.

“Annemarie?”

“Don’t.” Julia was standing behind me with a carton of milk in her hand. Before I could say anything, she slid onto the bench next to me, still looking right at Annemarie. “She’ll be fine in a minute.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Just wait.” Julia hadn’t even glanced at me. Her eyes never left Annemarie’s face.

Annemarie moved her head a little. She put her arm down on the table, blinked, and said, “What?” as if she had maybe missed something I’d just said.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

Julia hit my knee with hers under the table. “Don’t ask her questions,” she hissed.

Annemarie noticed her just then. “Hi, Julia,” she said, and a smile came over her face.

Julia smiled back. “Hi.” Then she turned to me. “So, Miranda, how’s the playground going? For Main Street, I mean.”

She wanted to talk about Main Street? Now?

Her eyes held mine. “I heard your proposal was approved. Congratulations.”

Congratulations? “Uh, thanks.”

“Will there be swings? How are you going to make them?”

It was dawning on me that Julia was showing me something, teaching me how to help Annemarie.

“Paper clips,” I told Julia. “I’m using paper clips to make the chains for the swings, and I’m going to cut pieces of rubber tire for the seats.”

Julia was nodding. “That sounds great,” she said. I could almost imagine us being friends, having this conversation for real.

“What else?” she asked.

“What?”

She looked annoyed. I wasn’t catching on fast enough. “For the playground. What else?”

“Oh—well, seesaws. Definitely seesaws.”

Then Annemarie spoke. “You know, balsa wood would be perfect for the seesaws—it’s really easy to cut. I think my dad might even have some.”

“Really?” I said. “That would be great. We could paint them orange, just like the ones in Riverside Park.”

“Yes!” Annemarie said. “We can start them at my house—maybe even today if you want.” She looked at Julia. “Want to come? And start Miranda’s seesaws?”

Before Julia could answer, I said “There’s no rush. I just got the plans approved. We can start next week. Anyway, Annemarie, you were coming to my house today, remember?”

I felt Julia pulling away. “See you guys,” she said, and stood up.

“Bye!” I said.

Annemarie looked up at her. “Bye, Julia.”

A few minutes later, the PA system crackled to life and Annemarie was called to the nurse’s office.

Annemarie shrugged, smiled, and walked away, saying, “See you in a minute.”

But she didn’t come back.

Things That Crack

Outside our classroom, Julia waited for me with her hands on her hips. “God, you’re an idiot. You’re an idiot, you know that?”

“ I’m an idiot?”

“She’s been eating all that bread at that stupid job you got her. She’s not supposed to eat any of that stuff. Idiot.”

“I didn’t get her the stupid … I don’t even know what you’re talking about!”

“It’s her epilepsy, idiot. You total idiot. Her dad has her on this special diet. He makes her special food. She’s not supposed to eat bread, or drink soda.”

“She’s not?”

“No, she’s not. Idiot. And by the way, what’s your problem with me, anyway? I’d really like to know.”

“What?”

“Your problem. With me. What is it?”

“Besides the fact that you’ve called me an idiot six times in the last minute? Besides the fact that you shot a rubber band at my head?”

She waved all that away as if I had mentioned some silly detail. “I’m talking about way before that. You’ve hated me forever. You’ve been giving me dirty looks since like third grade! Are you going to pretend you haven’t?”

I stared at her. Some feeling had started in my stomach and was traveling up to my face, and I knew that when it got there I would turn bright red and hear the ocean, which is what happens when I get put on the spot. If I don’t cry, I turn red and hear the ocean. It’s a lose-lose situation.

“What are you talking about?” I said.

“I have no idea,” she said. “I really don’t. But a person knows when someone hates her—at least, I do!” She flung her arm down and her little silver watch flew off her wrist and hit the floor with a crack. A very sharp, final-sounding sort of crack.

Her precious watch. I’m not proud of this now, but that sound, which echoed in the tiled hallway, made me really happy. I sucked my bottom lip so that I wouldn’t smile.

Julia bent down to pick up the watch. I thought she would start to screech, but she just flipped it over in her hand and looked at it. A web of tiny cracks covered the face like a cobweb.

“Oh, great.” She puffed out her cheeks and exhaled slowly. “This whole day just stinks,” she said, and she walked away.

On the way home I found myself walking half a block behind Sal again. I’d learned not to run and catch up to him—he would only look at his sneakers and not talk. So I watched him bobbing along in his navy blue knit hat, his head going from side to side a little, like it always does when he walks. I think he thought that hat looked tough the way he had it pulled down to his eyebrows.