Eleven

by Lauren Myracle

  “You look good,” I said.

  “Really?” Her expression reminded me of Ty, the way he furrowed his brow when he hoped I’d watch Rugrats with him.

  “Really. You look awesome.”

  She studied her reflection once more. The loose fit of the jeans made her seem thinner than she actually is, and the daisies on the shirt brought out the rosiness of her skin. “My dad’s supposed to take me shopping over the weekend. Maybe I’ll bring him here.”

  “Yeah, you should.” I tilted my head. “Have you never tried on clothes here before?”

  Dinah blushed. “I started to once or twice. But ... I don’t know. Everything’s always in such neat stacks. I didn’t want to mess them up.”

  “Dinah. It’s a store. You’re supposed to mess them up.”

  She straightened her shoulders. “Well, now I know.”

  I spent the money Mr. Devine gave me at the Candy Bin. Usually I only bought a dollar’s worth of Jelly-Bellies or a couple of giant jawbreakers, but today I let myself go wild. Malted milk balls, white chocolate truffles, spice drops shaped like seashells—anything I wanted, I put in my bag.

  Twenty feet away, Dinah pored over the jewelry at one of the wooden carts by the fountain. Every once in a while I glanced out of the store to make sure she was still there, and each time I saw her peering at the velvet display trays with a determined frown.

  At 5:15, she appeared by my side clutching a small brown bag. “We should go,” she said. “Sometimes my dad is early.”

  I paid for my candy, and we wound our way through the food court until we reached the Chick-fil-A. Out front, a white-haired lady offered bites of chicken on toothpicks, and we took one apiece. We checked for samples at the Great American Cookie Company, but the plate on the counter was empty.

  “You know where we should have gone?” Dinah said as she settled into a white plastic chair. “The Cinnabon in the basement of Macy’s. They always give out samples, and each sample is, like, practically an entire cinnamon roll.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Maybe next time,” she said.

  “Sure, that sounds good.”

  She folded the top of her bag over, then folded it once more. She creased the edge with her fingernail. “You know how you asked about my mom? If I remembered her?”

  Her question took me by surprise, because I hadn’t thought about that since we left the pet store. But I nodded.

  “Well, I don’t. Not really. I was only four months old when she died.”

  I swallowed. “That’s awful.”

  “Yeah. But anyway, it’s weird. I try to remember her, but I end up thinking about my dad, instead. Like how he raised me all by himself, even though he knew nothing about babies.”

  I imagined Mr. Devine in his Halloween tights. I imagined him holding a little baby. “Dinah—”

  “It’s okay, though. I mean, he figured it out and stuff.” She lifted her head and thrust the paper bag across the table. “Here. This is for you.”

  I opened the bag. Inside was a bracelet woven from blue and gold thread.

  “It’s a friendship bracelet,” Dinah said.

  “I know.” I pulled it out and turned it over in my hands. You were supposed to make this kind of bracelet, not buy it, but I didn’t tell Dinah that. “Thanks,” I said. “And, uh, this is for you.” I handed her my bag of candy with only a small ping of regret.

  She peered inside. “Wow! Thanks! I love malted milk balls.” She popped one into her mouth. “Want me to tie your bracelet on for you? You’re supposed to wear it until it falls off on its own. It’s good luck.”

  If I wore it, Amanda would notice. So would Gail. And I knew she’d make some comment about it, like she did about my ring. If I could tell the bracelet was store-bought, then it was a snap that Gail would, too.

  Even if she didn’t, she was sure to ask who gave it to me.

  But I liked Dinah. So what if she doesn’t always know the right way to do things? She’s nice. She’s brave, in ways that not everyone knows about. And she knows how to say “I love you” to cats.

  I pushed the bracelet across the table and held out my arm.

  December

  THE DAY OF THE SNOWSTORM, Alex Plotkin ate a dried-up bumblebee that he found on Mr. Hutchinson’s windowsill. It was like the time he ate the raw egg, only worse, because the bee crunched.

  “Ew!” Maxine said, scooting away her desk. “Don’t you breathe on me, Alex. Don’t you dare!”

  “Way to go,” Ross Gallivan said. He slapped Alex’s hand and cracked up. “You’ve got, like, a foot hanging out of your mouth.”

  “That’s sick,” Maxine said. “Bees don’t have feet.”

  “Well, something’s hanging out,” Ross said.

  Dinah pressed her knuckles to her mouth, and I giggled. We’d been spending more and more time together, and one of the things I liked about her was how easily she got grossed out.

  “Winnie, he ate a bee,” she said, like she still couldn’t believe it.

  “At least it was dead,” I said.

  “Still ...” She peeked again at Alex. “Think about his poor wife one day. Alex’s, not the bee’s. She’ll have to kiss that very same mouth!”

  “Unlikely,” I said. “You really think anyone’s going marry him?”

  That made her laugh.

  Mr. Hutchinson strode into the room and took in all the commotion. “What’s going on in here? Someone want to fill me in?”

  I looked at Dinah. Last year, she would have told, but this year, she sealed her lips with the rest of us.

  Mr. Hutchinson raked his hand through his hair. “All right. Not important. Listen up: The weather stations are predicting five inches of snow by this afternoon, and Mrs. Jacobs has decided to dismiss school early. She had Jeanie call the radio stations and Channel Two, and they’ll spread the word. Your parents should be here to pick you up at noon.”

  It took a second for his words to sink in, and then a cheer erupted from the entire class. Up and down the hall, stomps and whistles filled the air as other classes received the news.

  Dinah raised her hand.

  “Yes, Dinah?”

  “What if my dad’s not listening to the radio when they make the announcement?”

  “Jeanie’s calling parents in each of the grades, and they’ll activate the PTA phone trees. But don’t worry, several of the teachers will stay until everyone’s been picked up.”

  “Could I go call him, just to make sure?”

  Mr. Hutchinson almost said no, I could tell, but then he looked outside at the heavy, gray clouds. “Okay,” he said, “but make it quick. Anyone else need to make a call? Raise your hands and I’ll let you go one by one.”

  I wasn’t worried about Mom getting the message—she always knew about bake sales and field trips and stuff like that—so I stayed in the room and played Seven-Up with the rest of the class.

  At a little after 10:00, Karen shrieked and pointed at the window. Everyone dashed to see, even the people with their heads on their desks who were supposed to have their eyes shut. Furry white flakes fell from the sky. They dusted the jungle gym and the black rubber swings, and within seconds they blurred the line between the basketball court and the rest of the playground.

  “Awesome!” Alex said.

  “It’s really coming down,” said Ross. “Look how thick it is on the sidewalk!”

  Karen and Louise grabbed hands and jumped up and down, squealing about the snowman they’d make when they got home. Maxine said she was going to make snow candy with maple syrup, like Mary and Laura in Little House on the Prairie.

  The snow continued to fall.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this,” Mr. Hutchinson said. “Not in Atlanta. People are going to have a heck of a time on the roads if the temperature keeps dropping.”

  “It looks like a blizzard,” Dinah said in a low voice. She pressed her forehead against the window. “Maybe we’ll all be trapped.”

  “We
won’t be trapped,” I said. But I shivered, enjoying the possibility. I was glad Ty stayed home from kindergarten today. I knew he’d be safe and snug with Mom.

  At 11:45 we traipsed to the gym in a noisy clump, peering out the hall windows to check the status of the storm. By now the ground was entirely white, and the cars in the faculty parking lot were soft, humpbacked monsters without a hint of glass or metal showing through.

  “Sixth graders on the far wall,” Mrs. Jacobs instructed. “Sit down and stay down. Your teacher will call you when your parents are here.”

  Ms. Russell’s class had already arrived, and I sprinted across the floor to find Amanda and Chantelle. Gail was there, too, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

  “Can you believe it?” I said. I dropped down beside them. “Mr. Hutchinson says it’s five inches deep already. He says if it ices over, we’re really in trouble.”

  “Five inches is nothing,” Gail said. “In Chicago, we got, like, fourteen inches all the time. I don’t know what everyone’s making such a big deal about.”

  “Yeah, but this is Atlanta,” I said. “Last year it didn’t snow at all, and the year before there was a teeny bit but not even enough to make a snowman.”

  “Not even enough to make a snowbaby,” Chantelle said. “We tried.”

  “Mrs. Jacobs said traffic’s backed up all the way to Moore’s Mill,” Dinah said. She stood before us, twisting her hands. “She said the roads are totally blocked.”

  “So?” Gail said. “The snowplows will be able to get through.”

  “We don’t have snowplows in Atlanta,” Amanda said.

  Dinah sucked on a strand of her pale hair. She looped it around her fingers and pulled it out. “Can I sit here? With you?”

  Gail shot Chantelle a look, and embarrassment rose inside me. Then I got mad at myself for feeling that way and said, “Of course. You don’t have to ask, you know.” It wasn’t Dinah’s fault Gail was a jerk. Still, I wished it were as easy being friends with Dinah in a crowd as it was when we were alone.

  I turned to Amanda. “Maybe your mom will let you spend the night. We could make hot chocolate.”

  “And snow angels,” Amanda said.

  “In Chicago, we made snow angels all the time,” Gail said. “Me and Annie, this girl from school? We made thirteen snow angels one winter, all holding hands. Her mom said it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.”

  Dinah checked her watch. “It’s ten after twelve. Why isn’t my dad here?”

  “She called him from the office,” I told the others, feeling like I had to explain her anxiousness. “He promised he’d leave right away.”

  “Ms. Russell wouldn’t let anyone call home,” Chantelle said. “She said if one kid wanted to use the phone, then everyone would, and Mrs. Jacobs would have a fit.”

  “Don’t you think calling home is kind of babyish?” Gail said. “That’s what Ms. Russell said.”

  I bit my lip. Ms. Russell would never have used the word babyish, and we all knew it.

  “Well, Mr. Hutchinson let me,” Dinah said. “And my dad said he’d be here.”

  “He’ll come,” I said. “Don’t worry.”

  She gave me a smile, which I didn’t deserve.

  At 1:30, the gym was still full. Every so often a red-cheeked mom or dad would come in from the cold to claim a waiting kid, but in the last half hour only three moms and one grandfather had pushed through the heavy gym doors.

  “There’s ice everywhere,” Maxine’s mom told Mr. Hutchinson. “I saw seven cars skid off the road at the intersection of Habersham and West Wesley. Bam-bam-bam, until they were scrunched together like pop-beads. And a red Mercedes plowed into the signal pole, so now the light’s out.” She tightened her scarf around her neck. “Come on, Maxine. It’ll only get worse the longer we wait.”

  At 2:00, the teachers passed out milk and graham crackers from the cafeteria, and at 2:45 we filed grade by grade to the bathroom. At 3:15, with the snow still falling, Mr. Hutchinson and Ms. Russell leaned together and murmured uneasily.

  “—fold their jackets and use them as pillows,” I heard Mr. Hutchinson say. “And I switched the thermostat off automatic, so the building will stay warm. We just better hope the furnace keeps running.”

  Ms. Russell nodded and said something about ice-cream sandwiches left over from last year’s Field Day. “And activities,” she added. “We’ll have to think up some games to keep these kids entertained.” She caught me listening and smiled reassuringly. “Nothing to worry about, Winnie. Just planning for contingencies.”

  She and Mr. Hutchinson stepped farther away, and I turned back to Amanda and the others.

  “Did you hear?” I said. “We might have to spend the night!”

  “What?” Dinah said. Her chest rose and fell. “I can’t spend the night here. I don’t have my retainer!”

  “It won’t matter for one night,” Amanda said.

  “And what about brushing my teeth? I don’t even have my toothbrush!”

  “Nobody does,” Gail said. “We’ll have to use our fingers.”

  “Our fingers?”

  “You’re not going to die,” Gail said. “Grow up.”

  I dug my fingernails into my palms, hating Gail’s scornful tone. It made me mad, but it was a tight-stomach kind of mad, because it wasn’t as if I was jumping to Dinah’s defense. Even though I wanted to, something held me back.

  The door opened at the other side of the gym. A man came in and brushed the snow from his coat.

  “Anyway, you won’t have to worry about it,” I said to Dinah. “Look.”

  “Dad!” she cried. She ran to meet him. “What took you so long?”

  Gail watched as Mr. Devine gave Dinah a hug. Then she took her brush from her purse and ran it through her hair. “Thank God. Spending an entire night with Dinah—now that would be a nightmare.”

  “That’s mean,” I made myself say. “Dinah’s not so bad.”

  Gail’s brush stopped midstroke. “Well, you would know, wouldn’t you?”

  I didn’t answer.

  Dinah and her father headed our way, Dinah holding her dad’s hand and grinning from ear to ear.

  “My dad helped rescue a Ford Taurus that got stuck at the bottom of a hill,” she said. “Only he slipped, which is why he’s all wet. He says cars are stuck everywhere. One lady even left her groceries in the backseat so she could walk home, except for a package of fudge-stripe cookies, which she shared with anyone who was hungry. Wasn’t that nice?”

  “Thrilling,” Gail said, low enough so Dinah’s dad couldn’t hear.

  “Anyway,” Dinah continued, “we can give you guys a ride home if you want. Or you can all spend the night at my house. My dad says it’s okay.” She looked at me. “You want to, Winnie? We have hot chocolate mix, the kind with marshmallows.”

  “Um, thanks, but I’m sure my mom’s on the way. She’ll probably be here any minute.” My face felt hot, and I knew I was blushing.

  Gail cleaned her fingernails.

  Chantelle stared at the boys playing basketball.

  “I better wait, too,” Amanda said softly. “But thanks for asking.”

  “Oh,” Dinah said. Two spots of color rose on her cheeks.

  “Another time,” Mr. Devine said. He squeezed Dinah’s hand. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go.”

  Four o’clock came and went with no sign of Mom.

  Five o’clock—still no Mom. At 5:30, Chantelle’s dad arrived, and Chantelle didn’t even pretend to be sad to leave. What had started off feeling like an adventure had stopped being fun about the same time Alex Plotkin nailed Louise with the basketball and Mrs. Jacobs made everyone sit down on the floor and rest, no talking allowed. She let us talk again after fifteen minutes, but by then everyone’s mood had changed. Maybe it was the light coming in though the windows, gray and thin. Or maybe, like me, the others were thinking about dinner and their own warm beds. Part of me thought it would be exciting to s
pend the night in the gym, but a bigger part of me wanted chicken pot pie and the smell of Dad’s Old Spice. Or if I couldn’t have that, then at least a soft blanket and a pillow not made from my winter coat.

  I should have gone home with Dinah.

  At 6:15, Mr. Hutchinson interrupted a two-against-one game of Hang Man (Amanda and Gail were the two; I was the one) to tell me that Mom had called. She’d slid off the road on the way back from the mall, and it had taken her all this time to walk home.

  “She said to tell you she’s fine, and so is Ty.”

  “Is she on her way?” I asked.

  “Her car’s stuck at the mall,” Mr. Hutchinson explained. “Your sister’s boyfriend—Bo?—is coming for you in his Jeep.” He turned to Amanda. “You’re to go with Winnie. Winnie’s mom passed on the message.”

  “Yay!” I said. “Hurray for Bo!”

  Amanda clasped her hands to her heart. “My hero!”

  “He’s not here yet,” Gail said. She drew a square around the letters I’d guessed wrong and started shading it in. “Are we going to finish the game or not?”

  Amanda and I glanced at each other. When Bo picked us up, Gail would be left alone.

  “Winnie,” Amanda said, “maybe you could call your mom and—”

  “B,” I said to Gail.

  “Nope,” Gail said. She drew a foot on the stick figure hanging from the gallows, adding a shoe with a crisscross of laces. “You’re dead.”

  “So what was the word?”

  “Blind.”

  “But you said there were no Bs!”

  “I said there were no Ps.”

  “I didn’t say P. I said B!”

  She folded the piece of paper and shoved it in her backpack. “Don’t be a sore loser. It’s just a game.”

  Outraged, I turned to Amanda.

  “I wasn’t really listening,” she said in a small voice. She didn’t mention calling my mom again.

  It was after 7:00 by the time Bo straggled in. When I spotted him, I jumped to my feet. “He’s here! Come on!”

  Amanda slipped her backpack over her shoulder, then stood there fooling with the strap. “Your dad’ll show up soon,” she said to Gail.