“It’s really creative,” I tell Wanda. “And unusual … like you.”
“Thank you.” She grins at me, then crosses her arms. “Did you see Tanya’s exhibit?” She points across the gym. There are Tanya and Ashley, with a TV on top of their table, and a gigantic sign that says SOUTHBROOK’S TOP MODEL COMPETITION.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I snort.
“Let’s go over there.” Wanda grabs my arm.
We saunter down the row of booths, waving to people and saying, “Great job,” and “Good work.” When we get to Tanya’s booth, we stop. And stare.
First off, Tanya and Ashley are dressed up like they’re going to a big party. Tanya is wearing a pink satiny dress and black high heels with skinny straps decorated with rhinestones. Ashley has on a white poufy lace dress and white party shoes.
“Wow,” I say.
“Oh, hello.” Tanya acknowledges us. “I know. Isn’t our exhibit amazing?”
“I wasn’t going to say that,” I answer. “It’s … very … bold.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Wanda rolls her eyes.
Tanya clasps her hands and I see that she has painted her nails a glossy pink. “We went with the model theme—you know, like ANTM?”
“Huh?” Wanda says.
“America’s Next Top Model. My absolute favorite show ever. Anyway, our whole idea is that competitors can really become BFFs.” Tanya squeezes Ashley’s arm.
“It’s great.” I try to make my voice sound as dull as possible.
Tanya turns on the TV and their video begins to play. First there is Tanya’s smiling face saying, “Welcome, everyone, to Southbrook’s Top Model Competition!” Next is a shot of Tanya, then Ashley, walking down a runway as if they’re in a fashion show.
“We have to go now.” Wanda pulls me.
The two of us break into a run, trying to hold back our giggles. Mrs. Lamont calls out, “No running in the gym!” and we slow down.
“What’s up with them?” Wanda is laughing so hard that tears are brimming in her eyes. “Did they think that would demonstrate friendship? They look ridiculous! The whole thing is hilarious!”
“Leave it to Tanya to come up with something like that.” I point toward Claire’s table. “Hey, Claire’s booth is looking good.”
Wanda puts her hands up as if she is a crossing guard. “Claire’s very hyper right now. She told me not to bother her until it’s all set up.”
“Okay,” I say, and scan the gym. “Where do you think Noah could be?”
“I don’t know. Listen, Cal, I have to go back and finish my booth. I’ll see you later.”
At six-forty, I decide that I have to start setting up our booth even though Noah still hasn’t showed up. I’m beginning to worry, but maybe they’re just late because of the snow.
I spread the sheets over the table and leave an opening right in front. Then I unfold the display board and stand it on top of the table. I place the Cool Whip container and our sign in front of the board.
Our booth looks a little unexciting next to some of the others, but I know we have a good theme.
Noah still hasn’t arrived. Maybe something really is wrong. He wouldn’t miss the fair. He said he’d be here.
Just before seven, all the exhibits are set up. They are colorful and creative and unique. The gym looks as bright as a carnival. Somehow, even Tanya’s model video fits in. Together, Mrs. Lamont and Mrs. Bezner pull open the gym doors.
The first one inside is Grandma Gold. She has on a gold sequined baseball cap and a thick red sweater. She walks right up to Mrs. Lamont and taps her on the shoulder. “I’m looking for my granddaughter. Calli Gold. I’m sure her exhibit is the best one in the entire fair.”
Mrs. Lamont points in my direction and Grandma makes her way over. “Well, isn’t this adorable?” She pecks me on the cheek.
“Hi, Grandma.”
“So what are you supposed to do? Go under the table?”
“Yeah,” I say. “And tell a secret.”
“I don’t think I could get these old bones under there.” She chuckles. “I’ll leave that to you kids, but here, I’ll make a donation.” She snaps open a zebra-print coin purse and drops a quarter through the slot on the Cool Whip container.
“Thanks, Grandma.”
“Are you Calli?” It’s the dad from the skating rink, without his laptop and the phone attached to his ear. “I’m Noah’s dad.” He pumps my hand.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Dan Zullo,” he says to Grandma Gold, and shakes her hand too. “This is something.” He whistles, looking at the booth, shoving his hands in his pockets. “The Secret Friendship Booth. Noah’s been telling me about it. Where is he, by the way?”
“I don’t know. He was supposed to be here early to help set up, but he didn’t come,” I say.
“What do you mean?” Noah’s dad looks surprised. “I dropped him off here an hour and a half ago.”
“You did?” My mind starts to race and I feel all prickly and nervous.
“Yes.” Noah’s dad looks around the gym. He wrings his hands once, like Noah does sometimes, then drops them to his sides.
“He’s not in the gym,” I say. “I’ll check upstairs.” I bolt out the doors, up the stairs and dash into Mrs. Bezner’s classroom. I duck my head under Noah’s desk.
He’s not there.
I run back into the gym, which is now filling up with moms and dads, sisters and brothers, and grandparents. Everyone is buzzing and complimenting and snapping pictures, just like I imagined.
At Noah’s and my booth, his dad is standing there looking very worried.
“Did you find him?” Grandma Gold shouts.
“No. You’re sure he came in the school?” I ask Mr. Zullo.
“I watched him go inside. I told him I’d be back at seven.” He pulls out his cell phone and begins pacing.
I stare at the sheets draped over our booth. I think I know where Noah is.
“Grandma.” I clutch the sleeve of her sweater. “I need your help. Can you drive me somewhere?”
“Now?”
“Yes. Now.”
“It’s bad out there, Calli-kins. Snowing like the dickens!”
“It’s important, Grandma. Real important.”
Mr. Zullo covers the phone with his hand. “I’m talking to my wife. She’s on her way but traffic’s horrendous. I hope my daughter made it to skating. We sent her with another family so we could both be here for Noah.”
He takes his hand away from the phone and continues talking. “He was doing better. I really thought he was improving. Maybe we should put him on that medication.”
He puts the phone in his pocket; then he and Grandma Gold start fretting about the slick roads and the snow and the notion that Noah might really be missing and where he could have gone. “He’s probably somewhere in the school,” Mr. Zullo says. “We can check all the rooms.”
They’re just standing there, discussing the situation in low voices, looking around the gym, as if this isn’t urgent.
“Excuse me.” I try to interrupt, but they don’t hear. All of a sudden, I just can’t listen to them anymore. I grab my jacket, run from the gym, then push open the front doors of the school. The snow pelts me in the face, but I start running faster, slipping on the sidewalk.
I can hardly see where I’m going but I know I have to try to get there. Where I think Noah is. At the end of the sidewalk, a car pulls up next to me and the window opens.
Grandma Gold’s sequined baseball cap is all glittery and shiny in the dark. “Hop in,” she yells. As I leap into the backseat, she presses her glossy red lips together, then opens her mouth wide and makes a popping sound. “ ‘Help’ is my middle name. The heck with the weather! What are grandmas for?” She clears the front window with the wipers. “Noah’s dad is looking for him in the school. Where to, Calli-kins?”
“Turn right out of the parking lot,” I yell as I snap on my seat belt.
“It’s jus
t like being in an action movie!” she exclaims.
“Turn left!”
The car skids around the corner.
“Take it easy, Grandma! Now turn left again!”
Two more turns and straight ahead on Southbrook Road, and I can see it through the whirling snow.
The skating rink.
“Pull up in front, Grandma!”
She screeches to a stop and I jump out. The automatic doors part, and then I’m inside. The office is closed. I remember Mom said that Becca’s competition was at a different rink. The banner with my sister’s name glows eerily under a single spotlight. I can hear the sounds of a hockey game going on.
I reach the hockey-foosball table and bend down.
There, underneath, hidden inside a dark blue jacket, is Noah Zullo.
kneel down and gently touch the sleeve of his jacket. “Noah?”
Just like the first time, he doesn’t answer.
“Noah, it’s Calli.”
“Go away,” he whispers.
“No. I’m not going away.”
“I want you to go away.”
“Well, too bad. ’Cause I’m not.”
He scrunches back so his eyes are peeking out from the collar of the jacket. “What do you want?”
“I want to know why you’re not at the Friendship Fair. Noah, our exhibit looks great. Everyone’s there. All the people from our classes. Mrs. Lamont and Mrs. Bezner. My grandma. Your dad.”
“I’m not coming.” His voice is small but certain.
I sit on the floor by Noah’s shoes and glance toward the door. Grandma Gold is standing just outside the entrance, puffing on a cigarette. Suddenly, a question occurs to me. “How did you get here?”
“I walked.”
“You walked here? From school?”
“Yeah.”
“In the snowstorm? All by yourself?”
“Yeah.”
“Noah, why?”
He peeks his entire face out from the jacket now and stares at me. His eyes are red, like he’s been crying, and his skin looks paler than ever. “Because I didn’t want to be at the fair.”
We sit in silence for a few seconds. I see Grandma light another cigarette. “Are you going to tell me why?” I ask.
“Because it’s bad.”
“What’s bad?”
“Our booth. My idea. Everything.”
“It’s not bad, Noah. I was there. Listen, our booth is at least as good as the other booths.”
Noah rubs his nose. “No it’s not. It’s dumb. Everyone’s probably laughing at it. And”—his voice cracks—“they’re probably laughing at me too.”
I crawl under the table, stretch out next to him, and prop myself up on my elbows.
“No one likes me,” he says softly. “I hear them. They say I’m weird.”
I don’t know what to say. The two of us are quiet and I think I can hear Noah crying again.
“That’s not true,” I whisper. “I like you.”
“You’re different.”
“So are you.”
“That’s the problem.”
He sniffs. “Why can’t they decide what to do with me? Doctors are supposed to have all the answers.”
“I don’t know. Even doctors don’t know everything.”
He sniffs again. “Then how will I ever be okay?”
It hits me then. Just like there are louds and quiets, there are kids like Noah. Maybe he has some kind of syndrome, and maybe he needs a helper, or maybe the world just makes him nervous, like he said. Or maybe not. Maybe he just is like he is. Different. Weird. But okay, in his way.
“Listen,” I say. “I have something for you.” I reach deep inside my jean pocket and pull out the stone I found when I ditched the improv class. I locate Noah’s hand tucked inside his jacket sleeve and place the stone on his palm.
He doesn’t even look at it. He rubs it between his fingers and blinks at me. Then, slowly, his lips pull into a half smile.
Grandma Gold comes barreling into the rink. “Calli?” she calls. “Where in the heck are you?”
I pull myself out and stand up. “Over here, Grandma.”
When she walks over, I point under the table. “This is Noah. I found him.”
“Well, what’s he doing under there?” she asks. Her breath is smoky and bitter-smelling.
“It’s kind of complicated.”
She glances at me and looks back at Noah. “I’m no genius, but I have learned a few things in my seventy-odd years. Nothing ever gets solved by hiding under a table.”
Noah squints at her.
“It’s like the game of Scrabble, young man. You make your own words in this life. Don’t look to anybody else to do it for you. You get what I’m saying?”
“Grandma,” I start, but as I’m about to tell her to let me talk to Noah, that the situation has nothing to do with Scrabble, something incredible happens. Noah crawls out from under the table.
“Yeah,” Noah says. “I get it.” He turns to me. His hand is in a tight fist, but I know he’s holding the stone inside. “Two people in this world think my idea is good, right?”
“Absolutely.” I nod.
Grandma spits into her hand and tries to smooth down Noah’s spiky hair.
“Grandma!”
“Oh, he doesn’t mind,” she scoffs.
He smiles up at her. “I like your hat.”
“Young man,” she says, “if I don’t drive you and my granddaughter back to the school right now, we might be stuck here until morning.”
The three of us look outside. It seems like an inch of snow has fallen in the short time we’ve been inside the rink.
Noah takes a deep breath. “I’m ready to go now.”
We all pile inside Grandma’s car and she clears the window again with the wipers. “Oh, why didn’t I spend the winter in Florida with my sister?” she wails.
“Because then you couldn’t be in an action movie,” I say, laughing. “Step on it, Grandma!”
“I always wanted to do that,” she says cheerfully.
Noah looks at Grandma Gold in the front seat as she peers out of the snowy car window, her hat shooting little gold rays. “Mrs. Calli’s Grandma?” he says.
“Yes?”
“You should stop smoking. It’s really bad for you. Aren’t you old enough to know that?”
She lets out a hoot. “It hasn’t killed me yet. But I’ll think about it. Thanks for reminding me, Mr. Calli’s Friend.”
When we get back to the school, both lots are filled and we have to park a block away. “It’s a gosh-darn blizzard!” Grandma calls, and grabs Noah’s and my hands. “Hang on for dear life!”
Noah’s dad rushes up to him and gathers him in a big hug as soon as we get inside the gym. A woman—his mom, I guess—brushes the snow from his jacket and his hair. Then the two of them kneel next to Noah, looking very serious. Noah is gazing down while both of them grasp his arms, talking.
Mr. Zullo sees me over Noah’s shoulder and mouths, “Thank you.” Then he turns back to Noah, unzips his jacket, and takes it off, shaking out some of the wetness. Noah begins to finger a button on his shirt and I notice that his mom takes his hand away from the button, then glances around like maybe she’s embarrassed.
He looks so good in his new shirt, all grown-up and proud. And they look like nice parents, just wanting to help their son. I wish that Noah had his deck of cards so he could show them that trick he knows, or that somehow, he could find the words to explain why he likes to collect stones, but all he does is stand blankly while they fuss over him.
Grandma Gold turns to me. “Want to walk around and see the other booths, cookie?” I nod as she takes my arm.
At Claire’s exhibit, she and her peer are standing proudly in back of their booth, which is a detailed spread of what they’ve called Global Friendship. Only Claire, I think, would come up with something like this. She probably did the most research of anyone. They have photographs and items demonstrating h
ow people express friendship in other countries.
“Claire,” I say, shaking my head, “this is amazing. I think you’re going to be president one day.”
She beams and says, “I like your booth too.”
Grandma Gold and I stop at some of the other booths, and as I make my way toward Noah’s and mine, I cannot believe what I see. There’s a line. A line of people waiting to visit the Secret Friendship Booth! I am in shock.
Not only that, but when I get to our table, I see that the Cool Whip container is filled almost to the top with quarters. Even some dollar bills are stuffed in. People are taking turns ducking under the sheet, and then coming out laughing or with serious looks or holding hands. Parents and kids, girls, boys, everyone is in line to tell a secret. Even Jason and the other uterus chanters are in line.
Mrs. Bezner is standing by our table. “Calli Gold!” she exclaims. “Where have you been? Your exhibit is the most popular one in the entire Friendship Fair!”
I am at a loss for words. I just shake my head and shrug. “I’m here now,” I say finally.
Wanda is at my side, pulling my arm. “I’ve been looking for you,” she says. “This is so much fun. Let’s go under. I already told a secret with Claire. Now, you and me.”
We wait for our turn. Finally, underneath the sheet, all the noise from the gym is muffled. The voices sound far away, and the air is warmer and more still. It’s almost like we’re underwater in our own private little world. Wanda and I can’t see anyone except each other, and it feels cozy and, somehow, magical.
“Can I go first?” Wanda asks.
“Sure.”
“Now, what’s said in the Secret Friendship Booth stays in the Secret Friendship Booth, right?”
“Absolutely.”
She leans toward me, close to my ear, and whispers, “I’m wearing a bra.”
My eyes widen. “You are? I thought your mom said you couldn’t get one.”
“When I told her we were going to start the puberty unit in health, she said it was time.”
“Wow. How does it feel?”
“Weird. Good. Grown-up. I don’t think it fits me right yet, though.” She glances down at her shirt, then says, “Now you.”
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