That's What Friends Do

  “Maybe,” I say, wondering if I can ask the Peas to drive me so Dad won’t know.

  When the bell rings, I pick up my tray and head out of the cafeteria, but instead of being all alone, I’m with a group. Of girls. And I realize something: it was fun. And then I realize something else: not one of them mentioned what anyone was wearing.

  DAVID

  Completely randomly, when I get home from school, Mom says, “How about you have a little sleepover party this weekend?”

  The last time I had a sleepover party was my ninth birthday, because the morning after the sleepover, as we were watching the last kid walk down the sidewalk with his pillow, duffel, and goodie bag, my mom said, “I am never doing that again! That was the worst night of my entire life.” Something about my friend Benjie being awake until one in the morning, and then Kai and Andrew getting up at five. Mom can be kind of dramatic sometimes, but in the three years since then, she’s stuck to her guns on the sleepover party thing. I’m allowed to have two friends, max. Not three and definitely not four. Two. And never Benjie with Kai or Andrew, which isn’t a problem because I’m not such good friends with Benjie anymore.

  I think about feeling her forehead, the way she always does to me when she wants to let me know I’m saying something crazy, but instead I say, “Sure. How many guys can I invite?”

  “How about three?”

  “Okay. Jefferson, Kai, and Andrew.”

  “Three plus Luke. You’ve been such a good friend to him, but, you know, it’s not easy being new. He’s still having a hard time finding his way.”

  “He seems to be adjusting pretty well,” I say, thinking about how he got two slices of pizza from the lunch ladies today without even asking. “I think he’s fine.”

  “Sometimes a person can look fine on the outside but not really be fine.”

  “I see him every day. He’s really fine.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “Trust me, Mom,” I say, remembering how Carli was practically drooling on him in the hallway. “Luke’s doing great. He doesn’t need to come to my sleepover.”

  Mom sighs. “Was he invited to the sleepover at Kai’s house?”

  “No, but not all the guys were. Only three of us.”

  She crosses her arms in front of her. “How about the sleepover at Spencer’s house last weekend?”

  “No. But I wasn’t invited to that one either. Not everyone gets invited to every sleepover.”

  She sighs again and looks at me like she’s going to say something else serious. Then she glances up at the ceiling and back down at me.

  “Four friends, and one of them is Luke,” she says. “We’ll order in pizza, and I’ll get out the fondue pot, and you guys can have chocolate fondue.”

  Curses, I think. Foiled again.

  Mom bought the fondue pot two years ago, as the family present on the first night of Chanukah. On the second night of Chanukah, instead of the traditional jelly doughnuts for dessert, we had chocolate fondue. Mom put out a giant platter with pieces of banana and pound cake and strawberries and marshmallows to dip. It might have been the best night of my entire life, and not because Pop’s idea of a great second night of Chanukah present was a pair of regulation baseball pants.

  Since then, we’ve only used the fondue pot three times: the night before I left for sleepaway camp, when Mom said she’d make any meal I wanted; on my birthday, when ditto; and on the second night of Chanukah this year, when I made the very compelling argument that chocolate fondue on the second night of Chanukah was a family tradition.

  Then Mom says, “You can skip Hebrew school on Sunday. Being as it’s a special occasion.”

  “Deal,” I say.

  Saturday, February 28

  SAMMIE

  I’m on the chairlift with Dad when my phone buzzes. A text message. I pull my ski gloves off and take out my phone. Dad laughs. “Your generation,” he says. “Can’t even sit on a chairlift without checking your phone.” He pats his chest. “Mine is safely tucked in here, and on ‘Do Not Disturb.’”

  It’s a text from Haley. Batting cages tomorrow?

  “Anything urgent?” Dad asks.

  “No,” I say, putting my phone back in my jacket pocket. “Just a friend. She wants to hang out tomorrow.”

  “Nice,” Dad says. “Now, do you want to do another boring blue trail, or can we go for one of the blacks?”

  “I’m ready for a black,” I say.

  We do three black diamond runs, different ones each time, and then break for lunch. While Dad stands in the food line, I head to the bathroom, where I pull out my phone and answer Haley: OK.

  DAVID

  At six o’clock, with snow falling steadily, Jefferson, Andrew, Kai—and Luke—arrive at my house, sleeping bags in tow.

  The forecast says we’ll get six inches tonight, and everyone’s excited about fresh snow.

  “How about a snowball fight?” Andrew says.

  “I’m in,” Kai says. “I brought snow pants, and a hat and gloves, just in case.” Kai is that kid who’s always prepared for everything. He probably has a bathing suit in his overnight bag too, just in case.

  “I didn’t bring gloves,” Luke says. “Or snow pants.”

  “I didn’t bring snow pants either,” Jefferson says to Luke. “Just wear your jeans.”

  “I don’t have another pair,” Luke says. “If I get these wet, I won’t have anything to wear. And my mom will freak.”

  “Well, I’m in,” Jefferson says. “I brought a spare pair of jeans. We can split into two teams. Me and Kai against you and Andrew, and Luke can be the ref since he doesn’t have the gear.”

  “I don’t have snow boots,” Luke says, sounding kind of pathetic. “But it’s okay. I can hang out in the kitchen and ref from the window.”

  “Cool,” Andrew says. “Let’s do it!”

  There is no way Mom is going to be okay with me leaving left-out Luke in the kitchen while the rest of us are having fun in the yard. “No worries about the gear,” I say, slapping Luke on the back. “I have gloves and boots and probably even an extra pair of snow pants you can borrow, thanks to L. H. Fischer Sporting Goods. Come shopping in my garage.”

  “Oh, right,” Jefferson says. “The Fischer family garage. I forgot about that.”

  “What are you talking about?” Luke asks.

  “Follow me,” I say.

  I lead the guys out into our garage, where Mom and Pop have turned one end into a giant sports gear closet. Sleds, skis, and ice skates are all neatly stacked in one area of shelves. Another section contains a selection of jackets and snow pants hanging up, organized by size, and, below that, large covered plastic bins, each labeled with what’s inside: socks and long underwear; gloves, mittens, and hats; yada yada.

  We find a pair of snow pants that will fit Luke, and then Andrew and Jefferson want snow pants too, so we find some for them. I locate gloves and boots for Luke, and even dig out a pair of ski socks, so his feet will be super warm.

  And then we head out into the yard, with me reffing the other guys as they compete to see who can get the most hits on the other team. We draw lines in the snow that each team has to stay behind. It’s my job as ref to make sure no one strays over their line. We agree that the first team to score six hits wins the round. And then they’re at it, heaving snowballs at each other as fast as they can.

  Luke gets a point with his third throw, and then another two throws later. Within minutes, his team has won, with every point scored by him.

  They play a second game, and Luke and Andrew win again.

  “Okay, my turn,” I say after they’ve won their third game. “Andrew, you ref now, and give me a chance.”

  “But I won,” Andrew complains. “One of the losers should be ref.”

  “Okay,” Kai says. “I’ll be ref, and Andrew, you be on Jefferson’s team.”

  Andrew doesn’t like that any better, but he has to agree. Which puts me on Luke’s team.

  Andr
ew gets me twice and Jefferson hits me once, but by the time they’ve got three hits, Luke’s gotten five and I’ve made one.

  After Luke and I win a second game, Andrew says, “I want to be on Luke’s team.”

  “Your turn to be ref,” I remind him. “Jefferson, how about you and me against Kai and Luke?”

  We play three more games—because Jefferson and I pull off one win—but after Kai and Luke win their second, Kai says, “Let’s go inside. I’m cold. And hungry.”

  Everyone except Andrew is ready to give up. “I want to play one game on Luke’s team,” he insists.

  After Luke and Andrew win their one game, we head inside and strip off our snow gear in the back hall while Mom orders us two pizzas, plus garlic knots and a couple of big bottles of Sprite. When the food arrives, we take it down to the basement and eat while we play Madden NFL 17 on the Xbox. When we get tired of that, we switch to Guitar Hero, and then FIFA 17.

  When Mom brings down the fondue pot and the tray of stuff to dip into it, everyone crowds around. Mom hands out the fondue forks.

  “I love fondue,” Andrew says, pushing a strawberry onto his fork. “Remember when we went to the Melting Pot last year for my birthday?”

  “That was the best,” Kai says, dipping a piece of pound cake into the chocolate.

  “I had diarrhea for two days after that,” Jefferson says. “All the cheese, I think.”

  “Cheese blocks me up,” I say, putting two pieces of pound cake on my fork. “It forms like a cork in my butt.”

  “TMI,” Kai says.

  “I’ve been to the Melting Pot,” Luke says. “When I lived in Villemont. I took my girlfriend there, for our three-month anniversary.”

  “Your girlfriend?” Andrew asks, then pops his chocolate-covered strawberry into his mouth.

  “Yeah, my girlfriend. Courtney.”

  “Ooh,” Jefferson says. “Luke has a girlfriend.”

  “Had,” Luke says. “We broke up. But she wasn’t my first girlfriend.” He pushes a marshmallow onto his fork and dips it into the melted chocolate. “I dated a girl in sixth grade too. Vera.”

  “I have a girlfriend,” Jefferson says, sounding very cool and casual about it. “I only see her in the summer, though, at sleepaway camp. She lives in Massachusetts.” Jefferson’s so-called girlfriend is the girl he went to the camp social with, and I know for a fact that all they did was take a picture together and dance a couple of slow dances.

  “Me too,” Andrew says, putting two pieces of strawberry on his fork. “I have a girlfriend. But she doesn’t go to our school either.”

  “Does she live in Massachusetts with Jefferson’s girlfriend?” Luke asks, like he doesn’t believe either story.

  “No,” Andrew says defensively. “She lives in White Plains. I see her every weekend.”

  What Andrew doesn’t say is that he sees her at church and at Greek school, which is like Hebrew school but for Andrew’s church, so it’s not like they ever have the chance to do anything.

  “Have you guys kissed?” I ask Andrew.

  He glances at me, then turns back to the tray of dipping goodies, which I’m pretty sure means no.

  “Luke definitely kissed his girlfriend,” I say. “Maybe he can give you some pointers.”

  “I don’t need pointers from Luke,” Andrew says.

  “I could definitely give all of you some girl pointers, that’s true,” Luke says.

  “I don’t need any pointers,” Jefferson says.

  “You guys,” Luke says, leaning back in his chair, “could all learn from me.”

  “But you don’t have a girlfriend now, right?” Kai says. “I mean, you said you had a girlfriend. Past tense.”

  “I’m working on it,” Luke says confidently. “Sammie’s definitely interested.”

  I hate that he’s so sure of himself. And I hate that he’s probably right. I wish I could go back to that stupid day on the bus and do things right. So maybe I’d still have a shot.

  “Sammie’s so . . . Sammie-like,” Jefferson says, studying the tray of dipping goodies. “I mean, she’s Snergir. Not girlfriend material. I heard Carli Martin has a major crush on you. She’s hot.”

  Luke laughs. “Carli Martin is an idiot.”

  “She’s popular,” Jefferson says, sliding a piece of banana and a piece of pound cake onto his fork.

  “And pretty,” Kai adds, copying Jefferson’s banana–pound cake combo.

  Luke shrugs. “Who cares. She’s an airhead. Sammie’s much better girlfriend material.”

  “I’d go out with Carli,” Jefferson says. “I mean, if I didn’t already have a girlfriend. Which I do.”

  “When are you going to ask Sammie out?” Kai says.

  “I’m working on it,” Luke says.

  “At lunchtime?” I ask.

  Luke glances at me, puzzled. “What are you talking about?”

  “When you don’t come to lunch some days, you’re with Sammie, right?”

  “Oh. Yeah. Right. Yeah. Sometimes.” He looks around the room like he’s looking for something. “And anyway, we’re going to be spending a lot of time together during baseball season.”

  Jefferson laughs. “Yeah, right. Coach D is going to love you guys making out on the bench.”

  “I don’t plan to spend much time on the bench,” Luke says. “I’m thinking about all those bus rides to away games. Coach D isn’t going to be in the back of the bus. But I will, with Sammie.” He grins. “The back of the bus is great for making out.”

  “It doesn’t seem so great to me,” Kai says. “All that shaking around.”

  “The back of the bus makes me nauseous,” Jefferson says. “And anyway, don’t you guys already have someplace better to make out?”

  “What?” Luke asks.

  “Where you go at lunch.”

  “Oh,” Luke says. He picks up his fondue fork and studies it, then puts it down and announces, “I gotta whiz.”

  When he’s out of the room, Jefferson rolls his eyes and says, “He talks like he’s such a player.”

  “I bet he’s lying about being with her at lunch,” Kai says. “I bet she doesn’t even like him.”

  “You’re her best friend,” Andrew says to me. “She talks to you. Tell her that Luke’s bragging about making a move on her, and ask her if she likes him back.”

  Currently, Sammie’s not talking to me, but I can’t tell these guys that because then they’ll ask why and we’ll be back to what happened on the bus, and I don’t want to go there. “Mmm,” I say.

  “I bet if she fell right into his arms he wouldn’t even know what to do,” Andrew says.

  I bet Luke Sullivan would know exactly what to do with a girl in his arms, unlike me. But I don’t say that. I don’t say anything.

  “Hey!” Jefferson says. “I’ve got an idea. Let’s put Sammie in Luke’s arms. See if he’ll put the moves on her then. We get them together in the back stairwell after lunch one day.”

  “I bet Sammie will tell him off,” Kai says gleefully.

  “Let’s see if he’s really the smooth player he says he is,” Jefferson says, making a fist. “Deal?”

  The toilet flushes.

  “Deal,” I whisper, my throat dry.

  “Deal,” Andrew and Kai say in unison.

  We all bump fists.

  Sunday, March 1

  DAVID

  As Mom is putting boxes of Frosted Flakes and Honey Nut Cheerios on the table, she says, “One of the high schoolers called in sick this morning. Your father’s going to need you at the store later.”

  “Today?” I say, motioning toward my four sleepy friends, who are silently passing and pouring the cereals. “What’s the point skipping Hebrew school if I have to work at the store instead? Where are all the actual employees?”

  “David,” Mom says in her disappointed voice. “It’s important. That store supports our family.”

  Which is completely not true because Mom works full-time, so the store only hal
f supports our family.

  “Your father needs you,” Mom says.

  “Can’t he need someone else?”

  “I’ll go,” Luke says, looking suddenly wide awake. “I’ll help out. I could go instead of David, even.”

  Mom laughs. “That’s so sweet of you to offer, but David knows the ropes. Mr. Fischer needs someone with experience.”

  How much experience does it take to open a big box, take out whatever smaller boxes are in the big box, slap each one with a price label, and put it on a shelf? A trained monkey could do it, honestly. That’s what I am at L. H. Fischer Sporting Goods: a trained, unpaid monkey.

  “I can go with David,” Luke says, looking at me for support. “He can teach me how to do stuff.”

  None of my other friends has ever offered to come with me to the store. Sometimes, Jefferson and Andrew drop by when I’m working and hang out for a little while, but they’ve never offered to do anything, and it’s honestly kind of awkward. I look at them, to see what they think of Luke’s sudden goofball offer, but they’re hunched over their bowls, shoveling spoonfuls of sugary cereal into their mouths.

  “If it’s okay with your parents,” Mom says.

  Which is how Luke ends up coming with me to the store after the other guys get picked up.

  “Dave-O!” Pop says when we walk through the front door of L. H. Fischer Sporting Goods. He holds out his arms like I’m the messiah, then wraps them around me and hugs me. I keep my arms at my side because I don’t want to give him any encouragement. “And Luke! The Dynamic Duo to the rescue! I’m so glad you boys are here because we just got a huge shipment of baseball cleats. Four giant boxes. How about you boys unpack them in the stockroom and price them, and then after lunch we’ll get them out on display?”

  “Okay,” I say to Pop, because at least the unpacking part of the plan happens in the stockroom.

  Pop pats Luke on the shoulder. “So nice of you to offer to help David out. You stick with him. He’ll show you what he’s doing, and you can jump in when you’re ready. It’s learning on the job around here.”