A Little Friendly Advice

by Siobhan Vivian

  The clock ticks away the night. With each passing hour, I grow more and more anxious about Jim. I thought Beth would be feeling nervous and worked up too, but she doesn’t seem to have a care in the world. All she wants to focus on is her birthday. She’s saying hi to everyone and accepting little presents and making sure cool music is always on the stereo. Every time I spot her through the crowd, she’s gulping from her plastic cup. She’s always on the opposite side of the garage from me. It seems almost purposeful, and she’s been acting all weird toward me since our conversation this morning. There are a few minutes when I can’t even find her in the crowd.

  Maria isn’t talking to me either. Davey did show up, dressed like a mummy. I’m guessing they made their relationship official tonight, since the white cloth around his mouth is tainted red from her lipstick. I want to be happy for Maria, but I can’t. I know it’s crazy, but I kind of even hate her a little bit.

  The person I can’t seem to shake is Katherine. She’s walking around behind me, leaning in and whispering insults like how stupid some kid in her history class looks in his Zorro outfit, and how some freshman girl in a Goldilocks wig has been dancing like a slut all over the boys. It’s beyond annoying.

  “Can you please stop?” I say, lifting the cup to my mouth.

  She recoils, genuinely upset. “Why are you still mad at me? We didn’t get arrested or anything. My dad obviously didn’t call the cops. So what’s your problem? You think I’m trying to steal your best friend or something?”

  “That’s insane.” Why does Katherine care what I think anyway?

  “Well, what then? I feel like you hate me.”

  I sip my cup until it’s empty. “That’s not true.”

  “Then prove it. Let’s have a cigarette.” Katherine knocks into me, sort of playful.

  “I don’t smoke.”

  “Shut up.” She extends the pack of cigarettes in my direction.

  I can’t help but think of Jim, the smoker. He’s probably having a cigar right now, watching the clock tick down like I am. I take one of Katherine’s and bite down on the filter, like I’m tough. And we walk out the side door together into the night.

  Katherine flicks her lighter a few times and, once she has a flame, cups it carefully near the tip of my face. It makes my nose feel warm. “Suck it in slowly,” she says. She lights up her own, puffs, and blows out a long steady stream before I can even switch the cigarette from my right hand to my left. It doesn’t make holding it feel any less awkward, though.

  I draw in a shallow breath and hold the smoke in my mouth. Some leaks down the back of my throat and I cough like an idiot. Katherine doesn’t make fun of me, though, which is surprising. Instead she says, “Everyone does that their first time.”

  I take another tiny puff and quickly blow it into the sky. “You really like the taste of these things?” I ask her.

  “No.” She takes another long drag.

  “Jim is a smoker,” I tell her.

  “My dad too,” she says. “He’s also an asshole.”

  “Jim is too.”

  She takes in a deep breath, her first without the cigarette perched on her lips, and tips her head back to look at the stars. “But I still feel bad about what I did to his car.”

  “Really?” I’m surprised to hear it.

  Katherine laughs. “Why is that so hard to believe? I think I’ve probably said ‘I’m sorry’ to you like a million times since we started hanging out.” She pauses for a deep drag. “But I still feel like it’s good to be impulsive. Sometimes you’ve just got to do and say what’s on your mind, no matter who you’re going to piss off.” She leans back toward the garage door, making sure no one is coming. “Did those pictures that you took come out?”

  “They came out okay.”

  “Can I have one?”

  “Yeah, sure. You can have them all, if you want.”

  We don’t talk for the rest of the smoke. I don’t take any more puffs. I just watch the length of ash grow and fall to the ground.

  “You survived your first cigarette,” Katherine says to me. “Now you’ve earned yourself a cigarette-smoking badge.” She takes her butt and snaps it between her fingers, sending it flying off into the yard. “Here,” she says, and twists my fingers into the same shape.

  I snap my fingers like she tells me to, but the lit butt comes flying back into my shirt. It just bounces right off though.

  Katherine laughs. “Smooth.”

  “Whatever,” I say with a smile.

  “So we’re cool now?” she asks me.

  And I nod.

  My throat is killing me, so I head into the house for a glass of water. Beth’s mom is at the kitchen window, peering out through the curtains at the garage. I straighten up and act as sober as I can. I hope I don’t reek of cigarette smoke.

  “Is everyone having a good time out there, Ruby?” she asks me.

  “Yeah. It’s really fun.”

  “How about Beth? Is she having a good time?”

  “Oh, yeah, definitely.”

  “I’m glad.” Mrs. Miller lets the curtain fall. “Is everything okay with her lately?”

  “I think so. Why?”

  “No reason. I guess she seems a little bit down in the dumps the last few days. She’s spent lots of time in her room, working on her costume, of course, but … I don’t know, she just hasn’t been acting very Bethy, you know?”

  I shrug my shoulders because I don’t really know what to say.

  She shakes her head and drops the subject. “Ruby, you must be freezing out there without a coat. I think I saw yours on Beth’s bed.”

  “I’m fine, actually. It’s pretty warm with everyone inside dancing.” Then I think about Beth’s room and that memory box with our picture on top. I want to know what’s inside of it. “But maybe I’ll get it just in case I go hang out outside again.”

  It’s weird being up in Beth’s room when she’s not here. It feels dirty and sneaky, but not enough to stop me. I go straight back into her closet and look for the memory box on the shelf. But it’s gone.

  She knew I was going to look for it.

  One second later and I’m tearing the room apart. I drag her mattress off the frame, pull the clothes out of her drawers. The whole time, I know it’s a terrible idea to be doing this, and I’ll definitely have some explaining to do, but I can’t stop. When I kick over her wastebasket, the memory box tumbles out from underneath a pile of lipstick-stained tissues and fabric scraps.

  I’m shaking as I hold it. I flip it open, and find my dad’s letter right on top. Under that are a bunch of Beth’s memories. Like the plastic necklaces we got from Red Lobster, a love note from Pete Southern, a poem she wrote for the school’s journal, and the ticket stub from the time we went to our first concert in Cleveland. And then I see something I wouldn’t have ever predicted.

  A key.

  It’s the one to my old house.

  When I come back down to the garage, I am shaking so hard my teeth chatter.

  The entire party is screaming the “Happy Birthday” song. They are all gathered around Beth, like she’s some kind of celebrity. Everyone’s pretty drunk, especially Beth. She keeps leaning over, falling ever so slightly against Maria and Katherine, who flank her at the birthday-cake table.

  I’m in shock that they’re already singing. It’s like Beth didn’t even care that I was missing. I press my lips together as tightly as I can, protesting the entire thing. The song ends, Beth blows out the candles, and everyone cheers before getting back to the dance floor. As the crowd disperses, Beth looks at me, then up at the clock. It’s almost midnight. She adjusts her wig and the corners of her mouth turn up the littlest bit.

  I step forward and shove a wrapped present in her hand. “Happy birthday.”

  She takes it apprehensively. “Thanks.”

  “Open it,” I say.

  She does. Gently and slowly, as if the wrapping paper was expensive and not the comics page from last Sunday’
s newspaper. I can tell she’s impressed. She flips the pages of the Polaroid flipbook and watches as I smile big, wide, and normal for her. I get a weird satisfaction in her happiness, like this proves that I really am a good friend, one who can make the perfect gift for her. Too bad she doesn’t deserve it.

  “This is awesome,” she says softly. “Seriously. It’s just what I wanted.”

  When she looks back up at me, her face changes. It gets tight. The gold key reflects in her eyes. I’m dangling it in front of her face.

  Beth turns bright red. She tries to lead me away from the party guests, over to the near-empty punch bowl that’s in the corner, but she’s stumbly and buzzed. I grind my heels, because after all this time, I’m ready to have it out and I don’t care who’s here to see it. But she ultimately wrestles me to the back side of the door, in a small dark shadow next to the fridge.

  “I spent all week trying to tell myself that there was no way you’d keep this from me.” I hold the letter up to her face, so close it touches her nose.

  Beth pushes it away. The paper almost rips. Her mouth is wide open. “You went digging through my room? Through my personal stuff?”

  “I wouldn’t have had to if you hadn’t purposefully hidden that box from me!”

  She shakes her head back and forth, like she can’t believe it. “That was my memory box! You had no right to look in it!”

  My hands fall to my sides but then immediately spring back up. I can’t believe she’s trying to turn this around on me. “Yeah, with that picture on top of the day my dad left? What a cherished memory for you to hold on to!”

  “Sorry I care about you, okay? Sorry I don’t want you to get hurt.” She is so defiant.

  “Oh, please. You just love telling me what to do. You do it to everyone! You tell Katherine to bury her feelings about her dad. You tell Maria to get over Davey. You think you can go around and dictate how everyone should live their lives. Well, I’m not letting you run mine anymore.”

  “Right, Ruby. Like I’m such a bad person. All I did was try to help you, keep you positive and give you advice when you asked me for it. Did I ask to be drawn into your whole family drama? No. Was it fun for me to have to help pick up the pieces of your life? I don’t think so.” She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I’m such a monster. Give me a break.”

  “Is that what you call advice?” The words pop out fast and hard like punches. “Don’t you mean Listen to what I say or else? Because that’s what you basically said to me in the library.” My hands clench into fists. “You’re not supposed to tell me what to do. It’s my life. If I want to see my dad, you can’t stop me!” I swear to God I’ll hit her if she tries to stop me.

  Beth sucks in air through her gaping mouth. Then she leans forward, throwing her arm up on my shoulder. She’s not even the slightest bit afraid of me. Her eyes get narrow and mean. “If you really wanted to see Jim, Ruby, if you knew about his letter all along, why didn’t you just go? Why did you need my permission?”

  I take a step back, unclench my fists, and steady myself against the wall. A few couples on the dance floor have noticed us fighting and angle themselves for a better view. “I know I didn’t need your permission. I was hoping that you’d eventually come clean about it! I trusted that you were my friend and that you would tell me the truth! And what do I get for giving you the benefit of the doubt? My dad’s probably gone by now! And I’ll never get to see him again.” Then I start to cry, right there.

  “Stop trying to make me sound like a bad friend,” Beth screams back into my wet face. She rips off her feather headband and throws it on the ground. “I have a good reason for not telling you!”

  I wipe my eyes and stare at her so hard I think she might spontaneously combust from the heat. Beth is the most insensitive, self-obsessed person in the history of the world. How could I have not noticed before? “Right, I know all your reasons. You hate my dad. He’s a total screwup. He left me and my mom. I got it. But he’s still my dad. Not Jim. My dad!”

  Beth is so frustrated, she’s practically jumping up and down. She lets out a big exasperated groan. “No! That’s not it! I wish that were it, for your sake.”

  “Then what? Explain it to me. And tell me why it is exactly that you have the key to my old house? Because that’s just creepy.”

  Beth opens her mouth to yell again, but she closes it again before any words come out. Her eyes look around the room at all the faces staring at us. Someone turns the music off.

  Maria runs up to us, dragging Davey along with her. “What’s going on?”

  Katherine comes up behind me. She pulls the letter out of my hand and scans it quickly. I’m too stunned to stop her.

  The blood drains from Beth’s face, and when she looks back at me, she’s pale as a ghost. “I walked in on your mom with some other guy that day we built the igloo. I didn’t want you to have to see it, so I took your stupid key. And I’ve been keeping it secret so you wouldn’t have to know that it was your mom’s fault this happened in the first place.” She bends over, picks up her headband, and hangs it on the doorknob.

  “Shut up,” I say, gasping for breath like someone’s holding a pillow over my face. I take a step back. And another.

  Maria drops Davey’s hand and reaches for me. “Ruby, wait. Don’t go.”

  Katherine guides Maria’s arm away from me. She folds up the note and places it in my clammy hand.

  Beth turns her back to me. I take off running.

  Beth was at a doctor’s appointment.

  I watched though holes in the paper snowflakes taped to our classroom window as the school playground was quickly blanketed in snow. Before the end of the lesson, the principal came over the loudspeaker and announced that school would be closing early. I remember being shocked because you could still see parts of the blacktop under the trees and benches. But the big, fat, white flakes showed no signs of stopping, just like the news reports had predicted.

  When I came home, Beth was shivering underneath our big oak tree in her pink parka. She’d heard about our snow day on the car radio on her way home and came to meet me at my house so we could make a snowman or an igloo or something. But my mom wasn’t home from work yet, she said. So Beth told me I should just come over her house.

  I wanted to change into my snow pants and boots. Beth was tugging on me and insisted that I borrow snow clothes at her house. I shook my head. I was way taller than her or even her older sister Suzy. It would only take a second to duck inside. But when I lifted up the rock underneath the garden spigot, the spare key that was always underneath had gone missing.

  “Weird,” I said, because that had never happened before. I fell to my knees, melting the light coating of snow with my hot palms to see if the key might be in arm’s reach of its normal hiding spot.

  “Come on!” Beth said, pulling my collar so hard that I fell backward.

  “Okay, okay,” I said.

  As we neared the end of my street, my dad’s truck appeared from around the corner. He slowed down, and I waved and smiled. I told him mom wasn’t home and I was going over to Beth’s. I told him the key was missing.

  “Really?” He glanced over our shoulders at the dark, empty house.

  I looked to Beth for confirmation of my story. She was making the strangest, most apologetic face ever, right at my dad. Like she knew something terrible was about to happen.

  But instead of stopping it, Beth took off for the corner, running as quickly as she could.

  Riding your bike is dangerous when you’re crying. My feet keep slipping off the pedals and I’m steering all wobbly and crazy down the middle of the street. The front tire dips into a dark pothole and I lose my balance. I skid out into a parked car, nearly falling off the seat, but manage to right myself before I hit the pavement. The inside of my calf scrapes the bike chain, leaving behind an oily gash.

  I’ve decided not to go right to the Holiday Inn, even though he might be gone by the time I get there. Maybe it’s because I’m scared.
But I have to make a stop first. I have to hear it from her.

  Mom is in her bedroom. I can tell by the way the light from the television flashes and flickers through the lace curtains. I crash through the back door and round the corner to her.

  “Ruby?” she calls out.

  I nudge her door open with my foot. She’s lying underneath her comforter, her hair up in a towel. I can’t see the television from where I’m standing, but the way the music is swelling and all violiny, I know she’s watching one of those stupid romance movies.

  “Ruby? Are you okay?” She cocks her head to the side. “What happened to your leg? You’re bleeding!” But instead of jumping out of bed and racing to my side, like the nurse in her should want to do, she pulls up the covers, like she’s afraid of me or something.

  “Is there anything you want to tell me, Mom?”

  Her eyes narrow. “Like what? What do you mean?”

  I lean against the doorway, trying to look really casual and calm and in control. “Okay. Let me rephrase the question. Is there anything you think you should tell me?” I watch her and wait for her answer, expecting to see her squirm under her covers and grow all anxious.

  But she doesn’t. Mom pats her hand around her bed sheets, looking for the remote. She lowers the volume, but keeps the television on. “It sounds like you already know.”

  Her cool demeanor is really pissing me off. Shouldn’t she be more ashamed? Sad? Apologetic? “That you’re a cheater? Yeah, I know. I know all about you.” My voice quivers. “And I know that it was your fault he left us.”

  Mom shakes her head, defiant. “It wasn’t my fault.” She says it quick and confident.

  I scratch the back of my neck, which is hot and itchy. I’d thought I was going to catch Mom off guard and have to force her to talk about this, but she seems weirdly prepared for our conversation. “Why are you even bothering to defend yourself? Beth saw you with someone else! She used the spare key and saw everything! And if you honestly thought you weren’t guilty, you would have told me about it a long time ago.”