Luckily, Monday was our day to drive to school so I didn’t have to worry about the awkwardness of seeing her mom. I watched for Madeline out the living room window and when I saw her coming across the creek I went outside to meet her. I took her in a big hug and said, “Are you okay?”
She dropped her head onto my shoulder, but didn’t put her arms around me. “I’m okay,” she muttered into my hair.
When I pulled back, I noticed her eyes were puffy but otherwise she looked as cute as always, and was even wearing a little extra makeup—some darker eye shadow and mascara. She wore black tights beneath a hunter green pleated skirt and a dark top.
“You look cute,” I told her as we walked toward the driveway where Mom waited in the car.
“Thanks.”
In the car she didn’t say a word; thankfully neither did Mom. I told her last night what was happening (“Oh, goodness,” she’d said. “Those poor kids”), but I hadn’t thought to tell her to keep quiet today and before getting out of the car at school, she said, “Madeline, sweetheart, you know you’re always welcome at our house. Okay?”
Madeline’s eyes welled up; she nodded okay and slid out of the car.
We didn’t say anything on the way to our lockers to get our books for first period. I kept sneaking glances at her, thinking maybe she’d turn to me and tell me what I should do or what she wanted most right then. I didn’t know how to make her feel better and basically assumed it couldn’t be done anyway. How can you cheer someone up when their parents are splitting? She had a right to be sad.
When we got to our lockers, Susanna was there waiting for Madeline. Like she could make everything okay just like that. I thought Madeline was going to ignore her, or give her a weary look like the one she’d been wearing all morning. Instead, she dropped her bag on the floor and stepped into Susanna’s arms. And not only did Susanna hug her, but Madeline hugged her back. I stood by for a moment and wondered if I should rub Madeline’s back or something. Some people stared as they walked by. I couldn’t tell if Madeline was crying or not, but it was sort of intense. Finally I rubbed her back, and then she stood up, took a deep breath, and told Susanna, “Thanks.”
“I told you,” she said. “It sucks. But I promise, it’ll get better.”
I stood beside them, feeling like I was in the way. Maybe I was jealous at how much Susanna was already helping Madeline out. I know it wasn’t a contest or anything and it was a dumb thing to think, but I couldn’t help it. I shook the thought from my head, truly glad someone could help and understand what she was going through. Mom said it was called empathy.
Later that afternoon we walked to lunch together and I told Madeline I’d buy her an ice-cream sandwich to cheer her up. “Ice cream always makes things better,” I said, and she smiled.
“You sit down,” I told her, leading her to a table out of the way of traffic and several tables over from where Susanna and the girls had taken to sitting. I figured we could just get away from everything, and Mads and I could talk or not talk, whatever she wanted. I would baby her, or treat her like a princess, even though we were not the princess-y types. The point was to make her feel good when she was feeling so bad. The point, I realized, was to be there for her. “Relax, and I’ll go get the ice cream. You must eat it before your sandwich. Dessert first today!”
I waited in line for the ice cream and watched Madeline rest her chin in her hand. I willed the line to hurry up so she wouldn’t have to sit alone. In front of me was Chris(topher), who was taking his sweet time choosing between Salisbury steak (vomit) and a hamburger (slightly less vomit).
“Come on, Chris, hurry up,” I said.
“It’s Christopher,” he said. “And what’s the rush?”
“I can’t stand being in front of this delicious food and not eating it. Put us out of our misery and let us through already!”
“It’s a crucial decision, what you choose for lunch,” he said. Today he wore a black tie with white skulls all over it.
“I like your tie,” I told him.
“No amount of flattery will do.” I reached up and mussed his hair. “Hey!” he wailed, and I hopped in front of him and grabbed an ice-cream sandwich out of the bin.
As I paid for it, I looked back at Chris(topher) and said, “You were so much cooler last year.” Because he was. He was still cool, deep inside, but I hated his act. His hair was cute though, especially once I messed it up.
As I walked back to our table my stomach sank as I watched Susanna, Natalie, and Julia leading Madeline away to their table. I picked up my pace, stopping to get my lunch bag, which they’d so thoughtfully left behind.
“Hey, guys,” I said, catching up with them as they settled at Susanna’s preferred table. I wanted to say, What do you think you’re doing? Instead, I went lame and said, “What’s up?”
“Okay if we sit over here?” Madeline asked, opening her lunch bag and taking out her sandwich.
“Yeah, of course,” I said, a rock forming in the pit of my stomach. Why did I feel like they were trying to take her away from me?
Susanna sat next to Madeline, who sat on the end, with Natalie across from her. Reluctantly, I took the seat next to Susanna.
“She was all alone,” Susanna said in a low voice, turned away from Madeline. “She was just sitting there.”
“I was getting her ice cream,” I said, holding out the ice-cream sandwich, cold on my fingertips.
“What she needs is her friends,” Susanna said, her eyes cutting down the ice cream as if I’d brought her a cockroach.
I leaned forward and said, “Here, Mads,” and held it out for her as she bit into her lunch.
“I did not say that.” A smile eased its way across Madeline’s face as she spoke to Natalie.
“You did! She did!” Natalie said to Julia, laughing.
“So did not,” Madeline said, then tossed a chip at Natalie, who squealed like she’d been hit with a water balloon.
Since Susanna made no effort to pass the ice-cream sandwich down the table, I tossed it across her, and it landed on Madeline’s bag of chips. She jumped back in her seat, and all the girls started laughing. “Where did that come from?” Madeline said, as if it was the funniest thing in the world. She picked it off the bag and dropped it back on the table.
I was so put off. I mean, I was glad she was laughing, clearly distracted from what was happening at home, but she didn’t have to ignore me. I waved my arms above my head like I was trying to flag down a rescue plane. “Hello! Down here!” I called. “It’s from me!”
Madeline leaned forward to see around Susanna. “Thanks, B.” And then a chip from Natalie or Julia flew into her hair, retaliating for the one she’d thrown.
Throughout lunch I tried to get in on the conversations, but Susanna seemed to casually block my view of Madeline as I played a game of lean forward, lean back. They talked about the Friday night sleepover and how next time they were totally going to raid Josh’s bedroom. At one point, Susanna actually said to me, “You should have been there, Brooke. It was hilarious!” The way she rested her hand on my arm when she said it felt more like a warning.
After lunch, I invited Madeline over after school. She said she just wanted to go home but didn’t invite me. I figured she wanted to be alone, and that was fine.
On Tuesday I asked her if she wanted to come over for dinner, and that we could bake something for dessert. “You know how my mom lets us make the biggest mess and then cleans it up for us,” I reminded her. But she said her stomach hurt and she just wanted to order in with her brother.
“Well,” I said, “let me know if you need anything.” It was at least the twentieth time I’d said it in two days. She never asked for anything, but I wanted her to know that I was there if she needed or wanted something. I tried not to feel ignored because I knew the whole situation wasn’t about me—it was about Madeline and her parents and what she was going through. Still, I couldn’t help but feel that way.
By Wednes
day, I was practically tiptoeing around her. There seemed to be nothing I could do for her except wave from down the lunch table to remind her I was still there. You know, her best friend? If Susanna had been hanging around a lot before, she was now practically attached to Madeline as if she was her personal advisor.
That day at lunch, we sat at “our” new table in the same arrangement we had since Monday: Madeline on the end, Susanna next to her, then me; Natalie across from Madeline and Julia next to her. I sat there and wondered, How did I get here? Like, seriously. I had become a bit player in my best friend’s life.
I realized that this was the way things were going, that I was slowly being edged out of Madeline’s life. The only question was, did she know she was doing it, or was it one of those unconscious things?
“Oh my god, your brother is so cute!” Natalie said, and I wanted to stick my finger down my throat. Josh? Cute? If only she’d seen him flip his eyelids inside out like I had on a number of occasions, she’d probably think differently.
“Gross!” Madeline said.
“He is!” Natalie said. “He’s got that bad boy thing going.”
“He never showers,” Madeline said, which was probably true. Josh thought grunge was still in. I almost said this, but figured they wouldn’t even know what that meant.
“Ask Brooke,” Natalie said. “I bet she’ll agree with me.”
“Brooke is sitting right here,” I said, pointing to myself. “Why don’t you ask her?”
Natalie’s Cupid’s-bow mouth dropped open in disbelief. They ignored me all day and then think they can not-talk to me like that? What was her problem?
Since no one said anything, I said, “Madeline is right. Josh is a future juvenile delinquent and a disgusting human being, and anyone who thinks otherwise must have some sort of mental condition.”
“God, Brooke,” Madeline said. “Harsh much? That is my brother you’re talking about.”
I leaned forward (stupid Susanna), and said, “Since when do you defend Josh?”
“Since when do you talk trash about him?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Since the time he wiped his boogers on my jeans.”
“Ew!” Natalie and Julia squealed, and I wanted to say, “See?”
Madeline said, “Please. He was like in sixth grade when he did that.”
“You’re right,” I said, feeling a bit out of myself. A part of me knew I was sort of fighting with Madeline and these dumb girls were watching, but another part of me didn’t feel anything. “Sixth grade is a totally acceptable age to be picking your nose and wiping your boogers on your sister’s best friend’s jeans. In fact, I did this very thing last year to one of Abbey’s friends. And she laughed and told me I was cute!”
“Don’t talk to her like that,” Susanna said. She’d been sitting there watching it all play out, probably just waiting for the moment she could pop in and rescue Madeline.
“Susanna?” I said as sweetly as I could, because right then I hated her more than anything in the entire world. “Shut up.”
“Hey!” Madeline snapped. “Don’t talk to her like that!”
“Oh, real nice,” I said. “You give me crap but stand up for her?”
“Why do you always have to be so sarcastic?” Susanna asked, moving so that I couldn’t see Madeline. “It’s so annoying. Even Madeline says so.”
Suddenly my mouth felt dry. Madeline had been saying bad things about me, behind my back?
“You don’t even know Madeline anymore,” Susanna said, and I got the feeling she was enjoying this. “She’s going through something so big right now and you’re not even around. You’re a terrible friend, and all you do is mope or act like you’re better than us when we’ve been nothing but nice to you.”
“Oh, yes,” I said. “So nice!” And then I cringed—was I really sarcastic a lot?
“You have no clue about her family, so why don’t you stay on your own side of the creek”—she said “creek” as if it was an insult—“with your perfect little family and your mom who sells those crappy candles.”
It was like the whole world closed in on hyperfocus. I glued my eyes to her, practically seeing every pore on her face, as everyone around us disappeared. Since when was my mom fair game? Talk about not cool. The worst of it was, I knew my mom’s candles were sort of a lame thing to sell (and not even online! Or in stores!), but where did Susanna get off talking about her that way? She didn’t even know my mom. She’d never met her or even been to my house.
And then I realized Madeline was just sitting there. Not saying anything. I leaned forward and looked her dead in the eyes, trying to send her a message telepathically. Say something. Stand up for me!
But when Madeline finally looked at me, her eyes dead, all she said was, “My mom said they stink. She only buys them out of pity.”
Mortified. I was absolutely mortified. I couldn’t even speak. I couldn’t even cry. The only thing I managed to do was get up from the table, walk out of the lunch room, down the deserted halls to nowhere in particular, and try to stop shivering.
17 MADELINE
FOR THE REST OF THE DAY, I FUMED. I’M NOT sure I’ve ever fumed before, but that day I did. Having to see Brooke in one of my classes only made my fuming worse. I couldn’t even look at her.
I honestly couldn’t believe the way she had acted. She’d never liked my friends (for absolutely no good reason, I might add), but she didn’t have to attack my brother, too. I felt bad for what I said about her mom but I was only telling the truth. As I sat in history class, ignoring Brooke and not hearing a word Mrs. Stratford said, I told myself I could rest assured that I had not said anything that wasn’t true. That, at least, was something.
After history, Brooke scurried out of class to her locker. I walked slowly, hoping she’d be gone by the time I got there. She was just finishing up, and we passed each other without a word. I could feel her eyes on me, but refused to look at her.
I cringed remembering Brooke’s mom was driving us home today. As Brooke would say, That should be fun.
After my last class, Brooke was nowhere to be seen, but Susanna was waiting for me at my locker.
“Oh my god,” she said. “Like your life isn’t complicated enough already and now all this?” She swept her hand down toward Brooke’s locker, indicating Brooke herself.
“I know, right?” I said, opening my locker and dropping in my books. Miraculously, I had no homework. I was going home hands free.
“Do you want to come over to my house tonight?” she asked as we started down the hall.
Relief flowed through me. “Could I? And can we go now?” Anything to avoid this ride home.
“Of course!” Susanna said. “We can just . . . oh, shoot!” She knocked her forehead with the heel of her hand. “I have a doctor’s appointment. Madeline, I’m so sorry!”
“It’s okay.” Inside I was screaming, No, it’s not! Save me! Save me!
“No, I can cancel it,” she said, rifling through her pink and white purse and finding her cell phone. “I’ll call Dad right now and have him reschedule.”
I wasn’t sure what she was going to the doctor for, but it seemed like too much to have her miss her appointment. “No, really, it’s okay. But thanks.”
“Poor Madeline!” she said, sticking out her bottom lip. “I’ll call you as soon as I get home, okay?”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
Susanna trotted off to her dad’s waiting Mercedes. I spotted Brooke standing on the sidewalk, watching the cars come and go, waiting for her mom’s brown Accord to show up. I took a deep breath and went to stand with her.
I stood just close enough to let her know I was there in case she decided to dive into her mom’s car and take off without me.
I saw her looking at me out of the corner of my eye, but I didn’t say anything. I tried to look like I couldn’t have cared less, about her or anything else in the world. I silently willed her mom to hurry and get here.
“So are
you going to tell me what that was all about or what?” Brooke said.
I didn’t want to fight. That’s why my parents were splitting up. But I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t even want to look at her. Couldn’t she for once be sympathetic to what I was going through? Didn’t I get a free pass to be selfish for one week?
“I could ask you the same thing, you know,” I said.
“You let Susanna walk all over me and you said nothing,” Brooke said, and it sounded like she might cry. I still didn’t look at her. “And then you insult my mom? What was that about, Madeline?”
“You insulted my brother,” I said, because she had. She totally had.
“That’s not the same thing and you know it.”
I turned to her and said, “What’s your problem? You’re totally rude to Susanna, like, all the time. She’s my friend.”
“I’m your friend. Your best friend. Or did you forget?”
“Maybe sometimes it’s easy to forget since you don’t say two words to me half the time,” I said.
“Oh, please! What are you even talking about?”
I looked at her in her oversized T-shirt and jeans, like she wanted to announce she wasn’t trying. She didn’t realize now that we were in junior high, stuff mattered. You couldn’t walk around school in Saturday afternoon clothes and expect to be taken seriously.
“You don’t get me anymore,” I told her.
Brooke shifted her stance and said, “Maybe I don’t want to get you, if you act like this.” She shook her head. “I can’t even believe this.”
Her mom finally arrived and we rode home in silence. I stared out the backseat window wondering why Brooke had to make everything so hard.
Normally whoever picks us up drives to their own house and Brooke or I just walk home through the creek (as long as it’s not raining). It’s actually faster than driving. But suddenly I didn’t want to have to walk through the creek, like I wasn’t good enough to be dropped off at my own house. It was stupid to have to stomp through the mud and dirt and snakes (hello!) just to get home.
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