It seems that the Tubby family had moved next to the Joneses a few years back. They were friendly neighbors. Following Rosie’s discussion with Teresa Tubby about Billy’s odor, Teresa had taken matters into her own hands. She had rung his doorbell and dragged him into the kitchen in what might have felt alarmingly like a wrestling move. She didn’t hold back, telling him, “Consider me an intervention of one.”
“What’s an intervention?” Billy had asked her, mildly confused.
“If you were doing drugs, your family and friends would be here to tell you that you’re ruining your life.”
“I don’t do drugs,” said Billy, mystified.
“If you drank, we’d be saying the same thing.”
“Does milk count?” Billy asked, still clueless.
“You smell,” said Teresa matter-of-factly. “You need help so that you don’t drive all your friends away.”
And that was that, Billy told Rosie. He was an only child whose parents had divorced when he was a little boy. Billy never bothered to ask his mother when to use deodorant. He thought you were supposed to put it on after physical exertion. Following gym class, sweating profusely, Billy put on his deodorant and went to class. The rest was history.
They talked until they got thirsty, and left the bench to get a cup of punch. Tommy Stone’s mother accosted them both. “You’re the only kids that haven’t been photographed tonight!”
She led them to a booth that was covered in shiny blue paper. Silver stars hung from ribbons fixed to the top. Sitting them down, she whispered to Rosie, “How did a nice girl like you end up slugging Mary Katz?”
Rosie shrugged, and felt her cheeks turn red, but when Mrs. Stone turned to get her camera, Billy coughed into his hand, muttering, “Loser.”
“Can you believe it?” whispered Rosie. “Tommy Stone must have told his mother!”
“Gossip Girl!” said Billy, which surprised her, as most boys didn’t know the names of books that girls read.
Mrs. Stone took their picture, and the two of them stayed talking inside the star-festooned box. It was nice and secluded, and Rosie didn’t feel a moment of shyness. Index cards were not necessary when it came to Billy.
Rosie asked him, “Didn’t you mind when people made fun of you? I get upset, because I want everyone to like me, you know?”
Billy laughed, and said, “Not everybody likes me, that’s for sure. And if I knew how bad I smelled, I’d hold my nose, too!”
Rosie felt something hit her on the back of her head. Had Mary Katz secretly crawled behind the booth to torture her? No, it was a star made out of heavy cardboard, knocking her on the head and falling to the floor.
“It didn’t hurt you, did it?” Billy asked her.
“No,” she said, touched by the concern in his voice. “The attack of the shooting stars!”
Billy picked up the star and twirled it in the palm of his hand. He handed it to Rosie, and said, “You’ve been my star for a while.” It was Billy’s turn for his cheeks to turn red.
Then he leaned toward Rosie and kissed her once, very gently. Their noses didn’t bump. Their teeth didn’t clink. Fireworks didn’t explode the way they did in the movies, but she liked the kiss. What was the word for it? Sweet, she thought. Close to tender. Were there stars in the air? Just cardboard ones, dangling above her. But Billy had called her his “star for a while,” and had kissed her to prove it. For an instant, she pictured Mary kissing Robbie at the rosebush, the bush where Robbie had fallen over backward. Let them fall over backward together, thought Rosie. She no longer cared. Just like that, Robbie Romano had turned into a shooting star of his own and flown out of Rosie’s heart.
Maybe life had to do with finding a new constellation. Teresa, unique and so original, had turned into Rosie’s dearest new friend. Billy, supporting her through thick and thin, was a planet that Rosie had just discovered.
Lauren came over and didn’t seem surprised to see her friend sitting close to Billy. She leaned down and whispered in Rosie’s ear, “You look cute together!”
Rosie rolled her eyes and said, “Don’t use that word in front of me, please,” which made both of them laugh. A shared secret between two best friends.
Billy waited outside with Rosie for her mother to arrive. She pulled up to the curb at 11:05 and watched Billy give her daughter a peck on the cheek before she got into the car.
“Whatever happened,” her mother said, “you still look happy.”
“I am,” said Rosie, surprised by her calmness. “Did you recognize Billy?”
“Of course,” said her mother. “He’s such a good boy.”
Rosie smiled. “He is,” she said. “I think he’s smitten.”
“Why wouldn’t he be?” said Mrs. Goldglitt. “Which reminds me that I have to vacuum tomorrow.”
“Or the dust bunnies will gather, and Sam will make fun of you.”
Her mother laughed, and shook her head. “Dad would have liked it if I’d kept a cleaner house,” she said.
“But then you would have been perfect!” said Rosie, happy to hear her mother’s laughter.
The porch light was shining when they pulled into the driveway. Rosie caught a glimpse of her brother at the window. She walked into the living room, where he was sitting on the couch, legs on the coffee table as if he’d been lounging there for a while.
“Boys are weird,” she said amiably.
“So are girls,” said her brother.
“Wait till you’re grown up,” said Mrs. Goldglitt. “It gets even stranger.”
“Good night,” said Rosie, floating upstairs in a haze of happiness.
She took out her diary and found the next clean page.
Rosie wrote:
Friday night
At last I can say, This is my Kissing Diary. The following is a poem, which is not about Robbie.
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Sugar is sweet,
And Billy Jones is, too.
I had a great time at the dance, even if I got my boys and my rosebushes all mixed up.
I had my first kiss, and I’m glad it happened with Billy. It makes sense to get kissed by someone who really likes you. The funny thing is, I like him back. He’s such a good boy, as my mother says. And I can honestly say that he’s a good kisser, too. I wonder if I am? I think if you like someone it makes the kissing better, but that’s only my opinion, with very little experience.
I still don’t like Mary. I probably never will. She was kissing Robbie, and it hurt a lot. I wonder if she did it to get back at me? It doesn’t really matter. Teresa arrived, and then Billy came along. We had the best time ever!
I’ve been thinking a lot about my name. It’s not so bad. Mr. Woo handed me a sheet of quotations by Shakespeare. He highlighted this one:
What’s in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.
I think it means that if I’m a nice person, my niceness will shine through no matter what my name is. So Rosie Goldglitt may sound dorky, but I’m not.
I’m really tired. I’ll write more later. Meanwhile, I’ll sign myself plain old
Rosie Goldglitt
P.S. I’ve thought of a new mantra. Life is what you make it, Rosie Goldglitt. It kind of rhymes, doesn’t it?
P.P.S. I’ve taped my falling star above my dresser. I like being a star.
Also by Judith Caseley
Praying to A.L.
Losing Louisa
Dorothy’s Darkest Days
Jorah’s Journal
My Father, the Nutcase
Kisses
Copyright © 2007 by Judith Caseley
All rights reserved
First edition, 2007
www.fsgkidsbooks.com
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