“That stinks. I thought he was going to ask you to skate. Isabelle knows you like him.” Becky says exactly what I was thinking.
“Oh well. Who cares? He’s a terrible skater anyway.” I wonder if I sound believable.
She tries to cheer me up. “I have an idea. Let’s put our skates in the locker and go to Woolworths. I want to show you something.”
“How can we leave?”
“We have a stamp on our hand, so they’ll let us back inside.”
We still have another hour left, so I say okay. Anything to get away. As we leave the pounding music behind, Becky whispers just loud enough for me to hear.
“You want to know how I got this new bracelet?”
“Wait … don’t tell me. You found it in the closet with your other Christmas presents.”
“Not quite. I gave myself an early present from Woolworths—for free! It was so easy. I just dropped it into my purse and walked out.” Becky spins the fake pearl bracelet around her wrist. “Do you want to try? We could get makeup—that’ll fit in our pocket books.”
Becky shoplifts? Is she joking?
“But what happens if you get caught? Your dad’s a policeman.”
“That’s exactly why I won’t get in trouble. I’ll just get a warning.”
She’s not joking. Be brave. Remember, you’re Danielle now.
My eyes twitch as if protesting our plan as we walk into Woolworths. It’s a jam-packed store with many aisles and everything from clothing to gardening supplies. If I take one lipstick, it will be like taking a shell from the ocean. Who would notice?
Becky instructs me on how to look natural. “Don’t take too long picking something out. After you drop it in your purse, keep looking at things like you haven’t decided what to buy. And don’t look away from the salespeople. Just smile at them or ask them where to find the birthday cards.” Becky leads the way to the makeup department. “Come on, talk to me about school or something.”
It’s hard for me to think about anything other than how I ended up here. Ten minutes ago, I was in Great Skates, now I’m shoplifting at Woolworths. If I knew the day would turn out like this, I would have stayed home to watch Laurie practice baton twirling.
However, I’m Danielle, and this should be easy. We browse through the clothing aisle, holding up a shirt here and there. I smell perfume, a lot of perfume, an overpowering field of wildflowers. My eyes water.
The lipsticks and eye shadow come in so many shades like Dad’s pastels. Rows of browns, reds, and pinks. I’m amazed at how many different colors you can paint your lips. My hands tremble as I try to read the labels. I choose Perfectly Pink and drop it in my bag. Wandering in circles, I glance at the mirror on the side of an aisle. My whole face is perfectly pink!
Becky nods at me—my cue to walk away. How does she look so calm? I’m afraid I’m going to set off an alarm when I exit through the electric doors. I pass one salesperson, a tall woman with frizzy salt-and-pepper hair wearing the red Woolworths vest and hanging cheap sweaters. I don’t want to ask her anything. Signs point the way to the cards. So, without asking for help, I find the stationery aisle and pretend to hunt for the ideal birthday card. The doors to freedom are not too far away. I follow the arrows to get out like I would through a carnival haunted house. If I can make it to the exit sign without a Dracula security guard stopping me, I’ll be able to breathe again.
Stepping outside, I expect to hear sirens. I’m a thief. I stole a lipstick. Becky sits on the curb waiting for me. All we need now is a getaway car, if we could drive.
“What took you so long?”
“I read about twenty ‘Happy Birthday Mom’ cards like you told me to.”
“See how easy that was.”
“Yeah, sure.” Easy for her to say. “We better get back to the rink before Isabelle starts looking for us.”
At the rink, Isabelle is not looking for us. She’s sitting cozy next to Todd. I think I’m going to be sick.
“Becky, can you go get you-know-who? My dad’s gonna be here any minute, and I don’t want to talk to that ... that bimbo. I’m not calling her Kristin anymore. Kristin is too good for her.”
“Why don’t we just leave her here?”
“I’d like to, but I’d have to explain everything to my dad. He would make me go get her anyway.”
“Okay, I’ll get her. I know a name to call her that she hates even more than Isabelle.”
I wait around the corner, within earshot, and peak over the divider.
Becky takes Isabelle’s arm and pulls her up. “It’s time to go … Dizzy Izzy.”
“You mean Kristin.” Isabelle throws Becky a fierce look.
“No, Dizzy fits.”
I chuckle.
After Isabelle changes out of her skates, which seems to take longer than usual, she meets us outside. But I don’t look at her. I shiver and stare at the sliver of a moon while we wait for our ride.
“Are you mad at me for skating with Todd?”
“Of course not!” I look in my pocket book. The silver lipstick tube shines back at me.
“He asked me to skate to talk about something. He wanted to know how my brother was doing. He saw Joey limp off the field at the last football game of the season. So I told him how he sprained his foot, and he’s been treating me like his slave.” Isabelle grins.
“Oh.” I don’t care.
“He asked if I could get time off from Master Joey and go to the movies with him one day over vacation. I told him I had to ask you first, cuz it might bother you.”
“Are you kidding? You said that. Now he’ll think I like him.”
“Well, don’t you?”
“No! Go ahead. Go to the game. He’s not my boyfriend. Why should I care?”
“Good. Cuz I’m dying to go with him.”
My dad pulls up in the squash car. It stinks of cigarettes, so I crank down the window and let the cold fresh air pour in. I don’t know what to think of Isabelle. I’m still angry, but I’m even more embarrassed. What if Todd tells his friends what Isabelle said? I can hear the teasing now. “Francie likes Todd. Francie likes Todd!” I was hoping the new year would bring me a new body and a new boyfriend. In four days, it will be 1980. I doubt that’s enough time to turn into Barbie and meet a Ken. I’m hopeless.
Laurie cuddles under a brown throw blanket. “It just started—one of our favorite episodes.”
“Good. Let me guess. Is it the one when their mom gets deathly ill during a storm?”
“No. You’ll see.”
I hope it’s an older episode when Laura Ingalls was a kid in school fighting with bullies.
I settle into the couch, so warm and comfortable after coming in from the cold, and rest my head on the padded arm of the plaid sofa. I get to be Laura Ingalls for an hour on a hot summer day in Walnut Grove, Minnesota, even if the window behind me declares Long Island cold with flurries.
Laura likes a boy, but he’s not interested. He likes Mary, her sister. One hundred years ago and all she needs is a pair of roller skates to be me. Different year, same problems—boys and lack of curves. I want to scream stop! Don’t do it! Laura tries to solve the problem by stuffing two apples in her shirt. I wince at the scene when she writes on the chalkboard and the apples drop to the floor. How stupid she was for thinking that would work! How stupid was I to think Todd would want to skate with me when Isabelle has curves without needing apples, and I dress like the Easter bunny. I hope I never have to live through another embarrassing moment like that again. At least my life’s worst moments can’t be seen on channel 10 reruns.
Chapter 23
I don’t need to turn around, though I’m tempted to sneak a glance at him. Even in a noisy classroom, I hear Todd’s voice. In fact, he must be talking extra loud on purpose, especially when he emphasizes the name Isabelle.
“I went skating over the break. A lot of cute girls hang out there. Blah, blah, blah. Isabelle. Blah, blah, blah.”
Why can’t one of th
e cute girls he talks about be Danielle, or even Francie? It’s stupid to care since he was a jerk to Isabelle too. He took someone else to the movies the night they were supposed to go. I can’t be mad at Isabelle. We’re both on the same side now—hating Todd and liking Todd. Maybe it was just “Kristin” who was a jerk, and it was my friend, Isabelle, who apologized. It’s a good thing she did. I need the few friends I’ve got. I can’t imagine life without friends. Like Randi. Not again. I push that thought to the back of my mind before it takes root.
Mr. Fortelli wastes no time getting back to schoolwork. “Vacation is over,” he announces as everyone settles down. “We’ve got a lot of work to cover from now until spring. Today, you’ll write an essay on how inflation and the oil crisis are affecting people around our nation as we begin a new decade.”
A few kids groan. Is everyone like me—sick of that word “inflation” that keeps popping up at the dinner table, on the news, and in the classroom? To me, it means I can’t have designer jeans.
I stare at the clock, counting how many times my stomach grumbles in a minute, and waiting for the end of the day.
I swear someone’s eyes are burning a hole in my back. Are they Todd’s eyes? I have an idea. I can take out the pocket mirror from my bag and check the faces behind me. Slowly, trying not to attract any attention, I slip out the mirror while Mr. Fortelli writes the homework assignment on the board. I tilt the mirror at just the right angle. Todd’s face fills the frame.
He winks.
The mirror smashes on the floor! All eyes are on me now.
Mr. Fortelli whips around as if a gun went off and looks directly at the broken pieces under my desk. “You don’t need a mirror in school. Your mind should focus on learning not vanity.” He points to the dustpan by the closet. “I hope you don’t believe in bad luck.”
“Sorry. It slipped when I took a pencil out.” I hurry to clean up the mess with my head down. Bad luck seems to be following me.
Chuckles fill the room, but not for long. The clanging bell blasts away all sarcasm. That bell is the best sound in the world.
Nina opens the drawer to her snack heaven. I choose a chocolate-covered cupcake with a stripe of white icing across the middle. Nina picks a glazed donut. We slide the piles of newspapers and ashtrays off her shiny black coffee table to make room for a napkin, and then kneel down to feast and watch General Hospital.
“My mom doesn’t care about junk piles, but you should see her explode over crumbs! So be neat. She’ll kill me if she has to vacuum!”
A loud plunking sound comes from the corner of her den. Droplets of water fall into a metal bowl like notes from a tin instrument. A circular yellow stain on the ceiling marks the entrance point like a bull’s eye. Nina picks up the full bowl, empties it in the sink, and puts the bowl back under the drip.
“It’s too bad we don’t have a dog. Wouldn’t this be a cool way to give him water? Here Fido…drink up. Or, I could measure rainfall for a science project.”
I laugh, but inside I feel sorry for her. Nina jokes about her house slowly falling apart as if it’s an aging lady. But the lady didn’t start aging until Mr. Sanchez moved out.
“Hey, my mom left her cigarettes here. You want to try them?”
I’m not sure if she’s kidding, so I’m not sure how to answer. I don’t want to sound like a goody-goody. What would Danielle say? Danielle would be cool, and I have to be cool. “Sure…I’ll try one.” I wait to see if Nina means it. “Have you ever tried smoking before?”
“Nah…I hate when my mom fogs up the house. I’m curious why she thinks they’re so great. She’s gotta smoke with her Cheerios. Heck, she won’t even get out of bed without lighting up. I can’t imagine how she can ruin a delicious ice cream cone smoking between licks. That’s just wrong!” Nina opens up her freezer. “Hey, wait a minute. Maybe that’s not such a bad idea. Let’s get some mint chocolate chip ice cream to wash down the bad taste.”
In a few seconds, she holds the lighter flame to the end of a Marlboro Light with a heaping bowl of green ice cream in a front of her. She coughs and holds the lighter to my cigarette. I take a deep drag and explode in a coughing fit. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever tasted or breathed! I grab my bowl of ice cream. The cool fresh mint puts out the fire raging down my throat. Why don’t we stop? We continue this routine, daring each other to finish the cigarette to see who could smoke more. Inhale smoke, cough smoke, and swallow ice cream. By the time I take my last puff, I’m racing to the bathroom to puke.
Nina calls through the door, “Are you okay?”
Hunched over the toilet and staring into a mint green pool, I answer, “I’m better now, but I don’t want to smoke anymore.”
“Me neither.”
We both chew bubble gum.
Nina opens some windows, letting in a dusting of rain and snow. I place the box of cigarettes exactly where I remember seeing it. Nina often jokes at school about her mother’s temper, telling me what set her off this time. I have trouble believing her mom has an angry side. She hugged me like a long lost relative. Nina must be exaggerating. She’s probably just worried about getting in trouble.
As soon as we hear the car in the driveway, we close the windows, leap on the couch and put on our innocent faces. Mrs. Sanchez comes in speaking Spanish, and I don’t understand anything until I hear, “Did you do your homework yet?”
Nina looks at me with a fish face. “I was just about to—”
“Hey, what happen to my cigarettes? I know this pack was missing one, the one I had at breakfast, but where’s the rest? Nina, get your butt over here and tell me what happen!”
I’ve never been so happy to see Mom’s headlights. I huff into my hand to test my breath. It smells like peppermint. I jump in the car, but before we back out of the driveway, I can hear yelling coming from Nina’s house. The front door slams shut. Maybe Nina wasn’t exaggerating.
Now that the closed door muffles the screaming, Mom reverses and gives me a look.
“What was that all about?”
I shrug my shoulders.
Mom drives at a sloth’s pace through the slippery mix of freezing rain and snow, a winter storm that is worse than predicted. Tree branches bow under the weight of the slush and surrender to the storm. Mom seems concerned with not smashing the car into a pole like she did during another icy storm years ago, not about my afternoon at Nina’s.
Smoke spirals from the chimney next door to ours. As Mom eases into the white-blanketed driveway, my eyes drift from the gray puffs down to Randi’s pink curtain, the room I’m usually so careful not to see. The storm and the darkness hide me, so I stare. The curtain is slightly parted in the middle. A light is on. Are there eyes behind the curtain? Is Randi watching the outside world—the world that she used to be a part of?
The fabric moves ever so slightly. I’d rather think it was the wind or even a ghost moving the curtain. I’m afraid if I stare too long, it will open all the way, and I will be staring into her face. As long as the curtain stays closed, her story stays behind it.
Will there ever be a day I don’t have to avoid the pink curtain—a day I don’t care who’s behind it?
Chapter 24
Water drips in quarter notes like a distant drum beat. Drip, two, three, four, drip, two, three, four, drip. I yank the covers over my head to hide from the blank face that floats above me without a body. It stares at me with a pleasant smile…it spins and spins, twisting until the mouth opens wide to scream. The face comes closer, enlarging, like a balloon about to burst. Before it’s close enough to identify or pop, I open my eyes. I’ve had this dream before. Now in the darkness, I lie, soaked in sweat, listening to the trickle of the icicles melting and splattering against something, like a drippy faucet.
I try my hardest to picture the face. As usual, I can’t. It could be Randi watching me, or Julie mocking me with her eyes, or even an angel warning me. Whoever it is leaves me in a heavy, creepy fog. I’d like to stay in my bed, sulk, or lif
t my spirits with a carton of vanilla ice cream. But I can’t. One quarter of school is left, which I don’t want to mess up. Besides, we’re out of ice cream. With these thoughts, I motivate myself to roll out of bed.
While eating Golden Grahams cereal and finishing up my math homework, I doodle the name Danielle on my notebook in puffy, bubble letters. I’m going to change my name today in school. It will be my own experiment. Will Danielle be treated better than Francie?
On the bus, I show Isabelle my bubble letter artwork. “I’m going to change my name officially to Danielle today in school.”
“You are? How?”
“I’ll write Danielle on all of my papers. If Mr. Fortelli asks me why I am not writing Francie, I’ll tell him Danielle is my real name.”
The bus screeches to a stop at the curb. “Bye, Kr…hm hmm.” I clear my throat, unable to croak out Kristin. I don’t want to remember the Kristin from the roller rink, the Kristin who almost let a boy get between us. Or did I let a boy get between us?
“Bye, Danielle. See ya later.”
I already notice a few curious glances.
Everyone stares at the blackboard. Mr. Fortelli has drawn the words “1980 Olympics in Moscow” in a circle with a red diagonal line going through it. He hands out copies of an article from this morning’s newspaper. President Carter declares the U.S. will boycott the Olympics as a protest to the Soviet Union’s invasion of Afghanistan.
Sighs and comments rattle through the room. I’m disappointed too. I was looking forward to watching the gymnasts with Isabelle.
“Your assignment is to read the article, summarize it, and write a closing paragraph with your opinion and response to the article.” Mr. Fortelli’s forehead has more wrinkles today.
As the class writes, Mr. Fortelli reads today’s Newsday, shaking his head.
“Hi!” I tap Isabelle on the shoulder and surprise her as she lifts a forkful of cafeteria food to her mouth.
“Hey! Don’t scare me like that. I almost dropped the beef slop. I’ve been craving it all morning. Nothin’s better than yesterday’s burgers, chopped up into macaroni and fake cheese,” says Isabelle.
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