Stick With Me

by Jennifer Blecher

  Phoebe had turned to Izzy, her empty arms in the shape of a cradle, tears in her eyes. And Izzy just sat there, helpless, the baby duck squirming in its fleece wrap as if it sensed danger in the air. Even back then, Daphne had a certain power. It was the baby animals in her backyard, the flounce of her skirt, the rows of goody bags each containing a stuffed animal puppy in its own carrying case. If Daphne wanted the gray kitten that Phoebe loved with her whole heart, Daphne would get it. And there was nothing anyone could do about it.

  Izzy and Phoebe spent the rest of the party watching as Daphne held all the kittens, debating which one was the cutest. Every time she walked over to Phoebe’s gray kitten, Phoebe’s bottom lip trembled and her body curved protectively around the tiny bundle. In the end, Daphne chose a black kitten with white paws that a girl named Serena had been holding for most of the party. Serena was new that year, and quiet. She’d spent most of the party on a bale of hay near the fence talking only to her kitten. When Daphne made her final decision, plucking the kitten from Serena’s arms and holding it high in the air, declaring it the cutest of all, Serena’s eyes filled with tears. But not a single girl at the party moved to console her.

  Daphne named the kitten Snow Stepper. And for the rest of the school year she wore a gold locket with a picture of Snow Stepper on one side and herself on the other side. The locket was long gone, apparently lost in the ocean the summer after second grade, but Izzy assumed Snow Stepper was still alive. Daphne didn’t talk about her anymore, and Izzy hadn’t been invited to Daphne’s house since that birthday party. But now, with Phoebe’s bright pink mitten in her hand, Izzy had a reason to go over. To see what it was that Phoebe and Daphne did together that made Phoebe forget the piercing look in Daphne’s eyes as she evaluated the gray kitten, examining its worthiness.

  “Come on,” Izzy said as she led Row out of the house and into the cold. “There’s something important we need to return.”

  Izzy was two blocks from Daphne’s house when her heart started to pound. She gripped Row’s leash extra tight. Up until that point, Izzy could pretend that she was simply taking Row on a regular afternoon walk. But she’d taken Row on hundreds of walks and she always did the same loop down the block, across the street, along the path to Willoway Pond, then back. She’d never walked the several blocks past the pond to Daphne’s street. Until now.

  There it was: Daphne’s house. Izzy wished she could see inside, but the setting sun reflected off the windows, preventing any view. So Izzy had to imagine what was happening inside. Maybe Daphne and Phoebe were curled up on a fuzzy beanbag, Snow Stepper asleep beside them, painting each other’s nails in matching alternating colors. Maybe Phoebe was sharing some secret as she ran a nail polish wand over Daphne’s fingernails, leaving behind smooth streaks of turquoise, silver, and pink. Maybe she was telling Daphne the secret that her mom and dad sometimes screamed at each other late at night, but then acted all happy the next morning. Or that she once stole twenty dollars from her mom’s wallet and used it to buy candy that she hid under her bed.

  The kind of secrets that Phoebe used to tell Izzy.

  Then, as Izzy walked up the stone path to Daphne’s front door, she imagined something else—that she’d ring the doorbell and Daphne and Phoebe would invite her inside to hang out.

  Ding-dong.

  “Oh,” said Daphne, opening the door but not stepping outside. “Hey, Izzy.”

  Phoebe appeared next to Daphne in the doorway. “What are you doing here?”

  “You left your mitten at my house,” said Izzy. “I thought you’d be looking for it.”

  “Why?” asked Phoebe. She shook her head as if a mosquito had just flown past.

  “Because,” said Izzy. But she couldn’t figure out what to say next. Because it’s cold? Because you left it behind? Because you freak out when things are missing? Because we used to be best friends and that means maybe you’ll ask me if I want to come inside, right?

  But then Daphne glanced at Phoebe. She reached out to take the pink mitten from Izzy’s hand. “Thanks,” said Daphne. “It was super nice of you to return the mitten. And that’s a super-cute dog. His name is Row, right? Like row the boat?”

  Izzy looked down at Row, who for once was sitting calmly at her side. A flash of hope crossed her mind. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

  Daphne shrugged. “Phoebe told me. Your brother must have been so adorable.”

  Phoebe looked down at her bare feet. She stepped one foot on top of the other. Her toenails were painted a deep purple, the polish shiny and new. Izzy looked at Daphne’s toes. They matched perfectly.

  “Anyway,” said Daphne, shivering dramatically. “It’s freezing. We’re going to go back inside. But thanks again for dropping this off.” Daphne added a cheery swing to her voice, but Izzy got the message: it was time for her to leave.

  As Izzy walked away, her body hunched against the cold, she no longer wondered what secrets Phoebe was sharing about herself. She wondered what secrets Phoebe was sharing about Izzy.

  Izzy hung her jacket in the mudroom and blew her nose, the warm chocolate-scented air of her house lifting her spirits a little. At least there were cookies. But when Izzy walked into the kitchen, she was surprised to see a baking sheet full of crisp overbaked cookies on the kitchen counter. There were crumbs scattered next to it, as if someone had slammed the sheet on the counter, making the cookies jump and crumble, and then walked away. Which made no sense. Izzy’s mom never walked away from a mess.

  Izzy almost called out, “Mom!” But then she remembered her mom’s new client, Ms. Stallton. They were probably upstairs intensely debating something boring like pillow shapes. Yelling would not be appreciated. Still, Izzy was desperate to forget the embarrassment of standing on Daphne’s doorstep, in the cold, with the stupid pink mitten in her hand while Daphne and Phoebe’s matching purple toes gleamed in front of her. She had to do something other than sit on a red kitchen stool and search for salvageable cookie bits.

  Normally when Izzy wanted to get something out of her head, she would go straight to her butterfly tin of Sharpies. But the house was so quiet, Izzy could get away with going into her parents’ office and doing a Draw Sweet on the computer instead.

  Draw Sweet was Izzy’s favorite YouTube channel. Dori, the teacher, had a kind voice and gave step-by-step instructions for how to draw dancing cupcakes, puppies wearing top hats, narwhals with hearts on their butts, and all kinds of happy things. The food that Dori drew was heaped with whatever made it taste good, like frosting on cakes and ice cream on cones, and her people were always smiling with large bows in their hair and eyes that sparkled.

  Sometimes Izzy thought Dori was super cheesy. But that afternoon, she wanted to crawl into Dori’s cheery world where bad things never happened and stay there forever. In Draw Sweet land, Izzy would be at Daphne’s house picking out nail polish colors and chewing on colorful gummy candy, not standing alone, certain that Daphne and Phoebe were talking about how random it was that she had walked all the way over in the cold to drop off a single mitten. Izzy could practically hear them giggling at her expense.

  But when Izzy got to the office, her mom was sitting at the computer. Ms. Stallton had cancelled minutes before she was supposed to arrive. “Something came up,” said Izzy’s mom. “That’s all she said in her text.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Izzy.

  “Me, too,” said her mom. “I really wanted it to happen.”

  Izzy leaned over her mom’s shoulder and gave her a hug. It felt a little strange. Her mom was usually the one giving hugs while Izzy squirmed away. But her mom’s hair smelled like flowers and her cheek was warm and soft. Izzy’s body was still cold from the walk, so she stayed pressed against her mom for longer than she’d meant to.

  On the computer screen was a picture of Nate’s room. Only instead of its normal mess, the room was spotless. The bed was perfectly made and streaks of sunlight fell across an empty floor. “What are those pictures for?” asked I
zzy

  Her mom closed the screen. “Oh nothing,” she said. “I was just fixing the photo layout on my website. How about some of those cookies you wanted?”

  “No offense,” said Izzy. “But they’re pretty burned.”

  “I know,” said her mom, sighing. “This whole day is a mess. Come on, it’s Saturday. Let’s get out of here and treat ourselves to ice cream before dinner. We need a change of scenery.”

  As Izzy followed her mom out of the office, some of the relief that she’d been hoping to get from Dori and Draw Sweet passed through her. Someone else was in charge of deciding what to do next. Izzy didn’t have to make any decisions.

  She wouldn’t make everything worse, when all she wanted was to make it better.

  4

  Geez, Wren

  When Wren woke up on Sunday morning, her parents were sitting side by side at the kitchen counter. Her dad read from his open laptop. “Sixteen Westgate Road. Forty-nine Pierce Lane.” Her mom scribbled notes.

  Wren opened a box of cereal. Her parents startled at the bag’s crinkling noise.

  “Bird,” said her dad. “You okay?”

  “Just getting breakfast. What’re you guys doing?”

  “We’re looking for a place to stay,” said her dad. “While Hannah’s in the hospital.”

  “You should find a hotel with a pool,” said Wren as she poured Cheerios into a bowl. “Hannah would love that.”

  Neither of her parents answered. And Wren realized why. Hannah wasn’t going to be swimming. She was having surgery on her brain.

  Wren was such an idiot.

  “We’re not looking for hotels, honey,” said her mom. “The doctors need to get more information before they operate. Dr. Koffer’s nurse said it’s usually several days of monitoring in the hospital before the actual surgery. Then Hannah’s going to need to stay and recover for several days afterward. I haven’t figured out the details, but I think we’re going to rent a house near the hospital for at least a week. It’ll be helpful to have a home base. If we need to be there longer, then we might move into a hotel.”

  “Oh,” said Wren. “That makes sense. You can make all of Hannah’s favorite foods and bring them to the hospital. And by all, I mean pasta with butter every single night.”

  Her mom smiled. But her lips were pressed tight. “Wren, honey, you’re going to need to come with us, too.”

  “Come with you? To the surgery?”

  “To Boston. You can’t stay here alone. And it’s school vacation next week. You won’t miss any classes.”

  Wren dropped her spoon into the cereal bowl. “I can’t leave. I’m doing extra lessons with Nancy all week to get ready for sectionals, remember? I want to stay here. With Dad.”

  Wren’s dad looked down at the keyboard and shook his head. “I’m going to Boston, too, Bird. It’s hard timing being the middle of the season and all. But I’m going to Skype with my assistant coaches while they run practice. We all need to prioritize what matters most right now.”

  Wren couldn’t believe it. All of them were going? With sectionals so close?

  The only reason she’d slept late was because Sunday was her rest day from training. Otherwise she would have been up early stretching or working on her off-ice ballet at the barre in her bedroom.

  Every day mattered. That’s why she’d begged for extra sessions with Nancy during school vacation week. She was going to train extra hard and nail her double lutz.

  “No,” said Wren. “No way. I’m not going. I’ll stay with Nora. Or somebody else.”

  Wren’s mom shook her head. “It’s too much. Asking for all that help when there’s not even school. Having to worry about where you are, who you’re with. Please, Wren, don’t make this any harder. We’ll find a rink in Boston once we know exactly where we’re staying. I’ll make sure you get your double lutz.”

  “Yeah, right,” said Wren, rolling her eyes. “You’re not even a real coach.”

  Her mom froze, the tip of her pen suspended above her notepad. Maybe she shouldn’t have said that, at least not in such an accusing tone. But whatever, it was true. Her mom might memorize technique tips from Skating Magazine and watch YouTube videos posted by famous coaches, but she wasn’t a figure skater herself.

  She didn’t understand. Neither of her parents did.

  After lunch Wren grabbed her skating bag from the mudroom and left. She needed fresh air. She needed to move.

  She stomped from stepping-stone to stepping-stone as she made her way along the wooded path that led from her house to Occom Pond. Wren paused to kick a frozen pine cone with the toe of her winter boot. It didn’t budge.

  When she got to the pond, her friend Nora was sitting on the bench next to the pond’s warming hut. Nora stared out at the skaters—the little kids bundled like marshmallows in thick snowsuits, the hockey players hurtling themselves across center ice, the college students holding hands as they flailed around the edges.

  Wren considered sitting somewhere else, but the only other option was the cold ground or the crowded warming hut. So Wren sat down next to Nora.

  “You missed three major make-out sessions,” said Nora. “And I just got here. Like, literally, I just sat down.”

  Wren shrugged. She pulled off her boots. Only the thin layer of her tights protected her toes from the cold air.

  “And they were full-on make-out sessions,” continued Nora. “Not just holding hands. I saw tongue. I think I even saw drool.”

  “Gross,” said Wren.

  “I know,” said Nora. “Do you think drool freezes at the same temperature as water? Or do you think it’s too thick to freeze? Because how majorly insane would it be if you were kissing someone and your drool froze and you got stuck together?”

  Wren didn’t answer.

  “Wren? Did you hear me? I just asked a super-important question. About kissing.”

  “More like a stupid one.”

  “Geez,” said Nora. “Excuse me for trying to have fun. You don’t need to be so serious all the time.”

  Nora was the only girl in Wren’s grade who loved skating as much as Wren did. They spent a lot of time together. There were many days that Wren thought Nora was her best friend.

  But there were some days that Wren wished Nora would leave her alone.

  Today was one of those days.

  Wren pulled her skate laces tight, double knotting the ties. She slid her hands into her gloves and zipped her fleece jacket up to her chin. Balancing on her toe picks to protect her blades, Wren walked to the edge of the frozen pond.

  She stepped onto the ice.

  One stroke. Two.

  She inhaled the fresh outdoor air. It was different from the air inside the ice rink. It was tinged with the scent of evergreen trees and dirt.

  Wren stretched her fingers in her gloves. The muscles in her legs contracted.

  “Hey!” called Nora. “Wren! Wait up!”

  Wren glanced over her shoulder. Her blades rocked over a bump in the ice caused by the natural freezing of the pond water. Her body wobbled and Wren slowed. She almost stopped. But then she changed her mind.

  She was not in the mood to wait for anyone.

  “Geez,” called Nora, out of breath. “Can’t you just wait up? What’s your problem?”

  Wren hockey-stopped. Ice shavings shot from her blades like sparks. Nora couldn’t stop in time. She glided past Wren and had to turn around.

  As Nora skated back, Wren was tempted to tell her everything. About the surgery. The unicorn code name. Renting a house. Even her stupid comment about the swimming pool.

  Most of all, Wren wanted to tell Nora how worried she was about the skating practices she’d miss. Hannah’s health was more important. Of course it was. But Wren’s parents, the doctors and nurses, even the therapy dogs and clowns with rubber noses, they had Hannah covered.

  No one was worried about Wren. Not in the same way. Wren had seen the distracted clicking of her mom’s pen top when she’d promised
to find a rink in Boston.

  It was one more thing to add to the very bottom of the list.

  But then Nora stepped into a mini footwork section from her program. It was a fast-paced series of three turns that ended in a lunge. Nora loved it. She practiced it all the time.

  Nora was the competition. She also wanted to medal at sectionals and qualify for nationals. Nora would probably take Wren’s missed lesson times with Nancy.

  Part of Nora would be sympathetic. But part of her would be relieved.

  And Wren couldn’t bear to see it.

  “My problem,” called Wren when Nora skated past her, “is you.”

  Nora stopped. “Me?”

  Wren almost took it back. But then she saw her mom and dad walking down the path. Hannah was in between them holding their hands, her body bundled in Wren’s old purple snowsuit. They paused to talk to their neighbor, Mr. Morris. He bent down and gave Hannah a hug.

  They looked so happy. Even as they were ruining everything.

  And it made Wren furious.

  She turned to Nora. “Yes, you,” she said. “I’m tired of you following me everywhere. I just want to skate by myself.”

  “I’m not following you, Wren. For the record, I got to the pond first.”

  Nora was right. But Wren couldn’t admit that. Instead, she turned and skated toward the center of the pond where a group of college students were playing hockey.

  Wren stopped at the edge of the game and grabbed a hockey stick that lay in a pile.

  Normally hockey players wore helmets and pads. But on Occom Pond, the hockey players barely knew how to skate. So Wren wasn’t surprised when one of the players nodded at her. “Want to sub in?” he asked.

  “Sure,” said Wren.

  He nodded at the toe picks on her blades. “Just watch those picks.”

  Wren had played pickup hockey before, but she had forgotten how heavy the stick was. She removed her thin gloves to get a better grip.

  “Game on,” said one of the hockey players.