Stick With Me

by Jennifer Blecher

  “Do we care?” whispered Wren. “No! We do not!”

  Izzy laughed and followed Wren up the risers to the stage. Daphne and Phoebe walked up the opposite risers, with Serena behind them. Daphne held her blue cast and glared at Wren.

  Once again, the look made Izzy nervous, but Wren didn’t seem to care. They reached the stage and sat down. Wren spread her legs wide and stretched her chest to the floor. Izzy picked at some dirt that was wedged between the wood planks. When Izzy looked up, Phoebe was fiddling with the stack of bracelets on her wrist and staring at her. There was a hint of warning in Phoebe’s dark brown eyes.

  Izzy wanted to shrug it off, like Wren would. Instead, the opposite happened.

  Phoebe’s gaze seeped deep into Izzy’s body.

  “Now, warriors,” said Mr. Blair. “Sadly, one week does not give us enough time to perform an entire production. My deepest apologies to the theater gods. What I am handing out now is a scene from the classic novel Little Women, which I have taken the liberty of altering to fit the needs of our esteemed group. We will be working on this scene for the remainder of the week. I would like everyone to read it through, then write down on an index card the part that you would most like to play. I can’t promise you’ll get your first choice. But I will do my best.”

  Mr. Blair passed out stacks of stapled pages and blank index cards. The first page listed the cast, along with a description of the characters in parenthesis:

  Amy March (artistic)

  Jo March (spirited)

  Meg March (gentle)

  Beth March (shy)

  Jenny Snow (meddling)

  Laurie (friendly)

  Mrs. March (nurturing)

  Mr. Davis (strict)

  Student 1, 2, 3

  Townsperson 1, 2, 3

  As Izzy looked at the list of names, she wondered what someone would write in parenthesis about her? Creative? Nice? Or would they describe her differently? Loner? Quiet? A part that no one would choose to play.

  Izzy began to read. The scene started at the house of the four March sisters. Amy (artistic) is complaining because she doesn’t have money to buy pickled limes like all the other girls at school. Her sister Meg (gentle) takes pity on Amy and lends Amy money to buy the limes. When Amy gets to school, Jenny Snow (meddling) tells the teacher Mr. Davis (strict) that Amy is hiding forbidden limes in her desk. Mr. Davis punishes Amy by making Amy throw her precious limes out the window. Then he smacks Amy’s hands and tells her to stand in front of the class until recess. When Amy gets home, Mrs. March (nurturing) and Amy’s sisters provide comfort and Mrs. March tells Amy that she never has to go back to that school. Jo (spirited) goes to collect Amy’s things from Mr. Davis. The scene concludes with Laurie (friendly) and the March sisters gathered together singing and laughing.

  Izzy was almost done reading when Otto tapped her on the shoulder. “You should go for Amy,” he whispered.

  “Why?” asked Izzy.

  “Because the script says she’s artistic and you’re the best artist in our grade. Everyone knows that. You’d be good at playing her.”

  “Thanks,” said Izzy.

  Otto nodded. “You’re welcome.” He drummed his hands against the stage and went back to reading.

  The best artist in our grade. There was no art award at the end of year assembly or art team to try out for. They didn’t even get letter grades in art, just a simple pass or fail. But Otto wasn’t mocking her or trying to make it seem like kids were talking about Izzy behind her back. It was one of his Otto statements that passed from his mind to his lips in one straight line, not the swirls and zigzags that Izzy sometimes felt.

  Izzy read the last few sentences and flipped back to the list of characters. She looked down at her blank index card. Pickled limes sounded tangy and gross. Just thinking about eating one made Izzy shiver. But Amy’s lines about wanting to keep up with the girls who brought pickled limes to school made Izzy think of beaded bracelets and lacrosse team headbands, even the matching Wellesley College bags. All the objects that separated those who were part of the group, from those who weren’t.

  It wasn’t just Amy’s love of art that Izzy recognized; it was her longing to belong. After a moment of hesitation, Izzy wrote Amy in Dori’s favorite bubble letters. She added a heart off to the side for good luck.

  Halfway through the morning, as Mr. Blair struggled in the dark to get his laptop to play the pickled lime scene from the movie version of Little Women, Izzy left the auditorium to use the bathroom. The lights in the hallway were bright, so at first Izzy didn’t notice that Daphne and Phoebe were standing next to the pile of bags, Daphne shaking her head, Phoebe with her hands stacked on one popped hip. By the time Izzy saw them, it was too late to turn around. She’d been spotted.

  “OMG, Izzy,” said Phoebe. “What. Is. This?” Phoebe held a white piece of paper in her hand, her stack of bracelets on her wrist. The paper was worn, not crisp, so it bent in half.

  Izzy shook her head, confused.

  Phoebe straightened the page, pinching the top and bottom, and shoved it close to Izzy’s face. It was one of Izzy’s stick figure drawings. She’d drawn it after walking to Daphne’s to return Phoebe’s pink mitten, but she’d never finished it. She got distracted with a better drawing of a girl with one mitten falling into winter slush.

  The last thing Izzy remembered was putting that drawing in her desk drawer. Except she’d moved all her drawings into the garage apartment. Had she left this one by accident? Still, how did Phoebe have it?

  Izzy reached for the drawing, but Phoebe moved it away. “How could you do this to me?” said Phoebe.

  “I didn’t do anything,” said Izzy.

  “Oh, really?” said Daphne. “So those two girls with the bracelets aren’t supposed to be me and Phoebe? Because I know that’s Phoebe’s pink mitten and I know you’re the one who drew this. And just for the record, I would never ditch Phoebe even if she did catch your grossness. She’s one of my best friends ever.”

  “God, Izzy,” said Phoebe, shaking her head. “When did you become such a bully?”

  Izzy stepped back, leaning her back against a locker. A bully? It was just a drawing. It was her thoughts and feelings on a page. No one was supposed to see them, not ever.

  “Where did you find that?” asked Izzy.

  Phoebe shrugged. “Wren gave it to us.”

  “I don’t believe you,” said Izzy.

  “Why wouldn’t she?” asked Daphne. “Wren obviously knew it was a drawing of us and she thought we might want it.”

  “No,” said Izzy. Wren barely looked at Phoebe and Daphne, and she certainly never spoke to them. Why would she give them the drawing?

  “We could go talk to Mr. Blair about it,” said Phoebe. “If you want to. He’d probably love to see this.”

  Daphne smiled. Then she shook her head. “Don’t worry, Izzy. We won’t tell anyone. Unlike you, we don’t enjoy being mean to other people. But I think I’ll keep this. Just in case we need it later.” With one wrist in a cast and the other wrist loaded with bracelets, Daphne folded the paper in quarters and slid the drawing into her back pocket.

  Together, Daphne and Phoebe returned to the auditorium. Gentle music played through the open doors. Izzy sank down to the hallway floor and dropped her head to her knees. With that piece of paper in her back pocket, Daphne could easily make her into a mean girl.

  Izzy (mean).

  In her heart, Izzy knew she was the opposite of that. Her drawings were everything she felt but didn’t know how to explain, or even who to tell. Was she supposed to keep it all inside? Or be like Dori, drawing cute, cuddly things that only exist in some pretend, pastel world of joy?

  A world totally different from the one Izzy actually lived in.

  14

  Welcome to Planet Wren

  The Little Women scene had been playing for a few minutes before Wren couldn’t take it anymore. All those sisters in their bonnets and capes trudging through the snow. Sh
e needed to get out of there.

  The school hallways were wide and flat, like Izzy’s driveway, but better. Less friction. Wren wanted to take off her shoes and do axels in her socks. Or scratch spins. Or anything.

  She glanced at Mr. Blair. He was sitting in the front row, flipping through the stack of index cards and writing notes on his clipboard. Izzy and some other kids had already snuck out. He’d never know Wren was gone.

  Wren stepped into the hallway and saw Izzy slouched against the lockers. “That movie is so boring,” said Wren. “Never go back.”

  “Did you find one of my drawings?” asked Izzy.

  Wren slapped her forehead. She walked toward the pile where everyone threw their bags. “I forgot to give it to you this morning. It’s right here.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “What?”

  “Daphne and Phoebe have it,” said Izzy. “They said you gave it to them.”

  Wren froze. “No way,” she said. “I would never give them anything.”

  Wren picked up her bag. The zipper was open. The drawing that she’d tucked inside the main pocket was missing.

  Those girls had gone into her bag and stolen Izzy’s drawing.

  Wren wanted to pull Izzy from the floor and go find them. But Izzy’s bottom lip was trembling. Her head shaking back and forth.

  “They’re so mad at me,” said Izzy. “They’re never going to forget this.”

  “Why?” asked Wren. “It’s just a drawing.”

  Izzy looked up, her eyes wet with tears. “It’s not just a drawing. It’s a drawing of them. And now they think I’m a bully and they’re going to show the drawing to everyone and use it against me. I know it. It’s bad enough that I have no friends; now everyone’s actually going to hate me.”

  “That’s not true,” said Wren. But even as she said it, she knew that Izzy had a point. Girls like Daphne and Phoebe didn’t let insults go forgotten.

  “I’m really sorry,” said Wren. “I didn’t realize. I found the drawing in your desk last night and thought you might be looking for it. I was going to give it to you this morning, but I guess the Nate crush thing distracted me.”

  Wren smiled, and she really hoped Izzy would, too.

  Instead, Izzy stood up. Tears ran down her cheeks.

  “This is my life,” said Izzy. “You can’t steal my room, steal my drawings, and ruin everything. I wish you would just leave me alone forever.”

  “I’m ruining everything?” said Wren. “They’re the ones who went into my bag. You’re the one who drew the picture. How is it my fault?”

  Izzy wiped her cheeks. “Because you’re the one who brought the drawing to school.” She turned to walk away, down the hallway toward who knows where.

  Wren couldn’t just let her go. “Hey, Izzy,” she called. “Truth or lie?”

  Izzy stopped walking, but she didn’t answer.

  “Okay, truth,” said Wren. “Maybe there’s a reason you don’t have any friends.”

  The words left Wren’s mouth sharp and glistening, like the toe pick of her skate blade aiming for the ice before a jump, its sole purpose to dig deep and lift Wren up.

  But it only took an instant for Wren to know what was coming next: a crash landing. A painful thud.

  Izzy’s shoulders shook. She took a few slow steps, then began to run.

  And Wren wished she could take the words back.

  Wren sat in the hallway for ten minutes. Twenty minutes. The red numbers on the clock above the lockers flipped in a steady pace.

  And still, no Izzy.

  After half an hour, the doors to the auditorium opened and everyone spilled out, heading to their bags for food. Daphne and Phoebe wore triumphant grins. Serena walked a few steps behind them. Zach and Eli tried to trip each other. Then came Otto, the one who was always moving.

  That is, until Otto changed course and sat down next to Wren.

  “You’re new,” said Otto.

  Wren did not answer. Otto did not take the hint.

  He raised one finger to the corner of his mouth. “Not to this planet,” he said. “Unless, maybe you are new to this planet.” He tilted his head to the side and formed pretend binoculars with his hands, focusing them in a rotating movement. “Interesting. She does not talk. She does not eat. Has she come to take over our realm?”

  Wren smiled. She couldn’t help it. If anyone was from another planet, it was Otto. It would be an odd planet. But not a mean one. There was too much joy in Otto’s voice for meanness.

  Otto pushed himself up, his body as rigid as possible. “Snack,” he said. “Must get snack. Human beings need food. Will return soon.” With his legs swinging in a side-to-side motion, Otto robot-walked to the pile of bags.

  Wren’s stomach growled. But there was no way she was walking over to get her snack. What if Izzy suddenly returned and saw her standing near Daphne and Phoebe? It was too risky.

  Snack in hand, Otto robot-walked back. He sat down in one smooth motion. “Pretzels,” he said. “Crunchy human food, good human food. Space invader want to try one?”

  Wren smelled salt and yeast. She couldn’t resist. “Thanks,” she said as she reached her hand into Otto’s pretzel bag.

  “She speaks our language! It’s a galactic miracle!” Otto threw both hands into the air. As his pretzels spilled, Wren laughed, the worry and anger and tension in her body escaping through her mouth.

  Otto, no longer a robot, tossed a fresh handful of pretzels into the air like they were confetti. As they fell onto Wren’s head and body, she laughed even harder.

  Wren wiped the pretzels from her leg. When she looked up, she saw Izzy peering around the corner.

  Wren swallowed a pretzel.

  She swallowed her laughter.

  But it was too late; Izzy disappeared again.

  Otto put his pretzel bag down. He pulled on the ends of his lips making an exaggerated clown frown. “Space alien sad?”

  A simple question. But in real life, as an actual human being, the answer was complicated. Wren was sad, but with a ton of other emotions as well. Anger, regret, confusion, sadness: they all floated in the hallway like the confetti pretzels.

  And Wren didn’t want to stick around for them to fall on her head.

  “Get a life,” she said.

  She walked back into the auditorium. All alone.

  Just how she wanted to stay for the rest of the week.

  15

  Izzy Reaches for Red

  Nate picked Izzy up from theater camp. Luckily he was in one of his guitar music blaring moods and Izzy didn’t have to say anything other than “Hey” and “Okay” for the entire ride home. Nate dropped her at the garage apartment, then reversed down the driveway, off to see Tom, or stare at Simone, or whatever. Nate had tons of options. Izzy had a narrow staircase to climb all by herself.

  As she walked up the creaky wooden stairs, Izzy heard Row’s paws scrambling across the floor and her mom yell, “No, Row!”

  They were sounds Izzy had heard her entire life, as familiar as the dents in her butterfly tin. Izzy climbed a little faster. There was a good chance that she would get to the top of the stairs and find chocolate chip cookies baking in the toaster oven. Maybe her mom would sit with her at the folding table and Izzy would recount everything that had happened that day. And, just like when Izzy was little, her mom would know exactly what to do.

  But when Izzy opened the door at the top of the staircase, there were no cookies. The folding table was pushed to the corner and her mom was standing on a chair with her fancy camera in her hands.

  “Thank goodness you’re home,” she said. “Can you grab Row? He keeps ruining my shots and the lighting’s perfect right now. I only have a few minutes to get this.”

  Izzy put her bag on the folding table and told Row to sit. Her mom’s camera lens was trained on Izzy’s sleeping space, which had been transformed. The polka dot curtain was tied back with a wide navy ribbon, and the air mattress was styled with funky patter
ned pillows that Izzy recognized from Phoebe’s basement. Her butterfly tin was in the center of the overturned wooden crate and a string of twinkle lights looped across the wall right below the ceiling. Below the lights, a dozen Polaroid-style photos of Izzy and Phoebe were taped to the wall with floral washi tape.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I reprinted some old pictures,” said Izzy’s mom from behind the camera. “It hit me this morning that I could photograph the garage apartment for my website. I’m going to make a ‘glamping chic’ section as a way to show my range of styles. Here, look.”

  Izzy looked into the camera’s square screen and a different world emerged. The sunlight pouring across the floor and the pictures on the wall made it look like some cool girl was about to belly flop onto the mattress to text her friends. She’d roll onto her back as she smiled about all the different group chats she had to juggle.

  This cool space that her mom had created and the girl who belonged there were the opposite of Izzy. And suddenly, Izzy did not want to tell her mom what had happened at theater camp that afternoon. It was too embarrassing even to share with her mom.

  “Looks awesome,” said Izzy.

  Her mom smiled. “Thanks. It really does. Next up is Nate’s space. Wish me luck.”

  But her mom didn’t need luck. She knew exactly how to fix problems. Money troubles? Rent your house. Stuck in an ugly situation? Some new throw pillows might help. Want to attract clients? Win them over with your wide range of cool styles.

  And then there was Izzy, who was left peeling pictures of an ex-best friend off the wall, with nothing to put in their place.

  That evening Row scratched at the garage apartment door. “No, Row,” said Izzy. “We’re not doing that again.” She stood up from the folding table where she’d been drawing and pulled Row’s collar until he collapsed on the floor next to her chair.

  Her dad was still at work and her mom was at book club. Nate hung from a wooden beam doing pull-ups and grunting out numbers. “Five, four, three, two, one. Done.” Nate dropped to the floor.

  “Do you want a medal?” asked Izzy. “Or a trophy?”