Bridge thought it over. Then she stuck out her hand, put on her best Rudolph voice, and said, “It’s a deal!”
Jamie refused to shake. “No way. This is not a Hermey moment. Hermey is all about ‘be yourself and follow your dream.’ Hermey is not about ‘blackmail your brother.’ I won’t let you use him that way.”
She looked at him hopefully and said, “You can’t fire me! I quit!” It’s what Hermey tells the chief elf, who’s always putting Hermey down for wanting to be a dentist.
Jamie laughed. “Stop! All wrong!”
The doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” Bridge told him. “No charge. You just relax.”
She looked through the peephole. It was Alex. “It’s your frenemy!” she called to Jamie.
“Well, let him in! Unless you charge for that. In which case he can just stand out there.”
“He’s wearing your Rolling Stones T-shirt,” Bridge added, squinting.
“On second thought, lock the door.”
“What’s the official definition of ‘blackmail’?” Bridge asked Alex when she had flung the door open.
“Using threats to get what you want,” Alex told her. “Hello to you too.”
“It ISN’T blackmail!” she told Jamie on her way to the kitchen to make his toast. “Look it up.”
Opening the cereal box, Bridge heard Alex say, “You don’t know what blackmail is?”
“Be quiet,” Jamie said irritably.
“Have you told Bridge what you bet me?”
“I said be quiet,” Jamie said. “Anyway, who says I’m going to lose?”
Alex smiled his condescending smile. Bridge couldn’t see it, but she sensed it from the kitchen with perfect clarity. She opened the fridge and saw that her mom had been to the farmers’ market—there was a bowl of green apples, Jamie’s favorite. She reached for one and decided to throw it in for free.
BOLLYWOOD
“Okay, here goes: sock bun.” Celeste raised her hairbrush and stood for a moment like the Statue of Liberty. She and Bridge were alone in the bedroom Celeste shared with Tab, who was scavenging costume parts in her parents’ closet.
“I start by teasing my hair.” Celeste flipped her head upside down, grabbed a thick handful of hair by the end, and started brushing it backward, toward her scalp.
Bridge watched, mesmerized, as Celeste moved from one section of her hair to another, brushing it all the wrong way. “Wow. It’s like…a giant hair cloud.”
“I know.” Celeste’s voice sounded different upside down. “Completely mental, right? Okay. Now”—she stood straight and reached for a hair band—“I just stick this whole mess into a big high pony.”
Tab appeared in the doorway. “Celeste, can Em wear your outfit from Praveena’s wedding?”
“Sure,” Celeste said, tightening the base of her hair cloud into a ponytail. “That stuff will never fit me again.”
“Thanks!” Tab clapped, gave a little jump, and disappeared.
Celeste produced what looked like a fat cotton bracelet. “Okay, this is the sock part. See? I used a black one to match my hair. I cut the toe off and then rolled it up into a doughnut like this. Now I just slip the end of my pony through the hole, and—watch.”
She began to roll the sock doughnut up the length of her ponytail, folding her hair into it as she went, until all Bridge could see was a big circle of dark glossy hair.
“Cool,” Bridge murmured.
“Yeah, brilliant, right?”
“Yeah. Brilliant.”
When Celeste’s giant hair roll reached the top of her ponytail, she grabbed another hair band and wrapped it around the base of the bun. “Some people use pins for the loose strands, but I don’t. I like it a little bit messy.”
“It looks really good.” Celeste looked like a stylish ballerina. “So what are you doing tonight?” Bridge asked her.
Celeste smiled. “I’m on trick-or-treat duty. There are a hundred kids in this building, and I swear they are the greediest things in New York. You have to watch them like a hawk or they’ll clean you out before seven-thirty.”
Bridge laughed.
“Now let’s do you,” Celeste said, waving her brush. “For the party!”
Bridge heard herself say, “Yeah. Okay.”
—
An hour later, Bridge looked at herself in the mirror. She was wrapped in dark purple silk, with gold bangles on both wrists and black pencil around her eyes. The sock bun was perfect, she thought. Celeste had put it up high on her head and then pulled some long strands out to “frame her face.” Bridge liked what she saw in the mirror more than she expected to and then was afraid that her own satisfaction would be obvious to everyone in the room. She frowned.
“You look super-pretty,” Em said. “Try smiling.”
Emily wore a wrapped dress like Bridge’s, but hers had cutouts at the waist that showed triangles of skin.
“I still don’t understand how we went from superheroes to an Indian wedding party,” Bridge said.
“Those superhero costumes were plastic kid stuff,” Em said.
“And it’s not a wedding party!” Tab said. “It’s Bollywood.”
“Right, Bollywood,” Bridge said. “Whatever that is.”
“I told you, it’s like the Indian version of Hollywood. Which is cool.” Em twirled in front of the mirror. Her phone chimed, and she ran over to it. “OMG. Look what Julie Hopper is wearing tonight.” She held out the phone. “Get it? Hopper?”
Julie Hopper was wearing a bunny costume. A Playboy Bunny costume.
“What an idiot,” Tab said. “She has a pom-pom on her butt!”
“It’s retro,” Em said. “A leotard and tights, big deal. And bunny ears. Which reminds me—no ears tonight, right, Bridge?”
Bridge grabbed her ears from Tab’s bed and slipped them on.
“Bridge!” Tab and Emily exchanged a look.
Tab said, “You said you were going to wear them until Halloween, remember? This is Halloween.”
“Right,” Bridge said. “And therefore”—she adjusted the ears so that they fit exactly right—“I’m wearing them.”
Tab rolled her eyes but was quiet. Bridge guessed that she was telling herself to put a pin in it.
Em had turned back to the mirror. “I don’t get why the school party is for seventh graders only. It should be seventh and eighth together.”
“It’s probably so we don’t get corrupted by people who stick pom-poms on their butts,” Tab said. “Personally, I’m grateful.”
“The eighth graders have the spring dance,” Bridge said. “Before graduation.”
Celeste walked in wearing sweats and a T-shirt. “The spring dance was so much fun,” she said. “I can’t believe that was only six months ago. Wow. Seems like so much longer.”
“Yeah, we all know you’re in high school now, Celeste.” Tab looked her sister up and down. “I thought you were going out. Don’t you have that party?”
“Nah,” Celeste said. “I decided to hang here.” She plopped down on one of the beds and ripped open a mini-Snickers.
Tab handed Bridge a few more gold bangles and said, “Don’t lose these.”
“Celeste, take a picture of us!” Em held out her phone. “I want to show Julie what we’re wearing!”
U-TURN
The next day, Bridge sat alone backstage in the auditorium, hunched over her phone. Were those footsteps? She shoved her phone into her pocket and listened, squinting through the backstage gloom at the heavy red velvet curtain. She didn’t know yet whether Mr. Partridge was the type to confiscate a phone. Half the teachers just pretended not to see them.
No one was coming, she decided. She pulled her phone out and looked again at the picture Em had posted—the one Celeste took of the three of them before they’d left for the party. Bridge stared at herself: at her long hair bundled on top of her head with strands escaping, at her penciled eyes looking dark and huge, at her arms inside the tangles of thin bracelets. She ha
d never seen herself like this before.
She could wake up every morning and put on eye makeup, the way Em did. She could do more with her hair and wear something other than T-shirts. But she knew she wouldn’t—that stuff would feel like more of a costume than the one she’d worn last night.
She made the picture bigger and moved it with her thumb, panning across their three faces. Em’s was serious, lips slightly puckered, head tilted. Bridge had to wonder if it was a look she practiced at home. Bridge’s face looked, yes, undeniably pretty but also slightly stunned: eyes wide, face blank under the automatic smile. On Em’s other side was Tab, sticking out her tongue and making peace signs with both hands. She was the only one who looked like herself, Bridge decided.
She paged down and read the comments again.
Gorgeous.
Prettiest girls in the seventh grade.
OMG. HOT!
There were twenty-six comments. And Em had taken the time to respond to every one of them: Thanks! Or Aw, UR Nice.
Julie Hopper had written SO BOOTYFUL!! LOL.
And Em had written back ILYSM.
The last comment on Em’s page was from Patrick.
Your turn.
Beneath it was Em’s response:
Soon.
And underneath that she’d added: .
“Hey,” a voice said. “You all alone back here?”
Sherm had sneaked up on her. He held the stage curtain open just slightly, so she could only see half of his smile.
“Yeah,” Bridge said quickly, shoving her phone into her book bag. “We had a math sub. She let us out early.”
She liked the way she and Sherm sort of recognized each other. Ever since the first intruder drill, Bridge had looked for him—in the halls, the school lobby, the cafeteria. Everywhere. And the more she looked, the more he seemed to be there.
“It’s kind of dark,” he said, glancing around. They were surrounded by folding chairs, music stands, and painted scenery from last year’s spring play. “Is there a light switch?”
“Yeah, but I’m afraid to touch that thing.” She pointed toward the light board, a gray metal box perched on a rolling metal cart against the back wall.
Sherm walked over to it, his hands in his pockets, and gazed at the rows of black switches. “So were you at the famous party last night?”
“Yeah, were you? I didn’t see you.”
Sherm shook his head. “Nope. How was it?”
“Everyone stood around talking to whoever they came with. Some people jumped up and down on the dance floor, which was really just a corner of the gym marked off with black masking tape. Stale cookies. How come you didn’t go?”
He shrugged. “No date.” After a beat, he added, “Just kidding.”
When Sherm said “date,” Bridge’s head buzzed the same way it did when Madame Lawrence pointed at her in French class.
Sherm said, “I like this place when no one’s here.” He walked toward the bunched velvet curtain and stroked it with two fingers. “Cozy. And it smells like a woodshop.”
“Yeah. It doesn’t feel like school. You know? It feels kind of like a secret.”
They heard a door bang open on the other side of the curtain, followed by loud voices and clomping feet—the rest of the Wednesday tech crew. Bridge smiled. “Not that big a secret, I guess.”
“If tech meets on Mondays and Wednesdays,” Sherm said, “I wonder what it’s like here at lunchtime on a Tuesday or a Thursday.”
“It’s probably exactly like this. Empty.”
“Let’s find out.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow?”
Bridge shrugged. “Okay. Sure.”
A hand appeared through the curtains and forcefully swept one aside so that it rolled a bit, making a wide opening.
“Ah.” Mr. Partridge raised his eyebrows at them. He went to the gray metal box and flipped a switch, and suddenly everything was bathed in light. He flipped another switch and the light got brighter. “There,” he said, smiling at Bridge and Sherm. “Sunshine.”
—
“Got any candy wrappers?” Tab asked Bridge at recess. They were watching the soccer team’s “informal practice,” which was taking up most of the yard. Emily flew back and forth in her yellow sweatshirt.
“Wrappers?” Bridge repeated.
“From Halloween.” Tab pulled a ziplock bag out of her jacket pocket. Inside were a few candy wrappers. “I’m collecting them for the Human Rights Club.”
“So that’s what the Human Rights Club does?”
Tab gave her a serious look. “Bridge. Do you know how much foil gets thrown away every Halloween? It’s like a million football fields of foil. If we keep wasting all our resources, there won’t be any humans left to have rights.”
Bridge put both hands up. “Okay! I’ll bring some in tomorrow.” Bridge didn’t say what she was thinking: what about all the plastic bags the Human Rights Club was using to carry the candy wrappers around?
“Thanks.” Tab stuffed the bag back into her pocket. “And for your information, the Human Rights Club is studying civil disobedience. Like Rosa Parks. The wrappers are just a side project.”
The soccer ball rolled toward them. Tab bent down to grab it, then flung it back onto the field, where a swarm of yellow sweatshirts ran after it.
“Want a peppermint patty?” Tab said.
“Sure.”
Tab handed her two. “We have all this candy left over. I kind of wonder whether Celeste even answered the door last night. I’ve eaten like half a bag already.”
“Your poor teeth,” Bridge said.
“Please. My teeth have bigger problems.”
“Oh yeah. When’s the big day?”
“Not for a while. Don’t talk about it.”
“You brought it up.”
“Four teeth! Who has to get four teeth pulled, just for braces?” Tab held out a hand for Bridge’s candy wrapper.
Bridge’s dentist had told her mom that her mouth was too “immature” for braces. She’d probably have to wear them in high school, when everyone else had already gotten theirs off.
Bridge scanned the yard for Sherm and spotted him at the far end, standing against the fence with a few other kids. She watched him until Tab gave a big “Woot!” and butted her shoulder-to-shoulder. Em had scored a goal.
“Go, Emily!” Bridge shouted to make up for the fact that she’d missed it.
Em threw both arms up in the air, did a graceful U-turn, and started running back to her team.
SHERM
November 3
Dear Nonno Gio,
I hate Halloween now. Nonna gave me some of your navy stuff, but when I put it on, the jacket was huge and I looked like a little kid in grown-up clothes. I said I wasn’t going to the party.
She said I should just go, and if I wasn’t having fun I could leave. I told her I had a nauseous headache. Obviously that was a lie, but Nonna got me a cold washcloth for my neck and asked me if I wanted to lie down. We ended up watching a movie. Nonna left the candy on the stoop for trick-or-treaters.
It’s hard to believe October 31 used to be my favorite day of the year. Remember when you were Tintin and I was your dog, Snowy? I still have that dumb wig you wore.
I probably should have gone to the party. I could have just worn my navy turtleneck with your old hat. The hat almost fits.
Sherm
P.S. Three months and eleven days until your birthday.
P.P.S. I decided to ask Mr. Partridge if I can learn the stage lights.
CHICKEN
“Chicken?” Bridge repeated. She and Em were in homeroom, sitting in the back row. She was thinking at first of the bird chicken.
“Yeah,” Em said. “Chicken. You know. The whole thing with Patrick?”
“I don’t know. What does Patrick have to do with chicken?”
“The game, dummy. Chicken? Like two cars drive directly toward each other until one chickens out and swerves away?”
“That’s a game?”
“So I took that picture of my foot, right? And he sent me his ankle. I sent my leg, and he sent his belly button, blah blah blah.”
“Wait—‘blah blah blah’? What does that mean?”
Em rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. “I sent him a picture of my—thigh, I guess? I was wearing shorts and I wrote…something on it.” She cut her eyes back to Bridge. “I didn’t tell you guys. Sorry. I didn’t want to hear Tab’s lecture.”
“You wrote on your leg? Like on your skin? What’d you write?”
“Um…” Em leaned in. “I wrote Make me crazy.”
“Seriously?”
“I know. Julie Hopper and I were hanging out after practice. It seemed really funny—we actually couldn’t stop laughing.”
“ ‘Make me crazy’?”
“Shhh! It was Julie’s idea, okay? And after that, he sent—this.” She passed Bridge her phone under the table.
Bridge found herself looking at a head-to-toe picture of Patrick standing in his underwear. He had taken the picture in a mirror.
“Is this—real?” It wasn’t as if Bridge hadn’t seen Jamie in his boxers a thousand times. But still, this felt semi-unreal.
Em nodded slowly, her face bright.
“Whoa,” Bridge said. “When did he send this?”
“On Halloween. A lot of the eighth graders were at Julie’s house watching horror movies.”
“He took this picture at Julie’s house?”
“Yeah. In the bathroom. According to Julie.”
“But now you’re going to stop, right? It’s all…crazy!”
“I can’t stop now!”
“Why not?”
“ ’Cause then I’m the chicken!”
“So what? The chicken is the smart one!”
“Julie says this goes on all the time. It’s not a big deal. Okay?”
“Okay?” Bridge repeated. “What does ‘okay’ mean?” Bridge’s brain flicked to all of those comments between Em and Julie: UR gorgeous. ILYSM.
“They’re all in love with him, you know,” Em said. “The girls on soccer. Do you even get how crazy it is that he picked me?”
Goodbye Stranger Page 8