Dawn and Whitney, Friends Forever

by Ann M. Martin

  “Whitney,” I said gently. “It’s okay.” I reached for her hand, then realized that she might think I was treating her like a baby. So I slid my arm through hers.

  “Let’s walk across together, okay?”

  Whitney stopped rocking back and forth and some of the panic left her eyes. She looked at me, then at the line of stopped cars.

  “O-okay, Dawn.”

  We stepped off the curb and walked across the street together.

  “Red makes the cars stop, and lets the people walk across,” said Whitney softly as we got to the other side.

  “That’s right,” I said.

  “Yes,” said Whitney, her panic now completely forgotten. She smiled at me trustingly. “Can we go see Clover and Daffodil again soon?”

  “Sure,” I said. “And we’ll have a great afternoon tomorrow, too.”

  “Okay,” said Whitney.

  I couldn’t help but think, as we went back to Whitney’s house, how different she was from anyone I’d ever known — so grown-up in so many ways, and so very young in others.

  Then I had to laugh at myself. How different, after all, was that from any of us? It was just that, for Whitney, the grown-up part of her mind could only grow up so much. But for most of the rest of us, we had to keep growing up whether we liked it or not.

  Stacey and Claudia were in charge of seven kids for the evening: the three Barretts — eight-year-old Buddy, five-year-old Suzi, and their baby sister Marnie — and the four DeWitts — eight-year-old Lindsey, six-year-old Taylor, four-year-old Madeleine, and two-year-old Ryan.

  Since Mr. Franklin DeWitt, the man Mrs. Barrett has been dating, is a very prompt and organized person, he arrived at the Barretts’ front door at the same time Stacey and Claudia did, along with the four kids.

  “Hi, guys,” said Stacey.

  “Allow me,” said Franklin, and he reached out and rang the doorbell and then made a sort of bow in Stacey and Claudia’s direction. All the DeWitt kids giggled and Franklin grinned, obviously pleased with his little joke. He was clearly in a very good mood.

  Mrs. Barrett answered the door and smiled radiantly at Franklin. She is someone who is, well, organizationally different, but she always manages to look pulled together and that night was no exception. If Franklin looked handsome in his suit and tie, Mrs. Barrett looked like a model in her silk dress and gold earrings (one of which she was putting on as she opened the door) and upswept hair.

  “There you are,” she cried, as if it was all a huge, wonderful surprise to find Franklin, four kids, and two baby-sitters on her front porch. “Come in, come in.”

  Ryan suddenly got shy, and sidled into the house.

  Stacey bent over and scooped him up. “Why don’t I give you a ride for a little while, Ryan? How would you like that?”

  Ryan nodded, and Stacey boosted him onto her back while Mrs. Barrett grabbed her purse and gave Stacey and Claudia last minute instructions.

  “Dinner is —” said Mrs. Barrett and waved her hand in the direction of the kitchen.

  “Potluck?” supplied Franklin, smiling. “A smorgasbord? Everything sandwiches?”

  “Exactly!” Mrs. Barrett beamed at him and seemed to forget that anyone else was standing in the hall except Franklin and her.

  Claudia cleared her throat. “Great. Um, approximately what time will you …”

  “Early,” said Franklin, smiling at Mrs. Barrett the same way. “No later than eight. It’s just a cocktail party. A business thing, really.”

  “Great,” said Claudia again.

  No one moved for a moment. Then Stacey said, “So, Mrs. Barrett, Mr. DeWitt, have a good time.”

  That broke the spell, at least for the moment. Mrs. Barrett, her cheeks a little pink, nodded and said, “Thank you.”

  “We will,” said Franklin, still looking at Mrs. Barrett. He made the same sort of funny little bow he’d made on the porch but no one giggled. When he held out his arm, Mrs. Barrett took it and sort of floated out the door with him.

  “What’s a smorgasbord?” asked Lindsey DeWitt. “Is it good?”

  “Well, it’s sort of potluck, I guess,” said Claudia.

  “What’s a potluck?” asked Suzi.

  “That’s when the guests who go to a party each bring a special dish. That’s a potluck supper.”

  “Oh,” said Suzi.

  “A smorgasbord is more like all kinds of different foods that people can pick and choose to eat from. Like you put it out on a table and …”

  “A cafeteria!” exclaimed Buddy.

  “Sort of like that, too,” said Stacey. “Only I think you can go back as many times as you want and get all kinds of different things.”

  “Can we have smorgas … smorgas … potluck?” asked Taylor DeWitt.

  Stacey thought for a moment. It was a beautiful summer evening, clear and not too warm. “It would be nice to do something outside,” she said.

  “What about a smorgasbord picnic?” suggested Claudia. “We’ll put everything out on the table here and fix a picnic from it and then take it to the park and play games and have a picnic. A smorgaspic!”

  “A smorgaspic!” cried Taylor.

  Marnie Barrett clapped her hands together.

  Soon the seven kids were running back and forth in the kitchen, lining things up on the kitchen table.

  “Ketchup, pickles, tuna salad,” chanted Buddy, leaning forward to look in the refrigerator.

  “Hands off!” said Lindsey behind him and Bryan reached in and grabbed the ketchup and the pickles and the tuna salad, one at a time, and passed them back to Lindsey, who set them on the table.

  “Bread,” cried Taylor as he emerged from the pantry, holding a loaf of whole wheat bread aloft.

  “Baloney, jelly, and stinky cheese,” Buddy went on.

  “Euuww, stinky cheese!” shouted Suzi. She took the package, labeled gorgonzola, out of Lindsey’s hand and sniffed it, then frowned. “It doesn’t stink.”

  Lindsey laughed and peeled back a corner of the wrapper. “Now smell,” she said.

  Suzi leaned over and sniffed again, then shrieked delightedly, “Euuw, euuw, stinky, stinky!”

  “Stinky!” cried Marnie, joining in the excitement.

  “Inky,” whispered Ryan, who’d been dropping the napkins one by one into a basket Claudia had given him.

  When the table couldn’t hold any more food, the seven kids set to work making a smorgaspic, with a little help from Claudia and Stacey.

  They loaded the picnic into Suzi’s wagon and took turns pulling the wagon to the park, with Suzi and Taylor pulling the wagon together for their turn.

  It was hard to believe this was the same group of kids that once got along so badly they had to be separated when people baby-sat for them together. That had been back when they first met, right after Mrs. Barrett and Franklin had started going out. But once they got used to the idea of their respective parents seeing each other, and once Mrs. Barrett and Mr. DeWitt stopped trying so hard to make everybody like everybody, and just let people be themselves (with a little help from the members of the BSC, world-class baby-sitters), the seven kids now got along okay.

  They even seemed to share the same bizarre taste in food, as Stacey and Claudia discovered at the park.

  After a killer game of freeze tag and a very funny game of pass the egg on the spoon (Stacey had snagged a couple of hard-boiled eggs from the refrigerator, which were completely cracked and mushed by the time the game was over), the smorgaspic got underway.

  Stacey had packed an apple and a container of leftover rice and black beans, because she has to be careful about what she eats. It was a good thing she had, because the smorgaspic had a truly stunning assortment of food. It even stunned Claudia, who picked up what she thought was a tuna salad sandwich and took a big bite.

  “W-what is this!” she gasped, making a hideous face.

  “Claudia?” asked Stacey. “Are you all right?”

  Claudia peeled the top of the sandw
ich back while the Barretts and the DeWitts burst into laughter. “Oreos!” cried Claudia. “Who put crushed Oreos on my sandwich?”

  Taylor reached out and took the sandwich. “I invented it,” he said. “Like that Ben & Jerry’s ice cream.”

  “Chocolate Chip Oreo Crunch this is not,” said Claudia.

  Taylor took a big bite and said, “I like it.”

  “Can I try it?” asked Suzi. She took a bite, chewed thoughtfully for a minute, then said, “I like it, too.”

  Claudia fished around and found a plain tuna sandwich. But among the sandwiches she and Stacey watched the Barretts and the DeWitts eat and share with each other with gusto, in addition to the tuna salad and Oreo, were a peanut butter and potato chip, a cole slaw and baloney, and a grape jelly and cheddar cheese.

  As they trudged home from the park, full and tired, Stacey said, “I hope they don’t have stomachaches.”

  Claudia shuddered. “I thought I was a junk food fanatic, but this group has got me beat. Still, your food just gets all mixed together in your stomach anyway.”

  “Thanks for sharing that, Claudia,” said Stacey, making a face of her own.

  After all the games and the smorgaspic, Marnie went easily to bed, and since Ryan was looking a little sleepy himself, they tucked him into Buddy’s bed.

  Then they took turns reading an old book that Buddy had found on one of the bookshelves: Cheaper By the Dozen, about a family with twelve kids in it. It was sort of old-fashioned, but it was funny, too.

  Not too long after that, Mrs. Barrett and Franklin returned. Mrs. Barrett was holding onto Franklin’s arm just as she had been when they left. And she was still staring at him in that same mesmerized way, only her cheeks were very pink. She was practically glowing, and so was Franklin.

  “Was it fun?” asked Claudia, as Mrs. Barrett was paying them.

  “What? Oh, the party. Oh, it was wonderful,” breathed Mrs. Barrett. The two adults exchanged a long look.

  Franklin said, “Truly wonderful. The most special night of my life.”

  “Oh. Well, great,” said Stacey. She grabbed Claudia’s elbow and steered her out the door.

  “I wonder what’s going on?” said Claudia.

  “I don’t know, but something’s up,” said Stacey. “Oh, well, at least the days of the Barrett/DeWitt feud are over.”

  “Forever,” agreed Claudia.

  “And ever,” said Stacey.

  “Hello, hello, hel-lo!” My father bounded through the door of the den.

  I looked at him. He was smiling. Was this a good sign or a bad sign? He was just coming in from another one of his first dates. “Clarice Dubina” he’d said over his shoulder as he’d rushed out to his date earlier in the evening. “More later.”

  I guess later had arrived. I pointed the remote toward the television and clicked it off.

  “Hi, Dad,” I said. “What’s up?”

  “Why did the lobster move to a bigger house?” asked my father.

  “Is this a Jeff joke?” I asked.

  Jeff, who was sprawled on the floor, shook his head. “Nope,” he said.

  “You’ll like it, Jeff. Go on, why did the lobster move to a bigger house?”

  “I give up,” I said immediately. “Why?”

  Jeff took longer. His professional reputation as a comedian was at stake. But at last he said, too, “I give up.”

  “Because he had ‘clawstrophobia’! Get it? Claustrophobia.”

  I managed to smile. “I get it, Dad.”

  Jeff gave a big horse laugh. “That’s great, Dad! Where did you hear that one?”

  “Our waiter at the restaurant tonight.”

  I had a sudden flash of inspiration. “Did you go to the Ocean Inn for dinner?” The Ocean Inn was a local seafood house, really plain inside, but heaps of seafood on every plate.

  And waiters who were planning to be comedians, obviously.

  Dad nodded and beamed as if I’d gotten the right answer on a game show. “It was great,” he said. “Terrific. I like someone who can match me oyster for oyster.”

  “You ate raw oysters?” Jeff grabbed his throat and let his head drop to one side.

  “Yup. Wait and see, Jeff. You’ll try them someday and like them, too.”

  I didn’t want to clutch my throat and act like Jeff, but I admit, the idea of ever letting a slimy, raw oyster touch my lips made me go “ick” inside. But I smiled and said (bravely), “Sounds like fun, Dad.”

  “It was. It definitely was. So …”

  “Time for the family date,” I finished.

  Dad nodded. “A carnival is scheduled to roll into town this weekend. Clarice thought it might be a fun outing for all of us.”

  “A carnival?” Jeff recovered from his imaginary oyster wipeout to sit up and protest. “That’s for little kids!” But from the sparkle in his eyes, I could tell he was hooked on the idea.

  “Little kids!” My father pretended to be indignant. “I’m not a little kid and I love carnivals. The rides, the games, the cotton candy …”

  “The popcorn,” I put in quickly. (Ugh! Oysters and cotton candy in one conversation.) “The people. I like carnivals, too, Dad.”

  “Well,” Jeff said. “Okay. If you two really want to go, I guess I could come, too.”

  “Great,” said my father. “Saturday carnival it is. This is going to be fun.”

  Did I mention that my father is one of those weird eternal optimists?

  The carnival was a disaster.

  We picked up Clarice and my heart sank when she slid into the car, turned to look at Jeff and me sitting in the backseat, and said, “So these are the children. They’re a great-looking pair, Schaf.”

  Schaf? Schaf? Jeff and I exchanged glances, but then I thought, hey, what’s in a nickname? Look at mine.

  “Hi,” I said, deciding to ignore the nickname and the fact that she’d just called me and Jeff children. “I’m Dawn and this is Jeff.”

  Jeff didn’t say anything. I elbowed him. Hard.

  “Owww,” cried Jeff.

  “Now children, no fighting. We’ll be there in just a few minutes, won’t we, Schaf?” Clarice gave us a big, big smile and turned back to my father.

  Children. She’d done it again. Beside me, Jeff folded his arms. I didn’t have to look at him to know that his eyes were narrow and his lower lip was sticking out. He had jumped, hyper-speed, into one of his ornery moods. It didn’t bode well for the evening.

  I was right.

  Bright lights, lots of noise, the smell of popcorn and cotton candy, the grind of the motors, and the shrieks of the people on the rides, the clanging of bells and whistles and sirens at all the games, enormous silly stuffed animals — the carnival had everything it was supposed to have.

  Except three Schafers and one Clarice having a good time.

  Clarice started talking the moment we hit the midway and she didn’t stop the whole time, pointing things out to us, grabbing our arms and squeezing our shoulders for emphasis, telling Schaf that the children would love this ride or that.

  “Look,” she exclaimed. She squeezed my father’s arm, my shoulder, and ruffled Jeff’s hair before he could duck out of the way. “Bumper cars!”

  “Boring,” said Jeff.

  “Silly boy!” cried Clarice. “Come on, Schaf, let’s show the children we old people can still do the bump!” Clarice charged up to the ticket booth with our father in tow and a few minutes later we were seated in our respective bumper cars.

  I looked over at Jeff. He was looking at Clarice. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what would happen next.

  Wham! Jeff plowed into the side of Clarice’s bumper car.

  She gave a little shriek of laughter and began to frantically turn her wheel. But Jeff didn’t give her a chance. Wham! Wham! Clarice’s car spun round and round. Wham!

  Clarice’s mouth opened, but before she could laugh, Jeff got her again.

  Whack! Someone jolted into me and I lost sight
of the two, and spent the rest of the time maintaining my own bumper car defense. But I was pretty sure that no one attacked me as relentlessly as Jeff attacked Clarice.

  I had to give Clarice credit, though. She smiled brightly as we climbed out of our cars, and said, as if she hadn’t even noticed Jeff’s all out attack, “Now, wasn’t that fun?”

  “Terrific,” said Jeff. “Let’s do it again.”

  “Not now, Jeff,” said our father quickly. Dad had noticed even if Clarice hadn’t.

  Jeff accepted that easily. Too easily. The next minute he was pointing at a booth where giant lime green pandas dangled from the rafters. “Look, Dawn! You remember how you’ve always tried and tried to win one of those? Let’s go try again!”

  “What?” Before I could protest or say Jeff was crazy, Clarice had said, “Oh, Dawn, really? Well, let’s see what we can do about getting you the toy of your dreams.”

  “Toy?” I said. “But …”

  Too late. Clarice had already marched over to the booth and plunked down her money for three balls to knock over a stack of three pins.

  She missed.

  She missed again.

  “That’s okay,” I said. “Really.”

  “No, no, no,” said Clarice.

  I resigned myself to wandering the carnival for the rest of the night lugging a green panda. Maybe I could give it to Whitney, I thought. Or to Clover or Daffodil.

  Unfortunately, Clarice’s aim was terrible. She tried and tried and tried, but she couldn’t win. And Jeff, the little rat, kept encouraging her, looking over his shoulder to say things like, “Don’t worry, Dawn. She’ll get it this time.”

  Finally my father cleared his throat. “Tell you what, next time I see a panda in the store, I’ll buy you one, Dawn.”

  Just at that moment, Clarice succeeded. “Ha!” she cried. “There, Schaf.” She seized the panda from the grinning booth operator and bestowed it on me.

  “Thanks,” I said weakly. I was going to get Jeff for this!

  “No problem, kiddo,” Clarice said.

  “Time for —” our father began.

  “Cotton candy! I haven’t had that in years. Since I was a child,” Clarice said. “I remember I used to make myself positively sick on cotton candy. Do you children do that?”