Stacey's Ex-Best Friend Read online

  “You’re welcome,” replied Austin, who was grinning broadly.

  Next to me, Pete was clumsily holding his box while Laine untied the ribbon. When the bow slipped from her fingers, Pete reached for it, knocking into her hand. Then, while he was aiming the corsage toward her wrist, he dropped it. It fell onto the cement stairs and was quickly trampled by a group of kids running into the gym.

  When the kids had gone by, we looked at the smashed flowers.

  “Oops,” said Pete.

  Laine waved him away, as if neither the corsage nor Pete was of any importance to her whatsoever. As we walked into the gym, she whispered to me, “You didn’t say what a klutz he is.”

  “My mistake,” I muttered. But I was thinking, I didn’t realize you’d make him so nervous, Laine.

  The inside of the gym looked nothing like a gym. It sparkled. Pink hearts and silver rain were suspended from the ceiling. Pink streamers ran from one side of the room to the other.

  “My, isn’t this … pink,” said Logan, and we laughed.

  “I think it’s beautiful,” commented Mary Anne.

  “So do I,” I said.

  “It’s beautiful if you’re two years old.”

  “Laine, shut up,” I snapped, forgetting the decision I’d made. “Hey, Claud, great earrings. I just noticed them.”

  “Thanks.” Claud was frowning, wondering what was going on.

  “So who’s playing tonight?” asked Bart. (He’s a member of a band, and he’s always interested in his competition.)

  “I’m not sure,” said Kristy.

  In fact, none of us was sure. Moments later, the music started.

  “Hey, it’s just a tape!” exclaimed Laine, dismayed.

  “Well, a band is setting up,” said Austin. “I can see them. I guess this is just to give us something to dance to until the live music starts. Want to dance, Stacey?”

  “Sure,” I replied. At the same time, I checked Mary Anne to see if this reference to dancing had any effect on her.

  She looked a little pale. But that was before Logan said, “Let’s get something to eat, Mary Anne.”

  Then she relaxed. So far so good.

  Austin and I moved to an empty area in the gym and began to dance. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Pete and Laine. They were dancing, too. I guess Pete didn’t want to get too far from Laine. Then I caught sight of something else. Pete’s feet.

  He was wearing sneakers with his suit.

  I’d forgotten about Pete and his sneakers. He almost always wears them. When I thought about it, I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen him without them. They’re Pete’s trademark. My friends and I are so used to them I hardly notice them anymore. They’re just part of Pete.

  Laine noticed the sneakers at the same time I did. To her credit, she didn’t say anything. But she looked horrified — as if she’d just seen a worm crawl out of one of the laceholes.

  The expression on her face was hard to miss. It may have been what prompted Pete to say, “So my mom and dad are building an addition on our house. Another wing actually.” I think he felt he had to say something, had to start a conversation. “It’s going to have a rec room and a bathroom downstairs, and a bedroom and a bathroom upstairs. I mean, downstairs will just be a half bathroom, but upstairs will be a full bathroom. You know the difference, right? A half bath has no tub. And right now my parents are choosing tiles —”

  “Excuse me, Pete?” said Laine.

  “— for the floors. My dad wants white ones with those black speckles for the upstairs bath, and plain blue ones for —”

  “Pete?”

  “— downstairs, but my mom wants pink and yellow upstairs and these little flower tiles downstairs, but they can’t make a decision because there’s all this plaster dust, and it covers everything, you know? Even the tile samples. Have you —”

  “Pete!”

  “— ever breathed in plaster dust? It kind of gets caught in your throat. And it makes your mouth feel like the desert.”

  “Ow!” yelled Laine. “You just stepped on my foot.”

  * * *

  So that was how the dance started off.

  Here are a few things that happened during the next hour:

  A kid spilled a drink near Laine. Nothing splashed on her. Not one drop. But she tore herself away from Pete long enough to hiss to me, “That is exactly why sixth-graders should not attend a dance with older kids. They have absolutely no muscle control.”

  I gave Laine a Look. “Jessi is in sixth grade,” was all I had to say. Laine got the point.

  The band began to play. Laine didn’t like their music.

  Pete brought Laine some refreshments — a cup of punch and a heart-shaped cookie. Laine ate the food, but not until she’d made sure Pete knew she thought it looked more appropriate for kindergarten snacktime than a middle school dance.

  * * *

  Around nine o’clock, the band took a break. Someone slipped a slow song into the cassette player. “Ahh, canned music,” said Laine, as if the band had offended her.

  “Want to dance?” asked Pete hopefully.

  “Nah. I’m tired.”

  “Okay. We’ll sit this one out.”

  Pete guided Laine off the dance floor. They squeezed between the people in the crowd. Halfway to the (kindergarten) refreshment table, this really cute guy tapped Laine on the shoulder and said, “Do you want to dance?”

  Laine gazed at him in awe. “Sure,” she managed to reply.

  Pete’s mouth dropped open. It stayed open as he watched Laine and the boy wind their way back to the dance floor. Then he coughed. (I think he was trying not to cry.)

  “Austin?” I whispered. We had been following Pete and Laine to the refreshment table.

  Austin shook his head. “Leave him alone for now,” he said, meaning Pete. “I’ll talk to him in a little while.”

  I watched Laine for a few minutes. She had draped her arms around the boy’s neck and was grinning at him.

  I turned away angrily. “I don’t believe it,” I muttered.

  “Huh?” Claudia was standing behind us.

  “I said, ‘I don’t believe it.’ ”

  “Don’t believe what?” asked Claud.

  I pointed across the room to Laine and the guy.

  “So?” said Claud. “She’s allowed to dance with someone else.”

  “Not after she just turned down Pete. The slow music came on, Pete asked her to dance, she said no, then that guy asked her to dance, and she said yes and practically fell all over herself.”

  Kristy had joined us. “I wonder if Laine knows her dream boy is a lowly seventh-grader.” She paused. “I also wonder if Laine thinks seventh-graders have enough muscle control.”

  Claud laughed, but I didn’t. Somehow I had crossed that line between being healthily angry and being too angry. I guess that’s why, when the dance ended and Laine ran excitedly to Claud and Kristy and me, I grabbed her elbow and yanked her into a corner of the gym.

  “What’s the matter?” Laine demanded.

  “You are being so rude!” I exclaimed.

  “What’d I do?”

  “You really don’t know, do you.” Laine stared at the ground, which made me think she might know after all. “You are treating Pete like dirt,” I said. “And he isn’t dirt. He has feelings. I can’t believe you told him you didn’t want to dance, and then that other guy asked you and you said yes right in front of Pete. You know, you are not better than the rest of us, Laine Cummings.”

  “I never said I was.”

  “Oh, yes you did. You said it in a million different ways. You have cooler clothes, you’re more grown-up, you have more sophisticated taste —”

  “Excuse me,” Laine interrupted icily, “I would like to go home now.”

  “Fine. I’ll call Mom.”

  “I mean,” said Laine, “I want to go back to New York.”

  “Fine, Laine. I’ll call Mom,” I said again. “I will be glad to help
you get back to New York as fast as possible.”

  “Good.”

  I flounced toward the entrance to the gym. I wasn’t sure I had the right change to make a pay-phone call. So when I spotted Austin, I almost detoured toward him. Then I realized he was talking to Pete, and I left them alone. I ran into the hallway.

  I didn’t realize Laine was following me until I reached the pay phones near the door to the back parking lot.

  “Don’t you trust me to make the call?” I asked Laine. “Believe me, I want you to get to New York as badly as you want to get there.”

  “Oh, I believe you,” said Laine. “I just want to hear what you say to your mother. I want to make sure you don’t —”

  “Lie?” I supplied.

  “You said it, I didn’t.”

  Of course, that made me even angrier. I turned my back on Laine, picked up the receiver of the nearest phone, and listened for a dial tone. When I didn’t hear one, I slammed down the receiver and stepped to the next phone.

  “Temper, temper,” said Laine.

  “Oh, shut up.”

  I dropped the coins in the phone and dialed home.

  “Hello?” said Mom.

  “Hi, it’s Stacey. Can you come pick us up?” My voice felt tight.

  “So early?” my mother replied. “What’s wrong?”

  “Laine and I had a fight. She wants to go home. To New York. Tonight.”

  “I didn’t say tonight,” Laine interrupted.

  I put my hand over the receiver. “No, I did,” I hissed.

  On the other end of the phone, Mom was saying, “What? Stacey?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “Can you pick us up now?”

  “Of course. I’ll be right there.”

  “Thanks. We’ll see you in a few minutes. ’Bye.”

  I hung up the phone and stalked down the corridor toward the gym.

  “Where are you going?” Laine called after me.

  “Back to the dance to get my coat, say good-bye, and apologize to the people you were rude to this evening. All six hundred of them.”

  “You don’t have to leave just because I’m leaving,” said Laine. “And, you don’t have to apologize to anyone for me. I’m capable of apologizing.”

  “You wouldn’t even know who to apologize to,” I retorted.

  “I would too know. Pete.”

  “And?” (Laine looked blank.) “See? You don’t know.”

  “Okay, who? Who else?” Laine demanded.

  I stopped my rush through the hall. “How about the rest of my friends, to start with. Then —”

  Laine’s mouth dropped open. “You mean Claudia and everybody?”

  “Who else?”

  “Well, what did I do to them?”

  “Laine.” I was appalled. She really didn’t know. “You were rude to them all week. I don’t like to use this word, but you were really snotty. That’s the only way I can explain it. Then if you wanted to continue apologizing, you could say you’re sorry to the band for putting them down. You could say you’re sorry to the decorating committee for saying the gym looks like a place for two-year-olds. You could say you’re sorry to the refreshment committee for saying the food looks like it’s appropriate for kindergarten snacktime. You could say you’re sorry to the entire sixth grade for saying eleven-year-olds have no muscle control.”

  “Anyone else, Mary Sunshine?”

  “Oh, I’m sure there are plenty of others. I just can’t think of who they are right now. But when I do, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

  Laine made a face at me.

  I went into the gym. I found Austin, Claud, and the rest of my friends in a bunch near the door. “Austin? Can I talk to you?” I said.

  Austin and I stepped into a corner where we could talk privately. The first thing I said was, “I am so sorry.”

  “What for?” Austin looked sincerely puzzled.

  “For Laine,” I replied.

  “She should apologize herself.”

  “I know. But I don’t think she’s going to. Anyway, I’m also apologizing because I have to leave.”

  “Now?”

  “Yeah. Laine wants to go home. We had this huge fight. We have to talk about things, especially if she really is going back to New York early.”

  “Okay.”

  I glanced at the wrist corsage Austin had bought for me. Then I glanced at him and saw the disappointment on his face. “Austin, I’m apologizing for something else. For ruining the evening. I was really looking forward to the dance, and I bet you were, too. I don’t want to leave now, but I think I have to. Also, I’m sorry Pete’s so upset. He has every right to be. Tell him I’ll talk to him over the weekend. I’ll talk to you, too, okay? I’ll call you.”

  “Okay.” Austin nodded.

  “Thanks for understanding. I have to speak with Claud for a minute. Then I’m just going to get my coat and leave. Mom’s on her way over.” I walked back to my friends. “Claud?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Mom’s coming. Laine and I are going home now. And Laine’s going back to New York. We had a fight.”

  Claud bit her lip. After a moment, she said, “I have to admit that I’m not sorry. I mean, to see Laine go. But I’m sorry you’re leaving the dance.”

  “Me, too,” I answered. “Listen, I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Austin knows I’m leaving. Tell anyone else who needs to know.”

  “I will. ’Bye, Stace. I’ll be thinking about you.”

  “Thanks.”

  I retrieved my coat and returned to the corridor. Laine was there. Just standing, leaning against the wall. “Where’s my coat?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “With the others, I guess.”

  “Didn’t you get it?”

  “No.” Truly, it hadn’t occurred to me to get it, although I’m sure I would have thought to get almost anyone else’s.

  Laine shot me a dirty look, which I pretended not to see. I walked by her, toward the door to the parking lot.

  “Now where are you going?” she called after me.

  “To wait for Mom.”

  “But I have to get my coat.”

  “So get it.”

  “This isn’t my school. I don’t know my way around.”

  “Tough.” I marched toward the door.

  Behind me was a flurry of motion. I’m not sure how Laine got her coat, but she did, and quickly. Somehow, she must have persuaded someone to get it for her. At any rate, just as Mom pulled into the parking lot, Laine flew out the door. She pushed past me and reached the car before I did. She flung herself into the front seat, next to Mom.

  I caught the door before she could close it. “Out,” I ordered. “You sit in back. I sit next to my mother.”

  “No way,” replied Laine grimly.

  “Stace, get in the back, honey,” said Mom. “It isn’t worth arguing over.” She gave me a sympathetic glance.

  I had thought Mom might want a peaceful ride home, so I didn’t speak to Laine, and of course she didn’t speak to me. But Mom said, “I’d like to know what’s going on, you two.”

  “She started it,” exclaimed Laine, jerking her thumb in my direction.

  “She has a name,” Mom reminded Laine.

  “Yeah, and it isn’t Anastasia,” I added.

  “Let’s stick to the subject,” said my mother. “Okay, Laine, you spoke first. Tell me your side of the story.”

  “Anas — I mean, Stacey is out of control,” she began.

  “Let’s also stick to the facts,” interrupted Mom.

  “Okay. Stacey accused me of being rude to her friends. She embarrassed me. Then she had the nerve to call you.”

  “You told me to!” I protested.

  “I did not. I just said I wanted to go home.”

  “Well, how were you going to go home if I didn’t call Mom?”

  “Girls!” cried Mom. “I don’t care why you called me. The point is, you’re fighting. And I’d like to know what about — before March.”
/>   “Mom, Laine embarrassed Pete,” I said. “She called him a klutz. She never thanked him for the corsage he brought, even if it did get smushed. And she turned down a dance with him, and then agreed to dance with someone else. She wouldn’t stop complaining. In fact, all week she’s been insulting my friends and me. Nothing we do is good enough for her. She thinks we’re babyish. She doesn’t like our school, our boyfriends, our dance. She doesn’t like our band or our refreshments. I’ve never heard anyone complain so much. If we’re such bores, you shouldn’t have come here, Laine.”

  “You were the one who wanted me to come so badly,” she replied.

  “I didn’t want you. Not this you. I wanted my old friend, Laine Cummings.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Laine. “And I don’t care.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  Mom turned into our driveway. She didn’t ask Laine or me to continue our conversation, so we walked into the house in silence. However, as soon as we’d taken off our coats, she pointed into the living room and ordered Laine and me to sit.

  We sat.

  “Now talk,” said Mom.

  “I still want to go home. And I want to go now,” said Laine.

  “And I want her to go,” I added.

  Laine stood up.

  “You can’t go until I call your mother,” Mom told her. “Come into the kitchen with me.”

  Laine and I listened to Mom’s end of the conversation with Mrs. Cummings, which started off politely enough. Laughingly, Mom said, “The girls have had a little fight. Laine wants to take the train home tonight.” By the end of the conversation she was saying, “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.” And then, “Unreasonable? Excuse me, but Stacey is not — What? All right. All right, that’s fine. Just fine. The ten-forty. Okay.”

  I haven’t heard my mother hang up the phone without saying good-bye too many times, and I don’t like the sound of it. When the receiver was back in the cradle, my mother said to Laine, “All right, pack up your things. You can take the next train to New York. Your mom and dad will meet you at Grand Central.”