Well, it cemented to keep people at the bottom anyway. People at the top were fair game. We could be ripped off our pedestals at any moment. One misstep toward uncoolness and too many people were eager to see you topple.
"Come on," I said. "We'll get some sodas and mingle."
We walked to the kitchen and Molly followed us, arms folded and silent. I picked up sodas from an ice chest and handed one to each of the girls. Then I saw Joe by the sliding glass door and nodded in his direction. "Let's go."
Polly whimpered, but followed after me. Molly still didn't say anything, and I wondered if she planned on being sullen all night. That would make mingling a lot of fun.
We reached Joe. He'd apparently just put a dog outside and was still gazing in that direction. A layer of white covered the lawn, and his golden retriever was sniffing around, making a trail of gray circles in the snow.
"Hi Joe," I said.
"Hi Joe," Polly said.
Joe looked at me, not at Polly. "Hey, sorry to hear the cheerleading squad got in trouble tonight. No one on the team believes you guys are guilty."
"Thanks," I said.
"Of course, that doesn't mean we won't razz you about it anyway."
"Thanks," I said. This was just what I wanted to hear.
I glanced over at Polly. She wore a look of pained nervousness. I tried to change the subject to something she could join in about. "You guys played a great game tonight."
"We did okay," Joe said.
Polly smiled eagerly in his direction. "I saw you running down the field, you know, the time when that other guy ran over you."
Joe grimaced. "That describes a lot of times."
"And I saw them all." Polly sent her sister a look and I could tell she was waiting for Molly to ask me something, so I had an excuse to leave Polly alone with Joe.
Molly just pressed her lips together and looked around the room.
Polly turned her attention back to Joe. "I thought you played really well."
"Yeah," I added, and tried to think up an excuse that would take Molly and me away. I needed her help with . . . um . . . what?
"I bet if you hadn't dropped the ball that time, you would have made a touchdown," Polly said.
Joe sent her a stiff smile. "Funny—the coach told me the exact same thing—except his veins popped out of his neck while he said it."
"Oh." Polly, immediately grew distressed. "I didn't mean to imply that you'd messed up the inning."
"Play," he said, because innings are in baseball, not football.
Polly looked at him blankly. "What?"
"Play," he said again. "First down."
"Down?" Her eyes grew wide. Then she looked at the floor. "Exactly what are we playing?"
I elbowed her. "He's not giving you an instruction, Polly. He's talking about the football game."
"Oh, right," she said. "I knew that. English is my first language."
"Speaking of English," I said, "weren't you telling me about a study group you wanted to put together for English class?"
"Yeah." Polly put hand to her nose like she was smelling her knuckles, only she didn't move her hand away.
Joe shrugged. "I could use some extra help in English."
"Great," Polly said. "I mean great that you want help, not great that you're bad at English." She still didn't move her hand. It meant that she'd either gotten a bloody nose or was afraid of getting one.
This is not the way a girl wants a guy to remember her. You said hi, you flirted, and then you bled all over his carpet.
I tried to think of something, anything I could do to help. "Hey, what a great ceiling you have." I looked up intently, as though admiring the beige paint. So did Polly and Joe. This at least would keep Polly's face tilted in the right direction.
"My ceiling?" Joe repeated.
"Cool light fixtures too," I said. "Are your light fixtures the same in the hallway?"
"Uh, no, they're in the wall."
I grabbed Polly by the arm. "Let's go check." Partially because I wanted both hands free to guide Polly, and partially because I wanted a reason to come back and talk to Joe, I thrust my soda can into his hands. "Could you hold this for me for a minute?" Before he had a chance to answer, I turned and propelled Polly toward the hallway. Molly followed behind us, shaking her head.
I led Polly through the room and she kept her head tilted upwards the entire time. "Wouldn't this room look great with crown molding?" I said, as we walked by a crowd.
"And a mural of clouds," she answered.
As soon as we got to the hallway that led to the bathroom, Polly retrieved her Kleenex from her pocket and held it to her nose. "That was awful," she said. "Joe must think I'm totally strange now."
"Not at all," Molly said. "I'm sure a lot of girls ask him about playing on the floor and then spontaneously bleed."
Glaring at her sister, Polly pulled the second wad of Kleenex from her pocket and held it to her face. "You wanted me to look like a fool, didn't you?" She stormed into the bathroom, and shut the door. I heard the lock click and then the sound of crying.
I tapped softly on the door. "It's not that bad. I was the one who started talking about the ceiling. If he thinks anyone is strange, it's me."
No answer except for sniffling.
Molly ran her hand through her hair, sighed, and leaned against the door. "I'm sorry. Will you come out now? Joe is probably wondering what you were going to tell him about the study group."
And what to do with my soda can.
Polly's voice came out muffled. "My nose is bleeding, and I can't face anyone."
"All right," Molly said, "I'll face them for you."
The door opened and for a moment I caught site of Polly, a huge wad of toilet paper crammed against her face, then Molly slipped into the bathroom and the door closed again.
I supposed that Molly was in there giving Polly a pep talk, or applying pressure or something; I wandered further away from the door, looking at the family photos on the wall while I wondered how to salvage the meeting with Joe.
"So did you ditch Tweedledee and Tweedledum?"
I turned and saw Mike, leaning up against the wall where the hall emptied into the family room. He held a drink loosely in one hand and his gaze traveled over me in a way that Naomi wouldn't approve of.
I bristled at his comment, but smiled at him anyway. "I notice your girlfriend isn't here. Was she afraid to come to a place where calories might leap out at her?"
Mike took a sip from his drink, then turned his attention back to me. "Naomi and I broke up this morning."
Which explained her performance with Bjorne at the game. "Oh, sorry," I said, because it must hurt to get dumped for a guy who barely speaks English.
One eyebrow lifted and his eyes studied me. "Are you sorry? I sort of thought you'd be glad."
I shrugged. "Well, okay, a part of me thinks you deserved to be dumped, but I was too polite to mention it."
He rolled his eyes. "I broke up with her, Chels. I admit it—you were right—she only has three topics of conversation and two of those are about herself."
"Oh." I didn't feel happy, just vindicated. "I thought she understood you."
"I guess I didn't understand myself." He stepped over to my part of the hallway and leaned against the wall next to me. "I wasn't seeing things clearly, but I can still see it was a mistake for us to break up."