“I can’t play it anymore.” Those were the first words my sister had spoken to me since last Friday. “Because of the new couch.”
“But you know the evil sea witch in Underwater Capture?” I pressed on. “The one who gets inside the dolls’ heads and turns them all evil?”
Alex nodded once, not looking at me.
“That’s like what happened to me, Alex.”
She looked at me then, her forehead wrinkled.
“It wasn’t a real sea witch,” I explained. “It was people I know. But that’s how it felt—like all these bad thoughts were in my head, and I didn’t know they weren’t really mine. And that’s why I wrecked your castle. It wasn’t the sea witch’s fault, since I’m the one who did it. But I did it because I was listening to her too much. Does that make sense?”
I couldn’t tell if I had taken this analogy too far, or if seven-year-olds even understand analogies, but after a moment, Alex nodded. “I’m sorry you had a sea witch,” she said.
“Me, too.”
“But—” She shook her head, as if shaking herself free from feeling any sort of sympathy for me. “You ruined my poetry castle. That’s mean, Elise. That’s the meanest thing anyone has ever done to me. And I know sea witches are evil, but I don’t care why you did it. You shouldn’t have done it.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m so sorry, Alex. I know.”
But it was too late; Alex had already stalked off.
And after that, I didn’t know what to do. What do you do when you say sorry, but that still isn’t enough?
I walked slowly around the fair. I saw a post office and a cookie store and a booth that sold worms and caterpillars, although the second grader in charge told me they were all out of caterpillars.
I smiled at all the kids and told them what good jobs they had done. But inside, I felt like my heart was breaking. Because Mom was right: Alex’s booth would have been the best one.
The thing was, Alex’s replacement booth was no worse than half the other ones out on this field. In a week, she had thrown together something that was just about as good as what her classmates had done. Just about as good as theirs, but a fraction of how impressive she was capable of being.
Because of me, and what I had done to her.
In that moment, paused between a booth that sold papier-mâché flowers and a booth advertising mud sculptures, I knew this, suddenly but finally: I wanted to DJ my party tonight. Not to prove Char wrong, not to put Emily and her friends on the guest list, not for anything like that. Simply because Alex deserved to be the best that she could be. And I did, too.
After the fair was over and all the booths had been broken down, Mom and Steve took me, Alex, and Neil out for pizza.
Pizza is a rare treat in the Myers household, reserved for special occasions like winning art contests, performing the lead role in the school play, definitively triumphing over the oil industry, or making it through the most traumatic second-grade school fair in all of history.
“Let’s get it with pepperoni,” Alex said as we headed to the parking lot.
“Let’s get it with maple syrup,” Neil said.
“Let’s get it with pepperoni and maple syrup,” Alex said.
We would get it plain, and with soy cheese. We always did.
Alex and Neil rode in Steve’s car, while I traveled to Antonio’s Pizzeria with my mother.
“Mom,” I said as we left the school, “I know I’m still grounded. But—can I be a little ungrounded?”
“Tell me what that means, and I’ll tell you yes or no.”
I took a deep breath. “Can I get, like, a furlough, just for one night? Tomorrow I swear I’ll go back to being grounded. But tonight I’m … supposed to DJ a dance party. At that warehouse where Dad picked me up last night.”
Mom sighed. “I know.”
“You do?”
“Your father told me he saw it listed in the paper.” She glanced at me sideways, and my face must have conveyed my surprise, because she said dryly, “Just because we’re divorced doesn’t mean we don’t know how to exchange a civil e-mail, you know.”
“So can I?”
Her fingernails drummed against the steering wheel, and her voice was tense as she answered, “You shouldn’t be out of the house that late at night. You’re way too young to drink—”
“But I don’t drink,” I protested.
“—and I can’t have you hanging out with drunk people either. Especially not ever drunk people who are driving you somewhere.”
“I don’t,” I said. “I wouldn’t.”
“It terrifies me to think of you wandering the streets alone at night, because you’re a sixteen-year-old girl and you’re an easy target. And I don’t want you spending your time with so many people who are so much older than you, because I worry they are going to take advantage of you, just because you’re young. I don’t think you appreciate how recklessly you’ve been acting, and how lucky you’ve been so far. I can’t let this kind of behavior go on.”
So this was it, then. The moment when my mother forbade me to go back to Start. I wanted to feel shocked, but instead I felt only sadness.
And now, what would I have?
Well, I would have Sally and Chava. And that was something worth having; at least, more worth having than I had known.
I would have the respect of Emily Wallace and company. I didn’t expect that they would ever honestly like me, but that was okay; I didn’t expect to like them either. But I also didn’t believe that they would offer to give me a makeover any time soon.
I would have Vicky and Harry, and maybe someday, if she could ever forgive me, Pippa, too. They weren’t nightlife friends. They were real-life friends.
I would have memories of when I was golden.
I would have less than I had two weeks ago. But more than I had in September.
“But,” Mom was saying, as she turned onto the street that Antonio’s was on.
“But,” I repeated, coming back to the present.
“I’m not going to tell you that you can’t go.”
I blinked. “You’re not?”
She scanned the street for a parking space. “More than anything else that I don’t want, I don’t want to keep you from doing something that you love so much. I can’t do it. It wouldn’t be fair.”
I felt tears pricking my eyes, but not the same sort of tears that I had cried last Thursday night, coming home from Start. “Thank you,” I whispered.
“One condition,” Mom said, finding a spot and backing into it. “Your father will need to drive you there and home.”
I rubbed my eyes to clear them. “You’re kidding, right? You think Dad actually wants to hang out in a warehouse nightclub until, like, three a.m.?”
“No,” she said. “In fact, I know for sure that he doesn’t. But he wants to know you’re safe. We both want to know that you’re safe, always. And if that means your father stays up until sunrise sometimes, then that’s what we’ll do.” I opened my mouth, but she said, “Don’t even try to argue, or you’re not going anywhere.”
“Okay,” I said in a small voice. “It’s a deal.”
She turned off the car and faced me. “I’m really disappointed in you, Elise.”
“I know.”
“Not just because of how you treated Alex. I really believe you’re in the process of making that right, even if it takes time. But because of how you treated me. If you want to do something like go for a walk in the middle of the night, or party at a nightclub, tell me. I know I’m your mother, but I’m a reasonable person. I think we can work these things out.”