“What, like, in tree houses? Your mum says the weirdest things, Gilla.”
“No. They used to be the spirits of the trees. When the trees died, so did they.”
“Well, this one’s almost dead, and it can’t get you. And you’re going to have to walk past it to reach the street, and I know you want to go to that party, so take my hand and come on.”
Gilla held tight to her friend’s firm, confident hand. She could feel the clammy dampness of her own palm. “Okay,” Kashy said, “on three, we’re gonna run all the way to the curb, all right? One, two, three!”
And they were off, screeching and giggling, Gilla doing her best to stay upright in her new wedgies, the first thing even close to high heels that her parents had ever let her wear. Gilla risked a glance sideways. Kashy looked graceful and coltish. Her breasts didn’t bounce. Gilla put on her broadest smile, screeched extra loud to let the world know how much fun she was having, and galumphed her way to streetside. As she and Kashy drew level with the tree, she felt the tiniest “bonk” on her head. She couldn’t brush whatever it was off right away, ’cause she needed her hands to keep her balance. Laughing desperately from all this funfunfun, she ran. They made it safely to the curb. Kashy bent, panting, to catch her breath. For all that she looked so trim, she had no wind at all. Gilla swam twice a week and was on the volleyball team, and that little run had barely even given her a glow. She started searching with her hands for whatever had fallen in her hair.
It was smooth, roundish. It had a stem. She pulled it out and looked at it. A perfect cherry. So soon? She could have sworn that the tree hadn’t even blossomed yet. “Hah!” she yelled at the witchy old tree. She brandished the cherry at it. “A peace offering? So you admit defeat, huh?” In elation at having gotten past the tree, she forgot who in the story had been eater and who eaten. “Well, you can’t eat me, cause I’m gonna eat YOU!” And she popped the cherry into her mouth, bursting its sweet roundness between her teeth. The first cherry of the season. It tasted wonderful, until a hearty slap on her shoulder made her gulp.
“Hey, girl,” Foster’s voice said. “You look great! You too, of course, Kashy.”
Gilla didn’t answer. She put horrified hands to her mouth. Foster, big old goofy Foster with his twinkly eyes and his too-baggy sweatshirt, gently took the shoulder that he’d slapped so carelessly seconds before. “You okay, Gilla?”
Kashy looked on in concern.
Gilla swallowed. Found her voice. “Damn it, Foster! You made me swallow it!”
Seeing that she was all right, Foster grinned his silly grin. “And you know what Roger says about girls who swallow!”
“No, man; you made me swallow the cherry pit!” Oh, God; what was going to happen now?
“Ooh, scary,” Foster said. “It’s gonna grow into a tree inside you, and then you’ll be sooorry!” He made cartoon monster fingers in Gilla’s face and mugged at her. Kashy burst out laughing. Gilla too. Lightly, she slapped Foster’s hands away. Yeah, it was only an old tree.
“C’mon,” she said. “Let’s go to this party already.”
They went and grabbed their bikes out of her parents’ garage. It was a challenge riding in those wedge heels, but at least she was wearing pants, unlike Kashy, who seemed to have perfected how to ride in a tight skirt with her knees decently together, as she perfected everything to do with her appearance. Gilla did her best to look dignified without dumping the bike.
“I can’t wait to start driving lessons,” Kashy complained. “I’m getting all sweaty. I’m going to have to do my makeup all over again when I get to Patricia’s place.” She perched on her bike like a princess in her carriage, and neither Gilla nor Foster could persuade her to move any faster than a crawl. Gilla swore that if Kashy could, she would have ridden sidesaddle in her little skirt.
All the way there, Foster, Gilla and Kashy argued over what type of cobra a hamadryad was. Gilla was sure she remembered one thing; hamadryads had inflatable hoods just below their heads. She tried to ignore how the ride was making the back of her neck sticky. The underside of the triangular mass of her hair was glued uncomfortably to her skin.
Who went for a ride on a tiger…
They could hear music coming from Patricia’s house. The three of them locked their bikes to the fence and headed inside. Gilla surreptitiously tugged the hem of her blouse down over her hips. But Kashy’d known her too long. Her eyes followed the movement of Gilla’s hands, and she sighed. “I wish I had a butt like yours,” Kashy said.
“What? You crazy?”
“Naw, man. Look how nice your pants fit you. Mine always sag in the behind.”
Foster chuckled. “Yeah, sometimes I wish I had a butt like Gilla’s too.”
Gilla looked at him, baffled. Beneath those baggy pants Foster always wore, he had a fine behind; strong and shapely. She’d seen him in swim trunks.
Foster made grabbing motions at the air. “Wish I had it right here, warm and solid in between these two hands.”
Kashy hooted. Gilla reached up and swatted Foster on the back of the head. He ducked, grinning. All three of them were laughing as they stepped into the house.
After the coolness of the spring air outside, the first step into the warmth and artificial lighting of Patricia’s place was a shock. “Hey there, folks,” said Patricia’s dad. “Welcome. Let me just take your jackets, and you head right on in to the living room.”
“Jeez,” Gilla muttered to Foster once they’d handed off their jackets. “The ’rents aren’t going to hang around, are they? That’d be such a total drag.”
In the living room were some of their friends from school, lounging on the chairs and the floor, laughing and talking and drinking bright red punch out of plastic glasses. Everybody was on their best behaviour, since Patricia’s parents were still around. Boring. Gilla elbowed Foster once they were out of Mr. Bright’s earshot. “Try not to be too obvious about ogling Tanya, okay? She’s been making goo-goo eyes at you all term.”
He put a hand to his chest, looked mock innocent. “Who, me?” He gave a wave of his hand and went off to say hi to some of his buddies.
Patricia’s mother was serving around mini patties on a tray. She wore stretch pants that made her big butt look bigger than ever when she bent over to offer the tray, and even through her heavy sweatshirt Gilla could make out where her large breasts didn’t quite fit into her bra but exploded up over the top of it. Oh, hell. Gilla’d forgotten to check how she looked in her new blouse. She’d have to get to the bathroom soon. Betcha a bunch of the other girls were already lined up outside it, waiting to fix their hair, their makeup, readjust their pantyhose, renew their “natural” lipstick.
Patricia, looking awkward but sweet in a little flowered dress, grinned at them and beckoned them over. Gilla smoothed her hair back, sucked her gut in, and started to head over towards her, picking her way carefully in her wedgies.
She nearly toppled as a hand grabbed her ankle. “Hey, big girl. Mind where you put that foot. Wouldn’t want you to step on my leg and break it.”
Gilla felt her face heat with embarrassment. She yanked her leg out of Roger’s grip and lost her balance. Kashy had to steady her. Roger chuckled. “Getting a little top-heavy there, Gilla?” he said. His buddies Karl and Haygood, lounging near him, snickered.
Karl was obviously trying to look up Kashy’s skirt. Kashy smoothed it down over her thighs, glared at him and led the way to where Patricia was sitting. “Come on, girl,” she whispered to Gilla. “The best thing is to ignore them.”
Cannot ignore them all your days. Gilla smiled her too-bright smile, hugged Patricia and kissed her cheek. “Mum and Dad are going soon,” Patricia whispered at them. “They promised me.”