Please, please!

Author: Rachel Wells
Translator: He Ping, Zhang Lei
Country: United States
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2002-06-01
Features: "Really?" Her eyes were wide open, pretending not to know what was going on, but I knew what she was thinking. "Zoey put her ring in her bag," I explained. "If I didn’t, she’d feel really silly." "Oh, come on," Mom said, biting her lip. "You—I’m trying not to get angry. 'What?'" she asked, as if she didn’t know. I stamped my foot. "You’re the one who won’t let me be best friends with Morgan again." "CJ!" "What? You’ve never even liked Morgan, how happy you were when I became best friends with Zoey, and now? What’s wrong? You don’t want me to be friends with her?" "I didn’t say anything!" Mom defended. "Why don’t you ever cheer for me?" "I do." "But?" Mom shrugged. "I was just thinking about how Morgan would feel." "Morgan?" "She thinks she’s still your best friend, right?" "Well, that’s not—" She was right. Morgan didn’t know about today’s ring purchase with Zoey. "Then what will she think? Sitting in English class, when you and Zoey—" I patted my thigh, hoping I could explain or at least stop her from saying this. She shook her head, her soft curls swaying from side to side. She was so pretty, and it sometimes annoyed me. "You’re just—you’re being nice. Nice!" I yelled. "You don’t want me to put the ring in the bag?" "This isn’t—""Nice! I won’t put it in. I won’t even wear it." I took the ring off my finger and threw it on the floor. It bounced and rolled under my bed. CJ, Mom said, walking up to me. I stepped aside. "Well? Are you satisfied now? You don’t want me to play soccer, you don’t want me to have friends, and you don’t want me to have any best friends besides you—I’m just like that!" I’d never spoken to her like this before. She looked as surprised as I felt, standing there trembling. I didn’t know if it was because she was scared, angry, or something else. "What?" she asked, raising her hand as if to surrender. "I’m not—I" I smacked my thigh hard. "You always say I’m your best friend!" she shrugged. "You are." "What do you think that makes me feel?" I yelled. She grabbed my arm. "Ouch!" I almost fell off the wall. "Isn’t that fun?" she asked me. "The four of us? Now if you give up ballet and play soccer like normal people, we could—" "Morgan!" She’s been asking me to give up ballet since fourth grade. "I understand, I understand," she said immediately. We’d never really talked about ballet. The moment the topic came up, we didn’t even make eye contact. It was as if she was angry with me for not giving up ballet too. Sometimes I wonder how things would be different if we hadn’t eavesdropped that afternoon. "That’s not why I don’t want to play soccer," I said quietly. "I understand. Forget it. Anyway, he’s really cute, don’t you think?" "Jonas? Yes," I said, trying to keep my backpack balanced on my leg. "Shy but cute. He’s cuter than Tommy," Morgan said, blowing on the bangs in front of her face. "Tommy’s annoying," I agreed. "Although Jonas’s hair—" "What?" I asked. Morgan bit her lower lip. "A little—" "I like curly hair," I assured her. "And he’s so cute." "Too cute, don’t you think?" she asked, looking into my eyes. Her eyes were so dark you couldn’t see her pupils. "No," I stammered. I wiped the sweat off my forehead. Morgan shrugged. "Anyway, the four of us together as a group would have a lot of fun. Hey!" Morgan said, grabbing my hand. "You’re wearing this ring!" "What ring?" I asked, even though she was holding my only ring—the new friendship ring I’d gotten with Zoey. "This friendship ring!" she exclaimed. "This is the one we saw last week, right?" She was there when I and Zoey first noticed the rings. I swallowed and was speechless. "I thought you were waiting for me," she said angrily. "How much did it cost?" "Twenty-nine dollars," I heard myself say. "Wow." Morgan shook her head. Her brown hair was straight and shiny, she was wearing her favorite khaki shorts and polo shirt, and flip-flops. This was her style. Morgan was so individualistic, even Mom admitted it. "Well, they’re on layaway," I mumbled. She laughed. "That’s right," she said. "If I do some chores, Mom will give me money too. Do you think she’ll ask?" "Who?" "Zoey!" Morgan said. "Jonas!" "Oh," I said. "Well, yes, maybe." Mom rolled down the car window and started talking quickly. "I’m so glad you found us, Officer." "What’s the trouble, ma’am?" he asked. I watched his uniform through the window. His belt had a gun and handcuffs attached. "This is my daughter, CJ," Mom said emphatically. "She’s in pain." I quickly lowered my head, hoping Zoey wouldn’t start making things worse, or else we’d be going to jail. Just what we needed for the upcoming Nutcracker tryouts. I could imagine what my mom would say when the prison gates closed. "What happened?" the officer asked. "You ran a red light at forty-five miles per hour and sped off from me." I stared at his gun. In England, police don’t carry guns. I hoped we were in England instead of Massachusetts. "It’s her ears, Officer," Mom said sweetly. I hated her voice, like the one she used when talking to the principal. She turned around and spoke in a high-pitched voice. "It’s the Q-tips." It made me blush. I pressed my head against the cold car window so I wouldn’t turn to look at Mom. I said, "What?" "Is it bleeding?" "Oh, yeah," Mom explained. He leaned against Mom’s car window, looking at me. "Does it hurt, sweetie?" "No," I said sadly. I hated her. I thought, a wave of indescribable pain rising from my stomach to my throat at the thought of this spoiled mother. I hated this lying, pretty woman. She used to dress me and herself in matching outfits and take pictures of us in the backyard with Dad. My brother is already eight, but she still dressed him before school. Sometimes she’d crack poppy seeds with her front teeth. Disgusting. I couldn’t believe I could stand to see her. These were thoughts I’d never had before. Until last month, I thought she was perfect—the most beautiful, charming, and perfect woman, the kind I wanted to be when I grew up. "We were just playing around," Zoey said. Mom turned around and glared at Zoey. "I pushed her arm," Zoey added. "I didn’t mean to hurt her." "You should be more careful," the police officer said. "Ears are delicate. Do you know there are more bones in your ear than in your feet?" "I don’t know that," Zoey said. "I’ll be more careful." "Does it feel better now?" the officer asked me. "Yes." I didn’t dare look at any of them, as if they were all working together to humiliate me. Ha, ha, ha. Hope you enjoy humiliating me. I felt tears starting to fall—tears of hatred for everyone in the world. In front of my locker in the gym, I ripped off my T-shirt and shorts, not caring if she or anyone else saw my flat stomach. "I’m so sorry—" "Why?" Zoey asked. "Do you think—seriously—" I looked into her eyes—"I was trying to be special?" Zoey shrugged. "You are special." "You sound like my mom." I immediately pulled up my jeans. "Sorry," Zoey said. She twisted her body into her soccer jersey. "So, what?" I whispered. "Like Morgan said yesterday. Everything I do, is it making me different from everyone else?" Zoey sat down. She didn’t answer or look up. She tied her knee-highs and pulled on long soccer socks. "I don’t want to be like this," I said, pulling my backpack out of the locker. The locker had a metal bar sticking out to lock it, and it caught my backpack. It annoyed me. I pulled and pulled until I got it off, but the front of the bag was torn a little. I threw the bag onto the bench. "I just—" I was so angry—I was angry at Mom, at Mr. Block, at Tommy—at every stupid little idiot who made me feel like I was disconnected from the whole world. "This isn’t the kind of person I want to be," I said.