Calli Be Gold (12 page)

s the days go on, I rush between home and the rink and Alex’s games and back home again. I struggle my way through one more improv class, but the second one is even worse than the first. The hoodie kid now thinks we’re friends, and the girl with the spiral kept answering every question Gary and Liza asked. They love her.

Dad bought me a bunch of books on the craft of acting. He told me I’ll move on soon enough from the class at the community center and he’s researching the best acting studios in the area.

I complained to Wanda and Claire about the improv class and Wanda said, “Tell your parents that you hate it and want to quit.”

“You don’t get it,” I said. “My parents are desperate. They need me to find something I’m successful at. That’s what people do in my family.”

“Just tell them you hate it,” Wanda repeated, as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

I haven’t seen Noah in a while and I sort of miss him, in a strange way. We had to skip a PHP time, because his class went on a field trip. I hope Noah had someone to sit with on the bus ride and that he didn’t have to make a project afterward. I wonder if he’s made any friends in his class.

It’s almost December. Every day at school, Wanda gives me the weather report. Since the three of us met in kindergarten, we’ve gone sledding together when it snows for the first time.

This year Claire said she thought we were getting too old for our tradition. Wanda was furious.

“We are not,” Wanda insisted. “You agree with me, right, Calli?”

I remembered all the times the three of us whizzed down the hill by the junior high, screaming and laughing. “I don’t think we’re too old,” I said. Then I think Claire felt like we were two against one and she had to agree.

Becca has been extra snippy to me, which makes me wonder if she did see me watching when Coach Ruthless was criticizing her at the exhibition. She’s not the kind of sister to sit down and have a heart-to-heart talk, but if she was, I’d tell her that I won’t breathe a word to Mom
or Dad. But she doesn’t give me a chance to be the kind of sister I want to be.

On a cloudy, chilly Friday, Wanda practically knocks me over when I walk into school. “Six inches!” she says. “Tomorrow!”

“Really?”

“An unusually early snow. Lucky for us, huh? Get your sled ready!”

In the classroom, Mrs. Lamont asks everyone to settle down. Wanda’s definitely having trouble with that.

“Boys and girls,” Mrs. Lamont says, “before we get started on our work today, I want to tell you how pleased Mrs. Bezner and I are with the Peer Helper Program.” She clasps her hands together. “The program is turning out better than we ever could have imagined. And all of you are responsible for its success.”

She smooths her long skirt and continues. “Now, you all know we’re getting close to the holiday season. Usually, we collect for the needy, or have a holiday party, but this year, Mrs. Bezner and I came up with something even better. We will be putting together a PHP Friendship Fair.”

A few of the kids start to ask questions, but Mrs. Lamont puts up her hands to tell us to be quiet. “What better way to celebrate the success of our PHP and the joy of the season than with a fair? Each of you, along with your peer, will design a booth demonstrating what friendship means to you. You’ll have about three weeks to work
on these—we’ll add in some extra meeting time—then, just before winter break, we will invite our families to the fair and show off all of your wonderful projects. And I know they will be wonderful.”

Several kids raise their hands now. All I can think is, how can Noah and I possibly put together a booth for a big fair? We could barely glue noodles on construction paper.

Tanya Timley juts her hand into the air. “Question,” she sings. “Would it be possible to use an electrical outlet?”

“I think that can be arranged,” Mrs. Lamont says.

“Yay,” Tanya cheers. “I won’t reveal my idea, but if Ashley and I are on the same page, which we usually are, we might need to plug something in.”

I stick my tongue out at Tanya behind her back. She already has an idea? I make a secret wish that the toothpaste people don’t like Tanya Timley one bit and reject her.

My walk home that day is filled with worry about what Noah and I can come up with for the fair, but I feel better the next morning when I wake up and see that Wanda was right. Snow covers everything in sight—wonderful, pure white snow. The street, trees, and grass are glinting like a million jewels in the sun, and I feel like the snow has fallen just for me.

Claire’s mom drops off Wanda and Claire at my house right after breakfast. Wanda is stamping her boots in
the snow, making a design of tread marks on our driveway. “I love this,” she calls as I join them outside.

“My dad has to get my sled.” I point to a purple plastic sled on a high shelf in the garage.

“Tell him to hurry!” Wanda urges.

Claire glances at Wanda. “Calm down,” she says. “It’s only snow.”

“Only snow?” Wanda dances around. “It’s the first snow!”

Mom pokes her head out. “Hi, girls,” she says. “I thought I heard voices.” She claps a hand to her cheek. “Claire, you must have grown three inches since I last saw you!” Claire beams.

“Mom,” I interrupt. “Can you ask Dad to get my sled?”

“Sure.”

“Mother!” Becca wails from inside the house, and Mom smiles. “Excuse me,” she says. “I’ll send Dad out.”

“Probably stubbed her toe,” Wanda says when Mom closes the door, and I giggle.

Dad comes out, zipping his jacket. “Which one?” he asks, and I point to the high shelf. He pretends to protest. “All the way up there?”

“It’s the best sled.”

“Well, okay, then.”

Dad stands on a ladder to reach the sled, then hands it to me. “I’ll drive you girls over to the hill,” he offers. “We’ll take Mom’s van. More room.”

We pile our sleds, saucers, and snowboards in the trunk. Dad gestures to me. “Why don’t you get in front, Calli?”

I shake my head. “Mom doesn’t let me sit in front yet. I think I don’t weigh quite enough.”

He leans down and winks. “Aw, you’re close enough, aren’t you? It’s just a few minutes’ ride.” He puts a finger to his lips. “It’ll be our secret.”

I settle myself importantly in the front seat next to Dad, and Wanda and Claire get in back. I’m sure that Alex and Becca didn’t get to sit in front when they were my age. Becca would probably complain that I’m getting special privileges because I’m the baby of the family, but I don’t care. I can see all the dials and knobs, and I could even control the radio if I wanted to.

“How’s school, everyone?” Dad asks cheerfully as he backs out of the driveway.

“Fine,” we say in unison.

“Great thing that kids today still go sledding. Get away from all those electronics once in a while,” he says.

“Yeah,” we reply.

“I remember the first time we took Calli sledding.” He chuckles. “She couldn’t have been more than three or four at the time.”

Oh, no, I think, and glance back at Wanda and Claire.

“We packed her in the sled, pushed her off, and halfway down the hill, she toppled out the side and fell headfirst into the snow.” Dad lets out a laugh. “I think she cried for two days afterwards.”

“There’s the junior high. The hill’s right over there,” I interrupt, and point, wishing Dad would stop the embarrassing story.

At the hill, we get our stuff; then he waves to us as he drives away. I watch the puff of steam from the back of the van disappear in the cold air. “Sorry,” I sigh, shaking my head.

“Don’t worry,” Wanda says. “Dads are like that. They live to embarrass us.”

“At least yours are around,” Claire says, then looks over at the sledding hill. “I still think we’re getting too old for this.”

Wanda grabs Claire’s arm. “See those guys over there?” she says, gesturing to a group that beat us to the hill. “I happen to know they’re in eighth grade! They’re not too old for sledding!”

“What else were you going to do today, anyway?” I ask Claire.

She looks at the hill, then back at us. Finally, she grins. “Okay, okay. You’ve convinced me.”

Wanda grabs my gloved hand and Claire’s as well. “We always go together the first time down the hill. It can’t be any other way.”

The three of us pile into the longest sled—Wanda in front, me in the middle, and Claire in the back. We’re pretty squeezed in now that we’ve all gotten taller and bigger, but it doesn’t matter. We dig our hands into the
snow to push off, and then sail downward, making a clean first path on our part of the hill.

Claire screams in my ear—she always does—and Wanda lets go of the sides and sticks her arms high into the air. The wind is sharp and cold against my cheeks. We coast to a stop and the three of us tumble out. When we finally stand up, the snow reaches the tops of our boots.

“Let’s climb back up!” Wanda yells, and we stomp up the hill. Wanda grabs a saucer, plops down on her stomach, pushes off, and flies down. I follow her on a smaller sled, and we wave to Claire, who’s still at the top, and yell, “Come on!” Claire positions herself neatly on a snowboard and floats down the hill toward us without falling.

“Show-off!” Wanda calls, and when Claire reaches us, Wanda pops up and pushes her over. We laugh and run up the hill again, dragging the sled and saucer and snowboard behind us.

All my worries disappear in the crisp, cool whiteness of the snow and the open clear blue of the sky.

After we’ve gone down the hill about fifty times, we drop to the ground. The air is warmer now and the snow is getting slushier. Wanda picks up a gloveful of snow and licks it.

“Ew.” Claire frowns. “You know that’s probably polluted. Loaded with chemicals.”

“So what? It tastes good.” Wanda takes a bite of snow and smiles at us.

Wanda’s and Claire’s cheeks have cheerful red patches on them, which means mine do too. That’s what I love about winter—the way the cool air makes my skin tingle and come alive.

I look across the long, open field at the bottom of the hill. The redbrick junior high building stands across the street, empty and silent and big. “We’ll be there next year,” I say, pointing.

“Done with elementary school at last,” Wanda replies happily. “Actually, I’m ready for sixth grade right now.”

“I’m not sure if I’m ready,” I admit.

“My cousin turned into a completely different person in junior high,” Claire says. “Dyed her hair and pierced her eyebrow and started wearing all black.”

“That won’t happen to us,” Wanda says. “My mom won’t let me even get my ears pierced.”

I shade my eyes with a wet glove. “We’ll still be friends, won’t we?”

“Of course,” Wanda shouts.

“People change,” Claire says.

“But not us.” Wanda takes another bite of snow.

“Hey!” I say. “Let’s make a pact. Let’s make a pact to stay friends even if we change in junior high like Claire’s cousin and pierce something. What do you say?”

I take hold of each of their gloves; then we stack our
hands vertically. I solemnly state each of our first initials. “W, C, C.” I stare at them. “Hey, that’s WC squared.”

“WC squared,” Wanda repeats. “Friends no matter what happens in junior high.”

We hold our hands together in silence; then Claire pulls hers out. Wanda and I take ours away too. Wanda says, “My butt is freezing.”

“Mine too.” I laugh.

“Do my braces have icicles on them?” Wanda grins, baring her top metal row.

I shake my head and grin back at her.

“Why does snow have to be so cold?” Claire stands and brushes off the back of her jacket.

I clutch both of their sleeves. “Let’s go down the hill one more time. Together.”

We pile into the biggest sled and the three of us skate down the hill. One last time on the first snow of fifth grade. WC Squared.

rs. Lamont posts a sheet with all the extra dates we will be meeting with our peers. The Friendship Fair will be held the week before winter break starts, Thursday night at seven o’clock in the gym.