The Book of Dares for Lost Friends (2 page)

“That's where I grew up,” she would say.

“You sure have come a long way,” the guest would say.

“Yes, I have.”

But she wasn't there yet. A slight breeze reminded her that where she sat was more space than actual bars. She tightened her grip. Flecks of rust stuck to her sweaty hands. That wasn't reassuring. The air was eating away at the metal. Just like the doubts gnawing at Lanora's mind. She needed to decide what to wear.

Maybe she shouldn't have buried the butterfly dangle after Val left. What if that brought bad luck? But she couldn't just throw it away. And she certainly couldn't walk through the halls of her new middle school with a bunch of junk dangling from the bottom of her backpack. She couldn't even wear a backpack. She wanted to carry something sleek and black. Something that would command respect from everyone who saw it.

Lanora pulled herself up so that she stood on the platform. Her father was always telling her to make the hard choices. He said the difficult things were the only ones worth doing. She couldn't care less if some people didn't understand. She spoke out loud, so that the skyscraper could be her witness. “I have to do what I have to do.”

 

Two

A huge wave pushed Val back against the wall, but she stood her ground. She would not be moved from this spot.

The first day of school was over. All the students surged out of M.S. 10. The eighth graders were impossibly tall. Val saw at least three sixth graders get trampled when they weren't quick enough to get out of the way. Had this happened to Lanora? She wasn't very big. And yet Lanora was fierce. Val decided not to worry. She kept waiting at the place where they had said good-bye that morning. When, for some reason, Lanora had hugged Val more tightly than she ever had in their whole lives, and then run into the building.

They hadn't had any classes together. This bit of bad luck had a logical explanation. The students were grouped according to the foreign language they were studying. Val was taking Spanish. At the last minute, Lanora said she had been told to take French. Val couldn't think of anyone who would dare to tell Lanora anything.

As the last stragglers left the building, a girl read Val's shirt and tossed a soccer ball at her. “Come on, Pelé. We need a forward.”

Val hugged the ball for a moment and then tossed it back. “Maybe tomorrow. I'm waiting for my friend.”

And she kept waiting until the security guard shut the door.

Val slung her backpack over her shoulder. The dangles bounced against her leg as she walked. She suddenly remembered that when she had seen Lanora that morning, Lanora's dangles weren't hanging from the metal ring at the corner of her backpack.

Maybe the ring had broken. Things broke all the time. But Lanora was usually extremely careful about all her possessions.

At the corner, Val petted a dog until his owner led him across the street. She decided she might as well pick up her little brother from his after-school program.

Drew was six. He had tied his jacket over his shoulder like a cape. “I'm glad you came. I need a staff.”

“A what?” Val said.

“For thunderbolts.” Drew stared up at his sister as if that were obvious. He led the way to Central Park. He carefully selected a long stick and removed its extraneous branches. He waved it in elaborate figure eights and pointed it at Val. He repeated this three times before Val realized she was supposed to fall down. When she finally crumpled onto the dirt, she died much too quickly, without any groans or moans.

“You are so bad at this. We need Lanora. Where is she?” Drew said.

“I don't know,” Val said.

“You go to the same school,” Drew said.

“Yes. But it's a big school now. And we don't have any classes together,” Val said.

“You have lunch,” Drew said.

“I didn't see her. I waited outside, but she must have gone to the cafeteria,” Val said.

“Why would she do that?” Drew said.

“I don't know,” Val said again.

Drew adjusted his cape and then pointed his staff at his sister. “Call her. The squirrel minions are plotting to overthrow the kingdom.”

Val took out her phone and sent a text. COME TO THE PARK TO FIGHT SQUIRREL MINIONS?

The answer came back instantly. BUSY.

It was short. But many texts were short.

“She's busy,” Val said.

“How do you know she's busy?”

Val showed him the text. He took the phone and stared at the word for a long time. “How do you know she sent it?”

“It came from her phone. See?” Val pointed to Lanora's name and number.

“Yes, but how do you know that it isn't from the evil Werd?”

“Who?

“The evil Werd has kidnapped Lanora and stolen her phone and sent you a message so you won't come to his secret lair. He especially doesn't want you to bring your brother Drew whose name is his name spelled backwards.”

Val laughed.

“You laugh at Werd? You will pay the price for not taking him seriously.”

He tackled Val. Soon they were rolling on the ground.

“Stop, stop,” Val said.

“Don't you know anything? You can't just tell me to stop. You have to overpower me. Or bribe me.”

“I have cookies.” Val took out her lunch bag. She had carefully saved the cookies her mom had sent for her and Lanora.

Drew squinted into the bag. “Those aren't cookies. Those are crumbs.”

“They are former cookies.” She popped a piece in her mouth.

“Don't eat them. They are poisonous to you. Only I have built up an immunity.” He took the bag.

“Share, you barbarian.” Val tackled him. They rolled over and over, grunting and cursing in Grog.

They stopped when they reached the Bower.

Drew sat up and took Val's phone. He stared at the message for a long time. Then he handed the phone back to his sister. “Ask Lanora again. Tell her we have cookies. She'll do anything for them.”

Val sent another text. WANT MOM-MADE COOKIES?

Drew watched the phone intently until a message appeared. He assumed the power of his vision could rearrange the letters to make the meaning that he wanted.

“She's coming, right?” Drew said.

Val sighed and shook her head. She let him read the words. STILL BUSY.

*   *   *

Lanora put her phone decisively down on the table. She wasn't lying. She was busy. She lay back on her bed and stared at the ceiling again. She imagined a slide show of the faces she had seen in school that day. Glasses, pimples, braces, freckles, dimples, smiles, frowns, frizz, buzz cuts, braids. An amazing array of riches to choose from. How would she decide? She eliminated all who looked dazed or confused. The first requirement was that her new friends must be just as determined as she was.

Like Val. There was no stopping Val, if she needed to move a ball across a line drawn in the grass. Lanora looked at her phone where the text remained. She smiled. Squirrel minions had to be Drew's idea.

Should she explain what she was doing to him? Or to Val? How could she say that she had to avoid Val for the time being? But Lanora had to. Val was too comforting. Val was a pair of shoes worn in just right. They were great shoes. Lanora had no intention of throwing them away. She just wanted to be able to wear some new ones, too. Val occupied a space that couldn't be filled by someone else.

Goth, geek, jock, princess, nerd, punk, emo?

Even if Lanora had to sit all alone in the dreaded cafeteria for a few days, she was thrilled to have possibilities.

Candidate 1: A large girl. Dyed-black hair. Wears only one earring and a pop tab on a chain around her neck. Sardonic smile. Plays the electric bass? Or just the ukulele?

Candidate 2: A tall guy. (Yes, why not have a friend who is a guy?) Buzz cut to control his curly red hair. Quiet. Still waters run deep? Or is he too shy?

Candidate 3: A tiny girl. Supreme posture. Her body is like a marble statue. Walks on her toes because she is a dancer? Or because she is short?

Candidates 4, 5, and 6: Three girls moving as one. Each with sleek blonde hair. Yellow, platinum, ash. (Who knew there were so many shades of blonde?) Gliding along the halls. Everyone watching them. Everyone wanting to walk with them. No one dared.

What was the source of their power? Could Lanora get it for herself? Or would she have to become one of them to find out?

She sat up and stretched. She didn't have to choose today. Rushing such an important decision was not wise. After all, she hadn't exactly chosen Val, either. Somehow or other they had become friends in preschool. Probably because they were the only little girls who had no interest in playing with dolls.

The stakes were much higher now. No matter how hard it was, Lanora vowed to remain silent in her classes. To observe. To be aloof. To be the cat. To watch and wait. To say nothing to anyone.

She stood in front of her mirror and practiced a Mona Lisa smile. She was thinking great thoughts, even if she refused to share any of them.

There was something wrong with her image. She lifted her chin. She tilted her head left and then right. Then she realized what it was.

*   *   *

“You want to do what to your hair?”

“It has to be straight,” Lanora told her mom. There was nothing to discuss. Nothing to decide except how this was to be accomplished. “I want to go to a hair salon to have my hair professionally straightened.”

“We can't afford luxuries like that. Your school supply list is three pages long,” Emma said.

“He sends us money.” Lanora knew her father had plenty. She didn't know exactly how he paid her mother for his freedom. She was too young to know the terms of the divorce settlement.

“I have to save that money. I can't trust him. He forgets he even has a daughter.”

“He can't. His assistants remind him.” Lanora remembered the card she got last year.
Happy Birthday to my darling daughter. From, Miss Campbell
. Lanora and Val had laughed about it—at the time.

“I love your curls.” Emma reached toward the auburn waves that framed her daughter's face.

“It's time for a change.” Lanora firmly shut the bathroom door. Over the past three years, she had gotten used to doing things for herself.

She washed her hair. She got out the blow-dryer. It was trickier than she expected. She had to point that nozzle like a gun at her head. Her curls kept springing away from the brush. The noise and heat were intense. And yet she was glad for the roaring sound. It helped her ignore her mom's footsteps pacing in the hallway.

Finally Lanora was satisfied with how she looked. She was especially pleased when her mom shrieked. “You don't look like my little girl anymore.”

That was precisely the point.

 

Three

Cats can nap at any time and in any place. Mau's best sleeps, however, occurred inside a shop on the ground floor of a brownstone residence. At the front of the shop, a display window revealed a shelf crowded with objects. A tall, wooden fetish with startling blue eyes. Several small statues of black cats with the bodies of Egyptian women. A brass bowl full of beads. A cracked vase. A rusty knife. The only available space was on top of an open book. Mau had curled in a ball upon a map of Mesopotamia, her tail tucked under her back legs, her paw over her eyes as if to say, Don't bother me, I'm being enlightened.

Perhaps she was. The morning sunshine somehow managed to penetrate the grime on the glass and bless Mau with dancing dust motes.

But the Earth turned. New York City traveled slightly farther from the sun. The dust became invisible once more. Mau sighed, as cats sometimes do. With regret? With contentment? With longing for a different kind of world? Who knows what cats dream.

A man approached the entrance to the shop.

Mau opened one eye.

The sign outside the window began to sway. A painted eye rimmed in thick, black lines seemed to wink.

The man shoved a packet of envelopes through a slot in the rusty iron gate and ran away before the packet hit the floor.
Plop.

Mau shut her eye. The mail had come.

From the back of the shop, heavy footsteps hurried to the door. The Captain was always eager to see what was in the envelopes. Mau couldn't care less about the pieces of paper. She much preferred the crates that came from far away, some still smelling of the desert.

“What do we have today?” The Captain grunted as he bent over to pick up the letters. “Any checks? Any checks? Bah. Nothing but bills.” He tossed the envelopes one at a time into a trash can. Then he stopped and opened a letter.

“What's this?” He read it to himself. He leaned against a stack of crates and then he read it again.

“Someone wants to buy the bowl,” he whispered.

Mau sat up.

The Captain carefully folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope. “Boy! Are you here?” he called.

There was no answer.

“Is he here?” the Captain asked Mau.

Mau blinked. Whatever she knew, she wasn't about to say.

“I hope he hasn't gotten in trouble. School started up again. He probably forgot to take that document that says he goes to … what did I call it? Oh, yes. The Charter School for the Study of Ancient Antiquities. Boy! Are you here or not?”

When the silence had settled, the Captain took out the letter again.

“I'm going to sell it. Ten thousand dollars is a lot.”

Mau narrowed her pupils until they were slits.

“Quit looking at me like that. He could use the money.”

Mau twitched her tail back and forth. It rasped across the page of the book.

“What are you doing on that book anyway? You've got your filthy cat hair all over it.” The Captain waved the letter at her. “Go on, get down from there. Not everyone is a cat worshiper. How do you get in here anyway?”