The Sister Solution (20 page)

“WANNA DANCE?”

“Okay,” I croak.

I do my best to keep my trembling fingers steady as I put my hand in Noah's. I try to look happy, but inside I'm crumbling. It's a slow dance, but I can hardly hear the music. My heart is banging so hard against my chest I am sure it's going to break a couple of ribs. Patrice's words keep bombarding my brain.

Stay away from Noah. Stay away from Noah.

I couldn't believe what Patrice was asking—demanding. I stood in the girls' bathroom facing her for what seemed like hours, unable to speak. I kept waiting
for her to say it was all a joke, but she didn't. Her satisfied expression told me she had carefully thought through every detail. She knew, and I knew, I was in a corner. Say no to Patrice and watch my sister live out her middle school days on the outer edge of the universe and hate me for it. Say yes and reunite Jorgianna with the only friend she'd ever had and desperately missed, even if that friend happens to be a slimy snake.

“Well?”

“Okay, Patrice. You win. I'll do it,” I said. I didn't want to stay to see her gloat, so I bolted from the bathroom and ran smack into Eden on the other side of the door. I knocked her flat.

She's okay. Mrs. Vanderslice and I got her some ice for her bruised elbow, and she's resting near the snack bar. Eden wanted to know what happened with Patrice, of course. I said Patrice asked me for a small favor. It is the last lie I will ever tell my best friend. Soon I will explain everything. I will tell her the truth about Patrice and my photograph and the deal I made with her, but not tonight. Tonight I have to say good-bye to Noah. It is not helping that Bob Dylan is singing “Make You Feel My Love.”

Noah puts his arms around me. I rest my head on his shoulder. It is our first dance. And our last. Once the song is over, I will have to start ignoring him. I close my eyes, my mind absorbing everything—the rhythm of his breathing, the slow
swish
of his feet, the warmth of his hands on my waist, the way his knee sometimes bumps mine. I need to remember every single thing that happens in the next two minutes so I can knit together a memory that will last for the rest of my life.

“Sammi?”

“Yes.”

“Something wrong?”

My eyes fly open. He can sense something is upsetting me.

Not yet, Noah. One more minute. Please let me have one more verse.

I lift my head. The longer I wait, the harder this is going to be.

Do it. Do it now.

What do I say to him? That I don't melt when he says my name or walks me to class or shares his french fries in the park. What lie am I supposed to come up with to hurt the nicest boy in the world?

I pull back to look at him, my eyes filling with water. “Noah, I'm sorry but I have to . . . I need to . . .”

Looking past Noah's head, I see Jorgianna. She is shoulder to shoulder with Patrice on the table in the corner. They are huddled over her phone. Seeing them together chills me to the core.

What am I doing?

I can take my sister's anger and I can take the silent treatment, but I couldn't take it if she turned into a lying, cheating reptile like Patrice Houston. Jorgianna may never forgive me for damaging her friendship with Patrice, but I could never forgive myself for repairing it.

No. I won't do it. This ends now. Patrice has taken too much from me already. I will not let her take one thing more.

I look straight into those nice, nice green eyes. “I need . . . to go save my sister.”

EIGHTEEN

“I'M SUCH AN IDIOT.” IN
one motion, I jump off the table.

How could I be so blind?

“Jo, don't be hard on Sammi,” says Patrice. “She's jealous of our friendship—”

“You are really something, Patrice.”

“Thanks,” she says, missing my sarcasm.

“For someone who is usually right about everything, I don't know how I could have been so wrong about you.”

She starts to speak, but I don't give her the chance.

“When I met you,” I say, “I thought you were so
strong and independent. You weren't afraid to tell the world ‘This is who I am.' I admired you for that. But I was so busy looking
at
you, Patrice, I never stopped to look
behind
you.” I take a good, hard look at Cara, Mercy, Desiree, India, and even Tanith—obnoxious, irritating Tanith. “If I had, I would have seen all the people you trample on every day. You're not a friend, you're a bully.”

Patrice glares at me. Her icy stares will not work on me. Not anymore.

“I don't know how you got Sammi's photo,” I say, “but I'll bet she does.”

Tipping her head back against the wall, Patrice waves me away as if I am a mere peasant.

“I'll bet Mrs. Vanderslice would love to know too.”

Patrice jerks up. “Wait a minute, Jo. Can't we talk about this?”

“And another thing.” My whole body feels like it's on fire. “My name is not Jo. It's not Jo Jo or Jorgi either. My name is Jorgianna.”

“Jorgianna!”

Is there an echo in here?

My sister is flying toward me. Sammi is weaving her way through kids like a basketball player on a fast break. Noah is one step behind her. Eden is hurrying behind him, a hand clamped to her temple to keep the silk flower in her hair.

“Patrice, no!” Sammi puts on the brakes, and I throw out an arm to catch her before she crashes into the table. “I won't do it. The deal is off. It's
off
.”

“What deal?” I ask.

“Yes, what deal?” asks Patrice sweetly, easily stretching out her legs.

“I . . . I . . .” My sister's freckles are glowing. Frightened blue eyes probe mine. “Patrice said she would take you back as a friend if I . . . if I . . . didn't tell anyone that she stole my photo . . . and I had to promise to stay away from Noah.”

Everyone gasps.

“Puh-lease,” says Patrice. “That's a lie.”

“No, it isn't,” says another voice. India slides off the table and turns to face us. “Sammi is telling the truth. I was in the bathroom tonight. I overheard everything.”

Patrice snorts. “No one believes
you
, India.”

“I do.” I plant my feet firmly next to India's brown sandals. “I believe her.”

India smiles at me.
“AčiÅ«.”

I look into my sister's glistening eyes. “You were really going to do that? You were going to give up your blue ribbon and Noah for me?”

A single nod sends a tear down her cheek.

I hold my sister's phone out to her. “You forgot something in the car.”

She looks down, sees her photograph of the little girl at the aquarium, and the waterworks really begin. I put my arms around her and let her cry into my shoulder. Sammi has to bend way down and I have to go up on tiptoe, but she does and I do, and neither of us thinks a thing about it, because sisters do whatever they have to do to hold on to one another.

Sammi taught me that.

NINETEEN