Twelve (6 page)

This year, I was. Bye bye, elementary school; hello, junior high. Yikes—I wasn't ready to think about that. So I didn't. I filed into the gym with the rest of Mr. Hutchinson's class for a special Tuesday-morning assembly, and we took our seats up front with the other sixth graders, facing out toward the rest of the students.

Mrs. Daly, our principal, asked for everyone's attention. As she spoke, I looked at the scramble of cross-legged younger kids, searching for Ty. There sure was a lot of squirming going on. Had we been that squirmy when we were in the lower grades? Some of us were, no doubt. Alex Plotkin, who was even now sneakily trying to pick his nose with the old “it's just an itch” technique, had definitely been a squirmer.

I found Ty with the rest of the kindergartners. He waved shyly, as if he was in awe of me and my singled-out, sixth-grade status. I felt tender toward him. My own kindergarten year was impossibly distant, as distant in one direction as college was in the other.

This
was what was real, this moment right now, even though it had a feeling of unrealness. We were on the verge of something big. It was coming whether we wanted it to or not.

“And now,” said Mrs. Daly, “we'd like to carve out some time to honor our very special sixth graders, who will be graduating in three days.”

Hoots and whistles filled the air. Mrs. Daly made a settle-down motion, but in a good-humored way. “Each sixth grader will be asked to stand up, and the rest of you will have a chance to share memories about that particular student. Let's keep it to three memories per person so that we have time for everybody. Louise, let's start with you.”

Louise, who was sitting on the far left of the semicircle, stood up looking embarrassed, but I knew it was just because she was the first one to go. Her eyes flew hopefully to the audience.

A third grader raised her hand. “I remember that Louise won the spelling bee two years in a row,” she said. “She is a very good speller.”

Louise beamed.

“I remember Louise for always using me as an armrest,” said a fourth grader named Terrence. Everyone laughed, because that was Louise in a nutshell. She was always using people as armrests.

“How about one more,” Mrs. Daly said. She scanned the group. “Yes, Karen?”

“I remember Louise for being a good friend,” Karen said, her voice trembling over the words. Someone always said that about each sixth grader, usually his or her best friend. It was boring, but sweet. Louise leaned over and hugged Karen, who was teary, and everyone went “Awww.”

Next Karen stood up, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. People remembered her for giggling a lot, which made her giggle, and for loving chocolate milk, which also made her giggle. Louise remembered her for being a good friend, and once again came the chorus of “Awwww.”

Alex Plotkin was remembered for being obsessed with udders, which was an extremely strange comment and one I didn't care to contemplate. Sheila Murphy was remembered for giving a fifth grader a Native American dreamcatcher. Maxine Rubenstein was remembered for being a good book partner, only not really, because the first grader who said it meant it about Sheila instead. So then a bonus person was called on for Maxine, who said that Maxine once lent her a pen.
Well whoop-de-do,
I thought. I sure hoped I'd be remembered for more than loaning out pens.

“Winnie,” Mrs. Daly said when it was my turn. She regarded me kindly. I knew she liked me, because she liked all the kids.

I rose from my chair. I tried to look pleasant and modest.

A second grader named Cody raised his hand. I had no idea what he was going to say, because I barely knew him.

“Yes, Cody? What do you remember about Winnie?” Mrs. Daly asked.

“One time I fell on the playground and I got hurt and she helped me,” he said. “And I felt better after that.”

“Oh, that's so sweet,” someone said. Amanda, of all people. She was sitting five seats down, and when our eyes met, she smiled. Surprised warmth spread through me.

“She is the fastest in the whole school at climbing to the top of the swing set,” said a fifth grader named Anna.
Why yes, I am,
I thought. I didn't know anyone had noticed.

Dinah raised her hand. “I will always remember Winnie, because she is the very best friend in the whole entire universe, ” she said proudly.

“Awww,” said everyone.

I gave her a hug, and I meant it, but I wished the remembrances could have gone on and on. I wished they hadn't stopped at three.

For the rest of the day, everyone was in high spirits.

“See what happens when we say nice things about each other?” Mr. Hutchinson said, once we were back in our classroom. “This is how to achieve world peace. Just get everyone together and be kind to one another!”

“I agree,” said Dinah, who'd been praised for being an expert at Chinese jump rope and for making up cool dance moves, as well as for being a good friend to a certain Winifred S. Perry. When I said it out loud, it was like,
Well, here goes nothing
. And then it didn't turn out to be as hard as I'd thought.

“Blessed are the cheese makers—I mean
peace
makers,” Mr. Hutchinson said, making one of his random corny jokes. “And now, on with life. Take out your math books, please, and get to work on your fractions.”

On the playground, everyone continued to be nice. Even Gail was less eye-rolly than normal when Dinah said how much she was going to miss the teachers because they were so full of love.

“The whole school is full of love,” Dinah proclaimed with a painfully earnest expression.

A month ago, a remark like that would have meant instant ridicule.
The whole school is full of love?
But after graduation everyone was going their separate ways, and we knew it. I would start seventh grade at Westminster, as would Amanda and Dinah and Louise. And—ugh—Gail. But Maxine and Sheila would be going to Pace Academy, and Chantelle and Cara were going to Lovett. And Karen, Louise's best friend, was moving to Alaska, which meant we'd probably never see her again.

How crazy, to know someone and go to school with her, and then have her be gone from your life forever.

Maxine started sniffling. “I'm not sure I want to graduate, ” she said.

“Me neither,” said Chantelle. “I'm going to miss everyone so much!”

“And the teachers!” Dinah said.

“And the playground!” Cara said.

“And the water fountain where Robert almost kissed me!” Amanda said.

“I don't want to move!” wailed Karen. “Even if I do get to have moose in my backyard!”

“People, people!” I cried. I pulled great clumps of my hair. “Will the madness never end?!”

It made everyone laugh, which was my goal, because it was either that or cry. I noticed that Amanda looked especially amused, and at the same time I noticed myself noticing. Sometime over the last couple of months, I'd fallen out of the habit of seeking her attention, but here I was doing it again. Was it because of her “how sweet” remark during the morning assembly?

She grinned at me, like
you loon
. And before Mr. Hutchinson called us in for Spanish, she ran over and pulled me away from the crowd.

“Hey,” she said, “are you busy tonight?”

“I don't know,” I said. “Why?”

“There's this lady coming to my house to talk about summer camp. We're having, like, a tea for her. Want to come?”

“Uh . . . sure,” I said. “I mean, I'll have to check. But sure.” Why was I suddenly so tongue-tied?

“Bring your mom,” Amanda said. I'd forgotten how pretty she was, with her sprinkling of dusty freckles. “Bring Dinah, too, if you want. That would be totally fine.”

“Okay,” I said.

Mr. Hutchinson blew his whistle, and she squeezed my arm and dashed off.

“I don't understand why she waited so long to invite you,” Mom said, grumpy at missing her TV show even though I set up the VCR to tape it for her.

“I don't know, because she was busy,” I said.

“It's not the most convenient of times,” Mom said. “Sandra's volleyball banquet is tomorrow, and I'm supposed to bring refreshments, which means I need to bake a couple dozen cookies. And I still haven't hemmed your graduation dress.”

I eyeballed her. She maintained her indignation for a moment, then laughed, knowing she'd been called out. Like she'd really be hemming my graduation dress instead of mooning over the cute gardener on her show.

At Amanda's house, the camp presentation had already started. Mom joined the other parents in the cluster of chairs and sofas, and I scurried onto the floor beside Amanda. Some of the girls I didn't know. They were probably from Amanda's neighborhood and didn't go to Trinity. But I saw Maxine leaning against the coffee table, and Louise was sitting next to her. I gave a small wave. They waved back. Mysteriously, there was no sign of Gail.

Mrs. Foskin, the camp lady, talked for a bit about Camp Winding Gap, then dimmed the lights for a slide show. We saw girls doing farm chores, girls paddling canoes, girls with their arms around one another in front of their cabin. They looked so happy. We saw girls eating dinner in a big room with rows of long tables. We saw a line of girls on horseback, framed by the setting sun.

I glanced behind me at Mom. She smiled at me, and I smiled back. I imagined myself hiking through the woods and building fires, and on Sundays having church in an outdoor chapel. I imagined myself galloping on a pure white horse, its mane flying in the wind. I'd never ridden a horse, but I'd seen people do it on TV. It didn't look hard.

“Good ol' Lightning,” I'd say at the end of a satisfying day. My campmates would gather round as I brushed his silky coat. “We rode out early to see the sunrise, and then we just kept going. What about you guys? You ever ride a horse so fast it felt like flying?”

The lights in the Wilsons' living room came back on. I blinked in surprise.

“Camp Winding Gap is a wonderful, positive, enriching experience,” Mrs. Foskin said, clasping her hands in front of her. “And now, I'd be delighted to answer any questions.” She lifted her eyebrows to acknowledge a woman in the back. “Yes?”

“How much does it cost?” the woman asked.

Mrs. Foskin explained about two-week sessions versus three-week sessions. Amanda's mom caught Amanda's eye and subtly tilted her head, and Amanda got to her feet. She pulled me up with her.

“It's time for snacks,” she whispered. “Come help.”

In the kitchen, I fell into my role as if it were second nature. I remembered every little thing about Amanda's house, even though I hadn't been over for months. But when I went to get some napkins, I came up empty. The napkin drawer was full of plastic containers.

“My mom rearranged,” Amanda said, coming over and opening the next drawer up. She pulled out a stack of napkins, the good kind that were soft and thick. “Here.”

“Mercy buckets,” I said, stealing Mom's fake French way of saying “thanks.” I started pairing brownies with napkins, arranging them on a tray. “So . . . why isn't Gail here?”

“She already has a summer camp,” Amanda said. If she knew it was hard for me to ask, she didn't show it. “It's for being an equestrian. You know, horses?”

“Oh,” I said.

“She goes every year. She's really good.”

She would be,
I thought. She probably wore those tight black pants and everything. Jodhpurs.

Knowing that Gail was an expert rider made my Lightning fantasy seem stupid, until I rebounded with an encouraging thought. It was quite possible that I had my own horsey talent, hidden until now. This could be the summer to reveal it.

“What about Dinah?” Amanda asked.

“Huh?” I said.

“Why didn't she come tonight? To the slide show?”

“Ohhhh,” I said. “Um, spend-the-night camp wouldn't work for her. She'd miss her dad too much. You know.”

Amanda nodded understandingly. She made a sound of sympathy for Dinah's long-gone mother.

“They're really close,” I said.

The truth was, I hadn't told Dinah about Amanda's invitation. Again, that sense of unrealness washed over me, of everything falling away if I let it.

“Well,” Amanda said. “It's probably best.”

“Yeah,” I said, not sure what I was agreeing with.

On graduation night, I wore my beautiful white dress, and I
felt
beautiful, even with the knowledge of my nude-colored bra pressing into my shoulder blades. Mom had finally gotten around to hemming the one loose thready part, and she'd bought me a pair of white sandals with teeny blue dragonflies where the straps crossed over my toes. I wore my blue flower earrings and felt exquisite from head to toe.

“You look like a fairy,” Dinah whispered as we lined up to the right of the stage.

“Don't I?” I replied. I grinned and sashayed my hips. Then I leaned in and said, “You look good, too. I really like your necklace.”

“Thanks,” she said, blushing. It was so easy to make her happy. It made me happy, making her happy. Tonight was all about being happy.

During the “Now and Then” part of the evening, I watched, rapt, as my sixth-grade life flashed in front of me. Pam had been very sneaky with her camera, catching shots of the Halloween Parade, the Spring Carnival, even student-teacher conferences—with one hilarious picture of an abashed Alex Plotkin being lectured by Mrs. Daly. Most of the pictures showed kids who were smiling, though, and it occurred to me that we looked like the kids at Camp Winding Gap. Just as filled-to-the-brim with life.