CHAPTER 8 THE PROPOSAL
The next morning, it’s Wednesday and Patrick says we have to go to school. When Birdie finally comes down to the kitchen in his new jeans, plain gray T-shirt, and black sweatshirt, he announces that he has an apology to make to Norman.
“Even he wouldn’t wear these clothes!” he says.
I hand him a piece of toast with peanut butter. “Do they fit okay?” I ask.
“If you wore an Alexander McQueen gown to school, would that fit okay?” He takes his mad cap out of his backpack and puts it on in a huff. “I doubt it!”
When Patrick comes down, he takes one look at the mad cap, shakes his head, and points upstairs.
Patrick brings me to school first, saying that he wants to speak to Birdie’s teacher again.
Birdie rolls his eyes at this and then spends the drive tugging on the collar of his shirt until Patrick says to stop.
I spend the entire day writing and doodling in my notebook. In English class, I stare at the board behind Mr. Belling’s shiny head, pretending to pay attention to his lesson on alliteration. Without looking down, I draw a hundred Honey Bunny Buns, an entire page covered in swirls.
After class, I leave immediately and don’t stop at my locker even though I know that my project partner, Krysten, is hoping to talk to me. I practically run to the Quesadilla Ship, hoping she won’t follow.
The whole time I’m jogging, all I can think about is my old friend Marguerite and my heart pounds with anxiety.
I’ve never had a lot of friends and to be honest, even having a best friend like Janet is kind of a new experience for me. I did have one in third grade, mostly because of Mama. Mama was obsessed with first ladies, especially Jackie Kennedy and Lady Bird Johnson. There was this girl in my class, Marguerite, who knew a lot about the United States presidents and their families—especially their pets. She was the first person to ask if Birdie and me were named after first ladies and I almost couldn’t believe that she’d guessed on her own.
Then she said her absolute favorite president was John Quincy Adams, who had silkworms and an alligator as pets. A close second was Theodore Roosevelt, who had lots of pets, but she really emphasized his hyena.
We ate lunch together every day after that because Marguerite wanted someone she could talk to about presidential pets and weird presidential family life and all the other presidential facts she knew. And even though the friendship was really Marguerite’s doing, it was nice to invite someone over to my house who thought all of Mama’s ideas were good ones.
Marguerite also really liked Miss Luck Duck, our lamp in the shape of a woman with the head of a duck, something that weirded a lot of people out. Maybe because it was so big and we kept it by the front door. Marguerite said that with the long dress and bonnet, Miss Luck Duck looked a lot like Lady Louisa Adams, the wife of John Quincy Adams (sixth president of the United States). I remember thinking Marguerite was the best best friend I could hope for.
But then, in fifth grade, Marguerite started playing soccer, and then started inviting Allison, the team’s star forward, to our hangouts. Allison asked a lot of questions about Mama and her ideas and ways of doing things, especially when Mama didn’t feel like coming out of her room. One time, Marguerite and Allison even came with us on our Wolf Day adventures, but Allison left halfway through because she didn’t want to go to the Mission Homeless Center and serve hot meals and give out the friendship bracelets we’d made.
Then Marguerite stopped having fun too, I guess, and pretty soon the three of us were eating together at school lunch but only two of us were hanging out on the weekends and after soccer games.
I had tried to ask Marguerite what was wrong, but the words were having a hard time coming out and in the end, all I said was, “You don’t have to pretend to like me, like a jerk.” Her mouth opened into a small O and then I walked away. That was the last time we talked.
When Birdie and me left Portland with Patrick, I never told Marguerite I was leaving. To this day I wonder if Marguerite’s favorite presidents are still Adams and Roosevelt and if she ever thinks of Birdie and me and Mama.
• • •
On my way to the Quesadilla Ship, I pass by Snip ’n’ Shine and get Janet’s attention through the window. She leans the broom against the wall and comes outside.
“I heard you got nabbed,” Janet says. “Are you guys okay? I called yesterday but no one answered and I still don’t know about leaving messages on Patrick’s phone. You really need to get a cell phone.”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s happening anytime soon.”
“Is Patrick mad?”
“I don’t know. I guess. How did he find out, anyway?”
“Dude. The school called Patrick and Carl when you guys didn’t show up. And Patrick heard from the librarian or something about you guys looking at bus schedules. Carl told me. Anyway, rookie mistakes. Next time you run away you really need to involve me in the planning. I know about these things.”
From the back of the store, Cherylene calls for Janet. Janet sighs and says, “Listen. I get wanting to leave. I’ll try calling tonight, okay? Or you call me?”
I nod and she says quickly, “Sorry it didn’t work out!” then disappears into the salon.
And with Janet it’s that easy.
I cross the street to the Quesadilla Ship when I see Birdie walking to meet me. “Hey,” I say.
“Can we get a quesadilla?” he asks. “I don’t want to go to Patrick’s yet.”
“Sure, come on,” I say as I head toward Rosie’s truck.
Half a block
