"Look, Diana," I said, "I'm sorry I had to tell you no. I wanted to go with you, and I thought that I could." She started to say something, but I put up my hand. "Wait. The thing is, Miranda is smart. She's fun to be with, and she's the same size as me —"

"Come on, Chapters!" she scolded, "Nobody gives a bleep about your bleeping height!" (Yes, she really did say "bleep" and "bleeping"!)
 

---

 

8. Diana Turns The Page
 

My blood froze within me and I didn't know what to say. I couldn't tell him that Juliette was my sister. Lou of all people would know it was a lie.

Mrs. Mossert came to the rescue. "Juliette is a friend of Miranda's. She's really cute. If you're nice, maybe Chapters can set you up with her."

"Another ten year old?" he scoffed. I nodded.

"No thanks! No offense, Chapters, but no thanks. I prefer girls my own age. Or older."

"Really?" his mother asked. "Anyone in particular?"

Lou blushed but didn't answer.

---

Later, when it was time for me to go home, Lou walked with me. Almost immediately, he got into it.

"What is going on with you?" he demanded.

"What are you talking about?" I retorted.

"What you and my mother were talking about," he insisted.

"How much did you hear?"

"I heard the end part, where she talked about your uncle, and then the stuff about the clothes. It sounds like you're dressing up like a girl and calling yourself Juliette."

"It's just for Halloween," I told him.

"Yeah, I heard that too." He fumed. "And this is why you're not coming to my party?" It sounded like a question, but it wasn't a question. "So it isn't about your uncle. It's about Miranda and Juliette."

"Look," I said, "NOBODY was going to do Halloween. I didn't want to miss it."

"Why do you have to be a girl?"

I told him the whole story, the business about not being recognized. I told him a few of the details I hadn't told his mother. The Boston Cream Pie story won him over in the end, I think.

"Jeely Cry," he said. "You really are an expert in getting into a mess, aren't you? You don't do it halfway — you just throw yourself in headfirst."

I shrugged.

"You realize you could have just waited a couple of days? If you had, you wouldn't have to do any of this!"

"I guess," I said.

"You don't have to guess," he said. "It's a fact!"

Our footsteps crunched loudly through the dry leaves underfoot. "You won't tell anybody will you?"

"Are you kidding?" he cried. "I'm your best friend! Anybody hears about this would think there was something wrong with me, too!"

After a pause, he added, "Just don't let me see it. Don't come over my house in your little-girl clothes. Okay? Do me the favor."

---

The next day in school, Lou was out sick. I sat down to lunch by myself, until Diana came over to sit with me.

"When I asked you to Lou's party, why didn't you tell me you have a girlfriend?" she asked.

"What girlfriend?" I asked through a mouthful of sandwich.

"Miranda? That's her name, right?"

I almost choked. "She's not my girlfriend," I said.

"But you're missing Lou's party to be with her, right?"

"I guess you could say that," I replied, coloring.

"So," Diana insisted, "If she's 'just a friend', she must be a pretty special friend if you're going to blow off everybody you know just to be with her."

"Umm," I said, not sure how to respond.

"Is she really only ten years old?"

"Man!" I protested. "Where did you hear all this?"

"Lou's mother told my mother," she replied simply. "So is it true?"

"Look, Diana," I said, "I'm sorry I had to tell you no. I wanted to go with you, and I thought that I could." She started to say something, but I put up my hand. "Wait. The thing is, Miranda is smart. She's fun to be with, and she's the same size as me —"

"Come on, Chapters!" she scolded, "Nobody gives a bleep about your bleeping height!" (Yes, she really did say "bleep" and "bleeping"!)

"Oh!" I retorted hotly, "Well *I* give a bleep! Do you realize that every time I talk to you — or anybody else in this class — that I have to look UP at you, like I'm your little brother?"

"I don't care!" she replied.

"I do!" I told her.

We fell into silence, not looking at each other, until at last she pushed her hair from her face and said, "You know, your Uncle Mickey was short like you, but all the girls wanted him."

"What?" I said. I'd never heard *that* before. "Does everybody know my Uncle Mickey except me?"

"What are you talking about?" she replied. "The point is, your height is all in your head."

"I wish," I replied.

"AND –" she concluded, as she stood up to leave, "When you and Miranda break up, you should ask me out."

"Oh!" I said, surprised at the abrupt change in the conversation, but very pleased. "And when I ask you, will you say yes?"

She drew a deep breath and said, "You'll have to ask me to find out. Maybe I will... or maybe I just want the pleasure of telling you no."

With that, she walked away.

My head hurt. Were people always this complicated?

---

What made it even more confusing was that Diana came to walk home with me. She had never done that before, and didn't really live in my direction... it didn't take her far out of her way, but it was still unusual. She'd never walked me home before. It didn't take long to find out why.

"So... this Miranda," she began. "Do you have a picture of her?"

I did. Miranda had given me a wallet size version of her school picture, so I dug it out and handed it to Diana. I was determined to not be embarrassed about Miranda; to not be ashamed of having so young a friend. That determination kept me from seeing what a mistake I was making in showing Diana the picture.

At first she said, "Oh, she's cute!" and then she frowned. "Wait... I know this girl." (Pause.) "No, I don't know her, but... I'm sure I've seen her... or met her..."

Diana glanced from me to the photo, from the photo to me. To say I was alarmed is an understatement. I felt as though three fire trucks, two ambulances, and five motorcycle police were tearing through my soul, lights flashing, sirens blazing.

She sucked in her lower lip. If I wasn't so frightened, I would have been charmed by how cute she looked when she frowned that way.

"I know!" she said. "She was at the thrift store that night! Kristie and I were trying to find Halloween costumes, and she gave us the best ideas!"

"Oh," I said in a shaky voice. "How about that?"

"You're right," she said brightly as she handed back the picture. "She *is* smart."

It took me several tries to slide the photo back into my wallet. My hands were too unsteady and my fingers refused to bend.

Still, the good news was that Diana didn't seem to connect me with the other girl at the thrift store, or even remember me, which was both disconcerting and a great relief at the same time.

We talked about... well, *she* talked about something or other the rest of the way to my house. I was having trouble paying attention. My heart was pounding in my ears, and my feet suddenly weighed fifty pounds a piece.

Once we were in front of my house, I hoped that my troubles were over, but she glanced at my driveway and asked, "Chapters, do you mind if I come in for a glass of water? I am SO thirsty."

How could I say no? I led her to the kitchen door, and as I pulled out my key realized that Mom wasn't home. Diana knew that too — that's why she looked at the driveway. Clever girl!

We stood by the sink. She held the tumbler with both hands as she drank. It took forever. She took a sip, brought down the glass, and swallowed. Then a second sip. And a third. I'd never seen someone make a glass of water last so long.

"Oh! I just remembered," she said. "What's *your* Halloween costume?"

"It's a secret," I said.

"Oh, come on!" she said. "Nobody's going to see it anyway. I promise not to tell."

"I'll show you a photo after," I lied.

She wheedled and begged and demanded, but I was firm. I refused to tell her, until finally I said, "Give it up, Diana. There's nothing you can do or say that will make me tell you."

Her eyebrows went up. "Nothing?" she asked. "Nothing?"

"No," I said. Frankly, the way she said nothing made me a little uncomfortable, and I was quite right to feel that way.

She set her glass down and started tickling me.

"Hey!" I protested, clamping my arms down at my sides.

"Nothing?" she repeated, "Nothing? NOTHING? Tell me, Chapters, tell me."

"Whoa, no," I wheezed, and lamely tried to tickle her back.

"I'm not ticklish!" she laughed. And it was true, she wasn't. But I am, and she was merciless. Soon she had me on the floor, helpless, almost ready to pee in my pants.

"Stop! Stop!" I gasped. "Stop! Ow ow ow!"

"Will you tell me?" I nodded. "Will you show me?"

"No," I said. She wiggled her fingers with a menacing grin, and I said, "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

I sat up and leaned against the stove to catch my breath. "You are wicked," I said.

"I'm not so bad once you get to know me," she replied with a smile.

"Okay," I said. "I have to tell you a story, and you have to SWEAR that you won't tell." Cutting the story to its barest essentials, I explained: Everyone scoffed at Halloween. I wanted to celebrate but not be recognized. Hence, a girl costume.

To my relief, she understood.

"A lot of guys dress up as girls for Halloween," she commented.

"Right," I agreed, and brought her upstairs. My plan was to sit her down in my room, and I'd bring her one costume. But she didn't. She did sit on my bed, and she was still sitting there as I went to get the costume, but when I lifted the first outfit off the rack and turned, there she was, standing in my mother's workroom.

"Rainbow Brite?" she said, and I suddenly had a flash of memory: the scene in the thrift store, when Diana asked me and Miranda what we were going to be.

Diana took the outfit from me and said, "I remember her from TV."

She took the costume and turned it over, admiring the work.

"Your mother made this? You are so lucky!"

"I guess," I said.

Then she saw the other costumes. "Who are these for?"

"Oh, Miranda and some other girls," I said.

"Huh," she said, and looked them over. "Wow. Two girls are going as princesses, and two are going as fairies. Won't they mind being the same thing?"

I shrugged. "How would *I* know?"

Diana looked at the seams, and said, "Your mother is amazing. Some of this stuff is really hard to do. Do you think she might give me lessons? I mean, I can sew, but not like this."

"I don't know," I said. "I can ask her. I know she likes sewing."

"Huh," Diana said, frowning. She pushed the six costumes back and forth along the rack. "Wait a minute. I just noticed something. All these costumes are the same size." She looked at me. "You said you're going trick-or-treating. Are you wearing the same costume to the party on Saturday?"

"Uh, yes," I said, blushing deeply.

"Oh, no you're not!" she said, seeing the lie written on my face. "With all these to choose from, how could you? Some of these are for you!" She slid them back and forth, looking them over once again. "Two for you and two for Miranda?"

I sighed.

Diana shook her head. "Oooh, ooh," she cooed. "You *have* to show me pictures. If you don't show me pictures I'll tell. Of BOTH costumes."

"Oh, come on, Diana."

"You can trust me," she said. "I won't tell. But I want to see pictures, lots of pictures." She laughed. "I'm sure you'll look oh-so cute!"

"Let's get out of this room," I said, and pushed her gently into the hall.

"Wow," she said. "Now I know a secret. I know your secret, Chapters. Or one of your secrets, maybe."

"Yeah, yeah," I said, pushing her back toward my room. "Just let's *keep* it a secret, please?"

"Does Lou know?" she asked as she plopped onto my bed.

"Yes."

"What does he think?"

"He thinks I'm nuts."

"Hmmph. Oh! Whose idea was it?"

"My mother's," I said. "I wouldn't have thought of it. I didn't want to do it at first."

"But then you got to like the idea," she teased.

"No."

She smiled and looked around my room. Her eye fell on my alarm clock, and she leapt to her feet. "Oh, is that what time it is? I got to go."

We rushed downstairs. She drank a hurried sip of water and started choking. There wasn't much I could do but pat her on the back. After a couple of minutes it passed. Then she grabbed her backpack and ran off.

I put my face in my hands and groaned.

Now Lou and Diana knew. Lou seemed to want to cancel it from his brain, which was fine.

But Diana? I've known her all my life, but how much did I really know her? I felt that I could trust her, but now she had a little bomb inside her head that could go off at any time, and if it did, what would happen to me?

By the "bomb in her head" I mean the fact that she is just one tiny step away from connecting me with the girl in the thrift shop. Right now for some reason, she didn't even seem to remember that girl, the girl who was with Miranda. But what if she did remember?

There were so many connections or coincidences: That girl in the store was the same size as Miranda (just like me). That girl in the store said she was going to be Rainbow Brite for Halloween (just like me). That girl in the store had suggested the wedding dress as a costume, and Diana had asked me to be her partner.

If just one stray spark were to fire inside her brain, any of those things could connect.

I just had to hope that none of it clicked for Diana.

I went upstairs to change my clothes, and found yet another connection: my Clarkina glasses were sitting in plain view on my desk. Did Diana see them? Maybe she unconsciously took them in.

I flopped on the bed, sank within myself, and tried to figure my chances. Maybe Diana wasn't that bright. No — that's mean and not really true. She isn't stupid, but she doesn't seem very reflective. She lives more in the present moment than in her memory. I had to hope she stays there, in the here-and-now, and doesn't drift back to the then-and-thrift-store.

I had to make sure she'd never see me and Miranda side by side. It might remind her. And I would NEVER go to the thrift store again. That might make her remember. Anything else?

Oh, yeah. I couldn't possibly show her a picture of me as Rainbow Brite — or any other costume. She might do that whole business again of Wait... I know this girl...

---

I was in agony until the next day in school. Diana didn't seem any different. She didn't greet me differently from any other day, or look at me funny, or sit next to me in math class.

But you know, there was something I forgot about Diana: I forgot about her amazing artistic ability. She can draw something — anything — with a pencil and it looks like a photograph. It's mind-boggling.

So when she sat down next to me at lunch and said, "Look at this!" I was not all that surprised when she showed me a drawing of Miranda. Yes, I was a little surprised, but I've seen a lot of Diana's drawings. I ooh'd and aah'd over it, but then I realized that there was something wrong: this wasn't Miranda's head from the little wallet picture I'd shown Diana yesterday. This was Miranda all the way down to her waist, and she was wearing the top she'd worn in the thrift store.

Alarm bells began to ring in my head. If I was a submarine, the order would be SUBMERGE! SUBMERGE! ALL DIVE! ALL DIVE!

Unfortunately, I was not a submarine that could submerge, or a ghost who could fade to invisibility, or a piece of ice that could melt and slip though a crack in the floor. I was an adolescent boy with a secret, and I was afraid that as Diana turned the page, that my secret would be drawn there, in lifelike pencil marks.

And so it was.

Diana said, "Once I knew it was Miranda that night in the thrift store, I remembered her face. Then I remembered what she was wearing. Well, I don't remember the skirt..."

She glanced at me. She didn't have a mean face, or an unkind face, or even an uncertain face. There was a kind of almost clinical curiosity there, and I knew she was going to go all the way to wherever she was going to go. And I knew she would take me with her. She couldn't go there (wherever "there" was) without me, and I sure as hell was not going if I didn't have to.

It looked like I was going to have to.

Diana turned the page.

As she did, she said, "I remembered there was another girl there. The one who suggested my costume." My throat was dry. Very dry. On the page I saw a picture of a girl. A girl who looked about ten years old. She was wearing glasses. Glasses that were supposed to hide a secret identity, but at the moment those glasses weren't doing their job.

Diana said, "Sometimes drawing is a way for me to remember things, and while I drew this girl I kept remembering more and more about her. And she kept feeling so *familiar* to me."

She picked up her pencil and continued: "At first I thought this." She wrote YOU? next to the girl.

"And then I realized this." She scribbled out the YOU? and wrote YOU! Then she added two more exclamation points.

"I was going to make more exclamation points, but I think you're not supposed to have more than three," she commented.

My face was ashen and I don't think I was breathing at all.

"I don't want to scare you," she said. "I didn't tell anybody, and I won't. And if you don't want to talk about it, I'll try to forget. I won't ask you again, but I'm really curious and I want to talk."

She paused and looked at me. I felt a little better, because now I was breathing at least. My forehead was covered with sweat, but I could live with that.

Diana waited, but I didn't say anything, so she finished by telling me, "I'll look for you after school. If you tell me to leave you alone, I will. But I hope we can be friends and talk about this."

She closed her book, squeezed my hand, pushed the hair back from her face, smiled at me, and walked away.

© 2007, 2008 by Kaleigh Way