The whole table has gone silent, waiting for Mama to answer. The Honeycutts are staring down at their plates, pushing food around. I guess they aren’t used to a Wilcox kind of Thanksgiving. Celia and I are plenty used to it. We look at each other from across the table, and with her eyes, she says, I hate them both.

At this moment, I do too.

It feels like hours before Mama says, “Oh, I haven’t had nearly enough, darlin’.” She smiles and lifts her glass to Daddy. “Not nearly.”

Just then, we all cringe. Even Micah.

I think I liked Thanksgiving dinner better when it was KFC.

After the Honeycutts leave, I sit at the top of the staircase with Meeks and listen to Mama tear into Daddy. Meeks rests his head in my lap, and I stroke his ears until he falls asleep.

“How dare you embarrass me like that! How dare you!” Mama’s voice is uneven, shrill. I can hear that she’s had at least two gin and tonics since supper. At least.

She rails on and on. “You humiliated me in front of our guests! The guests that you invited without even consulting me, the guests that I had to cook and clean for like a damn workhorse!”

“Grace, you were damn near drunk. What would you have had me do? Carry you from the dining room table?” He sounds tired. He always sounds tired when they fight.

“Oh, shut up. You have no right to say a damn word to me. You hardly even live here, remember, Billy?” Mama’s voice has taken on that screechy, desperate quality my father can’t stand. I hate to hear her sound that way too. And it’s always about the same thing: When are you coming home, Billy? Why aren’t you here more often, Billy?

When Daddy’s not around, she never sounds like that. Desperate, I mean. I know it’s a terrible thing to say about your own father, but sometimes I wish Daddy wouldn’t come home at all. Then Mama wouldn’t always be waiting for him; she wouldn’t be upset when he never came. She’d know not to wait. Then there might be some peace in our house.

I start to tiptoe back to my room, but the floorboard creaks, and Mama calls out, “Shug?”

I stand very still. Then she calls again. “Shug, is that you?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Come down here, baby.” I hear Daddy mutter, “Let the girl sleep,” but I come anyway. I have to.

Mama’s on the couch, and Daddy’s in his special recliner chair. “Sit down a minute,” Mama says, reaching out to me.

“Mama, I’m really tired. Can’t I go back to bed?”

“Just sit down next to your mama a minute.” She pats the cushion next to her, and I know there’s no use fighting it.

I sit down, and Daddy shakes his head. “Don’t bring her into this, Gracie.”

She ignores him. “Shug, don’t you think your daddy was way outta line tonight? Don’t you think he just about ruined Thanksgiving dinner?” Her breath is hot, and I inch away from her.

“Mama, Thanksgiving dinner wasn’t ruined….”

“You can be honest, Shug. It’s okay. We all worked real hard to make Thanksgiving dinner just right, and then your daddy went and ruined it.” She glares at him, hard.

“Just stop it, Gracie. I mean it; I’m not in the mood for this.” He takes a drink from his glass of watery bourbon.

“I’m havin’ a conversation with my daughter. Feel free to leave. Feel free to go back to Atlanta for all we care, right, Shug?” Mama turns to me again, and tips my chin up. “We don’t need him, do we, Shug?”

Daddy slams his glass on the coffee table so hard the table shakes. “Enough!” I stay still, hardly breathing. “Annemarie, go back to bed.”

I look at Mama, and she nods slightly. Hesitating, I stay put until Daddy barks, “Now, Annemarie!”

Running up the stairs, I can hear them going at it again. It looks like it’ll be a headphones night.

Chapter 24

I got my period in French class today. We were conjugating the verb to swim when I had to excuse myself and go to the girls’ bathroom. For one horrifying moment, I thought I’d had an accident in my pants. When I realized what it really was, I wanted to cry. I think I did, a little. All I could think was, it’s too soon. Everything has happened so fast. My whole life is changed, and I’m not even done being a kid.

Then I wadded up some toilet paper and stuck it in my underpants. In the hallway, I passed by Kyle Montgomery and Hugh Sasser and all I could do was nod stiffly. Could they tell? Did they know?

When I returned to French class, I asked Madame Turner if I could talk to her in private. She said oui, and we went out to the hallway. I said, “Madame, I—”

“En français, mademoiselle.”

“But, madame, I—”

“En français.” She crossed her arms and waited.

“Madame, je … j’ai … I just got my period. Can I borrow a pad? S’il vous plaît?”

Madame Turner looked startled. “Er … Is this your first time, Annemarie?”

“Yeah. I mean, oui. C’est mon premier temps.”

“Why don’t you go to the nurse’s office? I’m sure they can help you there.”

The nurse’s office? I mean, come on. I wasn’t bleeding from anywhere I wasn’t supposed to be bleeding from. It’s a period, not a gash on the head.

So then I trudged over to the nurse’s office, and Nurse Dewitt gave me a pad the size of a jumbo box of Kleenex. Wearing a diaper like that, how could a girl ever forget about her period? The rest of the day I walked around knowing it was there, knowing it would come again the next month, and the month after that.

I feel like my childhood has been ripped away from me, and now things will never be the same. I’ll never be the same. I’ve gone too far, seen too much; there can be no turning back now. I feel betrayed by my own body. I don’t want this! I’m not ready for this! How come I don’t get a say?

On the bus, I tell Elaine my news. Her face lights up, and she is so excited. It’s like I’ve won the lottery or something. She clutches my arm. “Annemarie,” she says, “You’re so lucky!”

“Lucky? This isn’t lucky. This is sucky.”

“It’s not like you didn’t know it was coming. You should feel happy. You’re an actual woman now. You’re not a kid anymore.”

“I’d rather be a kid any day.”

“Don’t be so ungrateful. It’s a milestone, a mark of womanhood.” For the first time ever, I see envy in Elaine’s eyes, and that’s when I realize that I have something she doesn’t.

“Well, I don’t want it. You take it. I’ll be glad if it never comes back. I just want things to be like the way they were.”

Impatiently she snaps, “Things can’t stay the same forever, Annemarie. People change; they grow up. That’s the way it’s supposed to happen.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to change; I want to stay the same. Forever.” And I mean it too.

Elaine makes a face. “Sometimes I don’t get you at all.”

Sometimes I don’t get me either.

Chapter 25

I think Elaine’s breaking up with me.

After my last class I went to meet Elaine at her locker the way I usually do, but Hugh was already there. They were laughing and carrying on, but when they saw me, they hushed up like they were members of some secret club.

I said, “Hey, y’all.” I stood there, shifting my book bag from one shoulder to the other.

Hugh nodded at me, and Elaine said, “Hey, Annemarie. I’m not riding the bus today. Hugh’s going to walk me home.”

“Oh. Okay, then. Call me later.”

Elaine nodded and threw me a quick, excited smile. Then they walked down the hallway together and I watched them go.

Sitting on the bus alone, I can’t help but wonder if this is the beginning of the end for Elaine and me. It took me my whole life to find a best friend like Elaine. What would my life be like without her? She’s already picking Hugh over me. If she doesn’t call tonight, I’ll know that we really are in trouble.

Instead of going straight home, I stop by Mark’s house. For old times sake. He wasn’t on the bus, and I know he didn’t have to stay after school for practice, so I figure he must’ve left early. A dentist appointment, maybe.

For maybe the first time ever, I ring the doorbell. I’m not sure why. For some reason it doesn’t feel right to just walk in anymore.

Mrs. Findley answers the door. She looks surprised to see me, but happy, too. Wiping her hands on a towel, she says, “Annemarie! Sweetheart, I’ve missed you. Mark’s not home, but you come on in and chat with me.”

My hand on the screen door, I falter. “Mark’s not home?”

“No, dear, I dropped off him and some of his friends at the arcade after school.”

“Oh,” I say. I take a step back. “Who? Kyle and Jack?”

“Well, Kyle, but not Jack. Mairi and Hadley, too,” she says. “I was wondering why you didn’t go, Annemarie. We hardly ever see you anymore.”

Mairi and Hadley? Since when do they go to the arcade with boys? They hate the arcade; they think it’s boring. They don’t even know how to play Skee-Ball. I know it couldn’t have been a double date or anything. I bet they invited themselves along so they could drool over Kyle playing that free throw basketball game. What a couple of idiots.

Later that night Elaine calls me.

“I think Hugh’s going to ask me out, Annemarie.”

“Ask you out where?” I’m being obtuse on purpose. Obtuse means thick-headed or slow. It’s one of Celia’s SAT words.

“You know what I mean.”

“Well, what are you going to say?”

“I’m going to say yes, duh!”

Picking my nails, I say, “I thought you weren’t completely sure how you felt about him.”

“When did I ever say that?”

“I don’t know, but you did.”

“Well, I’m sure now. I like him.”

“All right, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

Sure. Whatever.

Chapter 26

I always wonder how people get together. How does it happen? Exactly what is said, or decided on? I wish I knew.

Mairi and Kyle are officially a couple now. I guess that afternoon at the arcade was their first step toward becoming boyfriend-girlfriend. They must have figured out that it was their destiny to be together, the prettiest girl and the prettiest guy. Everyone knows that that’s what’s supposed to happen. They owe it to the rest of us. Good-looking people are supposed to be together, like Barbie and Ken. It’s, like, a law.

Mairi and Kyle aren’t the only ones. Elaine and Hugh are a couple too. He walks her home from school, and I miss sitting with her on the bus. But the worst part is the way she thinks I don’t understand her anymore. She’ll get this faraway look in her eyes and say, “Sometimes I really miss Hugh.” And I’ll say, “But you just saw him at school.” And then she’ll say, “Oh, you couldn’t understand, Annemarie.” What is it I can’t understand exactly?

And I haven’t just lost her to Hugh. Now that Mairi and Kyle are a couple, the four of them probably do coupley things together. I bet they go to the movies on Saturday nights, and afterward they go to Mr. Boneci’s diner. They probably share banana splits and feed them to each other like a bunch of monkeys. Elaine’s not even allowed to date yet, so she tells her parents she’s with me.

Celia has a boyfriend too. His name is Eli Parker, but everyone calls him Park. He’s tall with shaggy brown hair, and his jeans are always dirty. I bet he never washes his jeans. He’s the lead singer in a band called Rapid Dominance. Every day, it’s Park this and Park that. “Park’s got a gig at a bar in Patan County.” “Park wrote me a song called ‘Celia, How I’d Love to Feel Ya’.” “Park wants me to go cross-country with the band this summer.” Park makes me want to puke. He’s always hanging around, like the weird smell in our basement. Where did it come from, and how can we get rid of it?

And it’s not just Park or Eli or whatever his name is. All of this love crap makes me want to puke. Things were so much easier when it was just me and Celia and me and Elaine. Come to think of it, things were easier when it was just me and Mark, too. But the old me and Mark, without any of the love stuff. Life was simpler. Life was riding bikes and kickball and cherry Popsicles. There was none of this boyfriend-girlfriend business to mess everything up.

But then sometimes I can’t help but wish I was a part of something too, a half of a whole. Elaine thinks I don’t understand, but the truth is, a little part of me does. A little part of me does want someone to hold hands with and talk to on the phone late at night. But it’s just a little part of me. The rest of me isn’t ready. I don’t know if I even want to be ready.

When I get home from school, Celia and Park are sitting at the kitchen table eating oranges. He’s got his feet on the table, and he’s throwing sections into her mouth.

Celia says, “Hey, Shug. Have an orange.”

“Hey, kid,” Park says. “Think fast.” He throws a piece of orange my way, and it lands on my shoe.

“No thanks.” Who does he think he is, offering me my own oranges in my own house?

Park shrugs, picks up the orange, and pops it into his mouth. “Waste not, want not.”

“You’re so gross,” Celia says fondly. She scrunches her nose up at him, and he leans forward and kisses it. Then she giggles. I am so sick of hearing her giggle like that. I never knew my sister was one of Those Girls, those girls who giggle over every little thing.