After our meeting, Claire and I ride our bikes to my sitting job. Claire's a good friend. In fact, she's my best. It's sort of funny since not too many years ago, I was a frequent sitter for Claire and her siblings. Now, we're riding our bikes through the streets of Stoneybrook, sharing a laugh and a Mallomar. Claire used to be just a sweet, enthusiastic kid, who gave me an occasional headache. She's really matured since becoming president of the BSC. She rarely ever says "silly-billy-goo-goo.
Claire is only the second best friend I've ever had. Actually, I didn't have my first until seventh grade! That's because I was always so different from the other kids. I was into art and fashion and funky jewelry, not dolls or tea parties. Then, at the start of seventh grade, Stacey McGill and I ran into each other - literally! (That was a vocabulary word last week). Stacey and I had tons in common. We loved clothes and boys...and...um, plus, we were pretty sophisticated for seventh grade. Stacey because she had permed hair and came from New York. Me, I'm not sure why I was sophisticated. Probably because I'm artsy and Japanese.
Anyway, Stacey and I went through a lot together - her move back to New York, her parents' divorce, the death of Mimi (my grandmother. She was old, foreign, and wise. I miss her a lot). Our friendship endured all those trials and while Stacey went through high school and I repeated eighth grade four times, we kept that friendship strong.
Ever since Stacey got into credit card debt, I haven't seen her much. It was the flower pins that really did her in. Or, maybe the return of leg warmers. Stacey had to get a second job. During the week, she works at a bank in Stamford. On Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights she works for Alan Gray (ew!) at his club The Purring Pussy. At first, I worried that Alan would make Stacey do something really degrading like wait tables or pour drinks. Alan really came through for Stacey though. He paid her debt and said she could work it off in the back. That's where he does his taxes, I guess.
Now, it's me and Claire, thick as fleas, trying to pass eighth grade.
When I tell Claire that she giggles and says, "It's thieves, not fleas"
I giggle, too. It's important to have a sense of humor about yourself. I realized that my third time through eighth grade.
Claire and I ride passed Anthony Zmeggler, this totally fabutastic boy in our class. (My friends and I combined "fabulous" and "fantastic" to create a super cool word). Anthony's mowing his lawn, but stops to wave. I wave back and pop a wheelie. Anthony winks. Oh my lord! I think I'm in LUV!
Normally, I wouldn't be riding a bike to my sitting job. I have a car and finally passed the driving test last fall. (The BSC helped me study for it for three years). I'm currently grounded from my car though. My parents are so strict! They completely flipped out when they learned I went joyriding in New Jersey with the BSC. Something about taking minors across state lines.
Claire and I stop in front of the Wilder residence. I'm not even off my bike yet when Rosie Wilder flies out the front door, skateboard tucked under one arm and her baby under the other. Rosie tosses the baby to me like a hot potato, throws down her skateboard, and takes off down the street.
"Be back by eleven!" she calls.
Claire and I look at each other and laugh.