fives and whooped it up. A few of our neighbors’ porch lights went on, and we whooped it up some more. We did spring rolls in front of the bushes and flying wontons along the weedy fence. Daffodil started turning cartwheels, one after the other, and Dorrie and I joined in, the three of us whirling crazy under the night sky. Then I did a vault over a garbage can, my hands pushing off the lid and my legs spread wide, as I shot through the cold air and landed with a one-two hop right in front of my sisters. Their eyes were hugely dark and alive, their hair popping out of the elastics, their breath coming out in frosty little clouds.
Daffodil grabbed me tightly and covered me with frantic kisses. Dorrie’s eyes traveled carefully from me to Daffodil, from me to Daffodil, and watching her watch us, I understood how things were for Dorrie. My heart caught and I turned away. As we ran to the back door, I reached for Dorrie, but she dipped under my arm and sprang up the steps.
Inggy and I sat on the bed of the float sharing a bag of corn chips and staring at her one-hundred-dollar bill. It was crisp and new and made a snapping noise when the wind gathered beneath us. “I wish we’d both won,” she said. I nodded halfheartedly. She folded the bill in half, hiked up her cape, and pocketed it.
Today Inggy wore a little pearly eye shadow and some lipstick, and the rhinestone tiara sparkled on her head. The red velvet cape was too short on her and her jeans and sneakers stuck out the bottom. Pamela Zlotkin and the other girls and I wore white velvet capes. I wore my hair up and thought I looked particularly French.
A folding chair was perched atop the specially made staircase sitting in the middle of the float. “Come,” I said, climbing the staircase because I wanted to try out the chair and see the view. The day was cold, crisp and gray. Behind us were our school’s marching band, flag twirlers, a float with gift-wrapped people standing around a Christmas tree, another float with assorted elves. “Inggy,” I whispered, “What’s going to happen to us?”
“Good things, good things,” she said, checking out Main Street. There were honks and toots and mini drum rolls as the band warmed up. A baton shot through the air and plummeted into a twirler’s hand.
“Places, girls,” a fat man from the Chamber ofCommerce said to us, and I slowly climbed down and took my place on the right rear corner of the float. Next to me were Styrofoam stars attached to broom handles.
We crept along to the tune of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” as people on the sidewalks waved to us. Inggy’s parents, the very tall and brightly blond Oberlanders, snapped pictures and galloped alongside us for a block. “Inggy! Dani!” they called. “Over here, love. Big, big smile.” Inggy sat on the folding chair, flushed yet pleased, beaming her big, big smile down on her mom and dad.
Mom and Franz had decided to call it quits, and she’d taken to wearing dark glasses as if someone had died. She demanded super quiet. Even walking around in our socks and opening the refrigerator door would make her scream and send us scattering to far corners of the house. This morning I’d left her on the couch with her diet soda, Motrin, box of tissues, can of mixed nuts, and the
TV Guide
, and I knew she’d still be on the couch when I got home, that she might be there for a long time. I hoped she’d find a new boyfriend, I hoped she’d soon put on her three-inch heels again and leave us in peace. But why couldn’t she have dragged her butt off the couch and brought the Instamatic and been here today? Even if it was me up there on the folding chair with the crown on my head, I knew she’d still be horizontalunder the afghan in her dark glasses.
There was nothing to do but wave my arm. My sisters were boycotting the parade, at least that was what they said for the hundredth time when I left them this morning, slurping up Fruit Loops and glued to
Daffodil grabbed me tightly and covered me with frantic kisses. Dorrie’s eyes traveled carefully from me to Daffodil, from me to Daffodil, and watching her watch us, I understood how things were for Dorrie. My heart caught and I turned away. As we ran to the back door, I reached for Dorrie, but she dipped under my arm and sprang up the steps.
Inggy and I sat on the bed of the float sharing a bag of corn chips and staring at her one-hundred-dollar bill. It was crisp and new and made a snapping noise when the wind gathered beneath us. “I wish we’d both won,” she said. I nodded halfheartedly. She folded the bill in half, hiked up her cape, and pocketed it.
Today Inggy wore a little pearly eye shadow and some lipstick, and the rhinestone tiara sparkled on her head. The red velvet cape was too short on her and her jeans and sneakers stuck out the bottom. Pamela Zlotkin and the other girls and I wore white velvet capes. I wore my hair up and thought I looked particularly French.
A folding chair was perched atop the specially made staircase sitting in the middle of the float. “Come,” I said, climbing the staircase because I wanted to try out the chair and see the view. The day was cold, crisp and gray. Behind us were our school’s marching band, flag twirlers, a float with gift-wrapped people standing around a Christmas tree, another float with assorted elves. “Inggy,” I whispered, “What’s going to happen to us?”
“Good things, good things,” she said, checking out Main Street. There were honks and toots and mini drum rolls as the band warmed up. A baton shot through the air and plummeted into a twirler’s hand.
“Places, girls,” a fat man from the Chamber ofCommerce said to us, and I slowly climbed down and took my place on the right rear corner of the float. Next to me were Styrofoam stars attached to broom handles.
We crept along to the tune of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” as people on the sidewalks waved to us. Inggy’s parents, the very tall and brightly blond Oberlanders, snapped pictures and galloped alongside us for a block. “Inggy! Dani!” they called. “Over here, love. Big, big smile.” Inggy sat on the folding chair, flushed yet pleased, beaming her big, big smile down on her mom and dad.
Mom and Franz had decided to call it quits, and she’d taken to wearing dark glasses as if someone had died. She demanded super quiet. Even walking around in our socks and opening the refrigerator door would make her scream and send us scattering to far corners of the house. This morning I’d left her on the couch with her diet soda, Motrin, box of tissues, can of mixed nuts, and the
TV Guide
, and I knew she’d still be on the couch when I got home, that she might be there for a long time. I hoped she’d find a new boyfriend, I hoped she’d soon put on her three-inch heels again and leave us in peace. But why couldn’t she have dragged her butt off the couch and brought the Instamatic and been here today? Even if it was me up there on the folding chair with the crown on my head, I knew she’d still be horizontalunder the afghan in her dark glasses.
There was nothing to do but wave my arm. My sisters were boycotting the parade, at least that was what they said for the hundredth time when I left them this morning, slurping up Fruit Loops and glued to
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