Guy Wire by Sarah Weeks

standing out there watching them.
    “Hey,” said Fennimore when they reached my door. “Your mom said we should come find you.”
    “Here I am. I was just reading,” I said.
    “Shall we tell Guysie his book’s upside down?” George said to Fennimore, givinghim another one of those pokes in the ribs.
    I blushed and put the book on the nightstand beside my bed.
    There’s only one chair in my room. It’s one of those rolling desk chairs. George sat down in it, leaned back, and put his feet up right on my desk.
    “You know who talks about you all the time, Fenn?” George said, ignoring me as though I wasn’t even in the room. “Janice Greenhut.”
    “No way,” said Fennimore.
    “Who’s Janice Greenhut?” I asked, figuring I might as well try to join in the conversation.
    “Some girl you don’t know,” George said dismissively. “Anyway, she’s pining for you bigtime, Fenn. I swear. Remember that valentine she sent you last year?”
    “That was gross,” Fennimore said.
    “ Be Mine, Sweet Valentine and I Shall Be Thine ,” they recited in unison. Then they both laughed and pretended to gag.
    “Oh, remember Kyle Kibble?” Georgewent on. “He broke his ankle skateboarding, and now he’s got pins in it. He can put refrigerator magnets right on his skin, and they stick to him.”
    “I never broke a bone,” I said, making another attempt to join the conversation. “But I know this kid, Bob-o Smith, who got a peanut stuck up his nose and had to go to the hospital to have it taken out.”
    “Really?” Fennimore said.
    “So what?” George jumped in, grabbing Fennimore’s attention back with both hands. “Remember that time we went to the ball game and we saw that guy hurling over the railing onto the hot-dog vender?”
    Another fit of laughter as Fennimore and his best friend, George from Pigeon Forge, recalled yet another wonderful, perfect, terrific time they’d spent together. I gave up trying to be a part of the conversation. They didn’t seem to notice. For the next forty-five minutes they talked about people I didn’t know and events I hadn’t been a part of. Imight as well have been a dust bunny under the bed for all they cared.
    My mother called us down to dinner. I kind of wanted to sit by Fennimore, but George elbowed me out of the way and plopped himself down next to him. They whispered and giggled together through the whole meal.
    I’m not even going to go into the gory details of what the fondue was like. Let’s just say that festive and interactive didn’t begin to describe it. Lumpy and disgusting is a lot closer. When it was finally over and they’d all gone home, I was in as foul a mood as I’d ever been in.
    “I like your friend Fennimore,” my father said as he scrubbed a plate and handed it to my mother to dry.
    “In case you didn’t notice, he’s not my friend,” I said. “He’s George’s.”
    “Well, I think the two of you looked pretty doggone adorable with those matching buzz cuts. I have to say, Guysie, yours isbeginning to grow on me a little,” my mother said, obviously trying to cheer me up.
    I grunted and rolled my eyes.
    “I have a feeling what Guy’s hoping is that it will grow on him ,” my father said. “The sooner the better. Am I right, Guychik?”
    I nodded glumly. I couldn’t believe I’d cut off my hair. For what? Fennimore couldn’t care less about being friends with me. Why should he, when he and George had so much in common?
    “You were pretty quiet tonight,” my mother said as she put away the stack of plates she’d just dried. “Are you and Fennimore still working things out?”
    “Mom, leave it alone, will you? There’s nothing for Fennimore and me to work out, okay? He hates me. The end.”
    I sat down at the kitchen table and rested my head on my arms.
    “Why do you say that, Guysie?” my mother asked, putting down her dish towel and coming over to sit beside me. “You twowill work it out. After all, he came to dinner