each other, but we spent a lot of time every night talking on the phone. We loved discussing the other kids, and Nicole had remarkable insight into human nature. She always seemed to understand why people did thingsâeven people who were very different from herself.
Such as Matilda, who was one of our closest friends, but in many ways Nicoleâs direct opposite. Matilda was quite thin and ate very little in order to maintain her eighteen-inch waist. Today she would have been considered pretty, but her frizzy red hair was unfashionable in those days. (Eventually she learned the trick of ironing it.) She was taller than Nicole and stood in a slouch. Matilda adored books and read more voraciously than any of us. Her grades were even better than Nicoleâsâher grade-point average of 98.6 was the highest on record in the history of the school system. But unlike Nicole, Matildaâs grades were the result of relentless studying. When we did A Tale of Two Cities in English class, Matilda read the book so many times that she could recite as much of it as anyone could stand to listen toââIt was the best of times; it was the worst of times â¦ââfrom memory. She studied all day on weekends and holidays. She didnât stop when she had completed all the required work; she would then write extra papers that were not even assigned by the teachers.
We all laughed when Matilda told us how her parents tried to bribe her to calm down about schoolwork by offering her twenty-five dollars if she would ever get a B in a course, fifty dollars for two Bâs, and so on. Matilda was witty, and the way she told the story made it seem very funny. We never found out if her parents would have kept the bargain because she went right on piling up Aâs in everything.
Nicole and I talked about Matilda a lot. Nicole felt that part of Matildaâs problem was that she saw herself as unattractive. She had to excel at something, and that was going to be scholarshipâand her eighteen-inch waist.
Bart was another close friend. Because he was regarded as the smartest boy in school, it was assumed that he and Nicole belonged together, and they did sort of go out with each other. Bart was a basically decent guy, but I always thought twice before asking his opinion about anything I had done; he seemed to enjoy expressing unpleasant truths.
I did not have a Halloween party all through junior high. But the summer after ninth grade, I hit on the idea of conducting a séance in the playhouse at the end of the backyard. It was dark out there, and the half-finished wooden building was like something from a ghost town. I planned the séance carefully, with Nicoleâs help. The only part Nicole didnât help me with was the actual script. I spent several days writing it myself, laughing a lot, and kept the contents a secret from Nicole. Typically, she never tried to coerce me into telling her what was in it.
But Nicole was the brains behind the recording I made on Dadâs big, clunky tape recorder. Nicole created sound effects by coaxing weird noises out of various musical instruments and then making them weirder by speeding up or slowing down the tape. Nicole helped me figure out how to disguise my voice by speaking through an electric fan, which gave an effect of windy, echoing distance. But I didnât record the script until Nicole had gone home; I wanted the actual words to be a surprise for her as well as everybody else.
The day of the séance, Dad brought home a big piece of dry ice from the lab, which we kept in the freezer until the last moment. (The dry ice was Nicoleâs idea, too.) I carried a table out to the playhouse and, with several extension cords, set up the tape recorder under the table. I put a cauldronlike cast-iron pot on the table for the dry ice, and on one side of it I arranged a flashlight so the beam would hit my face from below. Nicole had loaned me some mascara, and I
Such as Matilda, who was one of our closest friends, but in many ways Nicoleâs direct opposite. Matilda was quite thin and ate very little in order to maintain her eighteen-inch waist. Today she would have been considered pretty, but her frizzy red hair was unfashionable in those days. (Eventually she learned the trick of ironing it.) She was taller than Nicole and stood in a slouch. Matilda adored books and read more voraciously than any of us. Her grades were even better than Nicoleâsâher grade-point average of 98.6 was the highest on record in the history of the school system. But unlike Nicole, Matildaâs grades were the result of relentless studying. When we did A Tale of Two Cities in English class, Matilda read the book so many times that she could recite as much of it as anyone could stand to listen toââIt was the best of times; it was the worst of times â¦ââfrom memory. She studied all day on weekends and holidays. She didnât stop when she had completed all the required work; she would then write extra papers that were not even assigned by the teachers.
We all laughed when Matilda told us how her parents tried to bribe her to calm down about schoolwork by offering her twenty-five dollars if she would ever get a B in a course, fifty dollars for two Bâs, and so on. Matilda was witty, and the way she told the story made it seem very funny. We never found out if her parents would have kept the bargain because she went right on piling up Aâs in everything.
Nicole and I talked about Matilda a lot. Nicole felt that part of Matildaâs problem was that she saw herself as unattractive. She had to excel at something, and that was going to be scholarshipâand her eighteen-inch waist.
Bart was another close friend. Because he was regarded as the smartest boy in school, it was assumed that he and Nicole belonged together, and they did sort of go out with each other. Bart was a basically decent guy, but I always thought twice before asking his opinion about anything I had done; he seemed to enjoy expressing unpleasant truths.
I did not have a Halloween party all through junior high. But the summer after ninth grade, I hit on the idea of conducting a séance in the playhouse at the end of the backyard. It was dark out there, and the half-finished wooden building was like something from a ghost town. I planned the séance carefully, with Nicoleâs help. The only part Nicole didnât help me with was the actual script. I spent several days writing it myself, laughing a lot, and kept the contents a secret from Nicole. Typically, she never tried to coerce me into telling her what was in it.
But Nicole was the brains behind the recording I made on Dadâs big, clunky tape recorder. Nicole created sound effects by coaxing weird noises out of various musical instruments and then making them weirder by speeding up or slowing down the tape. Nicole helped me figure out how to disguise my voice by speaking through an electric fan, which gave an effect of windy, echoing distance. But I didnât record the script until Nicole had gone home; I wanted the actual words to be a surprise for her as well as everybody else.
The day of the séance, Dad brought home a big piece of dry ice from the lab, which we kept in the freezer until the last moment. (The dry ice was Nicoleâs idea, too.) I carried a table out to the playhouse and, with several extension cords, set up the tape recorder under the table. I put a cauldronlike cast-iron pot on the table for the dry ice, and on one side of it I arranged a flashlight so the beam would hit my face from below. Nicole had loaned me some mascara, and I