All I could think of was ipecac, which Anne gives to some sick kids to make them throw up their phlegm, thereby saving their lives. That was where I’d learned the wordexpectorant.
“Raspberry cordial,” Doug said, filling the silence. “And mousy pudding. It’s a marzipan mouse. From the scene where Miss Stacy comes over for dinner and the mouse accidentally gets into the dessert?” He looked hopefully at me.
“Sounds great,” I said bleakly, pulling my backpack onto my lap. “Do you mind if I eat my lunch first?”
“Go ahead. I’ll just”—he pointed behind him—“be in the kitchen.”
I inhaled my sandwich so quickly it gave me the hiccups, which made me think the ipecac might not have been such a bad thing.
“Here we are.” Doug bustled over to the table, handing me a goblet of dark pink juice. I swigged the whole thing at once, hoping to rid myself of the hiccups.
“It’s just juice,” he said uncertainly. “Nonalcoholic. Not like in the book.”
He was referring to the scene in which Anne and Diana, her best friend, accidentally get drunk on what they think is fruit juice. Diana’s mom blames Anne, forbidding the girls to see each other. It’s one of the worst tragedies of Anne’s life—losing her dearest friend.
To my horror, my eyes filled with tears. Then I hiccupped. Loudly.
Doug tactfully looked away. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Why, have you been talking to my parents?”
He shook his head. “I simply noticed that, ah—”
“I’m alone?”
“Yes, that and also—”
I closed my eyes. “I look like I’ve been crying.”
“Er, no. Well, yes. But it’s more than that. You seem ... blue.” He gestured to an empty chair. “May I?”
We sat in silence, Doug with his hands threaded in front of him on the table. I would have liked to eat the apple in my lunch, but it seemed rude with an audience. Also, I was still hiccupping.
“Here’s the thing, Mary. I’m not going to tell you it gets easier, or pretend you ever stop missing them,” Doug said. “Because it’s miserable to be alone. We both know that.”
“Uh, okay.” I wondered if that was the extent of his pep talk.
“But you have to keep hope alive. Like me and Noreen.”
This wasn’t the first time Doug had brought up his relationship woes in front of me, but usually one of my parents was around to serve as a buffer. I thought of reminding him that I was barely sixteen but had a feeling it wouldn’t make much difference.
“I made up my mind a long time ago to stand firm. Keep the dream alive. Whatever it takes, that’s what I do.” He sniffled and I desperately hoped it wasn’t a precursor to tears. If he started, I was sure to crumble, and I still had to walk the rest of the way home.
“Like what?” I asked, hoping to shift the conversation onto less mawkish ground.
“I wrote her a letter. Put my heart on the line. Told her I’d be here, faithfully, waiting.”
Many people would have been swayed by that level of devotion. Sadly, Noreen was not among them. In my experience, displeasure was pretty much her defining characteristic. “What did she say?”
He became very interested in a crusty blotch on his half apron. “Don’t know. I’m still waiting.”
“How long has it been?”
Doug sighed. “Coming up on six years.”
Wednesday it snowed all morning, big fluffy flakes that blanketed the world in white. Unfortunately for me, there wasn’t enough accumulation to cancel school. On the way to third period I caught a glimpse of Arden in the distance, wearing a burgundy scarf I’d never seen before. It clashed wonderfully with her hair. I would have loved to tell her so, instead of concealing myself behind a bank of lockers until she passed out of sight. Had she and Lydia mended the breach in their friendship? Perhaps they’d united against a common enemy. Namely: me. I would probably never know.
Later that afternoon, I was slipping along the haphazardly shoveled sidewalks of my neighborhood when a door closed on the opposite side of the street. Dropping to a crouch, I peered around the bumper of a parked car as Alex exited his piano teacher’s house. He paused to adjust his winter gear. Had everyone in the universe gotten a new scarf except me? His was black. Like his mood, perhaps.
