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I’m sorry that your hair has bugs in it. Sorry for the bugs, that is. I’m sorry that I have to look at your crooked teeth. I’m sorry you smell like dirty underwear. I’m mostly sorry that no one saw you shove Linnea first and that the brick wall couldn’t get out of the way fast enough from your giant nose.

Sincerely,

Ulla Bergstrom

When the principal read it, he said, “Write a proper apology letter.” But Ulla outlasted him by fourteen days, staring at him dead-eyed, tapping her fingers on the chair to annoy him, until he gave up and said she could return.

Instead of returning to recess, the girls found hiding places in the janitor’s closet and played clapping games: Miss Mary Mack, The Spades, Miss Suzy, and Double Double. They usually had to slap a hand over the other’s mouth to muffle their explosive giggles amongst the noxious aroma of mold and bleach. Linnea’s warm, moist breath on Ulla’s palm sent shivers, right to the sensitive dip in her stomach.

Ulla also became Linnea’s mouthpiece in class. When Mrs. America asked Linnea to name the state capital of South Dakota, it was Ulla who responded, “Linnea says, ‘Pierre.’” Mrs. America, with her thin smile would say, “Thank you, Ulla, but Linnea needs to speak for herself.”

“Fifty-six,” Ulla replied when Linnea was asked eight times seven.

“Thank you, Ulla, but Linnea can speak for herself.”

Ulla expelled a loud sigh one day and said, “Of course she can speak for herself. But she doesn’t want to.” It made no sense why Mrs. America, or any adult for that matter, thought it so important that Linnea speak for herself. Especially when Ulla could do it for her.

But when they were alone, when Linnea would tag along to Curlers’ junkyard, she chattered as if she’d stored up words for seven hours. She and Ulla would climb into the steel and metal carcasses and invent stories about their previous owners. “This one died in a train accident speeding to the airport to pick up his girlfriend. You can see the blood spatters on the seat.” Or, “Some kids took their mom’s car and crashed it; see the marker stains?”

Ulla would hand Linnea a pair of safety goggles to watch her with a cutting torch undo the bolts on engines and transmissions. If the engine was shot, Ulla dismantled it further into the carburetor and distributor. Sometimes she placed them into labeled bins for Curlers’ customers that came and sifted through, looking for parts. Other times, she kept them for herself.

“Why do you like cars so much?” Linnea asked as they scraped snow off a totaled Chrysler De Soto.

“I like knowing how machines work. And my mom is good with them.”

“Can you drive?” Linnea asked.

“Curlers lets me do it, and my mom sometimes when she’s free. When I’m old enough, I’ll drive the wrecker and sort the cars by make and model like my mom does. Curlers said she’ll pay me then.”

“Will you teach me to drive?”

Ulla nodded, smiling. “Curlers promised that whatever car I build, it’s mine.”

“I bet you’ll do it. By the time we’re sixteen. And then we’ll be free.” Linnea flung her arms and lifted her face to the winter sunshine.

Ulla’s heart squeezed at the declaration. We.

Chapter Nineteen

October 1981

Four Years Later

Ulla

At lunchtime, in seventh grade, the day of Wiley Gardner’s Halloween party, Everett Barnes announced he was moving to New York after Thanksgiving.

Ulla snapped her gaze sideways to Linnea who’d stalled the milk carton halfway to her mouth. She watched Linnea’s fantasy swirl down the drain. The fantasy of “going steady” with Everett, her longtime crush. Ulla had no clue what Linnea saw in his over-styled hair and buck teeth, but there would be no holding hands in the hallways, no kisses in the alleyway behind the school property or under the bleachers, no shared love notes⁠—

And no pushing your best friend to the wayside.

Ulla hid her smile and shoved down her glee.

“Dude, that sucks,” said Wiley. “Can I come with you?” Wiley was Everett’s best friend and counterpart when it came to tall and gangly, except Wiley’s skin was so pale, it made his spiky hair look darker than it was, and his crudeness made Everett’s manners look princely. Wiley would ask girls if they knew how to French kiss in elementary school, and if they slapped his arm, he said that was code for wanting to hump. Ulla was convinced Wiley had no idea what French kissing was back then, let alone humping.

Ulla and Linnea had somehow become tolerable this year to their classmates when transitioning to Mora’s 7-12th secondary school. It was the boys who clamored for Ulla to sit with them at the popular table, and Ulla, not caring less if she sat with them, or anyone besides Linnea, knew how much it meant to Linnea to not be the butt of her peers’ jokes anymore.

Ulla watched Linnea’s eyes brim, and said, “Everett, maybe you could write to us. Although, Linney’s better about writing back. So you might as well just write to her.” Linnea reached under the table and squeezed Ulla’s knee. It was a gesture of thank-you, but it made Ulla’s stomach cartwheel.