Thursday, October 28, 1993

A

nnie had changed.

Nothing overt or dramatic. Not anything Nora could name. But she was different: slightly removed at lunch, a tad distant when they sat together on the bus. Even on the phone. In fact, unlike in the past, Nora seemed to be the only one making the calls, and the calls were shorter, less confidential, as if Annie was just going through the motions of talking, skimming over who wore what and which girls liked what boys.

Annie’s aloofness ate at Nora. So, she decided to appease Annie by answering the question Annie had been asking for weeks and admitted that she liked Bobby Baxter. But Annie hadn’t seemed to care. Worse, she hadn’t reciprocated. She had left Nora hanging with a secret exposed.

Annie was shutting her out.

That night, Nora lay in bed, worrying about her friendship. She comforted herself by thinking about the past. The good times: Annie taking her that first time up to that bathroom cluttered with her sisters’ towels, hairdryers, brushes and lotions. Annie’s fingers gently steering the skinny disposable razor through the mounds of foam on Nora’s legs, under her arms. Annie dabbing purple shadow onto Nora’s eyelids or teaching her to slow dance. Even now, she could hear Michael Bolton. How was she supposed to live without Annie?

Nora turned onto her side, forced her eyes closed, but the memories kept coming. Annie telling her about kissing. Instructing her.

“Keep your lips soft and a little open in case he wants to put his tongue in.” She’d shown her. Nora had said, “Ew.” Annie had laughed, called her a baby, and demonstrated, first on Nora’s hand, then on her mouth. And laughed some more.

Nora had learned Annie’s cool way to laugh, head back and nostrils flaring. She’d learned to wear Annie’s amused, knowing hint of a smile while others talked. To walk with Annie’s nonchalant, unhurried swing to her hips. Annie was her guide, her role model. Without Annie, Nora would still be that awkward girl wearing the totally wrong kind of clothes and childish style of hair, standing at the side of the room, saying the totally wrong things—if she even had anyone to say them to. If she lost Annie, she lost everything.

All because of Tommy.

Nora tossed. She rearranged her pillow. How was she supposed to fix things? It wasn’t her fault Tommy had taken those pictures. She couldn’t undo what he’d done, and she’d apologized a hundred times. What else could she do? She wanted to talk to Annie about it but getting her alone wasn’t easy. At school, kids always clustered around. On the bus, other people could hear. And on the phone, Annie had been distant. She needed to see Annie’s face, to have Annie see hers. It was her only hope.

The next morning, Nora left for school without breakfast, her homework unfinished because she’d been unable to concentrate. Her chest felt raw, her stomach twisted. She went to school in a wounded haze, waiting for an opportunity. Finally, between English and Math, she saw Annie at her locker.

“Can we talk?” Her voice was paper thin, too high-pitched.

“What’s up?” Annie waved to some girls walking by, then worked the combination on her locker door.

“Nothing. It’s just…”

Annie’s locker door swung open. She knelt, putting books in, stuffing others into her bookbag.

“Is something wrong?”

“Wrong?” Annie stood.

“I mean, it seems like, I don’t know. Are you mad at me?”

Annie stepped up to Nora, their noses inches apart. “Hmm. Let me think. Why would I be mad?”

Of course she was mad. What a stupid question. Nora went on blabbering, sounding dumber and dumber. “It wasn’t my fault. And I said I was sorry.”

“Sorry’s worth shit.”

Nora couldn’t breathe, felt punched. Her body wanted to cave in on itself.

“We could do what he said and talk to Craig.”

“Are you serious? Do you know Craig at all? If we tell him to lay off your brother, he’ll want to know why. And I’m sure not telling him. Besides, it would probably backfire. Instead of easing up, Craig would beat the shit out of him. Which wouldn’t upset me at all. But then, who knows what he’d do with the pictures.”

Nora bit her lip. “So, no Craig.”

“Of course not.” Annie’s voice became a hiss. “Nobody finds out about this, Nora. Not Craig, not anybody.” Her face hardened, and her eyes turned to ice. “Look, it’s been four days. You haven’t done shit. What’s so complicated? Why’s it taking so long? You want me not to be mad? Get those pictures. All of them. And the negatives.”

Nora could barely make a sound. “I’ll try.”

“Trying’s crap.”

“I’ll get them.”

“Good. Bring them to my sleepover Saturday.”

“Sleepover?”

“Come around eight.”

The locker door slammed and Annie sauntered off, waving to some eighth-grade boys.

Nora stayed behind, absorbing the news: Annie had almost not invited her to her sleepover. Had almost not mentioned it. Annie was going to drop her unless she could get Tommy’s pictures. But once she got them and gave them to Annie, things would be normal again. She and Annie would go back to how they’d been. They would. For sure.