“That was, by far, the best ice cream sundae I’ve ever had in my life.” I clutch my stomach and pretend I’m about to fall over. “I’m going to explode.”
Claudia pokes me like I’m the Pillsbury Doughboy, but instead of giggling, I let out a moan. “Good thing you don’t like cherries,” she says. “That would have put you over the top. Also, I’m going to say it again—who doesn’t like cherries? They’re the best fruit ever.”
I wrinkle my nose and shake my head. “No way. They taste way too sweet.” I point my finger at her face. “I’ll never understand how you like onions. They taste gross and they make you cry. Can’t you see that nature is telling you to stay away?”
“Well, I guess I’m just a rebel.” Claudia shakes her head and her long brown hair swishes around her shoulders. Claudia has the best hair ever, even though she complains all the time about how curly it is. I’d swap my straight, fine, limp, totally blah blond hair for her lion’s mane any day. Last year, when my cousin Susanna got married, I spent almost an hour sitting in the hairdresser’s chair, making small talk about the weather and my grades while she curled my hair. It looked totally cute. Until fifteen minutes later, when the curls came out and my hair was as straight as ever.
Not fair at all.
“Oh yeah, you’re totally a rebel.” I poke her back. “Miss Won’t Answer a Question Without Raising Her Hand in Class.”
“I don’t want to get in trouble!” Claudia exclaims. “It’s one of the class rules.”
I nod authoritatively. “See? You’re the anti-rebel.”
“Fiiiiine.” Claudia drags out the word, but she still gives me a silly smile. “You’re my partner in crime, though. Well, anti-crime.”
I smile back, but mine definitely isn’t a silly one. Because even though Claudia is right that I’m a total rule follower (I never take even one step outside the “designated outdoor lunch zone” in the school courtyard), today I don’t feel that way.
Today, when the girls invited me out for ice cream, I didn’t text Dad to tell him where I was going, even though I know I’m supposed to.
Today, I figure it’s okay to break the rules. After all, Mom has barely followed any family rules in the past year. If she can do it, then so can I.
I still stuff down a twinge of guilt at the thought of Dad sitting at home, waiting and worrying. Because I know that Mom hasn’t come home early. I know my imagination is making up its own fairy tale.
I just have a little twinge of guilt, though, and there’s so much other stuff hanging out in my brain that I can easily hide it. Like one more box in a dusty attic I’m trying to forget about.
I do need to take care of one of those boxes, though. I take a deep breath and turn toward Claudia, the words already forming in my mind: So, remember how I told you that my mom was on a business trip? That’s not actually what’s going on …
I open my mouth, but before I can say anything, Claudia starts talking.
“Hey, Veronica?”
“Yeah?” I’m still busy thinking of how I want to disclose the truth.
“Um, can we talk?”
“Sure, yeah.” I wave at the cloudless blue sky above us and the playground on the other side of the street, the one where we met when we were three years old and our parents brought us to playgroup there. “We are talking.”
“No, like I mean seriously talk.”
“Oh.” I slow to a stop, then turn to face Claudia. Does she already know what’s going on? My stomach both drops and rises thinking about it, like my entire body is a roller coaster.
“Cool.” Claudia has stopped, too. “So, ah…” Her voice trails off, and she tilts her head back to stare at that cloudless blue sky. “My mom and dad are separating.”
She’s still not meeting my eyes.
“They told us this morning,” she says. “Me and Jamie, I mean. Over breakfast. I was eating my eggs like normal and BAM!” Claudia finally looks at me. There are tears in her eyes. “Dad’s moving into a hotel room until he can find an apartment. Mom was crying when I left for school.”
I reach out and grab her hand. I squeeze it hard, trying to send my best friend love through our clasped fingers.
“I don’t know what to do.” Claudia sniffles. “What if I did something to make them hate each other?” Her lips tremble, and even with her bright pink sneakers and beaded rainbow bracelet, my best friend looks muted, like she’s a color picture morphed into black and white.
“You didn’t do anything,” I say softly, then reach out for a hug. “Do you want to talk about it?”
It’s the question I wish Mom and Dad had asked me the other day, when they sat me down for my own life-altering news. I would have answered with a no, of course, but it would have been nice if they asked. Because sometimes, talking just makes things worse. Sometimes it helps to block out the world for awhile, to retreat into a cocoon of safety and spend a bit more time as a caterpillar.
Because as awesome as being a butterfly seems, change isn’t always a good thing.
“Not now.” Claudia shakes her head. “Can we just … walk? Maybe swing?” She points toward the playground, where two swings sit empty.
I smile. “Definitely!”
We walk over and sit down on the sun-warmed swings. Claudia doesn’t need to know about my mom’s troubles. That’s too much stress for one person to deal with. Plus, Mom will be better soon anyway, so it’s no big deal if I keep this little bit of information from Claudia.
I tilt my head back, kick my feet up, and gaze at the sky.
Then I fly into the cloudless world above me.