5 Mystery Girl

It’s Friday afternoon. I’m a little bouncy and a little worried, like a ball without enough air. Tonight Dad is taking Charlie and me bowling and to a movie. That’s the bouncy part. Tomorrow, Charlie, Trevor, Heather and Lisa are coming to my party. And Aldeen. That’s the worried part.

Kids have found out about her beans and they start chanting at recess, like they used to.

Al-deen

Al-deen,

The great big purple

jumping bean.

Aldeen has a great big hairy fit and throws Melissa’s shoes on the roof.

When she gets back from being sent to the office, I’m so worried about my party that I forget to be afraid.

“Aldeen,” I whisper, “If you wreck my party tomorrow, I’ll...”

“You’ll what?” She pushes her glasses up with a grubby finger and stares at me.

I become the Incredible Shrinking Morgan.

“Never mind.”

That night, Charlie and I have tons of fun. Saturday morning I’m up way early. It’s like Christmas. It’s my party. I help put up streamers and balloons. I’m bouncier than they are. I help stuff goody bags. I wonder where the cake is.

Charlie, Heather, Trevor and Lisa show up at eleven, the way they’re supposed to. “Happy Birthday,” they say, the way you’re supposed to. They have boxes and bags for me, the way they’re supposed to. Some of them are big. I can hardly wait.

But I have to, because there’s no Aldeen. She’s late, late, late, the way you’re not supposed to be. We hit balloons at each other and jump on the couch.

“Maybe she’s not coming,” Heather says.

“Wouldn’t it be nice,” says Trevor.

There’s a knock on the door. I open it and there’s this girl. She’s all dressed up in a sweater and a plaid kilt and knee socks and black shoes, as if she’s going to church or something. Her hair is brushed and clipped back. She looks in and sees everyone and all the presents. She puts her hands behind her back.

“I’m here,” she says.

Back in the living room, someone snickers. The girl glares. It’s Aldeen, all right.