Chapter Fourteen

The day of the party dawned bright and clear. Isabelle bounded out of bed, wrote PARTY! for the fifth time on her blackboard, then bounded downstairs.

Isabelle’s mother stood at the sink, stabbing at a floating eggshell. “What time’s the movie let out?”

“I can walk home,” Philip said.

“Where’s he going?” Isabelle rested her elbows on the table.

“It’s none of your business!” Philip shot one of his laser-beam stares at her, guaranteed to cut her in half.

“There’s a bunch of people going. We’ll walk home together.”

“Does he have a date?” Isabelle asked her mother.

Philip’s face went from pink to red to purple. Once, years ago, Philip had had a tantrum. He might be having another, Isabelle thought, shivering in anticipation.

“Shut your face,” he ordered, from the corner of his mouth.

“I forgot,” he said, remembering. “Billy’s brother is picking us up when it’s over.”

“Is he the one who’s been arrested for speeding?”

“No, that’s Chuck’s brother,” Isabelle said. “He plays cool disco,” and she did a brief disco dance to illustrate.

Philip unclenched his hands and went for Isabelle’s throat.

“Good morning.” Isabelle’s father, all suited up for work, greeted his happy little family. “What’s up?” he asked, snapping open his newspaper, reaching for his coffee.

“Philip has a date,” Isabelle said. “With a girl.”

Philip made a gargling noise. Isabelle picked up her bowl and drank the remaining milk. No one told her not to. This day was off to a fine start. Invigorated, she jogged outside, looking for Guy. He wasn’t there. She jogged all the way to school, turning now and then to see if he was following her. He wasn’t in the playground either. Just as well. She still hadn’t come up with a solution. After the party she would. She promised herself she would.

“Class, we all know today is the big sendoff for Sally,” Mrs. Esposito said. “Tomorrow, we’re going to hold an election to see who will fill Sally’s shoes.” Chauncey stuck one leg straight up in the air and wiggled his foot. Everybody laughed, then looked at Sally. She only smiled and bent over her book. Sally Smith was a star. She not only was art editor, she was lots of other things. Everyone wanted to be Sally Smith.

Mary Eliza flipped back her hair and preened like a peacock. Isabelle studied her Adidas. Sally’s feet were small and hers were big. Still, she knew she could fill Sally’s shoes nicely. It would be grand to be an art editor. Even if she didn’t know what one did.

“Each of you is allowed one vote,” Mrs. Esposito went on. “Drop your votes in here,” and she pointed to the box on her desk. It was the box that served as a Valentine box on Valentine’s Day, and it had a large, faded red heart pasted on its front.

“I want you to vote for the person you think will do the best job,” Mrs. Esposito told them. “Don’t vote for yourself unless you’re prepared to work hard.” A wave of snickers rolled over the room. Isabelle shot one of her laser beams in Mary Eliza’s direction. But Mary Eliza was so busy looking modest, she didn’t notice.

The party got off to a good start. Chauncey kicked a soccer ball which landed smack in Mary Eliza’s mouth, jarring her retainer and sending blood spurting down her chin. Mary Eliza was brave and poor Chauncey felt terrible. When the excitement had died down, refreshments were served. Isabelle’s mother’s cupcakes were a big hit. Isabelle was extremely proud of her mother and told everyone whose cupcakes they were. The high spot was when Mrs. Malone brought out a large chocolate three-layer cake with FAREWELL, SALLY written on it in pink icing.

“Here, Sally,” she said, handing Sally a cake knife, “you do the honors.”

With a big smile, Sally cut the first slice. Then, to everyone’s amazement, she burst into tears.

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Malone said. “What’s wrong, dear? Do you feel all right?”

“I feel fine,” Sally blubbered. “It’s just that I hate to move. I’m sad about leaving. I don’t want to go.”

Isabelle was dismayed by Sally’s tears. She didn’t think Sally ever cried. Sally was a leader. Leaders didn’t cry.

“Nothing will ever be as nice as here,” Sally snuffled. “This is the best place in the world. Nothing will be as much fun.”

“Don’t worry, Sally,” Isabelle said. “You’ll make friends. I bet you’ll be the art editor at your new school. I bet you’ll be the best speller and the best in arithmetic, too.”

“I don’t want to be a baby,” Sally said. “But I couldn’t help it.”

“I’ll miss you,” Isabelle whispered at the edge of Sally’s ear. “You are my friend, Sally. You are the best person in the entire world. You are the best …” she paused, trying to think of other comforting words to offer Sally. Herbie arrived and stepped hard on Isabelle’s Adidas.

“Knock it off,” Herbie said, scowling. “We’re having a game of musical chairs, so come on and stop being a jerk.”

Musical chairs! Isabelle’s favorite. All the pushing and shoving! Lovely.

“Come on, Sally,” and Isabelle dragged her new friend’s hand and pulled her into the game.

Isabelle had never even been to Sally’s house. She had not been invited to Sally’s birthday party, which took place in Sally’s rec room. Sally had one toe out the door, so to speak, and here they were, best friends. She promised to write her every day.

That night, before lights out, Isabelle wrote on her blackboard SALLY SMITH IS COOL. SALLY SMITH IS MY PEN PAL. SALLY SMITH IS MY NEW BEST FRIEND.

And underneath, written in letters so small she had to push her nose against the blackboard to read them, Isabelle wrote: YEAH! ISABELLE. NEW ART ED. OF THE BEE. YEAH!