“Please open the milk, EllWay,” Alfie says, staring hard at the find-the-mistakes cartoon on the back of her cereal box. “It’s glued shut. How are we supposed to dwink it?”
“Okay,” I say, prying open the container of milk and pushing it toward her. I barely look up from the comics I am reading.
Friday was full of Cynthia Harbison’s scowls and whispers as she tried to get kids to vote on how bad I am, and how I “owe” her. But now it is Saturday morning, which means no school for two whole days.
Just in time, too. That was one rough week back there.
But Saturday mornings are always fun for Alfie and me. Mom and Dad sleep late, and Alfie and I are allowed to eat one big bowl of whatever cereal we want, even the kinds Mom won’t let us eat any other day of the week. I’m in charge of pouring the milk. Then we get to watch cartoons or a DVD until ten o’clock, if we don’t argue.
Alfie’s cereal milk is pink this morning, and mine is kind of chocolate-y.
“Oh, guess what?” Alfie asks, looking up with a big smile on her face—and a line of pink milk crawling down her chin.
“What?” I say.
“Suzette’s coming over to play today,” Alfie says. “Yay!” she adds, I guess to show me how happy she is about this terrible news.
“Suzette Monahan?” I ask, almost dropping my spoon. “The same Suzette who threw torn-up paper in your hair and said you had to be the meanest kid in day care from now on? Bossy Suzette?”
“Um-hmm,” Alfie says, nodding. “Suzette’s my friend again,” she explains, still smiling big-time.
Mom hasn’t fixed Alfie’s hair for the day yet, so Alfie is still looking a little random, but cute—not that I’m going to tell her that. That’s all she needs.
“I thought Suzette was mad at you,” I say. “You know, for telling her she was gonna die some day and get buried in a plastic container in the back- yard.”
“Or flushed down the toilet,” Alfie adds, nodding again. “But she forgived me, because I apologized.”
“What about you?” I ask, not bothering to correct her grammar, because what’s the use? She’s four. “Did you forgive her?”
“What for?” Alfie asks, after shoveling some more cereal into her mouth and thinking about my question.
“For saying that she got to be the cute one in day care now, and you had to be the mean one,” I remind her.
“I decided to forget about that,” Alfie tells me, like it never mattered in the first place. “Because I want to be Suzette’s friend again more than I want to stay mad. So she’s coming over. Yay!” she cheers again.
And what I want to know is this. Since when did Alfie become so forgiving? Like I have mentioned before, she is usually a very stubborn kid.
1. For example, Alfie got so mad at Mom once for not buying her this fancy doll at Target that she ran away to the front yard that afternoon. She even hung her favorite clothes on the fence using little white hangers.
2. Also, when she first started day care, Alfie wore her shirts backward for two whole weeks—no matter what anyone said. She said she thought the shirts looked better that way.
3. And a few weeks ago, Dad got so fed up with Alfie about her picky eating that he said she had to finish her peas before she could leave the dinner table. Alfie sat there all alone after dinner for more than one hour, gagging whenever she even looked at those peas. And she’d probably still be sitting there if I hadn’t sneaked back into the dining room and eaten the whole pile of cold, wrinkled peas for her.
But Alfie can forgive terrible Suzette Monahan just like that? Suzette, who snooped around in my room while I was out the last time she came to play? I could tell! Suzette, who told my mom the last time she came over that she wanted McDonald’s for her snack, not the oatmeal cookies Mom had just finished baking? Suzette, who has this thing about Alfie’s hair—just because it’s different from hers?
My sister’s hair is lots prettier, by the way.
“Did Suzette at least apologize to you?” I ask Alfie, thinking about how hard it would be for me to forgive Cynthia, for instance. Unless Cynthia said she was sorry for making my life miserable, which she never would.
“Kind of,” Alfie says. “She said I could be the funny girl in day care, instead of the mean girl. But she still gets to be the cute one.”
“You’re way cuter than she is,” I inform my little sister. “And don’t get stuck-up, but I’m not just saying that. What time is Suzette coming over?” I ask, scooping up another bite of cereal—and planning my getaway, because NO WAY am I going to be in this house when Suzette Monahan is here. I think I’m allergic to her, the way some kids are to peanuts.
“Before lunch,” Alfie says, dribbling some more pink cereal milk down her chin. “Mommy’s gonna go get her.”
I hand Alfie a clean napkin. “Well, you guys have to stay out of my room this time,” I tell her. “Because I’m going to be over at Corey’s. Or Kevin’s,” I say, correcting myself when I remember that Corey probably has a swim meet this weekend—or, at the very least, practice. Swimming is the only thing Corey ever does in his spare time. I think his parents need him to be best at something. More than Corey needs to be the best, I mean.
“But me and Suzette were gonna make a pretend store in the backyard,” Alfie says, her spoon drooping. “And I wanted you to come buy stuff, EllWay.”
“I’ll give you a quarter,” I tell her fast. “And you can buy some things for me, okay? And put them outside my room. But pretend there’s an invisible lock on the door.”
“Is there?” Alfie asks, her eyes huge.
“Not really,” I admit, because for some reason, I don’t like to lie to my little sister. It’s too easy, for one thing. What would be the point? “But pretend there’s a lock, okay, Alfie? Because there’s such a thing as privacy.”
“Okay,” Alfie says. “Hey,” she says, looking at her imaginary wristwatch and smiling again, “it’s almost time for our cartoons to start!”
“Yeah,” I say. “Go turn on the TV, but not too loud. I’ll rinse our bowls.”
“Okay,” Alfie says, and POOF. She’s gone.