Ten (2 page)

“In a pig's eye,” Sandra said under her breath.

I looked at Mom, and my stomach flip-flopped as I caught a glimpse of Concerned Mom, who was closely related to My-Baby's-Gotten-So-Big Mom, who was closely related to Oh-Sweetie-I-Wish-I-Could-Keep-You-Safe-in-a-Jar-Forever Mom.

She smoothed her features. “You're your own self, that's all. You're
unique
.”

So much drama, for
that
?

“Well, of course, I'm unique,” I said. “That's why my name is Winifred.”

“Huh?” Sandra asked.

“Wi-ni-fred,”
I said again. “How many other Winifreds do you know, huh?” I didn't wait for a response. “None, that's how many, because Winifred is an extremely unique name.”

Ty clinked his fork on his plastic plate. “Tyler James Perry,” he announced, the
Perry
coming out as
Peh-wee
. “That's
my
cave name.”

“Your cave name?” Mom said. “What's a cave name?”

“You mean your
whole
name,” I told Ty. To Mom and Sandra, I said, “He doesn't mean his cave name. He means his whole name.”

They regarded me blankly.

“Oh, come on,” I said. “A hole, like a hole that you dig? And when it's in the ground, it's called a cave?”

“Ah,”
Mom said. “Clever girl, my Winnie.”

“That's me: clever, unique,
and
weird. And for the record? I like being me.”

“Which is lucky, since you're stuck with yourself,” Sandra said. She chomped off a bite of bagel. “Though
for the record
, Mom and Dad named you when you were just a baby, before you turned weird. And then later, you consciously decided to be weird, which is, itself, weird.”

“Nope, I was born this way,” I said.

She considered, then shook her head. “Nah. For a brief while you were normal. It was before you learned to talk.” She shrugged. “But hey, I'm cool with your being weird. You might have to walk ten paces behind me at the mall, that's all.”

“Oh, blah, blah, blah,” I said.

“I think I've made things more complicated than they need to be,” Mom said. She placed her hands on my shoulders. “All I wanted to say is that while being unique is wonderful, it can also be hard.”

“But—”

“I'm not saying it
will
be, just that it
might
be. On the other hand, growing up itself is hard.”

“Not for me, it's not. Growing up is awesome.”

Mom chuckled. “Well, all right. And do you know what, Winnie? You are an amazing girl, and whatever comes your way, I know you can handle it.”

“
Finally
, someone who's making sense around here!” I exclaimed. “And you're right, I can—and thank you for the lovely compliment. Thank you as well for my delicious breakfast, which you slaved over, and for my delicious chocolate milk, which you haven't poured yet, but which I know you will. Most of all, thank you for making me be born, and for naming me Winifred, and for letting me be unique.”

I paused, knowing there was something I was forgetting, but unable to put my finger on it. Then it came to me. “
Oh
. And I know Dad helped out, so tell him thanks, too.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Mom said. She leaned over and kissed my cheek. “And Winnie? You are very welcome.”

 

On Saturday, everyone pitched in to make our house look haunted, because that was the theme of my party. It was a haunted house party, with spiderwebs clinging to the ceiling and a fake black rat out front and scary
ooooo
sounds coming from a scary sounds CD Mom and Dad gave me, along with my own CD player. I'd asked for an iPod, but Mom and Dad were like, “Uhhhhh,
no
,” so a CD player it was. Okay by me!

The scary sounds CD was excellent, but the best part of the haunted house was in our basement. It involved dry ice, extreme spookiness, and Sandra in an awesome black velvet witch dress with an even awesomer pointy black velvet hat.

The whole caboodle was going to scare everybody's pants off. I couldn't wait.

Amanda arrived first, because she was my best friend, and that's the way it was supposed to be. And the reason she was my best friend was because she liked my ideas and laughed at my jokes and was willing to Rollerblade when the Rollerblading mood struck us, even though we were both pretty bad and fell a lot.

She was also my best friend because she was purely and truly
nice
, from her skin all the way through to her bones. If she was a color, she would be daffodil yellow. If she was a flower, well, she'd be a daffodil. If she was anyone other than Amanda, then I would miss the real Amanda terribly without even knowing it. I wouldn't laugh nearly as much, or be nearly as silly, and I wouldn't have an adopted cat named Sweet Pea, who wasn't mine and didn't live at my house, but whom I got to share. It would be dreadful.

Chantelle showed up next. While Amanda and I had been friends since forever, Chantelle had come onto the scene in third grade, and she'd quickly become our second-best friend. She loved things like clothes and purses and makeup, even though she wasn't allowed to wear any yet except in her own house, just for fun. For me, clothes and makeup had nothing to do with fun, and purses were downright antifun. Blech! Even the word
purse
made me grimace.

But Chantelle was more than a purse-lover. She was funny and feisty, and when she disapproved of something, she cocked her hip and said, “Oh, nuh-
uh
.” She also said, “How
rude
,” if someone was being rude, and she huffed out the rude part with extreme huffiness. It made me giggle, even if I was the one who was supposedly being rude.

Maxine arrived soon after Chantelle, followed by Louise and Karen. Karen was supposedly Louise's best friend, but she was more like Louise's pet, kind of. Even though she was a real live girl like the rest of us.

The last girl to be dropped off was Dinah Devine. Dinah was round and oatmealy and never got a tan, even in the summer. I didn't say that to be mean. Unless,
yikes
. Was it mean? I didn't dislike Dinah. She was just nervous a lot of the time. Sometimes I worried that she might . . . break. Or cry. Or smile really big with her mouth, but not her eyes.

But I had to invite her to my parties whether I wanted to or not, because Mom made me. Dad and Mr. Devine worked together, that's why.

Everyone deposited their presents in the TV room, and while they were there, they stopped by the tattoo station, which Dad was in charge of. He used a wet paper towel to apply either a tiny skull, a spider, or a black cat on each girl's cheek—or, in Louise's case, all three. That was Louise in a nutshell. She was the sort of girl who wanted it all.

Then again, I made Dad put all three designs on me as well. I got him to do me early, since I was the birthday girl, and actually I sort of ended up with multiple tattoos of each, including ten spiders (because I was ten!) marching up my arm in a line.

Like I said, I was the birthday girl.

After tattoos, I led everyone to the top of the basement staircase. I glanced around and hollered, “Amanda, your presence is required!”

I wanted her up front with me. It was another best-friend thing.

“Burst my eardrum next time,” Louise complained.

“Okay,” I said.

Amanda weaved her way to me, and I took her hand. Even without additional party spookiness, the basement was already plenty spooky because of how old and unmodern our house was. The stairs were creaky and clompish, and sometimes there were dead roaches on them. Built into the wall along the side of the staircase was a hidden trapdoor, and if you opened it, all you saw was
dirt
. It was like peeking into a coffin . . . or peeking
out
of a coffin.
Shudder
.

“Is everyone ready?” I said. “If you're not, this is the time to speak up, especially if you have high blood pressure, extreme scaredy-cat-ness, or a tendency to faint. And if you're pregnant, or think you
may
be pregnant, you'll need to consult with your doctor before proceeding.”

“Winnie,”
Amanda said, hip-bumping me.

“What?” I said. That's what the signs said at the rides at Six Flags. If only I owned a wooden cutout of a person holding up his hand to measure how tall kids were—that would have been hilarious! I could have placed it at the top of the staircase and made everyone get checked!

Oh, well. Next time.

Louise raised her hand.

“Yes, Louise?” I said.

“First of all, no, I'm not pregnant.”

“Thank you, Louise,” I said. “Thank you for clearing that up, even though I never actually thought you were.”

“But I don't understand this whole haunted-house thing. Haunted houses are for Halloween.”

Then why did you ask for three tattoos?
I was tempted to ask, and I would have if I, myself, weren't also tattooed to the hilt.

“Haunted houses
are
for Halloween,” I said. “You're right.”

“Then why—”

“However!” I cried, whipping one finger high into the air. “They're not
just
for Halloween, now are they?” I took that finger and pointed it dead at Louise. “Do you think ghosts just lollygag about for the three-hundred-and-sixtyfour days of the year that aren't Halloween?”

“Well—”

Jab went my finger. “Are witches not allowed out except on October thirty-first? Isn't that a little unfair?”

“I just—”

“Ex
act
ly,” I said. My finger was a sword, and I the swordsman.
Swordsgirl
. Whatever. “So let's just keep our Negative Nelly thoughts to ourselves, shall we?” I waggled my eyebrows. “Unless you're
too afraid
? Is
that
what you're trying to say, Louise?”

She gave me a look, because we both knew she wasn't. Louise wasn't as brave as I was, perhaps, but she was certainly no chicken. Once she faked being sick during PE because she didn't want to play dodgeball. She said, “Oh dear, I feel faint,” and she collapsed on the floor and didn't open her eyes even when people poked her. One girl even nudged Louise's ribs with her sneaker, and Louise still kept her eyes shut. And the girl with the sneaker was me.

I went back and forth between admiring Louise and finding her annoying. Often it was both.

“You are
so
weird, Winnie,” she pronounced from her spot at the top of the staircase.

Karen giggled,
and so did Chantelle
. My stomach muscles fluttered, because was this what Mom meant about how life might be hard for a girl like me? A girl who was her own self, that is, and thought haunted houses in March were fine?

I glanced past my friends, anxiously seeking out Mom. She was at the back of the group with Ty, and when our eyes met, she gave me a private, knowing smile.
We prefer the term *unique*, don't we?
her smile said
. Stand tall, my Winnie. You are fabulous, and I love you.

My chest swelled. I stood tall. Shifting my gaze back to Louise, I said, “Of course I'm weird. You're just now figuring that out?” I clapped twice. “Now, enough with the chitchat. This is serious business here, people.”

I started down the basement stairs. We passed the secret trapdoor, and Amanda said, “Inside that door, there's dirt.”

“Yep,” I confirmed.

A few feet farther, the stairwell curved to the left, and the inside edges of the stairs grew narrower than ever.

“If you need to, you can hold onto the wall for balance,” I said, demonstrating. The deeper we went, the cooler it got. The air smelled different, too.

At last I reached the bottommost stair. In front of me was the thick wooden door that led into the basement—or, as Mom and Dad called it,
the furnace room
. Because it wasn't a basement like normal people's basements. There were no Ping-Pong tables or flat-screen TVs or smooshy sofas. There was just . . .
dum dum dum
. . . the furnace: huge, ancient, and growly. And today, behind the furnace?

Sandra
, lying in wait in her full witchy glory.

My heart pounded, and I already knew what was coming.

I waited until everyone was clumped together. I put my hand on the brass doorknob. “Ready?”

“You already asked us that, and
yes
,” Louise said.

“I'm not,” Dinah said, squeezing up next to me and Amanda. Her skin was moist, and she had a big grin on her face. Her chest went up and down, up and down. “It's not going to be bad, is it?”

“Well, yes, I'm afraid it is.”

“No,” Mom called from the back of the crowd. She held Ty in her arms since the stairs were so trippable. “Don't worry, Dinah. It's just for fun.”

“
If
you consider terrible, scary things to be fun, she means.”

“Ha ha,” Dinah said. She honestly said those two words—
ha ha
, like that—and she tried to worm her hand in with mine and Amanda's. I shook her off, because three people can't hold hands. It doesn't work that way.

“You'll be fine, Dinah,” Mom called.

“Here goes nothing,” I announced. I twisted the knob, and we stepped as a many-footed creature into the nearly pitch-black room. The walls and floor were made out of concrete, like an underground cell. The only light came from the hallway behind us. In the far back corner, the furnace hissed.

“What's that?” Dinah squeaked.

“Oh . . .
nothing
,” I said, implying that it was far from nothing and might even eat her.