Avalanche Dance (10 page)

“Come on, it’ll be fun.”

And with delicious trepidation, Gwen would hide with Molly in the bushes at the side of the road, breathing through her mouth to avoid the stench of the rotting salmon they’d found at the beach, and then, at the sound of car wheels, haul back and – “One, two, three!” – heave it at the approaching car and streak back through the woods, squealing with laughter. One time it turned out to be a cop car!

So it went. Sleepovers and stupid jokes and secret languages. Lost teeth and backyard camping, sleeping curled like two spoons.

Sure, there were other friends. Tall, hefty Susie, who loved to play house, with herself as the mama, petite Gwen as the delicate child, and, grudgingly, when necessary, Molly as the unruly sibling. Danny, who led scavenges on the beach and knew every seashell and barnacle, who taught them to fish, and could even gut and split their catch and roast it over a rock-ringed beach fire while Gwen and Molly picked wild blueberries for dessert.
Carley and Janelle, who joined Gwen in dancing out through the studio door after class, practicing their new dance down the sidewalk, Carley laughing at her own mistakes – “Reach left, reach right, and then what? Oh, yeah, sail turn … . Oops, sorry, Gwen”; and Janelle, small and sprightly, whose short brown hair framed a thin, fox-like face, and who, Gwen knew, was secretly jealous of her for being Mrs. Truman’s favorite because Gwen danced with her whole being and Janelle, with her beautifully pointed feet and erect back, merely danced correctly.

Good friends, all. Good friends whom Gwen played with at the playground and invited to all her birthday parties, and who filled the space when Molly went to Vancouver to visit her grandparents. But it was always Gwen and Molly.

One day a year earlier, in the spring of grade seven, the two were strolling together at recess while Gwen told Molly about a show she’d seen, starring a scruffy, wirey-haired mutt whom no one wanted, who barked to alert everyone about a drowning child and became a hero.

“And they put up a statue of him and everything,” Gwen finished. “Chester the Lifesaving –”

Molly nudged her. She nodded toward a group of boys who were roughhousing, trying to wrestle each other to the ground. Gwen looked, expecting Molly to say, “Look at those jerks.” Instead Molly said, “You think Jake’s cute?”

Gwen looked at her in astonishment. “Jake? Jake Tyler?”

“Yeah.”

“No! I think he’s stupid.”

Molly giggled. It was a giggle Gwen had never heard from her before, a girlish giggle out of the movies. “Well, I think he’s cute.”

“Yuck!”

“Oh, come on, Gwennie, don’t be a baby. We’re supposed to like boys.”

Gwen looked away. It was no secret that Molly was more developed than she was. Half a year older – Molly had turned thirteen already – half a head taller, she had grown breasts and started wearing a bra months before, while Gwen remained utterly flat-chested. Molly even had regular periods, and made a big deal out of it, lying with a heating pad for the cramps, retiring to the bathroom every half hour, it seemed, to change her pad.

But a crush on a boy! And not just any boy, but loud, showoffy Jake Tyler, who already had hair under his arms and who snuck up behind girls and snapped their bras – those who had them.

Gwen looked at Molly out of the corner of her eye. Molly’s face was flushed, and she kept glancing at Jake as if willing him to look at her.

“I like boys,” Gwen said defensively, thinking of Percy, and little Paul next door, and even Danny, who was more like a brother to her than – well, than
that
.

“Yeah, right,” Molly said, rolling her eyes. “Like Percy?”

Caught, Gwen couldn’t help but smile. “Well … yeah.” She burst out laughing, and Molly laughed with her, the two of them doubling over with mirth, just like always. But there was something shrill in Molly’s laughter.

A month later, on a Saturday afternoon, Molly called. “Meet me in the clearing. I’ve got a surprise.”

Gwen hurried to the meeting place, the clearing between her lot and Sally and Simon’s. A huge old cedar stump stood in the middle of it, with a flat top that had often served as their table for picnics, or as a stage on which Gwen danced, or as a perch where they sat with their legs dangling down and tried out names for their future children, two for Molly and two sets of twins for Gwen.

Molly met her with an expectant smile. She wiggled out a cough syrup bottle from her jeans pocket. Only it didn’t hold cough syrup, Gwen saw, but a clear liquid.

“Check this out,” Molly said, unscrewing the lid.

“What is it?”

“Gin.”

“Gin!”

“Sh!” Molly glanced around.

“Where’d you get it?”

“My parents’ liquor cabinet.” Molly grinned.

“Do they know?”

“Of course not, you idiot. Here, try some.” She held out the bottle.

Gwen shook her head. “No, thanks.”

“Come on, Gwen, it’s not going to kill you.” Molly took a gulp herself and held out the bottle again. “Come on, it’s fun.”

Gwen took a small sip. It was bitter, like medicine, only without the sugar to hide the taste, and it burned going down. She coughed. “Yuck! It’s gross.”

Molly giggled. “Yeah, it
tastes
bad … but it makes you
feel
good.” She drank again.

When she offered the bottle once more, Gwen shook her head. “That stuff is awful.”

Molly shrugged and took another sip. “Suit yourself.” She told Gwen how, the night before, her parents had had some friends over for dinner. Molly, helping to clear the table, had snuck a taste from each of the glasses.

“It made me tipsy,” she said with a laugh, drinking again. The cough syrup bottle was now nearly empty. “So after my parents went to bed, I snuck downstairs and snitched some out of one of the bottles.”

Her breath smelled ripe, and her eyes were beginning to glaze over.

“Come on, Gwen, have some more.”

“No,” Gwen said. “And I don’t think you should either.”

Molly looked at her blearily. “God, you’re no fun.”

“What, because I don’t want to get drunk?”

“I’m not drunk,” Molly said. “I’m just … fooling around.”

“You look drunk to me.”

“That’s because you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, count me out.”

“God, you are such a wimp.”

“I am not!” Gwen felt tears start to well up in her eyes.

“You are so. ‘No, I shouldn’t. You shouldn’t.’“ Molly mimicked a whiny little-girl voice.

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s true. If you don’t want to have fun –” She stopped.

“What?”

Molly flushed. “Then I’ll find someone who does!” She stomped out of the clearing.

The next day, at recess, Molly hung out with Nikki – Nikki whom everyone whispered about, Nikki who apparently smoked and drank and had parties with her older brother Zach while their mother was out half the night.

Kicking a soccer ball with Susie and Carley, Gwen tried not to look at Molly’s head bent close to Nikki’s, the two of them veering close to the boys, calling out gibes that Gwen couldn’t hear, laughing when the boys called back.

Gwen’s stomach tightened. Was Nikki more fun than she was?

They made up. Of course they made up. Molly came over and they spent the whole weekend together, just the two of them, exploring on the beach and baking cookies and doing each
other’s hair. Just like best friends.

Little by little, though, other friends began to whisper. One day Susie said, “I saw Molly behind the store the other day. Smoking a joint.”

“She was not!” Gwen said, though she had no idea if it was true.

“She was, Gwen. Her and Nikki. I smelled it.”

Susie’s face was a mask of concern, but Gwen saw a thin gleam of satisfaction there, too. Gwen turned away.

For the spring school dance that year, Gwen wore new denim capris and a blousy, pink, scooped-neck top. She put on dangly silver earrings, then carefully applied mascara and pink lip gloss in front of her bedroom mirror, wiping away the excess with toilet paper so she wouldn’t look too made-up.

When she came downstairs, her father threw his hands in the air. “Bridget, come and see the young woman your daughter has turned into.”

“Dad,” Gwen said, rolling her eyes, secretly pleased.

When Gwen and her dad picked Molly up, she came out in skintight jeans and a formfitting tank top that showed the curve of her breasts and lots of midriff. Her eyes were outlined in thick black, her lashes caked in mascara.

At first, Molly hung out with Gwen, Susie, Janelle, and Carley near the refreshments table while they waited for the music to start. A group of kids fiddled with a CD player, bursts of music
filling the room, then cutting out. Girls and guys huddled in separate groups, eyeing each other. A balloon fell from the basketball hoop, and up-stretched hands batted it around the room.

Molly leaned close to Gwen. “Jake looks hot, eh?”

Gwen looked to where Jake, in baggy jeans and spiked hair, lounged with his friends. “Yeah, I guess so,” trying to sound like she meant it.

Molly giggled. “I’m just going over to say hi.” She squeezed through the crowd.

“Why doesn’t she forget about the top and just go in her bra?” Janelle said into Gwen’s ear.

Gwen turned sharply. “That’s my best friend you’re talking about, Janelle.”

Janelle blushed, darting a glance at Susie and Carley.

A moment later, Gwen saw Molly standing with Nikki, whose outfit – the tight jeans and skimpy top – was so identical that it had to have been planned. A stab of jealousy pricked her. Why had Molly coordinated her outfit with Nikki, and not with her?

Gwen danced with Danny, who looked ill at ease with his hair slicked back. Once she caught him staring at her with such an odd expression that she wondered if he felt all right, and then thought maybe it was – Could it be? Her old buddy Danny? – and felt so funny that she nearly stumbled. She danced in a mob with her girlfriends, and then with Danny again, and drank more soda and ate more chips than she had in a year.

Although Gwen tried not to look for Molly, her eyes couldn’t
help seeking her out. All evening Molly hung out with Nikki. They whispered, checked their makeup in small mirrors, shimmied to the fast songs, slow-danced with Jake and his pals. Once Gwen saw Molly and Nikki slip out the gym doors and briefly join a group of older kids outside. When they came back in, they were shrieking with laughter.

Not once did Molly turn and look for Gwen.

Finally the dance ended. Knots of kids left in twos and threes, calling goodnight. Parents’ cars drove slowly away, red taillights disappearing down the street.

Molly drifted back to where Gwen was leaning against the gym wall. Molly’s face was flushed, her eye makeup smudged.

Gwen folded her arms, determined not to say anything, willing her father to come.

“Sorry,” Molly mumbled.

“What?”

“I … sort of ditched you.”

Gwen tried not to picture Molly on the opposite side of the gym, spending the night with Nikki. “You can hang out with whoever you want, Molly.”

“I just wanted to have fun.” Molly sounded defensive.

Gwen didn’t answer. Molly took several steps closer. Gwen sniffed. “God, Molly, have you been smoking pot?”

“So what if I have?”

Gwen shook her head. So Susie had been right. She, Gwen, hadn’t wanted to believe it – not that Molly had tried it; Gwen
knew that most kids did – but that she was doing it a lot, and brazenly. With Nikki.

“You better watch it, Molly.”

“Oh, don’t be such a prude.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Molly took a step closer. “Why don’t you just butt out, Gwen?”

“What?”

“If you don’t want to have fun, that’s your business. But don’t tell me what to do!”

“I wasn’t –”

“You act like it’s so terrible and you’re so perfect.”

“I do not! I don’t think you’re terrible. I just don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Molly scowled. “The only way I’m getting in trouble is if you tell on me.”

“I’d never do that!”

They stared at one another. Gwen felt her cheeks flame. Molly gave an awkward smile. “What are we fighting about?” Gwen forced a chuckle. “Are we fighting?”

“I hope not.”

“Me too.”

They both laughed as Andrew’s truck pulled up.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “How was the dance?”

“Fine,” both girls said.

They didn’t say another word all the way home.

It was at Gwen’s thirteenth birthday party that it all fell apart. She was having a sleepover – Molly, Susie, Carley, Janelle, plus a couple of other girls. They were going to make mini pizzas, eat birthday cake, open presents, and – grand surprise – do karaoke with a machine her parents had rented in Norse River.

Molly came over early to help Gwen move furniture. They carried the coffee table to the corner, pushed the easy chair aside, then moved the couch, grunting with each heave, laughing at the mystery objects that showed up beneath it: two of Percy’s Orcs, which, although he wouldn’t admit it, he still played with from time to time; a library book due a year ago; a picture of Gwen and Molly at about age seven, arms around each other, grinning gap-toothed smiles.