Part 25 (1/2)

”What are you doing? Go away.” Piper's voice comes from the shadowy stairwell where she sits, huddled on a step.

My hand forms a fist around a nickel shoved deep in my pocket. ”Why don't you come down to the canteen? I'll buy you a pop,” I suggest.

”I heard it's closed.”

”It is.”

”Then why'd you ask?”

”Bea Trixle will open the canteen.”

”Not if it's closed.”

”For you she will-”

”Oh,” Piper says in a voice so small it sounds like somebody stepped on it.

I don't know what to do with myself or what to say. Maybe I'll just open my mouth and hope the right words come out.

”Piper, what's your, um . . . What are they going to name the baby?”

Piper's eyes are closed and she's leaning back on the steps. I think she isn't going to answer and then her eyelids flutter.

”It,” she whispers.

”Your parents are going to name the baby It?”

”I'm going to call him It.”

”It Williams. Were you thinking of a middle name?” I ask.

”Ee-It,” she says.

”It Ee-It Williams?”

”Yep, Idiot Williams.” Piper smiles, which feels to me like a small victory.

But now what do I say? ”Mrs. Mattaman had Rocky and it all worked out okay.”

”Mrs. Mattaman didn't get sick like this.”

”No,” I concede, ”she didn't.”

”I wanted It Ee-it It Ee-it to die. Not my mom.” Her voice catches. to die. Not my mom.” Her voice catches.

I put my arm around Piper. It feels like there's no place for my arm on her shoulder. Why is it when you see this done in the movies, it looks so natural?

”The best, the very best I could hope for is . . .” Her voice breaks. ”. . . a little sister like Theresa Mattaman. That is pretty bad.”

”C'mon, Piper. Theresa's okay.”

”Theresa's a brat.”

”You could do a whole lot worse than Theresa Mattaman.”

”Yeah.” She glares at me. ”I could end up with a Natalie.”

”A Natalie?” I take my arm back. My teeth grind so hard I'm pulverizing them to dust in my mouth.

”What gives you the right to say something like that? I'm trying to be nice here and you just turn on me.”

Piper snorts. ”You can't even say you're looking forward to her going back.”

”Because I'm not.”

”Yeah, you are. And so is your mom.”

”Shut up!” I shout.

”You're not as nice as you pretend to be, you know.”

”I'm not pretending.” My voice squeezes out of my chest.

Piper is staring off in another direction, oblivious to how much she's hurt me. ”My dad wants a son.” Her voice is thick. ”Why are boys so special anyway?”

”We can do more things.”

”Annie plays ball as well as you do.”

”No, she doesn't.”

”Yes, she does. It's not fair,” Piper says.

I snort. ”Lots of things aren't fair. Are you just now finding this out?” I ask, still stinging from her comment about Natalie.

”They should be. Everything should be fair,” she says, the tears spilling over. Her hands try to push them back, wipe them off, make them go away.

”Come on,” I tell her. I want to get away from this dark and silent house, away from the smell of sickness and away from Piper, but I know Mrs. Mattaman will have my head if I leave her here. ”Let's go down to the Mattamans',” I suggest.

”They don't like me.”

”They shouldn't like you,” I say. ”After what you did, they should hate your guts. But they don't.”

”I don't want to go.”