My Best Friend's Exorcism(2)

Finally, 3:30 rolled around.

No one came.

At 3:35 the room was still empty.

By 3:40 Abby was almost in tears.

Out on the floor they were playing “Open Arms” by Journey and all the big kids were skating past the Plexiglas window that looked into the private party room, and Abby knew they were laughing at her because she was alone on her birthday. She sunk her fingernails deep into the milky skin on the inside of her wrist, focusing on how bad it burned to keep herself from crying. Finally, at 3:50, when every inch of her wrist was covered in bright red half-moon marks, Gretchen Lang, the weird new kid who’d just transferred from Ashley Hall, was pushed into the room by her mom.

“Hello, hello,” Mrs. Lang chirped, bracelets jangling on her wrists. “I’m so sorry we’re— Where is everybody?”

Abby couldn’t answer.

“They’re stuck on the bridge,” Abby’s mom said, coming to the rescue.

Mrs. Lang’s face relaxed. “Gretchen, why don’t you give your little friend her present?” she said, cramming a wrapped brick into Gretchen’s arms and pushing her forward. Gretchen leaned back, digging in her heels. Mrs. Lang tried another tactic: “We don’t know this character, do we, Gretchen?” she asked, looking at E.T.

She had to be kidding, Abby thought. How could she not know the most popular person on the planet?

“I know who he is,” Gretchen protested. “He’s E.T. the . . . Extra-Terrible?”

Abby could not even fathom. What were these crazy lunatics talking about?

“The extraterrestrial,” Abby corrected, finding her voice. “It means he comes from another planet.”

“Isn’t that precious,” Mrs. Lang said. Then she made her excuses and got the hell out of there.

A deadly silence poisoned the air. Everyone shuffled their feet. For Abby, this was worse than being alone. By now, it was completely clear that no one was coming to her birthday party, and both of her parents had to confront the fact that their daughter had no friends. Even worse, a strange kid who didn’t know about extraterrestrials was witnessing her humiliation. Gretchen crossed her arms over her chest, crackling the paper around her gift.

“That’s so nice of you to bring a present,” Abby’s mom said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Of course she had to do that, Abby thought. It’s my birthday.

“Happy birthday,” Gretchen mumbled, thrusting her present at Abby.

Abby didn’t want the present. She wanted her friends. Why weren’t they here? But Gretchen just stood there like a dummy, gift extended. With all eyes on Abby, she took the present, but she took it fast so that no one got confused and thought she liked the way things were going. Instantly, she knew her present was a book. Was this girl totally clueless? Abby wanted E.T. stuff, not a book. Unless maybe it was an E.T. book?

Even that small hope died after she carefully unwrapped the paper to find a Children’s Bible. Abby turned it over, hoping that maybe it was part of a bigger present that had E.T. in it. Nothing on the back. She opened it. Nope. It really was a Children’s New Testament. Abby looked up to see if the entire world had gone crazy, but all she saw was Gretchen staring at her.

Abby knew what the rules were: she had to say thank you and act excited so nobody’s feelings got hurt. But what about her feelings? It was her birthday and no one was thinking about her at all. No one was stuck on the bridge. Everyone was at Margaret Middleton’s house riding horses and giving Margaret all of Abby’s presents.

“What do we say, Abby?” her mom prompted.

No. She would not say it. If she said it, then she was agreeing this was fine, that it was okay for a weird person she did not know to give her a Bible. If she said it, her parents would think that she and this freak were friends and they’d make sure she came to all of Abby’s birthday parties from now on and she’d never get another present except Children’s Bibles from anyone ever.

“Abby?” her mom said.

No.

“Abs,” her dad said. “Don’t be like this.”

“You need to thank this little girl right now,” her mom said.

In a flash of inspiration, Abby realized she had a way out: she could run. What were they going to do? Tackle her? So she ran, shoulder-checking Gretchen and fleeing into the noise and darkness of the rink.

“Abby!” her mom called, and then Journey drowned her out.

Super sincere Steve Perry sent his voice soaring over smashing cymbals and power-ballad guitars that pounded the rink walls with crashing waves as cooing couples skated close.

Abby wove between big kids carrying pizza and pitchers of beer, all of them rolling across the carpet, shouting to their friends, then she crashed into the ladies’ room, burst into a stall, slammed the orange door behind her, collapsed onto the toilet seat, and was miserable.

Everyone wanted to go to Margaret Middleton’s plantation because Margaret Middleton had horses, and Abby was a stupid moron if she thought people wanted to come see her skate. No one wanted to see her skate. They wanted to ride horses, and she was stupid and stupid and stupid to think otherwise.

“Open Arms” got louder as someone opened the door.

“Abby?” a voice said.

It was what’s-her-name. Abby was instantly suspicious. Her parents had probably sent her in to spy. Abby pulled her feet up onto the toilet seat.