Free Silver is for Secrets by Laurie Faria Stolarz Page B

in freaking love with PJ to care about him. You of all people should understand that.”
    Instead of telling her that she‟s had ample opportunity with PJ—stomping on his heart every chance she gets—instead of pointing out that she doesn‟t even know Casey (never mind the details of what happened between him and his girlfriend), and instead of reminding her that I do indeed know a thing or two about caring for a friend—sometimes caring so much that I nearly get myself killed in the process—I take the dirty Mallomar plate for an emergency refill.
    “Stacey—wait.”
    I turn around.
    “Don‟t go. I‟m just PMSing big time.” She lets out a giant sigh. “I went next door, you know, to see if Sully wanted to go for a swim, and he totally dissed me. Can you believe that? He only asked me if I had my deposit money for the cruise Thursday night. By the way, are you going?”
    “Not if I can help it.”
    “Wel , then, can I borrow twenty bucks?”
    I bite my tongue, taking an example from my grandmother‟s silence, thinking to myself how with a self-absorbed, PMSish attitude like that, it‟s no wonder she got dissed.
    “Sul y said he had some errands to do,” she continues.
    “So maybe he did.”
    “He had a freaking bodyboard in his hand, Stacey. What, am I not cute enough or something?”
    “Of course you are.”
    “Then what?” she whines.
    There‟s a knock on the door. Drea‟s standing there. “Can I get in on this conversation?”
    “I don‟t want to hear it.” Amber fal s back on her bed.
    “Trouble in paradise?” Drea asks.
     
    “My love life doesn‟t have a paradise,” Amber moans. “On second thought, my love life doesn‟t even have a life.”
    “Hold that thought,” I say, remembering Jacob next door. I head to his room to try and salvage what‟s left of my paradise. I knock on the door but there‟s no response. “Jacob?” I eek the door open, but no one‟s even in there.
    Just boy-mess everywhere—pizza cartons stacked at the foot of PJ‟s bed, dirty laundry littered about the floor, and half-drunken Gatorades lined up on Chad‟s night table. Aside from the different taste in snacks—chocolate over pizza and Diet Cokes in place of Gatorades, their room is not unlike ours.
    I go to Jacob‟s bed, noticing the dream box on his pil ow. It‟s sort of like mine—
    smallish with chrome hinges, only instead of pine, his is made from a knotted hickory. I pick it up, wanting more than ever to know what he‟s dreaming about, wondering why he won‟t just tel me.
    I close my eyes and do my best to concentrate on the box, feeling the knots of wood beneath my fingertips, hoping to gain the answer. But the only vibrations I feel in my fingers are the ones I got from Clara—that cold, tingling sensation.
    “What are you doing in here?” Drea asks, completely startling me. The dream box tumbles from my grip.
    “You scared me,” I say.
    She‟s standing in the doorway, arms folded like this is her room and not theirs.
    “Didn‟t mean to scare you,” she says, “but what are you doing in here?”
    “What does it look like?”
    Amber peeks over Drea‟s shoulder and pushes past her into the room. “It looks like you‟re snooping through the guys‟ stuff without letting us in on the action. Let‟s see,” she continues, looking around, “if I were a piece of something scandalous—”
    “You already are,” Drea interrupts.
    “So true.” Amber smiles at the unintended compliment. She moves over to Jacob‟s dresser and starts rummaging through the top drawer.
    “I don‟t think so.” I hop from the bed and jump in front of her, doing my best to keep her back.
    “What‟s with the schoolmarm attitude? Afraid of finding something interesting?” Amber reaches around me and snags a pair of boxers from the drawer—gray with thin black stripes. “On second thought,” she says, inspecting the merchandise,
    “looks like his stuff might be just as snoreful as