Free New Year's Eve by Caroline B. Cooney Page B

seatbelts, but sitting apart was no fun, so Matt had installed a passenger seatbelt right next to his. Emily was so close that she had to shrink back whenever he shifted into third or she’d get an elbow in the stomach. Because of the snow, he slowed constantly. Emily felt as if she were following a TV exercise class, holding in her stomach so often.
    He felt her dress. “Velvet,” he commented. “Are you rich? Is it the scent of velvet that’s driving me crazy? This a new dress? Color looks good on you. I made that up, I can’t tell in the dark. Your mother come through for you after all?”
    Emily was used to Matt’s disjointed speech. In fact, she loved it. It was like confetti: all his thoughts being tossed lightly toward her. “Oh, Matt, you know what Mother said. She said if I wanted to go and live with strangers, and abandon my own parents, I could also get my clothing at the Salvation Army. No, it’s an old dress of Anne’s. Isn’t it beautiful, though?”
    â€œBeaches,” Matt mused, as if he had not heard her at all. “I know! Coconuts.”
    â€œSuntan oil smell,” she agreed, laughing. “Coconut oil makes the world’s best hand-cream.” She put her soft small hand, richly scented with coconut, on the back of his neck and massaged. They didn’t speak. He drove slowly and she stared dreamily out the windows.
    The snow came down so gently it did not seem to be falling at all: it was suspended in midair, sparkling like stars. She turned off the windshield wipers so that the snow gathered lightly on the glass and the curtain of stars thickened.
    Matt said, “Do you mind, Em? Tonight of all nights I am not suicidal.”
    She turned the wipers back on.
    Snuggling up to Matt was the most soothing activity Emily knew of. All the troubles of her life became insignificant. Matt’s warmth and solidity were what mattered. She was stronger, and life was easier, and her parents’ cruelty mattered less.
    Em had had a terrible conversation with her mother only the week before. Mrs. Edmundson screamed at Emily for being a worthless daughter and Emily said she was sorry, Mother; next Mrs. Edmundson screamed about Emily’s father being a worthless husband and Emily said she was sorry, Mother; Mrs. Edmundson screamed about the Stephens family interfering by taking Emily in and Emily said she was sorry, Mother.
    When that was done, her mother changed personalities. She chatted happily about her new job with the phone company. She was in Customer Relations. Emily had heard nothing on television lately about Phone Company Customer Relations Deteriorate—Stock Falls as Customers Vanish. So presumably her mother was actually good at customer relations. (Matt’s mother had a different theory—she thought Mrs. Edmundson was killing the customers off so they couldn’t complain.) Emily tried to get in a word about herself: Matt, school, friends, grades, choir, baseball, Anne.
    Mrs. Edmundson could not stand to hear that her daughter was happy.
    A dress? Emily thought. My mother doesn’t care if I even have a New Year, let alone a gown to start it off with.
    Emily loved going over to Matt’s house.
    His family was loud, talkative, and huggy-kissy. His father and grandfather always had opposite opinions which they shouted at the top of their lungs, with much slamming of fists on table tops. But whereas in her house that would have meant war, in Matt’s house, people just laughed, forgot the whole thing in three minutes, and went about their business. Emily’s parents could hold grudges for a lifetime. Matt’s family couldn’t even remember the arguments. At Matt’s, there would be noise, jokes, arguments, and then sudden silence as everybody abandoned talking and went out to do whatever they wanted to do anyway.
    Emily rearranged the folds of her velvet dress.
    â€œAw, don’t stop,” Matt