Free Amandine by Adele Griffin Page A

way through the consequences. When she realized she had hurt both of us, she would back down. She would apologize. Amandine was tricky, sly. But she was no monster.
    Spying her across the lunchroom, I relaxed. She was eating alone at our usual table in the back, her musty movie star dress flowing onto the floor under her chair, her back and shoulders ballerina straight. She looked almost pretty, certainly harmless. A water sprite, Mom had called her. Yes, I saw that.
    “Hey,” I began, forcing a false brightness into my voice as we approached. “Tell Mary that I didn’t do any of that drawing.”
    Amandine looked up, startled, and her face tightened. When she spoke, though, she sounded only puzzled, and not at all defensive.
    “Of course you did, Delia. The whole thing was your idea.”
    “Come on, Amandine. That’s just a huge lie and you know it.”
    Amandine sighed patiently. Her eyes moved from me to Mary and back again. She pushed away her lunch and clasped her hands together to her chest as if in prayer.
    “Mary,” she began seriously, “I know it’s not nice for me to repeat what other people say behind your back, but in this case, I have to. When I showed her the note, Delia said, and I quote, ‘That stupid prissy preacher girl only has to take a look in the mirror to find an Ugliest Thing.’ See, and that’s how the whole idea got started. The reason Delia’s mad now is cause I actually showed it to you. The original plan was that we were just going to draw it for ourselves. I stuck it in your locker because she dared me for five dollars, and now I am sorry. Especially since Delia decided to blame me for the whole thing.” She tipped her head in my direction and gave me a grave, wounded look. “Delia, I think I’ll give you back that five dollars. It just wasn’t worth it.”
    Mary backed away, her hands twisting. “I hate you both!” she said. “Both of you! I’d rather be marooned on a desert island than spend another second with either of you!”
    Turning her back on us, she fled stumbling from the cafeteria.
    I stared at Amandine, too shocked to speak.
    She picked up her sandwich and bit into it contemplatively. “Marooned on a desert island,” she repeated, giving each word scoffing emphasis. “If that’s not the absolute lamest, prissiest thing I ever heard.”
    My fingertips touched my forehead. My brain felt gummy, slow to make sense of what Amandine had done.
    “You,” I began. “You.” It seemed like the right word to start off with. “You are the worst, worst liar.”
    “The best liar, you mean. Don’t be jealous. You’re the best thief. How long have you had her bracelet, anyhow?”
    “I did not steal Mary’s bracelet.”
    “Of course you did.”
    “You made that up.” I laughed uneasily. “You never stop making things up, do you?”
    “Oh, Delia, you’re such a hypocrite. I could even tell your mother where it is. One phone call to Shelton-McCook—not that I’d ever do that. I don’t care about any of your little stolen things.” Her voice changed, became gentle and entreating. “It’s no good with Mary and us, anyhow. She’s always wrecking skits and being horrible. She’s starting to talk about guys too much. And that note, ugh. I’m sick of her. Aren’t you sick of her, Delia?”
    My memory circled and returned to the morning that Amandine had stayed over. My bookshelf, my cigar box. She hadn’t taken anything from me. But she knew.
    “Sick of her?” I asked vaguely.
    “Yeah, don’t you think it’s better, just us?”
    “I guess,” I said.
    Amandine grinned. “Good. And now that it’s just us, you have to admit it.”
    “Admit what?”
    “That my picture of Mary was pretty funny. Wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?”
    I nodded. “Yes,” I answered. It was.
    Mrs. Gogglio and I did not speak during the ride home, not even when she noticed that I was crying. I’d heard her make a quiet, sympathetic sound, and my whole body clenched against the