About That Night by Norah McClintock

glances at Carly. “What an idiot. You won’t believe how much he paid for it.”
    â€œIt’s sterling silver,” Jordie says. “And an antique. A genuine antique.”
    Carly’s face falls. “You mean I could have got more for it?”
    â€œDoes he still have it?” Jordie demands.
    â€œI don’t know. I guess so. Unless he gave it to someone, you know, as a Christmas present.”
    â€œWho would he give it to?” Carly says. “He and Nicki broke up three weeks ago.”
    â€œMaybe he gave it to her before they broke up,” Tasha says. “Or maybe he gave it to someone else as a Christmas present. Maybe his mom.”
    â€œYou better hope not,” Jordie says, angry at Tasha even though, strictly speaking, she acted in good faith. “I want it back.”
    â€œSo go ask him,” Carly says. Under her breath she mutters, “And good luck with that.”
    Jordie hears her and turns on her. She grabs Carly’s wrist and twists it hard until Carly lets out a yowl. Their mother’s muffled voice comes from below. “What’s going on up there?” Jordie twists Carly’s wrist again until Carly shouts out, “Nothing. We’re just fooling around!”
    Jordie maintains her grip on her sister’s wrist. “I should make you go and ask him.”
    Carly waits. She has heard the magic word— should— and knows better than to say anything.
    Jordie releases her with a shove, sending Carly careening back against her dresser. She storms out of the room. She doesn’t hear the huge sigh of relief that escapes her sister.
    Â» » »
    â€œWhere are you going now?” Jordie’s mother asks. “You just got in.”
    â€œI have to run an errand.” Jordie is out the door before her mother can say another word. She hikes the seven blocks to the new subdivision filled with almost identical large houses on almost identical postage-stamp-sized pieces of land that are surrounded by almost identical privacy fences. The house she wants is in the middle of the block. She hurries up the neatly shoveled front walk and rings the bell.
    Jordie has never met Mr. or Mrs. Noyes, but there they are, both at the door, Mr. Noyes doing the actual opening while Mrs. Noyes hovers behind him, holding a cardboard box in her arms labeled Christmas ornaments .
    â€œI was wondering if Adam is here,” Jordie says. When the two adults look quizzically at her, she hastily introduces herself, adding, “Adam is in some of my classes.”
    Mrs. Noyes smiles so broadly that Jordie is afraid she has misunderstood. Maybe she thinks Jordie is Adam’s new girlfriend.
    â€œIs he here?” Jordie prompts.
    â€œHe is indeed,” Mr. Noyes says. “He’s in the basement. You can go down if you want.”
    â€œOh.” She doesn’t want to go down to the basement. She doesn’t even want to go into the house. She doesn’t know Adam well. It’s true he is in two of her classes, but he is new to her school—new to town, in fact—and she can’t recall ever having spoken to him. “Well, I have my boots on and—”
    â€œPull them off,” Mr. Noyes says jovially, moving aside so that she can step onto a generous boot mat inside the door.
    Jordie pulls off her boots. She glances around.
    â€œFirst door on the right,” Mr. Noyes says, indicating a hallway with an enthusiastic sweep of one arm.
    Jordie pads down the hall in stocking feet. She opens the door. The stairs are wooden. The basement is unfinished. She creeps down the stairs and finds Adam in one corner, washing what turns out to be a Christmas-tree stand in a utility sink.
    â€œAdam?”
    He jumps and spins around. “You startled me.” Then he squints at her, seemingly at a loss.
    â€œI’m Jordie.” He should know that, but maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he’s never even noticed her.