Alice Alone by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor

Alice is the last to know.”
    “What’s to tell? She likes me, I like her. She’s not you, she’s just different.”
    Somehow, the way he said it, cut deepest of all. The last time Patrick had said, She’s not you, Alice, it had made me feel special, as though Penny could never hold the place in his heart that was reserved for me. But now I heard something else: that Penny was different, and he liked that difference. That there were qualities he found in Penny that he didn’t find in me. And while that was only natural and made common sense, it hurt like anything. What it meant to me was that Patrick found Penny fun and cute and full of life, and it made me feel large and unattractive and dull in comparison.
    “What I’m hearing, Patrick, is that Penny’s pretty special to you,” I said, but my words came out all breathy.
    He glanced over to see, I suppose, if I was going to cry. “But you are, too,” he said in answer.
    I imagined Patrick kissing Penny the way he had kissed me; touching her the way he had touched me. “How can we both be special?” I asked angrily.
    He shrugged. “You just are. You and I have been going out for two years.”
    “Just tell me this: Are we still a couple or not?” I asked, refusing to look at him, my feet plodding on ahead.
    Patrick didn’t answer for a moment. Then, “If you mean will we still go out, sure. If you mean I can’tgo out with Penny sometimes, then …” He didn’t finish.
    My whole body felt like feet. I could feel each one hitting the sidewalk. The more I imagined Patrick and Penny together—petite Penny—the bigger my feet seemed to be. My legs, my hands, my head felt huge, and the more unattractive I felt, the angrier I got. I didn’t want to be walking along beside this red-haired guy who didn’t want me anymore. Not the way he used to.
    When we turned again onto my street, I could see our porch six doors down. I didn’t even want to walk past those six houses to get there. I wished I was there already, safe inside.
    “Well, maybe if Penny’s so special to you, you should just become a couple,” I snapped.
    Patrick stopped walking and stood absolutely still on the sidewalk, his hands in the pockets of his jacket. I’d never seen his face like it looked then. Reserved. Distant. “Are you asking me to choose?” he said.
    “Yes,” I told him. “Maybe you should just take her to the Snow Ball.”
    “Then, maybe I will,” he said. And he turned and walked slowly off in the other direction.
    I caught my breath, wanting to call after him, but I didn’t. I could feel my heart racing, my tongue dry, the blood throbbing in my temples. I turned and walked as fast as I could back home, my eyes startingto close against the tears, my chin wobbling, and then I was running up the steps, crossing the porch, streaking up the stairs to my room, and collapsing on the rug beside my bed.
    I don’t know how long I cried. My room was full of Patrick—pictures and postcards and mementos of all the things we’d done. Pamela had even returned the Milky Way wrapper from the first candy bar Patrick ever gave me; I’d given it to her as my prized possession when we thought she was moving to Colorado. Most of my bulletin board was devoted to Patrick.
    My memories were Patrick. My kisses were Patrick’s. All my plans for weekends and summers had been built around him, and now there didn’t seem to be anything left—any structure to pin things on. I’d had a boyfriend for so long that I didn’t know what to do without one. How would I act, going everywhere by myself? Being a single in our gang? How did other girls manage this?
    There was a light tap on the door. “Al?” said Dad.
    I couldn’t answer. “Al?” he said again, louder. “May I come in?”
    “Yes.” Even my voice sounded small.
    The door opened, and he stood there in his Dockers and flannel shirt, looking down at me. “What happened, honey?” he said, and came over to sit on the edge of my