Rules by Cynthia Lord

have to do something. Why can’t I just stand up and say, “Hi, Kristi?”
    “Okay, grab your partner’s hand, everyone,” a woman yells. “Time to get back to the bus.”
    I peek, enough to see Kristi take the child’s hand. She follows the line of children, stuffing bandage wrappers in her shorts pocket.
    I stand slowly. “I’m all set.”
    At the empty bench closest to the wharf, I sit on the very edge of the wooden seat and watch Kristi growing tinier the farther she walks down the pathway.
    Jason taps, and I tear my focus away from Kristi passing the last streetlight at the edge of the park.
Catherine. Pretty. Today.
    I nod. “It’s a very pretty day.”
    Jason touches my arm.
Catherine. Pretty.
    My neck feels prickly. I rub it, looking down to a frill of seaweed, bits of rope, and a broken lobster trap caught between the huge rocks at the water’s edge. What does he mean? Is he being nice or telling me he likes me?
    When things get confusing, make a joke.
    “No.” I cross my eyes at him. “I’m a dork.”
    Jason doesn’t smile.
    “We should get back. Speech Woman will be coming out to get you.” But Jason doesn’t circle his fingers on the joystick. He turns to a new page in his communication book.
My birthday party. Do you want to come?
    The cards sit alone on the page, new and homemade.
My birthday party.
has red and blue balloons and a chocolate-brown cake.
    I don’t know why, but I feel jealous that his mom made him nicer cards than usual. But that feeling mixes with sadness that he had to ask her to make these words so he could invite me to his party.
    I tell myself it’s a simple invitation to a birthday party, not a date. “Sure. When’s your party?”
    Saturday.
    My breath catches. “ This Saturday?”
    Jason nods.
Is? Good.
    “Yeah, it’s great! No problem at all.”
    Walking back to the clinic, a woman reading on the grass stares over the top of her book at Jason. I stare back.
    Even though I told Jason it was great that his party is Saturday, it’s more than great — it solves everything.
    Almost.

“Six!” David calls as a gray pickup drives by on the road. “And thirty-six minutes twenty-seven seconds.”
    I wish I could just walk up Kristi’s porch steps and ring the doorbell like nothing happened today at the park. But I can’t get my feet to move.
    “Seven cars.” David holds out his watch. “And thirty-five minutes fifty-five seconds.”
    “Remember the rule,” I say absently. “Late doesn’t mean not coming.”
    Beside me on the porch swing, David rocks, bobbling the swing. When I first agreed to sit with David so Mom could call clients, I tried to draw, but David keeps jogging the swing out of rhythm, wobbling my pencil lines.
    What’ll happen in September? Will Kristi stand with me at the bus stop or with Ryan? And what’ll happen when I don’t see Jason every week? Will our friendship disappear?
    The front door opens and Mom steps onto our porch. “Catherine, Kristi’s on the phone. David, let’s go in the backyard.”
    The walk through the living room and down the hallway to the phone feels extra long. Did Kristi see me at the park?
    “Hi, it’s Kristi,” she says when I pick up the phone. “I just got home from the day camp, and I signed up to make two posters to use at the dance. Want to help?”
    “Sure.” I twist the phone cord around my finger. “Um, about the dance —”
    “Did you ask Jason?”
    I twist the cord tighter, my fingertip turning purple with backed-up blood. “We can’t come to the dance. Jason invited me to his birthday party that same day.”
    “His birthday party?”
    “Yeah, he’s having a birthday party on Saturday.”
    “How about after the party?”
    “I really can’t,” I say, my finger throbbing.
    Kristi exhales loud and long in my ear. “Will you still help me make posters? I promised to make two big ones.”
    “Sure.” I untwist the phone cord.
    “Let’s make them at your house. Mom’s taking a