Ten by Lauren Myracle

fourth? It’s supposed to be!”
    â€œSee? I knew you wouldn’t understand.”
    â€œWouldn’t understand what? If things were always the same, they’d be boring. I understand that. I also think that being different is good, and I thought you did, too. Do you not?”
    â€œNo, I do. Mainly.” She hesitated. “But it’s easy for you, Winnie. You’re not afraid of anything.”
    â€œAre you off your gourd?” I cried. “I’m afraid of tons of things, you silly custard!”
    It was the second time I’d used that term, which I’d just made up today. Silly custard. Silly, silly custard . But when Amanda sighed, the back of my neck tingled, and I wondered if I was the silly custard.
    Sometimes I got the feeling that I was too silly, especially when other people wanted to be serious. It was dawning on me that this was one of those times.
    â€œI am scared of things,” I said. “I’m not just saying that.”
    Her expression was cautious. “Like what?”
    Well, here it was: the moment of truth. Yes, Winnie , a voice inside me taunted, knowing exactly what I was scared of and knowing exactly how embarrassing it would be to say it out loud. Like what?
    I tried to think of the best way to explain, but my brain gears got stuck, and after several seconds, Amanda turned away. For once, she was the one not giving me enough time to find the right words.
    â€œWait!” I cried. I let the rest of the words tumble out despite their ridiculousness. “Flushing the toilet. I’m scared of flushing the toilet. All right?”
    Amanda’s head swiveled back toward me. We were still swinging, and we were almost—but not quite—in harmony. She searched my face as if she was trying to decide if I was putting her on.
    â€œNot all toilets,” I said. “Just the ones in my house. You know.”
    She gave me a small smile, because she did. I knew things about her that random people didn’t, like how she twirled her hair when she was anxious, and she knew things about me in the exact same way, including the fact that the toilets in my old-as-the-hills house were louder than any other toilets in the world. She’d flushed them plenty of times herself, so she knew all about the tidal wave that rushed and swirled into the toilet bowl, roaring more ferociously than a sea lion.
    According to Dad, it was because our plumbing system was installed before the invention of high-efficiency toilets.
    According to me, they were white porcelain nightmares. Originally, it was just the roar of swirling water that scared me. But recently a new twist had been added to the mix. Her name was the Bathroom Lady, and I accidentally invented her, and she lived in the sewer. Her most burning desire was to reach up through the drains with her pruney, clawlike fingers and grab tasty children. And if she did? You were a goner.
    As we swung, I told Amanda all about the Bathroom Lady. I told her every last detail, and Amanda giggled and wrinkled her nose, which made me giggle, too. I knew in my gut that there was no Bathroom Lady (probably), but nonetheless, it was a relief to share the burden of her.
    â€œSo, see?” I concluded. “Whatever it is you’re afraid of, it’s not going to sound stupid compared to what I just told you.”
    â€œWell . . . it might,” Amanda said.
    â€œI don’t care. Tell me anyway.”
    She pushed her bottom lip out. The she pulled it in and pulled her top lip in as well, making her look like a prune.
    Finally, she let her mouth go back to its normal position. “It’s just that my mom said I should expect a lot of changes this year,” she said. “Like that people are going to start making rules about who’s friends with who, and girls are going to get more gossipy, and the whole issue of boys , and . . . yeah.”
    She tilted her head. “Does that make sense?”
    No,