Beverly Quarter Chapter 9
On Tuesdays, I’m using this newsletter to publish a book called Beverly Quarter: Invisible Frenemy. I have been unsuccessful in trying to sell it to a traditional publisher. But I’m proud of it, and I don’t want it to just sit in my computer forever.
It’s got nothing to do with the rest of the content of this newsletter. I mean, for real: It doesn’t even contain the word burpee. But I think you’ll like it.
I wrote it to make my kids laugh, their friends laugh, and their parents laugh. I’m guessing most of you have kids, or know kids, or were kids, so you’re my target audience. I explain the book’s backstory here.
Give this chapter a read. If you like it, read it to your kids, their friends, their friends’ parents, random strangers on the street, etc.
I’ll keep publishing the newsletter as usual on Thursdays. This will just be bonus content.
CHAPTER 9
Sally started to feel better the next day. But she would have faked it anyway, because their neighbors, the Falcos, came over for dinner. Sally never heard her parents laugh so hard as they did when the Falcos came over. Sally could have been on her deathbed and she would have dragged herself down for that dinner.
Mr. Falco had a funny accent, which she loved to listen to. He knew this, and he loved that she loved it. Every time he saw her, he said, “Sally, do you like the way I pahked my cah?”
She had become expert at taking just long enough to eat to enable her to hang out at the dinner table for a long time without taking so long as to get in trouble for not eating. It was a delicate balance, of course, one honed in years of fits and starts. One time she ate too fast and was already gone from the table when Mr. Falco laughed so hard milk came out his nose. Another time she ate too slow and, well, being forced to eat cold broccoli while everybody else ate hot fudge pudding cake was not fun.
That imperceptible stall tactic was especially difficult today because Sally’s mom made her favorite dinner—chickpeas and pasta. Chickpeas and pasta made hot chicken sandwiches seem like burnt plastic. Sally could have eaten a whole dump truck full of it in one bite.
Finally, dinner was over.
Sally’s mom made Mississippi mud pie for dessert, and even though it wasn’t a weekend, Sally was allowed to have a piece. Finally, at 9:07—37 minutes after her bedtime—Sally’s parents told her to go to bed.
She played this expertly. She agreed to go upstairs, without argument, so as not to draw attention to herself. But she didn’t move so fast as to arouse suspicion about the motivation behind her perfect obedience. She went upstairs and into the bathroom to brush her teeth. She turned on the faucet full blast, with the hopes of everyone hearing it. If her parents or the Falcos thought of her in these few minutes, she wanted them to think she was dutifully getting ready for bed. She didn’t need to be checked on. She could get ready for bed—and yes, even go to bed—by herself, without their help.
This little bit of play-acting allowed her to creep to the edge of the stairs and eavesdrop. She held onto the white slats and listened intently.
She had missed the beginning of the conversation, and it took her a while to figure out what they were talking about. “I feel like I’m trying to figure out who Gatsby is,” her dad said. Sally had no idea what that meant.
“Books!” her dad bellowed. “These are real books!”
She didn’t know what that meant, either, but she guessed it was from a movie. Her dad was always saying random things from movies that only he understood. If she had a nickel for every time she said, “what’s that from, Daddy?” she’d have a pocket full of nickels.
She finally figured out they were talking about Beverly Quarter. She looked at the clock; it was 9:58, the latest she had stayed up since at least the pasta incident, but that didn’t really count as staying up late because she was being yelled at the whole time.
Her parents went on and on. The Falcos listened mostly but talked sometimes too. Sally tried not to laugh when Mr. Falco made Quarter sound like “koo-worduh.”
At least it seemed like they all liked Beverly Quarter. That was a relief to Sally. She was worried they would tell her she couldn’t be friends with her anymore.
Her mom said Beverly Quarter was not like Sally’s other friends. She was never ever mean to Sally—at least not in a way that kids were usually mean. She never argued with her. She encouraged Sally all the time about everything, and never ceased telling her how great she was. Sally thought her mom might not like it that Beverly Quarter told Sally she was great even when she behaved terribly. Beverly Quarter never, ever told on her. The secret of the mud fight, for example, never came to light, even though Beverly Quarter had seen everything.
Her mom didn’t understand, nor did her dad or the Falcos, why nobody else seemed to know Beverly Quarter. Everybody in the neighborhood had heard of Beverly Quarter but that was only because Sally talked about her all the time. Sally’s mom had spent an hour on the phone the day before canvassing the neighborhood. Nobody could remember ever seeing a girl matching Beverly Quarter’s description.
“Yesterday morning, I told Sally she could run over to the park to tell Beverly Quarter she couldn’t play. The park looked like it was empty but …”
Sally could see through the slats at the top of the stairs that her mom suddenly bolted upright in her seat. She set her wine glass down, like her dad did with his drink when he thought he might have to yell at the TV during sports.
“Wait a minute. Wait a minute,” her mom said. And she stood up and started doing a slow-motion version of the lawn mower. Each word corresponded with a step across the grass. “It all makes sense now. Yes, I think I’ve figured it out. I bet you Beverly Quarter is …”
Sally leaned forward against the slats. As she did so, didn’t notice that she was pushing a stuffed kitty over the edge. Sally watched in horror as it fell to the ground. It flipped softly, once, twice, three times, 10 times, 1,000 times. Dinosaurs roamed the earth, died, decomposed and became oil in the time the kitty spent floating down. It finally landed with a soft thud. She held her breath, praying nobody heard that.
But of course they did.
“Go to bed young lady!” her dad yelled. He didn’t even look up.
“But Dad!” she started but she knew it was pointless.
“Now!” her mom and dad said in unison.
She had lost this battle. Better to accept it than to cause herself more losses in the future. She trudged to her room and crawled into bed. She knew she had pushed it too far and had to stay there now. She couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation.
“Don’t worry,” she heard a voice say. Suddenly Beverly Quarter was right next to her in her bed. “No matter what your parents say about me, we’ll always be friends. Best friends.”
Sally hugged Beverly Quarter as hard as she could and was asleep within seconds.