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  She opened her mouth to tell Tracy, but nothing came out. She couldn’t do it. It was too awful. She didn’t want Tracy, or anyone else, to know.

  She realized Tracy had said something else. “What did you say?”

  “What’s the matter with you? What happened last night?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I know you better than that.” Tracy cocked her head to one side and gave Kit an accusing look. “Did you go out with a guy last night?” she asked.

  “No! What makes you think that?”

  “You’re being so secretive; I thought maybe you had a big date.” She switched to the voice she always used when she was Harriet Headline, raunchy reporter. “NINTH-GRADE GIRL ADMITS SECRET LOVE AFFAIR WITH MOVIE STAR.”

  “If I had a big date, you’d be the first to know.” Kit finished her apple and opened her bag of celery sticks. She looked longingly at Tracy’s chocolate chip cookies. Dorothy believed only nutritious food belonged in a lunch bag.

  “What did happen, then?” Tracy waited. When Kit still said nothing, Tracy said, “OK. You don’t have to tell me every detail of your life.”

  Kit could tell by the way she said it that what Tracy really meant was, you don’t have to tell me every detail of your life but I don’t understand why you’re holding back.

  She put the celery sticks back in her lunch bag, crumpled the bag, and tossed it in the trash container. “We get our grades today, for the medical speeches,” she said. “I wonder if anyone will get an A.”

  “I doubt it,” Tracy said.

  On the first day of school, Miss Fenton had announced that she rarely gave an A grade. “Anyone who’s taking this class to bring their grade-point average up had better transfer out,” she said. “I give an A only when a speech is truly exceptional. It must make the audience want to applaud, or move them to tears, or give them information which motivates them to take action. In my fourteen years as a speech teacher, I’ve only given A grades twice.”

  Everyone in the class had groaned at that but it was a challenge. Students in Miss Fenton’s class worked hard.

  “If anyone deserves an A for the medical speech, it is you,” Kit said. “Yours was the best speech anyone has done all year.”

  Tracy beamed.

  The assignment had been to talk about any medical topic. Most of the kids picked a disease. Kit gave her speech on hiccups. She did a lot of research and ended with six ways to cure hiccups. The other kids were more interested in her information than in some of the weird diseases people told about. Still, Kit knew her speech was not as good as Tracy’s.

  Tracy spoke about Alzheimer’s disease. Her grandfather had Alzheimer’s disease, so Tracy not only gave the medical facts, she explained how the family of a patient feels. When Tracy told the class that her grandfather was in a nursing home and could no longer feed himself, there were tears in her eyes.

  She had to pause a moment, to get control of herself. No one moved or spoke. The whole class just sat there in silence until Tracy could continue.

  After a moment, Tracy forced a smile and said brightly, “We’re pleased with the nursing home. They have lots of special activities, like music and art. A group of Cub Scouts comes sometimes to do a puppet show. Grandpa likes the puppets.”

  As expected, Miss Fenton handed out grades that day. Before Kit looked at hers, she whispered to Tracy, in her Sharon Shocker accent, “SYNDICATES CLAMOR FOR RIGHT TO PUBLISH SPEECH ON ALZHEIMER’S DISEASE. TV SPECIAL SOLD.” Tracy giggled and crossed her fingers.

  Kit’s grade for the hiccup speech was a B. All of her speeches were Bs. That was better than most of the class got but she wished she could get an A, just once. An A speech would increase her chances for the scholarship, even without playing the part of Frankie.

  Kit watched while Tracy looked at her grade. Tracy shook her head, no, and handed Kit the note from Miss Fenton. Tracy’s grade was a B +.

  “You came close to getting one of my rare As,” Miss Fenton had written. “At the end of your speech, when you told about your grandfather in the nursing home, you had a chance to bring your audience to tears by honestly sharing your own emotions. Instead, you chose to dismiss your true feelings and pretend that you were happy.”

  As usual, Kit thought, Miss Fenton was right. She always was, except for giving the role of Frankie to Marcia. Miss Fenton was wrong that time.

  Miss Fenton asked Kit to stay after class that day. When they were alone, Miss Fenton said, “I know you hoped to get the part of Frankie. I want you to know that I think you could handle the part. You might even be a better Frankie than Marcia will be; there’s no way for me to be sure. It was a judgment call on my part, that’s all. I couldn’t cast both of you and when I had to choose, I chose Marcia. That doesn’t mean Marcia is a better actress than you are. It only means that this time, I picked her.”

  Miss Fenton eased herself into her chair. She was a pretty woman, despite her excess weight, and she always dressed with flair. Kit waited.

  “When you don’t get cast in a show,” Miss Fenton continued, “it isn’t a rejection of YOU. It only means that this time, with this director, you weren’t chosen for a particular part. Another play and another role, the result could be reversed.” She smiled at Kit. “You’re bright and talented. Next time Marcia can make posters and you can play the lead.”

  The words were raindrops on Kit’s parched pride. She hadn’t read poorly, after all. She was just as good an actress as Marcia, maybe even better. And she would have her turn to shine.

  She wanted to grab Miss Fenton and whirl her around the room.

  Later, she repeated the compliment to herself, considering its implications. Kit knew Miss Fenton was on the selection board for the Ninth Grade Scholarship. If Miss Fenton thought she was bright and talented, maybe she was being considered for the scholarship. Maybe the board members wouldn’t find out about the bracelet. Maybe she still had a chance.

  Thank goodness she had not told Tracy about the shoplifting. Even though she trusted Tracy not to tell, it was best to keep the matter secret, not take any chance of other people finding out. If Miss Fenton thought she was bright and talented, Kit didn’t want to change her opinion.

  She decided to start the posters right away, give herself plenty of time and make them extra special. Besides, she needed to do something to take her mind off her problems. If she was thinking about the play, she couldn’t worry about what Wayne would say when he found out about the shoplifting, and about her meeting with the court committee.

  She hoped she wouldn’t have to wait too long to appear before the committee. She wanted to get it over with. The sooner she knew how much the fine was going to be, the sooner she could deal with Wayne’s fury.

  Three days later, Wayne’s car was gone when Kit got home from school. Dorothy was humming in the kitchen, making lasagna. A hot loaf of French bread painted fragrant steam pictures on the windowpane.

  “Did Wayne go to work today?” Kit asked.

  Dorothy nodded.

  “When will he be home?”

  “Probably not until seven or so. He had a lot of work to catch up on.”

  Seven or so. Kit had three hours to figure out what she was going to say to Wayne when he jumped on her about the bracelet. He would do it while they ate dinner. That’s when he always discussed any family problems.

  She decided that her best defense would be honesty. She would admit it was a terrible thing to do, say she was sorry, and offer to work off the fine in whatever way Wayne wanted.

  What if Wayne added his own punishment to whatever the court committee decided? She expected to have to pay Wayne back for any fine she was given; that was only fair. But Wayne would probably decide that wasn’t enough. He was a great one for taking away privileges, such as playing the stereo or watching her favorite TV shows. Once he had forbidden her to talk on the telephone for a whole week, just because he’d tried to call home and the line was busy for an hour.

  At dinner
that night, Kit kept expecting Wayne to mention the shoplifting. Instead, he told Dorothy about something that had happened at work. He went on and on, while Dorothy smiled and nodded.

  Kit picked at her food, even though lasagna was one of her favorite dinners and Dorothy hardly ever made it because it was “too fattening.” When was he going to yell at her? Was he dragging it out like this on purpose?

  She waited.

  Wayne took a sip of coffee and turned to Kit. Here it comes, she thought.

  “So, Kit,” Wayne said. “What’s happened at school this week?”

  “Not much. Tracy got a part in the play.”

  “What about you? Didn’t you try out for that play?”

  “I’m making the posters.”

  Wayne nodded. “You’ll be good at that,” he said.

  Why was he trying to be nice? This was how he always acted after one of his binges: extra polite, interested in what Kit was doing. She had come to expect this at other times, but not this time. Not after what she’d done.

  Finally Kit couldn’t stand it any longer. She decided to bring it up herself. Get it over with so she could quit waiting for the storm to break.

  “About my—uh—problem,” she said. “I want you to know . . .”

  “Are you sure you don’t want some garlic bread?” Dorothy said. “It’s especially good tonight.”

  Surprised, Kit looked at her mother. Dorothy rarely urged Kit to eat anything except vegetables. Usually, she lectured on the hazards of overeating.

  “What problem?” Wayne said.

  Kit hesitated. Was he being mean, making her spell it out? Or was it possible that Wayne didn’t know? “I’m too full for garlic bread,” she said.

  “What problem?” Wayne said.

  “It was nothing, really,” Dorothy said. “Kit had some trouble with her math homework while you were sick, that’s all, but we figured it out.”

  “Oh,” Wayne said, “a math problem.”

  “Yes,” Dorothy said. “A math problem. Did you ever get it right, Kit?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Then we won’t have to bother Wayne with it.” She looked at Kit.

  Kit knew that her mother was telling her that Wayne didn’t know about the shoplifting. He didn’t know and Dorothy wasn’t going to tell him.

  “Maybe I have room for garlic bread, after all,” Kit said. She took a piece and then took more lasagna, too. Five minutes ago, she had no appetite; now she felt starved.

  Later, as she helped Dorothy with the dishes, she whispered, “I was really scared of what Wayne would say.”

  “I know you’ve learned a hard lesson from this,” Dorothy said, “and I can’t see any point in getting your dad all charged up over it.”

  “What if I have to pay a big fine?”

  “I have some money set aside from my household funds. We’ll manage, and he won’t ever know.”

  For years, whenever Dorothy covered up Wayne’s drinking, Kit had thought it was wrong. It bothered her to hear Dorothy call Wayne’s boss and say Wayne was sick and couldn’t come to work when in reality Wayne was too drunk to get up off the sofa. It seemed so dishonest to pretend he was sick rather than admit he had a drinking problem.

  Now Dorothy was doing the same thing for Kit. She was pretending the shoplifting hadn’t happened, telling Wayne that Kit’s problem was merely her math homework.

  Kit dried the glass salad bowl and put it in the cupboard. Although she was glad Wayne didn’t know the truth, she didn’t like having Dorothy lie for her. In a way, this was worse than facing Wayne’s anger and dealing with it. It made Kit feel scummy. She had done something so low that her own mother couldn’t admit it.

  Kit wanted to put the whole thing behind her and never think about it again. Dorothy was right about one thing; she had learned a lesson the hard way.

  The letter arrived two weeks later. It instructed her to appear before a court committee on April 22, at 7:30 P.M. Her parents were asked to come, too, if possible.

  “I’ll go with you,” Dorothy said.

  Kit had mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, she wanted her mother there for moral support. The thought of going alone was too terrifying. On the other hand, she was ashamed to be going at all and it made her shame worse to have her mother witness it.

  At least nobody else knew. Not Wayne, not Tracy, not Grandma and Grandpa. And they weren’t going to find out, either.

  THE phone rang during breakfast. “Meet me as early as you can,” Tracy said. “I have a surprise.” She sounded breathless.

  When Kit got to school, she found Tracy pacing the floor in front of their lockers.

  Tracy waved and ran to meet Kit. She thrust an envelope into Kit’s hand. “I mailed the others yesterday,” she said. “I couldn’t wait for you to get yours in the mail. Besides, I wanted to be sure you were the first to know.”

  Kit had never seen Tracy so excited. She tore open the envelope and withdrew a shiny photograph of a hot air balloon.

  “Turn it over,” Tracy said. “Read what’s on the back.”

  Kit saw that it was an invitation. She began to read out loud. “You are invited to a Hot Air Balloon Birthday Party. Where: Meet in the school parking lot; you’ll be driven to the launch site. When . . .”

  Before she could finish, Tracy broke in. “Isn’t it super? My parents have reserved three hot air balloons. We take off from that old airport south of town, the one that isn’t used for planes anymore. There are ‘chase vans’ that follow the balloons, on the ground. When we land, the vans will be there to take us home. But first we’ll have sparkling cider and a picnic dinner. All the food will be in the vans, even a birthday cake.”

  Tracy paused to catch her breath.

  “That,” Kit said, “is the most fantastic party I ever heard of.” Tracy’s parents always had original ideas. Usually Tracy’s birthday parties weren’t this lavish but they were always different and always fun. How wonderful it would be to have parents like that.

  “I’ve thought of some great headlines. Listen to this: ‘PARTY GIRLS GET HIGH IN BALLOONS’.”

  Kit giggled.

  “Or how about, ‘BASKET CASE DISAPPEARS IN CLOUDS.’ Get it? We ride in the balloon’s basket.”

  Kit groaned but she couldn’t resist slipping into Sharon Shocker’s voice and saying, “BALLOON PARTY INVITATIONS HOT ITEM ON BLACK MARKET. SCALPERS GET THOUSANDS.” She looked again at her invitation. “Who else did you invite?” she asked.

  “All the girls who are in the play.” Tracy started naming her guests but Kit didn’t hear the names.

  Kit stopped walking. She had just read the rest of the invitation. “When: April 22 at 5 P.M.”

  On April 22 at 7:30 she had to appear before the Juvenile Court Committee. “What time will the party end?” she asked.

  “The balloons will land around seven. It’ll take an hour for the picnic and then my parents will drive everybody home. It won’t be late; probably nine o’clock.”

  Nine o’clock. She licked her lips and swallowed. She felt as if she’d just been punched in the stomach. She had to miss Tracy’s party.

  “What’s the matter?” Tracy said. “Don’t you think I should have invited Marcia? I didn’t really want to but I didn’t see how I could leave her out when I’m asking the rest of the girls in the cast. Besides, she’s doing a good job in the play. You should come to a rehearsal; you’d be amazed how hard she works. And she hardly brags at all.”

  “I can’t go.”

  “Why not? Miss Fenton doesn’t care, as long as you’re quiet.”

  Kit shook her head, pointing to the invitation. “I can’t go,” she repeated.

  “You can’t go on the balloon ride?” Tracy’s voice rose on the last word, ending in a little squeak.

  Kit nodded her head. “That’s right. I can’t go to your party.”

  “Why not?”

  “I—I just can’t.”

  “But you have to come! This is th
e kind of birthday I’ve always dreamed of and you’re my best friend. It won’t be any fun if you aren’t there.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kit said. “I want to come, believe me.” She looked again at the invitation. “Your birthday is April twenty-third,” she said. “Why is the party on the twenty-second?”

  “Dad couldn’t get all three balloons on the twenty-third.” The excitement was gone from Tracy’s voice. She looked at Kit with narrowed eyes, as if by squinting she would be able to see inside Kit’s head and discover what she was thinking. “Kit, you have to come. Can’t you change whatever plans you have for that day?”

  Kit shook her head. No, she thought. I cannot tell the court committee, sorry, I can’t make it, I’m going to a birthday party. “I wish I could.”

  “Then at least tell me what you’re doing that day. If it’s so important, I think . . .”

  “I can’t tell you.” Kit didn’t mean to sound cross but that’s the way it came out.

  “Well, excuse me,” Tracy said.

  Kit knew Tracy was hurt and she didn’t blame her. It was bad enough not to go to the party; it was even worse not to explain why.

  “I’d tell you if I could,” Kit said. “But I can’t. You’re just going to have to trust me.”

  Tracy spoke softly. “If anybody else I invited can’t come, it won’t make that much difference. You’re the only one who really matters. Maybe I should have checked the date with you before we sent out the invitations but I thought it would be fun to surprise you and I never thought you’d have to be somewhere else. You never mentioned anything and . . .” She stopped suddenly and gave Kit the squint-eyed look again. “You aren’t in some kind of trouble, are you?” she asked.

  “No,” Kit said quickly. “What makes you think that?”

  “If you are,” Tracy said, “you can tell me.”

  “I’m not in any trouble.”

  “Good.” From the way Tracy said, “Good,” Kit could tell she was not totally convinced.

  Kit looked again at the picture of the balloon. It was a round multicolored checkerboard, with squares of yellow, orange, red, green, and lavender, against a blue sky. A square wicker basket hung below it, carrying people high above the trees. She couldn’t see their faces but she was sure they were smiling.