It was insane how fast my heart was going. I was safe in my room with my two best friends, and I was terrified of what one of them was about to say to me.
“Sure of what?” I managed.
Dorrie pulled down my hood. “In your e-mail, you said you’ve changed,” she said carefully. “But I’m just wondering if you really have. If you’ve, you know, looked inside yourself to figure out what you even need to change.”
Spots popped in my brain. It was extremely possible that I was hyperventilating, and I would soon faint and hit my head and die, and the blanket clutched around me would turn red with blood.
“Leave!” I told Dorrie, pointing at the door.
Tegan shrank into herself.
“Addie,” Dorrie said.
“I’m serious—just go. And Jeb and I didn’t get back together, did we? Because he didn’t show up. So who cares if I’ve ‘really’ changed? It doesn’t frickin’ matter!”
Dorrie held her hands up. “You’re right. I suck. That was completely bad timing.”
“You’re telling me. You’re supposed to be my friend!”
“She is your friend,” Tegan said. “Could you stop bickering? Both of you?”
I turned away, and as I did, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in my dresser mirror. For a second I didn’t recognize myself: not my hair, not my scowl, not my anguished eyes. I thought, Who is that crazy girl?
I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“Addie, I’m sorry,” Dorrie said. “I was talking out of my butt like I always do. I just—”
She broke off, and this time I did not say, “You just what?”
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
I dug my fingers into the fibers of my throw blanket. After several long seconds, I gave a tiny nod. But you still suck, I said in my head, even though I knew she didn’t.
Dorrie squeezed my shoulder, then released me. “We probably should get going, huh, Tegan?”
“I guess,” Tegan said. She fooled with the hem of her T-shirt. “Only I don’t want us to end the night on a bad note. I mean, it’s Christmas.”
“It’s already ending on a bad note,” I muttered.
“No, it’s not,” Dorrie said. “We made up. Right, Addie?”
“I wasn’t talking about that,” I said.
“Stop,” Tegan said. “I have something good to tell y’all—something that has nothing to do with sadness or broken hearts or arguing.” She gave the two of us a pleading look. “Will you listen?”
“Of course,” I said. “Well, I will. Can’t speak for Grinch here.”
“I would love to hear something good,” Dorrie said. “Is it about Gabriel?”
“Gabriel? Who’s Gabriel?” I said. Then I remembered. “Oh! Gabriel!” I didn’t look at Dorrie, because I didn’t want her using this as proof that I thought only about myself or whatever.
“I got the most amazing news right before we came over,” Tegan said. “I just didn’t want to bring it up while we were still dealing with Addie’s crisis.”
“I think we’re done with Addie’s crisis,” Dorrie said. “Addie? Are we done with your crisis?”
We will never be done with my crisis, I thought.
I sat down on the floor and tugged Tegan to make her sit beside me. I even made room for Dorrie. “Tell us your good news,” I said.
“My news is about Gabriel,” Tegan said. She smiled. “He’s coming home tomorrow!”
Chapter Five
“I have his bed all set up,” Tegan said. “I have a special Piglet stuffed animal to make him feel comfortable, and I have a ten-pack of grape Dubble Bubble.”
“Ah, yes, because Gabriel loves grape Dubble Bubble,” Dorrie said.
“Do pigs eat gum?” I said.
“They don’t eat it, they chew it,” Tegan said. “And I have a blanket for him to snuggle on, and a leash, and a litter box. The only thing I don’t have is any mud for him to roll around in, but I figure he can roll in the snow, right?”
I was still hung up on the gum bit, but I pulled myself out of it. “Why not?” I said. “Tegan, that is so awesome!”
Her eyes were bright. “I’m going to have my own pig. I’m going to have my very own pig, and it’s all thanks to y’all!”
I couldn’t help but smile. In addition to being impossibly endearing, there was something else that gave Tegan her distinctive Tegan-ness.
She had a thing for pigs.
A really big thing for pigs, so I guess if she said pigs chewed gum, well, then pigs chewed gum. Tegan, of all people, would know.
Tegan’s room was Pig Central, with porcelain pigs and china pigs and carved wooden pigs on every surface. Every Christmas, Dorrie and I gave her a new pig for her collection. (Tegan and I gave Dorrie Hanukkah gifts, too, of course. This year we ordered her a T-shirt from this cool site called Rabbi’s Daughters. It was white with black baby-doll sleeves, and it read, GOT CHUTZPAH?)
Tegan has wanted a real pig forever, but her parents always said no. Actually, because her dad fashions himself a comedian, his standard response was to snort and say, “When pigs fly, Sugar Lump.”
Her mom was less annoying, but equally unyielding.
“Tegan, that cute little piglet you’re dreaming about is going to grow up to weigh eight hundred pounds,” she said.
I could see her point. Eight hundred pounds—that was like eight Tegans all balanced on top of each other. It might not be such a good idea to have a pet that weighed eight times as much as you did.
But then Tegan discovered—drumroll, please!—the teacup pig. They are beyond cute. Tegan showed Dorrie and me the Web site last month, and we oohed and ahed over the pictures of teensy-weensy piggies that seriously fit inside a teacup. They grow to weigh a maximum of five pounds, which is a twentieth of Tegan’s weight, and which is a much better proposition than an eight-hundred-pound porker.
So Tegan talked to the breeder, and then she made her parents talk to the breeder. While all that talking was going on, Dorrie and I did some talking to the breeder of our own. By the time Tegan’s parents gave their official okay, the deed was done: the last of the breeder’s teacup piglets was paid for and reserved.
“You guys!” Tegan squealed when we told her. “You’re the best friends ever! But . . . what if my parents had said no?”