Virginia lives up the street. She has a backyard and a pool. Lawn chairs that unfold so you can lay flat and go to sleep. We don’t have any of these things.

We weren’t even supposed to be at this party, me and Judy. Mommy said no at first, even though Judy and Virginia are in the same class, and my sister begged. But then, Nanny Ray died, and they said no kids at the funeral. So that’s why we’re here. I was fine with not going when she first got invited. My name wasn’t even on the card.

I can’t swim, and my bathing suit doesn’t fit me anymore. It’s way too tight. I stare into the mirror at my legs that are bigger and fatter than everyone else’s my age. I pull all the extra skin to the back so they look normal, but when I let go, they’re ugly again.

Mrs. Gallo gave Mommy two bathing suits that belonged to Little Catherine. I wanted to like them, but they’re so old fashioned. I was afraid I’d get laughed at, so I’m wearing my regular clothes. If anyone asks me why I’m not going in the pool, I’ll just say, “I don’t feel good.”

Mommy made us bring big towels from the bathroom, in case we get wet. All the other kids have cool towels. The ones you see at the beach, with rainbows and horses, Hot Wheels on them. I always ask Mommy for a Holly Hobbie towel, and she says no every time. I don’t even think I like Holly Hobbie anymore. My towel is light blue and has a big rust stain on it.

There’s a long metal table that reaches across the deck, covered in balloons and streamers, napkins that say Happy Birthday. Next to each plate is a party horn and a little paper basket filled with candies. I wait until no one is looking and take a few jelly beans from each cup.

This girl comes up to me. I don’t know who she is.

“Stop eating all the candy,” she says.

“I’m not.”

“Don’t lie. I saw you.”

“I’m not lying.”

I walk around the outside of the pool, while kids bounce and splash each other, screaming and crying. Somebody calls my name, but I ignore them. I know they’ll dump a wave in my face if I look up so I don’t.

I go over to where Virginia’s dad is cooking hotdogs on the barbecue. He smokes a cigar and talks to Evelyn through the kitchen window. They’re arguing over something, a light green apron that she throws at his face.

“Put this on,” she says. “I can’t get the stains out, and that’s a good shirt.”

“Are we having fun yet?” he asks me.

I tell him, “Yes.”

He clears his throat, steps to one side and spits into the grass.

“You and me both.”

I wish I knew when this party ends. I wish I knew when we could go home. I wish I didn’t break the Cinderella watch I got for my First Holy Communion. Then I’d know what time it is and how much longer before we can leave. I loved that watch so much. Mommy told me to be careful and not wind it too tight, but I wouldn’t listen. Now, the slipper slides around inside the glass, and the clock part doesn’t work either. I should probably throw it away, but I can’t. Then Mom will know that I broke it.

The same thing happened to Donald. Only with my cousin’s watch, the big hand came loose from Flipper’s belly. Now, the small hand just spins and spins. He stuffed his watch into the back of his pajama drawer. The reason I know this is because I found it when I went looking around for stuff in his bedroom. That’s the only interesting thing I found. Plus, quarters in a dish on his desk. I took those.

Johnny is Virginia’s younger brother. I’m not sure what grade he’s in. Judy said he got left back. He still holds his mother’s hand when they cross the street. So do I, but not because I want to. Mommy makes me. Johnny pretends he’s asleep in the long, yellow beach chair I’ve decided is my favorite. I wait and wait for him to get up.

“Can I try?” I ask, when I feel like I’ve waited long enough.

“Try what?”

“Your chair.”

“I’m not done yet,” he says.

“I know. But when you are, I want a turn. Okay?”

No answer.

“Johnny, okay?”

“What?”

“Can I be next?”

“I don’t care.”

Until today, I guess I thought Johnny was nice. But now, I think he’s a jerk. And all of a sudden, I feel like I might cry. But not here I want to cry in my own house. Who knows when that will happen. It could be hours and hours from now. I wish I could find my sister.

Finally, Johnny leaves. I lower myself into the center of the chair. I lean my shoulders against the backrest and scrape my giant legs across the bottom section. I’m almost laying down. I try to look up at the sky, but the sun is too bright. I cover my face with my hands. Tears leak out from the corners of my eyes. They trickle into my ears and down my neck. This chair really isn’t as great as I thought it would be.

Someone tugs at my big toe. It’s Judy.

“What’s the matter?” she asks.

“I just wanna go home.”

“Me, too,” she says. “But don’t worry. Everything’s gonna be okay. I’m here now.”