Leslie's Journal

Seven

God exists! I have been rescued from hell! Okay. First the hell part. Yesterday Katie invited me to another of her Saturday night slumber parties. I was kind of glad to be invited, because if I hadn't been, I'd be suicidal. But I'm also thinking, hey, we're in grade ten now - aren't we a little old for slumber parties? I mean, couldn't she at least call them sleepovers? But no, at Katie's house they really are slumber parties, because her mom is always home, which means no cigarettes or booze or boys. Once, as a joke, I asked Katie if I could bring some homemade hash brownies to liven things up. You should have seen her face. It was like I'd invited her to join a Satanic cult.

At Katie's slumber parties, we all sit around in the rec room in our nighties. (Except for me. I usually sleep in my underwear, so Mrs. Kincaid makes me wear an old pair of Katie's pajamas, plastered with kittens or ballerinas. Basically I look like a dork, but that's okay so long as no one takes pictures.) We eat popcorn and chip and play cards and gossip, blah blah blah. Then Mrs. Kincaid comes down with more so-called treats, like Rice Krispie squares and Jell-O fruit cup (whee!), and also stuff she makes from recipes on the back of packages, like multicolored mini-marshmallows and canned Mandarin orange slices in sour cream (help!).

I swear she's got her ear to the air vent the whole night, because the second we bring up the subject about boys she's down again to interrupt with the nutty idea that we might like to dye our hair. She hands out these Krazy Kolors that wash out - Krazy Kolors, crazy if you're a clown, and maybe - and, bingo, we're all dyeing our hair and giving each other facials and rolling around in hysterics. Ha ha, remind me to laugh. Oh, and did I mention the fashion show? The thrills never stop.

It's not that I don't like facials and fashion shows. Katie and me used to have them all the time. But it was just the two of us. It's different when you do something with a friend than with a bunch of people who are just putting up with you.

Hearing the hilarity , Mrs. Kincaid comes back and whispers loud in Katie's ear, "Your father's trying to get some work done. How be you girls settle down and watch a video?" Katie always acts as if this is a great idea and puts on some sucky piece of junk they tapped off the Family Channel.

After gagging for five minutes, I say something like, "Hey, let's turn down the sound and make up fake dialogue." And Ashley either goes, "Leslie, we're enjoying this. If you aren't, why don't you go home?" or "Come on, Leslie, you're looking for an excuse to say something gross and spoil everything." When I turn to Katie for support she just flaps her hands and looks helpless. I know she doesn't want to choose sides, but her not saying anything sure feels like a choice to me.

I go off in a corner and pretend to read an old copy of Teen People. (Teen People. What a weird concept. Tell it to adults sometimes.) I sigh a lot and moan and generally bug everybody until they start throwing cushions at me. Then finally it's midnight, and Mrs. Kincaid comes back down and turns the light out.

"Sleep tight."

Argh! It is always the same and it is always torture!

So when Katie invites me this time I say, "Sure, great." but I'm seriously thinking up excuses to cancel. Until I get home, that is, and find Mom rummaging around my room in Amazon warrior mode. It seems Mr. Carrouthers has called about my "continued inappropriate dress," and Mom has discovered I'm not wearing what I leave the house in. In fact, I'm wearing clothes she didn't even know I had.

"You're quite a piece of work, Leslie," she fumes, pointing at my secret wardrobe. She's started to dig clothes out of supposedly empty drawers under my bed, and she's throwing them onto a big pile in the middle of the room. "Tell me, what is the meaning of this?"

How am I supposed to answer? I don't even try. Instead, I point at the "Leslie's Room: Keep Out" sign on the door. "Can't you read?" I yell. "Like, whatever happened to trust?"