Wake Page 0,2
snooty, like all the other girls who call Janie white trash at school. Maybe, since this new girl lives next to Janie on the wrong side of town, they’ll call her white trash too.
But she’s really pretty.
Pretty enough to make a difference.
Janie dresses hurriedly, puts on her boots and coat, and marches next door to have the first chance to get to the girl before the North Siders get to her. Janie’s desperate for a friend.
“You guys want some help?” Janie asks in a voice more confident than she feels.
The girl stops in her tracks. A smile deepens the dimples in her cheeks, and she tilts her head to the side. “Hi,” she says. “I’m Carrie Brandt.”
Carrie’s eyes sparkle.
Janie’s heart leaps.
March 2, 2001, 7:34 p.m.
Janie is thirteen.
She doesn’t have a sleeping bag, but Carrie has an extra that Janie can use. Janie sets her plastic grocery bag on the floor by the couch in Carrie’s living room.
Inside the bag:
a hand-made birthday gift for Carrie
Janie’s pajamas
a toothbrush
She’s nervous. But Carrie is chattering enough for both of them, waiting for Carrie’s other new friend, Melinda Jeffers, to show up.
Yes, that Melinda Jeffers.
Of the Fieldridge North Side Jefferses.
Apparently, Melinda Jeffers is also the president of the “Make Janie Hannagan Miserable” Club. Janie wipes her sweating hands on her jeans.
When Melinda arrives, Carrie doesn’t fawn over her. Janie nods hello.
Melinda smirks. Tries to whisper something to Carrie, but Carrie ignores her and says, “Hey! Let’s do Janie’s hair.”
Melinda throws a daggered look at Carrie.
Carrie smiles brightly at Janie, asking her with her eyes if it’s okay.
Janie squelches a grin, and Melinda shrugs and pretends like she doesn’t mind after all.
Even though Janie knows it’s killing her.
The three girls slowly grow more comfortable, or maybe just resigned, with one another. They put on makeup and watch Carrie’s favorite videos of old comedians, some of whom Janie’s never heard of before. And then they play truth or dare.
Carrie alternates: truth, dare, truth, dare.
Melinda always picks truth.
And then there’s Janie.
Janie never picks truth.
She’s a dare girl.
That way, nobody gets inside.
She can’t afford to let anyone inside.
They might find out about her secret.
The giggles become hysterics when Melinda’s dare for Janie is to run outside through the snow barefoot, around to the backyard, take off her clothes, and make a naked snow angel.
Janie doesn’t have a problem doing that.
Because, really, what does she have to lose?
She’ll take that dare over giving up her secrets any day.
Melinda watches Janie, arms folded in the cold night air, and with a sneer on her face, while Carrie giggles and helps Janie get her sweatshirt and jeans back on her wet body. Carrie takes Janie’s bra, fills the cups with snow, and slingshots them like snowballs at Melinda.
“Ew, gross,” Melinda sneers. “Where’d you get that old grungy thing, Salvation Army?”
Janie’s giggles fade. She grabs her bra back from Carrie and shoves it in her jeans pocket, embarrassed. “No,” she says hotly, then giggles again. “It was Goodwill. Why, does it look familiar?”
Carrie snorts.
Even Melinda laughs, reluctantly.
They trudge back inside for popcorn.
11:34 p.m.
The noise level in the living room of Carrie’s house fades along with the lights after Mr. Brandt, Carrie’s father, stomps to the doorway and hollers at the three girls to shut up and get to sleep.
Janie zips up the musty-smelling sleeping bag and closes her eyes, but she is too hyper to sleep after that exhilarating naked snow angel. She had a fun evening despite Melinda. She learned what it’s like to be a rich girl (sounds nice for about a day, but too many stinking lessons), and that Luke Drake is supposedly the hottest boy in the class (in Carrie’s mind), and what people like Melinda do four times a year (they take vacations to exotic places). Who knew?
Now the hushed giggles subside around her, and Janie opens her eyes to stare at the dark ceiling. She is glad to be here, even though Melinda teases her about her clothes. Melinda even had the nerve to ask Janie why she never wears anything new. But Carrie shut her up with a sudden exclamation: “Janie, you look simply stunning with your hair back like that. Doesn’t she, Melinda?”
For the first time ever, Janie’s hair is in French braids, and now, lying in the sleeping bag, she feels the bumps pressing against her scalp through the thin pillow. Maybe Carrie could teach her how to do it sometime.
She has to pee, but she is afraid to get up, in case Carrie’s