Isobel winced. “Sorry about that. Listen, I’ll pay you back.”
Gwen waved her off, her array of thin metal bracelets clinking like chimes. “Eh, I’d settle for giving your brother a swirly.” With nimble fingers, she wound her earbud cord around her lime-green iPod before stuffing them into the hand-sewn patchwork purse at her side. “Believe me,” she added, palm raised, “normally, I’m the kind of person who prefers the nontactile approach when it comes to retribution, but if you decide you want to dunk your brother’s head in the toilet and you need help, I won’t think that’s asking too much. As long as you’re the one doing the heavy lifting, I think I can manage to press the flush.”
Isobel grinned in spite of herself. She had not seen Gwen since school had let out for Christmas break the previous week. Even before that, with practice every day because of Nationals, they’d only been able to talk briefly between class breaks, at lunch, and over Facebook. But with Isobel’s dad still griping over Gwen’s involvement in Halloween night, they’d both agreed to lie low on phone calls and texting. Especially with Isobel’s dad checking her cell like a nurse with a heart monitor.
“I see you found my pretzels,” Isobel said. She tossed her own purse onto the bed next to Gwen’s.
Gwen sat up. She brushed her hands off, dusting Isobel’s pink bedspread with crumbs. “They called to me from your top dresser drawer. What can I say? I got a case of the munchies from smelling whatever it is your mom’s cooking down there,” she prattled on. “And there was no telling how long you were gonna be gone, so what was I supposed to do? Starve myself? They’re a little stale, though—Whoa!” Gwen halted, her eyes bugging. Without warning, she swiped at Isobel, snatching her hand and bringing it to her nose. “Talk about bling,” she said, eyeing Isobel’s championship ring. “That where you’ve been all this time? Deep-sea diving with the Titanic wreckage?”
Isobel pried her hand gently from Gwen’s. Shrugging, she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, then turned and sank down on the edge of her bed next to Gwen. She stuffed both hands between her knees to hide the ring from view. “Coach’s idea,” she said. “The squad voted on ordering them, since this was our third win in a row. I wasn’t going to get one, but when Dad found out about it, he insisted.”
Gwen grunted. Leaning back again, she folded her arms behind her head and crossed her bony legs at the ankles. “How is the warden anyway? That who you’ve been out with?”
“Last-minute Christmas shopping,” Isobel said.
Gwen perked up at the word “shopping.” Seeming to notice the small cluster of bags for the first time, she all but catapulted off the bed. “You shouldn’t have,” she said, situating herself in a cross-legged position on Isobel’s rose-colored carpeting, hiking up her skirt and exposing the dark-brown stirrup leggings beneath. She dipped an arm into a gold bag accented with green and red holly designs. “Especially since I’m Jewish.”
Isobel smiled. “That one’s for Dad,” she said, watching as Gwen removed and shook a sleek rectangular box wrapped in green-and-gold paper. The object inside thudded heavily against the cardboard.
“Let me guess,” Gwen said. “Padlock to add to his collection?”
Isobel rolled her eyes. “Cologne.”
“Let’s hope it helps,” Gwen muttered, and went back to foraging, the tissue paper rustling noisily as she retrieved a small, flat parcel wrapped in glittery red.
“Ooh,” she said, plucking at the gauzy green bow. “This one looks fancy.” She weighed the box in one hand, then lifted it to her ear, giving it a shake. A quiet whispering sound came from within. “Tennis bracelet?” she guessed.
“Close. Snowflake locket. Dad’s gift to Mom.”
“Humph.” Gwen placed the box on the floor next to the other. “What else you got in here?” she asked over the crinkling of bags.
Isobel glanced away, her attention caught by the popcorn-size flecks of white collecting on the sill outside her window. Pushing off from the bed, she went to open her lace curtains.
“Jeez,” she murmured, “it’s really starting to come down.”
“What? That?” Gwen scoffed. “That’s cotton candy snow. All fluff and empty calories. It’ll be gone first thing in the morning, just wait.”
Staring at the roof ledge, Isobel zeroed in on one of the tiles near the middle of the downward slope, one with an upturned edge, curled like a beckoning finger.
