Lollipop

Five days a week, Jane and Louise would walk home from school together. It was only a half-mile from school and the girls only lived three houses apart, so both Jane’s parents and Louise’s parents figured the ten-year-olds were more than capable of handling the walk, as long as the weather was good.

Most days Jane would have a bag of lollipops with her.

If she was in a good mood she would offer one to Louise, and if she was in an especially good mood she would let Louise pick the flavor herself. On such occasions Louise would always pick caramel green apple — because it was the best, so obviously that’s what she did.

And this was great, really. Louise really appreciated it when her friend decided to share the lollipops with her. Who doesn’t enjoy having a little something sweet to put in their mouth, after all?

The thing is, though… Louise kind of really, really, really wanted to be able to have one of Jane’s lollipops whenever she wanted. Not that she wasn’t grateful when she did get one, don’t go thinking that, it’s just that sometimes she’d be walking down the sidewalk, enjoying the sunshine through the leaves, and she’d really want a lollipop.

If her parents weren’t such health freaks it wouldn’t even be a problem, but there wasn’t anything in the house sweeter than a fat, juicy apple. Not to knock apples, of course, but they just didn’t do it for Louise the way a nice, concentrated jolt of processed sugar with natural and artificial flavors could.

And it’s not like Louise was inhibited or anything, so when she wanted a lollipop from Jane she’d go ahead and ask for it, no problem. She wasn’t one of those girls who felt like it didn’t matter what she wanted or she didn’t deserve to get what she wanted or had an awful feeling of guilt any time she went after what she wanted.

So she’d say, “Hey Jane, can you spare me a lollipop?”

And sometimes Jane would say, “Sure, here you go.”

But here’s the thing. Sometimes Jane wouldn’t say that. Sometimes Jane would say, “Sorry, I’m almost out right now,” or, “Mom told me I won’t get a new bag of lollipops for another week,” or, “Go get your own lollipops, Louise ole girlie.”

Which was just fine. Really. Louise was disappointed when she didn’t get a lollipop, but it’s not like she resented being told no, or anything. So don’t you go getting that idea at all.

Still though. Louise really wanted to be able to get a lollipop any time she wanted one. And it didn’t look like straight out asking was going to get the job done.

So the second thing she tried was getting Jane to feel really good about the idea of sharing in general, and sharing lollipops in particular. Louise would do this long before the school day was over, too. The idea was to try and get Jane to come up with the idea of sharing one of her lollipops with Louise, before Louise even had the chance to ask.

Maybe out on the playground at recess she’d casually mention, “Hey, look at how Mark is sharing his soccer ball with everybody on the soccer field! Isn’t that great? Like the way you share lollipops with me sometimes.”

Or (after refining her approach a bit) she’d say something like, “Emily just totally saved my life by lending me a pencil for the math test. She’s a real friend, don’t you think?”

Or maybe at lunch she’d say, “These apples my mom and dad got me are really great! Here, you have one. Don’t worry, you don’t owe me, or anything, good friends just share with each other.”

These methods definitely increased Louise’s success rate — not that she thought about it in those cold, calculating terms, she wasn’t manipulative, or anything. Just making conversation, is all, and if she just happened to mention sharing lollipops every once in a while, maybe she just mentioned sharing lollipops every once in a while.

Still, it wasn’t perfect. And the awful thing was that even though it worked most of the time, the fact that it worked most of the time only made the times when it didn’t work unbearable. On those days she’d clam up on Jane, dwelling on how much she wanted a lollipop and how Jane had a lollipop but wouldn’t share it with her.

That’s when Louise discovered silence was a weapon.

But she kept working on her approach. Refining. Perfecting.

Eventually Louise found a method that extracted a lollipop from Jane every time. And it didn’t even take any time or day-long preparation, either. The simplicity of it made Louise proud.

Here’s how it worked: as soon as Jane would open up a lollipop and stick it in her mouth, Louise would say, “I think it’s so great that you keep treating yourself to those lollipops. Emily’s wrong, I don’t think they’re affecting your figure at all.”

A look of fear and shame would come over Jane’s face. She’d pull the lollipop out of her mouth and take a close look at it for a moment, the sunlight glinting off the sugar and spittle. For a moment she’d look like she was about to toss the lollipop away.

But (just like clockwork) she would instead reach for her lollipop bag again, saying, “Yeah, they’re great, aren’t they? You should go ahead and have one too.”

And that caramel green apple would taste divine.

After a few weeks of this, Louise stood waiting for Jane at the exit doors one day after school ended. When Jane showed up, she walked straight past Louise, not even making eye contact with her.

“Hey, wait up for me!” Louise said, “We need to walk home together.”

“Oh hi, I, uh, didn’t see you there,” Jane said. She glanced over her shoulder at where the school buses were waiting, the fingers of her left hand drumming on the right arm.

“What’s going on?” Louise asked.

“What’s going on? Uh… what’s going on is… my mom told me I need to take the bus from now on. But you can go ahead and walk home, I know how much you like walking.”

“Oh… okay,” Louise said.

After a couple of awkward apologies, Jane walked off to the bus, looking back over her shoulder at Louise once or twice. She climbed the steps, one by one, and Louise could just make her out through the windows as she made her way to the seventh seat on the right and sat down. Soon enough the bus door shut and the bus pulled out of the parking lot with a roar and the scent of diesel.

And Louise walked home by herself.