Dear Pen Pal

by Heather Vogel Frederick

  Uh-oh, I think. House guests are like cinnamon rolls. My mother doesn’t do them. What is going on this morning?

  “Who?” I ask.

  “Your grandmother is coming for a visit.”

  I almost choke on my bite of roll. Gigi? My mother’s mother lives in Hong Kong, and I don’t think she’s been to our house since I was a baby. I talk to her on the phone every few weeks or so, but the last time I saw her was when we flew over to China for a family reunion right before I started middle school.

  My mother’s lips are pursed as tight as a buttonhole. My father gives her a worried glance and clears his throat. “Yes, well, Gigi’s getting along in years now,” he says. “I feel—your mother and I feel—that she needs to be closer to family.”

  “Really?” I don’t remember my grandmother seeming all that elderly last time I saw her, and she sure sounds fine on the phone when we talk, but maybe my parents know something I don’t.

  My mother starts clearing the table. She plunks the dishes into the sink with a little more oomph than usual and rattles them around noisily.

  “So when’s she coming?” I ask.

  “Thanksgiving,” my mother replies shortly. She and her mom don’t get along that well. They’re really different, for one thing. Actually, Gigi is different from just about every other grandmother that I’ve ever met.

  “How long is she going to stay?”

  The silverware in the sink clanks vigorously.

  “Um, we’re not sure,” says my father, with another anxious glance at my mother’s back. He takes one last sip of coffee, glances at his watch, and stands up. “If you’re ready to leave, I can drop you at school on my way to work.”

  I’m quiet on the drive down Strawberry Hill toward town. My dad listens to the news on the radio and I look out the window, my thoughts a mixture of dread at having to show up in front of everybody at Walden wearing what I’m wearing and curiosity as to my grandmother’s upcoming visit. Mostly dread. Having to wear a uniform is almost enough to make a person want to go to Colonial Academy. Jess got out just in time. It’s going to be weird, though, not having her at school with us this year. None of us thought she’d go, but her parents really wanted her to and I guess they worked out a compromise. Jess will live in the dorm during the week, and on the weekends she’ll get to come home to Half Moon Farm.

  We pull up by the flagpole a few minutes later and I stare gloomily out the window at the swarm of students by the school’s front door. If there’s one consolation, at least I won’t be the only one at Walden today who looks like a complete idiot.

  My dad reaches over and pats me on the leg. “Have a great day, honey, and don’t sweat the uniform too much. I had to wear one to school when I was growing up, and I survived.”

  I shoot him a look. He laughs. “Yeah, that was back when dinosaurs roamed the earth, right?”

  It takes me a while to find Becca in the crowd. When the bell rings, the two of us line up along with everyone else. Our principal, Mrs. Hanford, and vice principal, Mr. Keller, are checking us all in this morning to make sure we’re wearing our uniforms.

  Sure enough, some kids forgot, or didn’t get the information packet the school sent out a few weeks ago, or just plain didn’t want to. They get sent to the office to call their parents. Mr. Keller’s eyes narrow when he sees my belt and jewelry and socks, and he scans his clipboard. There’s nothing in the rules against accessories, though, which I already know, so he has to let me in. Becca is right behind me.

  “Hey, guys,” calls Emma, spotting us in the hallway. “Nice rhinestones, Megs. Wish I’d thought of something like that.”

  “There’s always tomorrow,” I tell her.

  “And the day after that, and the day after that,” adds Becca, making a face. “We’re stuck with these stupid uniforms until high school. See you two at lunch.”

  The three of us head off in different directions. No one from our book club is in the same homeroom this year, and hardly any of us have any of the same classes except social studies and math. Lunch will be the only chance for all of us to spend time together.

  Walden’s hallways are awash in maroon and mustard—excuse me, “gold.” The girls mostly look disgusted or embarrassed or both, and the boys—well, boys don’t seem to care that much about clothes, so it’s pretty much business as usual for them. They’re pushing and shoving and teasing one another like they always do.

  When I finally get to math class, I see that Cassidy is wearing the mustard-colored polo, which looks even worse on her than my maroon one does on me. I can’t believe her mother let her out of the house in it. Cassidy’s got that pale, freckled skin that lots of redheads have, and next to the shirt her face looks all yellow and sickly. It’s like when Emma and I were little and used to play that game where we’d hold dandelions under each other’s chins to see if we liked butter. From the looks of Cassidy Sloane this morning, butter is her favorite food. I know better than to say anything to her though.

  At lunch, I get to our table just ahead of Becca and manage to snag a seat next to Zach Norton.

  “Hey, Megan,” he says.

  “Hey back,” I reply, trying to sound casual. My heart always beats a little faster when I sit next to Zach.

  He’s wearing a maroon polo, just like me, only on him it looks great. Of course, Zach Norton could show up at school in a garbage bag and still look great. He’s tall and blond and has gray-blue eyes that Emma once called “the color of the wind” in a poem she wrote about him, which is the perfect description. Out of the corner of my eye I see Becca heading our way with her tray, and she does not look happy. I ignore her. Becca considers Zach her private property, but from what I can tell, he’s not interested in her, so she might as well let one of us sit next to him now and then and have a chance to breathe the same air that he’s breathing.

  Becca would never admit it, but she’s pretty thrilled that being in the Mother-Daughter Book Club gives her eating rights at our table. Jess used to call our table the hybrid, because there’s such a weird assortment of kids at it. Besides all of the members of our book club, there’s Ashley Sanborn, who’s friends with Becca and me. Jen Webster was going to sit with us, too, but she moved to St. Louis with her family over the summer, which means the Fab Three are now the Fab Two, or Double Trouble, as Cassidy has renamed them. Zach, the most popular boy at Walden Middle School, sits at our table because he’s on the baseball team with Cassidy, and his friends Ethan MacDonald and Third—Cranfield Bartlett III—sit with us because Ethan plays baseball too, and Third plays hockey with Cassidy. Cassidy is as big a jock as any guy I’ve ever met—bigger even, maybe. She’s good at just about every sport under the sun.

  I sneak a peek at Ethan and Third, who both shot up over the summer. Ethan’s trimmed down a lot, too. They both look, well, good. Nowhere near Zach Norton’s league, but still, not bad, either.

  From the looks of it our table is going to be stuck with Kevin Mullins again this year. Kevin is Walden’s resident junior genius. He grew a teeny bit over the summer, but he’s still pretty short. Mostly that’s because he should really be in, like, fifth grade, but he got bumped up to middle school because he’s so smart. Emma says he’s like a stray puppy now that Jess, his human security blanket, is at Colonial Academy, and she’s right, because today he’s looking even more pathetic than usual.

  “Move, dwarf,” Becca commands, setting her tray down next to his.

  Kevin slides hastily down to make room. Emma glares at Becca, who sighs. “Just kidding, Kevin,” she tells him, but he keeps his distance anyway, eyeing her warily.

  Cassidy is the last to arrive. She plunks down next to Emma and opens her lunch bag.

  “So what’s on the menu today?” Ethan asks, leaning closer. Like me, he has a plate of Walden Middle School spaghetti, which tastes pretty much like school cafeteria spaghetti anywhere on the planet, I’m willing to bet.

  Our table’s big daily ritual ever since Cassidy’s mom got her
own cooking show on TV is to see if we can talk Cassidy into sharing her lunch with the rest of us. My mother loves packing my lunch, but I hardly ever let her do it. I’d honestly rather eat cafeteria food. There’s never anything normal about a Lily Wong lunch. Brown rice is often involved, along with unpronounceable things like arugula and tahini. Could she ever just send me with a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich and a couple of store-bought cookies? No way.

  But a Clementine Sloane lunch—oops, make that a Clementine Sloane-Kinkaid lunch—now that’s something different. Cassidy’s mother always packs leftovers from the show. Truly amazing leftovers.

  Cassidy grins and makes a big show of looking into her lunch bag. “Oh, man, does that ever smell good,” she says, inhaling whatever’s inside.

  “Dude, come on, quit playing around,” whines Ethan.

  “You don’t have to get all worked up about it,” Cassidy tells him. “It’s just a ham sandwich, an apple, and some chips.” She pulls out a plastic container, lifts up one of the corners, and pretends to look surprised. “Oh, and I almost forgot. A chocolate volcano cupcake.”

  Ethan groans. In fact, we all groan. Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid’s chocolate volcano cupcakes are legendary, as Emma would say.

  “I especially like them after they’ve cooled off,” Cassidy continues, obviously enjoying torturing us. “You know, when all the gooey stuff in the middle gets kind of fudgy.”

  The bidding for the cupcake is fast and furious, and in the end Kevin wins by offering to help Cassidy with her math homework for an entire month. Jess used to do that, and now that she’s gone, Cassidy’s going to need all the help she can get. So am I, for that matter. Neither of us is very good at math, and this year we’re taking pre-algebra.

  The rest of the day passes quickly. After the final bell, I head out to the flagpole where the buses are lined up. Mrs. Chadwick is waiting in the parking lot for Becca and Ashley, who are heading to a dance class. They invited me to take lessons with them, too, but dance just isn’t my thing. Besides, I have a stack of fashion magazines waiting for me at home. I’ve been saving them up because I knew the first day of school was going to be a tough one, what with the uniforms and everything, and I figured I’d probably need some cheering up. Plus, there are leftover cinnamon rolls, too.

  “Megan!” Emma runs up behind me, her round face flushed with excitement. “I’ve got a great idea—let’s go surprise Jess!”

  I think longingly of what’s waiting at home—including the latest issue of Flashlite—but the chance to finally get a peek at Colonial Academy is too tempting.

  “Sounds fun. Should we invite Cassidy to come too?”

  Emma shakes her head. “Fall ball started today and she’s at practice.”

  I fish my cell phone out of my backpack and call my mom to see if I can go. She says okay, and then I pass the phone to Emma, who calls her father for permission too. Mr. Hawthorne says that our plan sounds fine, and that he’ll call Mrs. Delaney so she can let Jess’s school know we’re coming.

  “Be sure and tell her to keep it a surprise,” Emma says. She hangs up and passes me back my phone. “He said I should invite you and Jess to our house for dinner. He’s making his famous first-day-of-school meat loaf.”

  Mr. Hawthorne is a writer. He works from home, and he’s in charge of all the cooking at Emma’s house, which is a good thing since her mom hates to cook and is almost as bad at it as my mom. My mouth starts to water just thinking about Emma’s dad’s meat loaf. It sure beats the heck out of the organic eggplant-and-edamame surprise that my mother is probably whipping up for our family right now, but I don’t mention that when I call home again to let her know about the invitation.

  When everything is settled, we head for Emma’s bus, which is the only one that stops downtown. After we find a seat, I tell Emma about Gigi.

  “That is so awesome, Megan!” she says, then sighs. “My grandparents live in Seattle, which isn’t Hong Kong but it might as well be. They don’t get to come see us very often.”

  A few minutes later, the bus stops by the library and the two of us get off.

  “We should have gone to your house first to change,” I grumble to Emma, plucking at my maroon polo shirt with its dumb Walden Middle School logo. “I can only imagine what the Colonial Academy girls will have to say when they see these stupid uniforms.”

  “Too hot to walk that far,” says Emma. “We’ll just have to brave it.”

  We cross Main Street and head toward the private school’s fancy iron gates. As we pass under them, I glance around curiously. Emma’s been over to the campus a couple of times already to see Jess, but this is my very first visit. My mother tried to get me to take a tour back in fifth grade, and would have been thrilled if I’d wanted to go, but I said no way.

  “This is the quad,” Emma tells me as I follow her across a big square of green lawn surrounded by stately buildings. “And those are the dorms.” She points to a row of white houses that line the far edge. “Jess lives in Witherspoon, with the other eighth graders.”

  It’s cool and dark inside the entry hall. There are oriental rugs on the hardwood floors, and off to one side is a huge living room with a grand piano in front of a stone fireplace. On the other side of the entry hall is a small office, where a youngish woman is sitting with a baby in her lap.

  “Hello, girls,” she says cheerfully. “I’m Kate Crandall, the housemother here at Witherspoon. Can I help you?”

  “We’d like to see Jess Delaney,” Emma replies politely. “I’m Emma Hawthorne, and this is Megan Wong.”

  Jess’s housemother smiles. “Oh, yes, of course. You’ve been here before, haven’t you, Emma? Mrs. Delaney just called to tell me that you two would be stopping by.”

  Emma waggles her fingers at the baby on Mrs. Crandall’s lap. “Hi, Maggie!”

  Maggie gives her a toothless grin and kicks her feet happily.

  “Hey, look—she matches my socks.” I point at Maggie’s black-and-pink-and-white-striped T-shirt and black corduroy jumper, then pull up one of my pant legs and stick out my foot.

  Mrs. Crandall inspects my ankle. “You two look like you belong together.”

  She holds Maggie out to me and I take her carefully. I don’t have much experience with babies. Maggie is heavier than she looks, and wiggly. I hold her close, worried that she might slip out of my grasp. She smells good, like shampoo and soap. “She’s a really cute baby,” I say, leaning down to sniff her hair. Maggie reaches up a chubby hand and tugs on one of my hoop earrings.

  “Oops, I should have warned you,” says Jess’s housemother, quickly disentangling us and taking her back again. “Maggie has a thing for jewelry.”

  “She’s pretty stylish, for a baby,” I tell her. “I like her outfit.”

  “Why, thank you,” says Mrs. Crandall. “I’ll take that as a real compliment, coming from you. You’re pretty stylish yourself.”

  I make a face and Mrs. Crandall laughs. “Ah yes, the controversial school uniforms. I read about them in the local paper.”

  Maggie bounces up and down in her mother’s arms again, and watching her, I find myself suddenly itching to pull out my sketchbook. Would it be really weird if I added baby clothes to my future fashion line?

  “Have fun tonight,” Mrs. Crandall tells us, and Emma and I say good-bye to Maggie, who waves her plump fist at us in response.

  “Mrs. Crandall is really nice,” I whisper to Emma as we start up the stairs.

  “I know,” Emma whispers back. “Her husband is Jess’s math teacher.”

  “Their baby is cute too.”

  Emma nods. “Jess babysits for them a lot.”

  I feel a pang of envy. I’ve never babysat for anybody. Not once. Nobody’s ever asked me to. Maybe since I’m an only child, people figure I wouldn’t know what to do with a baby. Which is probably true. Emma and Jess both babysit. They took a training class together at our local rec center, but that was back in sixth grade when the three of us weren’t getti
ng along, so I wouldn’t have gone with them even if they had invited me to.

  I wonder if maybe Jess would let me babysit with her sometime. I really wish I wasn’t an only child, but my parents—well, my mother anyway; I’ve never really talked to my dad about it—only wanted one kid. My mother says the planet is overpopulated. She is really determined to help save the earth, so it will probably always just be Mirror Megan and me.

  At the top of the stairs, there’s a long hallway stretching in both directions. Emma turns left, and I follow her down to the last room at the very end. She flings open the door without knocking, startling Jess, who is sitting at her desk.

  “Surprise!” we both cry.

  Jess takes one look at our uniforms and bursts out laughing.

  “Thanks a bunch,” I say crossly. Even though Jess isn’t dressed in anything special, just shorts and flip-flops and an old T-shirt she got when our book club went to see Little Women on Broadway, she looks as pretty as always. She has deep blue eyes and this amazingly thick blond hair that she’s worn in a braid down her back forever. I’d love to have hair like Jess’s, but then she always says that about mine. I don’t know why she thinks my straight black hair is anything special, but she told me once it’s as shiny as anthracite. Of course I had to ask what that was, and she explained that it’s a kind of glossy black coal. I know she was trying to pay me a compliment, but coal? Oh well, that’s Jess. She loves rocks and minerals and anything to do with science.

  “This is the first time I’ve been happy that I’m here instead of Walden,” Jess tells us with a grin. “I am so glad Colonial doesn’t make us wear uniforms!”

  Emma looks around the room. “Where’s Savannah?”

  “Downtown shopping with a friend.”

  “Good,” says Emma, relaxing visibly. “We’ve come to rescue you from her clutches. Dinner is at my house tonight. It’s all arranged. You just have to be back by eight for study hall.”

  “Awesome.” Jess closes the textbook on her desk.

  “What classes will be you be taking?” I ask. School hasn’t started yet at Colonial Academy, but Jess has been here for a few days already for new student orientation.