Dear Pen Pal

by Heather Vogel Frederick

  “Happy Thanksgiving!” she cries, giving us both a big hug. This makes me really happy, because after her meltdown at our last book club meeting things were a little awkward for a few days. I guess I hadn’t realized how much my switching schools had bothered her, especially since she’d seemed all in favor of it and everything. I was so worried about myself, and how I was going to fit in, that it honestly never occurred to me to worry about Emma being lonely. I figured she had Stewart and the book club, so it really surprised me when I found out she was feeling a little jealous of my new friends. Anyway, we talked it all out and now we’re over it. We’ll be best friends forever, Emma and me, no matter what.

  “How can you two stand being stuffed away up here when it smells so good down there?” Emma closes her eyes and inhales deeply. “Mmm mmm.”

  Cassidy sits up. “You’re right,” she says. “I’m starving! Let’s go get something to eat.”

  My stomach flutters again as we enter the kitchen, but not because I’m hungry. Darcy is sitting on a stool at the island counter, looking at college brochures with Courtney.

  He looks up and sees me. “Hey, Jess! Come check these out.”

  I cross the kitchen and climb up on the stool next to him. He tugs my braid, like he’s always done since I was a little kid, and gives me a smile. I smile back. I’m still kind of shy around Emma’s brother. Probably because I’ve had a crush on him since sixth grade. I keep hoping that maybe he’ll notice, and feel the same way about me.

  The doorbell rings again, and my brothers, who have abandoned the turret and zeroed in on the food like a pair of heat-seeking missiles, push past me to go answer it. They return a minute later trailing the Chadwicks.

  “Hi, everybody!” says Becca’s father, rubbing his hands together as he sniffs the air. “Happy turkey day!”

  Stewart makes a beeline for Emma, and Becca heads directly for Darcy and me. Somehow she manages to squeeze in between us.

  “Ooo!” she squeals. “College brochures! I can’t wait to go to college, can you?”

  I slide off my stool and retreat to the stove, where Cassidy is ladling up hot cider. She passes me a mug.

  “Thanks.”

  “Becca’s an idiot, by the way.”

  I look over at her, startled. Does Cassidy know how I feel? I hope it’s not that obvious, and I start to worry that maybe Becca knows too. I would hate for Becca Chadwick to guess that I have a crush on Darcy. I still remember what she did to Emma in sixth grade when she found out Emma liked Zach Norton.

  There are days when I wish Becca wasn’t in our book club. She’s a lot nicer than she used to be, so maybe our moms were right, maybe book club has been good for her. But Emma and I think it’s possible she’s a frenemy. Mrs. Hawthorne is the one who told Emma about that word. She found it in a book she was reading about teenagers—Mrs. Hawthorne is always reading books about how to understand your kids and be a better parent, even though I think she’s already a really good one. Anyway, she says a frenemy is a friend who is partly an enemy, or a friend that you kind of dislike. That pretty much describes how I feel about Becca. She’s like the vine on Cassidy’s banister—bittersweet. Sometimes she’s nice, sometimes she’s not. Thinking about the vine makes me think about Latin classifications, and I smother a grin as a wicked little thought pops into my head. Chadwickius frenemus. The perfect name for Becca. I can’t wait to tell Emma.

  “We’ll get started with dinner as soon as the Wongs arrive,” Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid tells us. “Lily just called to say they’re on their way.”

  “I’ll pop the sweet potatoes in the warming oven,” says Mrs. Chadwick, who in honor of the holiday has traded in her jungle look for something more subdued. Well, a bit more subdued. Today she’s got on a purple dress with a pattern of fall leaves on it. The only sign of “new and improved” Calliope Chadwick is the big jangly stack of purple and gold bracelets she’s wearing.

  “Did you make the kind with the little marshmallows on them?” Cassidy asks.

  “Is there any other kind?” Mrs. Chadwick replies, and Cassidy lets out a groan.

  “Have an appetizer, honey,” says her mother. “That’ll help tide you over.” She points to the platters of cheese and crackers and stuffed mushrooms that my family brought. “Everybody, please help yourselves.”

  Courtney slides the cheese platter across the island counter and Cassidy grabs a cracker and spreads it with goat cheese. Just as she’s about to take a bite, she recoils in alarm.

  “WHAT is that awful SMELL?” she cries.

  My father laughs. “That’s our latest creamery creation—a brand-new cheese we’re calling ‘Blue Moon.’”

  Cassidy makes a face. “It smells like dirty gym socks.”

  “Cassidy Ann!” exclaims her mother.

  “Well, it does,” she insists.

  My brothers think this is hysterically funny, of course. “Gym sock cheese!” they shout gleefully, and chase each other around the kitchen until my dad nabs them.

  “You’ve got a point, actually, Cassidy,” he says. “Blue cheese definitely has a, uh, distinct fragrance. But for those of us who love a good blue, Shannon and I think maybe we’ve hit on something special here.”

  Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid takes the offending cracker from Cassidy, who’s still holding it at arm’s length, and nibbles a corner of it. “Mmm, you’re right, Michael—it’s fabulous! I need to think about doing an episode on artisan cheeses.”

  The doorbell rings again, and my brothers wrench themselves free from my dad’s grip to go do their duty again. A minute later they herd the Wongs into the kitchen. Megan is carrying a big brown paper bag.

  “Uh, this is my grandmother, everybody,” she announces.

  “Welcome, Mrs. Chen,” says Stanley Kinkaid.

  “Call me Gigi,” Megan’s grandmother replies.

  “From her favorite movie,” Mr. Wong explains. “My mother-in-law is crazy about old musicals. Especially when they’re set in Paris.”

  “My favorite city,” Gigi tells us, her lips quirking up in a smile.

  Megan’s grandmother is nothing like what I expected, except for the fact that she’s petite. Smaller than me, even, and I’m pretty short. I guess I was expecting somebody really ancient, for one thing, and she doesn’t look that old at all. And since she’s Mrs. Wong’s mother, I guess I thought she’d be dressed like Mrs. Wong, who is wearing yoga pants today as usual, sandals and thick wool socks, and as a festive touch, a long-sleeve T-shirt with a silhouette of a turkey inside a red circle with a slash through it. Megan’s grandmother, on the other hand, reminds me of Isabelle d’Azur, the stylish editor of Flash magazine who came to our fashion show last spring. Her wool suit is the exact shade of reddish-orange as the bittersweet berries in the hall, and it goes perfectly with her brightly patterned red and orange scarf, big gold earrings, and bright red lipstick. I glance over at Megan, surprised that she hasn’t whipped out her sketchbook yet to draw her.

  Gigi’s dark almond-shaped eyes dart to and fro around the kitchen like a very alert little bird. “Hello, everyone,” she says, her English brushed with a soft accent. “You girls must be Megan’s book club friends.”

  While Cassidy’s mother introduces us all around, Megan’s mother slips out of the kitchen. She reappears a minute later carrying a platter. On it is a pale brown glistening oval.

  “I brought a Tofu Tom,” she announces, placing it on the counter next to the crackers and Blue Moon cheese.

  Darcy leans closer. “Are those supposed to be legs?” he asks, prodding it doubtfully.

  Mrs. Wong nods. “It tastes just like the real thing, too.”

  Her mother shudders delicately and nods at Megan, who reaches into the paper bag she’s carrying and pulls out a casserole dish. She sets it on the counter next to the Tofu Tom.

  “Oh my gosh!” says Darcy, lifting the cover. Inside are a pile of fat little bundles topped with a dot of orange—chopped carrot, maybe? “These smell amazing, whatever the
y are.”

  Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid’s face lights up. “Chinese dumplings? Gigi, you didn’t!”

  “I certainly did,” Megan’s grandmother replies smugly. “You can’t have a proper party without siu maai.”

  “You really shouldn’t have,” says Cassidy’s mother.

  Megan’s grandmother gives the Tofu Tom a withering glance and Megan’s mother presses her lips together tightly, like maybe she’s trying to keep some words from popping out. A guilty look creeps across Mr. Wong’s face. He quickly puts his arm around his wife’s shoulders and says, “Aren’t I lucky to have two such wonderful cooks under my roof? And isn’t it just like my generous Lily to make sure all the vegetarians with us here today have something to feast on as well?”

  Emma looks over at me and grins. Mrs. Wong is the only vegetarian here today, as far as we know.

  “The Tofu Tom looks really intriguing,” says Mrs. Hawthorne tactfully. “And I’m sure it’s delicious. I know I can’t wait to try a piece.”

  “Me neither,” echoes my mother, which I don’t think is entirely truthful, but I know she’s trying to cheer Mrs. Wong up.

  Mrs. Wong’s lips unclench a bit.

  “Now,” says Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid briskly. “If you’ll all go and find your seats, we can get dinner started.”

  Everybody else crowds around the tables hunting for their place cards. I walk directly to where Darcy is standing by his chair. He smiles at me.

  “Hey,” he says. “I was hoping I’d get a chance to talk to you today.”

  “Excuse me,” says Becca, “but I think that’s my seat.” She reaches around me and plucks the place card off the table, waving it under my nose. Becca is written on it.

  Chadwickius frenemus switched our place cards!

  As I stand there, my cheeks burning with humiliation and resentment, Becca slides into what was supposed to have been my seat.

  I move away blindly, blinking back angry tears, and eventually find where she put me—at the other end of the table, stuck out in the hall between Mr. Chadwick and Mr. Wong. Adding salt to my wound, Emma and Stewart are sitting across from me, holding hands under the table.

  “Better get some of these before they disappear,” says Mr. Wong, serving me up some of Gigi’s dumplings. “They’re fantastic.”

  “Thanks,” I mutter. Right now, I’m not feeling hungry in the least.

  “So, Courtney, have you decided on which colleges you’re going to apply to?” asks Mr. Hawthorne.

  Down the table a ways, the smile slips off Cassidy’s face.

  “Well, UCLA is my first choice,” her sister replies. “But I’m also looking at USC and Pepperdine.”

  “I can’t believe my baby is going to college!” says Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid wistfully.

  “It won’t be long now before all our babies are in college,” my mother says.

  “All except for one.” Mr. Kinkaid puts his arm around Cassidy’s mother. “Honey? Do you want to tell them, or should I?”

  Cassidy throws her mother a pleading look, and shakes her head vigorously.

  Her mother sighs. “We’ve got to let people know sometime, sweetheart,” she tells her.

  “Know what, Clementine?” asks Mrs. Hawthorne.

  “Stanley and I are going to have a baby!” Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid and her new husband beam at us.

  We all gape at them except Cassidy, who looks like she has her own personal thundercloud—cumulonimbus—over her head.

  “Really, Clementine!” huffs Mrs. Chadwick, looking shocked. “At your age!”

  Beside me, Mr. Chadwick squirms a little in his chair. Becca’s mother has a knack for saying exactly the wrong thing sometimes.

  But Cassidy’s mother just laughs. “I’m hardly a fossil, Calliope.”

  “Oh, Clementine, congratulations!” cries my mother. She gets up and runs around the table and gives her a big hug. Mrs. Hawthorne and Mrs. Wong do the same.

  “That explains the naps and nausea,” says Mrs. Hawthorne. Seeing our puzzled looks, she explains, “Women who are expecting need a lot of extra sleep, and sometimes in the first few months certain foods make them feel queasy.”

  “Like with the cornmeal mush?” I say, remembering how Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid bolted from the table at our last book club meeting.

  Mrs. Chadwick’s mouth prunes up at this.

  Cassidy’s mother waves her hand dismissively. “It had nothing to do with your dinner that night, Calliope—pretty much everything is making me queasy at the moment. I’m amazed I’ve done so well today!”

  “Do you know what you’re having?” Emma asks.

  “They tell us it will be either a boy or a girl,” Mr. Sloane-Kinkaid deadpans, and Cassidy rolls her eyes.

  “Seriously, though, no,” says her mother. “Stanley and I don’t want to know. It’s too much like opening a Christmas present ahead of time. We want to be surprised, and we’ll be thrilled with whoever is in here.” She places her palms on her tummy protectively.

  I try not to stare but I can’t help it. Her stomach still looks completely flat to me.

  “Are you going to get fat?” my brother Dylan blurts out. “Jess’s goat Sundance had a baby and she got really fat.”

  Everybody laughs.

  “Yes, honey, I’m going to get fat,” Cassidy’s mom assures him. “But I won’t have a baby bump for another month or two. I’ve only just finished my first trimester.”

  “What fun to have a new baby to look forward to!” exclaims Mrs. Hawthorne. “We’ll have to throw you another shower.”

  “I’m counting on it,” says Mrs. Sloane-Kinkaid. “I gave away all of the girls’ baby things years ago.”

  “Would you rather have a boy or a girl?” Megan asks her. She’s been really quiet, and I wonder if she’s wishing it was her mother who had made this announcement. Megan’s always wanted a little brother or sister. She told me so when she helped me babysit for Maggie Crandall a couple of weekends ago.

  “Either one is fine with us, honey. Really. If it’s a girl, I’ll just have to start another Mother-Daughter Book Club when she’s old enough, and if it’s a boy, Stanley will have someone to toss a football around with. Besides Cassidy, of course.”

  “Can we talk about something else?” says Cassidy sullenly, and her mother’s smile fades.

  I’m guessing Cassidy’s not totally on board with this idea. I look over at Emma to see if she knows anything, but she just shakes her head at me.

  “What are you reading in your book club, girls?” Megan’s grandmother asks, changing the subject.

  “We’re almost finished with Daddy-Long-Legs, and then we’re going to start Just Patty,” Emma tells her politely.

  “I’m not familiar with Just Patty, but I loved Daddy-Long-Legs when I was your age! It’s so romantic. And funny, too—all those letters Judy writes. Does anyone still write letters these days?”

  “The girls have pen pals, Mother,” Mrs. Wong tells her, and explains about the book club in Wyoming.

  “The more I hear about this book club, the more I like the idea,” says Gigi. “I wish they’d had book clubs like this back when you were a girl, Lily. Wouldn’t we have had fun?”

  “Sure, Mom,” says Mrs. Wong, but she doesn’t sound too enthusiastic.

  Down the table across from Cassidy, my brothers are busy putting black olives on their fingertips. They wave to each other, waggling their fingers like alien tentacles.

  “That’s enough, boys,” says my dad, scooting the olive dish out of their reach.

  Cassidy scoops a handful onto her plate as it goes by. She waits until nobody’s looking, then sneaks them one by one under the table to Dylan and Ryan.

  “You’re going to make a fabulous big sister,” I hear my mother whisper to her.

  Cassidy scowls down at the heap of sweet potato casserole on her plate.

  Trying my best to ignore the way Chadwickius frenemus is laughing her head off at everything Darcy is saying down at the other end of th
e table, I pick up my fork and start to eat. Cassidy’s mother is an amazing cook, and the stuff everyone else brought is pretty fabulous too. Well, except for the Tofu Tom, which doesn’t taste a bit like turkey despite what Mrs. Wong said. Gigi’s dumplings are little bundles of goodness, stuffed with shrimp and ground pork and spices and topped with a spicy-sweet dipping sauce. Not the usual thing you eat at Thanksgiving, but delicious anyway.

  After a while, Stanley pushes back from the table. “I can’t eat another bite,” he groans. “I say we go for a walk before the game starts.”

  Cassidy’s stepfather is almost as big a sports nut as Cassidy. I, on the other hand, have no clue which football teams are even playing today.

  “Great idea, honey,” agrees Cassidy’s mother. “We can have dessert when we get back. Just leave the dishes where they are. We’ll deal with them later.”

  We grab our coats and pile out of the house—all except for Megan’s grandmother, who opts to stretch out on the sofa and take a little nap instead. “I’m still jet-lagged,” she says, waving us out the door.

  We head toward downtown Concord, my little brothers racing ahead, crunching through the crisp brown leaves that are scattered over the sidewalk like spilled cornflakes. The sky overhead is a deep, clear blue.

  “A perfect November day,” my mother says, putting her arm around me. I lean into her and she kisses the top of my head.

  “How about we go over to Colonial Academy?” my dad suggests. “I’ll bet Jess would be willing to give us a tour.”

  The campus is deserted, of course—everyone’s gone home for the holiday weekend—but even I have to admit it looks pretty on an afternoon like this, with the white buildings and bare-limbed trees silhouetted against the bright sky.

  “It’s like a perfect New England college campus,” sighs Cassidy’s mother. “Are you sure you want to go back to the West Coast next year, Court? Don’t you think it would be fun to find someplace picturesque like this, that’s a little closer to all of us?”

  Cassidy looks over at her sister, a hopeful expression on her face. Courtney tucks her chin into the collar of her jacket.