Addie Bell's Shortcut to Growing Up

by Jessica Brody

  I knock a third time, waiting another few minutes before finally giving up and walking back to my house.

  When I get there, I open the fridge and root around for something to eat, but there’s not much. I search the pantry for cereal but then remember I fed the rest of the box to Buttercup yesterday. Not that she seems to remember that. She’s back at her dog dish, staring unblinkingly at the wedge-shaped hole.

  “Have you eaten this morning?” I ask, giving her head a pat.

  She seems to understand the question, because she lets out a yelp and wags her tail, still keeping her eyes trained on the dish.

  I laugh. “I guess not.”

  I try once again to find the dog food, but come up short. Maybe she doesn’t eat dog food. Maybe she eats people food. I find a box of frosted strawberry Pop-Tarts, break one into small pieces, and put it in her dish. She devours it before I realize that was the last one.

  And I’m really hungry.

  Great.

  My only other option is a bag of onion bagels I discover in the freezer. Mom is still buying these disgusting things? I toast it, slather it with cream cheese (to mask the onion flavor), and go upstairs to grab my laptop. My plan is to start with my computer files. There has to be something in there that will serve as a clue to unraveling the past four years.

  The first thing I find is a folder called “Shimmer and Shine.” It contains video files from the vlog. As I eat my bagel, I watch a few of the episodes. Clementine and I are really good at this beauty vlogging stuff. Our videos cover everything from makeup to nail art to hair braiding, and even a few tutorials on how to properly wash your face—as if people don’t already know this.

  Even though the subject matter is pretty cool, I can’t help but notice my face in all the videos. I’m smiling at the camera but it doesn’t look like I’m actually having any fun. As soon as each tutorial is over—before Clementine stops the recording—my smile always seems to drastically fall, like someone ripped it clear off my face.

  Like I was only smiling for the camera.

  After closing the Shimmer and Shine folder, I find a file called “Great Name Change Charter” and curiously open it.

  It’s a scan of a document that reads:

  WE, THE UNDERSIGNED (FRANK RICHARD BELL, MARJORIE ELLEN BELL, AND AURORA LEIGH BELL), DO SOLEMNLY SWEAR TO TERMINATE THE USE OF THE CHILDISH AND BELITTLING NICKNAME OF “ADDIE” WHEN REFERRING TO OR ADDRESSING OUR DAUGHTER/SISTER, ADELINE RACHEL BELL. FROM THIS DAY FORTH, ADELINE RACHEL BELL SHALL BE REFERRED TO AND ADDRESSED EXCLUSIVELY BY HER FULL LEGAL NAME OF ADELINE.

  This must be that charter my mother was talking about yesterday. I actually made my whole family sign it. All their signatures are on the bottom next to a date that tells me I wrote this right before I started high school.

  I shake my head and close the document.

  It seems like a lot of effort to go through just for something as silly as a name. I mean, really, what’s so bad about “Addie,” anyway?

  After about twenty more minutes of searching, I’ve uncovered little more than a few extra pictures of me and Clementine, and a bunch of school assignments from the past few years—including an impressively long book report on The Little Prince that I wrote entirely in French. None of these things are extremely helpful in solving the mystery of my life.

  I’m about to call off the search entirely when a folder catches my eye. It’s nested deep inside a bunch of other folders and it’s labeled “Graddie.”

  Graddie.

  The combination of the names Grace and Addie.

  Excitedly, I brush bagel crumbs from my hands and click it open. Inside are over a dozen movie files. I let out a giddy yip only to groan a moment later when I see that they’re all dated over four years ago.

  Before I made the wish.

  I sulk as I open a random file and watch Grace and me, at age eleven, performing one of our choreographed routines for the camera we set up on a tripod in the Hideaway. We keep having to start over because every time we look at each other we start giggling.

  Frustrated, I slam my laptop closed and carry my crumb-filled plate to the kitchen.

  I don’t need to be reminded of how amazing my friendship with Grace was. I need to figure out why it ended! I need to…

  The idea hits me the moment I drop my plate into the sink.

  I need to search by date.

  If I made the wish the night of my twelfth birthday, then I should look for files that exist after that night.

  I run back to my laptop, open it up, and sort every file on the hard drive by date, starting with the most recent and ending with the oldest. I scroll all the way back to the day of my twelfth birthday and that’s when my eye snags on something.

  It’s another video file.

  It’s dated the week after I made the wish and it’s called “Seventh-Grade English Project—Romeo and Juliet Retelling.”

  That’s right! We were assigned in English class to do a story retelling. Grace and I were working on it together. It’s one of the things we talked about before we got into that huge fight. We couldn’t agree on which story to retell. Grace wanted to do a fairy tale and I wanted to do…

  Curiously, I glance at the file name again.

  “Seventh Grade English Project—Romeo and Juliet Retelling”

  Huh. I remember the disgusted look on Grace’s face when I suggested Romeo and Juliet that night in the Hideaway. I wonder how I finally convinced her to do it.

  I click Play and lean forward.

  Music comes in over a black screen. I immediately recognize the song. It’s one of my favorite Summer Crush ballads. It’s called “Not for All the Money in the World.” It starts out really soft, just an acoustic guitar and Berrin’s husky voice singing, “He promised you diamonds. I promise to give you the world.”

  Then an image fades in. It’s a girl walking in tall grass. It takes me a moment but I soon recognize the field as the one right behind our house. And the girl is…Oh my gosh, it’s Rory! What is she doing in our English project?

  A moment later, a guy walks up to her and swings her around, kissing her. When he sets her back down I see that it’s Henry. Rory’s boyfriend! Or at least, he was that week.

  The song continues and the next scene is Rory and Henry sending text messages to each other. She’s in a beautiful living room—our living room!—and he’s working in a dusty workshop, which I recognize as one of my dad’s construction sites.

  It takes me a few more scenes before I finally realize what this is. It’s the exact idea I told Grace about in the Hideaway that night. It’s a modern-day retelling of Romeo and Juliet in a music video! In this version of the story, Rory is Juliet, a rich girl, who’s fallen in love with Romeo, who comes from a poor part of town. But her father—played by my dad—doesn’t want them to be together. He tries to keep them apart.

  I chew on my nail as I watch the story unfold. I know how Romeo and Juliet ends in Shakespeare’s version—both of them die!—and I hope that Grace and I chose to alter the ending in our retelling.

  The song reaches its big crescendo at the bridge, where Berrin sings, “And I’d never hurt you. And I’d never deceive you. And they can take everything that I am, but I would never leave you…not for all the money in the world.”

  At that moment, Rory (Juliet) is now at college, living her new life without Henry (Romeo), just like her father wanted. She talks to people and laughs at jokes, but you can see in her eyes that her heart is empty.

  But by the time Berrin gets to the final chorus and the rest of the Summer Crush boys join in, Henry (Romeo) suddenly appears from behind a parked car. He’s driven all the way up to the campus to see her! I let out a sigh of relief as they kiss and the song fades out and the screen goes black again.

  Wow! That was so good! I’m all emotional now. I almost cried when I thought she was going to go off to college without ever seeing him again.

  I’m so happy Grace finally went along with my idea, beca
use that was amazing. We had to have gotten an A on this.

  The credits start to roll across the screen. I’m about to shut off the video when the last line freezes me in place.

  Written, Directed, and Produced by Adeline Bell

  Then it’s over. The video file just ends.

  I stare at the screen in shock. Where is Grace’s name? What did she do on the film? She had to have done something!

  I let out a tiny gasp and cover my mouth as a realization hits me.

  Did I do the project alone? But that was a whole week after our fight. We had to have made up by then. I mean, Grace and I have gotten in our fair share of squabbles over the years, but we always make up. Usually the very next day.

  So what happened?

  I’m about to go back to my search to see what other files are dated around the same time when the doorbell rings, making me jump and Buttercup bark. I walk to the front door and peer through the peephole to find Clementine standing outside looking annoyed. I let out a sigh. I really don’t want to deal with her right now. I know she’s mad that I left her at the dance right after we won first place and she’s going to want an explanation. But I just don’t have one to give. At least not one she’ll believe, anyway.

  Maybe if I just wait long enough, she’ll go away.

  “I know you’re in there!” Clementine calls from the other side of the door. “I can hear you sighing. Open up!”

  With another sigh, I do as I’m told and swing the door open, trying to paint on a smile. “Hi, Clementine. What’s up?”

  “Don’t you Hi, Clementine me,” she replies brusquely. “What on earth happened to you last night? You totally ditched me! I had to get up on that stage and accept our award all by myself. Do you know how embarrassing that was? And why haven’t you been answering any of my texts?”

  I open my mouth, hoping something clever and brilliant will come out, but before I can utter a single sound, Clementine says, “You know what? Save it for the car. We’re beyond late.”

  I cringe. What are we late for? Where is she going to drag me to next? What grand plans does Clementine have for us today?

  I grab my bag and follow Clementine out the door. “Where are we going?”

  She huffs so loudly it sounds like a tornado. I have a feeling she’s really starting to lose patience with me. I don’t blame her. I’m losing patience with me, too.

  “The salon!” she says agitatedly. “You said you needed a touch-up for your straightening, so I made us appointments.”

  I really don’t want to go anywhere. I don’t want to do anything except continue searching for clues until my mystery is solved. But I admit the idea of going to get my hair straightened does cheer me up a little bit. And really, how long could it take? Thirty minutes? An hour? I’ll be home and back on the hunt in no time.

  I’ve never been so bored in my entire life. We’ve already been here for three whole hours and I don’t think my hair is even close to being done. How does it take this long to straighten hair? Are they straightening every single strand individually?

  Clementine has been chatting away nonstop about our vlog. She’s decided on a theme of Flower Power! And she wants to do daisy manicures, rose-tinted makeup, and hippie braids. But all I can think about is how I’d rather be doing this stuff with Grace. Why don’t Grace and I have a YouTube vlog together? Why don’t Grace and I hang out at the salon together? Why wasn’t it Grace and me up on that stage last night for the talent show? It should have been us.

  What went wrong?

  And why do I have the unsettling feeling that it’s my fault?

  “By the way, what happened with Connor last night?” Clementine asks, bringing me back into the moment. “I saw him leaving right before the talent show.”

  My stomach clenches.

  He left?

  That’s how horrible our dance was. It made him not even want to be there anymore.

  “Yeah,” I say awkwardly. “That didn’t go so well.”

  “What happened?”

  I sigh. I don’t really feel like getting into it. Especially not with Clementine, who will probably just end up lecturing me about not flirting correctly. “Let’s just say I don’t think Connor will be my first kiss.”

  Clementine tips her head back and laughs, causing the woman working on her hair to jump out of the way. “Your first kiss? Yeah, right.”

  What?

  Did I already have my first kiss? Did I miss it? Who was it with? Was it amazing? Was it beautiful and romantic and swoon-worthy? Was it under the stars with a half-moon and Summer Crush’s “Midnight Without You” playing in the background just like I always pictured it?

  “I’m not letting you do that one over,” Clementine goes on, still cackling. “You’re stuck with Gavin Palmer’s sloppy wet lips in the closet for the rest of your life.”

  Sloppy wet lips in the closet?

  That doesn’t sound romantic at all!

  And I don’t even know anyone named Gavin Palmer.

  I slouch in my salon chair. This is the worst. I skipped right over my first kiss. I’ll never be able to get that back.

  “Oh, and before I forget,” Clementine says, completely oblivious to my desolate mood. “If Annabelle asks to hang with you this week, you need to say no. We’re boycotting her.”

  “We are?” I ask, thinking back to that text message I got yesterday from someone named Annabelle. I remember how it sent Clementine into a tailspin.

  “Yes,” Clementine replies passionately.

  I blink and look up at her. I’m sitting in the salon chair, waiting for yet another product to “process” in my hair. According to Jeff, the guy who has apparently been straightening my hair for the past two years, we’re nearly finished. But he’s been saying that for an hour and I’m starting to lose faith in his promises. Clementine is in the next chair getting a retouch on her hair coloring, which I’ve recently learned is not naturally blond.

  “Why is that again?”

  Clementine flips a page in the magazine she’s been reading. “She parked in our spot last week.”

  “I didn’t realize we had assigned spots in the school parking lot.”

  Clementine gives me another one of her now-familiar have-you-lost-your-mind? looks. “We don’t. But everyone knows the spot in the front row next to the handicap is ours.”

  I’m so confused. “So,” I begin, trying to get this straight in my head. “We’re not hanging out with Annabelle because she parked in a spot that’s not technically ours?”

  “No,” Clementine says, and I feel somewhat relieved. Because that did seem ludicrous. “We’re not only not hanging out with her. We’re also not talking to her.”

  “What?” I blurt out. “But that makes no sense.”

  Clementine huffs like she really doesn’t have time for this. And apparently she doesn’t because instead of responding to me, she flips another page in the magazine and changes the subject back to the vlog. “So, you’ll come by tomorrow and we can film it?”

  “Uh,” I stall, feeling kind of antsy at the thought of spending another few hours with Clementine. She’s kind of a lot to take. “I don’t know. I might have plans tomorrow.”

  Clementine closes the magazine with a slap. “What plans? You don’t have plans.”

  Sheesh, is she always this bossy?

  “I could have plans,” I argue, getting defensive.

  “I would know if you had plans.”

  “Maybe I made plans without you,” I say, instantly regretting it because Clementine looks like she just swallowed a bug.

  “What’s gotten into you?” she asks, glaring at me in the mirror.

  I look down at my lap and mumble, “Nothing.”

  “Something,” she challenges. “Because you’ve been acting totally freak-o since yesterday. First there was that horrific makeup job and then you totally wigged out at the dance. And what about you talking to that loser Grace after the talent show? I saw you, you know.”


  “Grace isn’t a loser,” I snap.

  Clementine narrows her eyes at me. “She’s in marching band.”

  “So? What’s wrong with being in marching band?”

  “I don’t even know where to begin explaining to you what’s wrong with that. And I shouldn’t have to. You said it yourself just last week. Marching band is for loners who can’t get a date.”

  My eyes widen in shock. “I didn’t say that,” I insist, but my voice is lacking conviction, because the truth is, I have no idea what I’ve said. I have no idea about anything that’s happened in the past four years. And I’m starting to feel like I don’t want to know.

  Clementine opens her magazine again. “You said it. So I don’t know why you were even talking to her.”

  “She used to be my friend,” I say quietly, feeling the weight of my words crush down on me.

  “Yeah,” Clementine agrees, flipping the page. “Used to be.”

  Just then a small timer dings and Jeff comes over to lead me to the sink so he can rinse my hair. When I get back to the chair and he faces me toward the mirror, I nearly flinch at the sight of my unfamiliar reflection. I still haven’t gotten used to the way I look. But now, as Jeff combs and blow-dries my hair, and I watch the silky, straight strands tumble around my shoulders, I’ve never felt less like myself.

  And I wonder if I ever will again.

  The entire drive home, Clementine hounds me about coming over tomorrow to film the vlog. I finally agree just to get her to stop bugging me about it. By the time she drops me off at my house, I just want to sulk alone in my room.

  Buttercup immediately jumps onto the bed. I slide out of my shoes and sit down next to her, stroking her fur. “You know you’re not allowed on the furniture, right?”

  She collapses onto her side with a dramatic sigh.

  Somehow I don’t think it’s a rule either of us abides by.

  I pull out my phone and try calling Rory again, but just like last time, it rings and rings and goes to voice mail. “Hi! It’s Rory. I’m off being awesome! Leave a message if you want to be awesome, too!”