The Friendship Code #1

by Stacia Deutsch

  “My brother pranks me all the time,” I explained to Erin. “Most of his jokes are really annoying. Well, I guess sometimes they’re funny, but I never admit it.” I gave her a sideways look. “If you ever meet him, you better not tell him I said that.”

  She laughed and put a hand over her heart. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  I glanced at the latest note again. “Look for a big envelope taped under the closest bench,” I read out loud. What did “closest” mean?

  “Closest to the middle school?” I asked Erin.

  “Or to the path?” she suggested.

  “Or the drinking fountain?” I wondered.

  “Or maybe the kid in the red sweatpants,” Erin said, half joking. He was on roller skates and struggling to get across the playground by grasping each bench as he passed it.

  In the end, we picked the bench closest to the path, which was also closest to the middle school. It was metal and slightly weathered. I looked underneath the solid black seat, and there, just like the note promised, was a large envelope.

  Erin clapped her hands, excited about finding it.

  “Open it, Lucy,” she said in a rush. It was nice to see her enthusiastic about something after she had looked so sad at coding club.

  The yellow envelope was bulkier than I’d expected—not that I’d known what we’d find, but still, I was surprised. I tore open the flap and peeked inside. There was a piece of paper and a strip of soft black fabric.

  “That’s weird,” I said, waving the cloth around. It was long and narrow. “Is it a scarf?”

  Erin took the fabric and playfully wrapped it around her shoulders, tossing the ends over her back. In a fancy French accent she said, “Ve are ready for ze opera,” her green eyes shining.

  I chuckled.

  Then she took the cloth, wrapped it around her head like a 1980s aerobics sweatband, and said, “Dude, this is totally radical to the max.”

  She wrapped the scarf around her head several times, covering her eyes, and moaned. “Beware the mummy’s curse!”

  I laughed so hard, my side hurt. “You should be a comedian! You’re so funny!”

  “You should hear me sing,” she said with a smile.

  “Really?” I said. I could totally imagine her onstage. She’d be great.

  Erin slowly unwrapped the scarf. She looked at me with a spark in her eyes. “What if it’s a blindfold?” she suggested.

  “You think?” It could easily be tied as a blindfold, plus it was black. No light would get through.

  “Are there instructions?”

  I had been so entertained by Erin’s antics that I hadn’t bothered to look at the paper that was in the envelope. I took it out and read:

  One of you wears the blindfold. The other gives directions through the obstacle course on the map. The blindfolded one shouldn’t ask questions, and can’t be physically guided by the direction-giver. Be sure to follow the instructions exactly. Good luck.

  “What map?” I asked, turning over the paper. The other side was blank.

  Erin peeked inside the large envelope. “There’s still something in here.” She turned it over and shook out a smaller envelope. It had my name on it, and there was a map inside.

  “I guess if the map is addressed to me, then you should wear the blindfold,” I reasoned. Alex wouldn’t have known who was going to come with me to the playground.

  Erin held the scarf out in front of her, and this time, instead of acting silly with it, put it over her eyes. “Okay, tie it tight,” she told me.

  Once the blindfold was on, I looked at the map. “Please don’t let Alex embarrass me . . . ,” I whispered to myself. Then I glanced at Erin. “Ready?”

  I had to send Erin up the steps and down the slide, weave her around the swings, and have her crawl under the monkey bars. The course ended with a trip across the wooden beam that surrounded the sand pit, as if it was a balance beam.

  According to the note, Erin couldn’t ask me questions and I couldn’t physically guide her, so I had to give her detailed directions. “Starting with your right leg, take two steps forward. Stop. Now starting with your left leg, take two to the left side,” I told her. I tried to give her measurements, like, “Move one foot’s length” after checking the size of her foot in relation to the distance she needed to travel.

  Erin followed every word, and when I wasn’t perfectly clear, she stopped and waited for better instructions.

  By the time she finished the “balance beam” activity and jumped off, I was feeling proud of myself. Erin had gotten through every obstacle perfectly! She tugged down the blindfold, and we high-fived each other.

  “That was fun!” I said. I looked down at the notes I was holding. “But what could it have to do with coding?”

  “Well, it was kind of like the sandwich exercise in coding club yesterday,” she said, folding up the blindfold. “Like, having to give someone really precise instructions for them to do something.”

  I hadn’t thought about it, but the two exercises were actually pretty similar.

  Erin patted me on the back. “And you did so much better at giving instructions this time!”

  “I guess I did!” I said. “I don’t see how this is going to help me learn how to code faster, though.” I was starting to think this was another stupid prank of my brother’s, and that he had no intention of helping me learn how to code, after all.

  “Looks like it’s more of that input/output stuff Mrs. Clark was telling us about,” Erin said. “Like, if this was a computer program and you told me to climb onto the third monkey bar instead of the second, we’d have a serious”—she put her hand over her mouth, about to sneeze—“guy-go problem!”

  Wait a minute—did she just sneeze, or say “guy-go”? I didn’t want to embarrass her, so I didn’t mention it.

  “Ha-ha—true!” I said. “Well, if it was meant to teach the same thing, at least I did do better than in coding club.”

  “Totally,” Erin answered. She took her phone out of her coat pocket and checked the time. “Ugh, I better go before my mom starts calling me. There are books to put away and towels to fold,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I hate moving.” She coughed a few times. It was getting a bit chilly.

  I’d never moved before, so I wasn’t sure what to say. There was one thing I could do, though. “I could help you this weekend if you want,” I offered.

  “Really?” Erin said, clearing her throat after another cough. “That would be . . .” She paused and got a twinkle in her eyes. “Totally radical to the max, dude.”

  She cracked me up.

  Later that night, I sat down at my desk and turned on my laptop. After doing the obstacle course with Erin, I kept thinking about how she’d said it was probably about input and output, like the sandwich exercise we’d done with Mrs. Clark. I thought I’d do some research to find out more.

  A quick online search of the terms input and output for computers confirmed what Erin and I had talked about: A computer only does what it’s told—and exactly what it’s told—so if the directions you give it (the input) are terrible, the result (the output) will be terrible. Ha! Erin had totally nailed the connection between the playground exercise and Mrs. Clark’s activity in coding club.

  I found something else interesting: a term called GIGO, which was when you coded bad directions—it stood for “garbage in, garbage out.” It sounded a lot like the “guy-go” sound Erin had made that I thought was part of her sneeze. If that was really what she was referring to, I wondered if she knew more about coding than I’d thought.

  Either way, I finally felt like I was making some progress. I might have failed the input/output exercise in coding club, but I did really well with the playground version of it. Maybe Alex really was helping me, after all!

  I went downstairs and found Alex sitting at the kitchen c
ounter next to Mom and Dad, all working on their laptops. Typical.

  I came up behind Alex and hugged him tight.

  “I can’t breathe,” he choked out, fake coughing a few times.

  “Lucy, let go of your brother,” Mom said distractedly.

  I hugged Alex tighter. “Thank you!” I whispered.

  “For what?” Alex said as I let go of him.

  “You know what,” I said, grinning. I hurried out of the kitchen and dashed up the stairs two at a time, back to my room.

  Sometimes my brother could be really cool.

  Chapter Seven

  The next day, I woke up early. I wanted to see Alex before he left for school.

  “Good morning!” I said as he sat with his cereal at the kitchen counter, reading his test prep study guide.

  He kept eating.

  “So, any fun plans for this beautiful day?” I asked.

  He finally looked up at me. “Why are you in such a good mood?” He stared at me for a few seconds. “You’ve been acting kinda strange lately, Lu. You okay?”

  “I’m totally fine. Actually, I’m not very busy today,” I said, hinting that I’d be open to another coding activity. “So, what are your plans?”

  He narrowed his eyes at me, and then decided to let it go. “School, then work,” he said, putting his bowl in the sink and packing up his stuff.

  Clearly, my brother was not ready to admit he was behind the coding notes, and I wasn’t going to force him. I was fine letting him act like he had no clue what was going on. For now, at least.

  “Cool. Are you stopping by to see Mrs. Clark at the middle school?” I asked.

  “No,” he said, tucking his laptop into his messenger bag. “Why would I do that?”

  I put the milk away, not wanting to be too obvious. “Well, you were there yesterday . . .”

  “I told you—I had to give her the recommendation form. And you didn’t seem too thrilled to see me there, if I remember correctly.” Alex raised one eyebrow. “You sure you’re okay, Lu?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “’Kay, well . . . I’ve got class. Gotta go.”

  We didn’t usually leave at the same time, so I walked him to the door. “Maybe I’ll see you later,” I said. “You know where my school is . . .” Then I winked.

  Alex looked at me as if I were nuts, and turned away.

  In between classes that morning, I kept checking my locker to see if something would show up, but nothing did. Maybe Alex really wasn’t going to stop by the middle school today.

  But after lunch, I saw an envelope taped to my locker. I opened it right away. The note inside read:

  while (there_are_balls_left) {

  hit_the_ball ( );

  }

  Huh? I thought that after figuring out the first two notes, the next one would be easier. But this one was so weird! If it was about sports, what could it possibly have to do with coding? Was Alex trying to throw me off track?

  Erin came by her locker, so I figured I’d see what she thought.

  “Hey,” I said. “Thanks again for helping me at the park yesterday.”

  She smiled, stacking her books in her locker. “No problem. It was fun.”

  “Look, I got another note.” I handed her the letter. “What do you think it means?”

  She studied it for a few seconds. “No idea,” she said. “It’s not like I know anything about coding,” she added with an awkward smile.

  I was confused. “But you seemed to know what the note at the park meant yesterday.”

  Erin’s eyes shifted from side to side and she looked up and down the hall. Seeing that no one was within earshot, she leaned in toward me and whispered, “Yeah, I’ve been thinking. Don’t tell anyone about that, okay?”

  “About what?” I asked, confused.

  “Exactly. Thanks,” she answered. Then, raising her voice back to normal volume, she pointed at my note, adding, “Hitting balls . . . Maybe try going to one of the sports fields for clues?”

  Seemed like a good idea. “I guess I could go after school.” But I worried that Sophia would be there. I knew she was on the fields most days after school, either managing a team or practicing, and I didn’t really want to talk to her. Things had become so awkward between us.

  Then again, I knew I should go if I wanted to understand what the note meant. Maybe I didn’t have to go alone, though.

  “Do you want to come with me?” I asked Erin.

  I could tell she was hesitating.

  “You can use it as an excuse to get out of alphabetizing books, or whatever your mom has planned for you today,” I proposed.

  “I’d love to, but sorry, I can’t,” she said, looking down at the books in her arms. “Yesterday was a one-time-only excuse. My mom’ll get mad at me if I don’t come home right after school today.”

  I was disappointed, but I understood. Maybe I could wrangle Anjali into coming along.

  At lunch, Anjali told me she couldn’t go with me—she had to babysit after school. I couldn’t think of anyone else to ask, since everyone I knew had after-school activities. If I wanted to find out what the locker note meant, I was going to have to go to the sports fields on my own. I crossed my fingers and hoped that Sophia wouldn’t be there.

  After school, I headed to the fields with the latest locker note in hand.

  I kept rereading it. “While there are balls left, hit the ball.”

  Hitting balls sounded like softball.

  Maybe I was supposed to hit some balls to understand the note? I could start there. First, I was going to need a bat and a ball. It wasn’t softball season, so I figured no one would mind if I used some of the equipment.

  I headed toward the multipurpose sports field. There was a shed where sports equipment was kept, and it was usually open during practice times. I was halfway there when I saw Sophia standing in the batter’s box, her back to the school’s small row of bleachers. There were other teams and kids around, practicing for different sports. But Sophia was the only one on the softball part of the field.

  I hung back for a few minutes, trying to figure out what to do. Sophia had a bucket of balls in front of her, and she was holding a bat. She picked a ball out of the bucket, threw it up into the air, and swung, over and over again. She’d hit the ball some of the time, but if the toss was just slightly off, she’d miss.

  I didn’t really want to talk to her, but there was no way to get to the shed without passing by her. Plus, I could tell how frustrating it was to toss balls to herself. And the few balls she managed to hit weren’t going very far.

  “Hey,” I said, walking up to her. “How’s it going?”

  She eyed me suspiciously. “What are you doing here?”

  “Just . . . some research,” I answered, not wanting to explain the notes. “Looks like you’re batting well,” I said.

  She dug the toe of her cleat into the grass. “Why would you care?”

  I was getting fed up with how tense things were between us, especially now that we were in coding club together. It didn’t used to be this way.

  “Soph, I don’t get what’s going on. Why do you always have to be so mean to me?”

  “Me?” she said, stunned. “You’re one to talk!” She turned away and threw a ball up into the air. Clang! It didn’t go very far.

  “What are you talking about?!” I said, walking around the bucket so I was face-to-face with her. “When was I ever mean to you?”

  She glared at me. “Um, I don’t know, maybe when you totally ditched me last year.” She almost spit in my face.

  I stared at her, shocked. “Ditched you?” She was the one who had faded me out—not the other way around. I’d been upset about it for months, but had decided over the summer to let it go. It wasn’t worth ruining sixth grade over someone who didn’t wan
t to be my friend anymore.

  “We used to play sports together, remember?” She eyed me like I’d left part of my brain at home.

  “Yeah, I remember,” I said, thinking of how close we used to be. We’d been best friends since preschool—until last year.

  “Yeah, until you decided you were too good for sports—and me,” Sophia said, her teeth clenched. She looked down at the bucket of balls.

  Too good for her? I was starting to feel like there’d been a huge misunderstanding. “Soph, it wasn’t about you. I just didn’t want to do so many sports anymore. I thought you knew that.” Sophia and I had always played a ton of sports together when we were little, and last year, I’d wanted to do different things they offered at school, like painting, cooking—even bowling. When I heard about coding club, I knew I had to try it out.

  “Well, it seemed pretty clear that you didn’t want to hang out with me anymore,” she said, unrelenting.

  “Soph, I swear, it had nothing to do with you. If I’d known that’s what you thought, I would have said something sooner.”

  She tapped her bat against the bucket of softballs, not saying anything. I thought of all the fun we’d had the year before, like playing dress-up in my mom’s old party clothes and making friendship bracelets at her house. We’d even played a prank on my brother—we’d replaced the frosting in Oreos with toothpaste, and he’d fallen for it!

  “Soph,” I said gently, realizing how we’d both completely misinterpreted what had happened between us. “C’mon. You’ve got to believe me. Are you really going to let a stupid sports thing mean we can’t be friends? I swear it had nothing to do with you.”

  She stopped tapping her bat against the bucket. “I just wish you’d told me what you were doing, you know? It’s like you just disappeared. For no reason.”

  I could tell I had really hurt her. “I’m sorry, Soph. But you could’ve talked to me about it, too . . .”