The (Totally Not) Guaranteed Guide to Friends, Foes & Faux Friends

by Megan Mccafferty

  SCOTTY KNEW, TOO. WAS THERE ANYONE WHO DIDN’T KNOW?

  “H-how did you figure it out?” I asked.

  A dreamy look crossed his face.

  “I saw you at your locker after the pep rally,” he said. “You had the tiniest red feather stuck in your hair. That’s when I knew. I knew it was you.”

  “I did?” I asked. “You did?”

  “No one else would’ve noticed,” he said with a shy smile, “unless he was already looking.”

  Without another word he hurried off, leaving me alone with his confession: Scotty had noticed me.

  Me?

  Yes.

  Me.

  Dazed, I turned back toward my classroom and caught Aleck ducking back inside. How long had he been hovering in the doorway?

  And how much had he heard?

  “So… Aleck…” I began sheepishly upon my return to Woodshop. “I…”

  He held up his hands to shush me.

  “Behold!”

  He gestured grandly toward our Jenga footstool. It was, at the moment, standing upright like a footstool should.

  “So?”

  “Watch.”

  Then he reached underneath and folded the legs, and the footstool flattened to the floor.

  “It’s a collapsible footstool,” Aleck said proudly. “Just like I said it was.”

  Then, just to prove it worked, he restraightened the legs, set it up, and propped his foot on top like he had survived a climb to the summit of Mount Everest.

  “Ta-da!”

  Aleck did it! He saved our project! I was sufficiently impressed to temporarily put aside what had just happened in the hallway with Scotty.

  “You fixed it?” I asked. “In ten minutes?”

  “Hinges! It was easy, Clem!” He was smiling broadly now. “We just had to let it be what it was supposed to be.”

  Where had I heard that before…?

  Let people—and friendships—be what they’re meant to be.

  Gladdie.

  The bell rang, and Aleck bolted out the door before I had a chance to tell him that maybe, just maybe, he was a genius after all.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I couldn’t wait to tell Gladdie how funny it was to hear her advice come out of Aleck’s mouth and what a weird coincidence that was. I also thought she might be able to help me sort out the latest development in The Scotty Scandal. But when I got home, her car was in the driveway with the trunk open. It was loaded up with her suitcases, her baking pans, and her knitting.

  I looked for her inside.

  “Hello?”

  The kitchen was immaculate and not in use. I found her in the guest room, fluffing the pillows on the bed.

  “You’re leaving?” I asked. “Right now?”

  “Afraid so, my loveliness,” she said. “I gotta skedaddle. The Golden Mermaids got a gig doing the halftime show at the Senior Swimlympics.”

  Gladdie couldn’t leave now! She had to help me sort out this business with Scotty!

  “I need you here,” I said all in a rush. “Or. Um. I mean, Mom and Dad think I do.”

  I don’t know why—with my grandmother, of all people—I tried to put up a grown-up front.

  “I told your parents that you’re doing just fine,” she said. “All twelve-year-olds should be as together as you are. Heck! You’re more mature than some eighty-year-olds I know! You wouldn’t believe some of the silliness that goes down at the Senior Center. I’ve got this friend Verna who—”

  The phone rang, cutting off her juicy story about Verna. Gladdie gave me a nod that said “Go ahead and pick it up.” So I did.

  “Hey, it’s me, Hope.”

  I recognized her voice, but I kind of understand why she felt the need to clarify. She had never called me before.

  “Um, Hope?” Then to Gladdie. “It’s my friend Hope.”

  “The one with the spectacular crimson curls,” Gladdie marveled. “What I wouldn’t do for a head of hair like that one.”

  “Yes,” I confirmed. Then back to Hope. “Can I talk to you later because I’m saying good—”

  Gladdie shooed away such nonsense.

  “You and me, doll, we don’t say good-bye,” she said.

  Then Gladdie gestured for me to bend down, so she could kiss the top of my head. I couldn’t see it, but I imagined that she’d left behind a bright red lip print.

  “Until next time,” she said.

  Then Gladdie curtsied and headed out the door without saying good-bye.

  Until next time.

  I apologized to Hope for making her wait.

  “No, no, no!” she insisted. “I owe you an apology.”

  “For what?” I asked.

  “For what? For being totally cuckoo lately!”

  Normally, with any of my other friends, I’d feel obligated to say something like, What? You? Cuckoo? No way… but I actually respect Hope too much not to tell her the truth.

  “Well,” I said cautiously, “you have been a bit off for the past few weeks. But even on your worst day, you’re still easier to deal with than other people we know.”

  Hope chuckled gratefully.

  “You’re being too nice.”

  She swallowed before continuing.

  “Manda and Sara swore that you already knew that we were going ahead with the Chibi Girls. I should’ve known better than to believe them.”

  She paused again.

  “But you believe me, right?”

  I did believe her. Don’t ask me why, but I did. And she wasn’t done yet.

  “And I know it hurt you when I was hanging out with Manda and Sara at your party. I didn’t want to exclude you, but I felt like I didn’t have a choice because Manda and Sara…”

  In the millisecond between those words and the next, my overactive brain filled in the gap.

  … are cooler, prettier, smarter, funnier, and better than you will ever be!

  “… already got their periods.”

  Wait. WHAT? Whoa.

  “So. Yeah. I got my period. For the first time.”

  “Congratulations! That’s a big deal, right?”

  I wouldn’t know, because I haven’t gotten mine yet.

  “Yippee.”

  She didn’t sound too psyched.

  “It made me feel like bleeeeeeech. That’s why I missed school those few days. That’s why I was with Manda and Sara in the bathroom at your party. They gave me, um, supplies. And also tips on how I could make myself feel better.…”

  “They did?”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I am surprised,” I confessed. “I mean, I wouldn’t expect Manda and Sara to be so…”

  “Helpful?”

  Exactly.

  Manda’s thoughtfulness and Sara’s discretion were totally unexpected. I’d have thought Manda would respond more along the lines of “Bleed it up, bleedy!” And I still can’t believe Sara didn’t blab, “Omigod! Hope is having her first period at the PARTY!!!” to anyone who’d listen. It sounds like they really came through for Hope. Right now I can’t imagine them doing the same for me in that situation, but that doesn’t mean they never will. Hope has been friends with them forever. I just met them two months ago. Maybe I simply haven’t earned that level of loyalty from Manda and Sara yet.

  But what if I never do?

  “So that’s why I left your party early,” Hope went on, “and well, why I’ve been kind of all over the place. But it’s over for now, I guess.”

  “Until NEXT month,” I said ominously.

  “Or who knows when? Manda and Sara told me that it’s pretty irregular for the first few go-rounds and can take a while to stick to a regular cycle. So I’m pretty much on a twenty-four-seven period watch.”

  Part of me was so relieved to hear that Hope’s moodiness was menstrual in origin and not caused by anything I had said or done. The other part of me was less excited than ever about the arrival of puberty with a capital P.

  “Is it that uncomfor
table?” I asked. “You know, when you get it?”

  Hope took the question seriously. She thought about it for a few moments before coming up with the perfect description.

  “It’s worse than that stuffed feeling after eating one corn dog too many,” she said. “But not as bad as eating an expired corn dog and barfing twelve hours straight.”

  “So it’s, like, a five on the Corn Dog Scale of Period Discomfort,” I said.

  And we both laughed.

  After we settled down, there was a beat or two of quiet. I was dying to tell someone about what had happened with Scotty in the hall, but I didn’t know if now was the right time.

  “Is there something you want to talk about?” Hope asked.

  It’s like she read my mind.

  “Um, well, yes, actually.”

  “Speak up!” Hope urged. “Spit it out!”

  If Gladdie had gotten to know her, she’d admire Hope for so much more than her red hair.

  “I don’t want to belittle the monumental importance of your inaugural menstrual cycle.”

  I don’t know why the arrival of Hope’s period inspired me to talk like a college professor. Hope snorted with laughter.

  “So you’re never going to tell me anything ever again because I got my period?”

  “That doesn’t make any sense, does it?” I said.

  “No,” she replied. “So spill it.”

  “So.” I took a deep breath. “You remember all the rumors about me and Scotty?”

  Hope put on a movie-preview voice-over baritone.

  “THE SCOTTY SCANDAL.”

  “What if I were to tell you that Dori had a reason to be paranoid about me?”

  “You like Scotty?” Hope gasped. “Like, like like Scotty?”

  “Nooooooo!” I shrieked in protest. “But…”

  I hesitated. At that point I could still sort of pretend that what had happened in the hallway had never happened. Only Scotty and I—and maybe Aleck?—knew otherwise.

  “Are you going to tell me or what?” Hope asked eagerly.

  I had to decide. Was Hope a friend, foe, or faux friend? Sharing this information with Hope was a risk, yes, but also an opportunity for our half friendship to become closer to whole.

  “Listen up,” I said. “I’ll tell you everything.”

  And I did.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Hope and I talked for a long time. I didn’t leave out any of the details of my conversation with Scotty, even the most embarrassing parts like how he had a thing for me in feathers.

  “You?” Hope gasped. “You were the crazy chicken?”

  “Seagull,” I corrected.

  I said it just like she always does, and for some reason this made us laugh longer and louder than it should have.

  “You really didn’t know it was me?” I asked. At this point I had assumed everyone had figured it out and was just waiting to spring that knowledge on me when I least expected it.

  “No!” Hope insisted. “Although, now that I know the truth, some of those moves do seem familiar!”

  “From where?” I asked.

  “Like, when you bite into a grilled cheese sandwich and it’s too hot and you start hopping up and down and flapping your hands in front of your face like it’s going to help cool off your mouth. Very birdlike. But I only see the connection now that you’ve told me.”

  “You’re the first person I’ve confessed to,” I said. “Everyone else found out on their own.”

  “Well,” Hope said, “your nonsecret is safe with me.”

  Despite all the motives I might have for not trusting any of my friends, I believed Hope when she said that.

  Anyway, Hope is of the opinion that I should pretend the conversation with Scotty never happened. I’m not so sure I can pull off that lie because—apparently, in the eyes of Aleck and the Sampson twins and Scotty and whoever else sussed out my secret seagull identity—deception is not my strong suit. We might still be debating the pros and cons of this strategy if my sister hadn’t knocked on my door.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Bethany said after I ended the call. “But did Gladdie leave already?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “About a half hour, maybe an hour ago?”

  The conversation with Hope had flowed so effortlessly that I’d lost track of time.

  “Oh,” my sister said, sounding deflated. “I’m sorry I missed her.”

  “Did you come here to say good-bye?”

  “Well, yes,” Bethany said, not convincingly.

  I was skeptical of her motivations. Bethany rarely made an appearance at our house unless it was part of her ongoing mission to hide her college expulsion from my parents.

  Bethany corrected herself.

  “I mean no. I mean, Gladdie doesn’t say good-bye. She says…”

  “… Until next time,” we said together.

  My sister and I smiled to ourselves. And then Bethany surprised me by pushing my textbooks and T-shirts aside and making herself at home on my unmade bed. If I’ve spent roughly ninety minutes in my sister’s bedroom over the past twelve years, she has spent approximately ninety seconds in mine.

  “I wanted to thank her, too,” she said. “If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t be meeting with the dean next week to argue my case for being readmitted to school.”

  “You’re what?”

  “Gladdie encouraged me to pore over my old papers and exams to see if there was any chance that I’d been unfairly graded,” she said. “Human error, you know.”

  Oh, if there is one thing I know well, it’s human error.

  “So Rodger went through my work and found an essay I’d written for my GOSSIP 301 final—”

  “Wait,” I interrupted her. “You failed a college class in gossip?”

  “G-O-S-S-I-P.”

  I still didn’t get it.

  “Global Operative Success Strategies in Publicity,” she explained. “And I didn’t fail! That’s the whole point! Rodger says my answer to a question about viral marketing campaigns was marked wrong, but it was totally right! And that answer was the difference between failing that class and passing, flunking out of school and being let back in!”

  I was flabbergasted. Here I was all this time thinking that my sister was avoiding the issue, but she was actually facing it head-on. Maybe she wasn’t as irresponsible as I thought. Perhaps she’s not such a bad influence after all.

  “Anyway, with me heading back to school and Mom and Dad finishing up their projects at work, everything should return to normal around here,” Bethany continued. “It was the perfect time for Gladdie to get back to her own life.”

  At first I had resented the mere possibility that Gladdie had been dispatched to babysit me. But with my parents so crazy at work lately, it was nice having someone around to talk to. I can’t remember the last time my parents and I said more than a “hello” or “good-bye” or “pass the ketchup” to one another. I know I should’ve been thrilled that they’ve been too distracted with their careers to be all up in my business. But the truth is, I’ve actually kind of missed them. Of course I can never admit that out loud or else they’ll NEVER LET ME OUT OF THEIR SIGHT FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE. So I kept my enthusiasm to an acceptable minimum.

  “Good-bye, chocolate and cheese,” I said. “Hello, kale casserole.” I stuck out my tongue.

  “Oh, I know!” Bethany agreed. “I swear I used to gain, like, a thousand pounds during Gladdie’s visits. All those sweets!”

  Trust me when I say my sister has always looked like a model for designer jeans.

  She playfully pointed at my chest.

  “But it looks like you haven’t put on an inch!”

  I followed her finger and looked down at the loose Pink Floyd T-shirt I was wearing. It had once been hers, bought to impress a rock-and-roll boyfriend. It would definitely fit my sister more… uh… snugly than me.

  My sister was still giggling at her own joke.

  Har dee har har.


  “Oh, go ahead,” I said. “Make fun of the only seventh grader who hasn’t been visited by the Boob Fairy.”

  Bethany stopped laughing and nodded like she cared about my feelings.

  “I’d assume that you haven’t been visited by the Period Fairy, either,” she said.

  “From what I hear she’s more like an elf with an attitude problem,” I replied. “But no. I guess I’m a late bloomer.”

  “You’re twelve! You’re not a late bloomer!”

  “I’ll be thirteen in two months!” I shot back. “And I can’t help but feel like a late bloomer when all my friends are already, like, full bouquets.”

  My sister laughed. But this time she was definitely laughing with me and not at me. She got up from my bed, walked over to my dresser, and inspected what limited beauty/hygiene products I had on display: deodorant, a hairbrush, a tangle of ponytail elastics, and a jar of Racy Red nail polish left over from the PARTY!!!

  “I know exactly what you mean,” my sister said, sniffing a never-worn bottle of too pink, too sweet perfume she’d given me last Christmas. She set the heart-shaped glass down delicately and turned to look me in the eyes. “Exactly.”

  I guess I was still thinking about the nail polish—and how it was the same color that was chipping off the fingernails of Aleck’s half-done hand—because I didn’t immediately catch on to what my sister was trying to tell me.

  “But maybe you’ve already outgrown my advice,” she said. “Even if you haven’t outgrown your training bra.…”

  It’s a nonsupportive training bralette, thank you very much! But I didn’t waste time explaining the difference.

  “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” I said.

  “I’m saying I couldn’t fill out that T-shirt when I was your age, either.”

  “And?”

  “I thought I was abnormal.”

  “Annnnnnd?”

  “I’ll do some digging and send it to you when I find it,” my sister promised.

  “Send what?”

  I wanted to make sure we were talking about what I thought we were talking about. Making assumptions is how a person ends up dressing up for Halloween as the loneliest element on the periodic table and then doubly insulted by being mistaken for a jar of sandwich spread.