“Hey, let’s go to the animal shelter afterward,” I say in the car.
“Quinny, please.”
“Just kidding. I know that’s never, ever gonna happen.”
Daddy groans.
“It’s okay. Pretty soon I’ll be all grown up and I can adopt a dog of my own.”
At Dr. Merkle’s office, Hopper introduces me to everyone as his “co-author” and we show them our book. All thirty-seven pages of it, with a snazzy cover and everything.
“What a great idea,” says Dr. Merkle. “Laughter is the best medicine, indeed.”
Trudy, who works behind the front desk, says, “You kids are so creative. And, Hopper, we had no idea you were such an amazing artist.”
“He doesn’t tell anyone,” I inform them. “He’s a genius at lots of secret things.”
“She’s the one who made the book so good,” Hopper says. “Dr. Merkle, do you really think you can use it for other kids?”
Dr. Merkle smiles. “I think it would make a fine addition to our waiting-room reading rack. How thoughtful to help others going through a tonsillectomy. I’m proud of you guys.”
“Hold up the book and smile!” Trudy yells.
She wants to take a picture of me and Hopper and Dr. Merkle. It’s like we’re the most famous people inside this whole doctor’s office.
“Cheeeeeeeeese!” I call out.
But I don’t think Hopper is really smiling, so I tickle him as a gentle reminder.
On our way out, Dr. Merkle says, “Would you mind if we make some copies of this?”
“Not at all,” I say. “We were hoping you would do that.”
“The ads are my favorite part,” says Dr. Merkle, flipping through the book. “You’re a couple of comedians, aren’t you?”
“She’s the funny one.” Hopper kicks at my foot.
“No, you’re really funny. You just don’t let people know.”
“You came up with all the best stuff in there,” Hopper insists.
Well, okay, if he says so!
When we’re done meeting with Dr. Merkle, Hopper’s mom says, “Kids, I think this calls for a celebration. How about a pizza party at our house?”
Hopper and I look at each other. He smiles, too late for the camera, and we holler a YES! and run down the hall to the elevators. We worked hard and did something good together, and it feels awesome.
On the ride home, I think about what a great friend that boy is. He gave me credit for the funny things in the book. He told everyone how hard I worked. He’s loyal and careful with people’s feelings. Hopper would never skip my birthday to go to someone else’s big, fancy party. He would never do that. So why would I even think about doing that to him?
“Daddy, can we make just one quick stop on the way home?” I ask.
A few minutes later, Daddy pulls up to Victoria’s wedding cake house.
“I’ll be right back.” I get out of the car.
“Quinny? Wait, you can’t just…Wait for me!”
But I’m already halfway to Victoria’s front door. I told Daddy I forgot a sweater here on our playdate. Which is another lie I told. The last one ever, I hope.
Now it’s time to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
Victoria is surprised to see me at her front door. She smiles and touches her hair.
I’m surprised she gets to answer her front door. I expected her Masha to open it.
“Victoria, it’s me, good evening. I have something important to tell you, and please don’t interrupt or I’ll lose my courage. I can’t go to your party because I already have plans with Hopper and I should have told you that before, but I was afraid you’d get mad, plus your party sounded really great, and I wish I could be in two places at once, but I can’t, so that’s why I can’t go to your party or help plan a menu for it. Sorry. Plus, also, my book isn’t really being published by ENT Books Corporation, I lied about that, too.”
Victoria looks…amused? Which is a surprise. Like half amused, half hurt.
“I knew it,” she says. “I knew you’d pick him.”
She tries to shut the door in my face, but I stop it from shutting and follow her inside her house. “Victoria, what are you talking about?”
“Hopper,” Victoria huffs. “He’s so boring. He doesn’t have any friends and he isn’t even having a real birthday party, so you invited him to New York City, which is a waste of time—you’d have so much more fun going to New York with me.”
“Wait, so you knew about my plans with Hopper? And you still made your party at the same time, like, on purpose?”
Victoria shrugs.
“But that’s so…” Rude and horrible. Plus icky and mean. “It’s his birthday—we’re going to a big science event he’s really excited about.”
“You know, I like science, too. I’m just as smart as Hopper—my grades are excellent!”
“Who cares about your perfect grades? You’re a bad friend!”
Victoria takes a step back. My breath feels fast and hot, like my mouth is on fire.
“I’m sick of it!” I yell. “The way you force everybody to do life your way. You’re not in charge of the world! You don’t get to boss my recess around and act all horrible—”
“I’m not horrible.”
“If you’re not horrible, then why do you act all horrible?”
Victoria looks at me, confused. “I don’t.”
“You do! You’re a rude, braggy, bossy meanie who makes everybody miserable, and school would be a nicer place without you!”
I stand there, shaking. Did all those awful words really just burst out of me?
Victoria takes another step back. She whimpers and turns and runs up the stairs.
Her Masha is by the stairs with a shocked look on her face.
“Quinny, what just happened?” Daddy is behind me now. “Where’s your sweater?”
What happened was, I don’t even know. But it didn’t make things better. It felt like scratching a mosquito bite: really great for a few seconds but a lot more painful after.
I was meaner than Victoria. I out-meaned Victoria Porridge. I made her whimper.
“I just want to go home. Can we please go?”
At home, I don’t want pizza or people or anything, because my stomach hurts. I just want to lie down by myself. There is a deep ocean of awfulness inside me that I didn’t even know was there. And I think I’m drowning in it.
Eventually, I get up to use the bathroom, and I overhear Mom on the phone.
“I can’t believe a third grader would be that hurtful,” she says. “How disappointing. I’ve always thought of her as a kind girl. We need to have a talk, that’s for sure.”
I don’t know if Mom is talking about me or Victoria. It’s so weird to think she might be talking about me. I never thought of myself as a mean person. I try to be kind to other people. But I wasn’t kind to Victoria.
Is it okay to be mean to someone who was mean to you first?
I’m not sure, but I think my stomachache knows the answer.
Mom and I make the best pizza.
We squish and stretch fresh dough. We chop and prep stuff for a toppings bar. Tonight we put out all of Quinny’s favorites: pickles, bacon, Nutella.
Mom asks me to set the table and fill water glasses and call my brothers. When my brothers don’t come, she yells for them to turn off the video game and wash hands now.
Then we all wait for Quinny.
“Why do we have to wait for Big Mouth?” Trevor grumbles.
“Trevor, stop,” says Mom. “Her name is Quinny.”
“She’s the co-author of my book,” I say. “That’s why we’re having a pizza party.”
Finally, Mom calls Quinny’s house. When she gets off the phone, she looks confused. “Quinny’s not feeling well, and she’s decided to skip the pizza.”
“But she was feeling fine at Dr. Merkle’s office.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Now, apparently, she�
�s not.”
So I eat with my brothers. They don’t care one bit about our tonsils book. They mess up the toppings bar. It’s definitely not as fun as having a pizza party with my co-author.
Afterward, I go back upstairs by myself. I adjust the pH level in my fish tank. I juggle.
I take apart my anatomy model of a human heart and put it back together. I know it so well that I can almost do it with my eyes closed.
I sit there, with my eyes closed, wondering what’s wrong with Quinny.
Then there’s a knock at my door.
But it doesn’t sound like Quinny. This knock is gentler.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me,” says a tiny voice.
I open the door and see Piper staring up at me.
“What are you doing here? Where’s Quinny?”
Piper walks into my room. She picks up the chess set by my desk.
“Is Quinny okay? She was supposed to come over.”
Piper opens the chess set. She looks at me and waits.
“It’s not as easy as checkers,” I warn her.
“I know. I could tell.” She glances over at my window. “What are the rules?”
I go and sit across from Piper. We line up the chess pieces on the board.
“These ones, they’re called bishops,” I say. “And these are the king and queen.”
Saturday morning, I go over to Quinny’s house.
“Sorry, Hopper, she’s still not feeling well,” her mom says.
“Where?”
“Excuse me?”
“Where in her body isn’t she feeling well? There’s all kinds of medicine to help.”
Quinny’s mom ignores my question. “We’ll call as soon as she’s on the mend. I promise.”
On my way home, I hear someone whistle from the street. It’s Grandpa Gooley in his truck. “Heading over to the chickens,” he says. “Care to lend a hand?”
I go over to Mrs. Porridge’s yard and lend him both of my hands. The chalet des poulets is almost done. I help put the finishing touches on it.
“Truly a thing of beauty,” says Grandpa Gooley, standing back to admire it.
Then we go up onto the porch to let the chickens know their new home is ready.
It feels good to be up here. If I squint, I can almost see Quinny dancing in the corner.
But then Disco lunges at Walter and tries to peck his eyes out.
Walter hisses at Disco and tries to scratch his face off.
Mrs. Porridge comes out, picks up Walter, and carries him into the house. She gives me and Grandpa Gooley a look, like we’re bonkers to build a fancy coop for these maniacs.
“Well, even if the critters are out of sorts today, we should still celebrate.” Grandpa Gooley looks at me as we walk outside. “Hopper, what do you say to a donut? I bet the farmers’ market probably has a few left.”
I shrug. “I do nut know what to say to a donut.”
“Har-har. Where’d you get your sense of humor, a garage sale?”
Then Mom’s voice interrupts us. “Hopper?” She’s walking up to us. “Come with me. Daddy and I need to talk to you about something.”
She looks serious. So does Dad when we get back home.
Is this about Quinny? Is something wrong with Quinny?
“Hopper, did you go on Mom’s computer this week without asking?” Dad asks.
I don’t answer his question. He slips a paper in front of me. It’s the e-mail I sent to Principal Ramsey earlier this week while Mom was in the basement doing laundry.
An e-mail I sent from her computer, without permission.
An e-mail I’m not supposed to know how to send, but I figured it out.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Wednesday, October 6; 9:37 am
Principal Ramsey,
This is Hopper Grey. I have two topics I’m writing about today.
Please give Quinny Bumble back her recess is my first topic. She is very upset. Recess detention is against the rules. My friend Owen’s mom figured that out a couple of years ago when his older brother kept losing recess. She looked it up. Please tell Mrs. Flavio this. Also, Quinny has a really fast engine. She needs to wiggle so she can calm down and learn. This is a proven fact.
I know Quinny doesn’t always behave. One idea is to make Quinny run laps at recess instead of taking away her recess.
The second topic I am writing about is the how-to writing assignment. Mrs. Flavio said we cannot do my tonsillectomy book together. Quinny and I want to do this topic together because teamwork is important. Quinny has a lot of great ideas. Quinny has worked very hard to help me with this, and it is not fair to take that away from her. Thank you for reading my e-mail.
Your student, Hopper Grey
“Look familiar?” asks Dad.
“You know you’re not allowed on the computer without a grown-up,” says Mom.
I do know that.
“You broke into my personal e-mail account. Who taught you to do that?”
I didn’t have to do much breaking. Because her password is PASSWORD.
“Hopper, what do you have to say for yourself?”
“Sorry.” I hang my head and wait to hear my punishment. Maybe they’ll ban me from the computer forever. Maybe they’ll take away my playdates with Quinny.
Then Mom slips another paper in front of me. “This came yesterday,” she says.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Friday, October 8; 4:32 pm
Hopper,
Thank you for your note. I appreciate you taking the time to share your point of view. Quinny is lucky to have you as a friend. Please know that at Whisper Valley Elementary School, we strive to be fair and do what is right. I have reviewed our policy prohibiting recess detention with all school staff. Also, after talking with Mrs. Flavio, we have decided to allow you and Quinny to work together on the language arts assignment.
I wish you a speedy recovery from your tonsillectomy and look forward to seeing you back in the halls soon.
Sincerely,
Principal Ramsey
I can’t believe Principal Ramsey read my e-mail and wrote me back.
I look at Mom and Dad. They’re smiling now. “So I’m not in trouble?”
“For using my computer without permission, yes, you are,” says Mom.
“But you stuck up for a friend. You tried to help,” says Dad. “You showed initiative, and that’s a big deal, Hopper. That’s a really big deal to me.”
I remind myself to look up initiative later. But I can tell it means something good.
“And about the other night,” Dad continues. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed you to go to the game. I just want you to be happy and have fun, and…”
And be more like you. I finish the sentence in my mind.
Dad hugs me. I can tell he feels sorry. And Mom looks happy to see us hugging. I wonder if anything will really change, though, after this hug. I hope so.
“Ahh-hem.” Grandpa Gooley comes into the room. “If you folks are done with my grandson, I believe there’s a donut with his name on it at the farmers’ market.”
There isn’t really, but there is a donut with maple syrup and bacon on it. I get two of those—one for me, and one to save for Quinny, who is bacon’s biggest fan.
I’m sitting on a bench with Grandpa Gooley and eating my donut when he pulls out a card from his wallet. “You’re looking at the newest member of the YMCA in Nutley,” he says.
Nutley is bigger than Whisper Valley. We don’t go there much since it is two towns away and doesn’t have a soccer dome. But I’ve heard their YMCA has a giant pool.
“Look what else I got.” He hands me another card, with bright stripes on it. “It was a special offer, too good to pass up. A free year of membership for anyone in third or fourth grade.”
I look at the card. It says YMCA YOUTH MEMBER. And also my name.
�
��Doc says I need more exercise. I sure could use some company.”
“Are you kidding? Grandpa Gooley, you just built a whole chicken coop.”
“The other interesting thing is, the Y has a junior swim team. For kids ten and up.”
I’m only turning nine this month. Phew.
“I know you’re not ten yet, but free swim’s open to everybody,” he says. “Think about it: we could swim year-round, Hopper. What do you say?”
I shrug at this. It does sound pretty great, actually. “But I don’t want to do any races.”
“You know what’s good about swimming? You can compete against yourself. Against your own best time, without worrying about other people or races.”
“How would I know how fast I was going?”
“Well, I suppose I could time you.”
“I’m only fast when no one’s looking.”
“I bet you could still be fast when people are looking, Hopper. I bet you really could.”
As Quinny would say, there’s only one way to find out.
I can’t even remember how long I’ve been lying here.
Mom comes in and tries to talk to me again. She sort of knows what happened with Victoria, but wants me to tell her in my own words. For once in my life, I don’t have words.
Later, she brings me a bowl of cereal, which turns to mush on my bedside table.
She brings me an apple that I’m too sad to bite into.
She tries to make me go watch Saturday morning cartoons with Piper.
When I say no to that, she takes my temperature.
Then she brings me Cleo, who I cuddle because it’s impossible not to cuddle Cleo.
Why did I yell at Victoria like that? I feel bad for yelling, but I’m still mad at her, too.
I didn’t know a person could feel so guilty and so angry at the same time.
It feels a lot like a stomach bug.
I give that baby sister back to Mom and go back to sleep.
Later Saturday afternoon, Daddy comes in and sits on my bed.
“So how about that trip to the animal shelter?” he says.
Quinny & Hopper: Partners in Slime Page 11