Allie Finkle's Rules for Girls: Best Friends and Drama Queens

by Meg Cabot

  ‘You guys,’ Erica said as we were walking.

  ‘That’s OK,’ Caroline said. ‘How are the organizational plans going for the slumber party tomorrow night, Allie?’

  ‘Excellent,’ I said. We had decided that the slumber party would be at my place, because I was the one who had gotten Dance Party America for Christmas. It was going to be a Dance Party America marathon slumber party. We were going to play it until our feet fell off. The reason we were going to get to do this was because my mom and dad were going to a faculty party at the university and were going to be out until after midnight, so Uncle Jay was going to be babysitting. And Uncle Jay was the best babysitter in the whole world!

  ‘You guys,’ Erica said again. ‘Don’t look now, but I think we’re being followed.’

  We all turned to look behind us. Erica was right. Cheyenne, leading a pack of girls that included Marianne, Dominique, Shamira, Rosie and even shy Elizabeth and some girls from Room 208, was tromping in the dirty snow right behind us.

  None of them seemed too happy either.

  ‘I said not to look,’ Erica whispered.

  We’d just been starting up the little slope that led to the bushes that hid the entrance to our secret hideout too. We couldn’t exactly duck into it. Not with all those girls watching. They’d know exactly where it was.

  ‘Hey,’ Cheyenne said in a very mean voice, staring right at us. So it was very clear she meant us.

  Still, Caroline looked all around and then pointed at herself and went, ‘Who? Us?’

  Caroline was stalling for time. I knew she was hoping if she kept on doing so, with luck the bell would ring soon. Caroline is very clever in this way.

  ‘Yeah, you,’ Cheyenne said. Today she was dressed, as usual, in the height of Canadian chic (which is a French word for stylish) in her knee-high zip-up boots, brown striped tights, a corduroy miniskirt, a puffy sky-blue parka and rabbit-fur earmuffs.

  I wondered if she knew a rabbit had died to make those earmuffs. It is one thing to wear leather, which comes from cows, which we also eat.

  But I don’t know anyone who eats rabbits. Except French people, according to Erica’s brother, John.

  But John is a known liar.

  ‘Which one of you told on us about the Kissing Game?’ Cheyenne wanted to know. ‘We know it was one of you. So you might as well just tell us.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Dominique and Marianne and some of the other girls yelled, ‘just tell us!’

  Erica and Caroline and Sophie and I just looked at each other. Because obviously none of us had told.

  ‘Um,’ Caroline said, looking down from the slope at Cheyenne and the other girls, ‘we don’t know what you’re talking about. We actually have better things to do than concern ourselves with you and your stupid recess activities.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Sophie said. And so I said, ‘Yeah,’ too, to back her up. Erica just looked scared.

  ‘Don’t lie,’ Cheyenne said in a mean-sounding voice. ‘None of us told. And you don’t think any of the boys told, do you? They like it. So it had to be one of you.’

  ‘Actually,’ I said, ‘the boys don’t like it, Cheyenne. Why do you think they run from you?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Sophie said. ‘Duh.’

  ‘Don’t be such a baby,’ Cheyenne shot back. ‘They run because it’s part of the game. I’m kissing them. Of course they like it. They’re boys, aren’t they? All boys want girls to kiss them.’

  ‘No they don’t,’ I said. ‘They think it’s gross. Especially your cranberry lipgloss. They think it stinks.’

  Dominique, standing behind Cheyenne, started laughing when she heard this. Cheyenne turned around and stared at Dominique. So Dominique quit laughing. Then Cheyenne turned around and stared at me.

  ‘Who told you that? About my lipgloss?’ Cheyenne asked me.

  ‘Stuart Maxwell told me,’ I said.

  ‘You’re a liar,’ Cheyenne said.

  ‘No I’m not,’ I said. ‘Why would I lie about that? Stuart told me himself. I sit right next to him. Remember? If anybody told on you about your stupid game, it was probably Stuart’s mom. Bet he told her what he told me, and she called Mrs Hunter.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Caroline said, narrowing her eyes at them. Sophie joined her by saying Yeah too, and Erica added her own, Uh-huh!

  ‘Whatever,’ Cheyenne said, waving her hand like our words were flies that were annoying her. ‘I don’t have time for big babies like you. That’s why you’re not invited to my slumber party. Because you’re too immature.’

  I put my mittened hands on my hips and yelled (even though Cheyenne had turned away and so had the other girls), ‘Oh yeah? Well, you’re not invited to my slumber party, either! And we’re doing totally cool stuff, not boring stuff like you’re doing at your slumber party, like getting our toenails painted!’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Cheyenne looked over her shoulder at us, but not like she was actually interested in what I was saying. More like she was bored and getting ready to yawn. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like playing Dance Party America,’ I yelled at her. ‘Until our feet fall off! That’s what!’

  ‘That silly game?’ Cheyenne laughed. Her laugh was as bright and tinkly as the icicles hanging off the side of the school that Mr Elkhart, the custodial arts manager, had had to go up and try to break off with a broom handle so they wouldn’t fall during recess and pierce some kid’s skull and enter his brain and kill him instantly. ‘We stopped playing that back in Canada years ago. Everyone knows the only cool game now is Captain Air Guitar. Do you even have Captain Air Guitar?’

  I didn’t know what she was talking about. I just stared at her blankly. I had never even heard of Captain Air Guitar. Well, maybe I had. But I’d forgotten to ask Grandma for it.

  ‘I didn’t think so,’ Cheyenne said with another tinkly laugh. All the other girls laughed their tinkly laughs too. Then they walked away. Still laughing.

  ‘Allie Finkle’s slumber party is going to be the worst slumber party,’ I heard Cheyenne saying, ‘ever!’

  ‘Don’t worry, Allie,’ Erica hurried over to say to me, laying a comforting hand on my shoulder. ‘Your slumber party isn’t going to be the worst ever. I bet it’s going to be great.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Sophie said, sounding mad. ‘She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Whoever heard of Captain Air Guitar. That sounds like a stupid game! It must be from Canada.’

  ‘Well, I’ve heard of it,’ Erica admitted. ‘My brother plays it over at his friend’s house. But my mom says over her dead body will anyone ever bring it into our house. She says we have enough racket with John’s new drum set.’

  I knew what Erica meant. I could hear John practising his drums in my house, even though he kept his drums in their basement and his dad had put soundproofing on the walls. It was still loud.

  ‘Who cares?’ Caroline said, sounding mad. ‘I’m not interested in what the cool game in Canada is. I want to play the game you like, Allie. I want to play Dance Party America. I’m really looking forward to it.’

  ‘Me too,’ Sophie said. ‘Except that Captain Air Guitar sounds like it might hurt my toe less.’ When she saw the warning look Caroline gave her, she said, ‘I mean, I can’t wait for Allie’s slumber party. It’s going to be way better than Cheyenne’s! You know what my mom told me? You can get infections from those manicure/pedicure places in the mall, because they don’t always properly sterilize their tools, and if you have an ingrown nail or something and the germs get in there, you can develop a flesh-eating virus and if the antibiotics don’t work your whole arm or leg might have to be amputated. I hope that happens to Cheyenne.’

  ‘You guys,’ I said sadly, realizing what they were trying to do. ‘It’s OK. You don’t have to try to cheer me up. I know my slumber party isn’t going to be as good as Cheyenne’s.’

  ‘No, it is,’ Caroline, Erica and Sophie hastened to assure me.

  But I knew the truth. Even though Mrs Hunter had put a stop to the Kissing Game,
Cheyenne had won. Her slumber party was going to be cooler than mine and there was nothing I could do about it.

  I felt depressed about it the whole rest of the day. When I got home from the school, I even joined Uncle Jay on the couch where he’d been lying pretty much non-stop all week, except when he got up to go to his classes, the bathroom and Wong Lee’s Noodle Emporium, and of course Pizza Express to get a slice.

  ‘Hey, chum,’ Uncle Jay said, turning down the volume of the Top Twenty Video Countdown, which Mom had asked him especially not to watch when us kids were around. But Mom was still at work. ‘Why so glum?’

  ‘This girl at school said her slumber party was going to be better than my slumber party,’ I said, heaving this big sigh. ‘She thinks she’s more mature than me just because she wears high-heeled zip-up boots and she likes to kiss boys at recess.’

  ‘The slumber party you’re having tomorrow night?’ Uncle Jay asked. ‘The slumber party I’m going to be in charge of because your mom and dad aren’t going to be home?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said.

  ‘Do you really think I’m going to let you and your friends have a bad time?’ Uncle Jay wanted to know. ‘Me? Uncle Jay? Have I ever let you down before?’

  I just looked at him. Uncle Jay’s goatee was now a full-on beard. There were crumbs in it.

  ‘Um,’ I said. The thing was, you can break up with boyfriends before they let you down. But you can’t break up with people in your family. You can stop talking to them, I guess, like Mom was pretty much doing to Uncle Jay, and to Dad too, for letting Uncle Jay sleep on our couch (and in the guest room at night, even though he had a perfectly good apartment on campus).

  But they’ll still always be your family.

  ‘I guess not,’ I said to Uncle Jay in response to his question about whether or not he’d ever let me down before.

  ‘Darn right,’ he said, and held out his hand for me to slap. ‘You’re gonna have the best slumber party in the whole world.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. And slapped his hand with mine.

  I didn’t really believe him. But It’s impolite not to high-five someone back when they are high-fiving you.

  That’s a rule.

  Rule #8

  The Worst Thing That Can Happen Is for Your Secret Crush to Know Your Secret, and for It Not to Be a Secret Any More

  On Saturday night we started playing Dance Party America as soon as my parents left for their party.

  About half an hour later, Uncle Jay came in with a batch of microwave brownie soup and five spoons, saying we should take a break. Microwave brownie soup is one of Uncle Jay’s specialties. It’s pretty much how the name goes – you make microwave brownies, but you don’t cook them all the way, so they’re like soup.

  I was pretty sure they weren’t having microwave brownie soup at Cheyenne’s slumber party.

  I was pretty sure they didn’t do what Uncle Jay suggested we do a few minutes later, which was surf down the back staircase on Kevin’s bed mattress.

  It was OK though, because he made us go one at a time and wear Mark’s BMX bicycle helmet and my Rollerblade knee, elbow and wrist guards, for safety.

  Plus we put the sofa cushions at the bottom of the stairs in case anybody fell off and had a hard landing. And Uncle Jay made everyone sit down on the mattress and hold on to the handles on the sides as he pulled it down the stairs as fast as he could, then jumped out of the way by the landing when it got going good and fast.

  Of course with all the screaming (and barking. Marvin got a little overexcited) going on, Mark and Kevin came out of Mom and Dad’s room, where they’d promised to stay and watch DVDs. It’s horrible having younger brothers. I’m the only one of all my friends who is burdened in this way. Everyone else has older siblings who aren’t at all interested in what they’re doing. Older siblings are better than younger ones because they have already been through everything that you are going through, and can Show You the Way (this is a rule).

  Erica swears this isn’t true, that older siblings are worse, they try to boss you around, and also, teachers always say, ‘Harrington? Was your brother/sister John/Missy Harrington?’ and then look at you like, Aha, I know what to expect from you, even though you are nothing like your brother or sister.

  Plus, as Caroline and Sophie and Rosemary say, with younger siblings, you can boss them around. Which is true . . .

  But look at my slumber party! I had told Mark and Kevin not to come out of Mom and Dad’s room, and even put in some nice family-orientated DVDs for them, and next thing I knew, there they were at the top of the stairs, whining about when was it going to be their turn to get pulled down on the mattress by Uncle Jay. Unfair!

  But I have to admit in the end it was pretty fun, because Mark got really into staircase surfing and appointed himself safety conductor, checking to make sure everyone’s padding was on good and tight. I mean, really, if it wasn’t for him, Sophie might have broken another toe, or something even worse.

  And when we got tired of mattress surfing (because everyone’s stomach hurt from laughing so hard), it was Kevin’s idea to go into Mom’s closet and have a fashion show. We looked fantastic! Rosemary played fashion photographer and took pictures of us with the digital camera on her cellphone.

  And Kevin helped us put everything back exactly where it had been so Mom would never know. He’s a surprisingly good folder.

  Then Uncle Jay had the best idea of all: strap bicycle lights to baseball hats with electrical tape and then turn off all the lights and try to find each other in the dark.

  This was the most awesome game! Especially in a house as huge and old as ours was. We had an excellent time sneaking up on each other and trying to scare one another (this was best accomplished by turning the bicycle lights off). Of course, Sophie was too scared to let go of me, but she was good at staying quiet when I needed her to, and we scared the snot out of Rosemary, who said she nearly wet her pants.

  So it was worth it.

  Then when Uncle Jay turned the lights back on, Caroline said she was hungry and for more than just brownie soup. That was when Erica found the cake mix in the pantry and suggested we bake a cake, and Uncle Jay said he’d order a pizza from Pizza Express if we’d make dessert.

  So we made a chocolate layer cake (with icing from a can we also found in the pantry) that was pretty delicious, even if a lot of the mix did end up on the hood that goes over the stove. Then we decorated it with flower-shaped sprinkles we found in a box my mom had marked Save for Easter (but I was sure she wouldn’t mind us using it, she could always buy more) and some pirate gold that Kevin brought down from his room (I just reminded everyone not to eat it).

  It looked so good that instead of eating it right away, we saved it to show Mom and Dad for when they got home from the party (Uncle Jay made us clean up the kitchen first though, because he said it wouldn’t be as good a surprise if we left a huge mess. He didn’t notice the bits on the ceiling, thank goodness).

  And Mom and Dad were surprised. It was hard to tell which surprised them more: that we’d made a cake: that we tied towels around our waists and acted like waiters and called them sir and madam and pulled out chairs for them like we worked in a restaurant; that Mark and Kevin were still up, or that Uncle Jay wasn’t lying on the couch for a change.

  But they took big bites of the cake slices we offered them and said they were delicious. Except we forgot to tell them not to eat the bits of pirate gold. They found out soon enough though!

  They were right, the cake really was delicious. We each had huge slices after my parents were done with theirs, and then Caroline finished up what was left (because she can’t resist anything sweet, to the point that sometimes she eats way too much of it and has to call her dad and go home to take antacid. But fortunately that didn’t happen this time, because my brothers were there, and they ate so much there wasn’t much left for the rest of us).

  Then we laid around in my room with the lights off, trying to get Mewsie to go in hi
s pink canopy cat bed, and I told ghost stories about the disembodied zombie hand until everyone fell asleep.

  It was basically the best slumber party ever.

  I really couldn’t imagine that Cheyenne’s could have gone any better. I mean, yeah, maybe everybody got to go home with their own homemade bath bomb.

  But everyone got to go home from mine with their memories of microwave brownie soup, staircase surfing, a fashion shoot, bicycle-light hide-and-seek and cake on the ceiling.

  I really don’t think homemade bath bombs could stand up to that.

  And I was right. When we got to the playground on Monday morning, we saw all the girls who’d been to Cheyenne’s house on Saturday standing around in tight little clusters, gossiping about something.

  ‘They’re probably talking about what a terrible time they had,’ Erica said as we walked past one of the groups of fourth-grade girls.

  ‘Right,’ Caroline said. ‘They didn’t have that incredible cake we had at Allie’s.’

  This made me feel quite proud.

  ‘You guys helped with the cake,’ I told them modestly. Because this part was true.

  ‘They’re probably talking about the flesh-eating virus they all contracted at the manicure-pedicure place,’ Sophie said. ‘Gross!’

  It was gross! At least until Rosemary ran past us chasing after her ball and gasped, ‘You guys, guess what?’

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  Rosemary picked up the ball and hurried over, panting a little.

  ‘Good guess,’ she said. ‘I heard at Cheyenne’s slumber party they did prank calls. Guess who they called?’

  We all looked at each other.

  ‘Mrs Hunter?’ I guessed. That’s who I was hoping, anyway. Also that Cheyenne got caught, and Mrs Hunter called the police, and the police came and arrested Cheyenne and she was forced to go back to Canada with her family, and she would never, ever come back to Pine Heights Elementary School again.