by Sheryl Berk
Ms. Bates was about to take a bite of her morning bagel when Emma barged in.
“So, it’s been forty-eight hours now,” Emma said. “My life is a wreck. Can I please go to DC?”
“Why is your life a wreck?” Ms. Bates gestured to a seat across her desk and Emma flopped down into it.
“Everyone hates me—except Elton. He forgives me. I’m not sure what I did to him, but he forgives me.”
“Who’s everyone?” Ms. Bates took a sip of tea. “That may be a bit of an exaggeration.”
“No. It’s not. Everyone who matters in my life hates me—or thinks I’m nuts. Harriet, Izzy, Jax.”
“I beg to differ. Jackson made a very heartfelt plea on your behalf yesterday. He wanted you to take his place on Student Congress.”
“And I heard you said no.”
“I said yes,” Ms. Bates replied. “But then I told him how amazing an opportunity this would be and he reconsidered.”
“He did what?” Emma gasped. She tried to wrap her brain around the fact that for all intents and purposes, Jackson had lied to her face. He had reconsidered his decision to give her his spot. And here she thought he was being kind and selfless!
“So, now you’ll have a friend along for the ride,” Ms. Bates said.
“What do you mean?” Emma asked cautiously.
“I mean you upheld your end of the bargain, so I will uphold mine. I’ve decided Austen Middle will be sending you as the second representative to the National Student Congress in two weeks. You beat out a lot of other students who were very qualified, and you proved yourself to me. Congratulations, Emma.”
Ms. Bates extended her hand to shake Emma’s across the desk, but Emma was too stunned to respond.
“Did you hear me? You’re going to DC,” the principal repeated. “As a member of the National Student Congress. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Emma nodded. It was what she wanted. But it also didn’t feel as great as she had thought it would. Her BFFs were furious with her; Jackson had been dishonest. Those two details kept overshadowing the joy she thought would come from this victory.
“Well, I have morning announcements to make,” Ms. Bates said, trying to shoo Emma out of the office. “Your appointment to the Congress being one of them. Run along, Emma.”
Emma obeyed and closed the door behind her. Why did this moment feel like such a letdown? Why did her heart feel so heavy and empty at the same time? Why were everybody else’s problems easy to solve . . . but not her own?
Mr. Carter, Jackson’s history teacher, was the official coach for Student Congress—and he took his job very seriously. He insisted that Emma and Jackson stay after school three days a week to research and write their arguments.
“The goal is to be the expert on the topic you are given so you can persuade the panel of judges to agree with you,” Mr. Carter explained. “You have to present a convincing argument.”
Emma knew a thing or two about how to state her opinion convincingly, but she wasn’t thrilled that she had to work as a team with Jackson—especially knowing that he had lied to her.
“I didn’t lie,” he tried to explain. “You didn’t give me a chance to tell you what happened.”
“You said you gave up your spot for me,” Emma reminded him.
“I did! I marched in there and told Ms. Bates I was handing it off to you. Then she said I would be crazy to not go—this was the chance of a lifetime—and she was pretty sure you were going to be earning your own spot.”
“But you didn’t know that for certain. As far as you knew I was out and you were in.”
“Emma,” Jackson said, “I really wanted you to do this. And I still do. I think we’re a great team.”
Emma felt her cheeks flush and her anger dissipating. “You do?”
“The Dream Team,” Jackson replied. “With my knowledge of government and your way with words, how could we lose?”
“The Dream Team,” Emma repeated dreamily.
Mr. Carter piled a stack of books on the desks in front of them. “This should get you started.”
“What is this?” Emma asked, examining the book covers. “Biology? The Science of Nutrition? This doesn’t sound like government to me.”
“It’s your topic, the one Student Congress has assigned you,” Mr. Carter said. “You are tasked with arguing why middle schools should support physical education programs.”
“PE?” Emma asked. “That’s the one class everyone at Austen hates.” Then she thought to herself, Harriet especially, and remembered how her friend always seemed to fumble the ball or trip over her own two feet running. The image made Emma chuckle, but then she recalled how Harriet hated her more than gym class these days.
“She’s right. Even the jocks say it’s a bore,” Jackson added. “You’d think they could come up with a more exciting way to get kids to exercise.”
“Then find a solution,” Mr. Carter insisted. “You need to convince a panel of teachers as well as your peers that PE is something all kids need in schools—and do so enthusiastically.”
Emma nodded. “Enthusiasm is my specialty.”
“So I’ve heard,” Mr. Carter sniffed. “Ms. Bates warned me. Just back it up with solid facts or your words will be empty.”
The next few days, as Emma struggled to juggle her research for Student Congress with schoolwork, tennis practice, chorus, and all her other responsibilities, she felt stressed to the breaking point, and she needed her friends to vent to. But Harriet and Izzy walked past her in the hallways as if she were invisible. It felt exactly like the Birthday Barbie blowup all over again. She had tried everything she could think of: leaving Post-it notes on Izzy’s locker; offering Harriet her favorite flavor of gummy bears; sending them both ecards. But they were determined to ignore her efforts and hold a grudge. She didn’t know how to get through to them. Emma had practically given up, until one lunch period when Lyla rushed into the cafeteria and sat down next to Emma at her empty table in tears.
“So you know how Jordie believes she’s royalty?” Lyla asked, sniffling.
“Um, I guess,” Emma said. The truth was, she knew exactly what Lyla meant. Jordana Fairfax was not only captain of the cheer squad but also Austen’s resident queen bee. Lyla was Jordie’s BFF and also one of her minions. Clearly something was very wrong between them.
“I wrote to Ask Emma but you didn’t answer!” Lyla continued. “This is a desperate situation.”
Emma felt awful—she’d been so busy that she hadn’t checked her inbox yesterday. “I’m so sorry, Lyla. Please tell me your problem.”
Lyla’s lip began to tremble. “Jordie was saying that she thought Kate Middleton was more stylish than Meghan Markle, and I said no way, I thought Meghan was stunning with a much better fashion sense—”
Emma held up her hand to stop her. “You’re fighting over princesses?”
Lyla nodded. “It’s terrible! Lyla won’t talk to me! She called me a nincompoop, and I don’t even know what that is.”
Emma tried not to laugh—but this fight was pretty silly. Lyla grabbed her arm. “I need your help. You have to fix this! Jordie hates me!”
Emma considered. “Okay. Let me figure out the best approach, and I’ll post my advice for you tonight.”
Lyla heaved a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Emma. You’re not as annoying as Jordie says you are. You’re kinda nice.”
“Thanks,” Emma replied. “I think.”
So Emma wasn’t the only one locked in a feud with a friend. Somehow Lyla’s fight with Jordie, as ridiculous as it seemed, made Emma feel a little better about her own rift with Izzy and Harriet. Maybe this was something that all friends went through. Her mom certainly thought so.
“It’s growing pains,” her mom advised.
Emma was helping her fold laundry in between choir practice and homework that night, and her mom had asked why she hadn’t seen Izzy and Harriet around the house lately.
“All friendships go through them,” he
r mom continued. “You girls are growing up. Your interests change, you start thinking and feeling differently about the world around you. Sometimes that takes a toll on a friendship.”
“But what if this is it? What if they never speak to me again? What if everything we had is over, done, finito?”
“I don’t think you girls are finito,” her mom insisted. “They’ll come around. You have to be a little patient.”
“I have been patient,” Emma said. “It’s like they refuse to hear me.”
“Maybe you’re saying one thing and they’re hearing another,” Mrs. Woods suggested. “Signals can get crossed.”
Emma buried her head in a fluffy towel. “They think I don’t care about them. It’s ridiculous. As ridiculous as Lyla and Jordie fighting over which princess is more stylish.”
“Oh, I love Tiana,” her mom said. “She’s my favorite. I love that big green ball gown she wears.”
Emma giggled. “No, Mom, not Disney princesses. British royalty!”
“In that case, Princess Di gets my vote. My fave monarch by far.”
“She’s not one of the choices. Lyla likes Meghan and Jordie likes Kate.”
“And I like Di. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing,” Emma said, shrugging. “Except that Jordie hates when anyone doesn’t agree with her. If she says black and you say white, she sees red.”
Emma’s fingertips suddenly began to tingle. “Mom! That’s it! You just gave me my Ask Emma answer.” She threw her arms around her mother and hugged her.
“I did?” Mrs. Woods called, as Emma raced upstairs to start writing. “But what about the rest of the laundry?”
“Later!” Emma replied. “I’ve got a blog to write!”
Emma read over the letter Lyla had sent Ask Emma: “I didn’t mean to hurt my friend’s feelings. I was stating my opinion.” That, in Emma’s opinion, was the true source of Lyla’s tiff with Jordie. It had little to do with princesses, and more to do with Lyla asserting herself. Jordie didn’t like anyone challenging her.
Emma began to type:
Sit down and talk to your friend and make it clear that your friendship is more important than whatever you are fighting about. But also let her know that you have a voice and she should hear you out, even if she disagrees. Always stay true to yourself. If your friend is a true friend, she will respect you.
The next day, Lyla found Emma in the cafeteria at lunchtime. “I did exactly what you said,” she told Emma. “I sat Jordie down at cheer practice early this morning. I told her how important our friendship is, more than any silly argument.”
“And?” Emma asked anxiously.
“And she said, ‘Fine—just take it back.’”
“Take what back?”
Lyla shrugged. “She wants me to say I was wrong and she was right.”
“Oh,” Emma replied. “Did you?”
“No,” Lyla said. “But I thought about it. Wouldn’t it be easier to let her win?”
Emma considered for a moment. “It would, but you have to stand your ground,” she insisted. “Go tell her you can’t change your opinions but would like to bury the hatchet.”
“Bury the what?” Lyla asked, scratching her head.
“It’s a figure of speech. It means put your differences behind you.”
Lyla nodded. “Okay. I’ll try again.”
Emma watched as Lyla approached Jordie’s table and tapped her friend on the shoulder. She saw Lyla talking, gesturing with her hands, and smiling nervously. Then she saw Jordie get up, turn her back on Lyla, and snap her fingers. The rest of the cheerleaders leaped to their feet and followed Jordie out of the cafeteria.
Lyla shook her head and motioned for Emma to come over.
“I tried to bury the hatchet,” Lyla told her. “But Jordie wouldn’t hear of it. She said unless I admit Kate is great, I am off the cheer squad. She’s gonna kick me off! She can’t do that, can she?”
Now Emma was angry. Jordie was captain of the cheerleaders, but she could not simply boot someone off the team for disagreeing with her! This was getting ridiculous—almost as ridiculous as Izzy and Harriet’s argument with her. Emma didn’t know how to fix her problems, but she could help Lyla. “That’s it,” she said, tugging Lyla to her feet. “Let’s go talk to Coach Hawkins.”
They found the coach sitting on the bleachers in the gymnasium, sipping a bottle of green juice.
“So Jordie insists that her princess is more stylish and won’t forgive me unless I take it back,” Lyla explained. “But I’m Team Meghan on this.”
“Let me get this straight,” Coach said. “Jordie believes she’s right and you’re wrong?”
“Uh-huh,” Lyla said, nodding.
“And if you won’t admit you’re wrong, she wants you off the cheerleading team?”
“Yes!” Emma jumped in. “Crazy, right?”
“Not so crazy,” Coach Hawkins replied. “You can’t have dissension in the ranks.”
Lyla looked frantic. “Speak English!” she pleaded.
“Jordana is head cheerleader, and that does grant her a senior position and the respect that comes with it.”
“So I have to take it back?” Lyla groaned.
“Not so fast,” the coach interrupted. “I suggest we settle this in a show of good sportsmanship.”
“Meaning?” Lyla asked.
“Meaning a face-off. On the basketball court, the tennis court, the track—you two decide. Winner gets to have her opinion stand as the victor.”
Emma tapped a finger to her lips. “I get what you’re saying, Coach, but I may have a better face-off idea . . .”
The next day at cheer practice, Jordana begrudgingly showed up ready to battle Lyla—but not in sports.
“Did you bring your evidence?” Emma asked Jordie.
“This is so ridiculous,” Jordie complained—then she saw Coach Hawkins taking a seat on the bleachers. “But yeah, I made the poster.”
She unrolled a large oaktag covered with photos of Kate Middleton clipped from magazines. Lyla had done the same for Meghan Markle. The rest of the cheerleaders took their seats next to the coach.
“All right,” Emma said. “Let the royal fashion face-off begin! Once Jordie and Lyla have presented, we will vote on the winner.”
Lyla volunteered to go first. “Okay, so first look at the white coat she wore for her official engagement announcement,” she said. “It sold out in minutes! Everything she wears sets off a huge shopping frenzy.”
“Well, same goes for Kate,” Jordie said, pointing to her royal’s beige platform pumps. “Everyone wanted to wear these after she did.”
“How do you compare boring beige pumps to these stunning over-the-knee boots?” Lyla asked, pointing to another photo. “Meghan is a modern princess. She knows how to be chic and trendy and never looks frumpy.”
“Kate is not frumpy!” Jordie was starting to sound very defensive. “She’s a power dresser. She looks appropriate for every occasion but gives it her own spin.”
“Maybe,” Lyla said. “But Christmas 2017 was a big fashion don’t.” She pulled out of her bag a single photo, blown up to show Kate and Meghan walking side by side as they left church. Kate was in a loud plaid double-breasted coat, while Meghan wore a belted camel coat. The cheerleaders and Coach Hawkins all nodded enthusiastically.
“Which would you wear, Jordie?” Lyla asked her, knowing how her friend was anything but mad about plaid. In fact, Jordie hated it. “Didn’t you once tell me to go home and change my yellow plaid skirt because it was hurting your eyes?”
“Well, I . . .” Jordie tried to come up with something in her defense. “Fine, Kate was a bit off that one day. She was pregnant so she gets a pass.”
“Perhaps we should put it to a vote,” Emma interjected. “Raise your hand if you think Lyla wins the fashion face-off.”
Every hand in the gymnasium went up—even Coach Hawkins’s. Jordie looked like she was going to explode: Her cheeks were bright
red and her lips were tightly set in a snarl. But she couldn’t do anything about it—she had been outvoted.
“Well, in studying these photos of Kate and Meghan, I think it’s a draw,” Lyla said suddenly. “They both have their style strengths and weaknesses. I mean, look at this bizarre brown hat Meghan wore with her Christmas coat. What’s that about?”
Jordie’s face softened. “So you’re saying that Kate did a better job with her accessorizing?”
Lyla nodded. “Yup.”
Jordie smiled slyly. “So I win.”
“In this example, absolutely,” Lyla told her. “Meghan hasn’t quite got the whole royal-hat thing down yet. They don’t wear a lot of those in Hollywood. Which means we have nothing to fight over. So, can we go back to being friends?”
Jordie seemed appeased. “Fine. We only have ten minutes left for practice. Assemble!”
Emma patted Lyla on the back. “Good job,” she said. “You didn’t let Jordie push you around.”
Lyla shrugged. “I had to find a picture that let us both win. Even if I do think Meghan is a much better dresser . . .” She winked and raced toward center court to take her spot beside Jordie in the squad formation.
Emma thought Lyla’s solution was brilliant. Why hadn’t she thought of it? She looked at her watch: It was 3:45. Izzy would be at her gymnastics meet, probably doing her routine on the balance beam, as Harriet sat in the viewing stands, cheering her on. Emma belonged there as well, but Izzy had made it clear: She was not invited. She wished there were a photo she could pull out of her bag to patch things up like Lyla had. Then it occurred to her . . . maybe there was!
Emma found what she was looking for in one of her mom’s old scrapbooks: a photo of Emma, Izzy, and Harriet in kindergarten on the day of the big zoo trip. They were posing in front of the monkey house, Emma grinning, Harriet twirling her hair, and Izzy looking vaguely annoyed. Emma remembered their teacher, Ms. Bhatia, had instructed the class to gather around the monkey exhibit, and Emma wiggled her way into the front row to get a closer look.