A Little Help From My Friends (Miracle Girls Book 3)

by Anne Dayton

  I furiously take notes about the assignment. The first project is to make our own country from the ground up, meaning we’ll have to dream up a flag, formulate a type of government, and even draft a constitution. With each new element Mrs. Narveson adds to the list, my spirits sink a little further.

  Christine stops pretending to take notes and scratches a message to me at the top of her paper instead. “Your new partner,” I read slowly, squinting my eyes to make out the lettering as she prints neatly, “looks like a snob. Must rethink my plan to move to Manhattan.”

  I sneak a quick peek at Dean, who’s now leaning back in his chair watching me, arms crossed over his chest, a knowing smile on his face. I can already see what he’s thinking. He’s glad he got paired with the shy girl. He knows he can get me to do all the work for both of us, and I’ll never tell.

  Just great. Exactly what I need.

  3

  “So, how does it feel to be back?” I flop onto the hood of Christine’s silver beater and Riley scoots over a little to make room for me. The heat from the metal feels good on my back, and I close my eyes and let the sun warm my face.

  After my rocky start to the day, things have started looking up quite a bit. I’m now first chair in the flute and piccolo section in band, and today was my first chance to enjoy that honor. At lunch no one even dared take our little broken picnic table because people know it belongs to the Miracle Girls. And the rest of my classes seem doable, no crazy teachers or weird partners. All in all, being a junior feels kind of . . . good.

  “Junior year. Woo.” Christine turns up her stereo, and an old rock song plays out over our little corner of the parking lot.

  “It is nice being an upperclassman,” Ana says, leaning against the cherry red frame of her Audi. She got it for her birthday in June and hasn’t let one speck of food, one drop of liquid, or one muddy shoe enter its hallowed interior. My birthday is in a few days, but there’s no way I’m getting a car. Ana holds her phone in front of her, texting furiously. “You have to admit it felt pretty awesome to sit on the other side of the gym at the rally this morning.”

  “Beats slumming it with the frosh.” Christine pulls a pair of sunglasses out of her bag and slips them on.

  “It’s weird to have Michael at Marina Vista,” Riley laughs. Her brother is a freshman this year, which is just crazy. He seems way too young to be in high school.

  Ana pokes at the keypad again, her thumbs moving so fast that they’re practically a blur.

  “You’re going to break that thing, Ana,” Riley says.

  “Dave is trying to cancel our date on Friday night,” Ana says, typing again. After more than a year of pseudodating, Ana and Dave were finally allowed to go on actual dates after she turned sixteen. “For band practice or something. We’re, uh, discussing.” She sends her message and clicks her phone to sleep.

  The sun glints off the windshield of cars scattered around the lot. This whole place looked so much bigger, more frightening, when we were freshmen. Now that we’re older, it doesn’t seem so scary at all. Maybe we’ve gotten used to the pace of it, and the size, or maybe we know our way around and how it all works. Maybe we’ve been around long enough to know that everyone else is as confused as we are. Plus, we have each other.

  A white Hummer slows next to our group, and the window rolls down. A sense of dread fills my stomach.

  “My, my, my,” Ashley Anderson, cheerleader and Riley’s ex-best friend, leans out the driver’s side window of her ridiculous vehicle. “Look at the Troll Patrol. Ana has an Audi.” Ana rolls her eyes at Ashley. “Christine’s hair doesn’t look like puke”—to be fair, Christine’s hair did sort of look like puke when it was green—“and Zoe shot up like a weed. You’re really not even fa—”

  I brace myself. Don’t say the f word. Don’t say the f word.

  “I see you haven’t lost that peppy spirit.” Christine cuts her off and crosses her arms over her chest. Her smooth black hair gleams like vinyl in the sunlight.

  I used to be a little overweight, but this summer I shot up almost overnight. All my jeans became high waters, my baby fat melted away, and I went from being the shortest Miracle Girl to the tallest.

  “Looks like a lot has changed this summer.” Ashley snaps her gum. “But what’s going on with your head Mouseketeer? I thought you guys were going to wage some campaign to get her back?”

  I see Ana tense up. Ashley is talking about Ms. Moore, who was a English teacher at Marina Vista, but she came to mean so much more to us. At the end of last year the school board suspended her under very mysterious circumstances. She angered a well-connected parent, but no one knows how. This summer we tried to get people from our school to sign a petition to reinstate her, but everyone has been pretty apathetic about the whole thing.

  “Don’t you have some jock to drool over?” Christine smiles at Ashley.

  Ashley watches us for a minute, but when no one else responds, she turns up the thumping bass on her stereo and drives away without another word.

  “Why does Ashley hate us so much?!” Ana glares at her car.

  “She’s mean,” Riley says quietly. Ashley makes a left turn out of the parking lot just ahead of oncoming traffic and races away, ignoring the school zone speed limit. “But she kind of has a point.” Christine chokes on her gum and gives Riley a horrified look. “I mean, about Ms. Moore. We wanted to get her back, and we didn’t really do that this summer.”

  “We tried, though,” Ana says.

  “Yeah.” Riley lets her breath out slowly. “But did we try hard enough?”

  Ms. Moore got a job at Bayside Books to pay the bills while she’s waiting for the school board to sort things out. We’ve all stopped in to strategize how to help get her back, but we never really got as far as we were hoping to. Maybe we could have done more.

  “I had to meet with Mrs. Canning today.” Christine says quietly. When her mom died, Christine started meeting with Ms. Moore for counseling sessions once a week, and I don’t know how she would have survived without Ms. Moore’s guidance, especially last year when her dad was planning his wedding to The Bimbo. I mean Candace. I have to start calling her Candace. “She doesn’t get me at all. She tried to hypnotize me. She didn’t even laugh when I said it was all coming back to me and that in a former life I was a chicken.”

  “We need Ms. Moore for Earth First too.” I push myself up to sitting. “Without an advisor, the club will have to fold.”

  “But what are we going to do?” Ana sighs. “We tried the petition thing. We’re not lawyers, and we certainly don’t have any pull with the school board. We don’t even know who filed the suit in the first place. How would we figure out who it was and prove it, let alone do something about it?”

  I look out across the parking lot, toward the school. Its high gray walls don’t seem as intimidating as they did even a few months ago.

  “Hmm.” Christine bites her lip and twists the little gold stud in her nose. “There has to be a way. Don’t you want to bring Ms. Moore back?”

  “More than anything.” Ana peeks at her phone, clicks it asleep again. “But do you really think we can?”

  “Maybe not by ourselves. But with all of us working together? We definitely could.” I dust the black gunk from Christine’s car off my hands. “We’re not like the other kids at this school,” I say slowly, watching as two wiry guys shake up cans of soda and spray each other by the bus loading area. “Remember how Ms. Moore saw that?”

  The four of us met in detention one day early in our freshman year. Somehow Ms. Moore, who was the detention monitor that day, knew we were destined to be together. She assigned the four of us to a group and made us each write about the day our lives changed. That’s how we discovered we’ve all come back from the grave, that we’re all honest-to-goodness miracles.

  “We’re the Miracle Girls.” Riley stretches her legs out in front of her, long and tan under her cheerleading skirt. “That’s got to count for something.”
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br />   “If you guys are in, I’m in.” Christine nods as the song changes again. “I’ll do whatever it takes to bring Ms. Moore back.”

  I glance at Ana, who nods. “Okay, then,” I say, sounding for all the world as if I know what I’m doing. “That’s decided. The Miracle Girls are going to save Ms. Moore.”

  4

  It’s a gorgeous evening. The moody sky has cleared up, and the sun is now shining through the trees that encircle the deck. It drizzled a little this morning, not enough to matter, but it seemed like a lucky sign. The Miracle Girls are here, Ed’s got his favorite Beatles album blaring in the backyard, and Marcus has been dutifully by my side all afternoon. I even went to the DMV and got my license on the first try. On the surface, it looks like the perfect sixteenth birthday.

  But something still doesn’t feel right. Dreamy and Ed spent the morning getting in one little spat after another while they prepared for the party. At noon they stopped talking to each other entirely, and since then Dreamy has been keeping herself busy with preparations, bringing out trays of veggies and bowls of chips all afternoon, and Ed has been manning the grill. I haven’t even seen them look at each other.

  “Hey, Zoe, you want another veggie burger?” Marcus calls, loading up a plate for himself. His polo shirt hangs loose on his arms.

  “I’m good.” I shake my head and lean back against the picnic table.

  “I wonder if he ever gets tired of being nice.” Christine takes off her sunglasses and wipes them on the edge of her shirt.

  “Marcus?” I watch him now, helping Ed with the grill. “Nah. I don’t think so.”

  Ana rolls her eyes. “We should go on a double date. Maybe Marcus could rub off on Dave.”

  “Yeah, where is your other half tonight?” Riley pulls her sweater over her head. The evening is already starting to cool off.

  “Band practice.” Ana rolls her eyes and looks out at the dried-up grass. “Let’s not talk about that.” She puts her sunglasses back on and turns to Riley. “How’s Tom?”

  “He’s good.” Riley can’t help but smile at the sound of her boyfriend’s name. “When will you see him next?” Ana asks.

  Riley’s shoulders fall. “Two days from forever at the rate we’re going.” Tom’s a freshman at UC Santa Barbara, five long hours south of here. I give her a side hug, and she smiles. “We knew it would be hard. But he says he likes his classes, so that’s good.”

  As Riley tells a story about Tom’s first week in college, a happy honking sounds in the backyard. I freeze. Ed picks up a glass and a knife from the wooden picnic table.

  “What’s going on, Zo?” Riley asks, her brow creasing.

  Ed clinks the knife against the glass a few times. “Could I have your attention, everyone?” He clears his throat. “We’ve got a big surprise for Zoe’s birthday.”

  Could he possibly mean—? No, he couldn’t. But then . . . he does have a college friend who restores old cars, and he has been scrimping and saving a lot these days. “Can we all go to the front of the house?”

  I turn to him, my heart racing in my chest. “A surprise?”

  Dreamy smiles, lopsided and mischievous. “It sounds like it’s in the driveway right now.”

  I take off at a sprint, and Marcus and the Miracle Girls are right behind me.

  It has to be a car. What other big surprise do you give a sixteen-year-old on her birthday that you can park in a driveway? Which also honks loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear?

  “Ohmigosh!” Riley shrieks. “A car!”

  “What kind do you think it is?” Christine asks as we push open the wooden gate that separates the front and back yards.

  “I hope it’s safe,” Marcus says.

  “This is so exciting, Zo!” Ana says.

  We round the dried-up rose-tip shrubs, and I stop in my tracks. I scream.

  It’s beautiful. It’s shiny and black, and much newer than I would have guessed. The windows are tinted, and it looks sleek and fast. How did they—

  “I told you!” Ed says, following right behind me with Dreamy on his heels. I rush toward it, and I think a high-pitched noise might be coming out of my throat, but I’m too excited to tell for sure. Just as I get close enough to touch it, the back door opens, and a tall, brown-haired guy steps out. I screech to a halt.

  “Surprise!” Dreamy and Ed scream together.

  “NICK?!” I suck in my breath. It’s—how did he—when did they—

  What is my brother doing here?

  He leans back into the car, says something to the driver, grabs a duffle bag, and raps on the roof twice. Before I can even process what’s happening, the car drives away.

  “What are you doing here?” I think my mouth might be hanging open. Is this my surprise?

  “Happy birthday, kiddo.” Nick walks toward me and drops his bag on the ground, then wraps me in a hug. He smells like grease and sweat. “When did you get to be so tall?”

  I try not to pull away too quickly. What’s going on? It’s not like Nick and I are super close. He was almost out of the house by the time I was born. He’s more like a fun uncle than a brother.

  “Zoe?” Ana says softly. I turn back toward my friends, frozen in place. They look stricken. Marcus reaches his hand out to me and I ignore it.

  “This is my brother, Nick,” I say, pasting a smile on my face. “He lives in Colorado.” I lean over and pick up the strap of his bag. “On a ranch. I guess he’s here for a visit.”

  “Not anymore,” Nick says, leaning over to give me a noogie. I pull away.

  What is he talking about? Nick surveys the crowd in front of him and gives a small wave.

  “What?”

  “Nick’s come home to live with us for a while.” Ed gazes at him, then smiles at me while Dreamy runs over and grabs Nick in a hug.

  I swallow back a lump in my throat and catch Marcus giving me a sad, sympathetic look.

  I’m a horrible, selfish person. I love Nick. My parents can’t afford to buy me a car, and I, of all people, know that, and yet as the tears sting my eyes, I have to admit that I’m kind of disappointed.

  “Told you it was a good surprise!” Ed says, taking Nick’s bag from me and ushering us all to the backyard. “What could be better than having all the Fairchilds together again?” The girls are already heading back around the side of the house, silently. Marcus jogs quickly over to my side and takes my hand in his. He gives it a little squeeze and puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me close.

  5

  I look at my watch, glance around the library one last time, and finally admit to myself that Dean is not coming. He’s now a full fifteen minutes late, and really, I don’t blame him. I blame the red-headed band geek sitting in the library all by herself. I should have known better than to believe this guy.

  Something about him makes my skin itch. Not that he’s done anything to me. Well, not that he’s done anything at all, actually. Most days he just sits in Mrs. Narveson’s class with his arms crossed over his chest, sneering at her. He doesn’t take notes, he doesn’t ask questions—I don’t think he even listens.

  I sigh and crack my textbook to the section called “Don’t Tread on Me: A Country Is Born.” The point of Mrs. Narveson’s Build-a-Nation project is to show us the challenge our forefathers faced, and she wants to make it as realistic as possible, so we have a huge checklist of things we have to decide with our partners. That is, of course, if I had a partner.

  I scan the stacks of books and even crane my neck to check the computer lab, but still see no sign of him.

  “Looking for something?”

  I jump. How did he sneak up on me like that? I gesture toward the empty chair across the table, and for a second, I’m relieved to see him. I haven’t been stood up after all. But when he flops into the chair next to me, crowding my personal space, and tosses his bag on the ground, the relief turns into dread. Why did I force this guy to come? I should just accept my fate and get started on this project by myse
lf. He’s only going to slow down my progress. I roll my eyes and move my backpack across the table.

  “Get held up?” I force myself to smile.

  “Yeah. Sorry.” He shrugs and doesn’t offer anything else. He leans back in his chair, locks his fingers behind his head, and smiles. “You got the assignment? I forgot my history notebook.”

  “Sure.” We’re off to a great start. I shove my folder over to him. “Here’s the list of things we need to do. I went ahead and drew up a schedule while I was waiting for you.” I shoot him a look, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “I figure first we need to nail down the really basic stuff, then we can start drafting our constitution, and finally write the twenty-page paper. If we can stay on the schedule I laid out—”

  Dean starts laughing.

  “What?” I grit my teeth. I can tolerate being ignored or even picked on by popular people, but I can’t stand being laughed at.

  “I’m sorry.” Dean shakes his head at me, snickering into his hands. “I can’t help it. You’re kind of killing me up with this schedule.”

  I snatch my folder back. “We need a schedule. Everybody else already got started.” Even Christine and Kayleen are already working on their flag, and they’re practically sworn enemies. I grab a pen from my backpack and put it in front of him. “We’re behind, and I can’t afford to fail.”

  “Okay, okay.” He puts his hands in the air. “Calm down. I’m on your schedule.” He leans over, pulls a red spiral notebook out of his messenger bag, and flips to a blank page. “But I’m not worried about all those other teams, and you shouldn’t be either. We’ve got something they don’t.”

  “What?” Please tell me we have a secret weapon I haven’t thought of. Maybe he’s done this project before at his old school?

  “Brains.” Dean stretches in a dramatic way and puts an arm behind my shoulder. I stare at it, horrified. “I’m not just a pretty face, Zoe.”