by Coco Simon
This year I was supposed to be in charge of all the student volunteers, and I was going to be the most senior student involved. I was also going to help the little kids make their book selections, which is something I would have loved. The librarian, Mrs. Olson, was going to let me have a lot of responsibility in running Book Fest this year, and I’d been looking forward to it all summer. Now I wouldn’t even get to go.
But if we could have a book fair here at Vista Green, I could help, just like I had at my old school! I rushed to deliver the flyers all around, and if I met a teacher, I talked up the book fair idea. In about twenty minutes I had finished, and I raced back to the library to get my messenger bag. My next class was English—right next door to the library—and I was excited and nervous. English was always my favorite class.
I swooped into the library. Mrs. K. was at her desk. She was busy looking at something on her computer. It was funny how she never thanked me for my help, but I didn’t mind. I struggled with whether or not to say something about a book fair—mentioning it would reveal that I’d read the flyers—but how could I not, given my background and experience?
“Oh, Mrs. K.! I hope we get to have a book fair! It would be so wonderful! At my old school—”
“Pish-posh!” said Mrs. K., spinning in her chair to face me. “We don’t need a book fair! Book fairs are crass and commercial. They have to do with shopping, not reading. Some schools sell trinkets at their book fairs. And dolls!” She shivered dramatically. “Give me a well-read, well-loved copy of an old book any day. I’d like an all-school read, but the teachers don’t want the extra work. We’ll see about that. Yes. Mmm-hmm. Okay.” She spun her chair back around to her computer and was clearly finished with me for the day.
I stood there, stunned, for an extra second. I felt as if I’d been slapped in the face. All my enthusiasm drained out of me and I turned to slink out the door.
Was I wrong for loving Book Fest? So what if they sold trinkets and toys? They brought people in to look at the books. And wasn’t that what Book Fest was all about?
I turned left toward the classroom for my first English class. I did not have high hopes. I felt totally out of sync with the only book lover I had met so far at my new school.
Ms. Healy was the name of my new English teacher, and I fervently hoped we would be in sync—kindred spirits, as Anne Shirley would have said. I entered Ms. Healy’s classroom cautiously, but I hadn’t needed to be nervous. The kids were all milling around, some sitting on Ms. Healy’s desk, legs swinging happily as they chatted with her. Ms. Healy was young, with thick blond hair that fell to her shoulders, like a girl in a shampoo commercial, and with apple cheeks and sparkling blue eyes. She kind of looked like a kid herself, as she was wearing a cute pink-and-white dress I’d admired recently at the mall.
There were beanbag chairs in the back of the classroom, and there was a whole wall of low bookshelves packed with books. Along the top of the bookshelves were huge stacks of paper and colorful jars of pens of every kind. The bulletin boards on the two walls were papered in bright hues but blank, waiting for our work, I guessed. Along another wall was a display. It said: THE MUSEUM OF THE WRITTEN WORD: SOME OF ITS MANY USES. And there were a bunch of DVDs under a sign that said SCREENWRITING, then a bunch of grocery store products with a sign saying MARKETING, ADVERTISING, PROMOTIONAL WRITING. Next was a stack of newspapers and magazines with a sign that said JOURNALISM, and finally there were some old cell phones in a pile under a sign that said SOCIAL MEDIA. All around the border of the classroom, next to the ceiling, were portraits of famous writers with their names underneath them, like a gallery. There was everyone from Gary Paulsen and Beverly Cleary to Jane Austen and Alice Walker.
Hmm, I thought, cautiously optimistic. This is pretty cool.
Suddenly Ms. Healy called, “Colin, the lights, please!” and a kid jumped up and turned off all the lights. What on earth? I thought. Should I be scared? I looked around. None of the other kids seemed nervous. It was like they knew what was coming.
Then Ms. Healy switched on a spotlight at her desk. The spotlight shone up onto a disco ball hanging from the ceiling, and loud pop music came blaring out of a speaker. I stood, speechless, as all the kids jumped up—onto desks, chairs, anything—and began dancing. Ms. Healy danced her way over to me and spoke loudly over the music. “Hi, Allie! Welcome to our class! We like to get our creative juices flowing with our disco minute at the start of every class.” She led me to a desk in the middle of everyone. “Here’s your seat. Enjoy!” Then she danced away, back to her desk.
I stood and looked around in wonder, bobbing a little to the beat, feeling self-conscious but liking what I saw. Sure enough, when the minute was over, Colin flipped the overhead lights back on, Ms. Healy silenced the music and switched off the spotlight, and everyone sat down, smiling.
I knew I had just found my favorite teacher at Vista Green.
“Okay, and then, the room has beanbags, and there was a disco minute, and Ms. Healy is much more fun than Mrs. K., who I’d thought was going to be my favorite. And maybe they’re both my favorite, but . . .”
Tamiko and Sierra were over at my house, and I was filling them in on everything. It felt weird for them to not know who I was talking about, or be able to picture the layout of the school. I promised to snap some pics on my phone or take a little video of it and e-mail it to them.
“Do they give you a lot of homework?” Sierra asked, eyebrows knit together.
I smiled. Sierra absolutely hated homework, but I think it was because she always left it till the last minute and then forgot to bring home the reading, or softball practice would run late, or the star of the play would get sick and she’d be the understudy and have to learn all the lines. It was always some drama with her and homework. “I can’t tell yet. I have a ton of reading—”
Tamiko waved her hand in the air and made a “Pffft!” noise. “Oh, please. Reading isn’t work for you. It’s like breathing. You’re gonna do it anyway! Your whole life is like one long book club.” She flicked her long, dark side ponytail over her shoulder and scoffed again.
I grinned and reached over for a hug, but Tamiko batted me away, as always. “Oh, stop with your fancy hugs. You know I hate that stuff!”
“And that’s why we love you!” cried Sierra, which was our cue to dive onto Tamiko and grab her in a big group hug.
We spilled off my bed onto the floor, laughing. It was such a relief to be with my friends again, people who knew me and got me and liked me. I had felt like an alien on another planet these past two days—like an invisible person, or worse, depending on who was around. Tamiko and Sierra always made me feel better.
I hadn’t yet told Sierra and Tamiko about the mean girls at Vista Green. Partly because it was so humiliating that I thought I might cry in the retelling, and partly because Tamiko would want immediate revenge, and I wasn’t up for that negative energy right now.
“So do you guys want to come see the store, or what?” I asked, bouncing in place.
“Yes! Let’s go! I’m dying to see it!” said Tamiko, hopping up. Tamiko was all about the new. She was always on these wild websites looking for new trends and following foreign fashion accounts that her cousins in Japan told her about, and building inspiration boards with clips of her latest obsessions. Everything was a blank slate for Tamiko, just waiting for her imagination to roar into gear and tweak, decorate, redo, enhance, and make it unique. I couldn’t wait to see what she thought of Molly’s Ice Cream. It was pretty great as it was, but she just might have some ideas on how to make it even better.
We walked to the store, the blocks whizzing past as we chatted a mile a minute. Being with them was like drinking a cool milkshake after a long, dry thirst. Sierra was filling us in on her twin sister Isabel’s soccer triumphs, and Tamiko told us about her brother Kai’s latest entrepreneurial scheme to sell hurricane survival packs door to door. (We got hit by bad hurricanes almost every year.) There wasn’t much for me to
tell about Tanner (who wants to hear about burps and stinky sneakers?), so we quickly ended up on the topic of my parents, which is where I think we were headed anyway.
I’d told them both the news by text after I had woken up and realized that it wasn’t all a bad dream. Sierra had replied immediately, her text filled with emojis of sad faces and hearts and “I love you.” Tamiko didn’t respond for about half an hour, and when she did, it was with one bracingly simple word: Good.
It actually shocked me into laughter when I saw it, because for goodness’ sake, she was right! It was good that they were getting divorced. My parents seemed so much happier already, and I felt so much gratitude to Tamiko in that moment for looking beyond the obvious reaction to the true reaction. But just because my parents were happier didn’t necessarily mean I was happier.
“So, how’s it going with, you know . . . ,” began Sierra, gentle and considerate, as always.
“The big split,” said Tamiko, always one to just rip off the bandage and take the pain as it came.
“It’s weird,” I said, relieved to talk about it. I’d been thinking in advance about what I’d tell them, because I knew they’d ask, and I wanted to answer as truthfully as possible. “I think with all the changes happening at once, it’s sort of good because it’s distracting. And then on top of it, they’re both so crazy happy, like relieved, that it’s kind of contagious. And then there’s the store, which will be great,” I added.
Tamiko looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “Okay. It’s good for them. How about you?”
Sierra looked at me expectantly. I was trying to be brave, but these girls knew me too well. “It’s hard,” I said softly. “It’s weird and hard and, well, just a lot to process.”
Sierra gave me a squeeze.
“They keep telling us that this is going to be better,” I said.
“Well, you just have to trust that it is,” said Sierra.
“Well, it might not be,” said Tamiko, and Sierra shot her a look. “I mean, new house, new school, you don’t see your dad as much. That’s a lot to deal with.”
“Tamiko!” Sierra scolded.
“No,” I said, laughing. “She’s right. It’s a lot. A whole lot.”
“But your parents were really miserable together,” said Tamiko. “So I do think it will be better.”
“Well, I don’t know about ‘miserable,’ ” I said.
“Oh, yes,” said Tamiko. “They were miserable. I mean, they fought all the time. They couldn’t stand to be in the same room together!”
“TAMIKO!” shouted Sierra.
“What?” said Tamiko. “It’s totally true! I can’t believe you didn’t see that, Allie.”
“I saw it,” I said. “But it’s a different thing to process when it’s your own parents.”
Everyone was quiet as we rounded the corner.
“You’re right,” said Tamiko. “I’m sorry. It’s not like it’s just anyone’s parents. They’re your parents.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s good to talk about it a little.”
Sierra flung her arm around me. “Okay, now let’s talk ice cream.”
“Close your eyes and give me your hands,” I directed, mimicking my mom.
I led them to the edge of the curb in front of the store. Then I said, “Voilà!”
CHAPTER FIVE
CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT
Sierra gasped and lifted her hands to her mouth. She clasped them there and shook her head slowly in wonder. Tamiko laughed out loud and turned to high-five me.
“Wow!” she said appreciatively. “Talk about curb appeal!”
“Pretty cool, huh? Do you like it?” I asked, but I couldn’t hide my grin; I could already tell they loved it.
“Cool? I’m moving in. Now get out of my way!” Tamiko pushed me aside and entered the store, and a new little bell tinkled above the door.
My mom was inside, and she came out from the back at the sound of the bell, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Girls!” she cried, holding her arms wide. My mom loves my besties, which makes me so happy. She always tells me that if she were my age, she’d pick them as her friends too.
Tamiko and Sierra ran to embrace her, squealing and jumping up and down in excitement.
“Mrs. S.! This rocks!” said Tamiko, turning in place to take it all in.
“Are you so excited? It’s your lifelong dream come true!” said Sierra.
My mom was beaming. “I am so excited. And thank you for your enthusiasm. Now come into the back and try my new flavor. It’s cinnamon ice cream with crumbled lace butter cookies in it.”
“Yum!” said Sierra.
We trailed my mom into the back, and she doled out samples of her new flavor while we chatted.
“Oh, Allie, Mrs. Olson says hi and she misses you,” said Sierra. “We had a planning meeting for Book Fest, and she kept mentioning you.”
My smile faded. “Bummer. Tell her I say hi back. I miss her, too.”
“Yeah, well, we’re really understaffed this year,” said Sierra, shaking her head regretfully. “And I have so much going on, with the can drive for Thanksgiving, and student council, and dance, plus the newspaper . . . .”
I had to crack a smile at her laundry list of activities. Sierra always overcommitted herself and then had a hard time delivering. Inside, I cringed a little to think of it being her instead of me helping Mrs. Olson with Book Fest.
“Hey! I know. You should ask MacKenzie to help you!” said Tamiko.
“Oh! That’s a great idea!” Sierra turned to me. “MacKenzie is this new girl. She’s super-nice. You’d really like her, Allie. We’ve told her all about you. You two definitely need to meet!” said Sierra, nodding enthusiastically.
Tamiko turned to me. “Yeah, she’s in all our classes, so we’ve gotten to know her pretty fast. You’ll love her.”
“Great,” I said weakly. I could feel my mom watching me, but I refused to meet her eye. I couldn’t help but feel it was her fault that I didn’t get to go to school with my best friends anymore, and her fault that I didn’t know this new girl. No one had tried to be friends with me at the new school. There was only Blair and her band of mean girls trying to send me to the nonexistent pool.
“Oh, Allie! Guess what else! I can’t believe I forgot to tell you. I’ve already told everyone else I know, so I guess it feels like old news, but Maya Burns is coming to sign her books at Book Fest this year!”
My jaw dropped. “Maya Burns? Seriously? She’s only my second-favorite author, after—”
“Lucy Maud Montgomery!” singsonged Tamiko and Sierra. They love to tease me about my Anne of Green Gables obsession.
“I know!” added Sierra. “Maybe I can get her to sign a book for you!”
“Yeah,” I said, feeling deflated. My best friends would get to meet my second-favorite author, and I wouldn’t, and they didn’t really even care about books!
Tamiko’s phone pinged. “Oh, that’s MacKenzie now.” She read the snap and laughed. “She sent a funny photo, but she just wants to know what the homework is for math.” Tamiko consulted her notes, then typed back quickly, her thumbs a blur on the screen.
“Anyway,” said Sierra, sensing that Tamiko’s behavior was a little rude. “Tell me more about your plans for the store, Mrs. Shear. It’s so amazing already.”
I suddenly wondered if my mom would continue to go by “Mrs. Shear.” It would be weird for my friends to call her anything else. I mean, they couldn’t really call her “Meg” like her friends did, could they? Was she going to go back to her maiden name? There were so many things I just didn’t know right now. I glanced at my mom. I’d have to ask her about all this later.
Mom chatted about the shop and led the girls back out to the front to point out a few things.
“You should get one of those customized photo frames, so people can hold it in front of them and snap pics to post on social media,” suggested Tamiko. “Also, make sure to register yo
ur business name and GPS so people can tag it in posts. And you might want to consider purchasing a filter. You know, like the one where people’s faces turn into dogs, but maybe instead of puppy ears, they get ice cream cone hats!”
“Good ideas!” said my mom admiringly. She pulled a small notebook out of her pocket and wrote down Tamiko’s suggestions.
“Will you do mail order?” asked Tamiko. “And what about flavor of the day or month? That’s so big on social media.”
While Tamiko and my mom were devising marketing strategies, Sierra and I sat down on stools at the window-front counter to chat.
“I miss you guys,” I said.
“We miss you so much, chica!” said Sierra, her eyes misting. She reached over and hugged me hard. “But we can still see each other a lot, like this.”
I shook my head. “I think it’s going to be hard to fit in, once homework ramps up and the school year gets going. I wish we did some activity together, like soccer or ballet, where it was a guarantee that we’d see each other every week.”
“Yeah,” agreed Sierra, lost in thought.
Tamiko arrived at our side. “MacKenzie thinks it’s so cool that your mom owns an ice cream store. I told her to come by.”
“What, now?” I said. I had thought this was our time to be together—you know, the three of us, just like it used to be.
“Yeah! She’s super-cool. You’re going to love her. I can’t wait—”
“Tamiko!” said Sierra sharply. “No. This is our time with Allie. Tell MacKenzie maybe another day.”
“What?” Tamiko looked confused. But then comprehension washed over her face. “Oh! Right. Oh, I’m sorry, Allie. I wasn’t thinking. You’re right. Hang on.” Her fingers flew over her keyboard as her dark eyes narrowed in concentration. “Okay. Done. Sorry. That wasn’t very sensitive of me.” She patted me on the head. “Sorry, little one.”