My Forever Friends

by Julie Bowe

  Jenna fidgets. Her face goes red. “I wasn’t talking to you, Tom,” she mumbles. “I was talking to Miss Smartypants over there.”

  “Still,” I say to Jenna, “you think Tom is the smartest kid in our class, don’t you?”

  I know it’s a tiny bit mean to put Jenna on the spot, especially when Tom is her secret crush. But maybe if I get her thinking about something else, she’ll stop fighting with Brooke.

  Tom blinks and waits for Jenna’s answer.

  Jenna turns even redder. “If you don’t count me, then . . . yes. He’s the smartest.”

  Brooke snorts. “Hide your scissors, people. We wouldn’t want to accidentally pop Jenna’s ginormous head.”

  Tom gives Jenna a smile and walks to his desk.

  I finish folding my flyer into an airplane and sail it to Randi’s desk just as Mr. Crow gets ready to teach us something new.

  Randi unfolds the airplane, reads it, and gives me a thumbs-up.

  I give her one back.

  Randi is the best at playing along, even if it involves wearing crepe paper.

  “The merry-go-round good-byes were great,” I say to Jenna as we sit down at my kitchen table after school. “I loved how our crepe-paper streamers waved like mermaid hair when we really got spinning. Too bad Randi’s crown went flying. Tree branches and crepe paper don’t mix.”

  Jenna nods, spreading old newspaper out in front of her. “I’ll make her a new one over the weekend. She’ll need it for our final ceremony on Monday. It’ll be my best one ever. You’ll see.”

  Jenna pulls our afternoon activity chart out of her backpack and looks it over. “So far we’ve made wind chimes, seed collages, sun catchers, and dandelion necklaces. Today we make noodle frames.”

  The back door slams open. Rachel walks in wiping her wet hands on her jeans. She’s been watering the sandbox since she planted her collage seeds there on Tuesday.

  Jenna glances up. “Oh goodie,” she mumbles. “Miss Beanstalk is back.”

  “No flowers yet,” Rachel announces, shutting the door and sliding in next to me.

  I give Rachel a smile. “Sometimes it takes sandbox flowers a long time to grow.”

  Jenna snorts. “As in fornever.” She pulls out three squares of red tagboard and a box of craft sticks from her backpack. Then she pulls out a bag of noodles—rotini, elbow, wagon wheel, bowtie—all dyed bright colors. She dumps everything onto the table, shifts to her knees, and holds up a wagon wheel. “I recommend using these,” she tells us. “They stick best to picture frames.”

  Rachel grabs a glue bottle. “You can make anything stick if you use enough of this stuff.” She twists open the cap.

  “Glue away,” Jenna snips, picking up a square of tagboard and another bottle of glue. “Just don’t come crying to me when your frame turns into a noodle disaster.” She dots glue along the edge of her tagboard and starts pressing craft sticks onto it, making a frame.

  “I don’t hardly ever come crying to you anymore,” Rachel replies, pulling a piece of tagboard toward her. She plunks craft sticks and noodles around it and drizzles glue over them like icing.

  At least Jenna and Rachel are talking to each other again. Ever since Rachel got mad at Jenna on Monday, she’s only been talking to me. Yesterday, when I told her she could go first in hopscotch, she even said, “You’re my big sister now, okay, Ida?”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I just kept drawing the “10” square at the top of our hopscotch path and pretended I hadn’t heard her.

  I snuck a look at Jenna, though. She was over by the porch, hunting for a perfect hopscotch rock, so maybe she didn’t hear.

  But she stiffened for a second, so maybe she did.

  Since then, Jenna has been talking to Rachel again. Not all sweet, but not all spicy either.

  Jenna keeps glancing up from her frame. She sighs loudly as Rachel adds another layer of noodles and glue to hers.

  “If you ask me,” Jenna finally says, “less is more when it comes to noodle frames.”

  “Then it’s good nobody asked you,” Rachel replies.

  Jenna scowls at her sister. “Listen here, Rachel—”

  “If you ask me,” I interrupt, “this would be more fun if you two stopped fighting.”

  “We’re not fighting,” Jenna says. “We’re talking.”

  “Then pick different words to talk with,” I reply. “Because the ones you’re using now are giving me a stomachache.”

  “She started it,” Rachel grumbles.

  “I didn’t start anything,” Jenna snaps.

  I rub my stomach and go back to my frame. Rotini noodles twist down the sides of it like the new slides we’re getting for our playground.

  Elbow macaroni and bowties bump along the top and bottom. All different colors.

  “Finished,” Jenna says, pushing back from the table. Wagon wheels circle her frame. Red, green, blue. Red, green, blue.

  Jenna flicks glue snot off her fingers and gives my frame the once-over. “Not bad,” she says. “For a first try.”

  “Thanks,” I reply, squeezing in another rotini.

  “What are you going to put inside it?” Jenna asks.

  I look up. “Inside what? My frame?”

  “Duh, yes.”

  “Duh, a picture.”

  “I know that. But which one?”

  “Um . . . I don’t know,” I say. “I haven’t given it much thought.”

  “You can have one of my school pictures,” Rachel says, smiling at me.

  “It’s too late for that,” Jenna says. “She’s already getting one of mine.”

  “She is?” Rachel asks.

  “I am?” I say.

  Jenna nods at me. “And you can give me one of yours,” she continues, “for my frame. That’s what best friends do. Exchange pictures.”

  “Um . . . okay.” That’s what I say on the outside, but on the inside I’m saying, Best friends? Me and Jenna?

  “Not mine though,” Rachel says. “I’m saving my frame for a picture of my baby.”

  “How nice,” Jenna says, glancing at Rachel. “More stuff for the baby’s room.” She looks at me again. “I’ll bring the picture tomorrow, okay?”

  “But it’s Saturday tomorrow,” I say. “You don’t have to come over.”

  I don’t say that last part in a mean way, but I guess that’s how it sounds to Jenna. Her cheeks suddenly go red and her eyes get as narrow as the edges of spoons.

  “Silly me,” she says like her tongue is sticky with glue. She starts tossing noodles and craft sticks back into her bag.

  “I didn’t mean you couldn’t—”

  “I can’t,” Jenna cuts in. She takes a big breath and shakes back her braids. “Sorry,” she says, “but I’ll be too busy to come over tomorrow. I have to watch Miss Beanstalk plant jellybeans in our backyard. And help my dad change channels on the TV. Oh, and bring my mother snacks while she sits around waiting for Little Precious to be born.”

  She twists the lid closed on her glue bottle. Then she pulls a thimble out of a pocket in her backpack. “Come on,” she says to us. “Game time. Hide the thimble.”

  Chapter 5

  Stacey’s mom drops her off at my house on her way to work early the next morning. I haven’t even eaten breakfast or changed out of my pajamas yet. Neither has Stacey.

  “We should do a backwards day,” I say as I help Stacey carry her stuff upstairs. “We’ll start out with a slumber party and end with breakfast.”

  “Nice!” Stacey says.

  “Roll out your sleeping bag,” I say when we get to my room. “I’ll go ask if we can have popcorn and soda instead of cereal and juice.”

  I find Dad in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee and reading The Purdee Press.

  “Breakfast?” he asks, looking up from the newspaper.

  “Actually, could we have our bedtime snack now and breakfast at, say, midnight?”

  Dad’s forehead wrinkles. Then it goes smooth. “Backwards day?
” he asks.

  “Yep,” I say, digging chips and candy out of the snack cupboard.

  “I’ll make a batch of popcorn right after I finish reading this article about the spring carnival,” he says.

  “Our carnival? At school?” I pull two cans of soda out of the fridge and hug everything to my chest.

  I look over Dad’s shoulder. Plans for School Auction /Carnival in Full Swing tops the page. A photo of Mrs. Drews on a playground swing is under the headlines. She isn’t actually swinging. She’s just sitting there, gripping the chains and squinting at the camera. Maybe the sun is in her eyes. Or maybe she’s sitting on one of her long braids. Or maybe she’s feeling squished because the baby is taking up so much space inside her.

  The caption under her picture says: Paula Drews, PTA President and Chairperson of the spring fund-raiser.

  “There’s a quote from Mrs. Drews too,” Dad says. “Under my direction, this fund-raiser is sure to be Purdee’s most successful event.”

  “But she’s not in charge anymore,” I say. “Brooke’s mom is.”

  Dad looks up. “They must have written the article before she stepped down.”

  I nod and wonder how Jenna will feel if she sees the article. Not great, I bet.

  “Mrs. Morgan will make a good chairperson too,” Dad says. “She knows how to make an event really shine.”

  I nod again. “Just like Brooke.”

  I think about Brooke. And Jenna. And how their talents fit together.

  Jenna knows how to cook things up.

  Brooke knows how to add the sprinkles.

  I shift my snacks. “Popcorn?”

  Dad sets down the newspaper. “I’m on it. Salty? Spicy? Sweet?” He pulls little jars of popcorn seasoning out of a cupboard.

  “The works, please,” I say. “Thank you. Good night!”

  “Sleep tight!” he calls as I head upstairs in the bright morning sun.

  Stacey is lying on her sleeping bag reading a girls’ magazine. She gets a copy in the mail every couple of months, just like Brooke.

  I dump the snacks on the floor and sit next to her. “Choco Chunks . . . cherry whips . . . dill pickle potato chips . . . root beer . . .” I say, looking over the pile of snacks. “Popcorn is on the way.”

  “Cherry whips, please,” Stacey says, nibbling her fingernails and flipping magazine pages. “They’re fantabulous.”

  I rip open the cherry whips bag. We tie knots in the long red strings and study the magazine.

  “Ooo . . . look,” Stacey says, tapping a picture of a very pretty girl wearing a sparkly brown dress. The shiny material ripples like a little stream running from her skinny shoulders to her knobby knees. “Brown is totally in.”

  “Is it?” I say.

  Stacey nods and nibbles. “I’ve got to show this to Brooke. She’ll think it’s completely smooth.”

  “Really?” I say, studying the dress. “It looks bumpy to me.”

  “Not smooth smooth,” Stacey says, chewing. “Smooth as in really cute, you know?”

  She blinks at me.

  “Oh,” I say, blinking back. I do a laugh. “I was just joking.”

  Stacey giggles. “You are hilarious, Ida.”

  I shrug and tie another knot in my whip.

  Lately, Brooke and Stacey have been saying words that don’t always make sense. Like they’re learning a new language, only they keep forgetting to teach it to me.

  Stacey flips to the end of the magazine and then tosses it aside. “Now what?” she asks, rolling over on her back. She pulls on her cherry whip until it snaps in two.

  “A movie maybe?” I say. “How about that one about the girl who runs away from the evil orphanage and finds out she’s really a princess. It’s your favorite.”

  “Was my favorite,” Stacey says back. She sits up, her eyes sparkling with another idea. “We could call someone. Only we’ll disguise our voices, like Brooke and me did when we called Jolene that one time!”

  “What did you say?” I ask, scooting in.

  “We pretended to be Joey and Rusty. We go, ‘Hey, Jolene, is your refrigerator running?’” She says it in a boy voice.

  “Did Jolene fall for it?”

  Stacey laughs. “Like an avalanche! She goes, ‘Yes’ and we go, ‘Then you better hurry and catch it!’ and hung up fast. Ohmygosh! We were in a complete state of hilarity!”

  “Funny,” I reply.

  Stacey nods. “Who should we do it to this time? Meeka maybe? Or Randi?”

  “How about Jenna?” I ask. “She could probably use a laugh.”

  “Jenna?” Stacey’s eyes dim. “She’d call the prank police.”

  “No she wouldn’t,” I say. “She can be fun. Sometimes.”

  Stacey studies me for a moment. “What? Are you two best buds now?”

  “Not best best.” I fidget a little, remembering yesterday. When Jenna said I was her best friend. “But she’s been coming over after school and it’s not so bad. Not once you get used to her activity schedule. Besides, I think it’s really boring at her house lately. Everyone is mostly just waiting for the baby to be born.”

  Stacey does a big sigh. “Fine,” she says. “We can call Jenna. But later, okay? I can’t take her this early in the morning.”

  “You mean this late at night,” I say. “Remember? It’s backwards day.”

  “Late, early, whatever,” Stacey mumbles, and fishes another whip out of the bag. “I just can’t take Jenna Drews.”

  We grab the snacks and head downstairs.

  After the movie I call Jenna.

  But no one answers.

  Her family must have decided to do something fun today after all.

  By noon we make it normal day again. Mostly because it’s hard to remember to keep saying things like, “Aren’t the stars lovely tonight?” and “What a day! I’m dying for a bubble bath” when the sun is shining and the birds are singing like crazy in the trees.

  We get dressed and I try calling Jenna again, but there’s still no answer, so I give up and let Stacey call Brooke.

  They talk for a long time.

  When Stacey finally clicks off the phone she says, “Brooke’s going to meet us at the park!”

  “Brooke?” I say. “At the park? But she hates it there.”

  “She likes it when I’m there,” Stacey replies. “I mean, when we’re there.”

  Stacey jumps up and starts shoveling markers back into a bucket that’s sitting on my kitchen table. We’ve been designing clothes for the stars. It’s one of Stacey’s favorite things to do now. Sparkly dresses. Feathery scarves. High heels. She’s good at drawing all their accessories. I’m better at doing their faces and pet Chihuahuas.

  “We could take the shortcut through the woods,” I say when we come to the corner that turns toward Jenna’s house. “Jenna won’t care and, besides, nobody’s home.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Stacey replies.

  Jenna’s garage door is open when we get there, but only one car is inside. We walk up the steps to the front door and ring the bell.

  No one answers. Except Biscuit.

  “Yipyipyip!”

  I can see his jumpy little shadow through the foggy door window.

  Then something else catches my eye.

  A doll wearing a paper towel diaper is leaning against the porch railing.

  “This must be Rachel’s,” I say, stooping down and picking up the doll. “Why would she go away and leave it outside?”

  “Because she’s a kid?” Stacey replies.

  I try peeking through the door’s window again, but I can’t see anything clearly. Then I put my ear against it. “Listen . . .”

  Stacey leans in.

  Biscuit is still yipping, but I can hear another sound too. A TV commercial.

  “Weird,” I say. “They would never leave without turning off the TV.”

  “We forget to turn stuff off all the time,” Stacey says. “Radio. Lights. TV.”

  “The Drewses
don’t,” I say, stepping back. “They keep a checklist by the door.”

  Stacey shrugs. “Maybe they were in a hurry. C’mon, let’s go before Brooke gives up on us.”

  Stacey takes off around the house. I set the doll on the doorstep and follow along.

  Stacey hurries down the path through Jenna’s woods. She doesn’t stop when we cross the spot where the crooked path starts.

  But I do.

  I’d really like to know what’s down that path besides wind chimes. But I know Stacey is in a hurry to see Brooke. And besides, it doesn’t feel right to go down that path without Jenna.

  I run toward the park.

  “I called the others,” Brooke says when we get there. “Randi, Meeka, Jolene—”

  “Jenna?” I ask.

  “Not her,” Brooke says. “She’s not in my circle.”

  “Neither are the others,” I say. “Just Rusty and Joey.”

  As soon as I say it I realize my mistake. But it’s too late.

  Brooke gives me a blank look. “My calling circle. Not my friendless circle.” She turns to Stacey. “What did she think?”

  Stacey laughs. “Ida was just joking.” She looks at me. “Right?”

  I nod. “Ha-ha.”

  Brooke studies me like I just stepped off a flight from another planet. Then she zeroes in on Stacey. “Everyone was busy or gone or whatever, so you know what that means . . .” She gives Stacey’s arm a squeeze. “More swings for us!”

  Brooke grabs Stacey’s hand. Stacey grabs mine.

  We crack the whip all the way to the swings, laughing and screaming like we are the best friends in the world.

  Well, Stacey and Brooke do.

  I mostly just hang on and try not to get whipped into a tree.

  I wonder if they’d notice if I did.

  Chapter 6

  “Where were you on Saturday?” I ask Jenna when I get to the bus stop on Monday morning. “I tried calling, but no one answered.”

  “Let’s see . . .” Jenna says, tapping her chin and pretending to think hard. “Where was I? Oh, yes. I remember. I was at the hospital.”

  “The hospital?” I glance around for Rachel, but she’s not there. “Did something happen to your sister?”