My Forever Friends

by Julie Bowe

  “We’ll have to dress up,” Jenna tells us.

  “Yep,” Randi puts in. “Yellow stripes and stingers. Wings optional.” She snorts.

  “In quilting bee costumes, not honeybee,” Jenna replies. “Sundresses, aprons, bonnets . . .”

  “Not tagboard bonnets, pleeease,” Meeka says, glancing up from her stitches.

  Randi nods. “Skip the bonnets. Plus, I haven’t worn a dress since kindergarten.”

  “And aprons?” Jolene adds. “We barely have pot holders at my house.”

  Jenna slams her sewing on her lap. “Am I the only one with any imagination around here? Dig through your mom’s closet. Tie a towel around your waist. I don’t care. Just put together a costume and meet here after school tomorrow. We’ll walk to Ida’s house. Pioneers didn’t ride the bus.”

  Jenna snatches up her stuff.

  “Who made her queen of the hive?” Brooke grumbles as we watch Jenna march back into the school.

  “Jenna would be queen of the world if we let her,” Stacey puts in.

  “I know she can be a little bossy—” I start to say.

  “A little bossy?” Brooke interrupts.

  “—but she has lots of good ideas,” I continue. “And, besides, I think we should be extra nice to her right now. Because of her mom. And the baby. And everything.”

  “Um, I don’t remember Jenna Drews being extra nice to me when my mom sprained her wrist skiing last winter,” Brooke says. “I had to clean my and Jade’s bathroom for a month.” She shudders. “Jade sheds like a cat. The shower drain was disgusting.”

  “This is different,” I say. “Babies are bigger than shower drains.”

  “How would you know?” Brooke snips. “Have you ever cleaned one? Do you even have any hairy sisters?”

  “No,” I say. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know the difference between what’s a big deal and what’s not.” I look across the puddle. “Right now Jenna is the biggest deal we’ve got. If she’s our friend, then we should treat her like one.”

  I grab my thread and scissors and stand up. “So we walk to my house tomorrow, like Jenna said?”

  Everyone nods.

  Brooke mumbles something I can’t hear, but she nods too.

  “I’ll ask my mom if she’s got any aprons we can borrow,” Stacey says as the bell rings. “She wears them when she works at the Purdee Good.”

  “And I’ll call my grandma,” Jolene adds. “She might have some old dresses.”

  “My mom has tons of necklaces she never wears,” Brooke says. “I’ll raid her jewelry box.”

  I give Brooke a smile even though I don’t think pioneer girls wore much jewelry.

  But at least she’s not fighting.

  That’s a big deal.

  Chapter 12

  After school the next day, we all walk to my house. “Slow down!” Rachel yells when we turn the corner to my block. “I can’t walk as fast as you guys!”

  “Then run,” Jenna says, glancing back at her sister. “If we don’t hurry you’ll be late for piano and Ida and I won’t have time to . . . do something . . . after the quilting bee.”

  Rachel runs a few steps and then dribbles to a stop. “Why couldn’t we just ride the bus,” she grumbles.

  “Because we’re pioneers, Rachel,” Jenna says, stopping. She reties her ruffled apron. “They didn’t have buses back then.”

  “They had wagons,” Rachel whines. “And horses.”

  Brooke takes off her floppy straw hat and fans her face. “If we don’t get to Ida’s house soon I’m going to have a serious meltdown.” She wipes her forehead with the hem of her long flowery dress. “Pioneer clothes weren’t meant to be worn over sweatshirts and jeans, Jenna.”

  Jolene’s grandmother gave us a bunch of old dresses and hats and aprons to wear for our quilting bee. Jenna made us put everything on over our regular clothes before we left school.

  “We could carry Rachel,” Stacey says, straightening the fake diamond necklace she’s wearing, compliments of Mrs. Morgan’s jewelry box.

  “Yeah, you could carry me,” Rachel says, perking up. “Like a papoose. I heard about them in a book.”

  “A papoose was a baby, Rachel,” Jenna says. “Not a kindergartner. And they didn’t belong to the pioneers. They belonged to the American Indians. So start walking.”

  Randi shakes off her backpack. She sputters her lips and clomps her foot. “Neighhhh!” she says, crouching down and tossing her head like a horse. She glances at Rachel and sputters again.

  Rachel smiles and hops on Randi’s back. “Giddyup!” she cries.

  Jenna frowns. “I’m her sister,” she grumbles as we watch Randi gallop down the sidewalk in her T-shirt and checkered skirt. “I should be the one to carry her.”

  “You snooze, you lose,” Brooke says, plopping her hat back on her head. She prances after Randi and Rachel. So do Stacey, Meeka, and Jolene.

  I pick up Randi’s backpack and look at Jenna. “Come on,” I say, “or we’ll only have time for a quilting flea.”

  I tilt her a smile.

  “And no time to show you what’s in my woods,” Jenna replies, starting out again.

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “We’ll get there. Eventually.”

  We walk along and I point to the other girls. They’ve switched from galloping to frog hopping. “Look,” I say. “Everyone is friends again.”

  “For now,” Jenna says. “But Brooke will have them choosing sides in no time. Guaranteed.”

  “Not if no one plays along,” I reply.

  Jenna smirks. “If they don’t stick with her she’ll just find someone else who will.”

  My mom has a pitcher of lemonade and a plate of finger sandwiches waiting for us when we get to my house. The sandwiches aren’t really made out of fingers. Peanut butter and jelly. Egg salad. Green olives and mild cheddar cheese. Small enough to pick up and pop into your mouth with hardly any crumbs falling on your lap.

  We eat and then head upstairs. Jenna gets Stacey, Randi, Meeka, and Jolene organized in a circle on my bedroom floor. They talk and laugh and dig their sewing supplies out of their backpacks while Brooke takes a tour of my room. Fish tank. Bookshelf. Closet. Desk. It’s all new to her because I’ve never invited her over before.

  She picks up the noodle frame that’s sitting on my desk. The one I made with Jenna and Rachel. “You should have used more wagon wheels,” she says to me, jiggling one of the rotini until it breaks off. “They stick better. And glitter glue would have looked better. Not to mention sequins.”

  “Jenna told me to use wagon wheels too,” I reply, walking over to Brooke.

  Brooke sniffs. “Only because I taught her. Believe me, I was making noodle frames before Jenna Drews even knew how to hold a glue stick.”

  I think back to the last time I was in Brooke’s room. A noodle frame was on her desk. Another one was on her dresser. A third on her bulletin board. Pictures of her and Jenna were in each one.

  “Not much point in having a frame without a picture, though,” Brooke continues, leaning the frame against my mermaid night-light. “You must have at least one friend who would give you a picture. Don’t you?”

  “Jenna promised me one,” I say. “I just haven’t gotten it yet.”

  Brooke huffs. “Typical,” she says. “Jenna is an expert at making promises. Just don’t count on her to keep them.”

  “She’s never broken a promise to me,” I say.

  “Give her time,” Brooke replies.

  She studies all the stuff that’s scattered across my desk. Pencils. Markers. Half-drawn pictures. Books. Choco Chunk wrappers. “How can you live like this?” she asks, wrinkling her nose.

  I shrug. “It’s home.”

  “It’s disgusting.” She pokes at a misplaced baby tooth with my purple gel pen. I guess I forgot to put it under my pillow for the Tooth Fairy. “You need a professional organizer, Ida. Me.”

  Brooke starts tossing wrappers into my nearly full was
tebasket. She puts stray pencils back inside their jar. Then she blows dust off my lava lamp and slides markers into a drawer.

  “You’re supposed to be sewing,” Jenna tells us. “Not cleaning.”

  “This is an emergency,” Brooke replies, using a sticky note to scoop up the baby tooth. “If I don’t do it, the National Guard will have to step in.” She lets the tooth fall into the wastebasket.

  The telephone rings downstairs.

  “See?” Brooke says. “That’s probably them calling now.”

  “If we don’t get our sewing done it’s going to throw off my whole afternoon schedule,” Jenna replies.

  “A quarantine will throw off your whole week, Jenna,” Brooke says back. “Is that what you want? To be stuck here? With all of us? Maybe forever?”

  Everyone stops talking. They look at Jenna.

  “Not if forever includes you,” Jenna replies.

  “Ditto, plus an eternity, for me,” Brooke snips back.

  She tosses a stubby pencil at my wastebasket. It bounces off and rolls across the floor.

  Jenna picks it up.

  “Don’t strain yourself,” Brooke says.

  “Don’t mention it,” Jenna says back, tossing the pencil aside.

  Randi sighs. “Here we go again. Just when everyone was starting to get along.”

  “I wasn’t starting to get along,” Brooke says. “I’m only here because everyone turned against me.”

  Jenna huffs. “Turned against you? They turned against me ages ago.”

  “We didn’t turn against either of you,” Stacey puts in. “We just don’t want to bow down to you.” She studies Brooke and Jenna for a moment. “You two aren’t in charge of us. We’re in charge of each other.”

  Meeka and Jolene nod.

  So does Randi.

  So do I.

  Brooke crosses her arms.

  Jenna turns away.

  There’s a knock on my door.

  Mom looks in.

  Right away I know something is wrong. Really wrong. Her eyes are too round and her mouth is too straight and her jaw is too square. Like she’s wearing a mask of her face instead of the real one.

  “Jenna,” Mom says, stepping into the room. “That was your dad on the phone.”

  Rachel squeezes past Mom and flies to Jenna. She hugs her tight, mumbling against her shoulder. “Everything will be okay, won’t it, Jen? Everything will be all right, just like you said.”

  Jenna holds Rachel awkwardly, like she’s a bag of broken glass. She blinks at my mom. “What’s wrong?”

  Mom sits on my bed. “Your dad was calling from the hospital.”

  Jenna pushes Rachel away and stands up. “Where’s my mom?” she demands.

  “She’s at the hospital too.” Mom pulls Rachel onto her lap. “She’s fine. Your mom is totally fine.”

  “What about my baby?” Rachel asks, looking up at Mom.

  Mom gives Rachel a stiff smile. “He . . . was born . . . a little . . . early,” she says slowly, like she’s using tweezers to pick her words. “But the doctors are working very hard to make sure he’ll be okay.”

  “He?” Jenna says. “It’s a boy?”

  Mom gives Jenna a real smile this time. She nods. “You have a little brother.”

  “Yippee!” Rachel bounces on Mom’s lap. “I wished and wished for one!” She beams at Jenna. “Didn’t you, Jen? Didn’t you wish for that too?”

  Jenna looks away.

  I think about her wish. That the baby would never be born.

  “He’ll be okay,” Jenna mumbles. “The baby. He’ll be all right.”

  Mom reaches over and squeezes Jenna’s arm. “Everyone is wishing for that now.”

  Rachel turns to Mom again. “What’s my brother’s name?”

  “I forgot to ask,” Mom replies. “But we’ll find out as soon as we get to the hospital. I’m taking you there now.” She looks at the other girls. “Sorry, but you’ll have to finish your quilting bee another day.”

  Rachel runs to put on her shoes.

  Mom follows along.

  Jenna unties her ruffled apron and lets it fall to the floor. Then she sits down on my bed. She pulls George onto her lap and twists his tail around her fingers.

  I sit next to Jenna.

  Everyone huddles in.

  Brooke too.

  Silently.

  Sometimes even seven girls can’t think of one thing to say.

  Chapter 13

  “Ida!” Rachel calls to me as she runs into the hospital waiting room. Not the hospital where Mrs. Drews is. We already left there and drove to another hospital with my dad and Mr. Drews. This one has a special nursery for babies who get born too soon. “I got to see the baby!”

  “He’s not the baby anymore, Rachel,” Jenna says, pushing up the sleeves on the blue smock she’s wearing over her clothes. Rachel is wearing one too. “His name is Tyler.”

  “Oops,” Rachel says. “I forgot. Jenna got to pick his first name and I got to pick his second one. Any name I wanted as long as it wasn’t Biscuit.”

  I give Rachel a smile. “Which one did you pick?”

  “James,” Rachel says. “Daddy told me that was my grandpa’s name. And when we called Mommy she said it would be a keeper. Plus, there’s a nice boy named James in my class. Sometimes he lets me and Tess play connect-the-dots with his arm freckles. We make hearts and stars and flowers even!”

  “Lovely,” Jenna says, rolling her eyes.

  “You should see him, Ida!” Rachel continues. “Tyler, I mean. He’s tiny like a baby bird! Well, not that tiny, but still, he’s very small for a person. And guess what? He doesn’t have one bit of clothes on, but he’s not cold because it’s nice and warm inside his escalator.”

  “Incubator,” Jenna corrects her.

  Rachel nods. “He’s red and skinny and he’s got wires and tubes and—”

  “That’s enough, Rachel,” Jenna says. “You’re making him sound like a robot. Besides, Ida can see Tyler for herself.”

  “Really?” I say. “I’m allowed to go in there?”

  “No,” Jenna replies. “Family members only in the NICU.” She straightens her smock. “Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, in case you didn’t know. But my dad took a picture on his cell phone.”

  Jenna walks over to where Mr. Drews and my parents are talking. She takes her dad’s phone and clicks up a picture of the three of them—Jenna, Rachel, and Tyler in his incubator.

  Rachel was right. He is tiny. And red. And skinny. Wires are taped to his chest. A tube goes into his nose. His eyes are covered with patches.

  “Those are to protect him from the light,” Jenna explains.

  Rachel giggles. “Daddy says he’s a baby pirate!”

  Jenna frowns. “He’s not a baby anything, Rachel. He’s just a baby. Our baby.”

  It’s dark and drizzly when we finally leave the hospital. Mr. Drews is staying behind. Jenna and Rachel are spending the night with us. Their grandma is coming tomorrow to stay with them until things calm down again.

  We stop at the Purdee Good for something to eat. Lots of people we know are there. Even Brooke’s family. Mom and Dad tell them about Tyler. Before long a little crowd is gathered around our table.

  “Is there anything we can do to help?” Brooke’s mom asks.

  “Nothing at the moment,” Mom replies. “They say it’s going to be one day at a time until he reaches a healthy weight.”

  “It’s lucky they managed to hold off the birth as long as they did,” Stacey’s mom says.

  “Very lucky,” Dad replies. “Any earlier and—” He glances at me, Jenna, Rachel, and Brooke. “Well, let’s just say, that’s one lucky little guy.”

  Brooke’s dad rubs his chin and does a low whistle. “Think of the bills,” he says.

  All the grown-ups nod.

  Brooke ducks her chin and glances at Jenna.

  Jenna taps the table with her spoon.

  The drizzle turns into rain as we head to Je
nna and Rachel’s house to get their pajamas and toothbrushes and Biscuit. Rachel is conked out when we get there. Me and Jenna grab an umbrella and take Biscuit to the backyard so he can run around while Mom packs up their stuff. Dad waits in the car with Rachel while she sleeps.

  “Still want to take that walk?” I ask Jenna, glancing at her little woods. I do a half smile so she’ll know I’m kidding.

  “No way,” she says. “Bears are impossible to see at night. They have very dark hair, you know. Thick hair, too, so a little rain isn’t going to keep them from prowling around.”

  “I was just joking,” I say. “But, anyway, I don’t think bears live in this neighborhood.”

  Jenna grips the umbrella tighter. “You don’t know everything, Ida.”

  I look away. “Nope,” I say quietly. “I don’t. But I’d rather not know everything than be a know-it-all.”

  Jenna turns and squints at me under the umbrella. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I shrug. “Just that it’s okay to know lots of stuff without always reminding people that you know it. Take Tom Sanders, for instance. Everyone knows he’s the smartest kid in our class, but I’ve never heard him tell anyone. He just . . . shows it.” I look away again. “Showing is friendlier than telling.”

  The umbrella tips a little and drops of rain splash against my cheek.

  “I’m just as smart as Tom Sanders,” Jenna mumbles.

  “Mmm-hmm,” I reply. “I know. Even without you telling me.”

  Mom calls my name from the doorway. Jenna scoops up Biscuit. We head to the car.

  Mom and Dad get Rachel settled in our spare bedroom. I find an old towel and rub the rain off Biscuit while Jenna unrolls a sleeping bag next to my bed.

  She teeters over it for a minute and then sits down hard, like she fell from a tree. Her shoulders shake and tears spill from her eyes.

  “Jenna, what’s wrong?” I ask, letting Biscuit go and tossing the towel aside. “Are you worried about Tyler?”

  Jenna’s chin trembles. She squeezes her eyes shut, but the tears still trickle out. “I’m the unluckiest girl in the world,” she says, her voice all quivery. “I wished that Brooke and I would stop being enemies. We haven’t. I wished my parents would stop fighting. They haven’t. I wished we wouldn’t have to worry so much about money. We still do. I even wished that . . . that . . . Tyler would never be born!”