I hurried over and hugged her. “You, too!”
“Well, I had an excellent tailor,” she said with a smile. “Are you going to get in the coffin?” she asked as the ninja stepped out.
“You only live once, right?” I handed her my purse and stepped into the coffin.
“Cross your wrists and lay your palms against your chest,” Mr. Schwartz said, demonstrating.
I did as he said, closing my eyes until I heard the camera click.
“Are Brooke and Tim here?” I asked Heather, letting the pirate help me to my feet.
“Tim’s not here yet, but Brooke is,” she said. Then she smiled. “And I invited Gil, too.”
“You did?” I said, smoothing down my skirt and touching my hair. “Is he here? Do I look okay?”
“Aye, ye be lookin’ like a treasure!” said the pirate.
I did a double take. “Gil?”
I blushed, realizing he’d just seen me get flustered over him, and tried to play it cool.
“I mean . . . dude! Boss threads!” I said in my best surfer voice, punching him in the shoulder.
He simply smiled. “Nice save.”
I blushed some more and giggled. “I like your costume. It’s definitely a good disguise.”
“And I like yours,” he said. “It’s definitely you.”
“She made it herself!” chimed in Heather.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” said Gil.
“Come on, let’s go inside.” Heather grabbed us both by an arm. “Daddy, can you take pictures for a while?” She shot him a meaningful glance, and he chuckled.
“You can count on me,” he said, pointing to his costume. “Get it? Because I’m Count Dracula?”
Heather rolled her eyes but smiled. “Daddy, you need a new costume and new jokes. Oh! And Mom wanted to know where the Mice Cubes for the Pest Punch were.”
“The freezer,” he said, taking the camera from Gil. “But make sure people know not to eat them. I need a lawsuit like I need a hole in the head.”
“Come on!” Heather tugged us toward the door, where the music grew louder.
Inside, paper lanterns shaped like black cats and white ghosts were strung across the ceiling, and all the inside lighting had been replaced with orange bulbs. Spiderwebs gathered at every corner, and white curtains over the windows were covered in spatters of fake blood.
A dozen or so costumed kids milled around the living room, chatting or standing by the snack tables, sampling foods labeled with signs like “HamBOO!gers” and “Devil Eggs.”
“You have to try the Pest Punch,” said Heather. “I made it myself!”
On our way to the drinks table, we almost collided with a guy in a deerstalker hat and cape.
“Oh, sorry!” I said. Then I squinted at him. “Brooke?”
“Well spotted, my dear Jackson.” Brooke held a magnifying glass up to her eye. “And I deduce that your costume is exceptional!”
I curtsied. “Thank you! I thought Abel wanted you to go as something girly,” I said.
She winked at me. “There was a change of plans. Isn’t that right, Watson?” She stepped aside so I could see Abel.
He was wearing a butler’s uniform. “Quite,” he said, with a cheesy grin.
“Wait. The guy who founded Young Sherlocks has to play Watson?” Heather asked.
“We’re gonna switch costumes halfway through the party,” Brooke assured her. “The Case of the Stolen Identity. I guarantee nobody else at the party is doing it. We might even win the contest!”
“I was skeptical at first,” admitted Abel. “But it’s actually a clever plan. And you know Brooke can be pretty persuasive.”
He put an arm around her, and she winked at me. The real Brooke had prevailed.
“I still don’t get it. How is he Watson, exactly?” asked Gil.
“I’m in disguise,” said Abel. “Red herring?”
He held out a tray with a single strip of dried fish on it.
On the other side of them, someone else laughed. “I see what you did there. Nice.”
It was Tim, wearing a suit of armor with a fake horse strapped around his middle. In one hand he held a lance made out of a poster tube.
“Who are you supposed to be?” asked Brooke.
“Don Quixote, the gentleman from La Mancha and professional windmill slayer.” He bowed over his horse.
“I think you might be out of luck with windmills,” I said. “There aren’t any around here.”
“Or have I already slain them all?” Tim twisted his mustache deviously. Then he leaned closer. “Actually, Gabby has a windmill costume, and I get to attack her with no parental consequences.” In a louder voice he added, “But now, I must away to find food for my trusty steed!”
He trotted off, lance lowered to part the crowd.
The rest of us looked at one another and laughed.
“Excuse me, guys, I have to tell my mom about the Mice Cubes.” Heather slipped past us and disappeared into the kitchen, the entrance of which was covered with yellow police tape.
Gil nudged me. “Would you like a glass of punch?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said.
Abel turned to Brooke, who nodded, and the guys headed off together.
Brooke faced me and smiled. “So as you can see, things with Abel are going better. And it looks like you and Gil . . . ?” She let it trail off.
I just grinned. “No clue what’s going to happen. I’m just gonna go with the flow.”
She nodded. “Laid-back sounds like the perfect approach for him.” Then she looked me over. “I know I said this earlier, but I love the costume!”
“Thanks! I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to wear these shoes, though. They’re already killing my feet.” I lifted one of my legs so she could see the Mary Janes I was wearing.
“Oh, I guarantee there’s no way your feet are hurting as bad as Katie’s,” said Brooke.
Instantly, my stomach dropped into my toe-crushing Mary Janes. “She’s here?”
Brooke beckoned for me to follow, and we worked our way across the room, which was getting more crowded, waving to kids we knew and stopping every now and then to talk costumes with someone. Finally, we reached the corner of the room where a werewolf, a fairy, and Thor sat on folding chairs next to Katie. She was leaning back in an armchair, dressed as a mermaid in a completely enclosed tail.
When she saw me, she instantly got to her feet, but because of her tail, she lurched forward, swinging her arms wildly.
Brooke and I cringed, but Thor caught her by the arm just before she hit the floor.
“Thanks,” she told him, giving one more wobble before she found her bearings. She turned to me and Brooke. “Hey.”
I elbowed Brooke. “Why don’t you help the guys get the punch?”
She sighed and walked off. “I never get to stay for the fun.”
Once she left, I returned Katie’s greeting. “Hey. I love your costume.”
She nodded. “Thanks. Yours turned out pretty good, too.” She cleared her throat. “Okay, better than pretty good. Awesome.”
I gave her a small smile. “So . . .”
There was a shout, and two guys stumbled into me, one of them sending a cup full of Pest Punch flying all over my costume.
My beautiful. Handmade. Costume.
I looked down at the damage and gasped, taking in deep gulps of air while trying not to cry. Katie stared at me, wide-eyed and frozen.
And then she reached out for me.
“Oh, Vanny! Oh, it’s okay. We’ll fix it. Shhh.”
“But . . . but . . .” I fanned my face.
“Don’t cry!” She pointed to one of the guys. “You! Get me some seltzer water and paper towels. Now!”
The guy gave us a befuddled look but ran off, and Katie squeezed my hand. “I’ve got a stain-removing pen in my purse. I’ll be right back!”
But she forgot about her tail and flopped forward, landing on her hands and knees.
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“Shoot!” she said, lifting the bottom of her costume so she could move her feet. It didn’t help much since her costume still bound her legs together. All she could do was shuffle forward on the tips of her toes.
It was the funniest thing I’d seen since Mr. Llama ate the candy bar.
And suddenly, the tears turned into laughter.
Katie glanced back in confusion. “Vanessa?”
“Your mermaid walk!” I demonstrated her movements and laughed even harder.
“Hey!” she said. “This is a very serious”—she giggled—“fashion . . . emergency.”
We both doubled over, laughing, Katie holding on to me to keep her balance.
Heather ran over, bottle of water and paper towels in hand. “Is everything okay?” She slowed when she saw us laughing.
I nodded and giggled, taking the cleaning materials from her and sitting on an empty folding chair to work on my dress. “Thanks, Heather.”
“I’ll be close by if you need anything else.” Heather smiled and left Katie and me alone.
Katie wiped tears of laughter from her eyes and hiked her dress up to knee-level so she could walk normally to her purse. When she came back with a tiny stain-removing pen, I waved it away.
“Thanks, but this dress is a goner,” I said with a sigh. “There’s no way that pen has enough in it to get all this out.”
“I’m sorry, Vanny,” said Katie, putting the cap back on the pen. “About . . . well, everything.”
I looked up from where I was rubbing at a dark spot. “You are? Even though it was my fault?”
She sat down next to me. “It wasn’t entirely your fault. I might have pushed too hard.”
“Only because you wanted the best for me,” I said.
“And because I wanted to be your friend,” she said. “I thought you were amazing.” She corrected herself. “You are amazing. I mean, the five o’clock news?”
I grinned. “You saw that, huh?”
“How could I not? It was everywhere!” She opened her arms wide. “You were so brave to get in front of the camera to support kids like us, and you were sweet to mention me by name. I wish I’d known beforehand. I could’ve given you a promotional T-shirt to put on!” Katie shook her head. “What am I thinking, T-shirts aren’t fashionable. I could’ve given you a promotional scarf to wear!”
I cleared my throat, and she smiled sheepishly. “Yep, I heard it. I’m doing it again.”
“So, if you were so happy about what I did, why have you been avoiding me?” I asked.
“I felt like a jerk,” she said, jabbing the capped end of the pen into her leg. “I couldn’t even finish Heather’s costume, I was so distracted. Vanessa, I’m sorry we were fighting. Can we be friends again?”
“Well . . . I’ve never been friends with a mermaid,” I teased. “But I think I’d like that.”
Katie and I hugged.
Gil strolled over with two cups of punch. “Is everything okay? Heather told me you’d been punched.”
I laughed and took one of the cups. “Something like that.”
“Are you in the middle of something, or do you want to bob for eyeballs with us?” he asked, pointing to Brooke, Abel, Heather, and Tim.
“I’d love to,” I said, getting to my feet. “But only if Katie can come.”
I offered her my hand, and she took it with a smile.
The three guys ended up bobbing for fake eyeballs while we watched, along with the rest of the crowd. When people happened to glance our way, Katie would wave to them.
“You like the costumes? They’re handmade! KV Fashions!” she called.
“KV Fashions?” I repeated.
She shrugged. “Doesn’t hurt to try it out. And if we trademark it now, nobody else can use it!”
I laughed and shook my head. “You’re too much.”
Abel ended up collecting the most eyeballs and winning a music gift card. Then the overhead lights dimmed and a spotlight shone in front of the Schwartzes’ fireplace, where an elevated stage had been set up.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Schwartz’s voice boomed over a microphone, “the costume contest is about to begin!”
There was a buzz of excited chatter as people crowded around the fireplace to watch or walk the stage.
Katie nudged me. “I know you braved the camera, but are you prepared to get in the spotlight?”
“Of course!” I said, striking a pose. “I’m Vanessa Jackson.”
And this was the night I’d been waiting for.
Dear Metal Mouth,
A lot of kids get embarrassed about their braces, but it’s really no big deal. Why? Because the braces come off! Who cares what other people think? You’ll have a great smile in a year, and they’ll have a lousy personality forever.
As much as I talk about fashion and looking good, it’s even more important to love what you’ve got going on inside. Be proud of who you are because what you have to offer is different from everyone else. (I mean, how boring would it be if red was the only color? Although, it IS universally flattering.)
Vive la differénce!
Confidentially yours,
Vanessa Jackson
Acknowledgments
Always for family, friends, and God.
For Justin McNeely, who never fails to answer a plot distress call with a brilliant idea.
For Nikki Loftin, whose twisted humor and laugh amuse me to no end.
For Carolina Aponte, who always talks from the purest part of her heart.
For Jen Hibbard, who tells me what I need to hear, not what I want to hear.
For the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators, who helped me get my career off the ground.
For Deena Lipomi, who I rarely see but have some of the best conversations with. Move to Austin already!
For Mark Moore, a great boss and a great man, whose amusement at my zany life matches my own.
For the Bellemares, who always watch out for me and turn cringe-worthy moments into laugh-out-loud ones.
And for Cheri Williams and Rachel Marks, who I adore because they make me laugh, despite having feet.
Excerpt from Confidentially Yours: Brooke’s Not-So-Perfect Plan
In case you missed the first book in this fun new series, read on for a sneak peek of:
BROOKE’S NOT-SO-PERFECT PLAN
CHAPTER
1
The Three Musketeers
Look, I’ll show you how to juggle the soccer ball one last time,” I told Vanessa. “I can’t watch you hit yourself in the face again.”
“To be fair, I thought we’d be using our hands,” she said, rubbing her nose. “And juggling something softer . . . like puppies.” A bright pink spot stood out against her skin. If I’d been smacked with a soccer ball that many times, my entire face would be as red as my hair.
I tightened my ponytail and took a few steps backward on the school’s front lawn. “I’m going to bounce the ball from foot to foot to knee to chest”—I pointed to myself—“and then deflect it to you to hit with your head.” I pointed to her. “Got it?”
Vanessa made a face. “Why did I agree to this?” she asked.
“You said you had first-day jitters,” I reminded her, balancing the ball on the top of my head. “And the best way to get over them is by distracting your brain. Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” she said, dropping into a squat. Not so graceful for a girl in a wrap skirt, but my fashionista best friend never seemed to care what other people thought. “Come on, Brooke!” she urged me. “School’s about to start.”
At those words, my arms broke out in goose bumps. Vanessa’s jitters had jumped to me . . . but who could blame either of us? This was our first day as middle schoolers!
I shivered with excitement and dropped the ball onto my foot. With the flick of an ankle, it bounced to the other foot, where I popped the ball up waist-high. From there I bounced it on my knee and then leaned back to catch it on my chest. I defl
ected the ball off me and straight to Vanessa.
Who caught it with her right eye.
“Owww!” She clapped a hand over the side of her face.
“Oh my gosh!” I ran to her. “Are you okay?”
Several kids getting off a bus stopped to stare.
“Theater auditions!” I called to them. “Ow: The Musical.”
Vanessa lowered her hand and blinked up at me. “How bad is it?”
“Well . . .” I winced. “Are eye patches in style by any chance?”
She stared at me for a moment and then burst out laughing.
One of the things I love about my best friend? Nothing keeps her down.
“I don’t know how you do it, Brooke,” she said, rubbing her face. “Soccer’s hard . . . especially the ball.”
“Awww.” I hugged her. “Sorry. I guess I’m just used to it.”
“Used to it” was putting it mildly. I’ve been playing since first grade, and last year I even joined a traveling team, the Berryville Strikers. We came really close to the state championship. This year, that title’s ours!
“Maybe you should see the nurse before homeroom,” I told Vanessa. “Your face is covered with splotches now.”
“Not a problem,” she said, reaching into her backpack. She pulled out a slick black case and snapped it open. It was full of eye shadows, blushes, and bronzers.
“I still can’t believe your mom agreed to let you wear makeup,” I remarked. “You must be the only twelve-year-old in eyeliner.”
“I’m pretty sure she got sick of me stealing her stuff,” Vanessa said with a grin.
Grabbing a thin makeup brush, she dabbed it in a few colors and swept it across the red spots on her skin. In a matter of seconds, her face was an even mocha tone.
“Amazing.”
“I’m still gonna get some ice from the nurse, though,” she said, studying her reflection. “I don’t want to start middle school as a one-eyed freak.”
“At least you’d be on the front page of the Lincoln Log,” I teased her.
The Lincoln Log was our school newspaper . . . one that Vanessa; our other best friend, Heather Schwartz; and I would be working on in our Journalism elective class. We were hoping to get “the Three Musketeers”—our nickname from elementary school—as a byline.
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