Besides, I was also really excited about lots of things that would happen in junior high. Like lockers. I know that sounds dumb, but we’d never had lockers before and I’d always wanted one. Also, we’d get to pick electives. Electives are classes you get to choose yourself and West Junior High had some really cool ones. When I went with my mom to register two weeks before school started, I had two major problems. One, Madeline and I hadn’t discussed which ones we’d take together. And two, Madeline went and got herself grounded and her parents basically cut off all her communication. I was with her when she had the brilliant idea to ride her brother’s boogie board down the stairs. She slammed into the front door, chipped the wood and hurt her knee. She was okay, but her parents were furious. I had to go home early and everything, which was sort of fine because their screaming freaked me out a little. First they started yelling at Madeline, then they started yelling at each other. I felt bad for leaving her but I didn’t exactly have a choice.
That meant we couldn’t spend the night together, and we were going to discuss the merits of each elective and then decide which ones we liked the best. And we couldn’t register together. That part wasn’t her fault, though, because we had to register by last name. I’m Sullivan and she’s Gottlieb, so she had a morning time.
Mom and I pulled up to the school just after one o’clock that afternoon, when my assigned group was scheduled to register. Mom led us to the cafeteria, where she’d taken Abbey three years earlier.
Unlike the cafeteria at my old school, which had round tables with actual chairs, this cafeteria had long tables with attached seats. Although only a few were out now, as most were put away to make room for students and lines. Men and women, who I assumed were teachers, sat behind the tables and looked like they’d rather be anywhere but there. Like they were the only ones?
I looked around for someone I knew, but since we were in blocks by our last names, I couldn’t think of anyone I cared about seeing. As my mom signed some official papers, I looked around the crowded room and started to feel a mild case of panic set in. Girls I didn’t know ran to each other with their schedules, squealing and jumping and hugging when they realized they had a class together. As ridiculous as they looked, I was jealous. I strained my neck, trying to look around the crowd to see if there was anyone I knew. There wasn’t. I wondered how it’d gone with Madeline that morning.
A girl in a plaid skirt and pressed shirt stood in front of me and Mom. I wondered if this was how everyone in junior high dressed. I could never pull it off, but she did look pretty cute. She even wore matching knee-high socks.
“Brooke, pay attention,” Mom said. “Electives, baby.”
“Mom,” I muttered. Baby? Did she really have to say that here? In front of someone who might actually become my friend?
The girl turned around. She had wispy blonde hair and a small face. She smiled at me, so I thought I’d be bold and speak to her.
“Which elective did you choose?”
Her eyes seemed to widen when she realized I was talking to her. “Um . . . Foods for Living. I heard you get to bake.” she said.
“Sounds cool,” I said.
Just then, the girl’s mom called her name (Lily, I think) from the other side of the cafeteria. I was glad to know that other people were equally as mortified as I was to be there with their parents.
I scanned the electives. Drama. Out immediately. I had no intention of getting up in front of strangers and purposely making a fool of myself.
Debate. If I was any good at this I might have been able to successfully get Madeline out of grounding, or at least I could have argued why she should have been allowed to come with me to register.
Wood Working. Veto for obvious reasons.
French. Ditto. (There are no French people in this town! What’s the use of learning their language?)
Spanish. Could likely prove useful later in life, but sounds way too hard and homework-intensive for now.
Choir. Good Lord.
“So?” Mom asked, reading the list over my shoulder. “What do you think?”
“Is lunch an elective?” I asked.
“These look great!” she said. “I wouldn’t be able to pick just one.”
“Then you choose. They all sound horrible.” I wondered what Madeline chose, and why hadn’t we figured this out sooner?
“How about Foods for Living?”
“Oh, yes,” I said. “Because learning to bake like a housewife is so useful.”
“It sounds fun! When else are you going to learn how to cook?”
I shook my head and watched as other kids easily signed up for electives, knowing exactly what they wanted. I watched the Lily girl walk with her mom out of the caf.
“Just think of it, Brooke,” Mom said. “You’ll get to eat in class.”
Okay, she got me. “Let me see that description again.” It was basically a cooking class, and if you cooked, someone had to eat it, right? How else would you know if you’d done it right or not? “Fine,” I said. “I’ll take Foods for Living.”
Mom beamed and patted my back. “I think it’s best that Abbey and Madeline aren’t here. About time you started making decisions for yourself.”
After witnessing my mother try to set up a Smell Party for the woman who completed my registration—a memory so heinous I hope to bury it deep within my psyche so that I actually forget it ever happened—we went home so that I could wait out the rest of the summer in solitary confinement. That’s the thing about very best friends: When one of you gets punished, the other does too.
7 MADELINE
THE BOOGIE BOARD MOVE WAS, IN THEORY, brilliant.
It’d been raining for four days straight and Brooke and I had been passing the time doing one of my all-time favorite activities: We cranked the AC up to high, set my ceiling fan on high, and then huddled under layers of blankets and my comforter to watch romcom after romcom. She’s a bit more outdoorsy than I am, so I didn’t tell her that sometimes my favorite days are spent doing just that.
But after four days it got to be too much, even for me. That’s when inspiration struck. I saw my brother Josh’s boogie board inside his bedroom.
My plan was almost too good. Because I was down the stairs and splayed out in the foyer so quickly, I didn’t even have time to savor the ride. Brooke was beside me in an instant, asking in a mildly freaked-out voice if I was okay. But before I could answer, I heard another voice.
“What is this?” an oh-so-maternal voice bellowed. Yes, my mother actually bellows.
It is so humiliating to be yelled at by your parents in front of your friends, even if said friend has seen you cry over a boy who called you Arrowhead Face due to your slightly pointy chin and angular jaw. The point is, having your parents yell at you is humiliating, no matter who sees it.
“Madeline Rose Gottlieb.” Mom’s lips were tight, and that vein in her neck was growing larger by the nanosecond. “What do you think you’re doing?”
I slowly sat up, realizing that, with the use of my full name, this was pretty serious. I was kind of hating myself for sliding down those stairs in the first place. The thrill of flying ended so quickly, and now my knee screamed in protest when I moved it.
Then Dad entered, and I just knew I was about to get busted hard-core.
“Look at this door!” Mom said, pointing to the slice of wood I’d taken out on impact.
Thankfully Dad has a heart, and he bent down with worry in his blue eyes, and that’s when I felt tears sting my own. Dad was always nice to us. The more maternal one, some might say. “Are you okay, girl? Let me see that knee.”
That’s about the time the drama really started.
Mom wanted answers about the door and she wanted them now. Dad told her to calm down, to at least see if I was okay first. (Way to go, Dad!) Then Mom accused Dad of babying me and Dad accused Mom of being heartless, then Mom accused me of being irresponsible and Dad accused Mom of being a bully. You know, your basic family chit
chat, just shooting the breeze. Brooke was practically cowering behind the banister, trying to make like she wasn’t there. She had probably gone to her mental happy place. Her parents never fought—at least, I’d never seen them or heard Brooke talk about a fight they had. But come on. I don’t know what, exactly, I expected her to do, but let me say that she looked like she wanted to jet out of there five minutes ago, and that made me feel all alone.
Mom said it was time for Brooke to go home, which she did, quick as the lightning outside. Dad said he’d drive her since it was still raining, and kissed my head as he went to get his keys while I awaited my fate with Mom. Brooke scurried past me without a single word, and worse, she didn’t even look at me. Like I was toxic and eye contact alone would get her in trouble with Momzilla. When I heard the door to the garage shut, I looked up at my mom, and burst into tears.
That’s how I ended up grounded and unable to register with Brooke for the start of junior high. It wasn’t that big of a deal, but it would have been nice to go with her since we already did everything together.
“Hey, Madeline. Where’s your other half?”
See what I mean? I hadn’t been at the school five minutes before someone noticed we weren’t attached at the hip. In this case it was Shawna Raymond, who was mourning the loss of her best friend, Mindy, because she had to go to Ranger Junior High. Shawna wore all black and looked at me with bitter, suspicious eyes.
“Registering this afternoon,” I said.
“I’m surprised you can stand the separation,” she said. I didn’t like Shawna’s tone. “Doesn’t one die if cut off from its host or something?”
“So how’s life over at Ranger?”
She glared at me. I swear the girl headed straight toward heavy black-lined eyes and combat boots over the summer, if you know what I mean. “I hope you enjoy the year with your best friend,” she said, as if I were to blame for the school district lines.
Thankfully, Mindy arrived at that moment, and the two of them left. After filling out some forms, Dad patted my back and said he’d wait for me outside in the courtyard. “I don’t want to run the risk of doing anything to embarrass you. Ha ha,” he’d said, and I sort of loved him for it.
I found the line, which was only about five miles long, to pick electives and stood at the back of it. I flipped through the student handbook, wondering if anyone ever actually read it, then thought of Brooke and wished we’d coordinated our electives better. What a rookie mistake.
“Oh, great. More waiting. Just what I love,” said a voice behind me.
I laughed and turned to see who’d said that.
The girl wore cotton shorts with a thick (maybe too thick) cotton belt that made her waist look lumpy, wedges, and a button-down short-sleeve shirt tucked in. Despite the belt, she looked cute. She was much more dressed up than the rest of us, but she had a look about her that said she always dressed like that, that this wasn’t some special occasion for her.
I smiled. “I was hoping when I woke up this morning I could go somewhere and just stand.”
“Oh my god, me too!” she joked. “Standing is my all-time favorite activity!”
“Mine too,” I said. “And I’m so good at it that I’m thinking about petitioning for it to be an Olympic sport.” We both laughed. “I’m Madeline.”
“Susanna,” she said. “Hey, let me ask you something. And you have to be totally honest.” I nodded. “What do you think of these shorts?”
I didn’t know her so I didn’t really feel like I could tell her I didn’t like them, but I also figured if she got mad, then oh well. It’s not like we were friends. So I said, “I like them, but I think they’d be even cuter without the belt.”
She considered me, nodding her head. “Now I know I can trust you,” she said. “My friends kept telling me they looked cute, but I just knew there was something off about them. That’s a really cool necklace you’re wearing, by the way.”
My hand went to my necklace, a small gold treasure box on a long chain. I was wearing it especially for today. Brooke got it for me on a trip she took to Colorado three years ago. She told me she’d been saving her allowance and birthday money to buy something for herself, but when she saw the necklace, she knew I’d love it. And I did. I wore it when I needed extra goodness in my day.
“Thanks,” I said, tugging it around on the chain. “My best friend gave it to me. I’m hoping it’ll bring me luck or something, get me good classes and easy teachers.”
She smiled. “Well, it’s really pretty.” We shuffled forward in line. “What are you taking here?” She nodded ahead to the electives table, which we were approaching.
“I’m not sure,” I said, looking down at my choices from the sheet I’d been given earlier. “Maybe Foods for Today? I do love to eat.” It seemed like a fun, if mildly dorky, class.
“No, don’t. Only the homely outcasts take that class,” Susanna said with authority. “My big sister, Sienna, told me the only acceptable elective is drama. Unless you want to commit social suicide.”
“Really?” Drama sounded like it might be fun, but also a bit scary. Be on stage? In front of people? Saying stuff?
“Yeah, take it from me. Sienna said all the outgoing kids take it, so it’ll be easier to make new friends. She also said it helps people who are shy come out of their shells. Not that you seem like you need to.”
When we got to the front of the line, Susanna nudged me and said, “Come on, we’ll take it together. It’ll be fun!”
So I did. And it felt good to be pulled along by someone else because I was usually the one pulling Brooke. Doing something totally different from anything I’d ever done, like drama, seemed like a great way to start a new school. Brooke was right about one thing: Junior high really was going to be different, but in the best possible way.
We finished registering together and found that we not only had lunch together, but also—wait for it—drama!
“How fun!” Susanna said as we headed toward the exit. Like my dad, her mom had opted to wait outside, except her mom was in her car in the parking lot taking a conference call, she said. “I want to complain that she’s not paying attention to me, but it’s probably better this way. She’d just embarrass me. Where’s your mom?”
“Working. My dad took off to come with me.”
“That’s cool,” she said. “Hey, you want to meet up on the first day? Like, right out front? That way we don’t have to walk into school alone.”
I hesitated, thinking of Brooke. I knew without asking that we’d ride together on the first day. Still, there was something about Susanna that I really liked. It felt like we got each other even though we’d only known each other for about five seconds. She knew things about junior high, thanks to her sister, and it seemed like she was dealing with some less-than-outstanding home life stuff too. But I kept thinking about Brooke, and if she’d mind.
I guess she noticed my hesitation because she quickly added, “You don’t have to; it’s not a big deal. I just thought it’d be best to avoid walking into the school totally alone on the first day. Sienna said ninth graders sometimes pick on seventh graders, especially on the first day, so I was just trying to think of our own protection. You’ll probably want to wear the necklace again, just in case.” She smiled, and I realized how ridiculous I was being. Like I could only be friends with Brooke or something.
“No, that’s a great idea,” I said. “I’ll probably be coming with my friend Brooke, so we can both meet you.”
“Okay, sounds good. Wait, let me give you my number. You can text me.”
Susanna and I swapped numbers and said we’d see each other on the first day, at the wall in front of the marquee.
As Dad drove home, I felt like a nerd I was so excited about starting school. I had a good feeling about it. Lockers, electives, and new friends. No more kid stuff. I couldn’t wait for it all to begin.
8 BROOKE
MEET ME BY THE CREEK IN FIVE,” MADELINE said. “And bring
your schedule!”
I was down at the creek in two. I’d been staring at my schedule all afternoon, wondering when I would be able to compare it with Madeline’s. My stomach was in knots at the thought that we maybe wouldn’t have any classes together and that our lockers could be miles apart. Worse would be if we didn’t have lunch together. I’d give up all the classes and the locker situation if we could just please have lunch together.
The field was still muddy from the rain, and as I ran down the slope, I felt the mud splatter onto the backs of my shins. The air was heavy and warm and had a comforting feel to it.
The creek was running at full speed and was just high and wide enough so that I had to do a running jump to get over to Madeline’s side. Dad kept promising to build us a rope so we could swing across, but he still hadn’t bought the rope.
Madeline came down the hill from her house, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail and a white piece of paper fluttering in her hand—her schedule, I presumed.
“Hey,” I said as she got closer. “Reprieve?” She squinted at me. “You know, like a stay of execution? Did your dad let you off the hook or something?”
“Oh. Temporarily. He said he knew I was probably dying to compare schedules and that I could meet you, but to not tell Mom.”
“Your dad is the best,” I said.
“Seriously,” Madeline said. “So let’s see them!”
We stood shoulder to shoulder and looked over our schedules.
“Thank god,” I said. “Oh, thank god! We have lunch together!”
“And history!” Madeline said.
“God bless America!” I felt myself relax. It was all going to be okay. I wouldn’t have to eat alone in the cafeteria as people, who were only slightly better than me, threw french fries at my head. Everything was going to be okay. Until . . .
BFF Breakup Page 3