LETTER FROM THE EDITOR
Dear Reader,
Cici Reno has it all figured out. She does yoga, she tweets, and she is the go-to girl when you need advice. Middle school is a test, but Cici has all the answers. So, when Cici offers to help her BFF get a guy’s attention by pretending to be her on Twitter, she never expects anything could go wrong. But Cici starts to fall for the guy herself, and for the first time in her life, she doesn’t have a clue.
No one forgets their first crush. For me it included AIM conversations and talking endlessly on the cordless phone. For Cici, it’s Twitter and direct messaging. But regardless of the technology, those feelings remain universal. What I love most about Cici Reno #MiddleSchoolMatchmaker is how perfectly author Kristina Springer captures this experience. The butterflies when you see your crush in the hallway at school or when their name appears in your inbox. Not to mention the anxiety when you fear your crush may not like you back. And while some kids are ready for those kinds of feelings, others just aren’t.
There’s a lot to love in this story. It’s about first dates and gossiping with your friends. It’s about girls supporting one another instead of sabotaging each other. It’s about finding your center, balancing your priorities, and being honest and kind.
And yes, it’s also about dreamy boys.
With best wishes,
Brett Duquette
Editor, Sterling Children’s Books
To Maya and London, my own little yoga girls.
CiCi
ReNo
#MiddleSchoolMatchmaker
KRISTINA SPRINGER
STERLING CHILDREN’S BOOKS and the distinctive Sterling Children’s Books logo are trademarks of Sterling Publishing Co., Inc.
© 2016 by Kristina Springer
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.
ISBN: 978-1-4549-0635-3
For information about custom editions, special sales, and premium and corporate purchases, please contact Sterling Special Sales at 800-805-5489 or specialsales@sterlingpublishing.com.
www.sterlingpublishing.com/kids
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
1
Ugh. My nail polish is smudged.
I glance around for something to wipe up the blob of blue-green nail polish on the side of my toe. Spotting nothing else available on the pool deck, I decide to use my beach towel. There. Much better. Now it’s back to work painting my toenails this rather awesome shade, Peacock Passion. A couple of girls from school, Madison and Alexa, are sitting together on the lounge chair next to me, watching, and waiting for my response.
“Okay, so Brandy told Allison a secret that you told her not to share with anyone, ever?” I ask Madison. I keep my focus on my pinky toe. This one is always the most difficult to do.
“Yeah. And if she was really my best friend she never would have told her. Now I don’t know if I can ever trust her again.” Madison’s voice shakes like she wants to cry.
“Right.” I straighten up and wiggle my toes in the late-August sun. It’s still warm and bright but not as aggressive as the July sunlight. Like it somehow knows that school starts in a week and it’s thinking, hey, gotta scale back the Vitamin D and ease these kids back into nine months of fluorescent light.
I look over my nails carefully and yep, this is the best shade of the summer. I grab my phone, snap a quick pic of my toes, and tweet:
Winner! Peacock Passion. #25shades #summer #nails
I’d carefully worked my way through Cici’s Twenty-Five Shades of Summer, a nail polish schedule I’d set up the day after sixth grade ended, and wouldn’t you know it, the very last shade I apply is my favorite. It’s pearly and perfect, reflecting the water from the community pool like it knew it belonged here on my toes all along. But back to the problem at hand. Madison’s BFF drama.
I set my phone down on my beach towel. “Okay, here’s what I think, Madison. Brandy should never have told your secret. You’re BFFs, and what she did was wrong. You need to tell her that.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying, too,” Alexa pipes in.
“I’m not saying go all Real Housewives on her or anything. Just talk to her. Keep your tone light. Say, ‘Hey, listen, Brandy, I told you a secret and it got back to me. I thought we were best friends, and that isn’t cool. So if I’m going to be able to trust you, you just can’t do that.’ And then see what she says. Chances are, she’ll feel bad and apologize.”
Madison bites the corner of her bottom lip. “I guess I can do that. But should I stay friends with her? How do I ever trust her again?”
“Trust comes with time,” I tell her. “Put her on a sort of secret friendship probation. Don’t tell her your deepest secrets for the time being. Maybe after a while, say, three weeks, you test her with a small piece of information and see if that gets around. You can stay friends though. People make mistakes. Let the trust rebuild.”
“You sound like a therapist or something,” Madison says. “But I don’t know. Brandy really hurt my feelings.”
“Take Cici’s advice, Madison. She’s always right,” Alexa says. “She’s like a Magic-8 ball.”
I blow air in the direction of my toes. “Girl, I’m better than a Magic-8 ball. You never have to ask me again later.”
Alexa giggles and Madison nods. “Okay. Thanks, Cici. I’m going to talk to her.”
“No prob,” I reply. Just then, my phone buzzes. I glance down at it and see I have a new text message.
“I’M BAAAAAACK!!” it says.
I leap out of my lounge chair, knocking over the bottle of nail polish. “Eep! Aggie! Sorry, girls! Gotta run! Aggie is home from Florida!”
I pull my hot pink tube dress cover-up over my bathing suit and jam my feet into my flip-flops. I’ve messed up my nail polish job, but I don’t care. My best friend is back from vacation!
I toss everything into my glittery peace sign backpack and race for my bike, which is locked in front of the park district pool entrance. Wait, I got so excited I forgot to text Aggie back.
I quickly text, “Yaaaaay! Meet @ Beanies in 15?”
“I’ll be there!” she replies.
I hop on my bike and pedal hard toward Peony Lane Yoga Studio, my mom’s business. It’s only six blocks from the pool, in the same strip mall as Beanies. Mom opened it five years ago, and it’s become a popular fixture in Bryerston. Ladies, and occasionally a guy or two, pop in daily for yoga classes, taught by Mom or one of her other instructors: Bonnie, Jackson, or Wendy. I love it there. I love my mom’s soothing voice as she leads us through the poses, the calming music, and the smell of the burning incense. Yoga makes my muscles feel warmer, my mind feel lighter, and my problems seem easier. I always leave feeling more powerful than when I began. T
hat studio is one of my favorite places in the whole world.
I barrel into the studio, crashing into the antique wood desk set up near the front. The giant blue vase of peonies shakes.
“Hey, slow it down, Cici,” Mom says, steadying the vase.
“Aggie’s back!” I say.
Mom grabs my hands and squeezes. “She is? Yay!”
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” says Claire, one of Mom’s regulars. Claire just finished college and pops in for a class between job interviews. She says it helps keep her anxiety down.
“Aggie, you say?” Peg asks, sidling up next to Claire. Peg’s in her standard biking shorts and pink “I’d rather be in Vegas” t-shirt. She’s in her sixties, I think, but she can get into some yoga poses women half her age can’t. She pours herself a glass of the cucumber water Mom always keeps out.
I nod vigorously. “I told her I’d meet her at Beanies in a few minutes, okay, Mom?”
“Of course. Give her a hug for me too.” Mom’s beaming.
“Thanks, Mom, I will,” I say. I tear back out the door. Beanies is just seven stores down and around the corner. I run the whole way. As I approach the café, I spot Aggie facing away from me at an outdoor table.
“Aggie!” I yell and wrap my arms around her from behind. She leaps from her chair and throws her arms around my neck, and we jump up and down, squealing. “Oh my gosh, you’re so tan and I think you’re taller and …” Whoa. I pull back from Aggie. I know it’s rude but I can’t help staring directly at her chest. Her boobs are ginormous! When did that happen? “It feels like you’ve been gone forever,” I say.
“I know, it feels like that to me too,” she says. “We have so much to talk about.”
“Soooo much,” I echo and follow her into Beanies, glancing down at my own completely flat chest.
2
“Small mocha, please.”
“Switch your drink while I was away?” Aggie asks, accepting her iced tea from a second barista while mine rings up the mocha.
“Yeah. About mid-July. I thought about it, and vanilla steamers are very sixth grade, the old me. I’ve matured a lot this summer. I tweeted about it, did you see?”
“Hmm. I don’t think so,” Aggie says. “But I wasn’t online much. My dad and stepmom are big on being outdoors. We were mostly at the beach. I pretty much only got on my dad’s computer to email you and my mom. I did catch a couple of your cute nail tweets though,” she adds.
I grin at Aggie. It’s nice to see my work was appreciated. My smile quickly fades when I notice a customer at the pick-up counter leering at Aggie. I nudge her with my elbow and motion with my eyes.
Aggie follows my glance, sees what the guy is doing, and turns her face away.
He looks several years older than we are, maybe even in college. Yuck. And he’s still staring at her.
I know I should stay quiet, but I can’t. “Inappropriate much, guy?”
He looks at me in surprise, like he just noticed I’m here. “What?”
Aggie bites her lip and looks like she wants to crawl under a rock. I can feel my skin start to heat up with rage at this guy. “You’re staring,” I tell him. “Cut it out; it’s creepy.”
The barista looks concerned as she watches our exchange. I hand her my money and take my mocha.
“Wow, your little sister is kind of mouthy,” the guy says to Aggie.
Is this joker serious? I feel my heart racing now. “Really?” I say. “I’m two months older than she is, actually.”
He looks me up and down. “Dude, maybe lay off the coffee?” He smirks and chuckles as he picks up his coffee and walks out of the shop.
We take our drinks and sit at a small table near the window, instead of outside just in case that guy is still out there. My pulse feels like it’s beating in my ears.
From the way Aggie is staring down into her iced tea, I’m guessing she’s totally embarrassed. Not that the whole scene was a picnic for me either. And something tells me it was just a preview of what’s to come.
Aggie went away to Clearwater, Florida, for the summer, to stay with her dad and new stepmom. Most people come back from their beach vacation with a bag of shells or some sand in an empty water bottle, but Aggie’s come back home with these giant boobs. Not that I can be mad at her for it. It’s not like she can help her sudden summer growth spurt or that having boobs is bad. That would be like me having control over my light brown lackluster hair. But I have my eye on some Moroccan Oil stuff to give my hair a little life. Maybe my next Twitter campaign will test shampoos.
I think I’d better lighten the mood. “Hey, you reading tea leaves in there or something? Tell me if this is the year I finally get an A in Science.”
Aggie dips her shoulders like she’s trying to sink into her chair. “It keeps happening lately. I feel like guys are staring at me all the time.”
I want to say something to make her feel better, to commiserate, but I have no idea how that feels. Nobody notices me. Everyone treats me like a little kid still even though I’m twelve and three-quarters, practically thirteen. “Well, if you’re asking my advice …” I pause and read her face to see if she wants me to continue.
She nods.
“If there are guys making you feel uncomfortable, tell them so. I’m not saying you have to get as loud as I was, but a firm, ‘Stop staring at me!’ wouldn’t hurt.”
“I’m not as good at that as you are. I have a harder time confronting people,” Aggie says. “So far, I’ve just been looking at my feet, hoping the person would go away. It’s worked okay, I guess.”
“You can’t let people treat you badly, Aggie. Just say ‘stop’ if you can’t think of anything else.”
Aggie nods. “Okay, I’ll try. And it’s not just the guys acting goofy around me. My own mother completely embarrassed me at the airport. I was coming out of the gate and I see my mom. I wave and call out, ‘Mom!’ Well, her face screws all up like she saw a car accident or something and she blurts out, ‘Oh my God, you have boobs!’” Aggie crosses her arms over her chest. “I could have died. Of course, everyone in the airport turned to look at me. I was so upset by all the attention. I was like, seriously? Boobs happen. Every day. All across the country girls are getting boobs. I’m not the first or last, so get over it.”
“Did you really say that?” I ask excitedly.
“Nah,” she says. “I just hurried over to Mom and tried not to make eye contact with anyone.”
“Oh, Aggie,” I say. “Well, don’t you worry. We’re back together now, and I’m not going to let anyone mess with you. If they try, they’ll have to deal with all four-foot-nine-inches of me.”
At this, Aggie finally cracks a smile.
3
“As you come out of child’s pose, I want you to move into dead man’s pose,” my mom says in her soft, instructor voice. “Savasana. Let go of your thoughts. Push aside any distractions of work or texts or emails you have to deal with. They will all be there later. Focus on yourself and the good work you did in class today. Take this time for you.”
My favorite pose, I think. It requires you to lie still on your back for a while, eyes closed, palms up, and feet falling outward. And you just work on relaxing your muscles and focusing on your breathing. It’s the best.
I’m glad I could catch Mom’s last yoga class of the day. I really needed it. Seeing Aggie this afternoon left me feeling stressed, and I know it shouldn’t have. She’s the same old Aggie, and I’m the same old me. I need to figure out exactly why Aggie’s big boobs are bothering me so much and deal with it.
I decide I need a visual to help give my mind a break today and completely relax into the pose, so I focus on a large, beautiful palm tree, blowing in the wind. Its leaves sway back and forth and I can just about feel the breeze on my face. I’m concentrating on making my breathing even when snap!
The palm tree cracks in half and my eyes flicker open.
There’s a minor disturbance near the door of the room. I sneak a
peek at the large glass window near it and see Mom talking to my older brother Luke in the hallway. He’s asking her something, but it’s muffled and I can’t hear them. And then I see him standing behind Luke.
Drew Lancaster. He catches my eye and smiles.
I gasp, completely messing up my breathing. Holy smokes, someone hit a growth spurt over the summer. Drew looks to be a few inches taller and also broader in the shoulders. The baby fat that used to fill out his face has completely disappeared.
Wait until Aggie sees him. She’s been crushing on Drew since fifth grade. She’s still mortified at the time we were at a family skate night for my brother’s hockey team and she face-planted right at Drew’s feet. He pulled her back up on her skates and asked her if she was okay. She just nodded. After he skated off, she told me that was the boy she was going to marry. Of course she was just being silly. She’d never even spoken to him. But whenever we take her with us to a hockey game, she cheers for him the loudest. And when she doesn’t come to the games, she’ll ask me how her hockey boyfriend did.
Are Luke and Drew friends now? They’ve been teammates for years but never crossed into that “hang-out-at-each-other’s-houses” friend zone. Will he bring Drew to my house? I have to tell Aggie ASAP so she doesn’t drop dead from a heart attack if we come home from school one afternoon to find Drew sitting on my living room sofa.
Drew plays on the travel hockey team with my brother, and any time they have a home game Aggie and I sit in the stands and totally check him out. The way his arms rock from side to side when he’s racing down the ice, the bits of hair curling out onto his neck at the base of his helmet, the way he waves his hockey stick over the puck right before he shoots. He’s pretty impressive. He can skate circles around lots of the guys, he’s good at scoring, and when he checks someone, his victim sorta slow motion slides down the glass, almost cartoon-like. He could totally go pro when he grows up.
Cici Reno #MiddleSchoolMatchmaker Page 1