He shut his locker and stood up. “See you around.”
“Later, Chris,” I said.
“No,” he said, looking at me with his deep, dark blue eyes, the same color as the cobalt vase in Madeline’s living room. “I’ve decided to go by Christopher now that we’re in junior high. Chris just sounds so . . . childish.”
“Childish? But your specialty is the worm.”
A flicker of a smile crossed his face. “That’s true.”
I mussed his hair, which felt weird and also sort of good, like bold, and said, “Don’t take it all too seriously.”
Chris was a dork, but a cool dork, and I don’t think he knew how coolishly dorky he looked in that skinny red tie.
My second period science class went by okay. We got another syllabus (Ding! Ding! Ding!), and I recognized some girls from elementary, but no one I was really friends with.
Fourth period was Foods for Living, which seemed like a gyp, because it was just before lunch. Still, I kept my hopes up for a year of whipping up delectable entrées and making those drama dorks jealous. At lunch I would share my brownies with Madeline and not with Susanna, no matter how immature it was.
There was a seat open in the back, where one girl sat looking petrified. She must have been putting out a bad vibe because no one sat at the table with her. But I did, and when I got closer, I realized she was the girl from registration. Lily, I think. I sat next to her and said hello. She squeaked and kept her head down. So much for making new friends.
I couldn’t wait to hear how Madeline’s day was going.
11 MADELINE
DRAMA WAS AMAZING. I’M SO GLAD SUSANNA suggested I take it. Sitting there in the theater, I got this weird feeling that it was where I belonged. Crazy, huh?
It had a really cool mix of people, like quiet kids and then those kids who were convinced they’d be the next Dakota Fanning and had to be the center of attention all the time. I liked that so many different people could be interested in the same thing. An eclectic mix, like Susanna said.
I felt like junior high was clicking into place so perfectly. I even got a top locker, although it was two halls over from Brooke’s.
As I walked to lunch to meet her, I ran into Susanna and her friends Natalie and Julia, who I liked right away. (Confession: maybe because they complimented me on my outfit.) We all walked to the caf together. I didn’t see Brooke yet, so I got in line with the girls and got food so I could save her a seat when she got there. We chose a table next to a group of rowdy guys, and I thought how easy this whole thing was, walking into the school cafeteria and sitting down for lunch on the first day. Entire movies were made about how horrible this moment could be, but those were totally exaggerated.
“I love how Mr. Trent was all serious about how every person in the theater is crucial, even if you’re not onstage,” Julia was saying. “Like anyone will actually be happy if they get stuck doing something backstage? What’s the point?”
“Some people take drama because they actually want to do stuff backstage, you know,” Natalie told her.
“Yeah, the ugly people,” Susanna said, and we all laughed.
“Did you notice Mr. Trent’s socks?” I asked. “They were lime green with little red hearts on them.”
“Hearts?” Julia asked. “How cute!”
“Or weird,” Susanna said. “Why would a grown man wear heart socks?”
“Because it’s fun!” Julia said, scooping up more chili with her plastic spoon.
“I thought they were cute,” I said.
“You would,” Susanna said, and just as I wondered what that was supposed to mean, she smiled and bumped her shoulder into mine, showing me she was just teasing.
“Does anyone have Ms. Winston for math?” Natalie asked. We all said no. “Great. She’s like a tyrant. She already gave us homework and she called me out in class for staring out the window. Plus, I have to sit beside this weird kid who was wearing a tie.”
“I saw him!” Julia said. “Who does he think he is? The principal?”
“I know that kid,” I said, feeling good that I knew him, like I had special information that added to the convo. “Chris Meyers.” I thought of him doing the worm at the end-of-the-year dance, and how Brooke kissed him that one time. She’d thought he was funny but I wasn’t so sure. “He’s totally weird.”
“Well, obviously,” Susanna said. “Didn’t you just hear Natalie say he’s wearing a tie to school?”
“Yeah,” I said, “but you don’t know how weird.”
I loved being a part of a group. It wasn’t until then, at lunch, that I realized how much of my life had been just me and Brooke. I’m not complaining—Brooke was my best friend and I’ve always love hanging out with her. This was just different. Maybe better, because more people were there and there was a better chance of something really cool happening.
“Who do you have for math?” Natalie asked me.
Before I could answer, a voice behind me said, “Hello? Madeline, what’s the deal?”
I turned to see Brooke standing behind me, her face both droopy and angry at the same time. “Hey! Where’ve you been? We’re half done eating already.” It felt horrible to admit, but I’d sort of forgotten about her.
“Waiting for you,” she said.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
“We said we were going to meet outside the cafeteria,” she said.
“Why would we meet outside?” I asked. I got the feeling that everyone was staring at us—because they actually were—so I said, “Whatever. You’re here now. Here, I saved you a seat.” I moved my bag off the chair next to me.
“Hey, look!” Susanna said. “Your hair is dry!”
Brooke scrunched up her face. “Huh?”
“So no one flushed your head down the toilet?”
The other girls snorted. Brooke didn’t say anything and I thought about telling her Susanna was just joking, but surely she knew.
“I still have to get my lunch,” she said, ignoring her. She didn’t even say anything to Julia or Natalie, just looked toward the lunch line, which was practically empty since most people had eaten.
“I’ll go with you.” I didn’t want her to be mad at me. Plus, I really wanted her to meet the girls so we could all be friends. I could already picture the sleepovers.
As we walked up to the line, Brooke asked, “Who are all those girls?”
“Susanna and her friends, Julia and Natalie. You’ll love them. And too bad you’re not in drama with us. It’s going to be so fun.”
Brooke picked up a tray and scanned her choices. “Such a bummer.”
“Such. But you’ll really like them,” I said. “How’s your cooking class?”
“Pardon me, it’s not cooking,” she said. “It’s Foods for Living.”
“Pardon indeed,” I said, and we smiled. “You do still cook in it though, right?”
“Yeah, but it’s also about making healthy food choices and stuff.”
“How very modern,” I said. “So I guess that means it’s not totally ’50s and you’ll be making chicken with a pound of butter.”
“Doubtful, but our teacher—who is a dude, by the way—”
“Modern indeed,” I said.
“Indeed,” she said. “Anyway, he said we’ll cook or bake something about once a week, so it can’t be all that bad.”
Brooke paid for her lunch and we went back to our table. Julia and Natalie were just finishing up.
“You guys can’t be leaving,” I said. I really wanted Brooke to talk to them so she could see how fun they were.
“The bell’s going to ring any sec,” Natalie said.
“If we hurry maybe we can go to both our lockers before next class,” I said to Brooke.
“I hate that we don’t have them together,” she said.
“Serious.”
“Maybe you can switch,” Susanna said. “You’re two halls over from Madeline, right?” Brooke nodded yes and shoveled anothe
r bite of her chili in before the bell rang. “So ask whoever is below Madeline and whoever is below you, and see if one of them will swap. No one will ever know. It’s not like they do checks.”
I was already nodding my head. It was a perfect idea. Score one for Susanna!
“We should totally do that,” I said, turning to Brooke. “I don’t know who has the locker below me, but I’ll find out. Who has the locker below yours?”
“Chris Meyers.”
There was a beat of silence at the table, and then we all burst out laughing. Really, how random was that?
“Well, I’m sure he’ll be happy to move for us,” I said, because a guy as dorky as Chris Meyers would probably do anything for two decent-looking (if I do say so) girls like us.
Brooke gave us all a funny look. But then she said to me, “Disco.”
“What does that mean?” Susanna asked.
Brooke took another bite and said, “Nothing.”
Natalie said, “We really gotta go,” and stood up with her tray.
“See you around, Brooke,” Julia said.
Brooke worked double time to shovel in the rest of her food. It was kind of gross, actually.
Once she finished and we left the caf, we finally got to talk alone, even if we did have to walk kind of fast.
“So?” I asked her, bumping her shoulder and sending a little smile to her face.
“Ugh,” she responded.
“That bad?”
“Meh.”
“Are you going to say any real words?”
She looked at me and said, “You know exactly what I’m saying.” And I did. I knew just what she meant.
“I’m sorry you’re having a bad day.”
“That’s a good idea, swapping lockers,” she said. “Let’s do that.”
“I can’t believe Chris Meyers is by your locker.”
“Excuse me, it’s Christopher now,” she said.
“Oh, well pardon,” I said, and we starting laughing—together—for the first time that day.
12 BROOKE
FINALLY MY FIRST WEEK OF JUNIOR HIGH WAS over. By Friday I pretty much had the paths to each of my classes down and my locker combo memorized. I did the locker switch with Madeline’s neighbor—I ended up with a bottom after all, but it was still a good trade. Even though I hadn’t made any new friends in my classes, a couple of people seemed not so horrible. Lily, the squeaky girl in my Foods class even said something to me on Thursday, although she was so quiet I couldn’t understand her. I just smiled back.
So I survived after all! A mutiny of ninth graders didn’t rise up and give me an atomic wedgie. I had to admit, it wasn’t all that bad. Don’t get me wrong—it was bad. It was school, after all. Even though I placed in one (count it, ONE!) advanced placement class (English), which by some standards means I’m somewhat smart, there was no need to go thinking that school wasn’t not horrible. (See how smart I am? Double negative! Ms. Hendricks would be thrilled.)
To celebrate surviving our first week—and escaping any head-in-the-toilet debacles (and praising the end of those stupid jokes)—Madeline and I decided to have our first official sleepover as junior high students.
We usually stayed at her house. Frankly, it’s a lot nicer than ours. It’s part of a new development that my parents refuse to sellout to because, for some reason, they like our shack. I didn’t mind having sleepovers at our house—my mom was known for making homemade goodies at a moment’s notice—but Madeline’s house just had more stuff. Bigger TVs, better food, a pool. It just became natural, I guess, to go there.
But Friday afternoon at our lockers she asked if we could go to my house instead of hers.
“How come?” I asked.
“My mother,” she said, with hearty of dash of ick.
“What’s up with her?”
“She’s always in a bad mood, which puts my dad in a bad mood, which of course puts all of us in a rotten mood. Like, just because she hates her promotion doesn’t mean she has to make the rest of us miserable. I don’t even want to be there when she gets home,” Madeline said. “I think they might split up.”
The look in her eyes said it all, that she was afraid of what might happen, but that things were miserable the way they were now. I felt awful for my friend.
“I’m sure it’ll be okay,” I said, because what else could I say? The truth was, her parents probably would split eventually, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t terrible for her at home, living with that tension. Maybe things would be better if they split, more peaceful. “We’ll stay at my house. Mom will have a heart attack of excitement when she gets to make us cookies and set out craft projects like we’re still nine.”
That got a small smile from her, which was something at least.
After school, we ran up to Madeline’s room, threw some things in her bag, then raced out the back door even though Madeline said, “It’s not like she gets home before dinner, like, ever.” She’d called her dad from her cell on the drive home. He told her to have fun and they’d see her tomorrow.
In my room, I couldn’t help but be happy to have her to myself for what felt like the first time all week. I was glad she’d made new friends, but I wasn’t sure they were the type of girls I’d hang out with, which seemed weird. If Madeline liked them, and I liked Madeline, why wouldn’t I like the people she liked? Something about them, especially Susanna, rubbed me the wrong way. Although, actually, I knew exactly what it was about Susanna: the way she teased me. It was getting old quick, and Madeline never seemed to notice.
But at the end of the day, just like always and just like it should be, it was me and Madeline. Just the two of us, ’cause that’s how we rolled.
She dropped her bag on the floor and plopped onto my bed, upsetting the delicate balance of my stuffed animals. “So what should we do?” she asked.
I sat in the chair at my desk. “Gimme Mr. Keating.” She tossed me the hard-stuffed penguin.
“When are you going to retire that old guy?” she asked.
“Never! How dare you!” I covered his penguin ears so he couldn’t hear her evil words.
“He’s old! And so are you. It’s a little freaky.”
I held him tightly and said, “No one needs to know about our love.” I looked at him with the most serious face I could manage and said, “They don’t understand us, Mr. K.”
I made Mr. Keating dance on my thighs for a moment, then said, “You want to watch a movie? Or go to one? I might be able to swindle some cash from Mom.”
Madeline was staring at the wall and it took her a moment to focus after I had spoken. In answer, she shrugged her shoulders.
“Meh?” I asked.
“Meh,” she answered.
“TV?”
She wrinkled her nose.
“Prank calls?” She seemed to consider this. “We have lots of fresh meat with our new student directory.” I was the best at prank calls because I knew that the more serious you were about it, the funnier it was. Madeline always ruined it by laughing, even though that was funny too. “It’ll be good study for your drama class.”
“Doubtful.”
“Well, then, what do you want to do?” If we were at her house we could have played with her brother’s video games, hit the pool, or sat in the hot tub. There was nothing to do at my house.
Finally she said, “Cookies.”
“Cookies?”
“Yeah. Let’s bake them. Aren’t you the expert cook now?” She swung her legs off the side of my bed, and the life came back into her eyes. I guess cookies will do that to a girl.
“You know, if we start, Mom is just going to butt in and make them, like, super chocolate fudge chunk or something.”
“God, Brooke, there are worse things than having your mom bake you cookies.” She stood up. “It’s like you’re living inside a family sitcom and you don’t even realize it.”
I watched, stunned, as she stomped out my bedroom. I waited a moment for her to come back and tell me
she was joking, but she didn’t. I got up and went to find her.
She was in the kitchen with my mom, opening cabinets and pulling out flour, sugar, baking powder, and measuring spoons.
Mom clapped her hands and looked around the kitchen. “What do you girls think? I know we have chocolate chips and I think there’s some M&M’s in here too. . . .”
“Mom,” I said, suddenly embarrassed that she was so . . . present. It made me feel like a baby. “Do you mind? We got it.”
She turned from the cabinet to look at me, and said, “Fine, fine.” She set down the chocolate chips and left the kitchen. I started helping Madeline get the rest of the ingredients out of the cabinets and refrigerator.
“You didn’t have to be so mean,” she said.
I practically dropped the eggs on the table and said, “Mean to who?”
“Your mother,” she said. “She was just trying to help.”
“We don’t need her,” I said. “Besides, I am the one who is a semiprofessional cook now that I am taking Foods for Living. This will be like extra credit for me.”
I knew she was upset about her parents; I was just trying to liven things up. She didn’t seem to want it, though. My dad always tells Abbey and me that we could choose to be in a good mood, even on early Saturday mornings when he wants us to help rake leaves. “It’s a choice you can make,” he always said, tapping his temple, “up here.”
Madeline didn’t say anything, and we silently started making the cookies. She mixed the dry ingredients while I mixed the wet; then, Madeline gently doled in the dry ingredients while I worked the mixer. Before we added the chocolate chips, I handed her a spoon and said, “Dig in.” Madeline loved chocolate chip cookie batter without the chocolate chips. It’s one of the weird things about her that I loved. She liked the chips in her baked cookies, but when it came to noshing on the batter, she liked it smooth and creamy and chipless.
But for the first time in history, she shook her head no at the spoon I held before her.
“If you tell me you’re dieting or something equally heinous, we’re just going to have to stop being friends right now.”
“Please,” she said, getting the cookie sheet and bringing it to the table near the mixer. Then she let out a big, deep sigh.
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