Monkey Business

by Leslie Margolis

  “What’s that smell?” asked Claire.

  “Oh, that’s me,” said Emma. “My deodorant isn’t built for this kind of work!”

  “To be fair, I think it’s all of us,” said Yumi.

  “How much do you think we made?” I wondered.

  “Three hundred,” said Claire. “Maybe four.”

  “I think two hundred and fifty is more accurate,” said Yumi.

  “Well, that’s still pretty good,” said Rachel.

  “Maybe we’ll be able to buy the tickets tonight,” I said. Then I reconsidered. “Or maybe after next weekend. Then we can retire.”

  “That would be awesome,” Emma said, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “Let’s count so we know for sure.”

  We all headed over to the corner of the parking lot where we had our sign and extra supplies. Emma reached for our cash box and opened it up.

  Then she began smoothing out the bills and counting. This took a while, since most of them were crumpled or folded, and some were even damp. But we were patient—all five of us kept our eyes on the money.

  “And seventy-three,” Emma finished. She dug around the box and lifted up the top tray in search of stray bills, but there were none.

  We looked at the pile of cash. So many bills added up to so little money.

  “It’s not that bad,” said Claire. “Right?”

  “It’s fine,” Emma said. “Definitely a huge improvement over last weekend, but it’s not going to get us to the Panda Parade anytime soon.”

  “Should we try again next weekend?” I asked.

  “I don’t know if it’s worth it,” said Emma. “The All Saints car wash is happening for the next five weekends, and it’s the biggest church in town. If we make seventy-three dollars every weekend for the next five weekends, that only comes to three hundred and sixty-five dollars—less than half of what we need.”

  “So what are you saying?” asked Claire.

  Emma sighed as she emptied a bucket of dirty water into the gutter. “I’m saying, doing the same thing every weekend is too risky. We need to think of something else.”

  Just then a Taylor Swift song came on the radio, but instead of dancing to it, this time Rachel turned the music off. “I can’t believe we failed again,” she said.

  “Well, it could be worse,” said Yumi. “At least no one got injured today.”

  Chapter Ten

  Who’s Afraid of the Dark?

  My mom teaches high-school English. She has ever since I can remember. But on Monday night, over dinner, she told me she was going to take next year off. This news was so shocking to me, I almost dropped my fork.

  “The entire year?” I asked. “What are you going to do?”

  “Well, the baby will keep me busy,” she said.

  “Oh, right,” I said, staring at her stomach. It seemed to be getting bigger and bigger by the day—if that were possible.

  It was weird thinking about a human being growing inside her. And it was almost weirder for me to think about my mom not working and being at home all the time. When I was first born, she was in school and she finished nights, and my grandparents babysat for me. Then I went into day care so she could teach. Even in the summer, she usually taught summer school. As long as I’d been alive, she’d never not worked.

  “Are you sure you’re allowed to take a year off?” I asked. “What if they don’t let you come back?”

  My mom laughed. “Yes, I’m allowed, and I will go back. I worked it all out. I’ve been teaching for ten years straight—the school is willing to give me this time.”

  “Oh,” I said. And I guess I had a pensive expression on my face because suddenly my mom ruffled my hair.

  “Don’t worry so much, Annabelle. The baby will be sleeping a lot, so I’ll have plenty of time for you. We can hang out all the time. It’ll be so much fun!”

  I laughed at first, figuring my mom was kidding. Except by the look on her face, I realized she wasn’t.

  My mom really wanted to hang out with me all the time? Yikes! This was not exactly ideal. Don’t get me wrong—I love my mom. A lot. She’s my mom. Plus, she’s fun and cool and easygoing as far as moms are concerned. But that didn’t mean I wanted to spend the entire summer with her. I had a life—tons of friends and a boyfriend, too. I tried to think of a way to remind her of this, without being rude. But I couldn’t. Anyway, my phone was vibrating in my back pocket. I pulled it out and read a text from Oliver: What’s up?

  “No phones at the dinner table, sweetheart,” Ted gently reminded me.

  “Sorry,” I said, looking up. “Um, may I please be excused?”

  “Are you finished eating or just wanting to call your boyfriend?” my mom asked.

  “How’d you know it was Oliver calling?” I wondered. “And for that matter, how did you know that Oliver was my boyfriend?”

  “I could tell by the way you swooned,” she said.

  “I did not swoon,” I said.

  Ted laughed.

  “I didn’t,” I insisted. “Whatever swooning means. And by the way—I’m done eating and I want to call Oliver back. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

  “Well, then,” said Ted. “I guess you are free to go.”

  I cleared my plate and ran upstairs and called Oliver.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey,” I replied.

  “Want to shoot some hoops?” he asked.

  “Sure, but my hoop isn’t up yet,” I told him.

  “Too bad,” said Oliver. “Want to do something else?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. How about if I come over and we can figure it out?”

  I smiled. “Okay.”

  “Cool—I’ll meet you in front of your house in five.”

  After we hung up I went to the bathroom and checked myself in the mirror. My hair was kind of tangled, probably from when my mom rumpled it—I’d have to get her to stop doing that. I ran my brush through it a bunch of times. But then it got all flyaway and static-y, so I ended up pulling it into a ponytail, which I turned into a loose bun on the top of my head. I changed out of my new jeans and into some older jeans because I didn’t want to seem too dressed up. And then I ran downstairs to wait outside on my front lawn for Oliver.

  My lawn slopes down to the sidewalk, and I sat at the top of it, cross-legged, my elbows on my knees and my chin resting on my knuckles. I tried to look casual, as if my stomach weren’t fluttering like crazy. It was fun having Oliver right down the street. We’d probably be hanging out like this a lot. Rachel and I used to meet outside after dinner on lots of nights too, back when I lived across the street from her.

  I wondered what Rachel was doing now. Even though I’d been annoyed with her lately, I still missed her. Also, I’d been thinking about the situation a lot, and I guess I could understand her being upset that I moved away, but it didn’t excuse her behavior. As I’d told her before, I didn’t ask my parents to move away. I had no choice in the matter.

  I was tired of her snide little comments. They always left me with this weird hollowed-out feeling inside. Not to mention a gazillion questions.

  How could moving from one end of town to the other—simply a mile away—turn me into a snob? It seemed completely impossible. So where did her idea even come from? Or was I taking Rachel’s comments too seriously? Maybe she had been kidding around this whole time. Everyone makes a bad joke on occasion. Maybe she was having a week’s worth of bad jokes.

  Of course, someone once said to me that every single joke contained a kernel of truth. If that were the case, where was the truth in what Rachel was saying? I was the furthest thing from a snob in the whole entire universe. And I wasn’t rich. It was true: we’d moved to a bigger house—and okay, the new neighborhood was nicer too. Or at least, it was filled with bigger houses. I wasn’t sure if that made it nicer or not. Nicer seemed like a matter of opinion. My old house had been perfectly nice; same with the tiny ap
artment I had lived in with my mom before that, before Ted came into our lives.

  But none of those facts had anything to do with me. Where I lived didn’t make me who I was. And by the way, if you hadn’t figured it out already—I was a very nice, not-at-all-snobby kid. I knew all this to be true, but I wasn’t about to say it out loud in front of all my friends. Why did I need to defend myself? They all knew the truth about me, and that’s why we were friends in the first place.

  When Oliver showed up, he said, “Hey, sorry to keep you waiting. My mom made me take out the trash first and some of her coffee grinds got all over my sweatshirt and I had to change.”

  “That’s okay,” I said.

  He got down on the lawn next to me, leaning back on his elbows with his legs kicked out in front of him. “Hey, are you okay?”

  “Fine,” I said. “Why?”

  “You seemed upset when I first saw you.”

  “No, I was just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “About Rachel. And how I used to live across the street from her. And how she’s kind of acting all mad now that I don’t, even though it’s not my fault.”

  It felt good, being so honest with Oliver. I couldn’t really talk to any of my friends about the problem because my friends were Rachel’s friends too.

  “It’s dumb for her to be mad at you for things you can’t control,” said Oliver. “It’s not like you asked your parents to move away from her and closer to me. Although I’m glad you did.”

  “I’m glad I did too,” I said. “But it’s not only the fact that I moved. She’s acting like just because I live in Canyon Ranch now, I’m a snob, and she’s treating me differently. And I haven’t changed, have I?”

  “Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” said Oliver. He had the most serious expression on his face, like he was about to give me horrible news. “You have changed, and I feel as if I don’t know you anymore.”

  “What?” I cried.

  Just then he smiled, and his slow smile turned into a laugh. He clapped his hands once. “I totally got you, Annabelle!”

  I punched Oliver’s arm.

  “Ouch!” he said, rubbing it.

  “That didn’t hurt,” I said. “And if it did—good. You totally deserved it.”

  He laughed again. “Come on, I was only having fun.”

  “But this is serious. Rachel’s, like, my very best friend.”

  “Then you need to talk to her,” he said.

  “But what do I say? ‘I don’t like your jokes’? They hurt my feelings. It’s hard to know when she’ll be nice or mean, so I’m always caught off guard.”

  “Do you want me to talk to her?” he asked. “Because I totally will.”

  Getting Oliver involved seemed weird and unnecessary, but I still felt flattered that he offered, like he wanted to protect me or something. It was sweet. Even though I knew I had to handle this myself, I was still curious.

  “What would you say?” I asked.

  “Back off my girlfriend,” said Oliver in a fake-tough guy voice as he shook his fists. “Or else there’ll be trouble.”

  I laughed.

  “What? I don’t sound super-intimidating?” he asked. “Should I flex my muscles instead?”

  “What muscles?” I asked.

  This time Oliver socked me in the arm.

  “Ouch!” I said. “Okay, no more punching. Truce?”

  “Truce,” he repeated.

  We shook hands and I smiled at him. “You’re too sweet to sound intimidating, and I mean that as a compliment.”

  Oliver shrugged. “Whatever. I hate to see you upset. It’s not fair. I think you need to talk to her. Honesty is the best policy. I know that’s a cliché, but it’s true.”

  “I wish it were that simple,” I said with a sigh. “But don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Hey, want to see this new trick I learned on my skateboard?”

  “Sure.”

  He got up and ran back to his house and came back with his skateboard, which was black with a purple skeleton face on the top and neon green wheels. He was also sporting a matching helmet.

  “Don’t laugh about the helmet,” he said. “My mom makes me wear it.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “It’s probably a good idea.”

  Oliver got a serious look on his face as he buckled the chin strap on his helmet. Then he headed to the top of my driveway. “Ready?” he asked.

  “Yup,” I replied.

  Suddenly he raced straight down, and when there were only a few feet between him and the street, he veered left, bent down to catch the edge of his board, and hopped off the curb.

  It was amazing and totally impressive for about two seconds. Then he lost control and wobbled, yelling with his arms flailing, before face-planting on the street.

  I scrambled to my feet and ran over. “Are you okay?” I asked.

  He stood up quickly and bent down to check out his knee, which was bleeding. “Ow!” he said. His chin was scraped up too, but not as badly.

  “That was an awesome attempt,” I said.

  “I did it perfectly this morning—five times in a row.”

  “Sorry I missed it,” I said.

  “Your driveway must be different from mine,” Oliver said, standing up straighter. “Let me try again.”

  “But you’re bleeding.”

  “It’s not so bad,” he said, wiping his knee with the back of his hand and then wiping his hand on his shorts. He picked up his board and hurried to the top of the driveway. And I sat back down again, watching him repeat the entire trick. This time he pulled it off flawlessly, landing on the board and coasting down the street.

  “Yay!” I said, clapping.

  Oliver turned around and skated back to me with the biggest grin on his face. “Want to see it again?” he asked.

  I glanced at his bloody knee. “Um, why don’t you quit while you’re ahead?”

  “I’m actually tied—one fall and one jump,” he said.

  “And you still have one unbruised knee,” I pointed out.

  Oliver looked down at his knees. “Oh, this is nothing,” he said. “You should’ve seen me last summer when I first got this thing.”

  Except before Oliver could jump again, Ted called to me from the front door. “Annabelle, your mom wants you inside now.”

  I stood up and brushed the grass off my shorts. “How come?” I asked.

  “Something about it being a school night,” he said. “And the sun going down.”

  “It’s okay,” said Oliver, standing up and tucking his skateboard under one arm. “I should get home too.”

  “See you tomorrow,” I said.

  “Want to walk to school together?”

  “Sure,” I said, smiling. As soon as I found out I was moving onto Oliver’s street, I was hoping we’d get to walk to school together. But so far I’d been too shy to bring it up myself.

  “I’ll come by at seven thirty-five,” he said.

  “And I’ll be ready. See you then.”

  We waved good-bye, and I walked over to where Ted was still standing by the front door. “I can’t stay out after dark, even if I’m on my own front lawn?” I asked.

  “Apparently not,” said Ted with a shrug. “I don’t make the rules around here—I just follow them. You know that.”

  “Huh,” I said. “I’ll have to talk to my mom about that. It’s not like I’m going to turn into a pumpkin when the sun goes down.”

  “Maybe your mom’s afraid of vampires.”

  “Oh, Ted,” I said. “Vampires are so five years ago.”

  “Werewolves, then,” said Ted.

  “Vampires and werewolves went out of fashion at the same time.”

  “Okay, how about zombies?” asked Ted.

  I yawned, bored with the conversation. “That’s last year.”

  “Then what’s the new evil monster out to get you?” he asked.

  “I
don’t even know yet,” I said, although I actually did: the new evil monster out to get me was my very best friend.

  Or should I now refer to Rachel as my former best friend?

  Chapter Eleven

  Mystery Text

  Two days later I was curled up in bed with Pepper at my feet, finishing up my lab report and about to crack open my history book when Ted knocked on my door.

  “Come in,” I said.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” he asked. “Guess what? I have a surprise for you.”

  “Is the trampoline up?” I asked, looking out my window. Scanning the backyard, I saw only the green grass, the sparkling blue pool, and the raised beds my mom had bought for her future vegetable garden. I wondered if maybe the new trampoline was in the front yard and Ted hadn’t set it up yet.

  “Nope, the trampoline is on back order, but it’ll be here in ten days. I have something else.”

  He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his iPhone. “This is for you.”

  “Really?” I asked. “This is awesome! But wait. Don’t you need it?”

  “I upgraded to the new one,” said Ted. “And I was all ready to trade this one in, but then I realized you could use it.”

  I’d seen iPhones before. My mom and Ted had them and so did my uncle Steve.

  Come to think of it, Oliver had one, as did a few other kids at my school, but it definitely wasn’t the norm. Like, just the fact that I could name all the kids who had iPhones said something about owning one. Namely, the phones are super-fancy. They were a cool shape—thin and rectangular—and the screen was in color. I could text and listen to music and take and store pictures. Some of that stuff my old phone did, but I knew the iPhone did it all better. Plus, I could now e-mail from my phone. Not that I e-mail very often or anything. The only people who e-mail me are my grandma and my uncle. But still, it was good to have the capability. I’d never had it before.

  “Want me to show you how to use it?” asked Ted.

  “Oh, I know how,” I said. “My friend has this phone.”

  I could’ve said, “My boyfriend has this phone,” but it felt strange talking about my boyfriend in front of Ted or any grown-up for that matter. Even though it was no secret that I had a boyfriend, I was still getting used to the fact, and talking about him casually felt too weird. Good weird, usually, but still weird, and best to be avoided when grown-ups were around.