“I won’t.”
I fell asleep in the car.
Mom shook me awake, and I rubbed my face, leaning my head back against the seat.
“Do I have to go to school today?” I asked.
“Well, it’s either that or work at one of the stores,” said Mom.
I sat up. “Okay!”
“We need someone to clean up the goose poop by the doors,” she added.
I picked up my book bag. “And I’m off to school!”
Mom smiled. “Bye, honey. Have a good day.”
I smiled back, but in my head thought, We’ll see.
Normally, my friends and I hang out in the school courtyard, but winter in Illinois can be brutal, and today was pretty cold, so our school also has a student lounge inside, which gets packed and loud. When I walked over to the couch where Brooke, Vanessa, and Heather were sitting, they didn’t even look up. In fact, they were adding their voices to the chaos.
Brooke and Vanessa were facing each other with arms crossed while Heather sat between them, twisting a pen between her fingers. They appeared to be engaged in a debate of the utmost importance.
“I’m not saying dolphins can’t talk. I’m saying they don’t have anything interesting to say!” exclaimed Brooke.
“Of course they do! They’re very intelligent creatures, you know,” said V.
“Hey, guys?” I asked. “Can you scoot over?”
They didn’t hear me.
“Oh, they’re intelligent?” Brooke raised an eyebrow. “What could they possibly know—which fish is the freshest? It’s all fresh. They’re in the ocean!” She threw her hands into the air.
“Hey, Heather, a little help here?” I glanced at her, but she got to her feet and turned to face Brooke and Vanessa. “Guys! Can you please stop fighting for one moment?”
Brooke and Vanessa quieted and looked up at Heather. I inched toward the space she had left open, but she immediately sat back down. “Now, everyone knows whales have been talking—”
Instantly, she was drowned out by groans from Brooke and Vanessa, who jumped right back into their argument. I decided to take the opportunity to sprawl out on the couch. With my friends still on it.
All three girls shrieked and protested as I squashed them, finally forgetting their squabble and shifting to one side so I could sit down.
“Geez, you’re heavy!” said Brooke. “What did you eat for breakfast, bricks?”
“Why are you guys arguing about dolphins?” I asked.
“V’s trying to find the perfect gift for Gil,” said Brooke.
Gil, as V had mentioned earlier, was her seventh-grade boyfriend. He worked at the newspaper with us as secondary photographer and the horoscope writer.
“Get him a crystal ball,” I said. “Then maybe he can make some accurate predictions.”
Vanessa gasped. “How dare you! Gil’s horoscopes are always a little accurate every once in a while! Remember that week he said difficult times were ahead, and then the cafeteria ran out of curly fries?”
I stared at her. “Moving on . . . Where did the dolphins come in?”
“I bought this for him yesterday at the museum gift shop.” Vanessa reached into her bag and pulled out a stuffed dolphin toy. “You know, because he was born in Hawaii.” She squeezed its middle and it squeaked, “Help me!”
I cocked my head to one side. “Did that dolphin just say ‘Help me’?”
V nodded. “Apparently, a lot of real ones are being killed by offshore oil drilling.”
“Ah.” I gave her a tight smile. “Well, nothing says happy holidays like cold-blooded murder.”
“Ha!” Brooke pointed at Vanessa. “That’s coming from a guy. Told you it was a bad idea.”
Vanessa stuck her tongue out at Brooke and hugged the dolphin close.
“I thought it was sweet,” said Heather.
“And I didn’t say it was a bad idea,” I corrected Brooke. “I just don’t think it’s the perfect holiday gift.”
Vanessa put her other hand on her hip and looked from me to Brooke. “All right. Since you two are the experts, what is the perfect holiday gift?”
I scratched my head. “Gil’s from Hawaii, right? How about a pineapple?”
“Ooh!” Brooke snapped her fingers. “A whole basket of Hawaiian treats! And maybe a CD of Hawaiian music.”
Vanessa considered this, a wide grin appearing on her face. “That’s actually not a bad idea, guys! I could even—”
“Uh-oh!” Heather was peering past V. “Gil’s coming. Ditch the dolphin!”
V flung the toy aside.
“Help me!” it cried as it landed in a potted plant. Brooke and I snickered behind our hands.
“Hey, Gil!” Vanessa called as he approached.
“Hey, you.” He hugged her when he got closer, waving to the rest of us. “What did you just throw away?” He squinted at the planter. “Is that a dolphin?”
“Of course not. They can’t survive out of water, silly!” Vanessa laughed nervously. “Hey, look over there! Is that a light switch?” She took his hand and pulled him far, far away.
I turned to Brooke. “Since you’re the gift whisperer, what are you getting Abel?”
Abel Hart was Brooke’s boyfriend, a kid who used to be in our grade but was so smart they bumped him up to seventh.
Brooke puffed out her chest. “The girlfriend gift to end all girlfriend gifts. A murder mystery train party.”
I smiled. “Nothing says happy holidays like cold—”
She smacked my arm, and Heather laughed.
“In this case, it makes sense,” Brooke informed me.
Abel had started a club called Young Sherlocks and was big into detective stuff. It’s how he and Brooke met, which is nice, although now, Brooke tries to unravel any mystery she can find. Last week it was the mystery of who put melted chocolate in her gym bag.
It turned out to be her.
“Oh! Change the subject,” Brooke said, pointing out Abel, who was walking toward us.
“Let me guess,” Abel said with a smile, sidling up next to Brooke. “Someone just asked who the most awesome guy in school was.”
Brooke grinned. “I wouldn’t give that secret up! One of these girls might try to steal you away!”
“Not a chance.” Abel hugged her. “Besides, all the girls are gaga for Tim.”
I smiled. Heather and Brooke groaned.
“Please don’t tell him that!” said Heather.
“Yeah, now we have to spend all day lowering his self-esteem,” added Brooke.
“I have great friends,” I told Abel while the girls laughed.
“You also have a great watch,” he said, staring at my wrist. “Seriously. I’ve been looking for something like that for spring training.”
Abel was our school’s track star. He had speed and endurance. Most runners have one or the other.
“Thanks! It’s shockproof since I play so many impact sports.” I took off the watch so he could look at it. After studying it, he casually waved it under Brooke’s nose.
“Pretty nice, huh?”
“Very subtle,” she said as Abel handed it back to me. “But I’ve already bought your present. And it is so much better than any crummy watch.”
“Thanks,” I said.
Brooke nudged Heather. “What did you get Emmett?”
“Or do you even get him anything since you’re Jewish and he’s not?” I asked.
“Well, I’d get him a holiday gift, like I get all the people I’m close to,” Heather said, turning pink. “But I’m not sure we’re at that point yet. I mean, we haven’t even gone on an official date!”
I nodded. “Just promise me you didn’t get Stefan anything.”
Stefan Marshall was our lead photographer and sportswriter, who Heather had been crazy about since the start of school. At least . . . until recently when she learned he thought of her as a little sister.
Heather laughed. “The only thing he’ll be getting fr
om me is a smile.”
“That’s still too generous,” teased Brooke.
The first bell rang, and the four of us headed into the hall. I scanned the crowd of students but didn’t see Ryan among them. A few girls saw me and waved, but thankfully no one acted like anything was out of the ordinary.
What was Ryan waiting for?
I did a casual wander past the locker area. No Ryan.
I strolled by his homeroom. No Ryan.
I even went out of my way to hit the cafeteria. No Ryan.
The more I searched and the longer I waited, the tenser I felt. In every one of my morning classes, I was poised for flight, as if Ryan might appear with my dance troupe and force me to frolic. When lunchtime finally came and my phone vibrated in my pocket, I yelped and jumped out of my chair.
Heather, Vanessa, and Brooke all stared at me.
“Sorry. Phone.” I flashed it at them.
“Did you have it set to ants-in-pants?” asked Brooke.
I didn’t answer, tilting my phone so they couldn’t see it while I read.
It’s almost time.
My jaws clenched. The cryptic messages were starting to wear thin.
Heather bumped my arm. “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s great!” I said, putting on my best smile and leaning back in my chair. If Ryan was watching, there was no way I’d give him the satisfaction of seeing me sweat. “What are we talking about?” I asked, sticking my phone into my backpack.
“I’ve been thinking about V’s gift for Gil,” said Brooke. “We threw around some great ideas this morning, including my solution, which, I dare say, was brilliant.” Brooke gazed modestly into the distance.
“Not to mention it was piggybacking on my idea,” I said, rummaging through my stuff. “Also, calling yourself brilliant isn’t a dare. A dare is . . . Eat this cookie I found in my backpack.” I held up an Oreo riddled with pencil shavings.
Without hesitation, Brooke took it from me and popped it into her mouth.
“Ew!” shrieked Vanessa and Heather.
Brooke grinned at all of us with black-and-white teeth.
“Now, eat this penny!” I held up a coin, but Heather forced my hand down.
“Don’t do that. She’d eat a whole roll of them if you challenged her.”
This was true. It was one of Brooke’s biggest weaknesses, actually. She tended to bite off more than she could chew. Even if it was something covered in wood bits.
Brooke swallowed and ran her tongue over her teeth before continuing. “Anyway, our suggestions got me thinking. Mary Patrick wants us to do something special for the holiday issue, so in addition to our usual advice, why don’t we offer holiday gift-giving advice?”
“What, you mean like post a list of gift ideas?” asked Vanessa.
“No, I mean kids who need help with gift ideas can put requests in the advice box, and we can provide suggestions. What do you think?” Brooke held her arms open. “It’s only for a couple weeks.”
“Sure,” said Heather. “I’m always up for helping out.”
“I don’t know.” I rubbed my chin. “Do we even know everyone well enough to do that? What if we suggest a jar of peanut butter and whoever gets the gift is allergic?”
“Who gives peanut butter as a gift?” Brooke asked, laughing. Then her expression turned serious. “That’s what you’re giving me, isn’t it?”
“Not anymore,” I assured her.
Brooke shook her head. “V, what do you think?”
“I think it’s brilliant,” she said. “We could put an end to gifted tacky Christmas sweaters!”
The three of them looked at me until I caved.
“Fine. At least I can make sure all my admirers don’t get me the exact same thing.”
Cue eye-rolls in three . . . two . . .
This time it was Heather’s turn, but she did it with a smile.
“Just for that, I’m going to suggest ‘giant pink teddy bear’ to all your admirers,” she said.
“And I will tell them ‘giant pink teddy bear’ is slang for ‘gift card,’” I replied.
Brooke pounded the table with her fist. “Then it’s settled! I’m off to the newsroom to clear this with Mrs. H and Mary Patrick.”
Mrs. H, aka Mrs. Higginbotham, was our faculty adviser for the newspaper.
“I’ll go with you,” I said, picking up my lunch tray.
The less visibility I had to Ryan, the better.
Vanessa and Heather shrugged at each other and picked up their stuff too. Brooke zipped down the hall so fast I had to jog to keep up, while Heather and V lagged behind.
As soon as Brooke and I walked into the newsroom, Mary Patrick’s hands went to her hips. “Where’s this week’s advice?” she asked. “It’s due today!”
Every Friday we turned in pieces so they could be printed over the weekend for distribution the following Monday.
“The day isn’t over yet,” Brooke said, reaching into her bag.
“Why do you people always insist on waiting until the last minute?” asked Mary Patrick. “It’s not like— Ooh! What’s that?”
Brooke pulled a bag of Reese’s peanut butter cups, Mary Patrick’s favorite, out of her backpack. I could practically see the gold foil gleaming in Mary Patrick’s eyes as the candy poured onto the desk.
She pounced on the bag and popped a piece into her mouth. “Tell me you guys came up with something special for the holiday issue.”
“Actually,” said Brooke, “we’re not going to write something; we’re going to do something.”
She explained the idea for the gift request service and beamed at Mary Patrick. If Brooke was expecting a smile or applause or a tiny parade, she didn’t get it.
Mary Patrick frowned. “I don’t think gift requests are such a good idea. Giving general advice is one thing, but gifts are really personal.”
“Told ya.” I bumped Brooke’s arm, but she ignored me.
“We’d be great at it!” she assured Mary Patrick. “Especially with the four of us contributing. We already helped Vanessa find something for Gil.”
“Because you all know him,” said Mary Patrick. “What happens if you make bad suggestions for people you don’t know, and they have unhappy family members because of us? I can’t have you ruining this paper’s reputation. We’ve got a statewide newspaper contest next month!”
Brooke rolled her eyes. “It’s not like we’re going to recommend a flamethrower to someone’s kid brother.”
“Well, not if he already has one,” I amended. Brooke shot me a look.
Mary Patrick shook her head. “Sorry, but you’ll have to come up with something different. I can’t have dozens of bad Christmases on my conscience.”
I nodded. “That’s okay, we’ll—”
“Do it on our own, then,” Brooke said, crossing her arms.
“We will?” I asked.
“Yes, and we’ll show you that you’re wrong.” She pointed at Mary Patrick, who responded with a raised eyebrow. “Heck, maybe we’ll start our own paper!” exclaimed Brooke.
“Whoa!” I held up both hands.
“Okay, maybe not that,” she agreed. “But we’ll give gift advice, and kids will love it!” Brooke hammered her fist into her palm.
Mary Patrick didn’t back down. “Do whatever you want, as long as you don’t bring the paper into it.” Without waiting for an answer, she stormed off in one direction while Brooke stormed off in the other.
“. . . doesn’t think I can do it. I’ll show her,” Brooke muttered to herself.
“Are you sure going up against Mary Patrick is such a good idea?” I asked, following Brooke to our corner of the room.
“She’s always acting like she knows what’s best for this paper.” Brooke dropped into her chair. “Someone needs to prove her wrong.”
Heather and V joined us with the day’s collection of advice requests to sort through.
Brooke picked one up and grinned triumphantly. “Ha!
See? People are already asking for gift advice. In your face, Mary Patrick!” She patted herself on the back. “Good job, me.”
Heather and Vanessa exchanged an amused look.
“Did we miss something?” asked Heather.
“We’re going to war with Mary Patrick,” I explained.
“Not actual war, right?” V asked, wrinkling her nose. “Because camo is last season.”
“It’s not war,” Brooke said, pulling out her notebook. “War implies two sides are fighting.”
Heather nodded. “Glad we’re not—”
“This will be annihilation!” Brooke gave a slightly insane cackle.
“Taking this too far,” Heather finished with a frown. “Why are we going to war exactly?”
Brooke was scribbling a mile a minute on her paper. “Mary Patrick didn’t like the idea of us giving gift advice because she thinks we’ll do a bad job. We’re going to prove her wrong. And since she won’t let us affiliate ourselves with the paper, we’ll have to advertise in Locker 411.”
She turned her notebook so the rest of us could read it.
Need a gift for your grandma?
Need a present for your parent?
Your esteemed advice columnists Brooke, Heather, Tim, and Vanessa can help!
Drop a note in the advice box to tell us who you’re shopping for, and we’ll do the rest!
“Not bad,” said Heather, “but if we’re not allowed to mention the paper, we probably shouldn’t mention we’re advice columnists. Or use the advice box.”
“Good catch!” Brooke crossed out your esteemed advice columnists and changed the advice box to Locker 411. “V, will you make this look prettier?” She ripped out the page and handed it over.
The warning bell rang, and students began trickling into the classroom.
“Okay,” said Brooke. “I know Mary Patrick’s being a pain, but I really do need to know where you guys are on this week’s advice.”
“Finished,” I said, handing over a sheet of notebook paper.
“Me too,” Heather said, searching through her binder.
“Here’s mine,” said Vanessa. She pushed a paper across the desk while she finished coloring in the flyer.
“Aw, man!” Brooke collected them all. “I’m the last one again.”
Her phone buzzed and rattled on the table. She frowned at the screen. “I got a new email from . . . I don’t know who.”
The Secret Talent Page 3