My Best Frenemy

by Julie Bowe

  “No fair! ” Stacey says.

  “Sorry,” I say. “The timer has spoken. Find me as soon as you get to school tomorrow, okay? ”

  “Okay,” Stacey says. “Be prepared to tell me everything.”

  I giggle. “You too. ”

  I turn off the timer and think about calling someone else to go sledding with, but the only other phone number I have belongs to Jenna Drews. My mom has to call her mom sometimes because they’re both on the PTA. Plus, after Jenna’s dad lost his job, my mom and Mrs. Drews talked a lot because things weren’t the greatest over there. But now Jenna’s dad has a job again, and even though Mrs. Drews had to get a job too, things seem better.

  I decide to go to the sledding hill alone, hoping there will be at least one other girl there.

  There’s a bin of warm winter clothes by our front door. I start putting stuff on. Wool socks. Purple snow pants. Striped scarf. Pink hat with a fuzzy yellow tassel. I zip up my snowflake jacket and pull on my clunky boots, which make my feet look like capital L’s. I tug on a pair of black gloves. A minute later, I tug them off again because it’s hard to turn a doorknob with gorilla fingers.

  My orange plastic sled is on the porch. I grab it and clunk down the steps before I sweat to death.

  My dad is shoveling the sidewalk in front of our house. He came home from his job early because the snowstorm made his patients cancel their appointments. Dad may be an orthodontist, but he still hasn’t fixed my crooked teeth.

  “Hi, Ida, ” Dad says. He leans against the handle of his snow shovel. “Coming to help? ”

  “Sorry, ” I say. “Just passing through. ” I leave deep footprints in the unshoveled snow as I scoot around him.

  “Ah, c’mon,” he says. “I’ll make it worth your while. ”

  I stop and turn around. “How worth it? ”

  My dad studies the snow that’s still drifted across the sidewalk. He rubs his whiskery chin. Every winter my dad grows a beard and every spring my mom makes him shave it off. “How about a dollar’s worth? ” he asks.

  “Dad, that’s worse than the Tooth Fairy. ”

  “Okay then, ” he says, “how about five dollars? ”

  I study the sidewalk and rub my chin too. “How about . . . fifteen? ”

  My dad grins behind his mustache. “How about ten? ”

  I study the sidewalk again. “Will I get in trouble if I say no? ”

  “No, ” Dad says. “But you’ll get ten dollars if you say yes. ”

  “What will I get if I go sledding now and build you a snowman later? A big one, with aluminum foil braces in its mouth. And a sign in its stick hands that says, For a warm smile, call May Orthodontics. ”

  Dad laughs. “That will get you my sincere thanks. And a cup of hot chocolate. ”

  “Deal, ” I say, and head down the partly shoveled sidewalk.

  As soon as I get to Ricochet Ridge I see lots of kids, but it’s hard to tell which are girls and which are boys because everyone looks pretty much the same covered in snow. Then I see one girl for sure.

  Two, actually.

  Jenna Drews and her little sister, Rachel.

  As soon as Rachel sees me she smiles and waves. I smile and wave back. Rachel is a lot friendlier than her sister.

  “Hi, Ida!” Rachel calls. She waddles up to me. Kindergarteners always waddle when they wear snow boots.

  “Hi, Rachel, ” I reply. “How’s the sledding? ” I look up at Ricochet Ridge and see three kids wipe out on saucers. Another kid comes down the hill on a sheet of cardboard and runs right into them. A monkey pile on an inner tube tumbles into them next. They all come up spitting snow and laughing.

  “Fast, ” Rachel says.

  “Like always, ” I say back.

  “Is that your sled?” I hear someone say. I look up and see Jenna walking toward us. Her cheeks are the same color as her bright red hat. Her blond braids stick out under it, stiff with snow. She’s pulling a toboggan. It’s made of shiny wood and braided rope and probably a lot of other natural things.

  I look behind me at my orange plastic sled. Then I look at Jenna. “Yep, ” I reply.

  Jenna gives my sled another glance. Then she pulls her toboggan between us and stands it up on end. “This is my new sled, ” she says.

  “It’s mine too, ” Rachel adds.

  “Whatever, Rachel,” Jenna says. “You can take turns with Ida. ”

  “Um . . . thanks, ” I reply.

  It’s a long walk up Ricochet Ridge, especially when you are dragging a sled and wearing capital L boots. When we finally get to the top, I turn and look down. I gulp a little because I always feel braver when I’m standing at the bottom of the hill looking up than I do when I’m standing at the top of the hill looking down.

  “I’ll steer,” Jenna says, taking the front seat on the toboggan. She picks up the loop of rope that’s attached to the curved wooden front and holds it with both of her mittened hands. “Get on, Ida,” Jenna says. “Rachel can use your sled. ”

  “You can go with Jenna first,” I say to Rachel. “I don’t mind. Really. ”

  “That’s okay, ” Rachel says. She plops down on my sled, belly up. She looks like a pink turtle with an orange shell. “Push, please! ” she says.

  I nudge the sled and Rachel squeaks over the edge of the hill. Her boots cut grooves in the packed snow as she slips away.

  Jenna shakes her head. “She always drags her feet.” Then she pumps the toboggan rope like horse reins. “Come on! ”

  I climb on behind her.

  “Tuck your feet under my legs so you don’t slow us down. ”

  I don’t like the way Jenna bosses me around, but I do like sledding, so I tuck my feet.

  “Push off! ” she shouts.

  I dig my knuckles into the edge of Ricochet Ridge and push as hard as I can.

  “Harder!” Jenna shouts, rocking forward to work up some speed.

  “Need a hand?” I hear someone say. I turn and see Tom Sanders standing behind us.

  “Yes,” Jenna says to Tom. “Ida’s not strong enough. Go get one of the big boys to give us a push. ”

  I roll my eyes.

  Tom gives me a grin. “Hang on, ” he says.

  I grab Jenna around the waist.

  “Tom Sanders,” Jenna says, “there is no way you are strong enough to—”

  Tom may be the smallest boy in our class, but he sure can shove hard. His hands barrel into my back and I lunge forward, eating braid. But not for long because right away we are zooming and Jenna’s braids are flying. We zip past Rachel, who has only made it halfway down the hill so far. We sail past Jolene and Meeka, who are walking up the hill with their matching purple sleds. We hit a bump and snow flies up, stinging my cheeks. We hit a bigger bump and we fly up. All I can see is a blur of sky and sleds and snow. All I can hear is Jenna screaming one high note like the highest key on my mom’s piano.

  We hit the hill hard and I howl. Jenna screams even higher and I feel her wiggle one boot off the toboggan. She digs it into the snow, but we don’t slow down. We just do a sharp turn and a moment later we are tumbling down the hill, boots, braids, toboggan, and all.

  When we finally stop, I untangle my legs from Jenna’s arms and sit up. “Well,” I say. “That was fun.”

  “Uh-huh, ” Jenna replies. She’s lying flat on her back like a snow angel. Her eyes are wide open like maybe she’s looking right into heaven.

  “I guess Tom Sanders is stronger than you thought, ” I say.

  “Uh-huh, ” Jenna says again.

  Rachel waddles up to us and studies her sister. “Is she dead? ”

  Jenna gives Rachel a squint. “Of course not, ” she says, sitting up. “I’m not a baby like you. ”

  “I’m not a baby, ” Rachel says. “I’m five and a half. ”

  “Then why do you still wear diapers? ”

  Rachel punches her fists into her hips. “Pullups are not diapers. Mommy said so. And I only wear them at night. So t
here. ”

  “So what, ” Jenna says, standing up and brushing off her snow pants. “You’re going to have to stop wearing them when the new bay—”

  Jenna bites back her words. She gets busy brushing her snow pants again.

  “New what? ” Rachel asks.

  “New nothing, ” Jenna replies. Then she shoves the toboggan toward us with her boot. “You two take it. I’m bored of this little hill. ”

  We watch Jenna walk away.

  I look at Rachel. “I guess it’s just you and me,” I say.

  “Good, ” she says back.

  Dear Stella,

  I went sledding all afternoon. Then I came home and built a snowman with braces for my dad. When my neighbor Mr. Juhl saw it he told me I could build a snow toilet in his yard next. Mr. Juhl is a plumber. I said, “Maybe tomorrow,” because I already had so much snow up my sleeves and down my pants I felt Like an inside-out snowman. I even got snow in my underwear. Don’t tell.

  We didn’t have school today, but I Learned some stuff anyway.

  For example, it’s not a good idea to monkey pile more than four kids on a sled if you want to make it down the hill. Also, don’t be the bottom monkey if you want to make it down alive.

  Boys can scream just as Loud as girls.

  Dominic’s old piece of cardboard works as good as Jenna’s new toboggan.

  Speaking of Jenna (the Screamer), I think she’s more brave on the outside than she is on the inside.

  I think I might be the other way around.

  I also think Jenna is keeping a secret because twice she had to snap her mouth shut to keep something from slipping out and I don’t think it was gum. Once when she was arguing with Rachel, and once when Jolene told us she got a baby Lizard for Christmas.

  Maybe Jenna is getting a baby Lizard too?

  I get to see Stacey TOMORROW! I can’t wait. (Which is no secret.)

  Bye,

  Ida (the Brave)

  Chapter 3

  Just as I’m heading out to the bus on Thursday morning my mom calls to me from the kitchen. “Did you feed your fish? ”

  “I’ll do it when I get home, ” I call.

  “Have you checked the filter lately? ”

  “I’ve been really busy! ” I yell back.

  “Fish need food, Ida, ” Mom says, stepping into the front hallway where I’m trying to get the door open fast. “And you’re supposed to check the tank filter for gunk once a week. ”

  I pull off a glove and grip the doorknob. “I know, ” I say. “But if I don’t leave right now I’ll miss the bus. And if I miss the bus, you’ll have to drive me. And if you drive me, you’ll make me feed my fish and clean the filter before we go and then I won’t have any time before school to talk to Stacey. ”

  Mom crosses her arms. “How would you feel if I sent you off to school with no breakfast, hmm? ”

  “Mom, swimming around a tiny little tank all day doesn’t give you much of an appetite. ”

  “Oh, really?” she says. “When was the last time you swam around a tank all day? Or sucked gunk through your gills? ”

  I try to come up with a good answer, one that will get me out the door extra fast, but before I do, Mom sighs. “Never mind. I’ll feed your fish for you this one time. But you check the filter as soon as you get home. Got it? ”

  “Got it, ” I say. “Thanks. ” I turn the knob and head out the door.

  “By the way,” Mom calls as I clunk across the porch. “Did you name the fish yet? ”

  “Not yet, ” I call back as I hurry down the walk. “But I’m working on it! ”

  When I get to the bus stop, Quinn is trying to wrestle himself off the top of a snowbank. “Take that! ” he yells, kickboxing the empty air. He follows up with a few rapid-fire karate chops, sound effects included. Quinn is not the biggest kid in our class, but he is fast. Not as fast as Randi Peterson, but still, pretty fast.

  Ice beads dangle from Quinn’s hat. He plants his lightning bolt gloves on his hips and says, “Had enough? ” to nobody. A second later his arm whips behind his back. “Arrrrgggghhhh! ”

  Quinn’s feet fly out from under him and he log rolls to the sidewalk. He lays at my feet, fake dead.

  “Hi, Quinn,” I say. “Um . . . what are you doing? ”

  Quinn squints an eye at me. “Warming up, ” he says. “For recess. ”

  There are always snowbanks on our playground in winter because a plow comes through and piles it up around our big square of blacktop. Everyone plays king of the mountain on the banks, even though we’re not supposed to push and shove at school.

  Quinn jumps up and scrambles to the top of the bank again, grunting and beating his chest like he’s the head snow monkey.

  I keep walking.

  Quinn’s little sister, Tess, and Rachel Drews waddle past me, following a connect-the-dots squirrel path in the snow.

  Jenna is keeping watch for the bus. A toy alligator is keeping her company. It’s almost as big as she is. She’s squeezing it around the middle so tight, I’m surprised stuffing isn’t oozing out of its red felt mouth.

  I study the alligator’s fat fuzzy body and glassy green eyes. “Planning to do a little wrestling at school? ” I ask Jenna.

  Jenna gives me a squint. “Ha, ha, ” she says. “It’s Rachel’s. She had to bring it for show-and-tell. My mom was feeling sick, so I’m stuck hauling it to her classroom. ”

  “Your mom is sick? ” I ask.

  “Just temporarily,” Jenna replies. “And just in the morning. She’ll feel better this afternoon. ”

  “Well, it’s nice of you to help her, ” I say.

  “I’m not doing it to be nice,” Jenna says. “I’m doing it because I have to. ” She puckers her mouth like a raisin. “Jenna,” she says in a fake-mom voice. “In this family we support and encourage each other. Now pick up that alligator and get to school! ”

  Jenna huffs and squeezes the alligator tighter. “My mom can be such a boss. ”

  A minute later, the school bus comes around the corner and we all climb on.

  When we get to school, Jenna, Rachel, Tess, and the alligator head to the kindergarten wing. Quinn zooms past me, catching up to Zane and Rusty. Zane has his arm in a cast.

  “What happened to you? ” I overhear Quinn ask Zane.

  “Went sledding on Ricochet Ridge,” Zane replies.

  “Whoa . . .” Quinn says. “What did you do? Hit a tree? ”

  “Nah,” Zane says. “Rusty dared me to go down standing up. ”

  Rusty bobs his head.

  “I would’ve made it too,” Zane continues, “if some little kid hadn’t been poking along in front of me. ”

  “Yeah,” Rusty says. “Zaney did a backside one eighty right over the kid! I swear he was airborne for five, ten seconds before he hit the hill. ”

  “Snap, crackle, pop,” Zane says. “Busted my arm in three places. ”

  “Cool, ” Quinn says.

  I hurry past the boys and head for the fourth-grade wing. I want to see Stacey before the bell rings.

  As soon as I get there I notice the floor is as shiny as it was on the first day of school. Mr. Benson, our custodian, must have spent his holiday break scrubbing and waxing.

  When I get to our coatroom, I hang up my jacket, kick off my boots, and slip on my sneakers. Then I pull my new box of oil pastels out of my backpack and go out to the hallway to find Stacey. But Randi Peterson finds me first.

  Randi holds a bright orange basketball up to my nose. “Smell it, ” she says.

  I take a sniff. “Smells like you got a new basketball for Christmas, ” I say.

  Randi nods and presses her nose against it. She closes her eyes and breathes in. “Ahhhh . . .” she says. “There’s nothin’ like the smell of a new basketball. ” Then she opens her eyes. “I’m gonna baby it too. So it’ll smell longer. ”

  “Good plan, ” I say. “Did you get anything else? ”

  “The usual, ” Randi says, bouncing the b
all on the shiny floor. “Books from my grandma. Clothes from my mom and dad. Video games from my brothers so they can play with them. Stuff like that. How about you? ”

  “I got this, ” I say, holding up my box of oil pastels.

  “Crayons? ” Randi says.

  “Not crayons, ” I reply. “Oil pastels. Like real artists use.” I turn the box over and show her the pict ure of Arielle LaFayette, Award-Winning Artist.

  Randi studies the picture for a moment. “That’s all you got? ” she asks.

  I fidget a little. “Well, no, but this is the best I got. ”

  “Huh, ” she says, and sniffs her basketball.

  Just then, I see Stacey walking toward us. I smile and wave, but she doesn’t wave back because she’s busy unzipping her shiny silver jacket and talking to Brooke.

  It’s no fun waving to someone who isn’t waving back, so I pull my hand down and swallow my smile.

  Stacey takes off her fuzzy purple earmuffs. They must be new, because I’ve never seen them before. Stacey looks kind of new too. Different. Her hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, which makes her look even taller than she did the last time I saw her, ten days ago. Plus, she’s wearing a new outfit. It’s the matching kind you see in girls’ magazines. Red jumper. Blue turtleneck. Striped tights. White boots with furry trim and jingle bells at the ends of the laces.

  Brooke has her long, dark hair pulled up into a high ponytail too. Only it’s a lot curlier than usual. Like her head grew springs. It matches Stacey’s ponytail perfectly and for one tiny second I wonder if they planned it.

  I fiddle with the edge of my same old sweatshirt and squeak the toe of my same old sneaker against the floor. I got new clothes for Christmas too. Stuff from the Mish Mosh, which is my favorite store at the mall. Skinny jeans and two sweaters. Bright red baby-doll shirt and a matching bag. But I was so excited to see Stacey and to show her my oil pastels, I forgot to wear any of it.

  Stacey jingles up to me and Randi. “Hi, you guys!” she says. She gives my arm a friendly squeeze.

  “Hi! ” I say back. “I like your new clothes. ”

  “Thanks! ” Stacey replies. “They’re from my dad. ” She does a little step-turn like a model on a runway.