My Best Frenemy

by Julie Bowe

When we get to my room, Jenna sets her stuff by my bed and walks over to my fish tank. “Is this your new fish? ” she asks, tapping on the glass.

  I set the brownies on my desk. “Good guess,” I say.

  My fish darts behind the pirate. “Not very friendly, is he? ” Jenna taps on the glass harder.

  “He’s just a little shy around strangers, ” I say.

  “We had a fish once, ” Jenna says. “Two, actually. We won them at a fair. ”

  “What happened to them? ” I ask.

  Jenna shrugs. “Died. Flushed. ” She darts her eyes at me. “It was Rachel’s fault. She never fed them. ”

  I walk over to the tank and sprinkle fish food onto the water. “I’ve heard that can be bad for a fish. ”

  My fish darts back and forth, chasing the sinking flakes.

  “Wow, look at him go! ” Jenna says. “You should name him Zippy. ”

  “Zippy? ” I say.

  Jenna nibbles on the end of her braid. “Well, maybe not Zippy, exactly. That’s just short for something better. Like . . . Zippopotamus. ”

  “Tom said I should just ask my fish what he wants his name to be. ”

  Jenna snorts. “And everyone thinks he’s such a brain. ”

  I shrug. “It’s worth a try. ”

  I tap on the fish tank. “Hello, fish, ” I say. “I was just wondering what you want your name to be. ”

  Jenna rolls her eyes.

  I lean over the top of the tank and cup my hair behind my ear. My fish swims to the surface and nips at a flake.

  Jenna moves in closer. “What’s he saying? ”

  “Just pic, pic, pic . . .” I reply.

  “That’s not a name,” Jenna says. “Not unless it’s short for something like . . . Pickles or . . . Piccolo. ”

  “Or Picasso, ” I say.

  “That’s it, ” Jenna says. “Picasso. Pic for short. ”

  I look into the tank again. “Pic? ” I say to my fish. “Is that your name? ”

  “Of course it is,” Jenna says. “Just look at him. He’s a mess of colors and shapes like the old guy’s paintings. ”

  “Pic . . . pic . . . pic! ” my fish says.

  I give Jenna a smile. “You’re right, ” I say.

  Jenna nods. Then she flicks back her braids and heads for my bed. “We should do our homework now,” she says, unzipping her backpack. “Concrete poems? ”

  “Good plan, ” I say.

  Jenna pulls out a notebook. “You should write one about your new fish, ” she says. “And I’ll write one about my new—”

  Jenna presses her lips together.

  “New what?” I ask, grabbing the brownies and walking over to her.

  “My new . . . dog,” she says. “Biscuit.” She opens her notebook and grabs the box of oil pastels from my nightstand. She takes out a brown stick and starts doodling a square dog.

  I frown. “You’ve had Biscuit for more than a year. That’s not new. ”

  Jenna gives the square dog triangle ears. She doesn’t answer.

  I take a big, brave breath. “What about your new . . . baby? ” I say quietly. “You could write a poem about that. ”

  Jenna stops doodling. She looks up at me.

  “How did you know? ” she asks.

  “My dad told me,” I say, sitting down on my bed. “This morning. ” I take a brownie and set the plate between us. “He didn’t know it was a secret. ” I take a bite. “Is it a secret? ”

  Jenna takes a blue stick out of the box. “Sort of,” she says. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone yet. Especially not Rachel. ” She draws a circle near the dog—a ball maybe—and fills it in blue.

  “Why not? ”

  “Because sometimes babies don’t . . . stick . . . for my mom, ” she says. “She wants to be sure this one does before Rachel knows about it. She didn’t even want me to know, but I overheard her on the phone with her doctor, so I made her spill the beans. ”

  Jenna turns to a clean page in her notebook. “Let’s get started. ”

  I set my brownie down and pull my backpack toward me. I take out my notebook and turn to a clean page too.

  “Maybe they’ll let you pick a name for it,” I say. “The baby, I mean. ”

  “Maybe, ” Jenna says.

  “Not Zippy, though, ” I say.

  Jenna picks up a brownie and takes a bite. “Good plan. ”

  Chapter 17

  I wait until Thursday morning to ask Mom if I can go to Brooke’s sleep-over on Friday night.

  Mom laughs. “No way,” she says, setting a bowl of oatmeal in front of me at our kitchen table. “Not unless you get your chores done, starting with that fish. We made a deal last week, remember? You were supposed to change the filter before we went shopping, but you didn’t, did you? ”

  “Fine,” I say. “I’ll clean the filter as soon as I get home from school. I mean, as soon as I get home from the Purdee Good. It’s cookie day with Stacey. ” I pick up my spoon and stir the lumps in my oatmeal. “Sugar, please? ”

  Mom snatches up the sugar container. Then she takes my bowl of oatmeal. “Change the filter, ” she says. “Then eat. Then I’ll drive you to school. ”

  “But—”

  “Now.”

  I slide off my chair and trudge to my room.

  Touching the fish filter is the worst thing ever. Even worse than touching Dylan Anderson’s shoe. Not that I have, but still.

  “How can you live like this? ” I ask my fish as I pull the dirty filter out. It looks like something you would step on in a swamp. It smells like it too.

  I drop the filter into a bucket.

  I slide a new filter into place and plug in the motor again. Water gurgles. My fish swims in happy circles. The pirate lifts his jug.

  “If you changed it more often, it wouldn’t be so gross, ” Mom says from my bedroom doorway.

  I pick up the bucket. “Can I go to Brooke’s sleep-over now? ”

  “Yes,” Mom says. “And after you throw away the old filter and wash your hands, you can have your oatmeal. ”

  I look into the bucket. “Maybe just toast,” I say, and head for the garbage.

  The bell is ringing when I get to school, so I hurry to hang up my stuff and join everyone else inside our classroom.

  I slip my concrete poem into the homework basket on Mr. Crow’s desk. I drew a fish shape and wrote my poem inside it. Jenna was there. She said, “The fish could be better, but you rhymed the poem good. ”

  Then I take the long way around the desk square so I can walk past Stacey.

  “I get to go to Brooke’s sleep-over tomorrow, ” I whisper to her.

  “Good! ” Stacey whispers back.

  I do a half smile. “Are we going to the Purdee Good after dance today? ” I ask.

  “Of course, ” Stacey says. “Like always. ”

  This time I do a whole smile.

  All day long it’s sleep-over this and sleep-over that. The more Brooke and the other girls talk about it, the more I pinch my earlobes. My fingernails are sharp enough to leave dents in them. But they’re not as sharp as needles.

  Brooke says I won’t feel a thing when Meeka pierces my ears because they will freeze them with ice first. But I’m not so sure. I kept my ears uncovered for our whole afternoon recess. They were red and stinging when I got back inside. But when I pressed my fingernails into them I could still feel the pinch.

  There are only a couple of people in the Purdee Good when I get there after walking Stacey to Miss Woo’s after school. I scoot onto a stool by the counter and slip off my backpack. I unzip my jacket and pull off my mittens and earmuffs.

  “Those look just like Stacey’s earmuffs,” Kelli says as she sets a glass of milk in front of me.

  “They are Stacey’s,” I reply. “We swapped for a while. ”

  Kelli smiles. “My best friend Barb and I used to swap stuff all the time when we were kids. Hats. Clothes. Shoes. We were exactly the same size until eighth grade. ”
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  “Then what happened? ”

  “Then Barb grew up and I grew . . . out. ” Kelli does a little laugh.

  “Did you stay best friends? ”

  “No, not really,” she says. “We were still friends, just not best friends. In high school, Barb was into sports and I was into books and—well—boys. ” Kelli looks past me, thinking. “We sort of . . . drifted. ”

  I take a sip of milk.

  Kelli clears away a couple of coffee cups. “Cookie? ” she asks.

  “No thanks,” I say. “I’ll wait until Stacey gets here. ”

  Kelli sets the dirty cups in a plastic bin and starts wiping the counter with a damp rag. She hums while she works and her earrings sparkle under the warm café lights. I study them for a minute.

  “Did it hurt? ” I ask.

  Kelli glances at me. “Did what hurt? ”

  “Getting your ears pierced. ”

  Kelli stops wiping. “Yes, ” she says. “A little. ”

  I nod. “That’s what I thought. ”

  Kelli walks over to me and leans against the counter. “Are you thinking about getting your ears pierced, Ida? ” she asks.

  “A little, ” I say.

  Kelli tosses the rag into the bin with the dirty cups and looks at me again. “If you’re worried about it, I’m sure Stacey would go with you. In fact, she just went with Brooke to that piercing boutique at the mall, so she’s all practiced up. ”

  I nod again and sip my milk.

  Kelli smiles. “That’s what best friends are for, right? To hold your hand through the tough stuff? ”

  “I guess, ” I say.

  A couple of people come into the café and Kelli gets busy with her job again. I take my milk to one of the booths and watch snowflakes fall outside the big café window. The streetlights blink on, making patches of the sidewalk look warm and golden. But it’s still cold and gray around the edges.

  Stacey and the other girls come out of Miss Woo’s. They laugh and throw snow and shout good-bye to each other. Brooke, Meeka, and Jolene climb into cars and drive away. Jenna walks down the sidewalk by herself. Stacey waits for the street to clear and then crosses over to me.

  The door jingles. “Hi! ” Stacey sings. She hangs up her stuff on the coat tree.

  “Hi, Stace, ” Kelli says, leaning across the counter to give her a kiss. “How was dance? ”

  “Good, ” she says, scooting in across from me. “We started working on our dance for the spring recital. It’s pretty hard, but Brooke and I are going to practice on the weekends when I don’t have to go to Dad’s. ”

  Kelli brings Stacey a glass of milk and sets a giant cookie between us.

  “You and Brooke? ” Kelli says.

  Stacey nods and breaks the cookie in half. “We get to do a duet. It’s going to be the best part of the whole recital! ”

  Stacey eats her half of the cookie and tells me all about the dance they’re going to do, and how she hopes their recital costumes will be purple and sparkly, and how Miss Woo told her she was born to be a dancer and that she and Brooke are a perfect match for the duet.

  I nod and smile while she talks.

  But on the inside I’m thinking about best friends and how they don’t always match. Like Brooke and Jenna. They were best friends until this year. Now they are best enemies. And me and Stacey. We’re best friends, I know we are. But now she’s Brooke’s best friend too. Maybe Brooke matches her better than me.

  Dear Stella,

  Mr. Crow liked my concrete poem so much he hung it up on the board in our classroom today. Actually, he hung up everyone’s poems, but still, mine was pretty good. I even have it memorized:

  Jenna’s poem was the shortest one. She wrote it in a circle. The hollow kind:

  She must have been feeling sad when she wrote it because of fighting with Brooke and because of keeping the secret about her new baby. That’s probably why she used my blue oil pastel stick. Because blue can be a sad color. Like that sad guitar player Mr. Picasso drew.

  And the circle makes me think of the way birds fly around and around when they’re Looking for someplace to Land or for something to eat. Only in the poem, Jenna isn’t Looking for a tree branch or a bug.

  Bye,

  Ida

  Chapter 18

  My dad drives me to Brooke’s house for the sleep-over.

  “Have fun! ” he says as we pull up to her house.

  “I’ll try, ” I say, reaching for my stuff.

  “Everything okay? ” Dad asks.

  I shrug. “Sure, ” I say. “Everything’s fine. ”

  “You just seem a little down lately. Did you and Stacey have a fight? ”

  “No, ” I say. “We’re fine too. ”

  A car pulls up in front of us. Meeka and Jolene pile out and run up the steps to Brooke’s front door. Meeka’s dad turns and waves to us before driving away.

  “Do you want to skip this one?” Dad asks. “There’ll be other sleep-overs. ”

  I think about how easy it would be to skip it. And how hard. If I don’t go, everyone will be mad at me all over again. And I’d still have to do a triple-dog dare some other time. Maybe a worse one. Although getting poked with a needle sounds like the worst one to me.

  I glance at Dad. “I’ll be okay. ”

  Dad gives me half a smile. Then he leans over and gives me a hug. “Easy on the soda, ” he whispers in my ear. “And watch out for toothpaste on the toilet seat. ”

  “I will, ” I say.

  I hug him back a little longer than usual.

  I climb out of the car and get my sleeping bag from the backseat.

  “Bye, ” I say.

  “Bye, Ida, ” Dad replies. “Have fun. ”

  I close the door.

  Stacey opens Brooke’s front door when I ring the bell.

  “Ida! ” she sings. “You’re here! ”

  “Yep, ” I say. “You too. ”

  “I’ve been here forever! ” Stacey says, all breathless. “Brooke made me come early to help make the pagoda. ”

  “The what? ”

  “The pagoda,” Stacey says, pulling me inside and closing the door. “It’s like a tent. We hung sheets over chairs and strung up Christmas lights. Meeka will pierce your ears inside it! ”

  “A piercing pagoda, ” I say.

  “Exactly, ” Stacey says back. “C’mon! The party’s this way! ” She takes my stuff and heads for the staircase.

  I toss my jacket onto a pile of others that are spilling off a bench. Stacey’s, Randi’s, Meeka’s, and Jolene’s.

  Stacey stops on the stairs and turns halfway back to me. “Did you notice?” she asks, fluttering her eyelids.

  “Is that . . . mascara? ” I study Stacey’s clumpy eyelashes. “And eyeliner? ”

  Stacey nods. “Jade did it. She even did Randi! Wait ’til you see. She’s going to do everyone’s makeup as long as we don’t bug her all night. ”

  Stacey starts up the stairs again and I follow along, remembering that Brooke’s parents are at a dinner tonight. They called to let my mom and dad know that Jade’s in charge until they get home.

  I’ve been to Brooke’s house a couple of times for birthday parties, but this is the first time I’ve been upstairs. Stacey leads me down a long hallway. The floor is covered with squishy pink carpet. It’s like walking on a tongue. The walls are covered with pictures of Jade and Brooke. A door is open at the far end of the hallway. Music pours out of it. Some boy band. I see Randi sifting through a stack of CDs. Brooke, Meeka, and Jolene are tossing pillows into a pagoda.

  “Don’t use this bathroom, ” Stacey says as we walk past a closed door. “Brooke’s mom is having it redecorated. ”

  The next door we walk past is closed too. Music booms from behind it. Big, hollow notes that pound against my chest. It sounds like the stuff my dad listens to when my mom’s not home. A poster is tacked to the door. It has a picture of a lady wearing an old-fashioned cape over a long dress. Her dark hair i
s pulled up under a tall hat that looks like an upside-down bucket. She’s holding a cane. Or maybe it’s a whip. Next to her it says, “I do not want people to be very agreeable as it saves me the trouble of liking them a great deal. ” Jane Austen.

  “Jade’s room,” Stacey says, glancing at the poster. “Don’t go in there either. ”

  Brooke pokes her head out from the room at the end of the hall. “There you are!” she says to Stacey. “I thought you got lost! ”

  “Ida’s here! ” Stacey says. “I’m giving her the tour. ”

  “Well, hurry up. We still have a ton of stuff to do. ”

  Brooke ducks back inside her bedroom. The music coming from Jade’s room fades a little and I hear chimes.

  “Doorbell! ” Stacey says.

  “I’ll get it, ” I offer. “Brooke needs you. ”

  “Thanks,” Stacey says. She hurries down the hallway to Brooke’s room. I head downstairs.

  I pull open the front door. Jenna is standing on the other side.

  “You’re here!” I say, trying to sound as sparkly as Stacey.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” Jenna says back. “I did get invited, you know. ”

  “I know, ” I say, stepping aside.

  Jenna walks in and I take her stuff.

  “You can leave your coat there, ” I say, nodding toward the bench. “Then I’ll show you the way.”

  “I know the way,” Jenna says, dumping her coat. “I practically lived here when Brooke and I were best friends. ”

  Jenna trudges up the stairs.

  I rearrange her stuff in my arms and trudge up too.

  At first, everything is just like an ordinary sleep-over. We bounce on Brooke’s bed, eat junk food, and laugh while Randi lip-syncs to songs in her glittery makeup and camo clothes. We even sneak down the hall to Jade’s room and press our ears against her door, biting back giggles.

  “What’s she doing in there? ” Jolene whispers.

  “Who knows, ” Brooke whispers back. “Just don’t let her catch you sneak—”

  Jade’s door flies open. We all stumble back.

  Jade glares at us. “What. ” She doesn’t say it like a question.

  Brooke steps up. “We just wanted to tell you that everyone is here, ” she says. “Can you finish doing our makeup now? ”