Bad Best Friend

by Rachel Vail

  “In the, in Noah’s . . . never mind.”

  “That does sound like a weird thing for her to say,” Mom agreed. “She was always a mean old lady. But she said to stand with your best friend?”

  “Maybe that’s not what she said,” Dad said. “That doesn’t sound like something a teacher . . .”

  “I know!” I said. “But that is what she said! I was there.”

  “Oof, that is awkward,” Mom said. “So everybody has to . . .”

  “Right?”

  “It’s so unfair to put you all in that position. So inappropriate.”

  “Exactly,” I said, relieved, fortified. “We’re not even supposed to admit we have best friends. And there we are, splitting like atoms . . .”

  Dad laughed but Danny pointed at me with his fork and said, “The opposite of atoms, actually. Atoms split into two separate things. I think you mean like molecules.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Whatever.”

  Danny yelled, “Atoms and molecules are not the same!”

  “Niki,” Mom said. “Please don’t say whatever to your brother. It sounds dismissive.”

  “Fine,” I said. “Sorry. May I be dismissed?”

  “Niki!”

  “Excused,” I said. “I meant excused. May I be excused?”

  I cleared my plate without waiting for an answer.

  “Atoms and molecules couldn’t be more different,” Danny said.

  “I’m gonna go do my homework,” I said, at the sink, rinsing my rice and peas down the garbage disposal.

  “Maybe we should play a game,” Mom said. “Or watch a movie? As a family? Celebrate the game ball winner?”

  “MVP,” Danny said. “Which means Most Valuable Player. Because I—”

  “I have some stuff I need to get done,” I interrupted, imitating Dad.

  “Me too,” Dad said, not catching it.

  “I have to watch my shows,” Danny said. “I have four still unwatched. . . . I’m falling behind on two shows. You said I could, Mom. You did. You said. Remember?”

  When I left the kitchen, I could hear Mom doing her deep breathing again.

  6

  I WOKE UP really early and didn’t hit snooze even once.

  I don’t need to be a weird droopy emo kid at school. Smiles, sunshine, and a quick cleanup make everything better! I did twenty push-ups, twenty sit-ups, twenty jumping jacks, and twenty burpees—the workout Ava and I tried to do every day over the summer but sometimes I was lazy about—then got in the shower. Lots of conditioner. Shaved my legs while I let it sit in my hair, because my big out-of-control lion’s mane of hair needs help to have any chance of being sleek and tame.

  I’m pretty good at shaving my legs now. Mom warned when I begged to shave the summer before sixth grade that once you start, you can’t stop. “You can’t go backward,” she said. I don’t know why you can’t. But I don’t want to stop anyway. I like them smooth.

  Smoothed my hair into a high ponytail.

  Just be positive, I reminded myself. Smooth. Nothing bothers me. That way, no matter what happens, I can’t be hurt.

  A dab of the lip gloss Ava gave me the week before school started. Her mom bought one for each of us, just because Ava mentioned wanting it. Ava gets anything she wants, without even fully asking for it. She doesn’t get an allowance or have any chores, she just . . .

  No. This is probably why Ava is feeling annoyed with me—maybe she’s right that I am low-key judgmental and critical. She doesn’t always want to have to think about the moral thing, or privilege, she said one time this past summer. Maybe I am annoying. I don’t want to be annoying. I dabbed on a little extra lip gloss.

  My stomach was too clenched for breakfast. Ava and her mom never eat breakfast; they just drink a cup each of apple cider vinegar tea, grimacing the whole time. I looked in the cabinet. Pop-Tarts. No vinegar of any kind.

  Mom was quizzing Danny on what he wanted to do about his birthday party. He was ignoring her.

  “The Mad Scientist?” Mom suggested. “You like science. And wasn’t that a fun party Niki had? When she turned nine? Do you remember that?”

  “Yes,” Danny agreed.

  “So should I call her?”

  “I don’t want the Mad Scientist. I don’t want a party.”

  “Well, we need to have a birthday party!” Mom said.

  “Why?” Danny asked.

  “Because, well, because it’s your birthday! You already gave out the invitations, Danny, remember? I put everybody’s names on the envelopes, you picked the truck invitations?”

  No response.

  “Remember?”

  “You said no to the ones I wanted.”

  “Those were . . . We compromised, Danny. Now we’re just talking about the theme, not the invitations.”

  “You said invitations.”

  “Let’s discuss entertainment, buddy. Not about whether to have a party. You’re turning nine!”

  “I know that,” Danny said.

  “Can we get going?” I asked.

  “It’s still early,” Mom told me. “Danny, do you have an opinion on theme? Or should I just make it a surprise?”

  “I don’t like surprises.”

  “Okay,” Mom said. “What do you like?”

  “Garbage.”

  Danny loves garbage. He loves the trash collectors and Oscar the Grouch and the garbage truck. It was cuter when he was four.

  “That doesn’t sound very festive,” Mom explained.

  No response.

  “Maybe a firefighter theme?” Mom suggested.

  Danny grunted. It wasn’t a particularly negative grunt. His big, round eyes were steady-focused on the game he was playing.

  Mom glanced at me, and shrugged.

  I shrugged back. “Should we head out?”

  Danny was slowly, slowly eating his cereal, still in his pajamas.

  Some kids like Isabel are a team with their brothers and sisters against the parents, sharing secrets and covering for each other. Playdates at her house were always fun but so intense, just kids everywhere, everybody building something or making messes, so much louder and more crazytown than my house ever is. I always felt scared but also envious of the mess and joy at Isabel’s, back when I used to go there.

  Milo and Robby had a different kind of thing, not a hundred voices in their house but more like one, the two of them together. I remember when we were younger, when we still played together all the time, Milo told me one time that he and Robby lied to their parents and said Milo had tripped and fallen down the stairs to their cellar, when Robby had actually pushed him. I asked why he would lie to cover for Robby like that, when wasn’t he actually mad? And shouldn’t Robby get punished? Milo just shrugged. I think he had no idea what I meant at all. In fifth grade on school picture day when Milo was sick, Robby got back in line, messed up his hair a little, and said he was Milo, so Milo wouldn’t miss out on having fifth-grade pictures.

  They live next door to us. Those boys are always fighting with each other, but then they stand up for each other in a heartbeat. They’re identical twins, and obviously they’re best friends. They don’t have to think for a split second if they’re going to stand next to each other for a stupid gym class thing. If old bible Noah came around and said, Load up the ark, two by two, it’s completely obvious Milo’s partner would always be Robby.

  It’s not just because Danny is four grades behind me that I don’t have anything like that with him. It’s usually Mom and Dad and me, as a team, dealing with Danny.

  Which is good. And also, not.

  “I’ll wait in the car,” I said.

  “Aren’t you eating?” Mom asked.

  “I’ll take a bar,” I said, grabbing one from the glass jar on the counter. “I can’t be late today. I’m kind of lost
.”

  “Okay,” Mom said, flashing her broad smile vaguely in my direction. She obviously hadn’t really heard me, or she’d be interrogating me: Lost? What do you mean lost? Is everything okay, Niki? Driving me nuts with her million questions. Instead she had already turned back to Danny. “Hey, Danny?” she was asking. “Can you look at me, so I know you’re listening?”

  Can you look at me so I know you’re listening? I thought.

  I put my sneakers on in the hall, grabbed my scooter, and went to the garage.

  Mom drives us in the morning and I scoot home with Ava. Well, usually. Maybe I should start scooting to school. I checked my phone. No texts, nothing new on Insta or anywhere else. At least nobody was doing anything interesting, leaving me out.

  Sometimes I wish we had a separate middle school here, like they do some places. Next year I’ll be at the high school and not be late because of Danny, since I’ll definitely have to go independently. I guess I’ll have to ride my bike. It’ll take too long to scoot.

  Maybe I’m too old to be scooting already. I have a bike. I shouldn’t be scared of riding it at this late point in my life.

  7

  AVA WAS WITH the Squad, sitting by their lockers, when I walked in. I put a smile on my face and pressed my shoulders back. I wasn’t schlumping into school, some chubby, schlubby loser trying to disappear. Everything’s fine. Smiles, sunshine, blah blah blah . . .

  I waved casually at the Squad and kept walking.

  “Hi, Niki!” Isabel called.

  I glanced over. She was waving, smiling, no snark. She’s the nicest of the Squad, super friendly to everybody, the one I like best by a lot. Much better than Britney, who was whispering into Ava’s ear while clutching her sleeve and sliding her eyes sideways toward me. Ugh, Britney. Get over yourself.

  I waved back, at Isabel. I could see being friends with Isabel, honestly.

  “Oh, Niki!” Madeleine yelled. “Did you do the math?”

  Being mean or normal? Friendly? Hard to tell with Madeleine. Are they trying to get me and Ava into the Squad? Would I want to be? I mean, they are the most popular girls. And they’re nice, really. Not nasty like “the popular group” in movies or TV. Fun, and happy. They laugh a lot. They whisper to each other. But there’s nothing so bad about whispering. Maybe Britney is a little spoiled, but then so is Ava, and she’s my best friend. Britney is fierce, though, where Ava is fragile. If you know her. Maybe she seems fierce too, from the outside, from a distance. Maybe even Britney is fine, and actually wants to be friends with me.

  I realized I was just standing there in the hall thinking mean and hopeful thoughts about them instead of answering.

  “Yeah,” I finally said. “Um. How about you?” I balanced my folded scooter on my foot. Ava was bent over her crossed legs, not looking at me.

  “I tried doing every problem,” Madeleine said. “But . . .”

  “You tried, but,” Britney said, and laughed. Madeleine laughed along easily. Ava and Isabel joined in. I smiled, laughed a tiny bit, though I wasn’t sure what was funny.

  “In between texting Robby, you tried, but,” Britney added.

  Madeleine shrugged. “I suck at math; I can’t help it,” she said.

  I smiled bigger, trying to look friendly. Smiles, sunshine. She was texting Robby?

  Are they a thing? Madeleine and Robby? I mean, sure. Maybe. They’re both very cute. Robby’s less, like, sweet than Milo. Less thoughtful. She likes Robby better? I mean, if you could choose, why would you choose Robby? But, sure. Robby and Madeleine? Does Milo text any of them?

  “Niki’s good at math,” Isabel said. “Maybe she could help you.”

  “Sure,” I said, too loud, too eager to stop thinking about Milo. “Happy to.”

  “You don’t have to,” Madeleine said. “If you’re busy.” She tucked her hair behind her right ear. It’s her elf ear, because it has a little point on it. It made her super popular and a little scary in first grade, when she showed us all. She’s always been tiny and delicate, so it made complete sense to me and Holly at the time that Madeleine might be part elf. And now, that Robby might like her. Some people like elves.

  “It’s fine!” I said. Too loud again. I meant to sound enthusiastic but might have overshot it and landed on psycho.

  Ava turned and glared at me. Her heart-shaped mouth was in a bit of a frown. Did she want me to say sure, or sorry, no, not helping you, you elf, why don’t you ask Robby for help if you’re so busy texting him? STOPPP.

  “I can look at it with you in homeroom, if you want,” I said quickly. “Or not, whatever. I don’t know if I got it all right, but . . .”

  I did know. I got it all right. We were still reviewing the math we did last year. Plus, that’s the thing about math—you can check. You know if you got it right, and if you didn’t, you messed up somewhere and it’s findable. Unlike in English essays or social studies, where you just write and write, and the teacher’s opinion is unknowable. The super-fun humanities game of Guess what’s in the teacher’s mind. Though I have always found that if you throw in a few good vocab words like inexorable or unfathomable, you get an automatic A. They were all staring at me. My turn to talk again? Had they asked me something?

  “Um,” I said. “But, or, Ava could definitely help, I bet. . . .”

  Nope, wrong answer. Ava shook her head and bent down over her lap again, doodling on her sneakers with her ballpoint pen. Her mom doesn’t mind that.

  Ava and I like school. We like going all out on projects, especially. I mean, why not have fun with it? The Squad tends to do the bare minimum. Ava is really creative, super smart. She could probably help Madeleine, even with math, which is her least favorite subject, and she’s sitting right there. But, no. Wrong. That, at least, was clear.

  Ava is so confusing. But of course, that’s part of why I love her.

  I shrugged and went to my locker. It took some work to shove my scooter in. When I closed the door, Ava was there.

  “Whoa!” I said, startled.

  “Are you mad at me?” she whispered.

  “No,” I whispered back. “Are you mad at me?”

  “No. You don’t have to make everything about you.”

  “I’m not,” I said. “I just, Ava, why are you being . . .”

  “I’m allowed to have other friends, Niki.”

  “Of course you are,” I said. “I didn’t . . .”

  “So just chill. Okay? You don’t have to be all . . .”

  “I’m totally, I’m chill! She asked me to help. I said okay. I didn’t, I, everything is great, with me. I’m not all ANYTHING. I’m completely chill!”

  “Niki, don’t lie to me, okay?” Ava’s voice was excessively calm. “You’re the most honest person I know. Don’t start fake-smiling at me like I’m new.”

  “Did I do something wrong?” I was trying not to cry, hating myself for asking the exact question I swore to myself I wouldn’t ask her today.

  “No.”

  “So then, what’s going on?”

  “You don’t have to make a whole drama of everything. . . .”

  “I’m fully not, Ava,” I said. “I’m just asking what’s up.”

  “Let’s just, let’s not do this here, okay? Talk after school, maybe?”

  “So, something is wrong?”

  “Talk later,” she said. “I just, I don’t . . . I can’t do this here. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said.

  She turned and hurried off toward homeroom.

  I sat down against my locker.

  I was in no rush to get there. Anywhere.

  “You going to homeroom?”

  I looked up. Holly. Her dark hair was a fluffy blur around her face, and she had some cute little barrettes in it. She was chewing on her lower lip.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’m just, I’l
l be there soon.”

  She nodded.

  “See you there,” I said, to encourage her to go, leave me alone.

  She nodded again, but didn’t budge.

  “I’m just, ummm . . .”

  “Do you want a Fisherman’s Friend?”

  “A . . . sorry, a what?” Was she literally out of a fairy-tale book, like we used to pretend together we were—mystic fairy princesses full of magical powers, or trusted friends of sea sprites who would come to the aid of the lost sailors we imagined we could see just beyond the horizon as we played on the sand at Town Beach?

  “It’s a kind of lozenge,” Holly said.

  “A . . . what?” I was stuck on the idea she was offering me a tiny magical companion.

  She reached into her bag, which looked like a burlap sack on a long, woven ribbon she wore cross-body style, and pulled out a small white packet, out of which she fished a small brown dusty-looking oval. She held it out to me in her open palm.

  “They’re disgusting,” she said.

  I had to laugh. “Then why would I want it?”

  “They’re also powerful. Powerful and disgusting. Much like myself.”

  I laughed. She’s so weird and funny, and doesn’t hold in either part of herself.

  “They’re not a drug or anything,” she added. “They’re from the grocery store.”

  “Much like myself,” I said.

  She laughed. “Exactly. And, like you, they open your head up.”

  “Open your head?”

  “Not like a craniectomy or anything.”

  “A craney . . . okay, that’s good, then, I guess?”

  She tilted her head and smiled for another flash of a second. “Your sinuses. And they taste super intense.”

  “Um, so, no thanks,” I said. “Why would anyone . . .”

  “Sometimes, while I’m sucking on one, I’m thinking, wow, if I can manage this, the rest of my day is cake.”

  I laughed. “Okay, then,” I said, and took it. “I’m down for a cake day.”

  She dug one out for herself and popped it into her mouth. “Good luck,” she said as she walked away.