Friend or Fiction

by Abby Cooper

  “Homework-ly ever aaaaaaafter,” Jade sang over and over and over again. It was an off-key song with no real melody, but that didn’t stop her from singing it at the top of her lungs.

  Zoe did too. Then she got up, flapped her arms, and fluttered around the room. That was the thing about real, true best friends. You could say weird things and be random and sing terrible songs that had only three words. And instead of making fun of you or ditching you, your best friend would keep dancing with you.

  Zoe fluttered around the room a few more times until she got tired of dancing and Jade got tired of singing. They flopped onto Jade’s bed at the same time.

  “I guess we should actually do our homework,” Zoe said.

  “Probably,” Jade agreed. “Goodbye, magical homework birds who don’t actually exist.”

  “Goodbye, beautiful homework-ly ever after fairy tale of fun,” said Zoe.

  “Goodbye—”

  “Jade?”

  Goodbye Jade? I didn’t know exactly what I was going to write next, but that definitely wasn’t it.

  I looked up. The “Jade” hadn’t come from my brain like the rest of the story. It had come from Mrs. Wilson, who was staring at me like she had been waiting on me for a really long time. I pushed my notebook off my desk into my messenger bag and blinked about a thousand times.

  “Do you know the answer to the question, Jade?” Mrs. Wilson asked. She sighed. “I asked for the next step of the water cycle.”

  Last night I had totally done my homework, once Mom made me stop writing my latest Zoe story. But this water cycle stuff wasn’t as memorable as singing or dancing. Or anything I ever did with Zoe, really, even if it was all just happening in my head and in my notebook.

  From the seat next to me, Clue made a big display of hiding his face behind his hands and arms. He had a reputation for trying to help people when teachers asked tough questions, which is how he got his nickname. Even though I wasn’t going to forgive him for what happened this winter, I was really lucky to have him in so many of my classes. Particularly at this very moment.

  “Um…” I tried to look like I was thinking while sneakily glancing his way. I watched his long, thinly braided hair and his serious eyes, but I couldn’t figure it out. He wiggled his fingers like he was making jazz hands at the sky, and then covered his face again. Dancing? Disappearing inside a dance? A dance that made you disappear?

  “Oh!” I had it, finally. I sat up straighter. “Evaporation,” I told Mrs. Wilson.

  “You got it.”

  Clue lowered his jazz hands and shot me a smile. Even better than having Clue in my classes was the fact that none of the teachers stopped him, even when he was being really obvious. He never raised his hand or said the answers himself. He just gave them away to other people like little presents.

  Mrs. Wilson asked someone else a question, and I went to the front of the room to sharpen my pencil. It was risky to go back to my story after what had just happened, but I couldn’t stop now. I had so much more to write.

  I sat down and reached inside my bag when Mrs. Wilson was turned to the board. My hand couldn’t seem to find my notebook, which was kind of ridiculous considering how huge it was. I leaned over and rummaged through, but there was only my thin math book, a few extra pencils, an apple, and my very favorite lip balm that was strawberry flavored on one end and watermelon on the other.

  No notebook.

  I had to stay calm, but my heartbeat quickened, and my breath got caught somewhere deep inside me where it couldn’t come out. I took a few fast breaths. It was a notebook. It wasn’t like it grew feet and got up and walked down the hall to the vending machines for some chips. It wasn’t like it joined the water cycle and evaporated. It had to be around here somewhere.

  Only it wasn’t on the floor. It wasn’t behind me or in front of me or to the side. It had actually disappeared. I studied Clue. He could definitely be mean, but not in a notebook-thief kind of way. Except my bag was on the floor on the side of my desk closest to his. If anybody had snatched it when I went to sharpen my pencil, he would’ve seen it happen.

  “Have you seen my notebook?” I whispered to Clue.

  He just shrugged and made a face I couldn’t quite read.

  I sucked in a big breath and tried to hold in the tears that were filling the sides of my eyes. That notebook held all of my Zoe stories. Every single one. That notebook—and my ultimate best friend—were everything, and now they were gone.

  6

  A Blow-Your-Mind Surprise

  Mrs. Yang always says that good writers take risks. That they try things even if they’re not sure that the things will work out. After all, if something doesn’t work, you can cross it out and try it again a different way. But at least you won’t be stuck wondering if it could’ve been better had you just tried the thing you were scared to do.

  Maybe this wasn’t only true about writing. Maybe it was good to take risks in real life too.

  That’s why, as Clue gathered his stuff at the end of class, I tapped him on the shoulder, even though it felt about as comfortable as grabbing the pointy end of a pencil. He looked at me, and my breaths turned sharper, quicker, and angrier. We hadn’t really looked at each other like this since that time he showed me what a jerk he could be. I really did not need to be reminded of what a stink-fest that day had been.

  I swallowed. “I need a real answer,” I said. “Did you see someone take my notebook or not?”

  “Not exactly,” he said. “I didn’t see somebody take it. But that’s because the person who took it is me.”

  The answer came so quickly that I didn’t know what to say next. I didn’t know what I’d been expecting, but definitely not an immediate confession. If Clue were ever on one of those crime TV shows Dad watched all the time from his chair, it’d be the shortest episode in the world.

  I cleared my throat. “Okay. That’s…interesting. Why?”

  “Well, I know you write about Zoe all the time.”

  I frowned. I hated that he knew this.

  “And I wanted to borrow it for a little bit. It’s for an important experiment I’m doing that’s related.”

  My eyes narrowed. “An experiment that’s related?” I asked him. “What does that even mean? And even if it means something that I would be okay with, have you not heard of asking before you just take somebody’s stuff?”

  Clue looked at his feet. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I just wanted to…I don’t know. Can you just trust me?”

  I peered up at the big clock in the front of the room. We only had a minute before the bell rang and we’d both be forced out into the super-crowded hall where it’d be impossible to find a place to finish our talk.

  Clue looked at the clock too.

  “Can you just tell me more about what you’re doing? Or better yet, give my notebook back, Clue? It’s pretty personal.”

  “Not yet,” he said. “I’m sorry. I just need a little time.”

  I sucked in my cheeks as more words spilled out. “But it doesn’t matter if you need more time. It’s mine and I want it back.”

  “What if I told you that I was using it to give you a big surprise?”

  I folded my arms over my chest. “What kind of surprise?”

  His mouth curled into a smile. “If I told you, then it wouldn’t be a surprise anymore.”

  The bell rang, and I froze as everyone around me scattered. How could he do this? How? Did he know how much I needed Zoe? And as bad as it was for me to be without her, it would be worse for Dad. How was I going to read Dad today’s story when today’s story—and all the other stories—were in someone else’s hands? I tried to swallow the huge lump in my throat, but it wouldn’t budge. In fact, the more I tried to gulp it down, the bigger it got.

  I wanted to yell at Clue, to shake him, to shout, “Don’t you realize how impor
tant this is?” But all that came out was a whisper. “Please?”

  If he didn’t give it back now, he probably wouldn’t return it later today, either. And then it’d be the weekend and I’d have no chance of getting Zoe back until Monday, which might as well have been ten thousand million years away.

  He edged toward the door as the bell rang. “I’m going to take good care of your notebook. I promise. And if it works, which it should, the surprise will blow your mind.”

  But I didn’t want a surprise that would blow my mind, or any surprise. I just wanted Zoe.

  * * *

  The rest of the day went by in a blur. Whatever I ate for lunch didn’t taste like anything, whatever people were talking about I didn’t hear, and I had no idea what happened in the rest of my classes. I barely even heard Mrs. Yang when she asked, “Word count?” after lunch.

  I barely even said, “Zero,” before I teared up and walked away.

  I probably could have told Mrs. Yang. She probably could have gotten my notebook back for me. But wasn’t I a little old to tattle, even if I was in the middle of a mega crisis? It was like Mom said: If you have any problems that you think you might be able to work out on your own, well, it’d be really helpful if you tried.

  Obviously Mom and Dad still wanted me to deal with things on my own. That hadn’t changed since fourth grade. And it seemed like in sixth grade, most teachers wanted you to figure things out yourself too. Even the really nice ones who asked you how many words you’d written at lunch and whether you had any cool new Oppservations.

  After school Bo and I walked home and went into the den, where Dad sat in his chair in front of the TV as usual. His whole face lit up when he saw us, but instead of making me feel better, it made the lump in my throat feel like it had grown to the size of a balloon. A hot air balloon, that was. The kind that could fit our entire family, plus twelve thousand of our closest friends. How was I going to tell him my notebook was gone? Dad counted on hearing my stories after school, the same way I counted on things like eating and sleeping and breathing.

  “There are my…two…favorite kids,” he said. His voice went up at the end like a question. He peered at my empty arms. “Zoe taking a nap?” he asked.

  When I didn’t answer, he added, “Hey, why the long face? Is it me? I know I’m having a bad no-hair day, but there’s no need to look so sad about it.”

  I tried to smile but it was no use. My face was all, Thanks for the offer, but I’d rather stay worried.

  After Bo told him a story about his day, Dad’s eyes turned to me. “So? What’s going on, Jadey? How’s Zoe today?”

  I twisted my hands together. They were very sweaty all of a sudden.

  “She’s…um…yeah.”

  Well, that didn’t come out so great.

  I had to decide what to do, fast. Mom and Dad would worry if they knew what happened today, and worrying could land Dad right back in the hospital. Mom had basically told me so herself when she told me to deal with my problems without them. I had to be tough.

  “I wrote a scene where we sang and danced in my room last night,” I finally said. I didn’t mention that today in school she got kidnapped.

  Dad raised the spots on his face where his eyebrows should have been. His head-hairs weren’t the only ones that were missing.

  “Did this impromptu musical happen during homework time, by any chance?”

  I made a face. “I got it done, don’t worry. And I made sure Zoe got hers done too.”

  “It’s a good thing she’s got you to take care of her.” He squeezed my arm. “What’s on the agenda for the weekend?” Dad closed his eyes. Sometimes he liked to imagine my stories like movies in his head. He had seen all the real movies already, he told me. And anyway, mine were much better than anything he could find on our eight channels. Including the crime shows.

  I wanted to tell him we were living in a real-life crime show now. I wanted to tell him about Clue stealing my notebook so bad it hurt, but I couldn’t. The idea of Clue reading my stories made me too anxious to even mention anything about it. I’d just have to figure it out myself, like I’d been trying to do whenever any problem came along.

  I’d figure. It. Out.

  And until that happened, I’d lie.

  “We have some super fun stuff planned this weekend,” I said. I tried to imagine what I would write about if I still had my notebook. I could write on something else, sure, but it wouldn’t be the same. Mrs. Yang always said that looking at your old work could give you ideas for new stuff. If I couldn’t write in my notebook, I didn’t want to write at all.

  “We might go for a walk,” I said, “or make some funny videos to put online, or try to bake something, maybe.”

  “Not banana bread, I hope.”

  I groaned. Dad really needed to let that go. Mom had this amazing banana bread recipe that used two full bags of chocolate chips, and once, last year, I wrote a story where Zoe and I decided to make it ourselves. We got a teeny bit distracted while it was in the oven, though, and before we even knew what was happening, the smoke alarm was blaring, and firefighters were practically knocking down my door.

  It was not our most successful hangout. Of course, it hadn’t happened in real life or anything, but it still felt real to me. And to Dad.

  “Not banana bread,” I agreed.

  “Good.” Dad smiled, his eyes still closed. “I hope Zoe won’t be too disappointed. I know that’s her favorite.”

  “She won’t be,” I said. “She’ll be okay.”

  Dad pulled me close to him again and kissed the top of my head.

  “We all will,” he said. And for that one second, I let myself believe him.

  7

  The Forbidden Pond

  The I-miss-Zoe funny feeling didn’t go away that night or even the next one. I tried to write on some loose paper I found near Bo’s side of our room, but something about it didn’t feel right. Zoe wasn’t really gone unless I stopped writing about her, but it was like her whole life, our whole entire history, had completely evaporated into thin air.

  On the outside, I smiled at Dad’s goofy jokes and thanked Mom for the awesome dinner she made Friday night and the yummy breakfast on Saturday morning. But on the inside I felt like I could burst into tears at any second. All Mom had to do was say we were having poached eggs (gross) instead of scrambled (yum) and I’d be done for. I almost wished something like that happened; that way I could get my tears out and blame it on something silly, the kind of thing that would make Mom raise her eyebrows at Dad like, Our kid is losing it over eggs. Oh, well, she’ll get over it soon, and not like, Oh, it turns out our daughter’s special notebook is missing; this is a very serious problem we will probably want to help her solve even though we are super tired and stressed out and she should be able to deal with it herself.

  Sleeping was pretty much impossible. Both Friday and Saturday night, I lay there forever, tossing and turning, missing my not-so-imaginary friend, and listening to Bo’s noisy breathing. He was so lucky he was five and had no idea what was going on with Dad. It was normal to him to always see Dad sitting in that chair and wearing different hats. He probably didn’t even remember that first day at the hospital. All Bo had to worry about was playing and drawing, and he didn’t have any problems there.

  Sunday crawled by the way commercials do when you’re watching your favorite show. That’s how the whole weekend felt—like one big, long, never-ending commercial. I needed to get back to school. I needed to get my notebook. I needed to rescue Zoe.

  But I couldn’t, not yet. All I could do was wait.

  Only waiting was really boring. So I came up with something else.

  “Can I go for a walk?” I asked Mom. “Just around the block or something. Not far.”

  Bo appeared out of nowhere. “Can I come too?” he asked. He waved a piece of paper in the air. “
A long time ago I made a picture of Jade defeating the bad guy outside and so I can bring it if he comes and she needs help.”

  Mom and I looked at each other and tried not to giggle. Bo was an abstract artist, and it wasn’t always clear what his pictures were actually supposed to be. Most of them involved someone or something defeating the bad guy. The bad guys always looked the same—big gray cylinders wearing crowns and angry faces. No one knew why Bo made them with crowns on their heads. He never gave us the reason, and I’d stopped asking. It was just Bo.

  “I was actually hoping I could go by myself,” I said. I ruffled Bo’s fluffy brown hair. “Nothing personal.” If I couldn’t be with Zoe, I didn’t really want to be with anyone else.

  Mom turned to Bo. “Want to help me do some painting?” she asked.

  “I do,” he shouted. He scurried upstairs, probably to get his smock, all thoughts of a walk with me totally forgotten.

  “Don’t be gone too long,” Mom told me.

  “Okay.”

  There was a weird pang in my side as I closed the door to the sounds of Mom and Bo giggling together. I wondered what they were going to paint. I wondered how they could be so happy when Dad was in the next room, barely handling his last round of chemo. I wondered why my whole body felt weak when, for a few seconds, I hadn’t even been thinking about the fact that Zoe was gone.

  I swallowed hard and took a few steps toward James and Charlie’s house across the street. Those bunnies were all over that yard so much it was only right to give them names. The dead grass must taste like bunny food or something, because James and Charlie sat there like they owned the place. And maybe they did. There’d been a sold sign on that house forever, but no sign of actual people. That wasn’t unusual, though. Our street had a lot of empty houses. All the streets did.

  I passed more houses. Most of them had fences around them and plastic toys in the yard. There were a bunch of little kids playing outside the yellow one on the corner, but the streets were mostly quiet.