Friend or Fiction

by Abby Cooper

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “I miss Tiveda too.”

  In fact, I couldn’t wait to go back.

  34

  Back Home

  Monday night we were back home in Tiveda. We’d barely unpacked when I asked Mom something that’d been on my mind the whole flight back.

  “Can I go to the pond with Clue and Zoe for a little bit?”

  She looked me up and down and pulled Dad’s blanket up to his chin. He was supposed to take it easy the next few days—no more laps up and down any more canyons—so he was back in his chair like before.

  “You know I don’t like you going there,” she said.

  I groaned. “I know. But it’s important.”

  Mom put a hand on her hip.

  “I don’t like it, Jade. I want to keep you safe and healthy. I think that’s reasonable.”

  My eyes narrowed. That was a pretty typical thing for a mom to want, but at the same time…“You told us to deal with stuff on our own, remember? To basically look out for ourselves? So which is it? Are you in charge of me or am I?”

  Mom made a face like she’d taken a big gulp of bad milk. Then she leaned against the wall.

  “When I told you that, I was scared,” she said. “I didn’t mean for you to keep things from us, or to feel like you needed to take care of everything on your own.”

  I gave that a second to sink in.

  “It’s cool,” I finally said, “but maybe I can actually take care of myself. At least sometimes.”

  Mom smiled. “I have no doubt that you can.” She stood up straighter. “You know what? Go to the pond. Just don’t drink the water.”

  “I promise to keep my mouth closed,” I told her. “But not in life. Just at the pond.”

  Mom laughed and flashed me a thumbs-up. “Deal.”

  Zoe and I walked to the pond quietly. I couldn’t stop staring at her. Since I’d let go of control yesterday, she’d chopped off most of her hair. Now, it only came to her chin—and it was blue.

  “Do you like it?” she finally asked.

  I smiled. “Do you like it?”

  She hesitated, but then did a little twirl. “I love it,” she said.

  “Then that’s all that matters. But yeah,” I said, “I think it’s amazing.”

  When we turned the corner to the pond, Clue was already there, sitting on a rock near the edge. He waved.

  “Cool hair, Zoe,” he said.

  She skipped up to him. “Thanks!” Zoe made a face at the pond. “So creepy,” she said. “I wish it was clean enough to swim in.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You like swimming?”

  She raised hers back. “Heck yes!”

  We all watched the murky water. “Well, there are a lot of places you can do it,” I told her. “Not here. But there are lots of swimming pools in the world. Lakes too. And oceans.”

  “What’s an ocean?” She wanted to know.

  Clue and I exchanged a look as Zoe sat on a rock. Her eyes gazed well beyond the pond. I closed my eyes and listened to the water, the trees, my town, and the soft breaths of my friends beside me.

  I opened to the back cover of my notebook, to the very end of my new story. And I wrote the words I wanted to write here, in Tiveda, by the pond that brought us all together.

  Stay or go. It was all up to Zoe.

  Once it started to get dark, Zoe and I said bye to Clue and walked back to her house. Along the way I noticed some flowers that weren’t actually that dead looking. And my lawn and Zoe’s were looking a little greener.

  “Goodnight, Zoe,” I said, giving her the biggest bear hug I’ve ever given anyone.

  “Goodnight, Jade!” she said, as happy as ever.

  35

  The Poem

  The first thing I noticed on Tuesday morning was Zoe’s mailbox.

  It was like any other—plain black. No decorations. No stickers. No anything.

  I’d kind of known it was coming but that didn’t stop the gasp from escaping my mouth. I squeezed Bo’s hand, and together we raced across the street. I knocked on the door, but there was no answer. I peeked in the window. The house was dark, and the random assortment of objects, plus the furniture I’d added in later—that was all gone too.

  That’s when I noticed the folded piece of notebook paper stuck to her front door. It had my name on the front.

  I swallowed hard and carefully opened it. Then, I took a deep breath and started to read.

  Imperfectly Me

  By Zoe Spumoni

  I am an idea.

  And full of ideas.

  Ideas that come from a friend.

  She knows me

  And would never lead me wrong.

  But maybe

  I am my ideas too.

  I am my likes

  Dislikes, opinions,

  thoughts, fears.

  Wishes, hopes.

  Dreams

  And

  Everything else.

  She taught me this

  And that the world is mine

  To explore

  However scary

  Confusing and

  Up and down it might be.

  I can get to know it

  As I get to know me.

  I am a story

  A story of me and my friend.

  Talking, laughing, singing, dancing

  I am my story

  And I’m learning to tell it.

  Me

  In my

  Ever-changing ways.

  And I’m starting to think

  The best ideas

  The best stories or

  Songs or

  Games or

  Adventures

  Are the ones

  That aren’t

  Exactly

  Perfect.

  The edges of my eyes filled with tears, but I laughed to myself too. A poem! She’d written a poem. I guess I’d always imagined that if Zoe wrote something, it’d be stories, like me. But just like she had her own unique thoughts, she had her own way of expressing them too.

  I stared at the poem. Held it in my hands carefully as if it were a piece of treasure. Because it was.

  Bo squeezed my hand. “Jadey, let’s keep going,” he said.

  I squeezed back. “Okay, buddy,” I said. “Let’s.”

  36

  The Return of Gresham

  Real-Life Zoe hadn’t been with me that long, but it still felt weird going to school without her. I wandered through my morning classes in a strange happy-sad daze. Zoe was gone. But somehow, I knew it was the best thing for both of us.

  Part of me expected to find an empty table at lunch. But when I rounded the corner to the cafeteria and spotted where I usually sat, there was Clue. And he wasn’t alone.

  Because the Sparkles were sitting there too.

  I shot Clue a look, but he just shrugged.

  “Hey,” Afiya said.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “I haven’t seen Zoe all day. Did she move?”

  I nodded slowly. “Yeah, probably. Is that why you’re sitting here? To ask me about Zoe?”

  “Well, yeah,” she said. “But also because if she did move, we thought you might be a little lonely.”

  The rest of the Sparkles nodded.

  “That’s how you found me, remember?” Scarlett asked. “When my best friend moved last year, I was sitting at a lunch table staring out into space. But then Afiya and Maggie asked me to sit with them.”

  “And then we picked up Esme,” Afiya added after a second. “And then Camila and then Janelle.”

  I scratched my head kind of hard. Wait. The Sparkle Girls weren’t just together because they liked sparkly things? They were a
group who’d all lost their best friends.

  “Why did you never ask me?” I wondered out loud.

  Afiya shrugged. “You always looked so busy,” she said, “or just not interested.”

  “Yeah,” I murmured. “I guess I did.” I tucked some hair behind my ears. “Well, I think I’m going to have a lot of free time starting now,” I said. “Are you going to be able to finish your health project by yourself, Afiya? I can help, if you want.”

  She smiled. “That would be great, if you don’t mind. And you guys, oh my gosh, I heard from my sister that we’re learning about hygiene during our next unit. What if Mr. Kremen brings in some deodorant for us to eat?”

  Everybody laughed and eww-ed.

  “It might not stink,” Clue said. We all groaned.

  I leaned back as everybody kept talking. There wasn’t really anything special about this lunch. We weren’t making paper birds with faces or singing songs like they were written for us alone. We weren’t promising to always agree and only ever hang out with each other.

  And yet, it felt just right.

  * * *

  When the bell rang to go to class, we passed Mrs. Yang in the hall.

  “Word count?” she asked me.

  “Umm.” I motioned for everyone to go ahead. “I don’t know if I’m really going to write at lunch much anymore,” I told her. “I think I might be busy.”

  Mrs. Yang leaned down to meet my gaze, and I realized I was staring at my shoes.

  “That’s totally okay,” she said. “Writing can be part of your life. It shouldn’t be the whole thing.”

  I lifted my head and locked eyes with my teacher for the first time in a little too long.

  “Oh, and by the way,” I said, “I have a revision I want to show you later, if that’s okay. I know it’s not my final draft, but I think it’s heading in the right direction.”

  She smiled. “I can’t wait to read it.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Yang,” I said, “for everything.” Then I hurried to catch up with my friends.

  * * *

  On Friday Clue and I presented our liver project.

  “For the first part of our presentation,” I said, “Everyone has to eat some chopped liver.”

  “Just kidding,” Clue added as we watched everyone’s freaked-out faces quickly turn to relief.

  Next Clue handed out the brochures of information we’d worked on. We read the facts to the class and talked about how important and powerful livers could be. They broke down bad blood cells, made new proteins and energy, and helped medicine work better. There was a lot they could do for you, but you had to make smart, healthy decisions so they could do their jobs.

  The last part of our presentation was a game, so people could be involved and Mr. Kremen could make sure they had learned things. People hardly raised their hands, so Clue acted out clues for all the answers, of course.

  I nudged him. “They probably shouldn’t have help with this.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Then he stopped pretending to make bile, which was good, because he was acting kind of gross.

  “Why do you give out clues, anyway?” I asked as we packed up after class.

  “Oh, it’s something I started doing after Harper died,” he said.

  We walked into the hall together. “Why?”

  His cheeks flushed. “I just thought it might help me…I don’t know…get some friends or something.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “How’d that work out?”

  “I got some. But they were no Jade Levy.”

  “Maybe it’s time to make people come up with answers themselves,” I said.

  Clue smiled. “Maybe it is. I kind of miss my real name too.”

  I tested it out. “Gresham,” I said. It sounded cool, so I said it again.

  “Want to do something later today, Gresham?” I asked.

  “Library?”

  “Mall?”

  “Pond?”

  We grinned at each other.

  “We’ll figure it out,” I said.

  “Sounds good,” said Gresham.

  We waved at each other, and then went our separate ways to our next classes.

  37

  My Story

  When we got home later, Bo and I went straight to Dad’s chair.

  “How are my three favorite kids this afternoon?” he greeted us.

  “Two,” I corrected with a smile.

  He raised his eyebrows, because he finally had them again. They were thin, but they were totally there. “Two?”

  “Yeah.” I sat on the armrest of his chair. “Zoe moved away. And I don’t think I’m going to go back to writing about my other Zoe anymore, if that’s okay with you. I didn’t realize it until recently, but I have a lot of other ideas I want to explore. Like maybe there’s a group of friends who go around rescuing kids who don’t have best friends. I also want to work on this series about people who take care of towns that really need their help.”

  I bit my lip. Maybe I shouldn’t have blurted all that out. Maybe Dad needed me to keep writing about Zoe. He was better now, but the trip had proven that maybe there were still going to be some bumps in the road.

  “I’m going to miss friend Zoe and fictional Zoe,” he said. “But those sound like super-duper spectacular new ideas to me.”

  I sighed. “Yeah, but Zoe helps you get better.”

  Dad pulled me closer to him. “You help me get better,” he said. “Cancer is a tricky thing. Sometimes you’re fine and then there comes a little not-fine surprise, like with anything in life. But you know what helps me get through it? Your positive attitude, your endless imagination, and your strong spirit.”

  I blushed. “I did write one last thing sort of about Zoe,” I said. “Do you want to hear it?”

  “Do I want to hear it?” he repeated. “Is spiky love the best love?”

  That seemed like a yes. So I cleared my throat and pulled out my notebook.

  Part of me felt nervous, sharing this story with Dad. For some reason it felt scarier than any of my others. I wondered if it had something to do with the fact that I’d really taken Mrs. Yang’s advice to heart with this one. I’d revised and made it the best it could be. It could probably be better still, but I’d done the best I could right now, and that made me feel proud. Really proud.

  I started to read.

  THE THING ABOUT OPPOSITES

  By Jade Levy

  The thing about opposites is that sometimes the ones that seem the most obvious aren’t actually opposites at all. Like real and fake. They seem as different as can be, but they’re not. Real people can act fake, sometimes, and fake people can become real.

  There was once a girl named Zoe, who was fake—or made up—until she became real. Once there was a girl named Jade, who wasn’t much different. Jade was a faker because she didn’t act real. She didn’t admit that she was scared of things like her best friend not liking her and losing her dad.

  So, in her little room in her little house in her little town, she wrote a perfect friendship, but it wasn’t perfect at all. It wasn’t even a friendship. When friends didn’t trust each other, talk to each other, or give each other the freedom to be themselves, it was actually the opposite of friendship. And she didn’t write about her dad at all. Maybe, Jade realized, the scariest things to write were the things that needed writing the most. She’d keep writing fiction, of course. But maybe she’d write about her dad too. And about herself. And hard feelings. She could do all this now…now that she had set Zoe free.

  My voice was getting wobbly, so maybe it was time to stop reading out loud. As I went to hand Dad my notebook, it wiggled in my grip just the slightest bit. It was like something or someone was alive in there, pushing it up, pushing it forward.

  “Zoe?” I whispered extra-
soft.

  My notebook didn’t say anything back, but I knew what the answer was.

  “Everything okay?” Dad asked. “I’d love to hear more.”

  “Sure thing,” I said. “Here. You can read the rest for yourself.”

  I squeezed the notebook to my chest one last time.

  And then I let go.

  Acknowledgments

  OPPSERVATION: Many people think writing a book is a one-person job. After all, there’s only one name on the cover! But creating a book like Friend or Fiction actually takes a big, wonderful team.

  Questions for further research: Who else played a part?

  We’ll start with my editor, Julie Bliven, who saw the potential in this story and knew exactly what I could do to make it stronger in each and every round of revision. I am so grateful for her feedback, support, and friendship throughout this process. I’m thankful for everyone at Charlesbridge, including Donna Spurlock, Meg Quinn, Jordan Standridge, and Mel Schuit in Marketing, and Art Director Diane Earley. Another huge thank-you goes out to copyeditor Bridget McCaffrey, proofreader Emily Mitchell, and to the amazing cover artist Julie McLaughlin. There is nothing fictional about how fantastic I think you all are!

  Thank you to my wonderful agent, Rebecca Sherman, as well as Andrea Morrison, Allie Levick, and everyone at Writers House. Thank you for believing in this story and in me.

  This book went through many, many drafts, and it would not be what it is now without my incredible early readers. Endless thanks to Kalvin Nguyen, Gail Nall, Erika David, Ronni Arno, Jeff Chen, and Dana Edwards for their feedback, and to Lee Gjertsen Malone, Laura Shovan, Vanessa Yudell, Dusti Bowling, Evan Nothmann, and Jenn Bishop (aka my Wise Owl) for helping with a few specific questions along the way.

  Thank you writer friends, particularly the Guild, the MG Beta Readers, and the Sweet Sixteens. It’s so great to be able to share the writing and publishing journey with such supportive communities.

  Shout-out to all the teachers, librarians, booksellers, and bloggers who connect kids with books, especially my friends from Nerd Camp. Thank you for working so hard to spread the joy of reading. I truly believe that kids who read grow into thoughtful, intelligent, empathetic adults, and by introducing them to books they love, you are making the world a better place. And to the kids I’ve been fortunate enough to connect with over Skype and in real life: Hi! You’re awesome! Keep reading! (And to those I haven’t met yet: Hi! You’re also awesome! Keep reading!)