Bessica Lefter Bites Back (2 page)

Sylvie shrugged.

“Maybe we should brainstorm,” I said. We had to do that in public speaking all the time. We wasted a ton of paper doing it, but I always ended up with at least one good topical idea.

“But I already designed invitations,” Sylvie told me. She turned on her computer and showed me the ecard with pink roller skates.

“Cool,” I said. Then I tapped my temple.
Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Why are you touching your head?” Sylvie asked.

I frowned. “I think I forgot something.”

Sylvie shrugged. “Let’s plan my disco party and maybe it will come to you.”

“Okay,” I said.

So I started thinking about Sylvie’s party, and my mind took off like a rocket. But I couldn’t make it stay focused on disco stuff. It kept brainstorming jungle ideas. “You’re going to need a ton of cool crud,” I said. “Coconuts. Palm trees. A tiger piñata. Grass skirts. Fake parrots. An inflatable volcano.”

“That’s not disco,” Sylvie said. “That’s jungle.”

“Yeah,” I said. And we both just looked at each other. “Maybe you could have a double theme?”

“Maybe,” she said.

It was thrilling to hear her be so positive.

“If we get our butts in gear, I bet we have time to make at least four piñatas!” Last year, when we read
A Wrinkle in Time,
Sylvie and I had made an IT piñata for extra credit. It had turned out pretty cool. Except for the caved-in brain area.

“Whoa,” Sylvie said. “Four piñatas? That’s extravagant.”

My eyes got very big when she said this. “Exactly. You will have the most extravagant disco/jungle party ever!”

Sylvie looked doubtful. But I kept making the list. “We’ll also need torches and stuffed monkeys. And maybe some safari hats.”

“I’ll ask my mom to buy butcher paper and we can draw a lot of this stuff,” Sylvie said.

I folded my arms across my chest in a disapproving way. I didn’t know how she planned to draw an inflatable volcano or a safari hat.

“I’m not a millionaire,” Sylvie said.

And when she said that I felt bad for both of us. Because if Sylvie had been a millionaire, we’d have been able to plan a much better disco/jungle party.

“Let’s focus on my guest list,” Sylvie said.

“Okay.”

We scooted closer together. I really liked hanging out with Sylvie. Lately, Sylvie liked hanging out with her new friend Malory and Malory’s ferret. And while I didn’t hate Malory, I also didn’t enjoy spending time with her or the ferret. Sylvie was my best friend. We didn’t need anybody else in the picture.

“What about Angel Karlinsky?” Sylvie asked.

I had never met this person. Sylvie went to South Teton Middle School and had a ton of friends, and I went to North Teton Middle School and had basically zero friends; we ran in different crowds now.

“How many people do you get to invite, again?” I asked.

Sylvie sighed like she was sick of answering that question. “Fourteen.”

“That’s right,” I said. I kept forgetting that number
because it didn’t make any sense to me. Ten made sense because that was a common unit of people measurement. And twelve made sense because that was a common unit of donut measurement. But fourteen? I’d never heard of that being a unit of measurement for anything.

Then I got a great idea and I squealed, “I know exactly who you should invite to your party!”

“Really?” Sylvie asked. She sounded very skeptical. Maybe because we didn’t know the same people.

I tapped the invitation on the screen. “Invite the richest kids at your school, because they’ll give you the best presents.”

Sylvie frowned. “That’s a terrible idea, Bessica.”

I frowned back at her. It didn’t feel pleasant to have my idea judged so harshly like that by my best friend.

“I want to invite somebody from each of my classes. That’s six. And you and Malory. That’s eight. And then there are four girls I really like in my dance class—Dinesh, Winnie, Iris, and Kirby.”

“You know a person named Dinesh?” I asked. Because that seemed like a weird name for a girl or a boy.

Sylvie nodded. “So that’s twelve. And then I was thinking I’d let you invite somebody.”

“Really?” I asked. That was so sweet of Sylvie. I considered the possibilities. Then I felt panicked and my breathing got breathy, because I didn’t know if I knew anybody
at my school well enough to invite them to Sylvie’s party. I’d started middle school with a brand-new haircut and no friends. I’d been eating lunch with Annabelle Deeter and her friends for a while now, but I hadn’t seen any of them in their bare feet. And I hadn’t been invited to their houses. Also, I’d never seen their baby albums. So we weren’t that close yet. I watched Sylvie type Kirby’s email address.

“I can’t decide who to invite,” I said. “Can I tell you later?”

Sylvie didn’t look thrilled.

“Please?” I asked. Sylvie had never turned me down before when I used that word. The trick was to say it in a way that sounded very sincere.

“I don’t want to put you in a tough position. Is one invitation not enough?” Sylvie asked.

“Oh, it’s definitely enough.” One invitation was plenty. I just needed to make the best choice possible.

“You could always ask Alice Potgeiser,” Sylvie said. “That would be a good way to get to know the other half mascot.”

My mind zoomed so fast it almost knocked me down. I finally remembered what I had forgotten.

“What’s wrong?” Sylvie asked. “You looked really freaked out.”

I couldn’t speak.

“Do you need some water?” Sylvie asked.

I shook my head. “I’m not supposed to be here,” I said. The words tumbled out of me.

“Why not?” Sylvie asked. She stared at me with a bunch of concern on her face.

“I’m supposed to be at school!” I said.

Sylvie blinked at me. Sylvie was always blinking. “It’s teacher in-service day. Why?”

I reached out and grabbed her hand. “Because today was the day we divided the mascot schedule.” I couldn’t make my mind stop zooming. Alice had hated me even before we both competed for school mascot. After everybody had voted and we ended up tying, Alice Potgeiser’s hate for me quadrupled. If I wasn’t there to divide the schedule, she was going to make me cheer against all the mascots she thought were cruddy. I gasped. All my efforts to build an awesome new reputation would be flushed down the toilet.

“Won’t everything get split fairly?” Sylvie asked.

Sylvie was very naïve. I rolled my eyes. “You’re in middle school. You know the answer.” I thought back to the assembly where Alice and I had competed in front of everybody. She was so vicious-looking in her fake bear head. There was no way she’d split things fairly.

I collapsed into a lying-down position. The room spun around me.

“Bessica,” Sylvie said, lowering her face to look into mine. “I think you’re overreacting.”

I stared up at Sylvie. I could see right up her nose. Her nostrils looked like dark caves covered in hair. I sure hoped that wasn’t what my nose looked like when people stared up it. I closed my eyes very tightly.

“Don’t freak out,” Sylvie said.

I couldn’t believe that Sylvie didn’t have any sympathy for me. “I’m doomed.”

Sylvie flicked me with her finger. And that surprised me. Because she’d never finger-flicked me before. Middle school was really changing her. “Just call the school and let them know there was a mix-up.”

Wow. Sylvie had never come up with a solution to a problem before either. Usually that was my job. This felt a little weird. I reached for my backpack and my cell phone but my fingers were trembling too much to dial. And then I remembered something else, and it made me cry a little. “We were going to get fitted for the costume today.” There was no way Alice and I were the same size. So the bear mascot outfit would get fitted to her and she’d look neat and wonderful and I’d look floppy and not very ferocious. I moaned again.

“It’s not the end of the world,” Sylvie said.

But that was exactly what it was. Why couldn’t Sylvie see that?

Sylvie took my phone out of my hand and smiled. “Don’t worry, Bessica. I’ll help you.”

Even though it felt weird and I was a little unsure about it, I let Sylvie Potaski use my phone and fix my life. Only that wasn’t what happened. No. No. No. After I gave Sylvie my phone, things in my life didn’t get any better. They got much, much, much worse.

B
efore Sylvie could call the school, my phone buzzed.

“That might be my grandma,” I told her. Ever since Grandma had run off with her Internet boyfriend to climb around in caves, she hadn’t been calling me as much as she used to.

I thought Sylvie would hand over my phone, but she just kept trying to solve my problem. And she answered the call. It was very weird to watch Sylvie behave this way.

“Hello?” Sylvie said. “No, this is not Bessica Lefter.”

When Sylvie used my last name, I stopped thinking that Grandma Lefter was calling me.

“Let me see if I can find her,” Sylvie said.

Sylvie looked a little freaked out. She covered the receiver with her hand and whispered, “It’s your principal!”

I gasped. “You shouldn’t have answered it!”

“But I did!” she said.

The terribleness of my situation hit me very quickly: Sylvie Potaski was not good at solving my problems.

“Tell her I’m in the hospital,” I said.

“I’m not going to lie,” Sylvie said.

“Well, you can’t tell her I’m sitting at your house planning your disco/jungle–theme birthday party. It’ll look like I don’t care about being mascot. She might strip me of my mascot duties and give them all to Alice.”

“Cookies are ready!” Sylvie’s mom called.

“Shhh,” I said. I sure hoped Principal Tidge hadn’t heard her. Because that wasn’t something people hollered in hospitals.

Sylvie lifted the phone to her face. “I’m still looking for her.”

“Why would you still be looking for me if I’m at the hospital?” I whispered. “That doesn’t make sense. They make you stay in your room until they discharge you in a wheelchair.”

Sylvie looked like she didn’t know what do.

“Please don’t ruin my life,” I said. “Please just tell a good lie for me. Just this once.”

Sylvie took a big breath. “Bessica is resting.”

And then, so Sylvie wouldn’t be lying as much, I flattened down on the floor like I was sleeping.

“Um, you’re asking me if she’s sick?” Sylvie said, looking at me.

I nodded with a lot of energy and also stuck out my tongue and moaned.

“Sort of,” Sylvie said.

I bolted upright. “Not ‘sort of,’ ” I whispered. “I
am
sick. Lie! Lie! Please. It’s easy!”

I jumped to my feet, but my shoe twisted and I bent my ankle funny and I fell down.

“She’s hurt,” Sylvie said nervously.

Uh-oh. Sylvie shouldn’t have told my principal that. I was a mascot. Injuries could get me sidelined. I shook my head no, no, no. Then I rubbed my ankle, because it did hurt a little, and then I realized my socks were itchy, so I kicked off my shoe and scratched my foot through my sock.

“She has a foot fungus. And her, um, treatment has her, uh, immobilized.”

My mouth dropped open. It was like my best friend had gone crazy and decided to hate me at the same time.

“I’ll give her the message,” Sylvie said. Then she hung up the phone and I started yelling at her.

“What’s wrong with you?” I asked.

“I can’t lie!” Sylvie said.

“Of course you can. You just did! I don’t have a foot fungus!” I put my shoe back on.

“Remember that one time you went barefoot in the showers at the public pool and you thought you had athlete’s foot and your toes itched for a month?” Sylvie asked.

“That was in third grade!” I said. “And it turned out my cheap, imported socks were the problem.”

“I know. I know. But when I saw you scratch your foot it was all I could think of,” Sylvie explained.

“What if she tells Alice Potgeiser?” I asked. “I’ll be so unpopular nobody will want to cheer for me.”

“Okay,” Sylvie said. “We can fix this.”

But I didn’t really believe that at this point. I didn’t want Sylvie to ever try to fix anything for me again.

“Right now we have a bigger problem,” Sylvie said.

This panicked me. My current problem was so enormous, I couldn’t imagine a bigger one.

“Your principal is going to call your mother to reschedule your mascot fitting.”

“But what if Principal Tidge brings up the fungus problem and my mother tells her that I don’t have a fungus problem and that I’m at your house planning a birthday party?” I slapped my forehead. My life hadn’t felt this miserable in a long, long time.

“That would be a rough night at the disco,” Sylvie said.

“What?” I asked. Why was Sylvie talking about disco dancing when my life was falling apart?

“That’s something Malory and I say when something goes really wrong,” Sylvie said.

I pointed my finger at her face. I felt panicked and annoyed at the same time. “You’re obsessed with disco!”

I took my phone back from Sylvie and tried to call my mom. But her phone went to voice mail. Which was terrible. Because it meant that my mom was either ignoring me or already talking to somebody. Maybe Principal Tidge.