Best Friends (Until Someone Better Comes Along) (4 page)

My mom put her hand on her hip. I could tell she was annoyed with me, since she breathed in and out twice.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
“That's your father's job.”

“Well, there you go, then,” I said simply. “You said it yourself. It's
Dad's
job to be down there, mingling. It's
my
job to sit up here and try to take part in the summer you dragged me away from back home.” I smiled and waved my phone in the air. “I'm going to participate in my real life via text, so it will almost be like I'm at home with my real friends.” I looked her straight in the eye and smiled. “Fun summer, huh?”

She stared back, stone-faced. Then she studied me carefully. “Are you picking your nails again?” she asked. “Why do you do that? Can't you just leave well enough alone?”

“I like my bloody stumps, thanks.” I started to wiggle my fingers in the air, taunting. But then I realized I'd already pushed my limit, so I quickly stuffed my hands under my body to try to prevent any further conversation about them. “You know it's a habit.”

“Well, break it,” she demanded, then stormed out of the
room. She banged around in the kitchen for a while, while I stared at the blank screen on my phone.

Through the open window in my bedroom, I could hear the sounds of people gathering in the common outdoor area in the center of all the cabins. I'd forgotten about the get-to-know-you barbecue. Now I was stuck making a choice: Stay inside with one critical, crabby, and stranger-anxious mom, or brave the group of misfits again and see if there was anyone worth my time. I heard the ding of the tiny microwave—Lean Cuisine dinner!—and knew it was an easy choice.

When my mom was nuking broccoli, things were about to start to stink.

O
utside, a campfire was already
roaring and several barbecues had been loaded with charcoal. There were probably about thirty people altogether, enough that I should have been able to hide and observe for a while before I'd have to find someone to talk to. But instead of me getting to stand back, coolly watching, my dad spotted me and ruined everything. As soon as he saw me, he called me over to where he stood with a group of people who were all wearing socks and sandals.

“Isabella, I'd like you to meet Chuck and Craig, who run the design team.” Two dudes, both in plaid shorts, said hello. One of them—Chuck? It really didn't matter—had a piece of lettuce or something stuck in his teeth, and no one had been
nice enough to give him a heads-up. I thought about saying something, but my dad spoke again before I got the chance. “And this is John, who does our media strategy.” John winked, and I did my best to smile back. John seemed like a creep. “Of course, you already know Erica Winter, the big boss.” My dad laughed, and Erica the Big Boss joined him even though it wasn't the least bit funny. The whole scene was disturbing. Erica should have been offended that someone called her Big, when she was anything but, but it didn't seem to bother her.

“Nice to meet you all,” I said, understanding that my job was to smile and pretend to be the great daughter my dad wished he had. “Good to see you again, Ms. Winter.”

“It's Erica,” she said. “No need for formality at the lake.”

“Right,” I said, nodding and smiling like a puppet. I watched as my mom picked her way down the cabin stairs, her smile forced. She strolled up to stand beside my dad and greeted the other adults. It was always so embarrassing, watching my mom with adults she didn't know—she smiled really awkwardly, and said, “So . . .” a lot to make up for any lulls in the conversation.

“Have you met the other kids?” John said, winking at me again. I began to wonder if perhaps John had some sort of condition—a medical problem that made him wink way too
much, rather than just a creepy middle-aged-man winking issue. “Chuck's daughter Ava is about your age.” He turned and pointed to where Ava stood with Bailey and Lobster Boy and three other people I recognized from down at the beach.

Erica added, “My daughter Bailey mentioned that you go to Southwest too? I'm surprised none of us put two and two together that you'd all be spending the summer up here together.”

“It's a big school,” I said, because it was the truth. There are almost three hundred kids in my class alone. Three different elementary schools in the district feed into Southwest Middle School, where we all get mixed together into one big class of sixth graders. We'll all be stuck together until we graduate, which is part of the reason I worked so hard in sixth grade to establish myself as someone important. It's easy to become a nobody when middle school starts. Nobodies have no control at all, and how horrible would that be? I could think of nothing worse. “We haven't had any classes together, so I don't really know Bailey very well.” I tried to sound vague. I wondered if Bailey had told her mom about the swimsuit-stealing thing or the spirit-day poems? Probably. People like Bailey always told.

“Well, it will be fun for you all to spend some time
together this month,” Erica said with a smile. “Get to know some more people from your class.”

I shrugged, and my mom said, “So . . .”

I could feel my father giving me a look. “Yeah,” I said politely, and crossed my arms. I knew I had to at least try to be decent to my dad's boss. “It will be nice to get to know them. Hey, Dad, do we have any soda?”

“Help yourself to anything you can find around here,” Erica offered. “Bailey can get you something out of our cooler if you haven't had time to get your things unpacked yet.”

“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.” I took that as my cue to leave. I could feel the adults watching me, so I reluctantly wandered over toward where the rest of the kids sat near the bonfire. One little kid, who looked about ten, was throwing beetles into the fire and he screeched every time one popped.

Bailey and Ava both waved as I walked toward them. I figured it couldn't hurt to be nice, so I waved back. “Hey, Bailey,” I said. “Your mom said I could steal a soda from your cooler?”

“Oh!” Bailey said. “Yeah! Sure! I'll get you one! Caffeine or not?”

“Surprise me.” I watched as Bailey hustled off, hurrying to get me my drink. It almost seemed like she thought it was
some sort of honor to get me a soda. While I waited, I sat down on one of the logs beside the fire pit. Little bits of bark poked through my dress, and I realized I was probably going to have to wear jeans from now on. Both for protection and to avoid the bugs. I certainly didn't want legs that looked like Bailey's or Ava's—all chewed up and nasty.

To avoid having to talk to anyone, I studied my hands. I was glad I'd packed a set of fake nails in my bag. I'd already done a number on my real nails in just a few hours at the lake. I curled my hands into balls and tried not to think about how gross they looked. Could other people see them? I hoped not. I didn't mean to pick at my fingernails, but when I got nervous, I just couldn't help it.

Tomorrow, my nerves would be gone. By tomorrow, I would figure out how to make sure things went my way. And then I could cover up my ugly nails and fix everything.

Bailey jogged up and thrust a can of Cherry Coke in my face. “I hope cherry's okay?”

I shrugged. “It's fine.” Bailey stood there, waiting for something. I didn't know what. I squinted at her and asked, “Do you want me to give you some money for the Coke?”

“Oh,” Bailey said, her blue eyes wide. That's when I noticed for the first time that Bailey was really pretty. Her
hair was curly and long, and this really cool copper color. She had tiny freckles that dotted her cheeks, the kind I'd always wanted. She looked a little like the American Girl doll that I'd loved when I was little. But unlike my doll, who always had on the cutest clothes, Bailey was dressed in ripped shorts and a too-big T-shirt. Also, her hair was sort of crazy and flyaway, like she'd been shoved in the back of someone's closet for too long. That video camera I'd seen her with earlier was stuffed in her back pocket, which made it look like she had some sort of unfortunate growth on her butt. “No, of course you don't have to give me money.” After a pause, she quietly added, “You're welcome.”

The other kids in the group were looking at me funny. That's when I realized I had forgotten to say thank you. I knew it was rude to say nothing when she'd gone and fetched me a soda, but I really did just forget. It wasn't an intentional diss. But I also knew that if I caved and said thanks now, after Bailey had prompted me, I would look pitiful. So instead, I just popped open the top of my soda and took a big swallow.

“I'm Brennan,” Lobster Boy said suddenly. So suddenly that I choked on my soda a little bit. “And this is my brother, Zach.” He pointed at the bug-roasting kid, who was wearing
nothing but a pair of swim trunks. “In case you were wondering.”

“Isabella,” I said in response. “It's nice to meet you.”

“This is my little sister, Madeline,” Ava said quietly. “She's ten. I know she looks older than me.” Ava blushed. Even though she was younger than her sister, Madeline was at least as tall as Ava. Ava was short and wiry, while Madeline was tall and strong-looking. The only thing that made them look like sisters was their matching white-blond hair.

“And that guy over there, the one getting sticks for marshmallows, is Levi,” Brennan said. “He likes to whittle.”

“Whistle?” I asked, wondering if Brennan had a lisp.

“Whittle,” Lobster Boy Brennan said slowly, as though I was stupid. “Wood.”

I shrugged, still confused. “Oh.” I felt all their eyes on me, as though I was supposed to say something more. As if everyone in the world had heard of whittling, and I was some sort of weirdo for being clueless. They all continued to stare. It felt like minutes passed, but it was probably only about two seconds. Still, I'd never been in this position before—where people were expecting me to say something, but I had nothing at all to say. It almost felt like they were auditioning me for the role of “Friend” in a TV movie or something. But I'm
not the kind of girl who auditions. People just
want
to be my friend. That's the way it's always worked, for as long as I could remember.

But even as I tried to convince myself of that, I kept getting more and more nervous. It was obvious that Brennan, Zach, Bailey, Ava, Madeline, and Levi all knew each other. Knew each other
well
, in fact. I was the outsider. “What's whittling?” I asked finally, just to get them to stop staring. Maybe someone would say something and break the uncomfortable silence. My pinkie fingernail had started to bleed again, and I hadn't even realized I was picking at it. I tucked it against my palm, hoping no one would see.

“Whittling,” Levi said from behind me, “is this.” He poked me in the back with some sort of stick that he'd shaved into a fine point with a small knife. “Want to try?”

“I don't think so,” I said, setting my soda down on the ground. I suddenly felt sick. It was like I was in some sort of parallel universe. Who were these people? Just as Levi poked me in the back again, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. Saved by a text from Heidi: “Miss u like crazy! Bored yet?”

I quickly sent one back that said: “This place is full of freaks.” Then I smiled to myself, feeling better to have the comment out of my body. I was an outsider here, but so what?
These people
were
freaks. I didn't need to be a part of their little club. I had no interest in whittling, I certainly wasn't going to roast bugs in a fire, and I already knew I wasn't going to be best friends with Ava or Bailey. What was the point in even faking my way through one night?

When I looked up from my phone to see what they'd ask me next, I realized that everyone's attention had shifted while I'd been on my phone. They were talking about something else, and no one cared that I was back to rejoin the conversation. I sat there for a while longer, sipping my soda and waiting for another text, until eventually I slipped away from the bonfire and went back to my cabin.

The only thing that bugged me? When I looked back, I realized none of them had even noticed I was gone.

F
or the next couple of
days, I kept to myself. Each morning I ate my yogurt and granola on the wooden couch, enjoying a few minutes alone while my parents went out for a walk. It was one of the only times of the day when my mom left the cabin—she always made excuses about staying out of the sun in the middle of the day, and at night she only joined the other adults for a short while before she excused herself because of the bugs.

When she finally did leave the cabin for even a short while, her absence was obvious. The pressure inside the belly of our little Cardinal went
whoosh
the moment she walked out the door. After breakfast, I made a habit of watching out the window as Ava and Bailey and the others traipsed down to
the lake. The rest of the day, I lay in my bed and read, stopping only for food and to respond to texts from my friends.

Whenever my dad stopped by the cabin during his team's brainstorming breaks, he gave me these weird meaningful looks, which I pointedly ignored. “The other kids are doing games night tonight,” he'd say hopefully. I didn't even bother answering, since I'd found if I ignored him long enough he usually went away. Meanwhile, my mom cleared her throat every time I pulled out my phone, but she never actually said anything to me. So I ignored their looks and throat clearing, and just tried to stay out of the way.

At lunch, Mom would offer to nuke me a Lean Cuisine meal, reminding me each time that it's never too soon to think about calorie control. I'd pass and slurp up a bowl of pasta with pesto or a peanut butter sandwich instead. I knew the fat-filled meals weren't doing me any favors with health-kick Sara, but at least my lunches tasted like real food.