Girls Acting Catty
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For my mom
Table of Contents
Chapter One: Time Flies And So Do Eggs
Chapter Two: Tulips And Pepper Don'T Mix
Chapter Four: Shop Till You Drop (Out Of Utter Humiliation)
Chapter Six: Terrible T Strikes Again
Chapter Seven: Microorganism; Macro-mistake
Chapter Twelve: Turkey-day Terror
Chapter Thirteen: Terrible Or Not, Here They Come
Chapter Fourteen: Sticky Questions
Chapter Fifteen: Mango Madness
Chapter Sixteen: Double Trouble
Chapter Seventeen: Roses Are Red; Breakups Are Blue
Chapter Eighteen: Crushed Pepper
Chapter Nineteen: I Now Pronounce You . . . Friendless?
chapter one
time flies and so do eggs
T
he last half hour of daylight before Halloween night has got to be the longest stretch of time in the history of the world.
“Is it five thirty yet?” Claire asked as she paced back and forth across my living room.
Emma looked up from her map. “No, it's only forty-five seconds later than when you last asked.”
“Ugh! I can't take it anymore,” said Claire.
The rest of us groaned. This really was torture. The sun just wouldn't set fast enough. Getting through a full day of classes had been hard enough. Some of our teachers made the mistake of giving us actual work, but everyone was too hyped up on sugar to focus. They should've known better. Trying to teach on Halloween was like trying to teach on the last day of school: scientifically impossible.
The halls swarmed with witches and wizards, pirates and peacocks, lions and tigers and bears, oh mice, two ferrets, a bunch of hippies, and a handful of superheroes.
Not to sound braggy, but my friends and I had the coolest, most unique costumes in the entire sixth grade. We went as exotic fishâthe saltwater variety. We got the idea two weeks ago when we were hanging out at Yumi's. Her parents have this huge tank in their living room, with a ton of super-rare, colorful creatures that come from all over the world.
We made everything ourselves out of silk and gauze and bendable wire. Claire showed us what to do, mostly. It was easy for her, since she makes a lot of her own clothes anyway, or at least improves themâ adding beads and embroidery to her basic jeans and T-shirts. She went as a dartfish, decked out in purple and orange silk to match her red hair. She trimmed her entire costume in silver sequins so it'd shimmer as if she really were underwater.
Yumi went as a black-and-white-spotted triggerfish. Since they sometimes bite, she also wore a pair of vampire fangs.
Emma went as a yellow sea horse. And I was something called the Scott's fairy wrasse, which I chose because it's so colorful.
Rachel didn't want to be a fish, so she went as the pink castle in the tank that the rest of the fish swim through. We helped her paint a cardboard box, and cut out a drawbridge and turrets and everything.
“I can't get over how adorable you girls look,” said my mom as she came into the living room.
“Mom!” I knew it was true, but it was embarrassing that she'd said so. Especially since she happened to be wearing a black pointy hat, a purple wig, and a long, warty green nose. At least she wasn't going trick-or-treating with us. As a sixth grader, I was finally allowed to go with only friends and no parents. She just had the costume on so she could answer the door for other kids. Which was nice. I guess.
I reached for a mini Snickers bar from the huge bowl in Mom's hand, but she held it over her head.
“Sorry, Annabelle. You can't trick-or-treat in your own house.”
“But my friends don't live here. You can't feed them and expect me to starve.”
Mom sighed. “Fine, but only one piece each.” As soon as she lowered the bowl we all swarmed.
Ever notice how eating candy just makes you crave more candy? It's a never-ending cycle.
Suddenly my dog, Pepper, barked and raced for the door. A second later, the doorbell rang.
“Oh no! We were supposed to be the first ones out on the street,” Rachel cried.
“Hurry up,” said Emma, as we scrambled for our pillowcases.
We pushed past my mom, who opened the door to a bunch of pint-size princesses. Phew! For a second I worried we'd have real competition.
“Have fun, girls,” Mom called, as we raced next door. “And be careful.”
After three houses, Rachel tried crossing the street but Emma stopped her. “Wait, that's the wrong way.”
“But my parents got Reese's Pieces,” said Rachel.
“We'll go to your house later. Otherwise, we'll have to backtrack and lose precious time. Trust me. I've figured it all out, remember?” Emma waved her map. She'd found the route that would best “maximize our candy acquisition potential.” At least I think that's how she put it.
Emma is a brainiacâone of those straight-A students who reads the dictionary for fun and always does extra credit, even though she's the last person ever to need it. Sometimes she's hard to follow. But we all knew it was best to let her lead.
We raced from door to door to door on my side of the street, and then the next. Six blocks later, when we were at the corner across from the local elementary school, Emma said it was time to turn around.
“But I heard they're giving away king-size chocolate bars in Canyon Ranch,” said Rachel.
Canyon Ranch was the rich side of town, just past the school. All the houses there had four-or five-car garages and big iron gates. Some were even three stories high.
“People say that every year but it's not true,” said Emma. “Anyway, we'll get more candy by hitting a lot of houses faster, and there are four more houses per square block on this side of town. Plus, they're closer to the sidewalk, which means less walking.”
“Wait, you actually counted?” asked Yumi.
“And measured?” Claire added.
“I didn't have to.” Emma shrugged. “All the information was available online, so it was just a matter of plugging numbers into a mathematical equation.”
I was impressed. Sure we made fun of Emma for plotting everything out so carefully, but an hour later, we were back where we started with full pillowcases.
“Let's dump out the candy at Annabelle's and start over,” said Emma. “People will be more sympathetic if we show up with empty bags.”
“Good thinking,” said Claire.
We headed for my house but didn't make it very far, because a group of kids blocked our path. The closest streetlight was out, so I couldn't really see them clearly. And it didn't help that they were dressed in all black, with dark scarves covering the bottom half of their faces.
“Where do you think you're going?” asked a menacing and all-too-familiar-sounding voice.
Uh-oh.
I clutched my pillowcase tightly and took a step back. The group moved in closer. Once my eyes adjusted to the dark, I recognized them. They were eighth-grade boys dressed as ninjas. And they carried dangerous weapons: eggs.
Yes. An egg is a dangerous weapon. If you've ever faced a breakfast-themed firing squad, you know exactly what I'm talking about.
But there's something even worse than being outnumbered by a bunch of eighth-grade ninjas carrying eggsâbeing outnumbered by a bunch of eighth-grade ninjas carrying eggs, when one of those ninjas happens to be Jackson.
Tall, with spiky blond hair and a mischievous grin, he stood in the center of the group. Like he called all the shots, which was so typical.
I had only moved here two months ago, but that was more than enough time to figure out that Jackson was the human equivalent of a major tornadoâ shaking things up and doing tons of damage wherever he went. And it's not like I could avoid him, either. Jackson lives across the street from me, but even worseâhe's Rachel's older brother.
There was only one thing to do in this situation. “Run!” I yelled, and bolted. Luckily my friends took my advice. We scattered in five different directions.
Sure, we were outnumbered. But we were fast.
Well, most of us were fast.
I managed to duck behind a tree, while Yumi and Claire hid behind a parked car. Poor Emma lagged and got hit in the shoulder.
Then someone whacked Rachel in the back. “Jackson! I'm telling,” she screamed, which just attracted more ninjas.
Rachel headed my way with four boys trailing close behind, so I ran across the street and ducked behind my neighbor's hedges. The boys' sneaker soles pounded against the pavement, their thumps matching my racing heart.
A few seconds later, I noticed a pink cardboard blurâ Rachel running into my backyard. Emma and Yumi made it there too. I was about to join them when I spotted Claire in Rachel's driveway, backed up against the garage door and surrounded by three boys, all of them armed and dangerous.
I couldn't leave her stranded so I ran over, yelling, “No, don't!”
They turned around and stared at me like I was nuts. But I wasn't. I had a plan. Okay, not quite a plan. But I did have an idea.
Let me explain. Like I mentioned before, I had just moved to town. I used to go to an all-girls school. And going to school with boys? It's a lot different.
At first, the boys at Birchwood Middle School seemed like an alien species. They didn't have glow-in-the-dark skin, enormous foreheads, or those gigantic black holes for eyes or anything. It was more about how they actedâyelling out random stuff in class, kicking my chair, eating really disgusting food and then having burping contests. It was totally shocking, and not in a good way.
To make matters worse, my new dog, Pepper, was wild and out of control too.
But then I started reading up on dog training, and teaching Pepper how to behave, and that's when I figured something out.
Boys and dogs have a lot in common. They don't always know how to act, instinctually. Sometimes they need to be told what to do. Except you can't just tell them straight out. You have to talk to them in a certain way. So when I approached the guys in Rachel's driveway, I stood tall, looked each of them in the eye, and spoke firmly.
“Leave her alone,” I said. And they listened.
Claire was now safe. There was just one small problem. Now they aimed their eggs at me.
Jackson laughed meanly.
Luckily, I remembered something else that dogs and boys share: short-term memories. “Um, you know they have king-size chocolate bars at the Wiggenses' house,” I tried.
“Really?” asked one of the ninjas.
“Dude, don't let her distract you,” Jackson said as he swung his arm like a baseball pitcher warming up, but in slow motion.