Read My Forever Friends Online

Authors: Julie Bowe

My Forever Friends (4 page)

BOOK: My Forever Friends
7.11Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
“Wind chimes are cool,” I say, looking at the chart. “My grandma has some that are made out of seashells.”
“Ours won't be,” Jenna says, pulling a tangled lump of sticks and string from the bottom of her backpack. Shiny nuts, bolts, and screws dangle from the string as she untangles everything. “We're making our wind chimes just like this one. I made it last summer at camp.”
The more Jenna untangles, the more I hear a sound I recognize.
Clink . . . clink . . . rattle . . . clink . . .
The same sound I heard coming from the crooked path in her little woods.
I study Jenna for a moment. “Grandma May hangs her wind chimes on her porch,” I say. “Where do you hang
yours
?” “Um . . . by my . . . door,” Jenna says.
“Really?” I say. “I've never noticed them before. Back door or front door?”
“Neither,” Jenna mumbles, running her tongue across her lips. She quickly sets the wind chimes by her backpack, grabs her clipboard, and stands up. “Come on, or we'll get behind schedule.” She heads inside before I can ask any more questions.
Mom listens patiently while Jenna explains the activity chart to her. Then she points to the toaster and gets out of the kitchen.
“Ida, get the bread,” Jenna says. “I'll run the toaster. Rachel can spread the peanut butter.”
“I want jelly too,” Rachel says, setting George on the counter. She folds a paper towel into a triangle and tapes it on him like a diaper.
“No, Rachel,” Jenna replies. “The snack for today is peanut butter toast,
not
jelly toast.” She taps her schedule with a butter knife.
Rachel cradles George and crinkles her nose. “Creamy or chunky?”
I toss a loaf of bread onto the counter and pull ajar of peanut butter out of a cupboard. “Chunky,” I say, reading the label.
Rachel stomps her foot.
“We've got jelly too.” I set the peanut butter next to the bread. “Should I get it?”
Rachel nods and bounces George to her shoulder. She pats him on the back and peeks inside his diaper.
Jenna huffs. She unclips a pen from her chart and writes
And jelly
next to
Peanut butter toast
.
“But this is the only change you're allowed,” she says, frowning at Rachel.
“Thank you,” Rachel replies. Then she does a fake burp. “Good boy, George!” She hugs my monkey tight. “I love George!” she cries. “Even more than jelly.”
“He's the best monkey around,” I say. “The only one, actually. I've had him forever.”
“Then him and you are forever friends,” Rachel replies.
I nod. “Just like you and Jenna.”
Rachel laughs. “We're not friends. We're sisters.”
Jenna puts two slices of bread into the toaster. “Rachel's right,” she says. “Being sisters is different than being friends. Harder. Especially when you're the
big
sister.”
“Being friends is hard too,” I say. “Especially when they don't stick together.” I'm thinking about Jenna and Brooke, but I'm also thinking about me and Stacey. Lately, we haven't been as sticky as we used to be.
“That's what I mean,” Jenna says. “When you're sisters, you have to stick together no matter what. When you're friends, you can ditch each other. Especially when the other one stabs you in the back.”
She doesn't mention Brooke's name, but I bet that's the stabber she's thinking of.
“Nu-uh, Jenna,” Rachel says, shaking her head. “When you're
forever
friends you can't ditch each other. It's almost as bad as being sisters.”
The toast pops. Rachel spreads peanut butter on one slice and jelly on the other. We split it three ways.
It doesn't take very long to find everything on Jenna's scavenger hunt list. Sticks. Rocks. Worms. Dead bugs. We meet on my porch after the hunt and set the stuff we found by the boxes of baby flowers my dad bought yesterday. He's going to plant them in the big clay pots that sit on our porch steps every spring. Me and my mom painted the pots when I was little. Bright flowers. Rainbows. Butterflies.
Jenna checks off Monday's snack and game on her chart and then hands out the sticks we collected and the screws and string and other stuff she brought along for making wind chimes.
“Tomorrow we play hide-and-seek,” Jenna says, tying a long silver screw to a knobby stick. “Rain or shine. And our craft will be seed collages.”
“Yay!” Rachel says as she slips donut-shaped nuts onto her string like beads on a necklace. “Seed colleges are my best craft!”
“Collages,”
Jenna says, correcting her. “But you have piano lessons tomorrow, so you can't make one. If we don't start right away the glue won't have time to dry.”
Rachel slumps. Nuts spill off her string and pitter-patter down the steps. “No fair,” she grumbles.
“We could wait until my mom's done giving Rachel her lesson and let the collages dry overnight,” I offer.
Rachel straightens up. “Yeah, we could do that! Because I
really
want to make a seed college. For my baby's room!”
“The baby already has enough stuff in that room, Rachel,” Jenna says.
“Yeah, but Mommy says the smaller you are, the more stuff you need.”
“Listen, if you
stuff
one more thing in that kid's room, the door won't shut.”
“But Mommy says—”
“Mommy says . . . Mommy says . . .
” Jenna mocks. “Stop bugging Mom about every little thing. No wonder she's sick.”
Rachel blinks at Jenna for a moment. Her throat clicks. “Mommy's sick?”
“Duh, Rachel,” Jenna replies, tying another bolt to her string. “Why do you think she has to ship us off to Ida's house every day? Because the baby is making her
sick
. And your pestering doesn't help one bit. It only reminds her how much she wishes things would go back to the way they used to be. Before the stupid baby came along.”
Rachel's eyes go bright with tears. She grabs George and jumps up. “My baby's
not
stupid!” she shouts at Jenna. “
You
are!” Then she stomps across the porch and into the house. Nuts and bolts roll away.
Jenna doesn't say anything.
I set down my wind chimes and stand up. “We'd better go talk to her.”
“I've got nothing to say,” Jenna replies, scooping up Rachel's scattered nuts and bolts.
I frown. “How about ‘I'm sorry'?” I suggest.
Jenna looks up. “Sorry for what?” she asks. “I told her the truth. You want me to apologize for that?”
“No, not for
telling
her the truth. For the
way
you told her. Your voice was mean.”
Jenna laughs. “I didn't choose my voice, Ida. It came with the rest of me. Package deal. I can't help it if I'm not all sparkly and sugar-coated like Stacey.”
I sigh and go looking for Rachel.
I find her in the backyard, talking to George and digging holes with a faded plastic shovel in the sandbox my dad built for me when I was little. It's been so long since I've played in it, weeds are growing around the edges.
“You're lucky, George,” I hear Rachel say as I walk toward her. “You don't got a sister. Just Ida.”
“What are you doing?” I ask, crouching next to her.
Rachel looks up. Her eyes are red. A streak of snot shines on her cheek. “Making a garden,” she grumbles. “
Not
a seed college. Tomorrow, I'm planting
my
seeds here.”
I watch Rachel turn over the sand again and again with the shovel. Then she pats it smooth.
“Sometimes I help my dad plant stuff,” I say, glancing at a purple patch of flowers in a shady corner by my house. “But never in the sandbox. I think mostly just weeds grow here.”
“I don't care,” Rachel says. “I'll plant my seeds even if they grow up to be weeds.”
Rachel stands and brushes sand off her fingers. “Do you got any water?” she asks.
I nod.
Rachel helps me get a watering can from the shed and we fill it with a hose.
Then we lug the water to the sandbox and start pouring it out like rain.
A minute later, flip-flops snap up behind us.
“What's
she
doing?”
I glance back at Jenna. “Making a garden,” I say.
“A
garden
?” Jenna huffs. She crosses her arms and watches Rachel drown the sandbox. “Flowers don't grow in sand, you know.”
Rachel keeps watering and humming.
“She knows,” I say. “But she's planting them anyway.”
Jenna huffs again and taps her flip-flop against the edge of the sandbox. “Stop it, Rachel,” she says. “You're being stupid.”
I give Jenna a frown.
She sighs. “I mean, your
idea
is stupid. Nothing grows in sand.”
Rachel looks up, but she doesn't say anything. She takes the empty watering can back to the hose and starts filling it up again.
“So what if nothing grows?” I say to Jenna. “It doesn't hurt to try.”
Jenna gives me a squint. “Yes it does. It hurts a lot when things don't go your way. I should know.”
“Lots of things go your way, Jenna,” I say.
“Like what?”
I think for a moment. “You only got one wrong on our spelling quiz today. That was second-best in the whole class.”
“Tom didn't get
any
wrong. That was first-best.”
“Stacey gave you her brownie at lunch.”
“She didn't give it to me. She offered it to everyone. I only got it because nobody else likes walnuts.”
I think some more. “Brooke chose you first for kickball.”
“Duh, Ida,” Jenna says. “She wanted her team to win. If Randi hadn't been captain of the other team, she would have chosen her first, not me.”
“Still, you're the second-best kickball player in our class.”
“Who wants to be second-best?” Jenna says. “I'm not first-best at anything.”
“You're Brooke's first-best friend,” I say. “At least, you used to be. And you could be again if you'd tell her you're sorry.”
“For what?”
“For whatever you two are fighting about. What
are
you fighting about? Do you even know?”
“Of course I know,” Jenna replies. “I'm not stupid. And I'm
not
apologizing. She should.”
“Maybe she would, if you went first. Then you'd be the first-best apologizer.”
I do a clever smile.
Jenna does a squint.
Her flip-flops snap away.
Chapter 4
“Did my mom call your mom yet?” Stacey asks on Friday morning when we sit down at our friendship circle. “
Pleeease
say yes!” She clutches her hands to her chest.

Pleeease
don't spit,” Dominic says, wiping his glasses.
I smile at Stacey. “Yes,” I say. “She did.”
Stacey squeals. “So can I spend the weekend with you?” she asks, butt hopping. “
Pleeease
say yes again!”
Dominic scoots away.
“Yes again!” I reply.
Stacey butt hops like crazy. “Lucky us!” she cries.
“Lucky me,” Dominic grumbles.
“Yep,” I say. “We're luckier than . . .
spiders!

“Spiders?” Jenna walks up to our friendship circle. She slips off a sandal and swings it over Dominic's head. “Where? I'll get them!”
Dominic ducks. “Hey!”
“No spiders!” I tell Jenna, waving my hands like windshield wipers. “I was just saying we're lucky because Stacey gets to spend the
whole
weekend at my house!”
“Oh,” Jenna says, dropping her sandal.
Dominic sighs.
Jenna sits down. She looks at Stacey. “How come?” she asks.
Stacey stops bouncing. She picks up her gel pen and doodles a flower on her math book cover. “My mom has to work.”
Jenna's jaw shifts. “So why don't you go to your dad's house?” she asks. “Or Brooke's?”
“Pick me, pick me!” Brooke bubbles from her friendless circle. It's right next to ours.
Stacey smiles at Brooke. Then she shrugs at Jenna. “I can't go to my dad's. Something came up. And I went to Brooke's house last time, so it's Ida's turn.”
“No fair, no fair.” Brooke pouts.
Stacey's dad lives in another town because he and her mom got divorced. Stacey's supposed to stay with her dad on the weekends, but sometimes he's too busy to take care of her, so she gets to stay here instead.
“Yippee for me,” I say, and do a butt hop.
Stacey smiles and does one back.
Brooke joins in.
“Here we go again,” Dominic says. “Butt hop city.”
“Sit still and listen up,” Jenna says to us, slipping her sandal back on. “Merry-go-round good-byes at recess. Ida, tell Randi. Stacey, tell Meeka. I'll remind Jolene.”
All week, Jenna has been marching us around the playground to say our last good-byes to the old equipment that's going to get taken down to make room for the new stuff. Monday, we officially said good-bye to the swings. Tuesday, the slides. Wednesday, we did ceremonial grunts and armpit scratches on the monkey bars. And yesterday, we chanted our last round of
Buster, Buster, Buster Brown, what will you give me if I let you down?
on the teeter-totters. Today, it's the merry-go-round. Monday, the bouncy horse and seal.
BOOK: My Forever Friends
7.11Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Undying Destiny by Jessica Lee
God Is an Englishman by R. F. Delderfield
The Dark by John McGahern
Vintage Ford by Richard Ford
the maltese angel by Yelena Kopylova
The Story Keeper by Lisa Wingate
The Laws of Evening: Stories by Mary Yukari Waters
The Scot and I by Elizabeth Thornton
The Freak Observer by Blythe Woolston