Authors: Julie Bowe

My Forever Friends (5 page)

BOOK: My Forever Friends

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“Like we don't already know, Jenna,” Brooke sasses. “You handed out flyers yesterday.”

Stacey nods. “And the day before that.”

Dominic snorts. “And the day before
that
.”

Jenna squints. “Girls only,
Dumb
inic.” She pulls more flyers out of her desk and hands them around. “Tell the others to meet at the pigpen, like always. I'll begin the procession from there.”

The pigpen is what everyone calls a circle of hedges on our playground. Mr. Benson, the school custodian, trimmed them to look like hogs. Hedgehogs . . . pigpen. Get it?

Brooke looks over her flyer. She wrinkles her nose. “These would look a lot better if you added some sparkly stickers, Jenna. And you should have outlined the words with a fluorescent marker. That's what I would have done.”

“Me too,” Stacey chimes in.

“You're not in charge of
this
ceremony, Brooke, I am,” Jenna says. “No sparkles or fluorescent anything. Nothing
broken
. No one
shoved
.”

Brooke stiffens. “If anyone is in charge of shoving, it's
you,
Jenna.”

“Ooo . . .” Dominic says, perking up. “Fight . . . fight . . . fight . . .”

“What time, exactly, do we meet at the pigpen?” I ask quickly. I already know the answer, but it seems like a good time to change the subject.

“Same as always,” Jenna says, glancing from Brooke to me. “Morning recess. Read your flyer.”

“Do we
have
to wear the crepe-paper crowns again?” Stacey asks. “Please say
no.
”

“Yes,” Jenna replies.

Stacey slumps.

Brooke groans. “It would be one thing if they were real tiaras, Jenna. But crepe-paper crowns? We're only going to wear them for so long before we all start saying . . .
âSo long.'
Understand?”

“Perfectly,” Jenna replies, counting out three more flyers for Randi, Meeka, and Jolene. “Send me a postcard.”

Brooke rolls up her flyer like a baton and taps it against her chin. “You talk big, Jenna Drews, but if I wasn't here, you'd be nobody.” She points the baton around the room. “Randi . . . Meeka . . . Jolene . . . all the girls. They like
me
best. If I go, they go.”

I look around. Randi is joking with Rusty. Meeka and Jolene are playing with the hamster. Stacey has gone back to doodling on her math book.

Do
they like Brooke best?

Maybe.

Do
I
?

No.

In fact, lately, I like her worst.

“So are you coming to the pigpen at recess, or are you turning in your crown now?” Jenna asks her.

Brooke taps her chin again and thinks for a moment. “I'll play along for today. But only because I get to say good riddance to that stupid
scary
-go-round. Who would ever invent a ride that ties your hair and stomach in knots? Some boy, probably.”

“Brooke's right,” Tom says, walking past us just as the bell rings. “The earliest version of a merry-go-round was used by soldiers to train for battle.”

“See?” Brooke says, shaking her baton at Jenna. “I'm no tinsel brain. I'm as smart as Tom.
Smarter
even, because
he
was dumb enough to
be
a boy.”

Brooke laughs at her own funniness.

Tom frowns.

“Now who's talking big?” Jenna says to Brooke. “Tom's smarter than you. Everyone knows that.”

“Thank you, Jenna,” Tom says. “That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me.”

Jenna fidgets. Her face goes red. “I wasn't talking to you, Tom,” she mumbles. “I was talking to Miss Smartypants over there.”

“Still,” I say to Jenna, “you think Tom is the smartest kid in our class, don't you?”

I know it's a tiny bit mean to put Jenna on the spot, especially when Tom is her secret crush. But maybe if I get her thinking about something else, she'll stop fighting with Brooke.

Tom blinks and waits for Jenna's answer.

Jenna turns even redder. “If you don't count
me,
then . . . yes. He's the smartest.”

Brooke snorts. “Hide your scissors, people. We wouldn't want to accidentally pop Jenna's
ginormous
head.”

Tom gives Jenna a smile and walks to his desk.

I finish folding my flyer into an airplane and sail it to Randi's desk just as Mr. Crow gets ready to teach us something new.

Randi unfolds the airplane, reads it, and gives me a thumbs-up.

I give her one back.

Randi is the best at playing along, even if it involves wearing crepe paper.

“The merry-go-round good-byes were great,” I say to Jenna as we sit down at my kitchen table after school. “I loved how our crepe-paper streamers waved like mermaid hair when we really got spinning. Too bad Randi's crown went flying. Tree branches and crepe paper don't mix.”

Jenna nods, spreading old newspaper out in front of her. “I'll make her a new one over the weekend. She'll need it for our final ceremony on Monday. It'll be my best one ever. You'll see.”

Jenna pulls our afternoon activity chart out of her backpack and looks it over. “So far we've made wind chimes, seed collages, sun catchers, and dandelion necklaces. Today we make noodle frames.”

The back door slams open. Rachel walks in wiping her wet hands on her jeans. She's been watering the sandbox since she planted her collage seeds there on Tuesday.

Jenna glances up. “Oh goodie,” she mumbles. “Miss Beanstalk is back.”

“No flowers yet,” Rachel announces, shutting the door and sliding in next to me.

I give Rachel a smile. “Sometimes it takes sandbox flowers a long time to grow.”

Jenna snorts. “As in for
never
.” She pulls out three squares of red tagboard and a box of craft sticks from her backpack. Then she pulls out a bag of noodlesârotini, elbow, wagon wheel, bowtieâall dyed bright colors. She dumps everything onto the table, shifts to her knees, and holds up a wagon wheel. “I recommend using these,” she tells us. “They stick best to picture frames.”

Rachel grabs a glue bottle. “You can make anything stick if you use enough of this stuff.” She twists open the cap.

“Glue away,” Jenna snips, picking up a square of tagboard and another bottle of glue. “Just don't come crying to me when your frame turns into a noodle disaster.” She dots glue along the edge of her tagboard and starts pressing craft sticks onto it, making a frame.

“I don't hardly ever come crying to you anymore,” Rachel replies, pulling a piece of tagboard toward her. She plunks craft sticks and noodles around it and drizzles glue over them like icing.

At least Jenna and Rachel are talking to each other again. Ever since Rachel got mad at Jenna on Monday, she's only been talking to me. Yesterday, when I told her she could go first in hopscotch, she even said, “You're my big sister now, okay, Ida?”

I didn't know what to say, so I just kept drawing the “10” square at the top of our hopscotch path and pretended I hadn't heard her.

I snuck a look at Jenna, though. She was over by the porch, hunting for a perfect hopscotch rock, so maybe she didn't hear.

But she stiffened for a second, so maybe she did.

Since then, Jenna has been talking to Rachel again. Not all sweet, but not all spicy either.

Jenna keeps glancing up from her frame. She sighs loudly as Rachel adds another layer of noodles and glue to hers.

“If you ask me,” Jenna finally says, “less is more when it comes to noodle frames.”

“Then it's good nobody asked you,” Rachel replies.

Jenna scowls at her sister. “Listen here, Rachelâ”

“If you ask
me,
” I interrupt, “this would be more fun if you two stopped fighting.”

“We're not fighting,” Jenna says. “We're talking.”

“Then pick different words to talk with,” I reply. “Because the ones you're using now are giving me a stomachache.”

“She started it,” Rachel grumbles.

“I didn't start anything,” Jenna snaps.

I rub my stomach and go back to my frame. Rotini noodles twist down the sides of it like the new slides we're getting for our playground.

Elbow macaroni and bowties bump along the top and bottom. All different colors.

“Finished,” Jenna says, pushing back from the table. Wagon wheels circle her frame. Red, green, blue. Red, green, blue.

Jenna flicks glue snot off her fingers and gives my frame the once-over. “Not bad,” she says. “For a first try.”

“Thanks,” I reply, squeezing in another rotini.

“What are you going to put inside it?” Jenna asks.

I look up. “Inside what? My frame?”

“Duh, yes.”

“Duh, a picture.”

“I know
that
. But which one?”

“Um . . . I don't know,” I say. “I haven't given it much thought.”

“You can have one of my school pictures,” Rachel says, smiling at me.

“It's too late for that,” Jenna says. “She's already getting one of mine.”

“She is?” Rachel asks.

“I am?” I say.

Jenna nods at me. “And you can give me one of yours,” she continues, “for
my
frame. That's what best friends do. Exchange pictures.”

“Um . . . okay.” That's what I say on the outside, but on the inside I'm saying,
Best friends? Me and Jenna?

“Not mine though,” Rachel says. “I'm saving my frame for a picture of my baby.”

“How nice,” Jenna says, glancing at Rachel. “More stuff for the baby's room.” She looks at me again. “I'll bring the picture tomorrow, okay?”

“But it's Saturday tomorrow,” I say. “You don't have to come over.”

I don't say that last part in a mean way, but I guess that's how it sounds to Jenna. Her cheeks suddenly go red and her eyes get as narrow as the edges of spoons.

“Silly me,” she says like her tongue is sticky with glue. She starts tossing noodles and craft sticks back into her bag.

“I didn't mean you couldn'tâ”

“I can't,” Jenna cuts in. She takes a big breath and shakes back her braids. “Sorry,” she says, “but I'll be too busy to come over tomorrow. I have to watch Miss Beanstalk plant jellybeans in our backyard. And help my dad change channels on the TV. Oh,
and
bring my mother snacks while she sits around waiting for Little Precious to be born.”

She twists the lid closed on her glue bottle. Then she pulls a thimble out of a pocket in her backpack. “Come on,” she says to us. “Game time. Hide the thimble.”

Chapter 5

Stacey's mom drops her off at my house on her way to work early the next morning. I haven't even eaten breakfast or changed out of my pajamas yet. Neither has Stacey.

“We should do a backwards day,” I say as I help Stacey carry her stuff upstairs. “We'll start out with a slumber party and end with breakfast.”

“Nice!” Stacey says.

“Roll out your sleeping bag,” I say when we get to my room. “I'll go ask if we can have popcorn and soda instead of cereal and juice.”

I find Dad in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee and reading
The Purdee Press
.

“Breakfast?” he asks, looking up from the newspaper.

“Actually, could we have our bedtime snack now and breakfast at, say, midnight?”

Dad's forehead wrinkles. Then it goes smooth. “Backwards day?” he asks.

“Yep,” I say, digging chips and candy out of the snack cupboard.

“I'll make a batch of popcorn right after I finish reading this article about the spring carnival,” he says.

“
Our
carnival? At school?” I pull two cans of soda out of the fridge and hug everything to my chest.

I look over Dad's shoulder.
Plans for School Auction /Carnival in Full Swing
tops the page. A photo of Mrs. Drews on a playground swing is under the headlines. She isn't actually swinging. She's just sitting there, gripping the chains and squinting at the camera. Maybe the sun is in her eyes. Or maybe she's sitting on one of her long braids. Or maybe she's feeling squished because the baby is taking up so much space inside her.

The caption under her picture says:
Paula Drews, PTA President and Chairperson of the spring fund-raiser.

“There's a quote from Mrs. Drews too,” Dad says.
“Under my direction, this fund-raiser is sure to be Purdee's most successful event.”

“But she's not in charge anymore,” I say. “Brooke's mom is.”

Dad looks up. “They must have written the article before she stepped down.”

I nod and wonder how Jenna will feel if she sees the article. Not great, I bet.

“Mrs. Morgan will make a good chairperson too,” Dad says. “She knows how to make an event really shine.”

I nod again. “Just like Brooke.”

I think about Brooke. And Jenna. And how their talents fit together.

Jenna knows how to cook things up.

Brooke knows how to add the sprinkles.

I shift my snacks. “Popcorn?”

Dad sets down the newspaper. “I'm on it. Salty? Spicy? Sweet?” He pulls little jars of popcorn seasoning out of a cupboard.