Best Friend Next Door (7 page)

Mr. Bryce gestures to the two envelopes in his hand. “We’re going to have a fund-raiser. The class will divide into two teams. Each team will start with a ten-dollar budget. That’s already in the envelope. A week from today, we’ll tally our money and send it to Deer Park. We’ll also have a lunch party next Friday, to celebrate.”

Upon hearing that, we all cheer and stomp our feet on the rug.

Mr. Bryce grins. “Whichever team raises more money gets to pick the menu.”

We cheer even louder. Denny raises his hand.

“Yes, Denny?”

“How are you going to choose teams?” Denny asks.

“Boys versus girls,” Mr. Bryce says.

Usually it’s just Emme and me at lunch. Sometimes a few girls from my class join us. But today, all the girls in Mr. Bryce’s class gather around a long table. It’s me, Layla, Natalie, Marley, and a bunch of others. Emme sits next to me and unzips her lunch box. She seems quiet. I feel bad that Emme got Ms. Linhart. I know some people in that class, like Gina and Alexa, and they’re really mean—the kind of girls who make you feel bad for no reason.

“Does anyone have nuts in their lunch?” Marley calls out, peering down the table at all of us.

“Are you allergic?” Emme asks.

I squeeze Emme’s leg like
Don’t get Marley started
, but it’s too late. There’s nothing Marley loves more than talking about her nut allergy.

“Anaphylactic,” Marley says. “I could
literally
die if I ate a nut. It’s supposed to be a nut-free cafeteria, but—”

“We know,” Layla says, rolling her eyes. “No one here has nuts, right? Right. So let’s talk about the fund-raiser.”

Emme mouths
Sorry
to me and I shake my head like
No biggie.
I can see Emme’s heat and lane times in faded Sharpie on her arm, just like mine. Also, totally by chance, we both brought leftover quesadillas for lunch. The Og Twins strike again!

Natalie dumps the contents of the yellow envelope onto the table. Sure enough, there’s a ten-dollar bill. There are a few sheets of paper, including one for recording our expenses. Mr. Bryce also included an article about the Deer Park evacuations.

“We need a better name than Team A,” says Layla.

“The boys are Team B?” Emme asks.

“Yeah,” I say, “and we
have
to beat them. Otherwise they’ll never let us forget it. I bet they’ll pick pizza for the celebration lunch.”

“What’s wrong with pizza?” Natalie asks.

Emme and I both wrinkle our noses. It’s so funny that she hates pizza as much as I do. Maybe even more. “It’s so slithery,” I say.

“And slimy,” Emme says.

“And gross!” I conclude, laughing. Everyone is looking at us like we’re crazy, but who cares? Let them eat pizza on their own time.

“So what should we do to raise money?” Natalie asks.

“We could have a lemonade stand,” Marley says, “on Saturday afternoon, at Southampton Park.”

“Since it’s October,” I say, “how about an apple-cider stand?”

“Perfect!” everyone squeals.

After some more discussion, we decide we’ll use the ten dollars to buy apple cider and paper cups. It may cost more, but we all offer to contribute a little extra. We can paint a sign in the art room, and Natalie’s family has a card table and a big cooler we can use.

Toward the end of lunch, I’m bouncing up and down in my chair. We’re going to make so much money to send to Deer Park! I glance over at the boys. They’re bashing their lunch containers together and falling out of their chairs. The yellow envelope labeled
TEAM B
is unopened on their table.

“How about Cider Queenz?” Emme asks. “Like, with a
z
at the end?”

“Love it!” Layla says, high-fiving her. “Everyone agree?”

We all nod. It’s a royal name for a royally awesome team.

Emme smiles, but not her usual super-happy smile. She unscrews the cap off her apple-sauce squeeze.

“If pizza is slithery,” Layla says to me, “what kind of celebration lunch are you thinking about?”

I dip my last triangle of quesadilla in the small container of salsa that I brought. “Mexican? Maybe nachos?”

We all look at Marley. Her pale face is framed by a curtain of long blond hair. “Works for me,” she says, “as long as it’s made in a facility without—”

“We know!” Layla says.

“Maybe you can join us for the lunch?” I ask Emme. “You can be an honorary member of the Cider Queenz.”

“
If
you win.” Emme zips her lunch box and sets it on her lap. Something’s up. I’ll have to ask her about it on the walk home from school.

“If
we
win,” I say. “And we will.”

After school, I wait for Emme in our usual spot, but then I remember she has art club on Mondays, so I walk home by myself. Most Mondays, Uncle Peter meets me at our house because my dad and Margo work until six. But when I turn onto Centennial, I see my dad’s bike in the driveway, parked right next to Margo’s car.

I run across the porch and into the side door. I can’t wait to tell them about the fund-raiser. I think I’ll even email Coach Missy and let her know.

“Hi, Hannah,” my dad says. He’s at the kitchen table, sorting through mail.

Margo is leaning against the counter, drinking ginger tea. “We forgot to tell you that we’d be home early today.”

I toss my backpack onto the floor. “We’re going to have the coolest fund-raiser at—”

And then I see it.

It’s stuck to the fridge with a magnet shaped like a green pepper. Right next to my fourth-grade school picture, there’s a small, grainy, black-and-white image of a baby kicking his feet straight up in the air. No, not a baby. An alien with a giant head and spindly legs.

“That’s him,” Margo says. “We just got back from the ultrasound.”

“Him?”
I ask. I’m having one of those moments where my legs are weak and I can barely hear my own voice.

“It’s a boy,” my dad says, pointing to the fridge. “That’s your baby brother.”

I run up to my room and slam the door.

Hours later, after I’ve sulked through dinner and slacked through homework and rushed through a two-second shower, I go to bed. But I can’t fall asleep. I try to think about the kids who lost their homes in Deer Park and how lucky I am to be in my own bed. But instead I keep thinking about the big-headed alien baby on our fridge.

I crawl out of bed, slip down to the kitchen, snatch up the picture, and carry it to my room. I slide it into the drawer of my bedside table, far out of sight.

In the morning, Margo and my dad look at me a little funny, but neither of them say a word about the missing picture of the alien baby.

“Did you realize we were supposed to go to a tropical island this February?” I ask as I’m shaking cereal into my bowl. “Remember the Bahamas?”

My dad glances at Margo. She was spooning yogurt into a bowl but she pauses in midair.

“Since we’re not doing that, I’ve been thinking about New York City,” I say. “Wouldn’t it be cool to visit? Like at Christmas?”

I know I’m being bratty, but I wasn’t the one who decided to stick an ultrasound picture to the fridge.

“Plans change,” my dad says, sighing.

The next day, during art class, we get permission to paint the sign. The Cider Queenz crowd around a big table, paintbrushes in hand. We write:

The Cider Queenz of Mr. Bryce’s class present:

Cold Apple Cider*

One Dollar

All proceeds benefit the victims of the flood

in Deer Park, NY

*Made in a facility without nuts

We’re painting rainbow-colored cups at the bottom of the paper when a few boys saunter by.

“An apple-cider stand?” Max asks. He’s Denny’s best buddy.
Ick
by association.

“Yeah,” says Layla. “At Southampton Park on Saturday afternoon.”

“Yeah, right, you’re
queens
. Just like I’m a duke.” Denny smirks at our sign. “Isn’t a dollar a little expensive?”

“And what’s up with the nut thing?” Max asks. “Who makes apple cider with nuts?”

“You never know,” Marley says, pulling her long blond hair into a ponytail. “Besides, do you guys have any clue what you’re doing for the fund-raiser?”

Max and Denny snort. As they’re walking away, Denny turns and says, “That’s for us to know and you to find out.”

“Oh,
yeah
,” Max says.

“More like for YOU to find out!” Layla calls back to them.

The Cider Queenz crack up. And then, before I can stop myself, I shout, “Bow to the queens because it looks like we’re having Mexican food for that party!
Mmmmm
. I can already taste the guacamole.”