Best Friend Next Door (8 page)

After breakfast on Saturday morning my dad tells me that we’re riding our bikes to swim practice. It’s sunny out and sixty, with a wisp of burning leaves in the air. A perfect day for an apple-cider stand. The Cider Queenz are meeting at Southampton Park at two. Mr. Bryce even said he’d try to come by.

“What about Emme?” I ask as my dad pulls on his stretchy bike shirt. “Aren’t we carpooling to practice?”

“I already talked to her moms and they’re taking her today,” my dad says. “I’d like to get some time with you. Grab your helmet.”

There are paved bike paths that run all the way through Greeley. They’re like little versions of roads with mini traffic signs and stoplights and yellow lines. It’s two miles to the Y. As I’m cycling, I think about how biking is like swimming, the way you get into your own quiet groove. Then again, sometimes I wonder if I’m actually a team-sport person, like how I love volleyball in gym. Layla and Marley have invited me to play volleyball at the Y with them, but I’m always at swim practice so I can never do it.

“Hannah?” my dad says, pulling up next to me.

I ease my bike closer to the curb so there’s room for both of us.

“I thought this might be a good time to talk,” my dad says. “About the baby. About the other day.”

I don’t say a word as I focus on the road. There’s a
YIELD
sign up ahead.

My dad clears his throat. “If you don’t want the ultrasound picture on the fridge, we understand. We understand this is hard for you and sometimes you don’t have words for the emotions you’re feeling. We also understand that there’s a lot going on, with Sophie moving and the adoption and a new sibling at the same time.”

I start pedaling harder. I know my dad is saying important stuff. But when I try to make sense of it, it sounds like
wah wah waaaaaah
. Also, it’s not like I agreed to a deep, meaningful conversation right now.

“No matter what happens,” my dad says, “even when this little boy is born, you will always be our wonderful child, too. We will never forget that.”

I pedal even faster. My heart is pounding and my legs are burning. My dad gets the hint and falls back behind me.

A little before two, Margo drives Emme and me to Southampton Park with our jugs of apple cider. She drops us off at the curb and we make a plan for her to pick us up when the stand is over.

“Are you sure it’s okay I’m coming?” Emme asks as we’re walking up the hill to meet the other Cider Queenz. “It’s not like I’m in Mr. Bryce’s class.”

“Of course it’s okay!” I pause to shift the jugs in my arms.

“But what if people ask why I’m here?” Emme asks. “Won’t it seem weird?”

“Who would even ask that?”

Emme stares down at the ground. “I don’t know,” she mumbles. “Gina or Alexa.”

I make a face. “Who cares about Gina and Alexa? They’re annoying. They’re probably at home annoying someone else. Besides,
you
thought of our team name. You have to come.”

“I have to pee,” Emme says quietly. “I’ll meet you at the top of the hill.”

When I get to the grassy clearing, Natalie and her dad are setting up the card table, and this other girl, Brianna, is taping on our sign. I put my cider into the cooler next to the jugs that are already in there. Emme shows up a minute later and we help lay out cups and copies of the article about Deer Park. By two on the dot, we are open for business.

“We look awesome,” Layla declares, offering Emme and me pieces of gum.

I unwrap the gum and pop it in my mouth. “We
are
awesome.”

Before long, people start buying cider. When a man walking his dog sees the article about the evacuations, he tucks a five-dollar bill into our jar.

“Take
that
, Team B,” Marley says, giggling.

We sell twenty cups of cider in thirty minutes. We’ve already paid back the ten dollars from our budget and made fifteen dollars more. If we’re here for a few hours, we’re going to make so much money to send to Deer Park!

But then something strange happens. People stop coming to our stand. We wait. We restack the cups. Finally, Layla and I decide to tour Southampton Park to see what’s up. We go down the hill, past the basketball courts, and over toward the playground. And then we see it.

“Oh my …” Layla says.

My mouth drops open. “No. Way.”

There, right at the entrance to the playground, are the boys from Mr. Bryce’s class. They’re gathered around a table with a messy sign taped to the front. On the sign, they’ve scribbled:

The CIDER DUX best APPLE CIDER!
CHEAP! NO NUTS!!!!

No pictures or anything. Even so, their stand is buzzing with customers. The boys are hustling around, handing out cups of cider, acting like it’s the most original idea in the world.

“Cider
Dux
?” I say to Layla. I can feel my hands curling into fists. “Like
ducks
?”

“I think they meant
dukes
except they got it wrong,” Layla says. “They were trying to be cool, like us, the way we have a
z
at the end. But they should have spelled it
D-O-O-X
.”

“Dukes, ducks,” I say, shaking my head. “I can’t believe they’re selling apple cider, too! They can’t do that!” I spit my gum into a trash can. “Besides, why do they have so many customers? They’re selling way more than us.”

Before Layla can answer, Denny lifts a megaphone to his mouth. “Cold cider! Only fifty cents! The best deal in Southampton Park! Made without nuts!”

Layla and I push through the crowd until we’re face-to-face with Denny, who is wearing a plastic gold crown.

“Looks like you came up with an original idea,” I snarl.

Layla smacks her hands on her hips. “What exactly is going on here?”

“Yeah,
ducks
,” I say. “What’s going on?”

“
Dukes
, if you please.” Denny takes off his crown and bows his head. “We’re raking it in.”

“Oh,
yeah
,” Max says, shaking the glass jar of money. “Big-time bucks.”

A bunch of the guys laugh and nod along with him. This one kid, Micah, flashes us the peace sign.

“But you can’t do this,” I say. I glance at their card table. They’ve pre-poured their apple cider into paper cups, rows and rows of cups filled with cider, just waiting to be sold to
our customers
! “You stole our idea and you’re charging less.”

A woman with three runny-nosed boys hands Denny a dollar fifty. Denny thanks her and then instructs Max to give her three cups.

“All’s fair in fund-raising,” Denny says. Then he plucks a cup of cider off the table, guzzles it in one sip, and wipes his upper lip. “Looks like the Dukes are picking pizza for the victory lunch. Pizza to eat, pizza to drink, and pizza for dessert. Hail to the Cider Dukes.”

I’ve had it. I’m so angry at Denny, at the Cider
Ducks
, at boys in general. Even my dad, for trying to have a deep, meaningful conversation on the bike ride this morning. And, of course, I’m mad at the little alien boy for just
being
.

I reach behind Denny, grab a cup of apple cider, and splash it at his shirt. Brown liquid spreads out across his chest. As Denny stands there, shocked, Layla lets out a huge squeal.

“The Cider Queenz rule!” she says. Then she picks up another cup of cider and chucks it at Denny. This time it hits the front of his shorts.

Max and the other guys look at Denny, wet with cider, and start laughing like crazy.

“Looks like someone’s had an accident,” Micah snorts, pointing to Denny’s soaked shorts.

“Way to back me up,” Denny snaps. He reaches over and dumps a cup of cider right on top of Micah’s head.

“What the—” Micah blinks as he pushes his damp hair out of his face.

The people who’d been waiting in line for cider quickly grab their bags and scooters and hurry away. I hear someone say they’re going to go find the adults in charge. A man wearing a backward baseball cap says, “You all should be ashamed of yourselves.”

Micah reaches for a cup of cider and throws it at Denny, and with that it’s an all-out cider war. It’s not even girls versus boys. I’m throwing cider at Denny and Denny is throwing cider at Layla and me, and Max and Micah pour cider on another boy’s head. But then Layla aims for Max and by mistake sprays cider all over my arm.

“I’m so sorry!” she shrieks.

But I barely hear her. Because I can see Denny gathering several cups together on the table.

“No way,” I hiss to him.

Some parents are hurrying over. I have to act fast if I want to clear the entire table. I mean, really finish this thing. I reach out my arm—but when Denny sees what I’m about to do, he grabs my wrist.

“Hey!” he says. “You can’t do that! This is all the cider we’ve got!”

His hands are so wet that I easily wriggle out of his grasp. “All’s fair in fund-raising!” I say, tipping the paper cups like dominos. By this point, empty cups are scattered everywhere and cider is dripping all over the pavement.

But then everyone gets quiet. Mr. Bryce is walking toward us, frowning. My knees go weak. I pull back my arms, but I mistakenly knock over two more cups. One splashes my leg and the other falls on Denny’s sneakers.

“The fund-raiser is canceled,” Mr. Bryce says sternly. “Clean up immediately.”

At the exact same time, Denny and I say, “But—”

“We’ll discuss it on Monday,” Mr. Bryce says. Then he shakes his head, turns around, and gets into a huddle with several of the parents.

I kick at a cup under my foot. I am soaked with cider. I reek of cider. I am never drinking cider again for the rest of my life. And it’s all the boys’ fault.

I
didn’t think Hannah would want to come to Landon’s Organic Apple Orchard with us on the first Thursday in November. Swim practice is canceled today but Hannah and apples aren’t the best of friends. It’s been two weeks since the Queenz-versus-Dux fight and she still won’t drink cider. I don’t blame her. When she and Layla came back up the hill, dripping with cider, and told us what had happened, we were stunned. We hovered around, hugging Hannah and Layla, wiping them off with paper towels and trying to get them to stop crying. Marley kept saying how shocked she was, like what if someone in the crowd had been allergic to cider and then got doused with it? I felt so bad for Hannah, but in a way it was nice to be part of a class where the girls get along and stick up for each other. Which is basically the opposite of my class.

This afternoon Landon’s is having an apple festival. They’re giving away free cider and donuts, and Mom J and I are planning to pick a ton of apples. When we first moved up here I rolled my eyes at Mom J’s apple-picking passion, but I’ve found that it’s fun to climb ladders and pull apples from stems and make pies and stew applesauce. I love the way the house smells like cinnamon even the next day.

Mom J invited Hannah and Margo to join us. They were excited about it even though Hannah made sure to say that she’d
for sure
skip the cider. Margo told Mom J that they hadn’t been apple-picking this entire year, which is funny because we’re so dorky about our first fall in the Northeast that we’ve gone picking five times. I guess it’s the same as how we lived in Florida my whole life and never went to Disney World (for real!).

As Mom J is driving down Centennial, she glances into the backseat at Hannah. “Speaking of apples, I heard you had some drama with cider at that fund-raiser,” she says with a smile.

“Mom!”
I hiss. She can be so embarrassing. The other day she tried to kiss me when she dropped me off at school. Of
course
Alexa and Haley were walking in the front door
that very second
so I nudged her away. Even so, I could see them elbowing each other and cracking up.

“Let’s just say that Hannah soaked the competition,” Margo says, laughing.

Hannah grins and flashes me a thumbs-up. “Cider bath.”

I smile back at her. It’s good to see she can laugh about it now.

“What did your teacher do?” Mom J asks. “Mr. Bryce, right?”