Best Friends (Until Someone Better Comes Along) (2 page)

“This way!” my dad called, waving from over by a cabin that was squeezed between two others. Somehow, it looked like it had been neglected at least a hundred years longer than all the others. “I found a Cardinal!”

“Is it dead?” I muttered under my breath. I didn't bother carrying my bag to the cabin. If I left it in the car long enough, one of my parents would bring it inside. They'd nag me and nag me, but I knew if I ignored them, eventually they would just do it themselves. I found that to be true in most situations—if I ignored something long enough, someone else would usually deal with it for me.

I pushed the screen in the cabin's door to open it. But instead of the door springing open, the screen popped out of the door frame. I kicked at the wooden frame, and the door flew open and slammed against the wooden wall inside. “So this is home for the month, eh?”

My dad nodded from just inside the door. He was blocking my path inside our home sweet home, as though he was hiding something. Probably, he'd found a dead mouse or six that he didn't want me to see. Maybe I'd sleep in the car all month. “We can unpack later. I think I heard some people down by the lake. The team isn't starting creative sessions until tomorrow, and I'd like to get some quality relaxing time in with the gang before then.”

I have never understood the world of advertising, but I really don't get my dad's new company at all. Just three months ago, he was hired as senior account director at a branding, advertising, and media strategy company called You, Only Better. His firm's offices were in the heart of downtown, in a restored old loft, which was pretty cool. What wasn't cool was the team's annual retreat to the north woods. But You, Only Better had several woodsy sort of clients—an outdoor gear retailer, a bunch of climbing gyms, and a number of organic and natural product companies—that kept their advertising dollars with my dad's company only
because
the firm's creative team went “back to nature” once a year for a month of creative brainstorming and ad development.

“Ready?” Dad asked, eyebrows raised. He began to cross
his arms, then unfolded them again—everyone knew crossed arms sent a bad signal. Something about being closed off and guarded.

I shrugged, crossed my arms, and reluctantly followed him down a path toward the lake. Coco trotted along behind me. We walked over the crest of a pine needle–strewn hill, and I could see a dirty-looking beach area and a rickety dock jutting out into the lake. I squared my shoulders and stood tall. It's easy to fake confidence when you're tall like me.

I was eager to make a strong first impression, until I saw the people I was trying to impress. A group of dorky-looking adults were clustered on and around the dock, drinking sodas and eating chips.
Zit food
, I thought, wondering if they realized how bad that stuff was for their skin.

I scanned the faces that had all turned to look at us. A few people waved and shouted their hellos. My dad waved back, but he isn't a big shouter—he prefers one-on-one greetings and cheesy handshake-hugs. He reminds me of a small-town mayor, the kind of guy who might ride on the back of a convertible in the Fourth of July parade, patting babies and shaking hands. As Dad walked forward to do his thing, my eyes slid over the group of adults wearing ugly shorts and hideous terry-cloth swimsuit cover-ups.

Slowly, I turned my attention to a group of kids who looked about my age. They were sitting on the ground on the rock-and-sand beach. I tried to keep my expression cool as I looked each of them in the eye in turn. It was time to establish my alpha status. But even though I was giving them the look I had perfected for the first day of school, the one my best friend Heidi called the “Isabella Caravelli Scary Smile,” no one seemed fazed. I pushed out my lips and narrowed my eyes, the way my mom sometimes does, trying to look a little more threatening.

Suddenly, I sucked in my breath. Two faces in the group were familiar. Too familiar. I swallowed and looked down. I needed a second to collect myself. I wasn't prepared for this.

Once I'd regained my composure, I crossed my arms over my chest and looked up again. Then I smiled straight at them. They obviously recognized me, too. I felt a rush of power as their smiles crumbled.

B
ailey Heath and Ava Young
(I was
pretty
sure those were their last names) looked like someone had kicked them in the stomach. Me, presumably. “Hi, Isabella,” Bailey said, after a long pause that got more than a little awkward.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded, refusing to tell Bailey to call me “Izzy.” Izzy is for friends, and Bailey certainly wasn't that. From what I could tell, Bailey was
weird
, not anything close to a friend of mine. I narrowed my eyes, not bothering to be polite. I was too skeeved out for polite. What were the odds that I'd actually
know
someone at this stupid resort?

As I considered that, I realized the other kids in the group were staring at me. It gave me the willies, the way
these strangers were looking at me like I was some sort of freak. The whole scene made me the tiniest bit uncomfortable, since I was totally out of my comfort zone. Neither of my best friends was by my side, my parents were on edge, and I was being stared at. Not in a good way. Without thinking, I began to pick at my pinkie fingernail, but I caught myself before I could do much damage. I crossed my arms again instead.

After another long pause, Ava laughed, an awkward snort. She had the kind of laugh that makes you feel bad for her. I turned to look at her, watching as she nervously fiddled with the rocks at her side, letting her thin blond hair hang over her eyes. “We live here,” Ava said with a shrug, pushing her hair away from her face. Then she blushed. “I mean, in August we live here. At the lake. Obviously not the rest of the year. Since we go to school with you. So . . .” Ava trailed off, and I smirked. It made me feel better, somehow, seeing how flustered Ava got while she was talking to me.

The thing is, that almost always happens when people like Ava talk to me. I don't know how or when it happened, but for as long as I can remember, I've made people a little—sometimes a lot—nervous. My best friend Sylvie thinks its because I'm more beautiful than everyone else in our grade. I guess I don't really see that. I can understand why some
people might think I'm pretty—even adults seem to envy my long, straight black hair—but hair really isn't everything, and there are lots of people who are gorgeous at our school. Most of them don't have my ugly knees or two ears that stick out if they don't put their hair
just so
. Obviously, I don't
talk
about my knees or my ears, and no one seems to have noticed them yet.

My other best friend, Heidi, says people act differently around me because I have a super-stubborn personality and don't take crap from anyone. I don't really know what that means—I mean, I guess I try not to let people get to me. It doesn't always work, but I usually put on a pretty good show. I learned from my mom that if you don't let people see your ruffled feathers, they'll never even know they're there. It's all about the polish.

Even though I don't really get why people act this way around me, I do like it. It's fun, watching people crumble when I look at them a certain way. The thing is, if people want to feel threatened by me, that's their choice. I always treat other people the way they expect to be treated—and sometimes people expect me to be sort of horrible to them. So sue me if I'm the girl a lot of people don't like. Maybe my friends and I had sometimes made Bailey and Ava's first year
of middle school somewhat . . . difficult. But the thing is, there's a certain order in school, and I just happened to be toward the top of the list.

Bailey and Ava, on the other hand, were at the bottom. All three of us knew it. That's why the situation we found ourselves in was so awkward.

“So . . .,” I said, glancing out at the lake. I was trying to pretend I didn't notice the way everyone was just staring at me, as though
I
was some sort of outsider. I suddenly felt like a total freak, and it was seriously bugging me. I didn't look at anyone when I asked, “What do you all do for fun around here?”

I caught Bailey looking at the other kids sitting on the ground next to her, as if she needed someone to tell her what to say. It was a moment of weakness, and I pounced. I raised my eyebrows, looked right at her, and demanded, “So?”

“Swim, canoe, hang out. You know.” Bailey grinned and crossed her legs. They were covered in bug bites. I cringed.
This place just keeps getting better.

“All day? That's what you do all day?” Coco stepped away from my side and sniffed at one of the guys sitting near me. I looked at the guy closely for the first time.
Totally cute!
He had dark-brown eyes, skin that was somewhere between a
caramel and cocoa color, and cool lobster-print board shorts. His hair was all messed up, like he'd pushed it away from his face when he finished swimming, then let it dry that way. My hair never did anything fun like that, it just sort of lay there, all perfect and unruffled.

This guy looked like he was a little older than me—eighth grade, maybe. I'd have to find out. The guys going into seventh grade at our school are all so immature. It would be cool to hang out with someone older, for once. And I obviously had to find someone other than Bailey and Ava to hang out with at the lake, since they were totally boring. I peeked at his board shorts again, and silently nicknamed him Lobster Boy.

Cutie-pie Lobster Boy smiled up at me, and I felt my stomach twist. I shot my cutest smile back at him—
now
it was worth being polite!—just as he said, “Yes, that is what we do
all day
.”

It wasn't
what
he said but the
way
he said it. . . . I knew he was mocking me. Lobster Boy rubbed at the soft skin on the underside of Coco's neck and turned to grin at the others in the group of misfits.

“Oh,” I said simply. I tried to stay calm, but I felt my voice catch when I saw Bailey and Ava exchanging a look. Suddenly
it felt like they were all ganging up on me. It was as though I'd been dumped into some sort of alternate universe where no one understood that
I
was the only one who could talk to people the way Lobster Boy had just talked to me. I snapped to get Coco's attention. My puppy had snuggled up against the hot guy who was mocking me.
Traitor,
I thought, scowling at my dog. “Well, have fun with that. See you around.”

As I began to walk away, Ava called out, “Hey, Isabella?”

I turned. Ava had stood up as if she were going to come after me. Suddenly, I felt a little bit better. Maybe I'd just gotten off to a bad start. They obviously didn't know me yet, and most of them didn't know how things usually went in this sort of situation. “Yeah, Bailey?”

Ava cringed. “Um, I'm Ava?”

“Oh,” I said, crossing my arms again. “Sorry!” I smiled, trying to make it seem like the name mix-up was just an innocent mistake.

“You should change into your suit and come hang out with us.” Ava curled her toes into the sand at her feet.

I continued to smile, my polite smile that I usually reserved for teachers and my parents' most generous friends. I considered it for a second. But I didn't want to seem too eager. I knew I needed to show the other kids that I have
plenty of other things to do without following them around. “No, thanks. But you guys have fun, okay?”

As I walked off, someone quietly asked, “You know her?”

Ava and Bailey both muttered, “Yes.” I knew they were probably going to talk about me as soon as I was out of earshot.
Whatever.

I reached down to pat Coco. She looked up at me with her warm chocolate eyes and I bent over to pick her up. I snuggled my face into her soft fur and tried to convince myself that it was no big deal. People talked about me all the time, but it's not like it ever mattered. Mostly, people were just jealous. Right? That's what I always told myself—and Heidi and Sylvie always agreed—but I sometimes wondered if it was true.

As I carried Coco back up the hill to our creepy little cabin, I couldn't stop myself from worrying about what Bailey and Ava might be saying. My stomach was churning with nerves, the way it did before choir solos and math tests. Because the thing is, there were a few teensy things that I had been a part of last year that Bailey and Ava would certainly blab about to the others. Things that probably sounded sort of mean, if you told the story a certain way.

I'd had my share of fun during our first year at Southwest Middle School—mostly just pranks and games, but sometimes
people got so sensitive about stuff. Like the time Heidi and I stole some girls' clothes from the locker room during swimming unit in gym. It was hilarious watching five flat-chested sixth graders streaking through the hall to the office in nothing but swimsuits . . . but I suddenly had a feeling Ava and Bailey and their other friends might not have seen the humor in it.

And then there was spirit day, when everyone sent flowers to their friends and boyfriends and stuff. Sylvie and I bought thirty red carnations, then sent them—with fake notes and these horrible, goopy love poems—to all of the most popular eighth-grade guys. The notes were all different, but there were two that I was particularly proud of. One, which I'd paired with a really lame sonnet, said, “I'll love you always and forever, through the test of time . . . Bailey Heath.” The other, which we sent with a goofy and babyish version of “Roses Are Red,” was signed “Secretly yours forever, Ava Young.” I grinned, thinking about how the girls who had supposedly sent the flowers had been mercilessly teased by the entire soccer team—and my friends and me—for weeks.