Monkey Business (4 page)

“Wow!” I said. “That's really great news!”

“It's all so romantic,” Claire said with a sigh. “I wish I had a boyfriend.”

None of us said anything. Even though I looked down at my feet, I could tell everyone was stealing glances at me. Claire used to like Oliver. Things got kind of complicated for a while, but it all worked out. At least for me—I got Oliver, and Claire is still one of my best friends.

Yumi sat down on my window seat and looked out the window. “You have a great view of the swimming pool.”

“I know,” I said. “Do you guys want to go in?”

“I don't have my bathing suit,” said Yumi.

“You can borrow one,” I said.

“I don't have mine, either,” said Emma.

“You can borrow one too,” I said.

“Do you have a fourth?” asked Claire.

I thought about this for a moment. I'd just unpacked all my bathing suits this morning. I had the navy blue one-piece with white polka dots, the pink-and-green-striped tankini, and a black racing suit with orange-and-yellow flames.

“Sorry, guys. I've only got three suits. I wish I'd have thought of this before—I would've asked you all to bring your own.”

“You should have!” said Claire. “It's so warm out tonight and I'd love to swim.”

“This is my first swimming pool,” I said. “I suppose I don't have the etiquette down.”

“You'll learn,” said Emma. “Or you'll get more bathing suits.”

“Or both,” said Yumi with a shrug.

“I already went swimming this morning anyway,” Rachel said with a yawn. “Of course, my pool isn't as fancy as yours is.”

Claire laughed but no one else did.

Know why? Because what Rachel had said wasn't even funny.

I stared at Rachel, wondering if this was supposed to be another one of her bad jokes. She seemed to be kidding but at the same time, not. But what reason could she have had for being mad at me? I hadn't done anything wrong.

Suddenly someone knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” I called, happy for the interruption.

“Probably your butler,” Rachel said.

I opened my mouth to argue with her, but before I had a chance to speak, Ted called, “Annabelle, this is your butler.”

As my friends broke out into giggles, I ran to the door and opened it. “Hey, are you eavesdropping?” I asked.

Ted laughed and held up his hands in surrender. “Guilty as charged, but it was an accidental eavesdrop. I promise. I just got to your door.”

“Okay,” I said. “We'll have to be more careful next time.”

“You mean like speak in code?” asked Ted.

I rolled my eyes and tried closing the door on him, but he blocked it with his hand. “Wait! I actually have a reason for being here.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Jean and I were wondering if any of you were in the mood for ice cream sundaes,” Ted said.

“Yes!” shouted my friends.

Ted stumbled back, pretending like he was literally bowled over by the force of our enthusiasm. (Told you my stepdad was corny!) “Great. Ice cream is downstairs. Annabelle's mom got way too much so I hope you're all—”

None of us waited around for Ted to finish his
sentence. We'd already pushed past him and sprinted downstairs to the kitchen.

“There is nothing more exciting than a sundae bar!” Claire exclaimed, delighted, once we were gathered in the kitchen in front of the display.

I was excited to see that my mom and Ted had gone all out. There was hot fudge and caramel, slivered almonds and pistachio nuts, M&M's and Reese's Pieces, and even crumbled Kit Kat bars. Also? Three different kinds of ice cream: chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry.

“This is better than what they have at Pinkberry,” said Yumi. “Thanks, Jean.”

“Well, this is a special occasion,” said my mom. “The first time all four of you have spent the night. We want to make sure you come back again. Okay?”

“Oh, we'll be back,” said Emma, popping a blue M&M into her mouth. “All you have to do is serve us candy. We're totally predictable that way.”

“Yeah, and you may have a hard time getting us to leave now,” Claire added.

Making sundaes cheered us all up, and I tried to forget about Rachel's weird comments. Maybe she really was only joking about the whole thing—teasing me about being a snob now. Except Rachel had never teased me before today. She doesn't have that kind of sense of humor. Also? She's the kind of girl who always says what's on her mind. So I wasn't sure exactly what was going on. …

“Hey, Jean. Is there any whipped cream?” asked Rachel.

“Of course!” said my mom, opening up the fridge and handing Rachel a tub of freshly whipped cream.

“You don't have the spray kind that comes in a can?” she asked.

“Sorry,” said my mom.

“That's okay,” said Rachel, frowning at the bucket. “This will do.”

“Want a cherry?” asked my mom, offering her the jar and shaking it gently so the bright red cherries floated around in the syrup.

“No, thanks,” Rachel said as she spooned the whipped cream onto her ice cream. “I'm on a diet.”

We laughed again. And then we all got really quiet as we focused on constructing the perfect sundae.

I started with a scoop of vanilla and used M&M's to make eyes, a nose, and a mouth. Then I piled it all high with whipped cream.

“That's beautiful,” said Emma as she licked some chocolate ice cream off her finger. “It's like that old-fashioned hairstyle. The one that Marge Simpson has.”

“A bouffant,” I said, drizzling caramel sauce on top of my sundae's head. “Thanks, but it's supposed to be a ten-gallon hat. This sundae's name is Hank.”

“Why Hank?” asked Emma.

“Why not?” I shrugged.

Everyone else decided to give their sundaes names and faces too.

“Mine is Nathan,” said Yumi. “I'm giving him blue M&M's for eyes, exactly like the real, live Nathan.”

“Oh, he's so dreamy!” Claire said in this funny high-pitched voice that made all of us crack up.

“That's kind of weird, eating an ice cream sculpture of your boyfriend,” I said. “What if it's actually like a voodoo doll and you're hurting him?”

“You're calling me weird when you're the one who named your ice cream in the first place?” asked Yumi.

“Okay, good point,” I had to admit. “Except I made up a name.”

“My sundae is named Eleanor, after Eleanor Roosevelt,” Emma said, glancing at Rachel. “What are you calling yours?”

She frowned down at her sundae. “I'm leaning toward Gertrude, but hold on a second.” She took a large spoonful of sundae and popped it into her mouth. “Mmm. Yeah—she definitely tastes like a Gertrude.”

Everybody giggled.

“Hey, you haven't named your sundae yet,” I said to Claire, who was silently eating her dessert in the corner.

“I can't,” said Claire. “It goes against my basic philosophy of life. I always say I'm a vegetarian because I would never eat anything with a face, so if I give my sundae a face, he or she will become personified and it'll be like cannibalism.”

I looked at Claire, trying to figure out if she was serious or not. Sometimes it was hard to tell with her.

But then Emma cracked up and Claire did too, and soon we were all practically collapsing in fits of giggles.

“You girls are hilarious,” said my mom. “Ted, do you know where the camera is?”

“Oh no,” I said. “No pictures.”

I'd just realized I had gotten so busy unpacking I forgot to take a shower today. I wasn't going to admit it out loud, and I definitely didn't want photographic evidence of my mistake.

“Come on,” said my mom. “How else are we going to commemorate the new move?”

“By simply moving in and going on with our lives like regular people,” I suggested.

“You're going to love these pictures one day,” Ted said as he handed my mom their camera. “Plus, don't you want to show your future brother or sister what your life was like before he or she arrived?”

I glanced at Ted, worried. “Are you saying I'm not going to have any sleepovers once the new baby is here?”

“We're not saying that,” said my mom, raising the camera. “Smile, everyone. And hold up your sundaes, too. I'd like to document these before they disappear.”

“Better hurry,” Ted said.

“Wait, Gertrude's eyes fell off,” said Rachel, reaching into the pistachio bowl for a new set.

“Okay, now are you all ready?” she asked.

My friends nodded and posed and then finally, after my mom took a bunch of pictures, I told her, “Enough is enough! These are melting and we've gotta eat!”

We sat down again and ate, and by the time we were done with the sundaes and had cleaned up and stacked our dishes in the new dishwasher, the sun was down.

This was good because my mom had this rule that I wasn't allowed to watch TV in daylight, even on special occasions like my birthday or Christmas or when I had a bunch of friends over. She's convinced that as long as the sun is up everyone in the world should be doing something athletic or creative or educational or work-related, rather than sitting around like a lump in front of the TV. (Her words, not mine.)

She didn't care that sometimes I was tired after a long day at school. Sometimes sitting around like a lump was all I had the energy to do.

But we didn't have to have that argument again today because it was already dark outside. The timing was perfect because Claire had brought over one of her favorite DVDs—a movie called
Pitch Perfect
. And the rest of us had never seen it, so we all flopped down on the dark green leather couch in the den.

“Uh-oh,” I said, staring at the three remotes that went with the brand-new flat-screen television my mom and Ted had bought for the new house. “I don't know how to use this. Hold on.”

I ran into Ted's office, where he was unpacking a bunch of boxes of books.

“I don't know why I moved with a set of encyclopedias when everyone always looks up stuff on the Internet now,” said Ted. “I should really give them away. Or maybe recycle them.”

“Yeah—I don't think I've ever used one of those in my whole entire life,” I said. “Except as a step stool when I needed to get something from the highest shelf and couldn't find our ladder.”

“That is telling,” said Ted.

“Um, can you help us with the TV?” I asked.

“Sure.” Ted stood up, brushed the dust off his hands, and followed me into the living room where my friends waited patiently.

Claire was braiding Emma's hair into one long French braid. Rachel was picking blue nail polish off her thumbnail as Yumi flipped through Ted's copy of
Sports Illustrated
.

“Sorry, girls,” he said. “We're experiencing some minor technological difficulties with the new TV and cable system. I should be able to sort it out, though.”

He tried to put in the DVD and press play, but nothing happened. After turning the machine off and on again and trying a bunch of buttons, he said,
“Looks like one of these cables is plugged in wrong or maybe the entire outlet is dead. This could take some time, so why don't you girls watch something on regular TV tonight?”

“Okay,” I said, glancing down at the remotes again. “And how do I do that?”

Ted grinned and handed me the skinny silver remote. “Just press power and then punch in the channel you want. Our cable is the same so you don't have to learn new numbers.”

“Phew!” I grabbed the remote and went straight to Nickelodeon. A
Victorious
rerun was on.

“Oh, I love this one!” I said.

“I've never seen it,” Yumi said.

Rachel shushed us, which seemed pretty rude, but no one commented or even looked at her twice.

At the commercial break my favorite song came on. “Ain't Wasting No More Tears for You” by Josie DeBecker. Except it wasn't the whole song or music video. It was a commercial for something called the Panda Parade, which, we soon learned, was an all-weekend-long music festival in Indio, California.

“Hey, where's Indio?” I asked my friends.

“It's near Palm Springs,” said Yumi.

“Oh,” I said, staring at the TV. “And where's Palm Springs?”

Emma laughed. “It's about two, two and a half hours from here. East. Like in the desert.”

“Oh, that's close,” I said, turning back to the commercial, intrigued. “Kind of.”

“It's not close enough to ride our bikes, but it's close enough that we don't have to take a plane to get there,” Rachel said, looking up from her nails. “I know because we went last year for spring break. The drive took forever, especially since Jackson won a bet and we had to listen to his music the whole way, but it was worth it in the end because we rented a condo that had a really great pool and a hot tub. Plus, it was right on a golf course.”

“Do you know how to golf?” asked Yumi.

“No,” said Rachel. “But I like riding in golf carts, and our condo came with one. Except my dad hid the keys the whole time because he was afraid Jackson would try to go for a joyride.”

Jackson is Rachel's older brother. He's in the eighth grade—two years older than we are, yet still not as mature.

“That concert does sound really fun,” said Claire. “I can't wait until I'm old enough to go to music festivals.”

Suddenly Rachel's eyes got bright. “Maybe we are old enough.”

“You think?” asked Claire.

“I've been to concerts before with my parents,” said Emma. “Maybe we could all go together if a couple of them agree to chaperone.”

“I love that idea!” I said.

Rachel sat up straighter. “Maybe we could rent the same condo and go for the weekend. There's room for all of us—I don't mind doubling up.”