My Best Frenemy (3 page)

“So
what
, ” Jenna says, standing up and brushing off her snow pants. “You’re going to have to stop wearing them when the
new
bay—”

Jenna bites back her words. She gets busy brushing her snow pants again.

“New what? ” Rachel asks.

“New nothing, ” Jenna replies. Then she shoves the toboggan toward us with her boot. “You two take it. I’m bored of this little hill. ”

We watch Jenna walk away.

I look at Rachel. “I guess it’s just you and me,” I say.

“Good, ” she says back.

Just as I’m heading out to the bus on Thursday morning my mom calls to me from the kitchen. “Did you feed your fish? ”

“I’ll do it when I get home, ” I call.

“Have you checked the filter lately? ”

“I’ve been really busy! ” I yell back.

“Fish need food, Ida, ” Mom says, stepping into the front hallway where I’m trying to get the door open fast. “And you’re supposed to check the tank filter for gunk once a week. ”

I pull off a glove and grip the doorknob. “I know, ” I say. “But if I don’t leave right now I’ll miss the bus. And if I miss the bus, you’ll have to drive me. And if you drive me, you’ll make me feed my fish
and
clean the filter before we go and then I won’t have any time before school to talk to Stacey. ”

Mom crosses her arms. “How would you feel if I sent you off to school with no breakfast, hmm? ”

“Mom, swimming around a tiny little tank all day doesn’t give you much of an appetite. ”

“Oh, really?” she says. “When was the last time you swam around a tank all day? Or sucked gunk through your gills? ”

I try to come up with a good answer, one that will get me out the door extra fast, but before I do, Mom sighs. “Never mind. I’ll feed your fish for you this one time. But you check the filter as soon as you get home. Got it? ”

“Got it, ” I say. “Thanks. ” I turn the knob and head out the door.

“By the way,” Mom calls as I clunk across the porch. “Did you name the fish yet? ”

“Not yet, ” I call back as I hurry down the walk. “But I’m working on it! ”

When I get to the bus stop, Quinn is trying to wrestle himself off the top of a snowbank. “Take that! ” he yells, kickboxing the empty air. He follows up with a few rapid-fire karate chops, sound effects included. Quinn is not the biggest kid in our class, but he is fast. Not as fast as Randi Peterson, but still, pretty fast.

Ice beads dangle from Quinn’s hat. He plants his lightning bolt gloves on his hips and says, “Had enough? ” to nobody. A second later his arm whips behind his back. “Arrrrgggghhhh! ”

Quinn’s feet fly out from under him and he log rolls to the sidewalk. He lays at my feet, fake dead.

“Hi, Quinn,” I say. “Um . . . what are you doing? ”

Quinn squints an eye at me. “Warming up, ” he says. “For recess. ”

There are always snowbanks on our playground in winter because a plow comes through and piles it up around our big square of blacktop. Everyone plays king of the mountain on the banks, even though we’re not supposed to push and shove at school.

Quinn jumps up and scrambles to the top of the bank again, grunting and beating his chest like he’s the head snow monkey.

I keep walking.

Quinn’s little sister, Tess, and Rachel Drews waddle past me, following a connect-the-dots squirrel path in the snow.

Jenna is keeping watch for the bus. A toy alligator is keeping her company. It’s almost as big as she is. She’s squeezing it around the middle so tight, I’m surprised stuffing isn’t oozing out of its red felt mouth.

I study the alligator’s fat fuzzy body and glassy green eyes. “Planning to do a little wrestling at school? ” I ask Jenna.

Jenna gives me a squint. “Ha, ha, ” she says. “It’s Rachel’s. She
had
to bring it for show-and-tell. My mom was feeling sick, so I’m stuck hauling it to her classroom. ”

“Your mom is sick? ” I ask.

“Just temporarily,” Jenna replies. “And just in the morning. She’ll feel better this afternoon. ”

“Well, it’s nice of you to help her, ” I say.

“I’m not doing it to be nice,” Jenna says. “I’m doing it because I have to. ” She puckers her mouth like a raisin. “Jenna,” she says in a fake-mom voice. “In this family we support and encourage each other. Now pick up that alligator and get to school! ”

Jenna huffs and squeezes the alligator tighter. “My mom can be such a boss. ”

A minute later, the school bus comes around the corner and we all climb on.

When we get to school, Jenna, Rachel, Tess, and the alligator head to the kindergarten wing. Quinn zooms past me, catching up to Zane and Rusty. Zane has his arm in a cast.

“What happened to you? ” I overhear Quinn ask Zane.

“Went sledding on Ricochet Ridge,” Zane replies.

“Whoa . . .” Quinn says. “What did you do? Hit a tree? ”

“Nah,” Zane says. “Rusty dared me to go down standing up. ”

Rusty bobs his head.

“I would’ve made it too,” Zane continues, “if some little kid hadn’t been poking along in front of me. ”

“Yeah,” Rusty says. “Zaney did a backside one eighty right over the kid! I swear he was airborne for five, ten seconds before he hit the hill. ”

“Snap, crackle, pop,” Zane says. “Busted my arm in three places. ”

“
Cool
, ” Quinn says.

I hurry past the boys and head for the fourth-grade wing. I want to see Stacey before the bell rings.

As soon as I get there I notice the floor is as shiny as it was on the first day of school. Mr. Benson, our custodian, must have spent his holiday break scrubbing and waxing.

When I get to our coatroom, I hang up my jacket, kick off my boots, and slip on my sneakers. Then I pull my new box of oil pastels out of my backpack and go out to the hallway to find Stacey. But Randi Peterson finds me first.

Randi holds a bright orange basketball up to my nose. “Smell it, ” she says.

I take a sniff. “Smells like you got a new basketball for Christmas, ” I say.

Randi nods and presses her nose against it. She closes her eyes and breathes in. “
Ahhhh
. . .” she says. “There’s nothin’ like the smell of a new basketball. ” Then she opens her eyes. “I’m gonna baby it too. So it’ll smell longer. ”

“Good plan, ” I say. “Did you get anything else? ”

“The usual, ” Randi says, bouncing the ball on the shiny floor. “Books from my grandma. Clothes from my mom and dad. Video games from my brothers so they can play with them. Stuff like that. How about you? ”

“I got
this
, ” I say, holding up my box of oil pastels.

“Crayons? ” Randi says.

“Not
crayons
, ” I reply. “
Oil pastels
. Like real artists use.” I turn the box over and show her the pict ure of
Arielle LaFayette, Award-Winning Artist
.

Randi studies the picture for a moment. “That’s all you got? ” she asks.

I fidget a little. “Well, no, but this is the
best
I got. ”

“Huh, ” she says, and sniffs her basketball.

Just then, I see Stacey walking toward us. I smile and wave, but she doesn’t wave back because she’s busy unzipping her shiny silver jacket and talking to Brooke.

It’s no fun waving to someone who isn’t waving back, so I pull my hand down and swallow my smile.

Stacey takes off her fuzzy purple earmuffs. They must be new, because I’ve never seen them before. Stacey looks kind of new too. Different. Her hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, which makes her look even taller than she did the last time I saw her, ten days ago. Plus, she’s wearing a new outfit. It’s the matching kind you see in girls’ magazines. Red jumper. Blue turtleneck. Striped tights. White boots with furry trim and jingle bells at the ends of the laces.

Brooke has her long, dark hair pulled up into a high ponytail too. Only it’s a lot curlier than usual. Like her head grew springs. It matches Stacey’s ponytail perfectly and for one tiny second I wonder if they planned it.

I fiddle with the edge of my same old sweatshirt and squeak the toe of my same old sneaker against the floor. I got new clothes for Christmas too. Stuff from the Mish Mosh, which is my favorite store at the mall. Skinny jeans and two sweaters. Bright red baby-doll shirt and a matching bag. But I was so excited to see Stacey and to show her my oil pastels, I forgot to wear any of it.

Stacey jingles up to me and Randi. “Hi, you guys!” she says. She gives my arm a friendly squeeze.

“Hi! ” I say back. “I like your new clothes. ”

“Thanks! ” Stacey replies. “They’re from my dad. ” She does a little step-turn like a model on a runway.

Brooke applauds.

“Cute,” I say, doing my best grin. “When my dad picks out clothes for me I usually only wear them for pajamas. ”

Stacey giggles. “I think my dad’s girlfriend helped him. Normally anything he buys me is too boyish. ”

“Ugh, ” Brooke says.

“What’s wrong with boyish?” Randi asks, sniffing her basketball.

“Nothing, ” Brooke says, rolling her eyes.

I study Brooke’s curly ponytail for a moment. “Did you get a perm or something? ” I ask.

Brooke reaches up and unclips the springy curls from her regular hair. “Jade gave it to me,” she says, jiggling the ponytail. Jade is Brooke’s older sister. She knows a lot about hair and clothes because she’s in high school. “See? ” she says. “It’s faux. ”

“Fur? ”
Randi says.

“Not
fur,
” Brooke says back. “
Faux.
You know
.
Fake hair? ”

“Are you sure? ” Randi asks, giving the ponytail a poke. “Because I saw a dead squirrel on the way to school that looked a lot like that. ”

Brooke huffs and clips the ponytail back to her head.

Randi grins and bumps the basketball against her chin.

Just then Meeka and Jolene arrive. They take a quick tour of Brooke’s new ponytail and Stacey’s new clothes. Then they do the step-turn thing to show us
their
new outfits.

I brush my bangs over my paintbrush barrettes and slide my oil pastels into my back pocket.

“Jade also gave me
this,
” Brooke says, pulling a see-through plastic case out of her backpack. Six squares of eye shadow are lined up under the lid like little pads of butter. Light blue, bright blue. Light green, bright green. Light purple, bright purple. All glittery.

Brooke opens the lid and takes out a little sponge-tipped stick. “The applicator has two ends, one for dark colors and one for light, ” Brooke tells us, all professional. She rubs one of the sponge ends across the bright purple pad. Then she looks at herself in the little built-in mirror while she glides the color across her left eyelid. Then she does her right eyelid. “Now for light purple under my eyebrows.” Pretty soon her eyelids are very purple and glittery.

Brooke blinks at us.

Stacey squeals.

So do Meeka and Jolene.

Randi grunts.

“My mom won’t let me wear makeup yet,” Jolene says.

“Mine either, ” Meeka adds.

“Well, ” Brooke says, “I’m
really
only allowed to wear it for dance recitals and stuff, but that is just so unfair. I mean, I am
ten
now. ” She flutters her purple lids.

“I’m
almost
ten, ” Meeka says. “Let me try. ”

“Me too,” Jolene adds, reaching for the sponge stick.

Brooke pulls back. “Everyone will get a turn,” she says. She looks the group over. “You first, Meeka.”

Meeka does an excited little jump, lifts her chin, and closes her eyes.

Brooke makes a bright blue trail of eye shadow across Meeka’s lids. “Jade says blue makes your eyes look bigger, ” Brooke informs us.

“What’s wrong with the size of Meeka’s eyes?” Randi asks.

“Nothing, ” Brooke replies. “But Jade says it’s important to enhance what you have. ”

Brooke adds another layer of blue to Meeka. She lets the sponge slip past the corners of Meeka’s eyes and swoop up like bird wings.

“There,” Brooke says, holding the little mirror up to Meeka. “Now your eyes are really noticeable. ”

“Yep, ” I say.

Brooke glances at me. “Okay, Ida, you’re next. ”

“Me? But I didn’t say I wanted to—”

Brooke loads the sponge stick with bright green shadow. “Close your eyes, ” she says.

I close my eyes.

I can feel the sponge enhancing my eyelids all over the place. A minute later, Brooke steps back. “There, ” she says.