My New Best Friend

Harcourt, Inc.
Orlanda Austin New York San Diega London

My thanks to:

My editor, Kathy Dawson, who always stands at the ready with a big supply of encouragement, enthusiasm, and sticky notes.

My agent, Steven Chudney, for his guidance and friendship.

Everyone at Harcourt including Barbara Fisch, Sarah Shealy, and Kia Neri for their marketing help. And book designer April Ward, who gets all the credit when kids tell me, "I love the way you typed your books.
"

Illustrator Jana Christy, for giving Ida a face that so perfectly matches her heart.

Friends and family for cheering me on.

And my special thanks to Makena, Leslie, Julia, Dany, Jessica, Taylor, Maggie, Carly, Grainne, Claire, Brianna, Skylar, Alaina, Lauren, Ashley, Kellie, Megan, Kate, Justine, Katie, Bonnie, Kaitlyn, and Kimberly who sent me my first fan mail and asked, "What are you working on next?" This is it, girls. I hope you like it!

Copyright © 2008 by Julie Bowe

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Bowe, Julie, 1962-
My new best friend/Julie Bowe.
p. cm.

Summary: Fourth grader Ida May and her new best friend, Stacey Merriweather, discover a mermaid night-light that they believe can grant wishes.
[1. Best friends—Fiction. 2. Friendship—Fiction. 3. Schools—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.B671943Myg 2008
[Fic]—dc22 2007046005
ISBN 978-0-15-206498-3

Illustrations copyright © 2008 by Jana Christy
Text set in Esprit Book
Designed by April Ward

C E G H F D B

Printed in the United States of America

For my family—Aaron, Micah, & Eli

I'm Ida May and I have a lot to be thankful for.

• I have not dropped my lunch tray once since the start of fourth grade.

• I have only tripped twice in public.

• Dodgeball season is almost over.

• So is our science unit on dissecting worms.

I'm thankful for my teacher, Mr. Crow, even though he makes us slice open worms and pin back their skin. Because he doesn't make us touch their insides if we don't want to. And he always comes up with new ways to keep us from getting too bored with school. For example, he makes us learn how to spell big words like
influenza,
which is what you get if you breathe in too many bad germs, and
catastrophe,
which is what you get if things don't go the way you planned.

Also, he reads to us every day. Not baby books, either. Lately, he's been reading us Greek stories about gods and goddesses and the creatures that work for them. Actually, they're Greek
myths. Myth
is a Greek word for
made-up story.
Like the one about the god Apollo driving a chariot across the sky when really it's just the sun. And other myths about pretty nymphs and singing muses who aren't as powerful as goddesses but, still, they can get you to do things that you don't exactly want to do. Mr. Crow says a myth is true if you believe it's true.

When Mr. Crow is done reading myths to us we will get to have a Greek Day. We'll even get to act out our favorite myths and invite our families to come and watch. Personally, I'd rather draw a picture of a myth than act it out, but sometimes in fourth grade you don't get to choose.

I'm thankful for the usual stuff, too. Like my mom and my dad and my sock monkey, George.

But most of all, I'm thankful that my new best friend, Stacey Merriweather, has moved to my town: Purdee, Wisconsin. Permanently. She's spending the day at my house because we're getting ready to go to Brooke Morgan's costume birthday party later this afternoon. Brooke invited our whole class. Even the boys.

Even Jenna Drews.

I'm
not
so thankful that Brooke invited Jenna to the party. That's because Jenna is the kind of person who would pin back your skin if she could. Then she would take something sharp and poke at all the stuff you'd rather keep hidden. Stuff like spilling your lunch tray. And tripping on the bus.

I glance across my bedroom at Stacey. She's digging through a big box of old costumes my mom hauled down from the attic. We're trying to decide what to be for Brooke's costume birthday party.

"How about princesses?" Stacey asks. She pulls two sparkly dresses out of the box.

I glance at the dresses, fall back across my bed, and pop a Choco-chunk into my mouth. "Too third grade," I say.

Stacey nods and digs some more. "Pirates recently marooned on a desert island?" She holds up a red bandana and a black eye patch.

I shake my head. "Randi and Rusty are being pirates. They'll say we copied. And you can cross beauty queens off your list," I add. "That's what Brooke, Meeka, and Jolene are going to be."

Stacey nods again. "What about Jenna?" she asks.

"What about her?" I reply, even though Jenna Drews is not my favorite topic of discussion.

Stacey folds the red bandana into a triangle and fits it across her nose and mouth, tying it in back. "The last time I asked Jenna what she was going to be for Brooke's party she said we should be something together, and I said I couldn't because I was going to be something with you, and then she just stomped off." Stacey holds up her fingers like pistols. "Bandits?" she says from behind her mask.

I shake my head. "Joey, Quinn, and Zane are going to be the Three Musketeers. If they see us dressed like bandits we'll get chased all over Purdee." I toss a Choco-chunk into the air and try to catch it with my teeth even though my dad, the orthodontist, discourages teeth catching. "As for Jenna," I say, after the Choco-chunk bounces off my nose, "she's so crazy about healthy stuff she'll probably wrap herself in paper and go as a granola bar."

Stacey giggles and pulls off her mask. "We could be ballet dancers," she says, lifting her arms and doing a graceful spin.

I sigh. Before Stacey's parents got divorced, she took ballet lessons. After she and her mom moved to Purdee, Stacey's grandmother signed her up for lessons here. Now Stacey dances off to Miss Woo's Dance Studio with Jenna, Brooke, Meeka, and Jolene once a week. "But I can't dance," I say.

"I could teach you," Stacey offers, making her big brown eyes go all wide and hopeful.

I just shake my head. "I've never done a pirouette on purpose in my life. I don't want to start now."

Stacey slumps. "Well, then," she says, pulling a ragged felt hat and a pair of beat-up boots from the box. "How about orphans?" Stacey puts the hat on her head and gets a far-off look in her eyes. It's the kind of look she always gets when her brain is churning up a new story. "Orphans...," she says, "who run away from a rat-infested
orphanage, which is run by an evil, orphan-hating woman."

"How come she runs an orphanage if she hates orphans?" I ask. "I mean, couldn't she run a bakery or a hardware store or some other orphanless thing instead?"

Stacey shakes her head. "It doesn't work that way," she says. "There's got to be someone who hates you or you don't have a story." Stacey adjusts her felt hat and continues. "We hide at the home of a friendly hermit and his pet ... um ... monkey." She pauses to pick up my sock monkey, George, who is lying on the floor next to my bed.

"Does the hermit like orphans?" I ask.

"Yes," Stacey says.

"And the monkey?"

Stacey nods. "The monkey likes orphans, too."

I smile at George even though he doesn't look too happy to be playing a part in this story.

"Only we discover that the hermit is really a
wizard,
" Stacey says to George, like he's listening. "Plus, the hermit's pet monkey is really our rich
uncle,
who got put under a spell by ... the
evil orphanage woman
who is really a
witch
!"

Stacey does an excited little gasp and starts
twirling George by his long, skinny arms. "So the hermit/wizard breaks the evil spell and changes the monkey back into our uncle and we are very rich and happy forever. The End."

Stacey leans back against my bed, looking like she just ran around the block.

I toss Stacey a Choco-chunk. "That story was even better than the one you told about Mr. Crow getting shipwrecked when he was two and being raised by dolphins," I say.

Stacey smiles at me. "Thanks," she says back, popping the candy into her mouth. "So it's decided? We'll be runaway orphans for Brooke's party?"

I think about what that would be like, showing up at Brooke's party in ragged clothes and smudgy cheeks. It reminds me of another time Stacey made me get dressed up with her in sparkly dresses, red lipstick, and blue eye shadow. Then we went to see a movie about an ordinary girl who found out she was really a princess. While I waited in the lobby for Stacey to go to the bathroom, people kept looking at me funny. Then Meeka and Jolene showed up. When they first saw me they giggled and made a big deal about my
costume, just like they were supposed to. But then Meeka suddenly gasped and said all embarrassed, "Oh my gosh, Ida. Did you dress like that on purpose?"

I said, "No, of course not! It's just a costume," over and over again but the more I said it, the more it sounded like I was making it up. They left the theater before Stacey got back so I never got to prove that we were both dressing up just to be silly.

I roll over on my stomach and think about dressing up in old, ragged clothes. I think about people looking at me funny, even though it
is
a costume party. And me feeling like I have to say, "I'm a runaway orphan" the whole time just to be sure they get that I'm dressing up. As I do, I study the box that the costumes are in. chummy bathroom tissue is printed on it. Apparently, my parents buy toilet paper in bulk.

The box gives me an idea.

I look at Stacey. "Orphans are okay, but maybe we should be something that no one else will think to be. Something they will know right away is a costume."

"Like what?" Stacey asks.

I study the box again. "Let's be ... outhouses."

"
Outhouses
?"

"Yeah," I say, sitting up on my knees. "We can paint boxes to look like old-fashioned outhouses." I pause to grab my sketchbook and a pencil from my nightstand. I start drawing the picture that's inside my head. "And add cardboard roofs," I continue. "And cut half-moon holes out of the front to see through. And paint his and hers on the fake doors." I glance up at Stacey. "You can even be the hers if you want."

I hold up my sketchbook so Stacey can see the drawing. She takes time to look it over. Then she gives me my favorite smile and says, "Okay!"

We race up the narrow steps that lead to my attic. I flick on the light switch, and a dusty bulb that dangles from the ceiling starts to glow. We search around the dim room for boxes, being careful not to bash our heads on the low rafters.

We find two boxes with real outhouse potential. One of them is filled with old baby toys and scribbled up books and carnival leftovers. We start emptying the stuff onto a shelf.

"That's everything," Stacey says, pulling a
teddy bear leg, a headless Barbie, and a lucky horseshoe from the box. She tosses them onto the shelf with everything else. "Except for
this.
"

I look inside the box and see a mermaid night-light. The mermaid is perched on a pink plastic rock, surrounded by blue plastic waves. An electrical cord pokes out of her green plastic tail. She smiles at us pleasantly.

"That's strange," I say. "I don't remember ever having a mermaid night-light."

Stacey pulls the mermaid out of the box. "Let's see if it still works," she says.

We carry the mermaid to a workbench my dad has set up at one end of the attic. It's covered with tools I've never actually seen him use. I clear away a little space and Stacey sets the mermaid down. Then I pick up the cord and plug it into an outlet.

"She works!" Stacey cries as the mermaid begins to glow.

I turn the mermaid around so we can see her face. As soon as I do we both gasp and jump back, banging our heads on a rafter.

The mermaid's pleasant smile has turned into a glowing grin. It's the kind of grin you see on a
clown's face in a scary movie right after he steps out from behind a greasy black tree and revs up a chain saw.

We stand there too afraid to move, staring at the glowing mermaid.

"S-s-stacey?" I whisper.

"Y-y-yes?" she whispers back.

"Her
lips
moved."

We scream like spider monkeys and run right out of the attic and down the narrow steps and hide under my bed for about three hours.

Then we dare each other to go back and unplug her. This goes on for about another three hours.

Then we
both
go back, clinging to each other and scream-laughing the whole way.

We rip the cord out of the socket. The mermaid smiles pleasantly again. But we know as soon as we plug her in she will turn back into the Evil One.

"We should make a club," I say.

"What kind of club?" Stacey asks.

"The Secret Mermaid Club," I reply.

"Oooo ... that's a good idea," Stacey says. "We need a club pledge. Something like..." Stacey places
her hand on the mermaid's head. "I solemnly swear to light this mermaid every night no matter how much the sight of her evil, glowing grin makes me want to pee my pants."

"Perfect," I say. "We'll take turns keeping her." Then I put my hand on top of Stacey's and say the pledge, too.

"Plus, we'll keep the club a secret," I say.