Pack of Dorks (7 page)

“Well,” Sam said, “the diorama would be easy. I can make awesome play dough worms.”

I smiled—twice in one day!—and reached in the bucket.

Don’t be donkey! Don’t be donkey!

“Wolves,” I read, too loudly in my non-worm, non-donkey relief. “We’re researching wolves!”

Across the room, Tom let out a howl. Henry barked. Becky giggled.

Stupid wolves.

Chapter Six

“So then, Tom said that it’s perfect you have wolves because you’re such a dog. And Sam is so pathetic that you’re the only person he could pick for a partner, even though no one likes you. And then I said—”

“Becky, I’ve got to go.”

And cry. These after-school I’m-still-your-friend-in-secret calls were not exactly the highlight of my day. I stared at myself in the mirror hanging from the back of my bedroom door. My hair was scraggly and matted. Like a dog.

“But I said that you have some friends,” Becky stammered. “I stood up for you. I think if Tom gets a new girlfriend, he’ll stop being so busy hating you all the time. And then we can be friends at school again.”

I took three really long breaths out of my nose. I noticed Mom doing that a lot when Molly cries and Dad doesn’t seem to hear her. But the breaths just made me make strange puffy noises into the phone.

“Lucy?” Becky asked.

“I’m here,” I said. “I just . . . I don’t like this, Becky. Why can’t you be friends with me everywhere?”

“I told you,” Becky said. “I am your friend, but I want to know what they’re saying about you. Don’t you want to know, too?”

“Are you sure it isn’t because you think they wouldn’t be your friend if you like me, too?” I blurted it out, my heart hammering.

Becky was silent for a long time. I heard her making puffy sounds, too, so I knew she didn’t hang up or anything. “Lucy, if you’re my real friend, why would you want me to risk having everyone not like me? I mean, I couldn’t stop them from not liking you or I totally would have. But why would you want that for me? Maybe we
aren’t
friends.”

“No, Becky,” I whispered. “I’m your friend. Really.”

“Are you sure?” Becky said. “I mean, it’s not like I have to call you or pretend anymore? Maybe you want to be friends with Sam more. I mean, maybe that’s your type of
crowd
now.”

“Oh, come on, Becky!” I snapped. “You know I want to be your friend. Just like before.”

“Then why don’t you do something about it?” Becky snapped right back. “Like, make yourself popular again. Or at least stop hanging out with dorks. Henry might be right. It could be contagious.”

“Make myself popular again?” I repeated. “Are you serious?”

She
humpfed
into the phone. “It can be done.”

It sounded so simple when she said it. But I remembered her face when she was making her diamond sparkle after The Kiss. I remembered her saying she would do anything—
anything—
to be popular. Was I willing to do whatever it took to get my seat back at Becky’s lunch table?

“Can you come over?” I don’t know why I said it. I didn’t even check with Mom and Dad or anything. But I wanted her to come over, show me for real that she was my friend. And maybe I could catch some coolness.

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Can you ask? I’ll wait while you do.” And maybe ask my parents, too.

Becky said she’d be right back. I held the phone and walked into the living room. I had time to look around and see that laundry was pretty much covering the couch. That Mom was asleep beside the laundry, her mouth hanging open and drool dripping out of the corner of it. Dad was holding Molly and clicking through channels with a remote in his other hand. Becky’s house, however, was sure to be spotless. Her mom had a housecleaner who scrubbed everything her mom didn’t want to touch and everyone always put away their clothes. They didn’t even wear shoes in the house.

“Dad, can—?” But Becky was back on the phone before I could even ask if she could come over.

“I can’t,” she said.

“Did you ask?” I swear, it was like two seconds max that she was gone.

“Of course I asked.” She sounded huffy again.

“Can you come over tomorrow?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why?” I felt sort of ashamed even as I asked.

But before Becky could answer, the doorbell rang. Molly threw out her arms and legs like she thought Dad was going to drop her and started wailing. Mom popped upright on the couch, drool still on her cheek. Dad patted Molly’s back and pointed from me to the door.

“Hang on a sec, Becky,” I said and stepped over the baby bouncy thing on the floor toward the door. I threw it open and, just like I needed one more thing to make me feel awesome, there was April.

“It’s my birthday!” she shouted as soon as she saw me.

“Who’s that?” Becky called in my ear. “Is that person there for you?” She sounded much too surprised.

“I have cake! At my house! It’s my favorite color!”

“Green?” I asked without really wanting to know.

April nodded vigorously.

“Lucy!” Becky shouted in my ear. “Is someone there? Who?”

“Yeah. It’s a friend.” I said friend a little too loudly to Becky, I think, because Becky got super quiet and April’s face practically split in half with a smile. “I’ve got to go, Becky. She invited me over.”

After I pushed the button to hang up the phone and April still stood there on the doorstep, I realized I had a huge problem. I either had to go to April’s house or lie on the spot in front of my parents. Like I said before, I’m awesome at lying. But my parents are super awesome at calling out my lies. It was a pickle. A big, green, cake-sized pickle.

“Happy birthday, April,” Mom half-yawned. “Of course Lucy can come over.”

“Is that your baby sister?” April asked, staring open-mouthed at Molly. Her hands stretched out toward my lumpy baby sister and she started to step over the doorstep. Soon those crusty fingers would touch my perfect sister.

“We’ve got to go!” I shouted, stepping in front of April. “Got to get to the cake!”

I glanced back at Mom and saw her face flush. Dad looked disappointed. I guess he wanted more time as a family unit or something. “I’ll be back soon. Really soon, I think.”

Dad nodded and kissed Molly’s head, which was odd since I was the one leaving.

April skipped beside me on the way back to her house. At first, that was pretty annoying. I mean, we’re in fourth grade. I stopped skipping months ago. Plus, she wasn’t really good at it. Her arms kept whapping me in the face and her legs sort of twisted out as she moved. But she laughed the whole time and the sun was shining and I was out of the smells-like-sour-milk house and off the phone with guess-who-hates-you-now Becky. Soon I was skipping, too, if only to show April how it was supposed to be done.

She giggled even harder and soon we were skip racing to her house. It was a tie. Somehow all that flailing gave her freakish speed. We flopped onto the porch swing. From inside the house, I heard tons of squealing, laughter, and music.

“Are you having a lot of people over?” I asked.

April shook her head, still grinning hugely. “Nope! Just you!”

“Then who is inside?” I asked.

“My family!” She opened the door, and wow. People everywhere! Kids running up and down stairs, April’s dad rushing by with a tray of hamburgers and hot dogs, April’s mom blowing zerberts on a baby’s chubby belly, April’s second-to-youngest brother zooming by in a Spider-Man costume.

I realized I had no idea how many brothers or sisters April had even though we had been in school together since preschool. Standing in the foyer, it felt like she must be one of a dozen. Turns out, she has three brothers, all younger, and an older sister. And they’re all pretty normal! Except for the second-to-youngest brother, who is three. (And I can’t really say for certain about the baby.) Scott’s the second-to-youngest’s name, but everyone called him Scrappy. While we were eating cake (green frosting, orange insides, surprisingly good), he fell off his chair three times for no apparent reason.

Scrappy sort of made me realize why April only talks in bursts. It’s really the only way she could ever be heard. The kid never stops talking. Ever.

“One time I played tennis. Guess what? Some guy at preschool said ‘buns.’ I told him buns are butts and he laughed. Sometimes I try to lie and I can’t. What are the things on roofs that aren’t chimneys? I had a nightmare last night.”

I realized my mouth was hanging open just like April’s.

“I heard you had a baby sister, Lucy,” April’s mom called across the table when Scrappy paused long enough to swallow a mouthful of cake.

“Yeah, her name’s Molly.”

April’s mom—a frizzy haired, rounder version of April (minus the nose picking)—and her Dad—a skinny, always-grinning taller version of Scrappy (minus the Spider-Man costume)—exchanged a long glance. I knew what was coming next: Some way of poking around at Molly’s Down syndrome. All the relatives who kept stopping by did the same thing.

Sure enough: “And how is your sister . . . progressing?”

“Right now, she’s basically a lump,” I said.

“Lucy, I’m sure—” But whatever April’s mom was sure about Molly Lumps was cut short by Scrappy.

“My favorite color is orange. I’m going to be six someday. I’ll be a police when I grow up. And I’m going to live in a barn with cats and a wife.”

April’s older sister turned up her iPod so loud I could hear the beat even though she had earphones in. The baby whimpered. The brother just younger than April fell asleep at the table.

“You’re allergic to cats!” I felt a little proud of April for getting a sentence in, even if it was in her annoying everything-with-an-exclamation-point way. “We’re all allergic to something!” And, almost like she planned it, she sneezed. Something slimy trickled down from her nose but she sucked it back up and ate more cake. I tried really hard not to shudder.

April’s mom nodded toward the sleeping brother. “Looks like the new allergy medicine isn’t going to work out,” she murmured to April’s dad. “Just like April, he’s just going to have to suffer through.”

Scrappy tugged on my sleeve. “Pirates are for real. Did you know that? One time I bit my tongue and bleeded the color blood. Dogs love me.”

My mouth hung open again.

Before I knew it, the sun was setting and the cake was gone. April wanted to skip back to my house, but I told her I wanted to walk instead. She sort of hummed beside me, but I didn’t mind. Being out of that super loud house made everything else really quiet.

“I’m sorry I didn’t have a present for you,” I said.

“That’s okay!” April grinned. “I’m happy you came over!”

“Me, too,” I said, surprising myself at how much I meant it.

Mom was rocking Molly when I came inside.

“Mom, how long is it going to take Molly to figure out how to talk?” I blurted.

Mom swallowed hard. “It takes most babies about a year to learn a couple words. Molly’s likely going to need more time than that.”

I sighed and plopped down on the couch. “Thank goodness.”

When I looked up, I was surprised to see Mom actually smiling at me. I realized it had been awhile since Mom smiled like that, with her whole face instead of just plastic-y lips, and I couldn’t help but smile back.