by Coco Simon
I sat up straight in my bed and fluffed the pillows behind me, then sagged into them. “Bummer! I’m so sorry I missed that.” Darn it! “I didn’t know Matt would be at the mall!”
“It was spontaneous. Joe’s dad dropped them off to keep an eye on Joe’s little sister and her friends who were alone at the mall for the first time. He paid for their dinner as a thank-you.”
“So . . . was it fun?”
“Yeah. Katie and George were flirting up a storm, as usual. They’re adorable.”
I laughed. “How about you and Joe? And did Mia see anyone cute?”
Emma filled me in, and while I kept hoping she’d mention Matt again, she didn’t. Finally, embarrassingly, I had to ask. “So, did . . . Matt ask for me?”
“Oh, yeah. Matt said ‘Where’s Alexis?’ and I said you went home.”
“Oh. Was that all?”
“Well, then I asked him if he knew anything about the cheerleading tryouts. Guess what? He didn’t know anything about it! I guess Greg didn’t mention it.”
“Wow! That is awesome!”
“I know,” agreed Emma. “I just said ‘Did anyone say how the cheerleading tryouts went?’ And he said no.”
“NO?”
“Nope!” Emma laughed. “I knew you’d be happy with that info. That’s why I wanted you to call me!”
“Wow, Emma, you are the best! Thank you so much for finding that out for me!”
“Sure. But there’s one more thing he did say.” Emma’s voice grew serious.
“Oh. This doesn’t sound good,” I said nervously.
“He asked me if you’d mentioned his birthday gift.”
Uh-oh.
“He did? Oh. Gee.”
“He thinks you hated it.”
“Oh no!” I bit my lip.
“Well, did you?” asked Emma.
“No! No, not at all. I didn’t hate it at all!”
“But you didn’t like it,” Emma said definitively.
“No, it’s not that. I did like it. It’s really nice. It’s just. Oh, this is so awkward, especially telling you.”
“I don’t mind,” said Emma. “Go on.”
“Well, the thing is, it’s a really cool pen. But . . . it’s a pen. It’s like . . . does he think I’m so boring that he’s just inspired to give me a pen or something? It’s pretty unromantic. I mean, not that he and I are in some big romance. Ugh. This is so weird, talking to you about your brother like this.”
“Hmm. I see what you mean. Well, I didn’t see the pen so what do I know? Maybe it has some special romantic significance?” Emma and I both laughed.
“Right!” I said. “Like it’s for writing love letters!”
“Yes, maybe it has magical powers so when you write people love notes, they automatically fall in love with you!” she joked. “The pen has a love potion in its ink!”
“I don’t know. I do owe him a thank-you note. I started it already, but I got stuck.”
“ ‘Dear Matt, thanks for the pen. Love, Alexis’?”
“Pretty much.” I giggled.
“Well, good luck with that!” said Emma.
We wrapped up the call, and I hung up to find Dylan in my doorway.
“How long have you been standing there?” I asked cautiously.
“Not very long,” she said. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
Dylan walked in and sat in my swivel chair and sighed heavily.
“Look, about last night . . .”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. Mom explained it all.”
“Oh. Okay.”
We sat there in silence for a moment, then she said, “Thanks for your note. That was really nice. I’m sorry I ran away from you at the movie theater.”
“That’s okay. I was just really worried about you.”
Dylan sat up tall. “I can take care of myself,” she said.
“I know that. Of course! But I didn’t like you being alone when you were feeling so sad.”
Dylan sagged back down. “It’s been really hard,” she said quietly.
“I’m so sorry. You know, you can hang with me and my friends anytime. They all think you’re awesome.”
Dylan laughed a little. “Thanks. That would be fun. They’re really nice girls. We had a good time together planning your party.”
“That’s what they said too.”
There was a pause, and then Dylan said, “You’re really lucky, Alexis. Your friends are true-blue.”
I smiled sadly. “I know. I wish yours were too.”
She shrugged. “I chose badly.”
“It’s not too late! I’m sure there are lots of other girls in your class who’d like to be your friend. You’re so much fun and so smart and pretty and peppy and everything. . . .”
“Humph,” said Dylan.
“And you’re an amazing cheerleader . . . and party planner!”
Dylan cracked a smile. “Yeah.”
We sat for a few seconds in silence, and then I said, “Quack!”
Dylan grinned. She knows the thing our mom always says about acting like a duck and letting things roll off your back.
Suddenly, it seemed so silly and funny. Like that all our problems can be made better by uttering this one dumb word!
“Quack!” replied Dylan.
“Quack, quack, quack, quack . . . ,” I said, laughing now.
“Quack, quack, quack, quack. . . .” Dylan was really laughing, and flapping her arms like wings.
The more we quacked and flapped, the sillier it seemed, and the more we laughed. Pretty soon, we were hysterical, clutching our sides and rocking back and forth.
You kind of had to be there, but it was great. Our problems weren’t solved, but at least we were on the same team again.
CHAPTER 9
Alexis‚ Alexis‚ Alexis!
I spent Sunday getting organized for my upcoming history test, a test I was dreading and that was coming up in ten days. Good old practical Alexis, planning ahead, right? But I felt so nervous about it that the only thing I could do was get started. I created a spreadsheet of all the terms I needed to know, then I did another sheet with all the dates, then I did a sheet that had possible essay questions and some bulleted points for the answers. It kind of took all day, but by five o’clock, I had a masterpiece of a study guide.
It was very satisfying work, especially because I knew I had plenty of time before the test so I wouldn’t panic come test day.
My mom had made an elaborate meal for dinner—Dylan’s favorite: chicken curry and rice with all the toppings, salad, bread, and key lime pie for dessert. It was amazing, and it put us all in a great mood. We cleaned up together to music that Dylan played from her speaker, and my dad got so into the music that he ended up starting a little dance-off competition, to see who had the best moves!
After dinner we played cards—this knocking game we always play if we go on a trip—and Dylan won. I couldn’t tell if my parents let her win, but I didn’t mind even if they did. I knew they were trying to give her a boost, and I was all for it.
My family went to sleep that night feeling very happy and peaceful with one another, and most importantly, very connected. We knew that we had one another’s backs, and it was a great feeling to be starting the week like that. I hoped things would get better for Dylan at school, but at least she knew she had a strong home base to come back to.
That week, the piano became my obsession. I scheduled all my homework so that I could reward myself with playing time, and I found myself quickly getting better at the familiar old pieces and hungering for new challenges. I even stopped by our school library to take out a couple of extra books to see if I could learn some new songs.
I kept finding my dad leaning in the living room doorway, listening to me play with a small smile. When I asked him why he was standing there, he said it reminded him of being a kid and listening to his mom play. After hearing that I e-mailed my granny to see if there were some pieces
she could recommend that she used to play. I thought maybe I’d learn them and surprise my dad one day.
Dylan got annoyed with me on Tuesday. We were at dinner, and my parents were asking about our days and Dylan said hers was fine but she didn’t want to discuss it. I saw my parents exchange a glance, and I must have been looking at Dylan with a sad expression because she snapped at me.
“I don’t need your pity, Alexis. I’m not a total loser, you know!” she said, scowling.
“Sor-ry!” I said. “Pardon me for feeling sympathetic!”
My dad tried to change the subject. “Alexis, your playing is coming along beautifully! I love hearing you on the piano when I come home from work.”
“Thanks, I—”
Dylan interrupted. “Alexis, Alexis, Alexis,” she singsonged. “Alexis is so perfect. She does everything so well. She’s our favorite daughter. . . .”
Wait, what?
“That’s enough, Dylan. If you can’t be kind, you may be excused. Please apologize to Alexis either way,” said my dad.
Dylan didn’t want to leave the table. She cast her eyes down and mumbled an apology, and we all continued to eat as if nothing had happened.
But inside, I was reeling from shock! Had Dylan just said about me exactly what I’d been saying about her for the past few weeks? It was impossible to believe!
That night I was in bed studying for history again when my mom came into my room to say good night. I put down my study guide and said, “I guess it’s not getting any better for Dylan at school this week, is it?”
My mom shook her head sadly and sighed. “I might have to go in to have a chat with the teachers and see what can be done.”
“Wow. Sorry.” I’d dealt with my fair share of mean girls before—including stupid Olivia Allen, the worst of all—so I kind of knew how that felt. “I wish there was something I could do to help make her feel better.”
“That’s very generous, honey. I’m sure she’d appreciate that. Thank you.”
As I went to sleep I had a couple of really great ideas for what I could do to cheer up Dylan. I sat up and scribbled them down and then slept like a baby until my alarm went off.
At lunch the next day, I came clean with the Cupcakers and told them what was going on with Dylan. I thought it might be disloyal of me to do so, but I also had to enlist their help in cheering her up. (Ha-ha, get it? Cheering?)
“I’m going to ask her to help us with a couple of Cupcake Club things and see if it makes her feel better. So that’s why I was wondering if I could host the Cupcake Club meeting again this week at my house, please?”
“You mean now you want us to hang out with Dylan?” asked Mia
I sighed. “Uh-huh, yup. Sorry for all the confusion.”
“Poor Dylan,” said Katie.
“I know,” I agreed.
“We’re in. Whatever you want,” offered Mia.
“Thanks.”
That night I asked Dylan if she would help me create a playlist for our Cupcake Club meetings. I said we needed some energizing music and something to inspire our creativity a little—we were kind of in a rut. Even though I’d made it up, as I said it, I knew it was true. I invited her to join us on Friday.
Dylan looked at me skeptically, as if she knew I was asking her just to be nice.
I waited.
Then after a few seconds she said, “Okay, if I’m home, I’ll stop by.”
That was the best I could hope for.
On Friday my friends all came over. Katie and Emma were chattering away about the piece Emma was playing with her teacher at the talent show the next day, and I was just hoping my little Operation Cheer Up Dylan would work.
We got home and prepared a snack, and while we ate, I read aloud from our ledger, which is where we keep track of our profits and spending. We’d been a little flat lately, and we needed some new ideas, more events, and more creativity.
“It’s time to take it up a notch!” I announced.
As if on cue Dylan came in the back door and shut it hard. I cocked my head, trying to decide if that was a firm shut or a door slam. I’d know soon enough.
Dylan walked into the kitchen.
“Hey, Dylan!” said my friends, truly happy to see her.
“Want a snack?” offered Katie. She always concocted some delicious thing out of nothing—like today it was pizza English muffins with a little tomato sauce she whipped up with ingredients from the cabinet and topped with some grated mozzarella and Parmesan. They were insanely good!
Dylan looked as if she was going to decline, but then she saw the mini pizzas on the platter and said yes. She selected one, put it on a paper towel, and sat down to join us.
This was going well so far!
“Girls, I asked Dylan if she might have time to create a playlist for us for our meetings and baking sessions. I think it will help pump us up a little.”
“Ooh, good idea!” said Mia, looking expectantly at Dylan.
Dylan had her mouth full, but she nodded. “Amazing pizzas, Katie,” she said, and Katie beamed. Dylan wiped her fingers on the paper towel and pulled out her phone. “I actually did a little brainstorming during lunch today. . . .”
I didn’t want to think about why she might have had the time to brainstorm on her phone during lunch, since it could only mean one thing: She’d eaten alone. I just congratulated myself that step one of my cheer-up plan had worked. She was getting involved with us and had something else to think about besides the mean girls.
“I think we should start with some really upbeat songs to get you moving around and get your heart rates up, almost like a warm-up.” She listed a few Top 40–type pop songs from the past few years that were all fun. “Then we get a little groovier. . . .” Dylan rattled off ten songs I’d never heard of, but the other girls had and they looked psyched.
“Those are really good,” said Emma, who knows more about popular music than I do. She nodded in approval.
“And then another peppy interlude to keep your energy up, and that you can sing along to, to inspire you and raise your endorphins, those feel-good chemicals in your body.” Dylan fired off five more songs. “And that should do it.”
She put her phone back down and picked up her pizza.
“Those are really good ideas,” said Katie. Then she turned to me. “Alexis, I love the baking session playlist concept!”
I smiled. “Thanks. I was also thinking, Dylan, if your schedule has the time for it, is there any way you could please do our hair and makeup before the talent show bake sale tomorrow? That way we’ll all look really professional, especially Emma, who has to perform. If it works out, you could do it for the other events we’re doing at school, too.”
“Yes, please!” Emma said in relief. “I’m going to be too nervous and distracted to do it myself, and I’d love your help. Oh, Dylan, please say yes!”
I shot Emma a warning look, as if to say, Don’t overdo it. She caught my eye and nodded slightly.
“What time is it tomorrow?” asked Dylan through a mouthful of pizza.
“The doors open at six, but we need to be there at five thirty to set up.”
Dylan thought for a minute, and I held my breath. Finally, “I’m free before then,” she agreed.
“Awesome. Thank you so much! We were planning to meet here at three o’clock to do the frosting and chop the toppings. Should we come a little earlier?” asked Katie.
“Mmm, I think I can be here by two o’clock,” said Dylan.
I had one more thing up my sleeve.
“Also, Dylan, I have another concept. Katie had actually mentioned this before, but I was thinking maybe you’d like to come on board with the Cupcake Club as our party-planning-services coordinator.”
I smiled and sat back in my seat proudly and looked around the table, but my friends were all looking at me in shock. That was not the reaction I was expecting.
“What?” I asked.
They looked at one another, and Emma clear
ed her throat, but Dylan said flatly, “No. Thanks. That’s just not an interest of mine.”
“But you’re so good at it!” I said, leaning forward in my chair.
My friends still had anxious looks on their faces, but now they were looking between me and Dylan, as if we were having a ping-pong match.
“Alexis, nothing personal, but planning and organizing and all that—I don’t really enjoy it. I mean, if it’s for a person I know, like your birthday party, then yes, obviously. But as, like, a job? No thanks.”
Emma let out a huge sigh of what seemed to be relief.
“Anyway, I’m too busy now.”
Um, what?
“With school?” I asked, cringing as I said it. I knew Dylan would now be mad at me for letting on that her social life wasn’t so great.
“No, not with school,” she said witheringly. “I’ve been brought on as a consultant, to the middle school cheerleading program.”
“Whaaaaat?” My jaw dropped in surprise.
Dylan nodded. “That Ceci Shanahan girl texted and said that Ms. Adorante, the faculty adviser, suggested I help out a couple of days a week as, like, a junior coach.” She shrugged. “So I said yes.”
I didn’t want to overreact with joy, but this was the best thing I’d heard in weeks! It would get Dylan away from the mean girls, get her doing something she loved, and with someone as nice as Ceci—well, it was a win-win! But I played it cool.
“Okay, I get it. That’s totally fine. Maybe you’d just be available for advice sometimes, like party planning brainstorming.”
“If I’m free,” said Dylan. She stood and wiped the crumbs from where she’d been sitting. “And, Alexis, I’m on to your whole ‘Let’s be nice to Dylan to cheer her up’ plan. I appreciate it, but I can take care of myself. I’ll e-mail you the playlist link when I get upstairs. See you tomorrow at two o’clock. Thanks for the pizza, Katie.” And she left.
We all waited until we heard her door close upstairs, and then everyone spoke at once.
“Oh thank goodness for Ceci Shanahan,” I said first.
“Alexis, what were you thinking?” said Emma.
