“There’s a baggie in the fridge marked Wilder. Would you mind getting it for him?” Cate asked, then turned to her laptop and began typing, even though the power was off.
“Me?” Drew screeched. “Why me?”
Cate looked up and whispered, “Because camp is over. This is your last chance.”
“Last chance for what?”
“To talk to him.”
“What makes you think I want to talk to him?”
Cate raised her thick eyebrows. “Um, maybe because you’re in here every morning.”
“So?”
“So, I never need help in the morning, and you know it. You’re here because this is when Will comes for his allergy medicine.”
“It is?” Drew giggled, totally busted.
Cate closed her laptop. “Talk to him.”
“I’ve been at an all-girls school for the last six years. I don’t know how.”
“Well, then you better figure it out,” Cate said.
The hollow stomp of sneakers against the wood steps cut their conversation short. They also sent Cate running for a bathroom she didn’t have to use.
“No! Don’t go!”
“Back soon!”
The screen door squeaked open, and in loped Will.
Dressed in a grass-stained white tee and army-green shorts, he had the rumpled good looks of a Nickelodeon star after a long day on set. His messy blond hair seemed to be begging for a back-to-school cut, while the smirk behind his denim-blue eyes said, Keep begging. Here was a guy who cared more about winning the camp’s iron-man challenges (he always did!) than perfecting his look. Which is exactly what made his look perfect. But mostly, Drew was drawn to the sides of Will she couldn’t see but sensed. He seemed fun but not reckless. Kind but not boring. Competitive but not cutthroat. Basically, the male version of her.
Not that it mattered. Once she gave Will his medicine, they’d probably never see each other again.
“Hey,” he said in that gravelly voice of his. “I’m here to pick up my—”
“Levocetirizine,” Drew blurted. Then, faster than he could say stalker, she hurried for the fridge.
“The nurse has a Krown Rookie?” he asked, bending down to check out the skateboard propped next to the door.
Drew giggled. As if Nurse Cate would ever ride around camp on a pink board with purple flames. She was more of a natural-finish type. “It’s mine,” she called.
“I’ve seen you skate. You’re good.”
Drew returned with his baggie and a shy grin. “Thanks.”
“I wanted to skate with you, but . . .”
“But what?” she asked, faking casual.
“I could never get away from my unit,” he said, making fun of the Battleflag motto. Family Units Unite!
“Sticking with your family is what makes it a family,” Drew added, quoting the camp song, which was actually quoting a famous author named Mitch . . . something.
“Yeah.” Will rubbed the back of his neck. “All that togetherness can be pretty intense.”
“Try growing up here,” Drew said.
Will laughed a little.
Drew laughed a little back.
He glanced down at his red sneaks.
She glanced toward the bathroom. Where was Cate?
“Cool necklace,” Drew said, desperate to fill the silence, but also drawn to the string of ivory shells, which reminded her of Maui’s necklace from Moana.
His hand went straight to it, as if checking to make sure it was still there. “I made it during family arts and crafts.”
“Cool.”
The silence returned, only thicker this time. Packed with the embarrassment that comes from not knowing what to say next. At the same time, the chatter inside Drew’s head was at full volume. Talk. Be clever and charming. Not too charming, or he’ll think you’re flirting. Not too clever, or he’ll think you’re showing off. Hurry! If you don’t, he’ll leave. Wait, maybe it’s better if he leaves. I mean, he’s going to leave at some point, so why not get it over with? Ugh! If I hadn’t spent the last six years at a private girls’ school, I’d know what to say. Fonda would know what to say. Her sisters would definitely know what to say. Ruthie might or might not know what to say, but if she didn’t, she’d lay one of her “fun facts” on him, and it would seem like she knew. I wish they were here right now. I have to remember what Will looks like so I can describe him to them. Oh no, we just made eye contact. Look away!
“How’d you get that scar?” Will asked, indicating the thin white line between Drew’s upper lip and left nostril.
“Zombie.” She blushed. The scar was so faint. If Will had noticed it, it meant he wasn’t just looking at her; he was looking at her.
“Blindfold tag?”
Drew nodded. No one ever knew what Zombie was! “It happened when I was nine. Face, meet tree branch. Tree branch, meet face.”
Will nodded like he knew that story all too well. “Have you ever played Zombie on your skateboard?”
“No. You?”
“The parking lot at my school was paved last year. So we play on weekends.”
“Sounds like a fun school.”
“Yeah,” Will said. “On weekends.”
Drew laughed a little.
Will laughed a little back.
“Where do you go to school?”
“Poplar Middle.”
Drew cocked her head, sure she hadn’t heard him properly. “Wait, where?”
“Poplar Middle.”
“Shut up!” Drew said, smacking him on the arm. “Really?”
“Uh, yeah.” Will rubbed his arm. “You know it?”
“That’s where I’m going!”
“Seriously?” Will’s cheeks reddened. “Seventh?”
“Yep.”
“How have I never seen you there before?”
“I was at St. Catherine’s. I’m starting Poplar this year. Are the teachers strict?”
“Don’t get me stah-ted,” Will said; then he turned even redder. “Sorry. It’s a line from this old skateboard movie I found on YouTube. It’s super cheesy, but I’m kind of obsessed.”
“The Skateboard Kid?”
“You know it?”
Drew smiled a smile that felt too wide for her face. “My brother, Doug, and I watch it all the time.”
“No way.”
“Way!”
The screen door screeched open, then stuttered shut behind a fit brunette woman wearing a wide-brimmed hat, a Battleflag tank top, and a toxic amount of insect repellant.
“There you are, Will,” she said, offering Drew a polite grin. “Did you get your medicine? Your father and sister are waiting in the car.”
Drew handed Will the bag.
“Thanks,” Will said, more to the bag than Drew. “So I guess I’ll see you at school.”
“Not if you’re playing Zombie.”
“Huh?”
“You’ll be blindfolded.”
“True.” Will ran a hand through his hair. Blond peaks formed in its wake. It looked like a dinosaur’s spine. “Anyway, you should play with us sometime.”
“Sounds good,” Drew said, anxious to know when, exactly, so she could hurry up and get there.
“Will, let’s go!” said his mother.
“I better—”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
“Bye,” Drew said, with a stiff wave. The kind that says, My hand is on board for this goodbye, but my heart is not. Drew blinked, taking a mental video of its floppy, this-hurts-me-more-than-it-hurts-you quality, then filed it under To Be Analyzed by Ruthie and Fonda. She’d be back with her nesties in no time and couldn’t wait to tell them every single detail. Twice.
chapter three.
THE WHITE HOUSE was m
ajestic. The Capitol reflecting pool at dusk had been magical. And all seventeen United States memorials had moved the Goldman family to tears. But the reunion that was about to take place in Ruthie’s bedroom would be the most memorable part of her summer, by far.
No offense, Washington, DC, she thought as she emptied the errant almond shards, pencil shavings, and six crossword puzzle books from her travel backpack. Ruthie enjoyed the adventure with her parents—it was an all-you-can-eat buffet for her brain. But her brain was full. She was ready to be home. Home is where the heart is, after all, and her heart had been left behind to starve. The fact that she was not allowed to use electronic devices, not even to stay in touch with friends, made that hunger even worse. She’d hoped for a squealing driveway reunion, but Fonda was grocery shopping with her sisters and Drew had only gotten back from camp thirty minutes ago and was also unpacking.
But none of that mattered, because they were going to arrive at her house in—Ruthie consulted her pink Timex—five minutes! That was three hundred seconds until their Friday-night sleepover, the first one in two months, began.
Ruthie couldn’t wait to hear Drew’s hilarious descriptions of the Battleflag campers and how Fonda managed to work three jobs. She couldn’t wait to pick chips off their plates without having to ask permission, laugh at their burps, and eventually fall asleep to the sound of their collective breathing. She couldn’t wait to be back with her girls, once and for all.
With that, Ruthie scooped up Foxie, the last item on her rug, and tucked her into bed. Foxie was her secret, beloved stuffie that only her besties and her parents knew she still had. Ruthie first spotted it five years earlier, in the second-grade lost-and-found. Foxie’s pointy snout had poked out from the jumble of sweatshirts, sneakers, and lunch boxes like a snorkel. The poor thing was all alone. Ruthie had no choice but to rescue her, especially with the oodles they had in common:
Dark eyes alight with curiosity
Perky ears, alert and ready to learn
Sibling-free
Lonely
Fondness for the word oodles
Ruthie’s doorbell rang, followed by the usual round of Morse code knocks: one long sound followed by two quick ones for the letter D. Then two short, one long, one short, for F. Her pack was back! Moments later, she, Drew, and Fonda were fused together in a three-way hug, bouncing around her bedroom and squealing with joy. The eight-week friend fast was officially over.
“Your hair!” Ruthie said to Fonda. What had once been cinnamon brown and curly was now sleek, shiny, and past her collarbone.
“I bought a flat iron with my babysitting money,” Fonda said, stroking the ends. “You like?”
“I do!” Ruthie enthused. But if she were being totally honest, she would have said she missed the curls. They were friendly, approachable, and up for anything. Without them, Fonda appeared older, more serious. Like someone who had a long to-do list and was determined to get it done.
Next, she complimented Drew’s hair, which looked extra blond from the summer sun.
“And you look . . .” Drew searched Ruthie’s pale, summer-is-for-reading skin.
“The exact same,” Fonda said, completing the sentence.
They were right. Ruthie was still taller than Fonda and shorter than Drew. Her wide blue eyes remained mascara free. Her two-inch bangs and chin-length bob hadn’t changed a bit. (How anyone could see the French film Amélie and not copy Audrey Tautou’s haircut was a wig scratcher.)
“Same is good,” Ruthie said, pleased. Predictability made her feel safe. Then, “Wait, I do have something new!” She pointed at the wall behind her bed. Like the other walls in her room, it was decorated with puzzles she had completed over the years, but this particular wall had a new addition. “Can you spot it?”
Drew and Fonda jumped up on the mattress to get a closer look.
“You moved the sandy beach next to the black cats?” Drew guessed.
“The beach has always been by the cats,” Fonda said. “Is the snowstorm new?”
“She’s had that since fourth grade,” Drew said.
“True . . .” Fonda said, tap-tapping her chin.
Ruthie’s concern morphed into excitement. There was nothing more exhilarating than a memory challenge. “Give up?”
“NO!” they both said.
Then, after a few seconds, Drew shouted, “The Washington Monument!”
“Correct!”
“I win!” Drew did a victory dance on the bed. Not because she wanted to gloat, but because competition was in her DNA. The Hardens literally ate cereal out of first-place-trophy cups.
“Snack attack!” Fonda said as she cleared the cushions from Ruthie’s reading nook and presented her offerings to the group: brownies, Red Vines, Sun Chips, and the requisite oranges. As always, she hid everything under a blanket except the oranges, which she placed on Ruthie’s desk in case her mom came in.
Dr. Fran Goldman, a pediatrician, was dead set against processed foods, and insisted that all snacks be made in her kitchen, using only natural ingredients. The pantry was basically floor-to-ceiling heart-healthy almonds and raisins. And honestly, only toddlers and grandparents liked raisins. The situation at Drew’s was equally tragic, since her parents were always on some kind of high-protein caveman diet. Fonda’s pantry, however, was a wonderland. Joan was so determined to raise independent women she had her daughters do the grocery shopping. The only rule was, if you got a cavity, you paid for the filling. So, after every indulgence, Fonda would floss right there, mid-sleepover. Was it gross? Yes. Did they care? Of course not.
The next hour was a blur of sugary snacks and catch-up: Ruthie wanted the play-by-play of each and every day she’d been kept apart from her friends, and they were happy to fill her in on every detail. Finally satisfied she knew it all, she flopped back against a pillow.
“Three more sleeps until Poplar Middle,” Ruthie announced, thrilled that for the first time ever, they would all be at the same school. Same schedules, same teachers, same friends. Her old school was anti-cliques, anti-grades, anti-technology, anti–birthday parties, anti-plastic, anti-sugar, and anti-fun. There was only one good thing about Forest Day: it stopped after sixth grade. “I can’t wait to sit together in every class.” Ruthie was picturing them like puzzle pieces, snapping together with zero effort, three perfect fits.
Fonda popped open the bag of Sun Chips. “I can’t wait to have lunch together.”
“And walk to school together,” Drew added.
“And pee together.”
“And study together.”
“And see each other in the halls.”
“And go to the same parties.”
“And dances.”
“And field trips.”
“And Will,” Drew blurted.
“Will?” Ruthie asked, wondering if she’d heard wrong. “We make wills in middle school?”
“No.” Drew bit into a Red Vine. “Will Wilder.”
“How do you know Will?” Fonda asked with a mouth full of chips.
“So . . . there’s one little thing I forgot to tell you,” Drew said. Her cheeks were red as she replayed her infirmary conversation with Will in such detail Ruthie could almost smell the rubber soles of his red sneakers, see his shell necklace, taste his allergy medicine. The more Drew said, the brighter her T-zone glistened not from zit-producing oils, but from overstimulated crush glands.
The only right way to feel in that moment was happy for Drew. So why did Ruthie want to grab Foxie, sniff the part of her ear that smelled like bananas, and cry? Why did the idea of Drew snapping into place with a new puzzle piece fill Ruthie with panic? It wasn’t like Drew said she was unsnapping with Ruthie. In fact, Drew didn’t say anything about Ruthie, just Will. Maybe that was the problem. After eight weeks apart, why wasn’t Drew talking about missing he
r and Fonda? She’d told them everything about family camp, but she hadn’t actually said she missed them.
“This will be good for my goal.” Fonda’s brown eyes looked golden as the setting sun came through the window.
“I knew it!” Ruthie said, relieved Fonda was taking control, as always. “That hair is all business.”
“You have a Will goal?” Drew asked, confused.
“Yeah,” Fonda said. “As in we will dominate.”
Drew handed Ruthie the Red Vines; Ruthie handed Drew a brownie. They were all ears.
“What do you want to dominate?” Ruthie dared to ask.
“Seventh grade.”
Ruthie and Drew exchanged a quick glance. They knew Fonda envied her older sisters. How they never needed Google to know what to wear or say or do. They just knew, without searching a single thing. They never doubted their decisions or questioned their outfits. They never walked away from conversations wondering if they sounded silly. Her besties also knew Fonda was tired of living in their perfume-scented shadows. That she wanted to step into the spotlight and be seen. But dominate? Only cartoon villains wanted that.
“How are you going to do it?” Drew asked.
“Not me,” Fonda said. “We.”
Ruthie bit down on her thumbnail. Her goals for Poplar Middle were a little more basic:
Have fun with her best friends
Maintain a 100 percent average
Don’t get lost
“Domination seems a little lofty for us newbies, don’t you think?” Ruthie looked to Drew. “Maybe we should shoot for something more realistic, like ‘Make a new friend by Halloween’—”
girl stuff. Page 2
