girl stuff.

by Lisi Harrison

  “I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

  “In your case NF stands for not Filly,” Winfrey said.

  “Meaning?”

  “You don’t live in Philadelphia anymore. You live in California. It never rains here. We don’t own boots.”

  Instead of pointing out that Philly didn’t start with an F, the girls fell silent, each of them probably trying to solve the footwear crisis.

  “What about no shoes?” Amelia finally said. “A barefoot pact.”

  Without hesitation, all five girls lifted their bottles of nail polish and clinked, making it official. They would go barefoot to the homecoming dance on Friday. By Saturday everyone would be talking about it. And by Sunday everyone would be doing it. That was how it worked with Fonda’s sisters.

  And with any luck, that was how it would work with Fonda, Drew, and Ruthie one day.

  But how?

  Fonda, now hiding under the kitchen table, typed FORM PACTS into her phone when it hit her: next Friday, while her sisters were dancing barefoot at homecoming and the Avas were boy browsing at their party, she would make history with a Sleepover Spa-tacular. Everything from nail bars to chocolate bars would be available. They could style each other’s hair, make DIY face masks, play pin the eyelash on the donkey, create slogans, and form pacts. Not a single NF would be uttered, because everything they said would be hilarious. She would lift the girls up and show them how amazing they were. Prove that they belonged together and that no one—not the Avas, not a doozer, not a time-sucking TAG program, and not even Fonda’s sisters—could tear them apart.

  chapter fourteen.

  EVERY THURSDAY, RHEA quizzed the Titans on the previous week’s material to make sure no one was falling behind. It was a gift from the Greek gods, Ruthie thought. The solution to her biggest problem. The key to escaping TAG.

  Sticking to the plan, she wrote her final answer: Newton’s first law of motion was force equals mass multiplied by acceleration. Then she pressed two fingers into her throbbing temple, throbs that were probably tapping fraud in Morse code. Because Ruthie knew Newton’s first law was “A body in motion stays in motion and a body at rest stays at rest unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.” But her goal was to leave, not achieve, so she flubbed her math and English tests too.

  The decision to “fail” out of TAG wasn’t easy. It involved a detailed pro-con list, followed by a tear-soaked snuggle with Foxie. Gone were the days when Ruthie’s biggest decision was whether to hang out with Drew and Fonda at the fro-yo shop or the bead store. Gone were also the days when she could ask them for advice. At least it felt that way. Their last sleepover put the ugh in rough, and thanks to two TAG field trips and a five-page essay on the importance of civic duty, Ruthie barely saw them all week. At least Fonda’s big Spa-tacular sleepover was tomorrow night, but until then, she was forced to problem-solve on her own.

  “What do you think of my plan?” Ruthie asked herself.

  Depends, she answered. How many pros? How many cons?

  “Two on each side.”

  Ugh. That doesn’t help.

  “My brain says don’t do it. It thinks I’ll miss the guest speakers, fun facts, and out-of-the-box homework assignments.”

  And your heart?

  “It says do it.”

  You don’t like those Titans, do you? Are they still gealous of your escape room skills?

  “No, they’re over it. Everyone is being super nice. Everest even taught me how to sit on my balance ball.”

  Then why leave?

  Ruthie gripped her belly as she considered her response. Just thinking about Drew and Fonda moving on without her was nauseating. Because they were more than friends, they were even more than nesties: they were the closest thing to siblings she had. “I’m scared.”

  Deep down, you know where you belong, Ruthie told herself. Go with your heart.

  At that, Ruthie hugged Foxie to her chest. She knew what she had to do. And she had just done it.

  “Those tests were so easy, am I right?” Sage said now as the Titans filed into the kitchen to grab their lunches from the fridge.

  Ruthie nodded, wishing she could tell Sage the truth. She liked Sage, liked that she thought tests were easy too. Because, not to sound braggy, but sometimes Ruthie didn’t want to pretend school was hard just to fit in. Sometimes she wanted to complain about how easy it was with someone who might agree.

  “Hey, wanna hang out tomorrow night?” Sage asked as they settled in to watch a documentary on climate change.

  Ruthie sighed. She would miss learning through lunch. Miss being surrounded by peers who preferred books to the movies, NPR to Netflix, TED Talks to Xbox. Not to mention she was one listen away from knowing the entire Hamilton cast album. They were good people. They just weren’t her people.

  “I’d love to, but I have a special spa sleepover tomorrow night,” Ruthie said, insides tingling at the thought of sharing her scandalous plan with her girls over hot chocolate and colorful pedicures—that Titans had to maintain a minimum B-plus average to stay in the program, and Ruthie was about to land in the D zone. That Rhea would assume she couldn’t handle the material and recommend she leave the program. That they could finally be together!

  “Special spa sleepover,” Sage echoed. “That’s some serious alliteration, am I right?”

  “You are indeed.” Ruthie laughed. She would miss seeing Sage in class every day. But all she could focus on was the inevitable excitement on Drew’s and Fonda’s faces when Ruthie told them she threw her test results on purpose.

  “Who’s having the sleepover?” Sage asked, tucking a strand of pink hair behind her ear. “Alberta?”

  “No.”

  “Tomoyo?”

  “No.”

  “Wait . . . You wouldn’t sleep at a boy’s house . . . would you?” Sage asked, concerned.

  “Ew, no!” Ruthie laughed. She liked knowing that someone other than Drew and Fonda cared enough to wonder who she was hanging out with. “I have two friends outside of TAG.”

  Sage wrinkled her forehead. “And you still have time to hang out with them?”

  I will, Ruthie thought. Because starting Monday, she would be having lunch with Drew and Fonda, sitting in class with Drew and Fonda, and doing homework with Drew and Fonda. Starting Monday, TAG would take on a whole new meaning for Ruthie. It would stand for the Together Always Girls—a program that finally included all three of them.

  chapter fifteen.

  OPERATION WHERE THERE’S a Will There’s a Way was a total bust.

  Correction, there was plenty of Will, just no way to get him alone. He was always skating with Henry during lunch, and his older sister picked him up after school, so he never walked home. Drew needed a plan B, fast. But Doug worked at the surf shop on Thursdays, the nesties had declared the subject off-limits, and getting advice from her mother was pointless. What did she know about boys?

  Sluggish with defeat, Drew finished her homework, then headed to Green Gates Skate Park to face the bowl. Because when she was dressed in head-to-toe protective pads and peering into a concrete abyss, it was hard to think about unrequited crushes. Surviving the drop was her only thought. That and the fact that she looked like a stormtrooper.

  One by one, skaters shot off the lip of the bowl and rounded the turns. The moment Drew saw a break in the action, she put her left foot on the back of the board, bent her knees, shifted her weight forward and plunged.

  “Ahhhhhhh!”

  Drew had dropped into dozens of pools dozens of times, but she still screamed like she was riding the Silver Bullet at Knott’s. Screaming was part of the fun. Everything about skating was part of the fun. Except wiping out, which was rare. But when it did happen, no one judged. Unlike at school, skating mess-ups weren’t seen as epic fails. They were opportunities to dust off and try again—and, of course, a chance to
use her nursing skills.

  As Drew reached the bottom of the bowl, she swiveled her hips to carve, and—SMASH! Someone came at her from the left and knocked her to the ground with a heart-stopping thud. Stunned into silence, Drew lay on the concrete in a heap.

  Eyes closed, she listened for the wail of ambulance sirens as shadows flickered across her lids. How long before the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth? Before she was hoisted onto a gurney? Before she had to miss Fonda’s Sleepover Spa-tacular on account of being dead? That sleepover was supposed to be a do-over. The chance for Drew to actually connect with her friends and have fun, instead of obsessing over Will. Because maybe Fonda and Ruthie were right. Maybe it was time to admit defeat and move on. But if she was dead, how could she possibly—

  “Are you okay?” asked a boy. His gravelly voice familiar but strained.

  Drew’s lids fluttered open to find him leaning over her, shaggy blond hair obstructing his face but not his concern.

  “Will?”

  Cliché as it seemed, Drew was certain she had died and gone to heaven. Because when a girl spends two and a half weeks trying to talk to a boy and can’t make it happen, then suddenly opens her deceased eyes and sees him, heaven is the only thing that makes sense.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t see you and then I did see you and then—” He clapped his hands together. “Bam!”

  Drew scanned his knees for scrapes and abrasions she might have to tend to, but luckily Will was wearing pads.

  “Here. Let me help you up.”

  Will offered his hand. It was warm and soft, not shaky and clammy like Drew’s. Once she was back on her feet, he let go, though her body still carried the zing from his touch.

  Together, they limped to the nearest bench. Then Will ran to get a bag of ice. Nurse Cate would have been impressed with his bedside manner. But Drew wasn’t so sure. Why did it take a near-death experience for Will to acknowledge her? What about that was impressive?

  “Who are you here with?” he asked when he got back. He sat beside her and laid his helmet on the bench. “Should I get anyone?”

  “I came alone,” Drew said, embarrassed. What if he thought she was friendless? “You?”

  “Same.”

  “Oh, good,” Drew said. “I mean, sorry.”

  Will finger-fluffed his hair, which had been flattened by his helmet and held in place by sweat. “I should be apologizing to you.”

  “For what?” Drew asked, expectant. He was finally going to mention the lunchtime incident.

  “Smashing into you.”

  “Oh, that. It’s fine.”

  He flashed a flirty half smile. “And what are you sorry for?”

  “That you don’t have any friends,” she teased.

  “Um.” He glanced around. “Neither do you.”

  “Opposite. I have so many friends Mr. Green Gates had to turn them away. It’s a maximum-capacity issue. You wouldn’t understand.”

  Drew was surprised at how comfortable she felt around Will. Their banter didn’t feel awkward or strained. It was playful and easy. As if Will was an old friend. A really adorable old friend who was still wearing the white shell necklace he made at her family’s camp.

  “What were the skateboarder’s last words?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Drew said as the melting ice she was holding to her tailbone sent trickles of water down her shorts.

  “Hey, dude, watch this.”

  She laughed and then fired back with “How many skateboarders does it take to change a light bulb?”

  He shrugged.

  “Eight. One to do it and seven to post the video.”

  They laughed, but it was Drew who suddenly felt like the joke. Will wasn’t shy. He didn’t have face blindness or a personality-altering reaction to Levocetirizine. He was confident and healthy. Which meant Fonda’s simple explanation was right; he didn’t want to hang out. But until Drew heard him say it, she’d never fully believe it. Because there was an invisible crackle that charged the space between their bodies, and that crackle told a different story.

  Why were you acting so weird at school the other day? And before you speak, know that whatever answer you give is fine as long as you’re honest. Because nothing hurts more than guessing. Not even the truth, Drew wanted to say. But she didn’t need to be a boy stuff expert to know that that was the opposite of Doug’s advice and would not put him at ease. Instead, she asked if he wanted to skate on Saturday.

  “Uh . . .” Will gazed out at the parking lot, then began opening and closing the Velcro strap on his wrist guard.

  “It’s okay,” Drew said, rushing to fill the awkward silence. “I get it.”

  “It’s not that,” he said, still with that Velcro. “It’s—”

  “We can do it some other time, or never. Whatever.” Drew felt a prickly rush of heat under her armpits. Did she really just rhyme?

  “No, I have plans on Saturday with my friends, that’s all.” He looked up and met her eyes, shooting that crackle straight into her body. “But any chance you’re going to the Avas’ party tomorrow?”

  “I wasn’t invited,” Drew said. “I mean, not because I’m a loser or anything. I’m new at Poplar, so I don’t really know them. That’s all.”

  “Well, you’re invited now,” Will said. “You can go with me. I’ll introduce you.”

  Drew’s ice pack slipped to the ground. “Actually?”

  “Actually.”

  She felt like she was flying down the bowl again. The rush was that exhilarating. “Okay.”

  He stood up and then sat, his body unsure of how to react. It was adorkable.

  “Want to meet at the school and ride there together?”

  Despite her scrapes, bruises, and bumps, Drew had never felt more beautiful in her life.

  “Sounds good.”

  The moment they parted ways, Drew hopped on her skateboard, feeling no pain, and pumped her foot across the pavement faster than she ever had before. She couldn’t wait to share this new development with the girls, and if she was being totally honest, maybe squeak out a good-natured “I told you so” or two. Then . . . wham!

  All of Drew’s joy abruptly stopped, the way it would if she had walked into a sliding glass door. Only it wasn’t glass Drew had smashed into. It was reality.

  The Avas’ party was tomorrow. Tomorrow was Friday. The same night as Fonda’s Sleepover Spa-tacular.

  Now what?

  Was Drew supposed to cancel on her friends or cancel on Will? Miss the Spa-tacular or a boy-girl party with an actual boy? The actual boy. Should she tell her friends she’d rather be with Will or tell Will she’d rather be with her friends? No matter what Drew chose, who she chose, someone was going to get hurt. And that someone was probably going to be her.

  chapter sixteen.

  ALL WEEK LONG, every seventh grader’s conversation, regardless of how it started, ended with the Avas’ boy-girl party—a party Fonda was not invited to. A lifetime of being snubbed by Winfrey and Amelia was agonizing enough. Now she had to endure another year of peer snubs too? Each time someone talked about it, which was all the time, Fonda felt like her insides were being hollowed out by a cold ice cream scooper.

  She tried to alleviate the pain with thoughts of the Spa-tacular and all the mud masks, playlists, sugary snacks, and Netflix that would go with it. She tried telling herself that NOT having to fuss over an outfit for the boy-girl party would be a relief. And that her own girl-girl-girl party would be way better because she could wear comfy pajamas, burp out loud, and pee with the door open. But Fonda’s personal pep talks were no match for the Avas’ party. Excitement was spreading through the school like lice.

  Overheard in science:

  Mr. Burman: Who can use the word blastocyst in a sentence?

  Maya whispers to her friend
Dani: We’re going to have a blast-ocyst at the Avas’ party tonight.

  Overheard at lunch:

  Eighth-grade girl: How many Avas does it take to throw a party?

  Friend: I don’t know. How many?

  Eighth-grade girl: Three.

  Friend: I don’t get it.

  Eighth-grade girl: That wasn’t a joke. It really takes three of them.

  Friend: That means it’s going to be three times as fun.

  Eighth-grade girl: I know. I can’t wait!

  Overheard in language arts:

  Ms. Silver: That’s the bell. Have fun at Ava’s party tonight!

  Now, in the school locker room, Fonda was tearing off her PE uniform as if it were on fire because if one more Ava said one more thing about her rhymes-with-farty, Fonda’s hair was going to curl.

  “Question,” Ava H. said as she pulled a travel mirror from her backpack and began grooming her fake eyelashes with a tiny comb. “Does anyone know if Henry Goode is coming tonight?”

  “It’s his mom’s birthday,” said Ava G., her high-pitched voice echoing off the dingy white tiles. “So, I wouldn’t count on it.”

  “Then he better not count on me having a crush on him,” she told her reflection. “He’s Goode but he’s not that good.”

  They cracked up and high-fived each other while Fonda speed-tied her high-tops.

  “Outfit update!” Ava G. announced.

  The girls took a seat on a wooden changing bench and gave Ava G. their full attention.

  “My mother said yes to the gold dress!”

  Ava R. applauded. “What shoes?”

  “The high school girls are doing homecoming barefoot this year. I might try it.”

  Ava R. turned to Fonda. “Didn’t your sisters invent that?”

  Fonda slammed her locker shut, pretending not to hear.

  “What are you wearing?” Ava R. asked her, a little louder this time.

  Fonda glanced down at her DIY pom-pom sweatshirt and leopard-print leggings. “I know, it’s a bit much, but I found a glue gun last night and—”