girl stuff.

by Lisi Harrison

  “The last three days without you have been the worst. I sat with the Avas at lunch, and all I could think was, ‘I’d rather eat with Drew on the lawn and miss Ruthie than sit with them.’ Not because they’re mean or anything, but because they’re not us.”

  The girls didn’t move.

  “I’m sorry,” she continued. “I did some really terrible things to both of you.” She paused, giving them time to turn around, maybe take a step. They didn’t. “Not just by lying. I mean, yeah, that was the most terrible, but I did other terrible things.”

  Still nothing.

  “I wanted the Avas to notice me so badly, like I was a seed or something and their noticing would make me grow into some awesome flower that everyone would want to take selfies with.”

  “What does that even mean?” Ruthie said to her front door.

  “Bad analogy. What I meant was, they finally noticed me, and it didn’t make me happy. It didn’t solve my problems, and it didn’t make me feel like I belonged. It made me feel like a lonely dumb-dumb who should have known I belong with you guys.”

  Drew and Ruthie turned around.

  Fonda’s throat unlocked a little.

  “We were perfect the way we were, and I wanted to change that. Why? To impress a bunch of strangers. It was pathetic and desperate and a total waste, because you’re the only people I care about impressing.”

  Ruthie took a step.

  “Ruthie, I’m so proud to have a genius friend with a chic French haircut who isn’t afraid to be exactly who she is.”

  Step.

  “I shouldn’t have tried to make you act like me or Drew or anyone else, because the thing I love about you most is that you’re nothing like us. You’re a pale-skinned unicorn that poops fro-yo and sneezes puzzle pieces. And I don’t ever want that to change.”

  Step.

  “I don’t even care that you called me a dumb-dumb, because I was a dumb-dumb. The dumb-dumbest!”

  Step. Step.

  “I should have told you I was invited to that party and I should have asked if we could switch the Spa-tacular to the next night. If that made you feel bad, we could have talked about it. But I never gave you that chance, and I wish I did.”

  Step. Step.

  Ruthie was close enough now that Fonda could see the rainbows on her socks. “And if I ever get invited to another party again, I’ll only say yes if you’re both invited too, or I’m not breaking plans we already have.”

  Step.

  Arms.

  Torso.

  Hug!

  Fonda’s entire body felt warm and melty as she breathed in Ruthie’s familiar strawberry-scented shampoo. It was that same sense of relief she experienced when she changed into sweats after school. Like the trying was over and she could finally relax.

  “I like your hair better this way,” Ruthie said when they pulled apart. “You may not think the curls are fancy, but they feel right. Oh, and I’m sorry I said ‘you put the end in friend.’”

  “Don’t be.” Fonda smiled. “It was a five-star line.”

  Ruthie grinned. “It was, wasn’t it?”

  “Big-time.”

  They hugged again, and suddenly, all was right in the world.

  Almost.

  Drew was still standing by her front door like a kid whose mother forgot to pick her up from school.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you when you said Will must have had a reason for being weird. He obviously did have a reason, or you wouldn’t have gone to the party with him, right?”

  Drew stepped forward.

  “And I assume you found out what that reason was.”

  She stepped forward again.

  “And I assume if you ever forgive me, you’ll tell me what that reason is, right?”

  “If you stop saying reason,” Drew said, then quickly covered her mouth.

  “I will stop saying reason.”

  Step.

  A zap of excitement shot up Fonda’s spine. Underneath all the hurt and resentment, they were still very much them. “I was only anti-Will because he was acting weird, which was making you act weird, and I thought you deserved better. I was trying to look out for you. That’s all.”

  Drew stepped forward, but Fonda wanted her even closer. She wanted to see that scar between her lip and left nostril, the one she got from walking into a tree branch when they were nine and playing blindfold tag.

  “I never should have claimed bad chicken to go to a party, and I shouldn’t have made you feel like you had to claim bad chicken to go on a skate hang. And the next time you go on one of those, tell me. I’ll help you put on your helmet.”

  Drew took two giant steps forward and stopped by the back bumper of her mother’s Subaru. Four more and Fonda would have eyes on that scar.

  “You’re a great catch who isn’t afraid to wear protective pads to a party.”

  Step.

  “And Will must be great too, because he thought it was funny.”

  Step.

  “You’re seriously crushable and will probably get asked on a ton of skate hangs this year. And I want to be there to take your picture and hug you before you go.”

  Step.

  “And I want to get the gossip when you get back.”

  Step.

  Scar.

  Arms.

  Torso.

  Hug!

  “I’m sorry I claimed bad chicken. I should have told you both the truth,” Drew said as Ruthie joined their hug. “I was embarrassed that I liked Will even though you thought I shouldn’t. I’m also sorry I ignored the color-of-the-day thing. I was just so over uniforms, and—”

  “It’s okay,” Fonda said, “I get it. I never should have told you what to wear. But you know what I’m most sorry about?”

  The girls shook their heads.

  “That I lost four days of hanging out with you.”

  When they hugged again, Fonda caught a glimpse of that telephone wire and smiled. The three crows were back.

  “Starting now, I want to hear everything about TAG and Will. Ev-er-y-thing! Don’t leave one thing out—”

  Drew’s posture wilted. “Will won’t talk to me.”

  “And I got kicked out of TAG.”

  “What?” Fonda gasped. “Is that why I saw you in the halls?”

  Ruthie nodded. She was suddenly too choked up to speak.

  “Well, we’re going to fix this,” Fonda promised.

  “How?” Drew asked.

  Fonda clapped no clue in Morse code, which cracked them up. Then, “Wait, I have gifts!”

  She handed them each a bag and proudly watched as they dug past the tissue paper and pulled out their white-and-red polka-dotted period purses.

  “Thanks,” Ruthie said politely. “But we don’t have our periods yet.”

  “Open it,” Fonda said.

  They pulled back the zippers, probably expecting to find Ziplocs and underwear, maxi pads, baby wipes, and Reece’s Pieces, but Fonda was no dumb-dumb. Not anymore.

  “New friendship bracelets!” Drew gasped.

  “Where did you make these?’ Ruthie asked, admiring the strand of gold beads.

  “I cut PE and went to the Gem House.”

  “Gotta love that letter from Joan,” said Drew. Then she glanced at Fonda’s bare wrist. “Where’s yours?”

  Fonda reached into the pocket of her jeans, pulled out her matching bracelet, and slipped it on. The other girls did the same.

  “So, we’re good?”

  “We’re good,” they said.

  Then they put their arms around each other and fell to the grass, just like they had in the picture on Fonda’s vision board. Only this time, they were not going to let anyone or anything rip them apart.

  chapter twenty–six.


  RUTHIE AND HER parents had been strolling through town eating a post-dinner gelato and enjoying the ocean-scented evening. But rather than admiring the art galleries and applauding the street performers, Ruthie was mining the last bits of cinnamon swirl from her cup, hoping to make the treat last as long as possible. Because the moment that cup hit the trash can, something bad was going to happen. It always did.

  During their last post-dinner gelato, Ruthie was told her dog had to be put to sleep. Before that, Grandpa Stu had a heart attack. And before that, Grumpy Cat died.

  “Is that a new bracelet?” Fran had asked, lifting a spoonful of mango to her mouth.

  “Yeah, Fonda gave it to me after school yesterday.”

  “I like the gold.”

  “Same.”

  “So everyone’s friends again?”

  “Yeah,” Ruthie said, her answer short on purpose. As much as she wanted to avoid the news, she wanted to get it already. Anticipation gave her gas.

  “And what about Drew?” her father asked.

  “We’re good.”

  Fran and Steven exchanged one of their looks. Ruthie couldn’t take it anymore. She tossed her cup. It was time.

  “Guess what?” Fran said.

  Here it comes . . .

  “Dad and I heard about an amazing new TAG charter school in San Clemente called Expansions and—”

  “San Clemente?” Ruthie cried. “Mom, I don’t want to switch schools.”

  “Well, you can’t stay at Poplar,” Steven said.

  “Why not?”

  “We think it’s a bad influence on you.”

  Ruthie didn’t have to be talented or gifted to understand what was happening. “Throwing the test scores was my idea, I swear! Fonda and Drew didn’t know anything about it. If I told them, they never would have let me do it.”

  “That doesn’t change the fact that you won’t be challenged by a standard curriculum.”

  Her mother was right. Ruthie had spent the last two days in regular classes and memorized the first chapter of The Outsiders to stay awake. Her brain would melt if she had to sit through material she already knew. But her heart would melt if she had to leave her friends all over again. Tears rushed to her eyes. See? She was melting already.

  “Let’s focus on solutions,” Steven said. “Your mother and I think switching to Expansions is a great one. If you have another suggestion, we’re open to it. What we’re not open to is keeping you in a program that stunts your growth.”

  “What if I can get back into TAG?”

  Steven mussed her hair. “Then you’re a better litigator than I am, kid.”

  * * *

  ♥

  Ruthie stayed up all night poring over her father’s law books, searching for a precedent that would make it illegal for Rhea to base her decision on one—albeit one major—misstep. At two o’clock in the morning, her resolve was getting sleepy. She wanted to throw a rock at Fonda’s window and wake her up. Remind her that she promised to help her figure this out and hold her to it. Then she realized Fonda had already helped.

  Her apology yesterday hadn’t been full of legal jargon or hard-hitting facts on why she should be forgiven. It was sincere and apologetic. It showed accountability and made a case for forgiveness. It spoke not to the judge but to the jury. Not to the brain, but to the heart.

  Ruthie spent the next few hours working on an essay to Rhea called “TAG: Titans Are Guilty.” It was about Zeus, who banished his fellow deities to Tartarus, which was extremely cruel and beyond harsh. She proposed rewriting Titan history and not banishing anyone. Instead, give Titans a chance to right their wrongs. Because everyone, no matter how smart they are, should be allowed to make mistakes. How else will they learn to fix them?

  Beeeeeep. Beeeep. Beeeep.

  Ruthie’s alarm clock began to sound. It was six forty-five a.m. Had she slept at all, it would have been time to get up. Instead, she blew a good-luck kiss at her computer screen and sent the essay to Rhea. Then she took a shower and checked her inbox. Nothing. She got dressed and checked again. Nothing. She ate breakfast. Nothing. Brushed her teeth. Nothing. Said goodbye to Foxie. Nothing. Kicked the leg of her desk. Nothing.

  Eyes burning and toe throbbing, Ruthie walked to school with Drew and Fonda, wishing she could be as excited as they were to be in class together. But everything was different now. Ruthie had a new kind of faith in their bond and trusted that they’d still be nesties, whether they shared a lunch period or not. Their fight, or rather, their apology, gave Ruthie a sense of security with the girls she’d never known she needed. They weren’t going to move on without her. They didn’t want to. She could feed her heart and her brain, and they would support her in that. Celebrate her for it, even. But it wasn’t up to Drew and Fonda anymore. It was up to Rhea, who still hadn’t acknowledged Ruthie’s essay when the first-period bell rang.

  As Ruthie shyly settled into biology (still without Drew or Fonda!) and tried to adjust to the hard bottom of the wood seat, Principal Bell poked her head in the room and said, “Miss Goldman, grab your things and come with me.”

  Ruthie quickly stood. The room spun. “Are my parents okay?”

  “Everyone is fine,” she said as they hurried down the empty hall.

  “Then what is it?”

  “You’re late for class.”

  “But—”

  She handed Ruthie a late slip. Beside the room number, it said TAG. “Hurry.”

  Ruthie hugged the woman, twice, and then ran.

  “Welcome home!” said Rhea as Ruthie entered the classroom, her smile wide and forgiving.

  Sage grinned at her, and Tomoyo and Everest flashed her the thumbs-up. Ruthie found her balance ball and sat without the slightest wobble. She was back!

  “Titans,” Rhea said, her tone now grave, “one should never be judged for their mistakes, but rather, what they do to correct them. Now, class, tell me: Titans Are—”

  Ruthie waved her hand high in the air. “Grateful. Titans Are Grateful.”

  Rhea smiled wide. “Indeed.”

  The rest of the day flew by, and when Ruthie left her classroom with Sage, Drew and Fonda were waiting for her.

  “We heard you got back in!” Fonda said.

  “Congratulations,” Drew said, handing her a bran muffin. “I got it at the cafeteria. I didn’t have enough money for a cupcake.”

  “Are you really going with those dumb-dumbs?” Sage asked.

  “Of course. They’re my best friends,” Ruthie said proudly.

  Sage lowered her chin and peered at them over the black frames of her glasses. “Seriously?”

  Ruthie was shocked. She liked Sage and believed they could become legitimate friends. She also loved her nesties and didn’t want to lose them again. But Sage would always think they were dummies and they would always think she was a snob unless she found a way to bring the two worlds together.

  “Drew and Fonda aren’t dumb-dumbs,” Ruthie told Sage. “They are the smartest people I’ve ever met. And you’re not a dummy either.”

  “Who said I was a dummy?”

  “Anyone who’s ever heard you call someone a dumb-dumb.”

  “Yeah,” Fonda said. “It’s a pre-K word.”

  “Correction,” said Drew. “It’s pre-pre-K. That’s how dumb-dumb you are.”

  Sage screwed her face forward, ready to launch a full verbal strike.

  “Stop using the D-word!” Ruthie said. “No one here is a D. I would never be friends with Ds.”

  Sage scoffed.

  “I’ll prove it.”

  “Yay! A spelling bee!”

  “No, Sage,” Ruthie said. “An invitation. Hang out with us on Sunday.” She didn’t dare make eye contact with Fonda and Drew, because they were probably death-glaring her. And this was not a situation Ruthie wanted to back down f
rom. She was a Titan, after all. And Titans Are Gutsy.

  “Really?” Sage asked, more suspicious than flattered.

  “Yes, really.”

  “How do you guys feel about frozen yogurt?”

  “It’s fine,” Drew said, clearly trying to play it cool.

  “Will there be toppings?” Fonda asked.

  “Unlimited.”

  “I like toppings,” Fonda said cautiously.

  “Great. Because I have a gift card to Fresh & Fruity. I got it for my birthday last year, and it’s about to expire. It has just enough to cover four mediums.”

  “Why haven’t you used it yet?” Drew asked, warming.

  “It’s no fun going alone.”

  And for the first time ever, they all agreed.

  chapter twenty–seven.

  DREW DID A spontaneous cartwheel during their walk home from school that day. No, Will hadn’t forgiven her, but it didn’t matter. She had two other reasons to feel happy; they were both walking beside her wearing matching bead bracelets and chitchatting about their days. Sometimes that was all it took.

  “See?” Ruthie said. “Sage isn’t so bad.”

  “No one ever is once you get to know them,” Fonda said in that mocking tone she used to imitate her mother.

  “Except Will,” Drew said, surprising herself. It had been three days since her big apology, and she had told herself she was over him. But her feelings for him were like burps—unexpected bubbles that welled up inside her that had to be released. Once they were, she felt better and could move on. Was she still a little nervous Will-burping out loud? Yes, but so far Fonda had stayed true to her word. She didn’t judge Drew or try to solve anything. She simply listened and acted sad in all the right places. “I can’t believe he shut down my apology like that.”

  “Recap,” Fonda said. “You apologized, and he slammed the window in your face?”

  “Pretty much, yeah.”

  “Pretty much?”

  “Well, I didn’t actually say ‘I’m sorry,’ but—”

  “So, you never actually apologized?” Ruthie asked.

  “I think going to his house and throwing a Nerf football at his window for fifteen minutes and then playing a scene from The Skateboard Kid counts as an apology.”