by Suzanne Weyn
Chapter 3
LULU MAKES SUCH a big deal over things. A huge deal. She’s an artistic type and that’s how artistic types act, I guess. DRAMATIC! DRAMATIC! DRAMATIC!
Sure, I’m going to miss Vee, too. The three of us are like sisters. Vee’s mother died when we were in sixth grade, and we totally surrounded her because she was an absolute mess. Lulu and I never let Vee be alone; we called and texted her day and night. Not that being a mess wasn’t perfectly understandable. It was her mother, after all. We just wanted to be there for Vee whenever she might need us.
All the shared emotion and togetherness made the three of us tight. There’s no doubt about that. We’re pretty much as close as three friends can be.
I’m just more realistic than Lulu. People move all the time. It doesn’t mean Vee is going to disappear. We’re too tight for that.
Lulu isn’t the only one who is completely freaked about Vee. I care too. I’m just trying to make the best of it. You know, figure out ways we can stay connected. People around the world form friendships and stay connected. We’ll always have Snapchat! Moving one town over shouldn’t be a deal breaker. But Lulu can be a total Eeyore sometimes. It’s frustrating when she refuses to stay positive. I believe that staying positive is something a person must, must, must do. (Naturally, a person has to also be a realist. We won’t see Vee as much and she’ll make new friends other than us. I just think we have too much history and love for it all to go away because of distance.)
My phone is buzzing. It’s a Snap from Lulu. This is what she sends me:
Luloony
Megawatt
V nice!
Luloony
I take a video of my room and close in on my cat, Wags. I add a filter so that Wags pukes a rainbow. I send it to Vee and Lulu.
Lulu: Why is Wags so happy?
Megan: Just naturally joyful.
Lulu: Oh. I see.
Lulu:
Megan: Why so sad?
Vee: What you feeding Wags, Meggie?
Vee: Hey! LX Thursday,
Lulu: For reals? Are you crazy? I hate lacrosse.
Lulu: I hope it rains.
Vee: I want to show off my new sneaks.
Megan: Show us!
Vee: Like?
Lulu: G pick these?
Vee: Thanks! No. Didn’t have the nerve to ask her.
Vee: What would be cool for me to send to Gwynneth?
Megan: Puke a rainbow.
Vee: Come on, guys! Think!
Lulu:
Vee: Come onnnnnn!!! I don’t want her to think I’m ignoring her. If we start chatting maybe I can meet her other friends. Then I’ll know some kids when I get to Shoreham.
Lulu: You’re not GOING to Shoreham.
Vee: I am.
Lulu: We’ll figure something out. I’ll ask Mom if you can live with me!
Vee: Yeah?
Lulu: I’ll ask.
Vee:
Megan: See you tomorrow.
I have to get off that group text before I go crazy, crazy, crazy. Lulu and Vee are out of their minds if they think Vee’s dad would ever let her live with Lulu, even on the one-in-a-bazillion chance that Lulu’s mother agrees to it. Lulu and Vee can be kind of delusional sometimes—like the time they entered a contest so we could go to Hollywood and appear as extras in a movie. They figured one of them would win and then sneak the other two onto the set. I’m telling you, they were planning what to pack and what they’d say to all the stars they met. Maybe it was just for fun, but they sure acted like they thought they really were going to Hollywood.
I’m the sensible one of the three of us. Vee and Lulu always say so. But does that mean I’m boring?
I don’t think so. In my head there’s lots going on. I LOVE to read and from there I spin the story out for miles. Bilbo Baggins from The Hobbit is my favorite character and I write fan fiction about him, giving him fun new adventures out of the Shire. I even make up new enemies for Bilbo to outwit. Last week I made up a creature who is half beast and half witch. She’s based on our gym teacher, Ms. Pate. There’s an online site where I post my fan fiction. But no one can see my writing except other fans who go to that site.
Lulu and Vee never see my fan fiction. I’m too shy to show them. I know they wouldn’t be mean to my face. They’d say it was good. At least, I think it’s good. Since they’re my best friends, I should be able to show it to them, shouldn’t I? I don’t really know why I can’t. Maybe someday I will.
Chapter 4
THIS MORNING I send Gwynneth a picture of my new sneakers.
Lame?
I know!
I can’t think of anything else and I’m desperate! I’m sitting on my bed wishing I could take it back. Sneakers! Of all the dumb things! What if she hates these sneakers, thinks they’re too . . . too much. The kids at school expect me to be a fashionista, always a little bit out there with my styles. Part of my VEEness is being V-Ness. A little flash! A little dash! That’s me. But what if Gwynneth just thinks the sneakers are low class? Too flashy? (I think they’re known to be kind of rich-kid posh over in Shoreham.)
Or maybe—even worse—what if she thinks it’s juvenile to send a photo of sneakers? Maybe it IS babyish! Am I juvenile? No! Deep breath. Of course I’m not. No more juvenile than any other kid in my eighth grade, anyway. (We have some real toddler types, mostly some of the boys. OMG! What if I’m like them? No. Definitely not.)
My phone buzzes and I see the baby icon by the notification.
I haven’t seen that in a while. A new friend is Snapping me.
A NEW friend!
She’s a new friend. A FRIEND!!!! She wants to be my friend!
OMG.
Gwynneth!
I hope.
Yes!!!
OMG! OMG!
I’d better see what she’s sent. My hands are actually trembling.
GQB2the2ndpwr
She loves them. Not like. Not, oh, they’re nice. LOOOOOOVES them. Calm down, Vee, I tell myself. I need to get a grip before I come off like a crazy person. Breathe. Breathe.
V-Ness
Needed new sneakers for gym tomorrow
GQB2the2ndpwr
No way. Save them for good. Gym will wreck them.
V-Ness
You’re probably right.
GQB2the2ndpwr
V-Ness
Lol! Thnx.
GQB2the2ndpwr
Gotta go. Don’t wreck the sneaks.
I sit on the bus with new sneakers in a plastic yellow grocery bag. “Why aren’t you wearing the new ones?” Lulu asks as she slides into the seat beside me and checks out my old ripped red Cons.
“I sent a snap of them to Gwynneth and she thought they were so awesome that I shouldn’t ruin them in gym.”
“Well, I guess Gwynneth knows all,” Lulu says sourly. “Did you send her the same shot you sent us?”
“No, a better one.”
“Why did you send her a better one?” Lulu is SO sensitive! I could tell right away by the look in her eyes that I’d hurt her feelings.
“It wasn’t really better,” I say, “it was . . . a different angle, and I was posing in them. That’s all.”
Lulu humphs. “If you’re saving your sneakers then why are they in a bag?”
“Because gym is first period. I’m going to put them on after gym.”
“Was that Gwynneth’s brilliant idea?”
“No. Mine.”
“That will certainly preserve their golden sparkle,” Lulu says. I hate when she gets like this, all snarky and sarcastic. I know her so well. She’s all snide when her feelings are hurt. I should never have told her I sent Gwynneth a better picture of my sneakers. The whole thing is super dumb, but for Lulu it’s a matter of life and death.
“So? Did you ask your mom about me living with you?” I ask this partly to get off the sore subject of sneaker Snaps. Also, though, I want to know.
Last night I had a hard time falling asleep. I lay awake wondering wha
t Shoreham High would be like. I’ve been there twice. One time was to see a school production of The Wizard of Oz. (Their school is known for their almost-professional plays.) The second time I went there to see a basketball game. Shoreham High is a shiny, spiffy, newish school. It’s not like Pleasant Hill High School, which has been around since 1952 and is all scuffy and dull. Shoreham High kind of gleams. I pictured myself as one of Gwynneth’s Wanna-Bees, which wasn’t exactly a great image, even if I got to be the number one Wanna-Bee. But the pathetic-new-kid image was even worse.
Then I pictured living with Lulu . . .
Don’t get me wrong, I love Lulu. I’m not sure I love Lulu enough to actually live with her, though. For one thing, Lulu’s room looks like a trailer park after a tornado blew through. I once got a peanut butter and jelly sandwich stuck to the bottom of my shoe in there. Last week, I saw her pull an overdue library book she borrowed in third grade from a pile of clothing that was as tall as she is. There is no extra room in Lulu’s house, so that’s the room I’d be sharing with her.
“Mom says she’ll think about it,” Lulu replies. “What did your dad say?”
“I didn’t ask. No sense getting him all worked up until your mom agrees.”
“Do you think he’ll freak out?”
“At first,” I say.
Lulu nods but says nothing. She’s a great friend and maybe it would be fun to live with her. I’d miss Dad and even Eric, not to mention Heidi Dog.
Would living with Lulu be better than being a Gwynneth Wanna-Bee, or the lone pathetic kid at Shoreham High? I don’t know. It’s very confusing. Thinking about it makes my head hurt.
Megan gets on the bus at the next stop. As soon as she takes a seat in front of Lulu and me, her face twists into a deep yawn. “Sorry,” she says. “I was up late last night writing.”
“Writing what?” Lulu asks.
Megan’s eyes go wide and her mouth tightens. “Nothing!” she says in a squeak.
“How can you write nothing?” I ask.
“Emails,” she says. “Emails to my cousins.”
“What cousins?” Lulu says. “I never heard of you having cousins.”
“I have some. In Australia. My cousins in Australia.”
Lulu’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “What are their names?”
“Uh, Barbie. And Bindi. They’re second cousins, really. Maybe even third or fourth cousins.”
“Barbie and Bindi, huh?” Lulu rolls her eyes. I try not to laugh. It’s so obviously a lie. Megan has never, ever mentioned Barbie and Bindi before.
“You’d love them,” Megan adds.
“I’m sure I would,” Lulu says. She shakes her head and throws me a LOOK that asks, what’s up with her? I reply with a quick shrug. Sometimes Megan becomes all mysterious, like she’s hiding something, almost as if she’s some kind of undercover agent with a secret life. I have no idea what’s behind all the secrecy.
“Anyway, you must be happy, Lulu,” Megan says. “Look at the sky.”
Lulu and I gaze up at the mass of grayness with its rolling black clouds. It hadn’t been that overcast when I got on the bus. Two fat, wet splotches smack onto the window.
“No outdoor lacrosse today,” Megan says.
“Finally, something’s going right,” Lulu says with a smile.
By the time we get off the bus, it is pouring rain. The hallway is a muddy, squishy trail of dripping kids. It doesn’t take long to hurry from the bus to the front door of school, but it was enough to soak all of us.
At the locker next to mine, Megan tosses her hair back and sprays me like a wet dog shaking its fur. “Hey! Cut it out!” I shout.
“Oh, sorry,” Megan says with a giggle.
I stuff my grocery bag of new sneakers into the top of my locker. There’s no way I’m wearing them today in the murky, damp halls. “Oh snap!” Megan cries. “I just remembered we had homework in pre-algebra.”
“Do it in the gym,” I say. “We’ll probably get a skills period. You know it always happens when it rains.”
“I hope so,” Megan says, pulling her pre-algebra workbook from her locker shelf.
Lulu comes around the corner and we head toward the gym. It’s odd when gym is first period because we have to listen to the morning announcements, take attendance, and salute the flag with a double class of forty or so girls. It takes forever. Sometimes the boys have gym with us and other times they’re separated by a movable wall.
Today the wall is up, for which I am very happy. It means I won’t have to spend the entire gym period trying not to look at Ethan Myers. (Ethan Myers, with the most adorable big brown eyes and shaggy, brown hair. He wears the coolest T-shirts from all the rock concerts he’s been to. Plus he’s at least two inches taller than most of the others guys, maybe even three.) We’re neighbors, but he doesn’t pay much attention to me . . . until the last couple of weeks, that is. Suddenly he’s always smiling and waving to me. He has definitely noticed me. It’s so exciting.
I’m sitting cross-legged on the gym floor when my phone buzzes. A text from Lulu, who is sitting way across the room, since we have to arrange ourselves in alphabetical order:
Lulu: Be cool and turn sloooowly to the door. EM alert.
EM? I don’t get it at first—and then I do.
Ethan Myers is peeking around the wall! He smiles at me! Is he looking for me? Me?
“MYERS!” A deep male voice bellows from the other side. It’s Mr. Green, the boys’ phys ed teacher. Ethan ducks his head back and disappears.
I start to text Lulu back: “Omg! I can’t belie—”
I stop short because I’m suddenly staring at a pair of bare legs topped by gym shorts. Gazing up, I stare into Ms. Pate’s angry eyes. “How many times have we talked about leaving the cell phone in your locker, Vee?” my gym teacher asks. (It’s kind of a snarl, more than an ask.) She has a strict “no cell phones” policy.
“I’ll put it away,” I say. “No problem.”
“Yes, problem,” Ms. Pate says. “Give me that phone.”
I hand it to her and she reads my texts to Lulu. It occurs to me that it’s a violation of my privacy, but it also occurs to me that it would be best not to argue with her at this moment. As she reads, my phone buzzes again. I cringe. Who could it be?
Ms. Pate stares down at me. “Megan wants you to know that EM was just looking in here for you. He’s dreamy and def hearts you,” Ms. Pate reads. Nearby some girls giggle. This is so humiliating!
Ms. Pate scans the sea of heads in the room. “Lulu Vance and Megan Hardwick, please come here.” Lulu and Megan cross the gym to join me and Ms. Pate. “Girls, I’m sick of talking to you about this. Get to the SAP room now,” Ms. Pate says.
SAP stands for student academic probation. Detention. Spend too much time in SAP—more than three visits is too much—and you’re suspended.
For even one SAP, a call home is made, and a letter is sent. It isn’t good.
For me this is SAP one.
Then something amazing happens.
Chapter 5
I’M SORT OF liking being in SAP. It’s a new experience. And it’s not gym. I’m enjoying the book we have to read in ELA, The Witch of Blackbird Pond, so I don’t mind sitting here reading it. I’m having fun imagining that I am the witch, imprisoned in this dungeon with two other witches, and that the teacher is my jailer.
Megan is finishing her homework, scribbling in her pre-algebra workbook like a speed demon. So the SAP thing is working for her.
But Vee not so much. She’s got a pencil between two fingers that she is flipping up and down very fast. Her right foot is jiggling, too. I’m dying to text her and ask why she’s so jittery, but Ms. Pate has my phone. All our phones.
It’s kind of freaky to have Ms. Pate holding my phone. I feel so vulnerable. What if a meteor crashes into the school and it catches fire? I can’t call Mom to come get me. Plus all my pictures and texts and stuff are there—not that there’s anything so terrible, but still . . .
It’s MY stuff. I knew I should have set a passcode, but it always seemed like a pain. I don’t like the feeling that right now Ms. Pate could be looking at the Snapchat videos I’ve saved. (My favorite is the one where Vee and I are changed into ants and our voices are altered to sound high and squeaky. I say, “I’m an ant. I’m very antsy.” It’s hilarious.)
I sit there trying to remember everything that’s in my phone in case there’s something there that I’m going to have to explain. (Like why I have the Joke-of-the-Hour phone line in my favorite contacts and call it every hour, even though I’m not supposed to have my phone with me. That could be a problem.)
Suddenly I wonder—have I fallen asleep? I ask myself this because I seem to be in a dream. In this dream, the newscaster from Channel 14 walks into the room and smiles at all of us. Vee stands up abruptly, her pencil dropping to the floor, and shouts, “Heather May! How is this happening? Is it really you?”
“What?! What?!” Megan squeaks, snapped out of her math haze by the sound of Vee’s voice. “What’s happening?” Then she sees Heather May and gives a little yelp, almost like a small dog yipping with fright.
It’s dawning on me that I am NOT dreaming and Heather May from Channel 14 News is, in fact, standing in our dreary little SAP prison looking much shorter and thinner than she appears on TV and dripping rain from the hem of her expensive-looking trench coat. The teacher stands, looking surprised and shaken, too. “You’re Heather May!” she says.
