Best Friend Next Door

by Carolyn Mackler

  Under Things that are good, I write:

  Meeting Emme

  After Emme’s name, I add:

  Liking school

  I was so nervous about having a guy teacher, but Mr. Bryce has turned out to be The Best. He’s funny and nice and he wears silly ties, like one with smiley faces or another with golden retrievers. Emme isn’t in my class—she has Ms. Linhart—but I have girls like Layla and Marley and Natalie, who are all nice.

  I move my pencil to the next line and write:

  Swim team starting next Tuesday

  The Dolphins, a youth team through the YMCA, practice twice during the week and also on Saturday mornings. Coach Missy says I’m going to rock the fifty freestyle this year.

  I glance at Things that stink and chew on my pencil.

  Missing Sophie, I write.

  I do miss Sophie, but it’s not as bad as I thought it would be. When I’m at school or hanging out with Emme I don’t think about the fact that she lives in Canada now. That’s when I start feeling guilty and vow to send her a real letter. I promised I would write to her when we talked last week. I’ve started a few letters, but for some reason I can’t get past Dear Sophie.

  Not having peanut butter in the kitchen until Margo gets over her morning sickness, I add to the list of things that stink.

  That, of course, brings me to the stinkiest of the stinks.

  My dad and Margo having a you-know-what

  I can’t even write the B-word.

  I crumple up my paper and throw it into the trash can. Then I worry that someone will see it in the trash and read it. So I fish it out, tear the paper into tiny pieces, and sprinkle it like snowflakes back into the garbage.

  “Hannah?” Margo calls upstairs. “I was just talking to Emme and her moms in their backyard. Emme asked if you want to come over and hang out.”

  “Right now?” I ask. “Do I have time?”

  “Just be home by eleven thirty to change into something nice and have lunch.”

  My stomach flips over. Everyone who knows me knows that I live in jeans and shorts and sweatpants. I don’t even own a skirt. “Change?” I ask. “Am I supposed to get dressed up for this appointment?”

  “It might be nice.” Margo pauses. I can hear her talking with my dad. “No, it’s okay. Wear whatever makes you comfortable.”

  “The appointment is going to be easy, Hannah,” my dad says. “Nothing to worry about.”

  Yeah, right.

  Here’s the thing about Emme: She asks a ton of questions. She says that she inherited the interviewing trait from Julia, who is a journalist. And since Claire is a lawyer, Emme was basically born to cross-examine.

  “What do you think?” Emme asks, holding up two strips of light blue paint samples. “I mean, what color do you like the most? Which one makes you think, This is a real bedroom?”

  We’re sprawled on the floor of Sophie’s old room. Butterball—yep, I’ve stopped thinking of him as Radar—is curled in my lap, purring happily. It’s the first time I’ve been up here since Sophie left. Emme’s got a bed with a stuffed rabbit on the pillow, a white dresser, and all these containers of art supplies. It’s strange to think this isn’t Sophie’s room anymore, especially since I can see the little green smiley face that Sophie once scribbled on the wall next to the closet door.

  “What is it?” Emme asks, turning her head. “Are you looking at the smiley face on the wall?”

  I nod. “Sophie drew it a long time ago. She was happy about something. I think the tooth fairy.”

  “I was wondering about that,” Emme says. Then she turns back to me. “It’s probably weird to be here. Does it make you miss her?”

  I pat Butterball’s soft belly. “It’s okay.”

  “I miss my friends in Captiva. Sometimes I wonder what they think when they walk by my old house. We used to live two blocks from the beach.”

  “That’s so cool,” I say.

  I stretch across Emme’s rug. I’ve never met anyone before who lived on a tropical island. And I love the way Emme calls her moms Mom C and Mom J. She told me it used to be Mama and Mommy, but when that started sounding babyish she switched to Mom C and Mom J. It’s awesome that she got to pick what she calls her parents.

  “So what do you think?” Emme slides the paint samples toward me. “Blue Allure or Gulf Stream? Those are my top choices.”

  “Blue Allure,” I say. “It sounds mysterious.”

  Emme nods. “Agreed.”

  “I’m just glad you’re not painting the room pink.”

  Emme pounds the floor with her hand. She does it so loudly that Butterball jumps off my lap and waddles from the room. “I can’t stand pink! Why does everyone think girls should like pink? It’s so annoying.”

  “Agreed,” I say. “Completely.”

  “I have an idea,” Emme says as she circles Blue Allure with a pen. “I’m going to take a survey of you and we’ll figure out everything we have in common. Are you ready?”

  I stare curiously at Emme. This is totally not something Sophie would have done. Sophie was into watching reruns of America’s Next Top Model and trying on her mom’s makeup.

  “You really want to interview me?” I ask.

  “What else can we do? I can’t have any more screen time. My moms have cut off my iPad for the rest of the day.”

  “How much time do you usually get?”

  “Thirty minutes on weekends.” Emme sticks out her bottom lip like she’s pouting. “Basically nothing.”

  “Me too!”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Emme flops onto her elbows. “Okay, let’s get started. Your favorite color is also blue, right?”

  “Blue Allure,” I say, giggling.

  “And we’re both only children,” Emme says.

  “Yep.” I stare down at my hands. It’s not like I have a brother or sister yet. I’m totally an only child. Completely.

  “I know your favorite food is peanut butter,” Emme says. “Where were you born?”

  I pause. I don’t really talk about that. My past, at least the first few months of my life, is kind of weird.

  “Colorado,” I say quickly, hoping she doesn’t ask anything else about it.

  “Darn. For me it was Florida. But isn’t it funny that we were born on the exact same day? What about art? Do you draw or paint?”

  I glance at the sketches on Emme’s wall. If she did them herself, then she’s really talented. “No artistic abilities other than the time I made a double fishtail bracelet at day camp. What about you?”

  “I love art. At least we’re different in a few ways. What’s your favorite palindrome?”

  I pause to think. “I guess it would be Did Hannah see bees? Hannah did.”

  “I love that one!” Emme says, grinning. “You can do it with Emme, too.”

  “What about you?”

  “I made one up when Butterball was missing. Or should we call him Radarball?”

  I laugh. “Butterball is fine.”

  “The one I made up was doom mood.”

  I shake my head. “I was totally in a doom mood this morning.”

  “Why?” Emme asks. Of course she does.

  Just as I’m trying to figure out how NOT to explain my complicated life, Claire shouts upstairs, “Hannah! Your dad just called into the backyard. They need you at home. Something about an appointment?”

  I hop up quickly. “I better go.”

  “Go, dog,” Emme says, walking me to her bedroom door.

  I stare at her for a second before I burst out laughing.

  “Palindrome!” we both shout at the same time.

  “Are you ready?” my dad asks, turning in the seat to look at me.

  Margo is driving and my dad is in the passenger seat. My dad isn’t the typical dad who loves cars. He usually rides his bike everywhere, even to his office in downtown Greeley.

  “I’m okay,” I say quietly. I chew on my thumbnail but then quickly pull it out of my mouth. It took all of thi
rd grade to quit that habit.

  “Ryan just wants to meet you and say hi,” my dad says. “That’s it.”

  Ryan is the lawyer they’ve hired to help Margo adopt me. Mostly they’re keeping me out of the legal stuff, but now that we’re getting closer to the adoption being finalized the lawyer wants to see if I have any questions.

  “We’ll be in the appointment with you the whole time,” Margo says. “Ryan was nice enough to see us on a Saturday so we wouldn’t miss work and you wouldn’t miss school.”

  “And think about this,” my dad says. “We’ll be one step closer to the adoption being official. All our paperwork is in order. The court date could even be this fall.”

  I swallow hard and stare out the window. I’m not trying to be sulky. It’s just that, in moments like these, words leak out of my brain. I bet Emme doesn’t have that issue. She always seems to have something to say.

  “Tell you what,” Margo says. “How about we swing by the house after the meeting and get our suits and go to the pool? The Y has family swim this afternoon.”

  “Can Emme come?” I ask. “That might be fun.”

  Margo nods and hands her phone to my dad. “Can you call Julia for me?” she asks. “The number is in my contacts.”

  For some reason that makes me nervous. Like if Margo and Julia are talking on the phone, then maybe my stepmom is going to tell her about being pregnant. That would be terrible because I haven’t told Emme yet. I haven’t told Sophie, either, or anyone at school.

  “Why do you have Emme’s mom’s number?” I ask.

  “From when they called about Radar,” Margo says.

  “Butterball,” I say.

  “Hi,” my dad is saying into the phone. “This is Drew, Hannah’s dad. We wanted to see if we could take Emme to the pool this afternoon. The one at the YMCA?”

  My dad turns to me. “Emme is shrieking in the background.”

  “What’s she saying?” I ask.

  “That’s wonderful,” my dad says to Emme’s mom. “How long was Emme on the swim team in Florida?”

  “No way!” I shout. “She swims like me?”

  “Yep,” my dad says, holding up a finger to me like hang on. “Emme is asking something. What’s that, Julia? She’s asking her mom to ask you if the pool is Blue Allure. Do you have any idea what that means?”

  “Tell her yes,” I say, smiling. “Tell her the pool is totally Blue Allure.”

  That’s my spot,” Gina whispers to me as I’m sitting on the meeting rug with my notebook in my lap, waiting for the math lesson to start. “In case you haven’t figured that out.”

  I jump a little. I hadn’t even seen her coming. I have the worst fifth-grade class ever (especially Gina, Alexa, and Haley). Even Ms. Linhart. It’s an all-around disaster.

  “Yeah, Emme,” Alexa says, smirking at me. She has bright red hair and her two front teeth are so big they remind me of pieces of gum. “And I always sit next to Gina.”

  I shrug and then slide forward so I’m in the front row of the rug. Closer to Ms. Linhart. Lovely Ms. Linhart. She’s tan with butterscotch-brown hair and tons of makeup. Also, she doesn’t smile. Not once in the whole month since school started.

  Ms. Linhart starts talking about decimals. I try to pay attention but occasionally I glance out the window. It’s been raining for a week straight. Hannah says that’s not typical weather for fall in Greeley. When I talked to Olivia and Lucy, they told me how they’d just spent the day on a sailboat in the bay. If I were in Captiva right now, I’d be—

  “Emme,” Ms. Linhart says. She flicks her long hair over her shoulder. “Where are you? Are you with us?”

  I feel Gina staring hard at my back. She’s the worst, but no one in my class is very nice. They either ignore me or act like I’m weird because I’m not from Greeley. No one seems to care that I have two moms. It’s more like they have a problem with me. Like I can’t seem to do anything right. Hannah is lucky she got Mr. Bryce. Whenever I walk by her classroom, everyone’s laughing and chatting and listening to music.

  I raise my hand.

  “Yes.” Ms. Linhart blinks slowly at me. “Emme?”

  “Can I go to the bathroom?” I ask. I just need a minute to be alone and collect myself. Not to mention that I have to pee. That happens when I’m nervous. I have to go every ten minutes.

  “Can you?” Ms. Linhart asks, raising her thin eyebrows. “I certainly hope you can go to the bathroom by this point. The correct question is may I?”

  “O.M.G.” Gina says. I can hear her high-pitched giggle right behind me. Other people are laughing, too. My cheeks get warm and tears are stinging my eyes.

  “Class!” Ms. Linhart says. She’s frowning even more than usual.

  “May I?” I ask quietly.

  “Yes, you may.” Ms. Linhart turns back to the group. “You know about adding and subtracting numbers with decimals, but what about when you multiply them?”

  I push up off the rug and walk out the door. I won’t cry on the way to the bathroom. I won’t cry in school. I will count the seconds until lunch and recess when I see Hannah. We always eat lunch together. Sometimes a few girls from her class join us. Hands down, it’s the best part of my day. Tuesdays and Thursdays are even better because those are the weekdays that we have swim team practice at the YMCA. I tried out for the Dolphins and made it. Hannah and I are both in the silver level, which is the top for our age group. On swim days, we walk home from school, have a snack, and then carpool to the Y. Today is a Tuesday, so it’s Hannah’s family’s turn to take us.

  As I’m washing my hands, I think about eating bananas with Hannah on the way to practice. Laughing in the locker room. Shrieking as we dive into the cold water. Looking at the big clock that Coach Missy props up so we can watch our times. Everything will be okay once I’m away from my class and having fun at swim practice.

  When I return to the classroom, people are getting ready for gym.

  “It’s orienteering day so you’ll be outside rain or shine,” Ms. Linhart calls out. “Remember your raincoats and boots if you have them.”

  My teacher seems truly happy at the prospect of us orienteering (whatever that means) in a downpour. I reach into my cubby for my raincoat and slide my arms into the sleeves.

  “Seriously?” Gina whispers. “A purple flowered raincoat?”

  I freeze mid-zip. Is she talking to me?

  “That’s so fourth grade,” Haley says.

  “So not Greeley,” says Alexa.

  Gina, Alexa, and Haley are all wearing super-sporty black raincoats with neon-yellow stripes. I didn’t get the text message that our coats need to be identical. It’s not like I love my raincoat, but who cares? It keeps me dry.

  “Are you sure you’re ten?” Gina asks. “You’re just so … tiny.”

  I bite my lip. I can’t think of a single thing to say.

  “Don’t get upset,” Gina says. “O.M.G., we’re just joking with you.” Then she spins around and walks briskly into the hall.

  That’s it. I’ve had it.

  As people start toward gym, I go up to Ms. Linhart. “I don’t feel well. May I go to the nurse?”

  Yep, May I.

  I’m not stupid, after all.

  “It’s not a fever,” Mom J says when we get home. She’s obsessed with the new thermometer that she ordered. She probes it into my ear whenever I’m the least bit flushed. “And you’re not queasy?”

  “Not really.” I set my backpack on the floor and sit on a stool in the kitchen. “I just feel … sick.”

  “Sick how?” she asks. “Does your throat hurt? I would look down your throat but I still haven’t found our flashlights. I know they’re somewhere. Oh! I can use the light on my phone.”

  I reach down to scratch Butterball on the head.

  Mom C says that if Mom J hadn’t become a journalist she probably would have gone to medical school. Instead she’s acting out her doctor dreams with me. I can’t even tell her when I have a splinter be
cause she’ll chase me with tweezers and Neosporin.

  “I’m just tired,” I say, dodging her as she comes toward my throat with her phone on high beam.

  I’ve told my moms that Ms. Linhart is strict, but that’s about it. I haven’t told anyone about Gina and the other girls. There’s nothing anyone can do about it, and tattling on them will just make me sound like a loser. Which I’m not. Or I didn’t think I was until I met Gina.

  “Let’s have some soup,” Mom J says. “I have to finish an article after lunch and then I’m bringing ginger tea next door to Margo. You can rest in your room.”

  “You mean Hannah’s stepmom?”

  Mom J nods. “She’s lovely. We have tea now and then. She works from home a few days a week.”

  “What do you know about Hannah’s mom?” I ask. Hannah’s never said anything about her parents getting divorced or when Margo became her stepmom.

  “You mean her birth mom?” Mom J says. “Not sure.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I meant,” I say. Since I have two moms, I know all about that stuff. Mom J gave birth to me, so she’s my birth mom. As soon as I was born, Mom C adopted me. I miss not having Mom C around all the time, but she loves her new job. She’s a litigator. That means she’s paid to argue in a courtroom. I wish I could be that brave. If I were, I’d litigate for Gina to leave me alone (and to never say “O.M.G.” again).

  “How is Hannah feeling about the baby?” Mom J asks as she sets a steaming bowl of chicken-noodle soup in front of me.

  “What baby?” I blow on my soup. I’m feeling much better than I did an hour ago. I’m so glad I’m not at school right now.

  “Margo’s baby,” Mom J says. “She’s due in February.”

  I drop my spoon into my bowl. “Hannah’s stepmom isn’t pregnant.”

  “Of course she is. Haven’t you noticed her belly? She’s four months along.”

  I stare at Mom J. A few weeks ago, I asked Hannah whether she was an only child and she said yes.

  “Hannah didn’t tell you?”

  “Nope.” I slurp up some noodles. “Can I ask her about it?”