“Umm, no,” I say. “But thanks.”
At Milly’s, Becca and Rachel each get one kiddy-sized cup of sugar-free vanilla yogurt, which they each top with three blueberries and a walnut. I take a large cup and almost fill it with chocolate and peanut butter yogurt, leaving just enough room for some crushed Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup candy and hot fudge topping. Then we grab a table, and dig in. Or, I dig in, while the Peas take microscopic bites from their tiny treats. I’m almost enjoying myself, half listening to Becca and Rachel debate who should take photos for the school paper at the next basketball game—Becca is better with action shots but Rachel has an eye for artsy, unexpected pics—while I focus on getting just the right mix of cold yogurt, candy, and gooey hot fudge on my spoon.
Then the door opens, and Luke and David walk in, trailed by Luke’s mom holding his baby sister.
“Hey, Sammie!” Luke says, giving me a huge smile.
“Oh, hey,” I say.
Becca and Rachel interrupt their debate on each other’s photography skills to turn and stare at Luke.
“What’d you get?” Luke asks, leaning over me until his nose is practically in my yogurt. David hasn’t said anything. Not even hello.
“Fro-yo,” I say.
“Duh. What flavor? What toppings?”
“Chocolate and peanut butter, swirled together,” David says, his eyes not meeting mine. “With crushed-up Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and hot fudge on top.” He looks at me, then at Luke. “It’s what she always gets.”
“Sounds awesome,” Luke says. “Can I have a taste?” He opens his mouth, waiting. I clutch my little plastic spoon, loaded with a perfectly constructed mouthful of cold and warm sweetness, and I don’t move.
“Who’s this?” Becca asks.
“Luke,” I say, still holding my spoon.
“C’mon,” Luke says. “Lemme taste it.”
I don’t like to share my spoon with other people. Not even people I like, and Luke isn’t one of those.
David comes to the rescue. “Here,” he says, handing Luke a clean spoon. “Use this one.”
Luke shoves his spoon into my cup, takes a huge spoonful, and pops it in his mouth. He rolls the fro-yo around in his mouth, making mmm sounds, then swallows. “Pretty good. But not creative enough. C’mon, David. Let’s get our own.”
They head off to the fro-yo machines. LukeandDavid, I think. Together. I wish I could think of something to say to David so he would remember us, remember me. But anything I say to David I’ll be saying to Luke. I’m suddenly not hungry.
“Let’s go,” I say to Becca and Rachel, who have gone back to their photography debate.
“You didn’t finish,” Becca says.
“I took too much. I’m full.” I hold out my giant, gooey, chocolaty cup. “You guys want it?”
Becca and Rachel shake their heads no.
David and Luke have their backs to me, checking out all the available flavors. I want to tell Luke that David will get cotton candy with rainbow sprinkles, chocolate chips, and gummy worms. But I don’t. It doesn’t matter.
As we’re walking to the door, Becca says, “Aren’t you going to say bye to your friends?”
“Nah,” I say. “They’re busy.”
“That Luke kid is cute,” Rachel says as she climbs into the car. “Why have I never seen him before?”
“He’s new.”
“I think he likes you,” Becca says.
“Ugh,” I say. “I don’t like him.”
Rachel and Becca laugh.
“Middle school,” Rachel says, shaking her head. “It stinks.”
Sunday, January 18
SAMMIE
“Sunday mornings are the best,” Dad says, leaning back in his seat on the other side of the diner booth from me.
I smile. “The best.”
It’s our Sunday ritual. The two of us have breakfast at the diner, while my mother and the Peas are off getting their fingernails and toenails painted. Dad always jokes that he’d rather have his fingernails pulled out than painted. My mother doesn’t think it’s funny, but I do.
Candy, our waitress, sets down my stack of chocolate chip pancakes and Dad’s Hungry Man breakfast. Dad folds his newspaper so it’s open to the first page of the sports section while I start cutting up my first pancake into bite-sized pieces.
I pour a small puddle of syrup onto my plate, then spear a piece of pancake with my fork. I dip it into the puddle of syrup, and am just about to pop it in my mouth when I see Luke and Mr. Sullivan, walking straight toward us. Mr. Sullivan stops to say something to Candy, the waitress. He takes her arm and pulls her close, putting his mouth right next to her ear. Candy has her back to me, so I can’t see her face, but her body goes stiff and I’m pretty sure she’s not enjoying whatever Mr. Sullivan is saying. He steps back, lets go of her arm, and laughs.
I’m so focused on watching Luke’s dad that I forget about Luke until he slides into my side of the booth and leans his whole body over my plate.
“What’d you get this time?” he asks. I scooch my butt away from him, toward the window, and pull my plate over. He laughs. “I promise not to eat any. I’m already stuffed.” He leans back and pats his belly.
“Doc,” Mr. Sullivan says to Dad, leaning over the table and holding out his hand. “Breakfast of champions, am I right?”
Dad puts his fork down and shakes Mr. Sullivan’s hand. “Good to see you, Jim.”
“And these two,” Mr. Sullivan says, gesturing toward my side of the booth. “Look at them, two baseball stars.” He leans both hands on the table, winks at me, and stage whispers to Dad, “Luke’s gonna give your girl a run for her money, I guarantee you that.”
Dad laughs. “Sammie? I’m not worried about her. She’s tough. She’ll hold her own.” He winks at me. “Right, Buddy?”
I nod and look down at what’s left of my pancakes because I don’t like this conversation.
“Well, then,” Mr. Sullivan says. “Enjoy the rest of your Sunday. C’mon, Luke.”
“See you Tuesday,” Luke says as he slides out of the booth.
“Yeah,” I say. I watch Luke’s reflection in the glass of the window until he walks out of the diner. I exhale, relieved.
“Are you worried about Luke?” Dad asks.
I shake my head no. “Not worried. But he keeps . . .” I don’t know how to put Luke into words. Dad looks at me, waiting.
“He’s in my space all the time,” I try. “Like the way he sat down next to me just now. I didn’t invite him to sit here.”
“Hmm,” Dad says. He takes a sip of his coffee. “He’s trying to psych you out. You’re tougher than that, Buddy. Stand up to him.”
Stand up to him. I nod.
As Dad’s paying the check, he says, “How about the batting cages? Start working on your fighting form so you can hold your own with Luke.”
“Sure,” I say.
Thirty minutes later, I’ve got a bat in my hand and the pitching machine’s loaded with a hundred balls. I’m swinging at the pitches, my arms and shoulders loosening up and getting warm as the machine spits out ball after ball.
“That’s my girl!” Dad says from behind the mesh. “Remember to track the ball.”
I already am, so I dip my head in a quick nod that tells him I heard. That’s the thing about my dad: he gets me.
I love the sound of my bat connecting with a ball, and the way I can feel that moment in my hands, a sharp thrum like a bolt of lightning charging me up. Ball after ball comes at me, and I’m in the zone.
The machine runs out of balls and stops. I turn around and see Dad talking to some woman. She’s waving her hands around, and Dad’s just shaking his head no. No, no, no.
I take the bat back to the clerk at the desk. Dad’s still talking to the woman, who, I realize, is Coach Wright, one of the PE teachers at school.
“Sammie’s not interested,” he says.
“Just think about it,” Coach Wright says. “For high school
and college. She could have a future.”
“She’s happy playing baseball,” Dad says.
The woman holds out her hand and Dad shakes it. As she turns and walks away, I notice a crowd of girls from my school at the last batting cage. Some are in my grade, but they’re not girls I was ever friends with. They’re all clapping and singing some kind of chant. I can’t quite make out the words.
Then I recognize Haley, who’s new this year, and in three of my classes. Her long blond air is pulled back in a ponytail, which is how she usually has it in school. Today, she’s wearing a baseball cap with the ponytail threaded through the hole in the back, and a bright green T-shirt that says “Police Athletic League.” I’m pretty sure she’s never worn either a cap or a sports T-shirt in school. I would have noticed. I watch her swing a white-and-gold baseball bat. I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to her in school, except when we’re doing group work. She taps the bat against her foot, looks up and sees me, and waves. I wave back.
“What did Coach Wright want?” I ask Dad as we leave.
“You. For the middle school girls’ softball team. I explained that you play baseball. We’re not interested in some girly version of the real thing. Right, Buddy?”
“Right,” I say.
DAVID
On Sunday morning, Luke texts me again, and invites me to go to the diner, and I’m already starting to type Yes what time, because I love the diner, but when I ask Mom she says no. I look up from my phone, startled.
“But Luke—”
“I bought bagels and lox,” Mom says. “Your father arranged for Jeanine to open the store this morning so we can have a nice family breakfast.”
Sorry, can’t, I text Luke. Then I ask, But I could come over later, like 11? because a nice family breakfast is sure to get Pop thinking about a nice father-son day at the store, and that is not how I want to spend any part of my three-day weekend, so I have to act fast.
Okay, Luke texts back as Mom puts out the breakfast.
At twelve thirty, I’m sitting in Luke’s brother’s bedroom with an Xbox controller in my hands. Luke’s bedroom used to be the closet for his parents’ room, so it’s super small and we can’t hang out in there, and also there’s no playroom in the Sullivans’ house. But his brother, Matt, is a high school senior and has Nintendo Wii and Xbox in his bedroom, plus some really cool games, and he said we could hang out in his room because he’s working.
We’re still playing video games at three thirty, when Mrs. Sullivan knocks on the bedroom door and tells us to go play outside because Lily, the baby, needs a nap. Luke’s got a basketball hoop in the driveway, so we play HORSE for a while, but it’s cold, and my nose starts to run, and I’m just about ready to say, “I think I should go home” when Luke asks, “Hey, you want to go to a movie? Have you seen the new Kevin Hart one yet?”
I was half planning to text Sammie and see if she wanted to hang out, but it’s a three-day weekend, so I can hang with her tomorrow. I love going to the movies, especially when it involves popcorn and gummy worms. “Maybe,” I say. I pull out my phone and check the movie times. “It’s showing at four fifty-five and seven thirty. Let’s do the seven thirty.”
“Or we could go to the four fifty-five and get pizza after.”
“At the seven thirty show I bet there’ll be other kids we know,” I say.
Luke’s quiet for a minute. He bounces the basketball a few times, takes a shot and makes it, then says, “If we eat first, we’ll have to eat here. My mom will make ‘homemade’ pizza, and she’ll ruin it completely. She makes some kind of whole wheat crust that always tastes like it’s not cooked enough, and she’ll put stuff on top like broccoli and spinach.”
Since I did have lunch at his house and his mom did serve us almond butter and banana sandwiches on some kind of dry brown bread that had crunchy pieces of uncooked grain in it, plus a side of raw carrots, I believe Luke about the pizza. “Okay, five o’clock it is.”
There are only about a dozen people in the theater, so we get great seats. Luke’s mom didn’t give us any money for snacks, but I’ve got some cash so I spring for a giant tub of popcorn and a box of gummy worms, and Kevin Hart’s hilarious, and we both laugh out loud at the bachelor party scene and the football game.
As we’re walking out of the theater afterward, telling each other the funny parts, someone calls out, “Luke!”
Luke stops and turns around. I turn around too, and see three guys walking toward us, with a couple of girls trailing behind. The guys are all wearing Burton snowboarding jackets, in different colors, and they all look like Luke. Not the same features, but the same feeling, like they’re sure of themselves. Like they know they’re cool. The tallest one, whose hair is long and blond and whose Burton jacket is black, holds up his hand and says, “Luke-ster, ’sup?”
“Hey, Paul,” Luke says, high-fiving him.
“How’s your baby sister? You getting to change any diapers?” He leans in and sniffs the air near Luke. “I think I smell baby poop. Unless that’s your new cologne.”
The three guys laugh. Luke sort of smiles. “Good one,” he says. “What movie are you guys seeing?”
“Same as you, I’m sure,” the kid in the blue plaid Burton jacket says. His skin is darker than the other two and his hair is black; when he smiles, he shows the same mouthful of straight, perfect white teeth. “The new Kevin Hart film.”
“We already saw it,” Luke says. “We came to the early show.”
“Bummer,” Paul says. “You coulda sat with us.”
“Who’s the ginger?” the third kid says, pointing his chin at me. He’s a couple inches shorter than tall, blond Paul, and his jacket is black and lime green. He’s wearing a gray knit cap that also says Burton on it so I can’t tell what color his hair is, but I’m sure it’s not red.
“This is David,” Luke says. “He’s from my new school. David, meet Paul and Sebastian and Tyler.”
The three all nod at me and murmur sounds that might be “hello” or “hey” or “’sup,” or might be “hurl” and “hay” and “snip.”
“Hey,” I say back, trying to look half as cool as they are.
“They’re friends from Villemont,” Luke says.
“Your best friends, bro,” plaid jacket Sebastian says.
“Right,” Luke says. “Best friends.”
The two girls catch up. “Hey, Luke,” the first one says. Her blond hair’s up in a high ponytail that she tosses when she talks, and I catch a cloud of sweet perfume. The second girl hangs back, standing behind plaid Sebastian almost like she’s trying to hide behind him. She doesn’t say anything.
“Hey, Brittany,” Luke says to the first girl.
“How’s the new school?” she asks.
“Pretty much like the old one.” Luke smiles. “Same song, different lyrics.”
“Nice coat,” Sebastian says to me. “Is it from Walmart or Kmart?” He looks at Paul and grins.
“Neither,” I say. “It’s from L. H. Fischer Sporting Goods.”
“His dad owns that store,” Luke says like it’s something to be proud of. I decide I won’t mention that the coat came off the sale rack two winters ago. Mom held it up to me and said, “In a couple of years this will be perfect.”
“Do they carry Burton?” Sebastian asks me.
Before I can answer, Luke says, “Is that the brand? Or the name of the plaid? Because yours is really plaid.”
“It’s the brand,” Sebastian says, like he doesn’t even realize Luke’s making fun of him. But then he reaches behind him and takes the silent girl’s hand, and the way he does it is some kind of challenge to Luke.
“Hey, you should hang out with us sometime,” lime-green Tyler says, stepping in between Luke and Sebastian.
“Definitely,” Luke says.
Then we stand around for a long, awkward minute while no one can figure out what to say next. Finally, Luke pulls out his phone and looks at it. “Gotta run. My mom’s here to pick us up ou
tside.” Which is not true at all, because we’re going for pizza and then my mom is picking us up, but I nod and murmur, “Yeah, gotta run.”
When we’re out of hearing range, I say, “Your old friends seem cool.”
Luke shrugs. “We moved almost a month ago. The only one who’s even texted me is Ty.”
I don’t know what to say, so I change the subject, sort of. “Who was that girl? The one who didn’t say anything.”
“Courtney.”
“Yeah. Did you guys have some kind of fight? I mean, why was she hiding behind Sebastian like that? Did you mug her in a dark alley once? Or steal all her hair products?”
Luke laughs. “Nah. She was my girlfriend.”
“Oh.”
“For almost six months,” he adds. He turns and gives me a quick smile. “She broke up with me the day before I moved to New Roque. By text. And started dating Sebastian the same day.”
“Oh,” I say again.
“Sammie would never do that. Right? Sammie’s much more fun than Courtney too. Courtney would never want to hang out in a secret fort. You guys are so lucky, having your own fort.”
I know our fort is not that great. But there are three things I also know with complete certainty. First, Luke understands exactly who the cool kids are at E. C. Adams, and could be part of their group if he wanted. Second, he has actual, real experience in the girlfriend department. And third, Luke really does like Sammie, which is not cool.
Tuesday, January 27
SAMMIE
Except for the awful fro-yo incident, I didn’t see David at all over MLK weekend. I thought about texting him on Sunday, but didn’t feel like getting dissed again. Then he texted me on Monday afternoon, when the weekend was practically over, but we were skiing for the day anyway.
On the bus on Tuesday, I’m hoping he’ll say something about being sorry for bailing on me, but he sits down next to Luke, then asks, “How was skiing?”
“Fine,” I say.
He’s silent for a moment, then turns to Luke and starts talking about the movie they saw, without me, on Sunday. The two of them trade lines from the movie the whole bus ride, like I’m not even there.
That's What Friends Do Page 5
