The Last Great Adventure of the PB & J Society

by Janet Sumner Johnson

  “I’d be pleased to have your permission to set up long-term, dividend-yielding stocks in their names.”

  26

  I stared at the cookies and juice on my desk. No way I’d eat them. Jason’s farewell was no reason to party.

  Jason and I had made a PB&J pact. Shook on it and everything. We agreed to pretend nothing had changed right to the end. That way we could enjoy our time more. But a farewell party made it hard to pretend.

  When the class mothers had served all the kids, Mrs. Starry stood at the front. “First, I want to thank Mrs. Pierce and Mrs. Lyons for offering their time and goodies for our little farewell party today. Class, what do you say?”

  “Thank you” chorused through the room. Mine might have been mumbled.

  “Second, Jason, would you please come up here for a minute?” Mrs. Starry beckoned, smiling far too wide for the occasion.

  Jason was as red as jam when he got there. He stared at the floor and I could hardly blame him. Just because he was moving away was no reason to humiliate him.

  “On behalf of the class, I wanted to wish you good luck on your move. I’m certain you’ll succeed wherever you go. You’ve been a model student and it’s been a joy having you in the class. We’ll certainly miss you.”

  “Thanks,” he mumbled and scurried back to his desk. Poor guy. Lucky for him he wouldn’t have to face any of these kids again. But that was the only lucky thing.

  “Now class, please, enjoy your cookies and be sure to throw your trash in the garbage when you’re finished. The dismissal bell will ring in five minutes.”

  When Mrs. Starry sat down, Lila leaned over. I was surprised since she’d barely acknowledged my existence for the past month. Not that I was complaining.

  “I’m really sorry he’s moving, Annie. It stinks to lose your best friend.”

  I kept waiting for the insult to come, but she had clearly finished. “Thanks,” I finally said.

  Lila picked at her cookie. “I didn’t mean to sound selfish. I just didn’t know.”

  My face got hot at the memory. Not my best moment. I swallowed. “I’m sorry I said that. It wasn’t very nice.”

  “Still, I deserved it.” She paused. “I know I’m not Jason, but maybe we could do something … together … sometime?”

  I didn’t want to be rude, especially with her mom in the room, but I didn’t want to make a promise I’d just have to break. Nice that she’d apologized, but that didn’t change things. She was still Lila, and I was still me. I shrugged “Maybe … sometime.”

  Lila nodded and turned back to her desk.

  I was relieved when Mrs. Starry called my name. “Annie, can you please help Jason clean out his desk? Grab the bottle of cleaner and get some paper towels from the sink.”

  I jumped up, nearly spilling my juice.

  Jason already had his backpack out and was pulling the stuff from his desk. If this had been my desk, this project would have taken more than a couple of minutes, but Jason was a neat freak. Mrs. Starry hadn’t been lying about that “model student” thing. Not that I’d ever say that to Jason.

  While he divided his stuff into three piles (one to take home, one to throw away, and one to return to Mrs. Starry), I wiped out the inside of his desk.

  “So what was Lila saying to you?” Jason hefted the pile of books to take to Mrs. Starry.

  “Just that she’s sorry you’re leaving. And she asked me to do something with her. But don’t worry, I’d never betray you with the likes of her.”

  Jason shook his head. “Annie, doing stuff with others isn’t betraying me. I think you’re wrong about Lila. You should give her a chance.” He glanced over by the door where Mrs. Pierce stood, then lowered his voice. “Did you know the Pierces offered to buy our house, too? That same day we found out about the other offer.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Seriously? What’d they want with it?” A month ago I’d have guessed it was to plow it down to build a swimming pool. But since the food donation project, I had new respect for Mr. and Mrs. Pierce. Even if I wasn’t fond of their offspring.

  Jason knelt down, pretending to fiddle with his shoelace. He surveyed the room like the expert spy he was. When he spoke, I had to strain to hear. “Mr. Pierce called it a no-interest loan until my dad found a job. He said it was Lila’s idea. Said ‘My little girl would never forgive me if I didn’t try.’ I overheard my parents talking about it on the Spy Bud Two Thousand.”

  I was speechless. I stared at the back of Lila’s head. She had done that? I didn’t want to believe it, and if I’d heard it from anyone else, I wouldn’t have.

  I turned back to Jason, but he was gone. He was talking to Mrs. Starry at her desk, going through the books and signing them in.

  It was all too much. My head was spinning with the change that never seemed to end. Hating Lila had been a constant in my life almost since they moved in. Now I’d lost that, too.

  The bell rang, and the class exploded in a flurry of motion, stacking chairs and grabbing coats.

  “Bye, Mrs. Starry!”

  “Bye, Jason! Good luck!”

  Kids called farewells as they rushed out the door. The whole thing felt like a dream. Or rather, a nightmare.

  I closed my mind to it all and took my time wiping off Jason’s desk to wait for him. We had less than twenty-four hours left together, and I planned to spend every second that I could with him.

  27

  Grrrr. I pushed the ruined slices of bread away. As silently as possible, I pulled out two new ones. It was still dark outside, but it was getting lighter. I had to hurry.

  This was my third try. I dipped the knife in the peanut butter and concentrated on spreading it smoothly without tearing or smushing the bread. Plus I had to be careful not to contaminate the peanut butter with bread crumbs. Making a perfect sandwich was more difficult than I’d thought, especially in the dark. If it had only been Dad, I’d have risked turning on the light — he could sleep through an elephant stampede. But Mom was home — she’d traded shifts to help the Parkers clean house last night. And she would wake up if a grasshopper sneezed.

  When the peanut butter slice passed muster, I pulled out a separate knife for the jelly. I couldn’t taint the jelly. Not this time.

  It was hard to stay focused. To not think about things — like the last soccer game Jason and I played (we’d lost, no surprise); our last trampoline war (I’d won, no surprise there either); our last Halloween together (we’d gone as pirates, duh). There were too many “lasts” to count. Which I hated.

  My eyes kept trying to cry on me, but I refused. Besides, I didn’t want to ruin another sandwich.

  I glanced at the clock. It was late. I banished all thoughts except sandwich-making.

  I broke down the purple globs inside the jar, then scraped them onto the bread. I spread it to the edges, covering every bit of white. To remove the excess, I ran the flat of the knife over it. No lumps. I laid the peanut butter side over the jelly side, and done.

  Whew. I finally dared to breathe.

  Ever so gently, I put the sandwich on my mom’s best serving tray along with the flashlight, the freshly scrubbed hand shovel, and the folded-up note. The last touch was a fancy cloth napkin to cover the tray.

  Once I had my coat on, I carried it outside.

  Frost covered everything, and my breath puffed out in clouds. My feet swished through the leaves that covered the grass — leaves Dad would probably make me rake later that day. At the garden’s edge, I hesitated. All the plants had been torn out and the dirt tilled the week before. The now-barren site felt lonely. I shivered to think this is how I’d feel all the time now, but I shrugged it off. Jason wouldn’t be gone for a few more hours. I had to enjoy it. After all, we’d shaken on it.

  I left the tray by the cemetery, then sprinted to Jason’s house, only pausing to stick my tongue ou
t at the moving van in his driveway. A flick of my wrist and a pebble chinked against Jason’s bedroom window.

  I had to throw three more before Jason peeked out. Another few minutes, and he stood next to me, shivering in his housecoat.

  “Come on,” I said. “I’ve got a surprise.”

  Jason pulled his housecoat tighter and frowned at his slippered feet. “At six in the morning? Can’t it wait?”

  I rolled my eyes. “If it could wait, would I be standing here throwing pebbles at your window? Now, come on!” I moved toward my house.

  “Will it take long?”

  I glanced back. Jason hadn’t moved.

  “My parents are already stressed enough. If they wake up to find me missing … especially after … well, you know. They’ll …”

  “They’ll what?” I folded my arms. “Ground us from each other again?”

  Jason laughed. “Fine.” He stepped toward me. “I just don’t want them to worry.”

  “They won’t. We’ll be fast. I promise.”

  Making sure he followed, I ran straight to the garden. Jason froze at the edge. He glanced at his slippers. “You didn’t tell me we were coming here. I would have worn shoes. And where will I sit? My mom will kill me if I get muddy today.”

  Out loud I groaned, but inside I smiled. It was so Jason. Exactly the stuff I was going to miss. I rolled my eyes again before the hurt could hit. “Go barefoot then. Feet wash just fine.” Marching to the cemetery, I took off my coat and spread it in Jason’s spot. My mom would be mad too, but some things are more important than dirt. “You can sit there.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Jason!”

  “Fine. Sitting.”

  I knelt by the platter. Moisture seeped through the knees of my pants. I ignored it. “I hereby call this meeting of the PB&J Society to order.”

  Jason sat up straighter.

  Deep breath. I stared at my hands, willing my voice not to crack. “This is our last chance to bury a sandwich together. So it should be special. Mean something.” I whisked off the napkin and grabbed the flashlight, pointing it at the sandwich.

  “I hereby present the sacrificial sandwich and propose that a ninth and final rule be added as follows to the Smushed Peanut Butter and Jelly Burial Rules.” I took the note from the tray and unfolded it. “If approved, Rule Number Nine shall be written into the books as follows: ‘Thou shalt bury a perfect peanut butter and jelly sandwich if either of the two founding members moves away. It shall be called the sacrificial sandwich.’

  “‘This burial shall be a reminder of their peanut butter and jelly friendship. Neither the jelly nor the peanut butter is complete without the other. Just like us.’ All in favor, say ‘aye.’”

  “Aye.” Jason raised his hand and so did I.

  “All opposed say ‘nay.’” I looked around as though crowds of people surrounded us, then nodded in satisfaction. “The ‘ayes’ have it.”

  “So how does this work?” Jason wrapped his arms around himself, and I realized how cold I was, too. I stuffed my hands in my armpits.

  “Exactly the same, but different. After digging the hole, you inspect the sandwich and declare it to be perfect. We both spit on it at the same time, then follow my lead on the rest.”

  “Okay, but we have to hurry. My parents will be up soon.”

  “We’ll be quick. Now let the ceremony begin.” I held out the gleaming-clean spade. Granted, it was hard to tell in the dark, but I knew it was perfectly clean.

  After Jason dug the hole, I presented him the sandwich. He inspected it. Front to back, then around the sides.

  He looked at me for approval and I nodded.

  “I declare this sandwich to be perfect?”

  It sounded more like a question than a declaration, and personally, I would have added a few flourishes to the statement, but I supposed I could let it slide.

  Jason held the sandwich between us. I took one side, and when I’d built up enough saliva, I held up one, then two, then three fingers. We spit. Jason’s gob struck my hand, but I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. It was the rule.

  Instead of laying the sandwich in the hole, I signaled Jason not to move. With the sandwich still between us, I read the modified sermon from the paper: “Our dearly beloveds, we are gathered here today to say goodbye to our friend.”

  It was like those words made it all real. A lump stuck in my throat and I didn’t think I could go on. I clamped my mouth shut and thought about broccoli casserole as hard as I could. Because I would not start blubbering like a baby and ruin the whole ceremony.

  I took a deep breath and continued.

  “Though it totally stinks to be torn apart by rotten circumstances, we’ll never forget the adventures we’ve shared: discovering penguins in Africa; the loss and recovery of the Christmas pigskin; conquering the enemy during the Second Great Turkey Battle; solving the mystery of Black Marge’s treasure; not to mention the daring rescue of Margaret Schuster. I could go on, but I won’t because a certain person is worried he’ll get in trouble.”

  I improvised the last line, but I thought it worked okay. “Like this peanut butter and jelly sandwich, our friendship is perfect, too. The peanut butter is the glue and the jelly keeps things hopping. They complete each other.”

  Though I hadn’t named names, I thought the descriptions were pretty obvious.

  I leaned toward Jason. “Time-out. We have to pull the two sides apart. Just don’t rip the bread.”

  Jason frowned. “But then it won’t be perfect. And by the way … glue? You’re comparing me to glue? They use old horses to make glue.”

  I bit my lip to keep from laughing. This was the ceremony. This was serious. I just needed to get rid of the image in my mind of Jason’s face on the body of an old horse. “I meant it in a good way. And trust me on the sandwich. Time-in.”

  Raising his eyebrows, Jason gripped one slice and I held the other. We slowly pried the sandwich apart until we each had half.

  The experiment worked better than I’d hoped. Each half looked pitiful. Slightly mutilated, and definitely not pure. “The pieces of bread can be separated or torn apart, but neither half will ever be the same. The peanut butter side still has jelly on it, and the jelly side still has peanut butter on it. Just like our lives. Though you’re moving a bajillion miles away, you’ll still be a part of my life. You always will be.”

  I had to force out the last words. Stupid tears were threatening again. Broccoli casserole, broccoli casserole, broccoli casserole. I wouldn’t cry.

  My hands shook while I stuck my half in the hole. I motioned for Jason to do the same. All too soon the hole was filled, the song was sung, and the moment of silence was over. Jason and I looked at each other. Our last adventure was done.

  All the fun was gone. Neither of us smiled.

  Finally, Jason stood to go. Immediately he dropped back to his knees. In a swift motion he wrapped his arms around me in an awkward hug. I squeezed back, breathing in everything about him. All of it: his melon-scented curls, his loyalty, his chipmunk cheeks, his constant worrying, his bravery and hard work, his patience. Especially his patience.

  “Promise you won’t bury any sandwiches without me?”

  I wanted to laugh. As if I could even find a new friend who would understand. And besides, it was a rule. “I promise.”

  28

  After Jason left, I sat in the cemetery a long time. I watched the sun rise, brightening the drab colors of night. The grass sparkled with dew. Patches of yellow and red autumn leaves reminded me of traffic lights. Usually I loved this time of year. But today, it felt like an insult.

  Dark clouds should have covered the sky. Flowers should have drooped. The leaves should have all fallen to the ground.

  In that moment, everything felt hopeless. I wished I could wake up and have it all be just
a really bad dream.

  “Annie? Are you out here?”

  It was my dad. I knew I should wipe the dirt from my jacket and get out of the cemetery, but I couldn’t move.

  “Annie? I’ve been calling for five minutes. Why didn’t you answer? And is that your mother’s crystal serving tray? What are you …” His voice trailed off when he saw me. He knelt down and wrapped his arms around me. “Oh, sweet pea. You’re so cold.”

  I clung to him like I hadn’t since I was five. All the tears I’d been holding back gushed out. I let my dad’s warmth surround me, filling the emptiness that had been growing over the last month.

  Even when I finally stopped crying, I held on, afraid my world would collapse if I let go. Afraid my dad would disappear, too.

  “Does it ever stop?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Everything keeps changing. Mom’s job, Mrs. Schuster getting sick, now this. I just want it to stop.”

  Dad chuckled. “Life is change. If nothing ever changed, the world would be a sad, sad place. Getting to know Mrs. Schuster was a change.”

  “But that was a good change.”

  “And it hasn’t been so terrible having me around, has it? Maybe this will be like that. The good there, just waiting to be found.”

  I wiped at my nose and sat up. I wouldn’t win. Dad was way too optimistic sometimes.

  “So I was thinking we should make French toast for breakfast, and I bet the Parkers would like some, too.”

  “You won’t burn it?”

  “Are you questioning my cooking?” He stood and dusted the dirt from his knees.

  I shook the dirt off my coat and pulled it on. “I’d just hate to be remembered for burnt toast, that’s all.”

  “I suppose it’s good your mom’s making it, then.”

  I’d forgotten that Mom would be home and awake all day. I managed a smile.

  Dad picked up the crystal tray. He tucked it under one arm and offered the other to me. “Shall we go in?”