Frenemies

by Sheryl Berk

  “Passionate? It’s what I live for!” Emma replied. “When someone feels bad, I feel bad for them, and I can’t stand by and not do something! I am an expert problem-fixer, Ms. Bates!”

  “I get that. But the National Student Congress requires a cool head and a calm demeanor,” her principal explained. “It requires someone who can discuss important topics facing today’s youth without getting, well, worked up about them.”

  “Oh.” Emma suddenly realized her rant wasn’t really helping. “Well, I can do that,” she assured her principal.

  Ms. Bates sat back in her chair. “Really?”

  “Absolutely!” Emma insisted. “I can be completely calm and cool and unemotional.”

  “You left out open-minded and unbiased,” Ms. Bates added. “When you sit on Student Congress, they want you to listen objectively and consider all sides of the issues. They want an open discussion—not a screaming match. Some problems aren’t a quick fix; they’re not black and white.”

  “I love gray,” Emma said, pointing to her sweatshirt’s smoky hue. “See?”

  “You have some very strong opinions, Emma,” Ms. Bates continued. “I admire that as well as your ability to express those opinions. But I’m not sure you’d let any of the other members of Student Congress get a word in!”

  “I can zip my lip,” Emma said, miming a zipper across her mouth. “And I can prove it.”

  Ms. Bates tapped her fingers on her mug. “How can you prove it?”

  Emma thought for a moment. “I will completely keep my opinions to myself for forty-eight hours. Even if I feel very strongly about something, I will stay neutral.”

  “Fine,” Ms. Bates said, taking another bite of her sandwich. “You stay impartial for forty-eight hours and I’ll consider sending you to Student Congress as well. I have to choose a second student and I already have a few strong candidates.”

  “I’m the strongest!” Emma insisted. “Really. I can prove it to you.”

  “Fine,” Ms. Bates said. “I’ll be keeping a close eye on you—and your blog.”

  Her blog! Emma had completely forgotten she had promised her readers that she would write another post by the end of the week. And it was already Wednesday.

  “About that,” she began. “Maybe the staying-impartial part could just refer to spoken, not written, advice?”

  Ms. Bates shook her head. “Both—or it’s a no-go on Washington.”

  “Fine,” Emma agreed. “I can totally be Sweden.”

  Ms. Bates chuckled. “Switzerland. I think you mean Switzerland. That’s the neutral country that doesn’t go to war.”

  “That too,” Emma said, rising to her feet. “Just watch me.”

  If Ms. Bates wanted a cool-headed congresswoman, that was exactly what she was going to get. Sure, it would be tough to stifle her opinions, but forty-eight hours wasn’t so long . . . was it?

  “Hey, Em, how did it go with Jax?” Izzy asked, catching up to Emma at her friend’s locker. “One minute you were talking to him, then—poof—you disappeared.”

  “I’ve got it under control,” Emma replied.

  “Good, because I have a problem—a huge problem. And I need your help.” Izzy pulled her BFF aside next to the janitor’s closet so they could talk without anyone overhearing. Emma gulped. It had only been a few minutes since her meeting with Ms. Bates and already the drama was starting.

  “I’m late to class,” Emma said, trying to avoid Izzy. “Can we talk later? Like maybe Friday night?” That was forty-eight hours away—she’d be in the clear by then.

  “Friday? Are you kidding me? This is life-or-death!” Izzy insisted.

  “Really? Life-or-death?” Emma asked, scanning the hallway to make sure Ms. Bates was nowhere in sight. “Okay, tell me.”

  “It’s Harriet.”

  “What do you mean?” Emma asked. “I thought you said this was your problem.”

  “It is. Harriet is my problem.”

  Now Emma was totally confused! “How could Harriet be your problem?”

  “Remember how we planned for you guys to come watch my gymnastics meet tomorrow after school, then go out for pizza after?”

  Emma nodded. “Yeah, Harriet and I are really excited for it.”

  “Well, I thought about it, and I don’t want Harriet there. I kind of told her that, and she started crying and now she’s not speaking to me.”

  “What? Why would you tell her that?” Emma asked. She and Harriet always came to Izzy’s big gymnastic meets.

  “Because I don’t want her to come,” Izzy explained. “She gets all nervous and flustered and that makes me all nervous and flustered. She totally distracts me.”

  Izzy wasn’t completely wrong. Emma recalled the last meet about a month before when she and Harriet had gone to cheer Izzy on. Every time Izzy mounted the balance beam, Harriet had pulled her hoodie over her head and hid her eyes. And when Izzy wobbled on her dismount, Harriet had screamed “Nooooooo!” from the bleachers and made a huge scene.

  “Harriet means well . . . she just gets a little worried for you,” Emma told Izzy.

  “I know, but I can’t worry about her worrying. I’m sorry, she can’t come to any more of my meets. It stresses me out!”

  Emma could see both sides: Harriet felt left out, and Izzy felt anxious. Ordinarily, she would have asked them both to come over after school and talk this out between them. They would bicker and eventually reach a solution—usually over several of her mom’s chocolate chip cookies. But getting involved with her BFFs’ drama was not staying Switzerland.

  “I can’t help. I’d like to, but I can’t,” she told Izzy.

  “What? Why? Because you’re on Harriet’s side? Because you value her friendship more than you value mine? Because she’s right and I’m wrong? Because she went to Camp Armadillo with you last summer and I didn’t?”

  “No! None of the above!” Emma said, trying to explain. “I have to stay neutral and not say what I think.”

  “Aha! So you do agree with her—and you don’t want to tell me,” Izzy fumed. “Fine, Emma. Be that way. Consider yourself uninvited to my meet too.”

  Izzy stomped off and left Emma standing at the closet, wondering what had just happened.

  Harriet came running up to her.

  “Oh good! She left! She’s being so mean!” Harriet blurted out. “You have to fix this, Em.”

  Emma shook her head. “I can’t. I’d like to, but I really can’t.”

  Harriet’s eyes grew wide. “You think Izzy’s right! You think I made her lose her last meet! You think I’m a terrible friend!”

  “I didn’t say that, Harriet,” Emma tried to reassure her. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You don’t have to!” Harriet said, sniffling. “You’re taking her side.”

  “No! I’m not taking anyone’s side!” Emma cried. Then she noticed Ms. Bates coming down the hallway and lowered her voice. “I just have to stay calm, cool, and impartial.”

  “Fine, if you and Izzy don’t want to be my BFFs anymore, then that’s fine. I don’t need either of you.” She ran to the bathroom in hysterics.

  Emma wanted to run after Harriet, but Ms. Bates was watching her every move. As much as Emma felt bad for Harriet, she had told Ms. Bates she could easily keep her emotions in check and not get wrapped up in everyone’s issues. Emma had to prove it.

  “Everything okay, Emma?” Ms. Bates asked, seeing Harriet race past her.

  “Fine, fine,” Emma said. “Harriet and Izzy are having a little disagreement and I’m staying totally out of it—like I promised. I am not telling Izzy that she should be more considerate of her friend’s feelings, and I am not telling Harriet that she has to put herself in Izzy’s shoes. I am not telling either of them that they are being totally unreasonable and selfish and overreacting and I am not getting between them.” Which is exactly where she was—stuck in the middle with neither of her BFFs speaking to her. It was a horrible situation and she hated that she had to w
ait forty-eight hours to fix it.

  “Good,” Ms. Bates said. “I’ll go check on Harriet. Remember . . . Switzerland.”

  For the rest of the day, Emma felt like she was alone on a desert island: no Izzy, no Harriet, and no Jackson. And it felt really weird not to jump up and down in her seat in protest when Marty stated his ridiculous opinion in English class. But she had promised Ms. Bates.

  “So, Winnie should have drunk the spring water and stayed young forever,” Marty had said about Tuck Everlasting, the book they were reading. “I mean, come on! How cool would it be to never grow up?”

  Emma rolled her eyes. She wanted to shout “Everyone should grow up and stop acting like big babies!” Instead, she stifled a yawn.

  Mrs. Cole stared in her direction. “Anyone have something to say about that?” she asked pointedly. Emma knew what her teacher was expecting. This was the part of class when Emma would usually wave her hand wildly in the air to challenge Marty’s opinion.

  “Emma?” her teacher asked. “Are you feeling okay?”

  Emma nodded. “Yup. I’m fine.”

  “You have nothing to say about Marty’s theory?”

  Emma took a deep breath. “Nope. Nothing.”

  Mrs. Cole scratched her head. “Really? That’s not like you. You always have a very strong opinion about what we’re discussing in English class.”

  “Not today,” Emma insisted.

  Marty beamed—Emma always shot his ideas down. This was a first!

  The class then continued—very quietly and uninterrupted—until the bell rang.

  Emma gathered up her books and backpack. Mrs. Cole was still puzzled over her student’s behavior. “I hope you feel more like yourself tomorrow,” she told Emma. “I’m not used to you being, well, quiet.”

  “Not tomorrow. But things will be back to normal Monday,” she promised. If only she could fast-forward those forty-eight hours, everything would be fine again! She’d set Marty straight on Tuck Everlasting; she’d make Izzy and Harriet bury the hatchet, and she wouldn’t be mad at Jackson anymore—they’d be planning their time in DC together!

  When Emma left her English class, Ms. Bates was in the hall talking to a group of students but managed a friendly wave in Emma’s direction.

  Only two days, Emma told herself. Only two.

  Emma was relieved to be home, away from Ms. Bates’s watchful glare. She opened the front door and found her brother and a bunch of his high school baseball-team buddies seated on the couch, playing video games.

  “Oh no! The kid’s home!” Luc announced as she walked by them.

  “You’re kids too,” Emma reminded him. “You’re only two years older than me.”

  “In dog years, that’s fourteen,” he teased her. “Feed Jagger, will ya? He looks hungry.” Their family labradoodle ran anxiously in circles around Emma’s feet.

  “Come on, boy,” she said to Jagger. “Let’s see if Luc was eating your dog treats again.”

  “Not funny, Emma,” Luc called after her. “You know I hate liver.”

  “Then I’ll make sure to tell Mom to make it for dinner tonight,” Emma tossed back at him. “Yummy liver and onions!”

  “Uck!” Luc made a face. “Disgusting!” He threw a couch pillow at her and she ducked.

  At least when she argued with her big brother, it was about silly stuff like liver. Luc had no interest in deeper discussions. When their dad had asked them over dinner what they thought about global warming, Luc had shrugged and said, “I didn’t know the globe was cold. Maybe it could use a few blankets?” He was only half joking; he really didn’t know what the issue was about.

  “Luc, you’re in high school,” Mr. Woods said. “Isn’t it about time you cared about something more than just sports? Maybe read a newspaper? Formulate some opinions?”

  Emma couldn’t have agreed more, but at the moment, she was incredibly jealous of her big brother: He was surrounded by a posse of pals, and she was with the dog. None of her friends wanted to be around her.

  Luc read her mind. “So, where’s Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dumber?” he said, referring to Izzy and Harriet. “No playdate after school today?”

  Emma bristled. Luc loved to make her out to be a baby—especially in front of his baseball buddies.

  “They’re busy. I’m busy,” she said.

  “Doing what? Painting your toenails?” Luc taunted her.

  His friend Rich cackled. “Oh man. You’re a riot, Luc!”

  “For your information, I have a blog to write,” she informed them.

  “Hey, guys, who has a good question for Ask Emma?” Luc said. “Something really tough—so she’ll go upstairs and work on answering it and get out of our faces.”

  Rich raised his hand like he was in class.

  “Yes?” Emma said, slightly suspicious that they were playing her. But Rich did actually seem serious.

  “So I want to take this job after school at Holbart’s Sporting Goods, but my parents say I can’t because I have to study. It’s a really cool place to work and I’d make money to put toward the new iPhone I want.”

  “You left out the part where you’re failing science,” Luc reminded him.

  “Oh yeah. But I’d be failing science whether I worked at Holbart’s or not. My teacher hates my guts.”

  “Hmm,” Emma contemplated. “That’s a big problem.”

  “I know! So, what’s your advice? I should take the job, right? Tell my parents they’re being unfair? Call my grandma and grandpa and get them on my side?” Rich asked.

  Emma considered—then remembered her promise to stay neutral. “I can’t say,” she replied. “I mean, you have a point and so do your parents—all of you have good arguments.”

  “So, who’s right?” Rich pressed her.

  “I can’t say,” Emma repeated.

  Luc leaned forward. “You can’t say? Since when? You always have something to say—too much if you ask me. You never stop talking, even when no one asks you for your opinion.”

  “Well, I’m not saying—at least not today or tomorrow,” she insisted, leading Jagger into the kitchen.

  “Weird,” Luc said, taking a handful of popcorn. “You’re acting really weird!”

  Emma felt weird. Normally, she would have told Rich to work out a deal with his parents: He would study hard when he wasn’t working and raise his grade in science to prove to them he could handle both school and a job. She would have told him to sit his parents down and let them know how important this was to him—and how it was good for him to gain experience and a sense of responsibility. She could have come up with a million reasons why his parents should reconsider—arguing a case was her specialty. But arguing wouldn’t get her in Ms. Bates’s good graces—or on a train to DC.

  “Liver or chicken flavor?” she asked Jagger, fishing into his treat jar. The dog barked his response. “I see! You want both! That’s being very impartial.” She patted him on the head. “Good boy.”

  Just then her mom came in carrying a large bag of groceries. “Emma, honey, can you help me unpack these and get dinner going? Your dad will be home any minute and he’ll be starved. He had two surgeries this afternoon.”

  Emma’s father was a cardiologist—a fixer of broken hearts. Maybe he could do something about the gnawing feeling she had in her heart every time she thought of Jackson. Surely, he hated her for telling him off today at lunch. Why had she lost her temper with him? He hadn’t asked to be chosen for Student Congress; he hadn’t purposely taken her spot. Yet in the heat of the moment, when Elton was rubbing it in her face, she couldn’t stop the anger from flooding over her and the words from pouring out of her mouth. Now, looking back on it, maybe she could have handled things differently and supported Jackson. It wasn’t his fault, and she had acted like it was. Maybe Ms. Bates was right—if she couldn’t control her emotions, she didn’t belong on the National Student Congress. Maybe she shouldn’t even be writing an advice blog!

  “Honey, you seem a littl
e distracted,” her mother said, noticing that Emma had just placed a bag of Doritos in the freezer.

  “I am. I had a bad day,” she answered.

  “Well, we all have bad days. You have to let it go,” she said, planting a kiss on Emma’s forehead. “Things will look better tomorrow.”

  “I doubt it,” Emma said. Tomorrow promised to be more of the same. Jackson would still hate her, Harriet and Izzy would still be icing her out, and she would still have to wait for Monday before she could even attempt to fix any of it.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” her mom asked. “I can be impartial.”

  Emma groaned. “Don’t use that word! I hate impartial. I hate not being able to get excited about something that makes me excited. Calm is seriously overrated!”

  Mrs. Woods put down the quart of milk she was holding. “Impartial doesn’t mean you have to keep your mouth shut,” she explained. “It means you have to consider all sides and be fair, think before you speak.”

  “So you’re saying I’m not fair?”

  “I’m saying that when you make your mind up, it’s hard to convince you otherwise,” her mom said. “But that’s not a bad thing. You’re a girl who stands her ground.”

  “I am,” Emma said. “And I shouldn’t have to miss out on DC because of it.”

  “DC? Do you want to tell me what this is about?” her mom asked.

  “It’s about me. Ms. Bates doesn’t believe I have what it takes to be on the National Student Congress in DC. She said I would get too fired up and I wouldn’t let anyone get a word in.”

  “Aha.” Her mom nodded. “So that’s why you need to practice being impartial.”

  “Yes! I’m supposed to prove I can be Switzerland for forty-eight hours—and it’s ruining my life! Everyone hates me because I can’t say anything! You can ask Emma, but I can’t answer!”

  “Well, it’s only temporary,” her mom said. She handed her a package of cheese from the grocery bag. “You might as well have some Swiss if you’re going to be Switzerland.”

  For the first time that entire day, Emma smiled. Her mom was really good at putting things into perspective—and brightening an otherwise dismal day with a really bad joke.