Frenemies

by Sheryl Berk

  What’s wrong? he mouthed.

  She held up the box and shook her head.

  “Ms. Woods, are you ready to begin?” Mr. Hartfield asked impatiently.

  Emma did the only thing she could think of . . . she sneezed.

  “I’m—ACHOO—sorry—ACHOO—I just—ACHOO seem to be having an allergy—a-a-a-CHOO—attack.”

  Mr. Carter raced up to check on her. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I lost my yellow cards,” Emma whispered. “Go with it.”

  “Oh dear!” Mr. Carter improvised. “I’m afraid my student is violently allergic to . . . to . . .”

  “Roses!” Emma shouted, spying a vase on the judges’ table. “ACHOO! ACHOO! ACHOO!”

  “Well, we will take a small break, remove the flowers from the room, and allow you to regain your composure,” Mr. Hartfield said.

  “ACHOO! Thanks!” Emma said, running out of the room with both Jackson and Mr. Carter trailing behind her.

  “What do you mean you lost them?” Mr. Carter asked frantically. “When did you last have them?”

  “On the train. Jax and I were talking and . . .” Emma half remembered having the cards in her hands but couldn’t recall where they went after that or if she had put them back. She and Jackson had their “moment,” then Mr. Carter rushed them to pack up and exit the train.

  “Do you remember everything that was on them? We went over it dozens of times,” Jackson said. “I’m sure you can do it without the cards.”

  “I’ll try,” Emma said.

  Mr. Carter looked like he was going to explode. “You will not try, you will do it. Now! Before we are disqualified.” He stomped back into the ballroom.

  “Disqualified?” Emma gasped. She couldn’t bear the thought of that happening, of letting Ms. Bates, Mr. Carter, or Jackson down.

  “Emma, calm down,” Jackson said, putting his hands on her shoulders and gazing deeply into her eyes. “I know you’re freaking out, but everyone feels that way sometimes.” He paused. “Someone really smart told me that once—maybe some advice blogger?”

  Emma smiled slightly. “I wonder who?”

  “The point is, you can do this,” Jackson continued. “I believe in you.”

  “Okay,” Emma replied. “I got this.”

  “Of course you do,” Jackson said, as he turned her toward the ballroom door and gave her a gentle push. “You’re Emma.”

  Emma walked back inside, taking her spot once again onstage. Focus, she told herself. Stop daydreaming about the missing index cards and Jax’s dimples. Focus!

  “Are you all right?” Mr. Hartfield asked her.

  “Yes, all better!” she said brightly. “No more sneezes.” She wiped her nose with the back of her blouse sleeve for emphasis. “I’m ready.”

  Over the next two minutes she listed the important points in her argument. She even remembered the complicated medical study that proved “aerobic activity has been shown to increase the size of essential brain structures and the number of neural connections.”

  The judges were nodding, impressed. Then Emma totally blanked. There was still one minute left on the clock, and she couldn’t think of another thing from her cards to say. She saw Mr. Hartfield stifle a yawn. In fact, as Emma glanced around the room, she noticed most of the audience looked so bored they were about to doze off. So she improvised.

  “Everyone, up on your feet!” she called. She saw Mr. Carter in the audience, waving frantically at her to stop. Was he trying to signal her “time out!” or communicate in sign language? Still, she kept going. “Do five jumping jacks with me. Right here, right now.”

  Amazingly, the audience obeyed. Even Mr. Hartfield was on his feet, jumping and waving his arms in the air with a surprisingly big smile on his face.

  “Now, think about what you just did,” Emma told the crowd. “You’re smarter, more energized, more emotionally balanced, happier, and less likely to die of a horrible disease. How awesome is that? Don’t you want to do more? Don’t you believe PE should be mandatory in schools?”

  “Yeah!” a kid cheered from the audience.

  “Totally!” said another. “I was falling asleep and that was awesome!”

  Soon the entire audience erupted in applause.

  Emma looked to the wings to see Billy and Jessalyn staring in disbelief, and Jackson pumping his fists in the air.

  Jessalyn made her closing remarks but barely anyone paid attention. Emma’s little show had left a lasting impression.

  “You hit it out of the park!” Jackson said. “That was incredible!” He leaned forward and swept her into a hug.

  Emma could barely catch her breath from all the excitement—and frankly, the feeling of Jackson’s arms around her.

  “It was okay, right?” she asked.

  “It was more than okay. You won this for us, Em!” Jackson said, beaming.

  “No, we definitely did it together,” Emma insisted. “Your arguments were really strong—and your pep talk helped me a lot. I think we have a good chance.”

  “I agree,” Mr. Carter said, catching up with them to await the judges’ decision. “It was a bit unorthodox, but it truly drove the point home.”

  They waited more than twenty minutes before Mr. Hartfield finally appeared onstage with the panel’s decision. “This was a difficult one,” he stated to the crowd. “Both Austen Middle and All Plains Day made very strong, convincing arguments. But in the end, we decided that one team communicated their evidence in an innovative and indisputable way. Congratulations, Austen Middle.”

  Emma and Jackson couldn’t believe it—they were going to the semifinals tomorrow morning!

  Mr. Carter looked pleased but not as ecstatic as they were. “Good job, you two,” he told them. “Now the real work begins.”

  Mr. Carter explained that, unlike the first round, there would be no preparation for the semifinals. “Whatever topic they give you, you must use your knowledge and skills to argue it effectively. There is no research to look at this time. You are exhibiting your skills as an effective communicator.”

  “So, Emma should have this one down,” Jackson said, winking at her.

  Mr. Carter was not as sure. “The judges will be scoring you not only on how well you argue your point but on how well you listen and respond to what your peers are saying.” He shot Emma a serious look. “You cannot get carried away. Every single word counts.”

  Emma nodded. “No jumping jacks. I get it.”

  “I hope so,” their adviser said. “A calm, cool head will take home the trophy.”

  “We find out the topic on the spot?” Jackson asked.

  “You will have thirty minutes to confer before making your case. You’ll also decide at that time who will lead and who will close. If you win the semifinals, you go to the finals against the top students in the country.”

  All Emma wanted to do at the moment was go to her room, call Harriet and Izzy, and get a good night’s sleep. She was exhausted. But Jackson had a better idea.

  “Want to go sneak a peek at my future home?” he asked her.

  “Your what?” she asked, confused.

  “Don’t you remember? President Jackson Knight? I hear there’s a student sightseeing tour tonight that includes a stop in front of the White House.”

  Emma thought hard—she was really tired. But those blue eyes were so convincing. “Okay,” she agreed. “Give me a few minutes to check in and see how Izzy did at states. She’s not going to believe we won today.”

  Emma plopped down on a couch in the hotel lobby and called her friend.

  Harriet answered on the first ring. “We’re watching the debate now on the website. OMG, Emma, you were amazing with that opening argument! Your mom and dad are having everyone over for dinner and a screening. Even Ms. Bates and Jax’s parents are here!”

  Emma could hear her parents cheering, “Emma! Emma!” in the background. She’d completely forgotten that Mr. Carter mentioned it would be broadcast on the Nati
onal Student Congress website.

  “Honey?” Her mom came on the phone. She must have grabbed it out of Harriet’s hand. “You’re amazing! We’re watching it now. Did you win? Wait, don’t tell me. Okay, tell me . . .”

  “We’re going to the semifinals,” Emma said proudly.

  “They’re going to the semifinals!” Mrs. Woods shouted to her living room packed with guests.

  “Whoa, Mom, could you at least issue a spoiler alert?” Emma heard Luc complain. But everyone else was cheering.

  Izzy took the phone next. “My friend, the champion,” she said. “You know it was the powerred blouse, right?”

  “Iz, did you win the gold medal?” Emma asked her anxiously.

  “Silver, but it’s okay. It means I’m an alternate for nationals in the spring.”

  Emma could hear disappointment in her voice.

  “That’s great!” Emma said, trying to be cheerful. “Silver is great!”

  “Well, it’s second to great, right?” Izzy said.

  “Izzy . . .” Emma wanted to say something comforting, something that would make her feel happy. But instead, Emma held herself back and listened.

  “I was so close,” Izzy said. “I lost by a tenth of a point. Isn’t that crazy? But this girl from Pittsburgh was crazy on the parallel bars and I did wobble on my dismount.”

  “I’m sorry,” Emma said. “I know you wanted gold.”

  “You can’t win ’em all, right?”

  “I wish I were there, Iz.”

  “I wish I were there with you, Em. Good luck tomorrow.”

  Harriet got back on the phone. “Knock ’em dead, okay?” she told Emma. “Your mom made lasagna, so I gotta go. It’s getting cold.”

  As Emma hung up, Jackson walked over. “So? What did I miss?”

  “It sounds like most of Austen Middle, including your parents, are eating lasagna and watching us win on the National Student Congress website,” she told him.

  “How about Izzy?”

  “She came in second. She’s trying not to act sad, but I know she is.”

  “Well, work your Emma magic and say something to make her feel better.”

  Emma thought for a moment. “I tried. But there’s nothing I can really say to fix it.”

  “And you hate when that happens,” Jackson finished her thought.

  “More than anything. It makes me feel like a failure.”

  “You? A failure?” Jackson gasped. “Emma Woods, if there is one thing in the world you will never be, it’s a failure. You wouldn’t know how.”

  “Thanks,” Emma said, then she gave him a little smile. “I really wish Izzy could have won. It would have made today perfect.”

  Jackson held out his hand to pull her up from the couch. “Well, the day’s not over yet. It might be perfect, if you give it a chance.”

  Emma and Jackson spent the next few hours taking selfies in front of all the DC monuments and wound up at the gates of the White House. They strolled down Pennsylvania Avenue, trying to find a quiet spot away from the tour group.

  “You really suppose I could be president one day?” Jackson asked her.

  “Why not?” Emma said, taking a bite out of a hot dog from a street cart.

  “Maybe a congressman,” Jackson pondered. “That’s probably more doable.”

  “I say, reach for the moon,” she said. “If you fall, you land among the stars.”

  “Did you write that?”

  “No,” Emma said, giggling. “It’s on this mug that Luc gave me for Christmas. But I always liked it.”

  The final stop on the tour was the Washington Monument—which Emma cheerfully pointed out resembled a giant pencil.

  “You really are a writer,” he teased her. “It’s all you think about.”

  “No,” Emma insisted. “Sometimes I think about other stuff.” What she wanted to say was I think about you, Jax, all the time! But instead, she kept silent and watched the sunset over the monument.

  “So, if there are no stars out, can you make a wish on the moon?” Jackson asked her.

  “Hmm, that is highly unorthodox,” Emma said, doing her best Mr. Carter impression. “But go for it!”

  “I wish—” Jackson began but Emma covered his mouth with her hand.

  “No!” She hushed him. “Never tell anyone your wish or it won’t come true.”

  “Says who?” Jackson asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Stick to facts, Ms. Woods,” Jackson said, imitating Mr. Carter. “If you have no supporting evidence, I’m wishing out loud.”

  “Okay,” Emma said, giggling.

  “I wish that we win Student Congress tomorrow,” Jackson said.

  Emma thought it was a good wish, given their circumstances, but she had hoped he would wish for something a little more personal—like her becoming his girlfriend.

  “Your turn.” He elbowed her.

  “I’m going to keep mine a secret,” she insisted. “Just in case that works better.”

  She closed her eyes and made her wish silently: I wish that tomorrow is the most perfect day of my entire life. She thought that covered all the bases.

  Jackson saw that the tour guide was motioning for them to board the bus back to the hotel. “Aw, I wish we had more time to hang out,” he said.

  “That’s your second wish,” she teased. “There is a limit.” But she felt the same. Today had been amazing from start to finish, and she hated to see it end.

  Bright and early the next morning, Emma and Jackson met Mr. Carter in the hotel restaurant to have breakfast together. She ordered a hearty omelet, toast, and bacon, while Jackson pushed around his bowl of cereal, and their coach downed cups of black coffee.

  “I hope you both slept well,” he told them, mopping his brow with a napkin. Emma thought he looked more nervous than Jackson. “I was up all night and didn’t sleep a wink. I made a chart of the teams that are in the semifinals, ranking the ones I believe are our most serious competition.” He handed Emma the list.

  “Columbus Prep is the one to beat, huh?” she asked, looking it over.

  Jackson grabbed the paper out of her hands. “Columbus Prep? From New York City?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Carter said. “They’ve won twice in past years. Have you heard of them?”

  Jackson gulped. “I went to school there.”

  Emma knew what that meant. This was the school where Jackson had been bullied. This was the school that he’d left to come to Austen this year. This was the one school he wanted to forget.

  “It’s okay, Jax,” she said.

  “I know,” he said, trying to act nonchalant. “I’m okay. It was a surprise, that’s all.”

  “Great,” Emma said, crossing her fingers that Jackson was truly not worried about facing his former classmates. He was stressed enough; this was the last thing he needed.

  They walked into the ballroom where the stage was now set up for the semifinals. Rows of chairs were lined up behind the podium for the students to take their spots.

  “Do you see the Columbus Prep kids?” she whispered to Jackson.

  He looked around the room. It was filling up quickly with students, coaches, and spectators. “Not yet. But I’m not going to think about it. I’ll focus on what we need to do.”

  “Good idea,” she said. “We will both think of nothing besides the competition.” Then she noticed the media pouring into the room. “Would you look at all these reporters? And cameras!” Emma said, smoothing her hair and making sure her shirt—a purple silk button-down that Izzy had also helped her pick out—was tucked neatly into her skirt.

  “I’m trying not to look,” Jackson replied, shielding his eyes.

  “But it’s so cool,” Emma tried to convince him. She waved into a camera lens that was panning the room. “The whole world could be watching!”

  It took Jackson several minutes to pry Emma away from the media so they could take their seats in the second row of the stage next to a pair of students f
rom Eagle Eye Middle in Indiana and a duo from Alameda Academy in California. In all, there were about thirty schools remaining, and by the finals there would be only six. The judges would then rank them and award one grand prize.

  On Emma’s seat was an envelope that they were not to open until the judges started the clock. In it was the topic they would be debating, and their assigned position—either pro or con.

  “I have a good feeling about this,” she told Jackson, holding the envelope between her palms. Her fingertips got that familiar tingly feeling—the one that always told her she was on the right track. “It’s going to be a really good topic, and we’ll rock it.”

  Jackson kept his head down, staring at his shoes.

  “Jax, you okay?” Emma asked him gently. She noticed he looked a little pale. “You don’t look so good.”

  “I’m fine,” he said, trying to convince both of them. “I’m trying to save my energy.”

  Mr. Hartfield called the room to attention. “When I sound the bell, you will have exactly thirty minutes to prepare your arguments.” Emma held the envelope in her hand, poised to tear into it. “On your mark, get set . . . ,” the judge announced. “Open your envelopes!”

  Emma ripped hers open and pulled out the card inside.

  “What does it say? What did we get?” Jackson asked anxiously.

  “Homework should be mandatory in schools: PRO,” she read aloud.

  Emma looked at Jackson. “Pro? We’re supposed to argue that homework is a good thing? When every student on the planet—including me—hates it?” she exclaimed. Now it was her turn to freak out.

  “We can’t think like that.” Jackson tried to rein her in. “We have to defend our topic, so let’s start writing down notes.” He pointed out that classes were only forty minutes long—making it difficult to study a subject in depth. Homework also reinforced topics that were covered in class by giving students a chance to practice what they had learned—like when students employed a new formula in math homework.