“Fun fact,” Steven said. “I recently read that if you want something from someone else, beating around the bush instead of coming right out and asking for it reduces one’s likelihood of getting it.”
“Interesting,” Fran said, even though it really wasn’t. “Is that because stalling makes everyone nervous and—”
“Fine!” Ruthie said. “I want a smartphone.”
Her parents exchanged another look. This one was dripping with concern. She hated when their eyes ganged up on her like that.
“Ru-Ru, you know how we feel about—”
“If I could have your attention, please . . .” Ruthie stood. A sign to Fonda and Drew that it was about to happen.
Another prism of light stuttered across the table; the nesties were wishing her luck.
Nerves rattling, Ruthie wished she had written her presentation on a piece of paper, if only to steady her shaking hands. But if she gave her parents reason to believe her photographic memory had been compromised, the only phone she’d ever touch would require a quarter, a glass booth, and a time machine. So she clasped her sweaty palms behind her back, cleared her throat, and began:
“According to some,
Smartphones make you dumb.
The irony is there,
Of that I’m aware.
But a girl like me,
Who uses words like irony,
Is wise enough to know
That a smartphone will help her grow.
I won’t need a pen to record my thoughts,
Less plastic in landfills makes the planet less fraught.
I can access world news the moment it breaks,
Take photos of animals, forests, and lakes.
Track my location so you don’t have to worry,
Send me a text, and I’ll be home in a hurry.
I can download a book in seconds flat,
Search for pictures of Grumpy Cat.
Cyber savvy is essential these days,
I won’t get a job without it, not one that pays.
I’ll be responsible and charge it every night,
Oh, and did you know it comes with a flashlight?
I won’t get addicted or post inappropriate pics,
I won’t bully, or TikTok, or subscribe to Netflix.
Ruthie will still be Ruthie, I’ll stay sweet as can be,
Just please let me experience the twenty-first century.
Thank you.”
Ruthie breathed a gusty sigh of relief in anticipation of her parents’ roaring applause. Instead, they stared at her blankly, as if Zooming on a screen that had frozen.
“What’s wrong?” Ruthie asked, her legs weak from the uncertainty of it all.
“Wrong?” Her mother beamed. “Nothing is wrong. That was creative and informative and . . . it was fantastic!”
“Agreed.” Steven chuckled. “I should start rhyming my closing arguments to the jury. It’s incredibly compelling.”
Ruthie casually scratched her shoulder, flashing the girls a thumbs-up. “Glad you liked it.”
“We really did.”
“Yes, it was very impressive.”
Steven reached for the pitcher of ice water. Fran took a second helping of pasta. Were they seriously moving on?
“Um, so . . . what do you think?” Ruthie pressed. “Can I get one?”
Fran lifted her face to the setting sun, closed her eyes, and smiled at something distant. “You remind me of myself when I was your age. . . .”
Ruthie shifted in her seat, sending another message to Fonda and Drew. We’re about to stroll down Memory Lane. Pack snacks. This is going to take a while.
“I used to love this TV series called Doctor Who,” her mother said. “And there was this one episode that featured a lava lamp . . .”
Ruthie politely covered her yawn. “I’m not seeing the connection.”
“I wanted a lava lamp so badly I started doing all these chores around the house to prove I deserved it.”
“Did it work?”
Fran grinned. “Well, I broke three china plates and accidentally mixed a load of whites with a red shirt and turned all of Grandpa Stu’s golf clothes pink.”
“Did you get the lava lamp?”
“Eventually. First I had to promise not to do any more chores.” Fran laughed. “Then I had to get a job babysitting so I could save for it. Three months later, I got it.”
“Nice,” Ruthie tried. But, honestly? Old-timey parent stories were kind of irrelevant. What did a wax-filled lamp have to do with a smartphone? Did it even have an alarm? “In case my poem wasn’t clear, I’m kind of hoping to get a—”
Steven wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “It was clear.”
“It’s a big responsibility,” Fran said.
“I know, and I’m ready for it.”
“Your screen time would be limited to one hour per day,” Steven said.
“That’s fine.”
“We’d need to know your password.”
“Easy. Thirteen, fifteen, seventeen—the nesties’ house numbers.”
“You’d have to stay off social media.”
“No problem.”
“We’d have to approve all your apps.”
“What are apps?”
“You can’t use it in the car.”
“I would never. I’d rather look out the window.”
“Or during meals.”
“I’d rather talk.”
Her parents exchanged another look. “I’m okay if you’re okay,” Fran said.
Steven nodded. He was okay too.
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes.”
Ruthie pushed back her chair and began jumping up and down. Fonda and Drew started banging on the window. She had heard the Bible quote Ask and you shall receive dozens of times but had no idea how well it actually worked. “Can we buy it tomorrow after school?”
Fran stood and began stacking the dirty dishes. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“How much is in your savings account.”
“What savings account?”
“The one filled with all the money you’re going to use to pay for it. Smartphones aren’t cheap, you know. You also have to factor in monthly data and calling charges.”
“But that’s not fair.”
“It’s absolutely fair. I had to buy my own lava lamp.”
“Mom, lava lamps were like a dollar. Phones are way more.”
“Then you better find a good job,” Steven said, standing. He kissed Ruthie on the forehead, grabbed a stack of plates, and followed his wife into the kitchen. “Great dinner,” he called.
The conversation was over.
chapter seven.
IN THE LUNCH Garden, Fonda managed to speed-chew all eight pieces of her California roll before she and Drew arrived at their table. With only six days left to get more signatures than Henry and Ava H. (four if she didn’t count weekends), slow dining was not an option. The petition-competition clock was ticking. There was work to be done.
Yesterday, after learning that Henry was in the lead with thirty-three signatures, Fonda and the girls had left Fresh & Fruity and run straight to the Gem House. If they were going to triumph over two of the most popular kids in seventh grade, they were going to need a plan. They were going to need an angle. They were going to need promotional bead bracelets.
“Let’s start with her,” Fonda said the moment Drew set down her tray. She was pointing at Toni Sorkin, a freckle-faced go-getter who had recently been named vice president of the student council.
“Hey, Toni,” Fonda said, her smile leading the way. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” It was an awkward question since Toni was eating alone, but it
was kinder than asking why she couldn’t find a lunch buddy.
“Not yet,” Toni chirped. “I’m saving the table for an emergency student council meeting, but it’s not starting for another”—she checked her phone—“seven minutes. Why?” She flashed her palm. “Wait, don’t tell me. You’re miffed that the bike racks are being moved to the side entrance, aren’t you? Well, you’re not alone. That’s what we’re meeting about.”
“Actually, we’re fighting for a different cause.”
As rehearsed, Drew gave Toni the clipboard and a pen. “Principal Bell said if we get enough signatures, she’d cancel the Slopover and let us go to Catalina Island. Will you sign?”
Toni’s freckles lit up. “Totally!” She scribbled her name on the petition and handed the clipboard back with the can-do spirit that got her elected. “Last year’s trip traumatized my nasal passages. I literally can’t see a shovel without smelling horse poop. It’s, like, a whole thing for me now.”
“And what about the mattresses?” Fonda added. “Oily grandfather scalp, right?”
“If only . . .” Toni fanned the honeysuckle-scented air. “I think mine had been dipped in blue cheese.”
Fonda and Toni shared a laugh while Drew procured the beaded I ♥ CAT bracelet. “We appreciate your support.”
“Aw, thanks but no thanks.” Toni politely handed it back. “I’m more of a dog person.”
Fonda managed a patient grin. “Cat is short for Catalina Island.”
“Oh, cute!” Toni took the bracelet back. “Henry didn’t give me anything when I signed his petition. Neither did Ava.”
“Wait.” Fonda bristled. “You signed theirs too?”
“Why not?” Toni said. “I’ll go wherever. As long as it’s not Ferdink Farms, you know?”
“I do,” Fonda said. But it wasn’t that simple. If Toni signed multiple petitions, her vote wouldn’t count.
“Do you think everyone’s doing that?” Fonda asked Drew as they walked away from Toni. Because if they were, she may as well rip up her petition and grab a poop-scented shovel.
Drew bit her bottom lip and shrugged. Her expression was the opposite of reassuring and enough to make Fonda scream. But Ruthie was now bounding toward them, and maybe, just maybe, she’d know what to do.
“I have six minutes,” Ruthie said, bob swaying. “A compost specialist is coming to talk to us about sustainable—”
“Change of plans,” Fonda interrupted. “We need to figure out who signed multiple petitions, then convince them to cross their name off Ava’s and Henry’s and stay on ours.”
Ruthie opened her mouth. Fonda shook her head. This was not the time for questions.
“Are you open to financial incentives?” Ruthie asked anyway.
“Financial what?”
“Like, you pay me a dollar for every cross-off I get.”
Fonda snickered. “Why would I do that?”
“I’m saving for a phone, remember?”
“Ruthie, if I had that kind of money, our bracelets would say I heart Catalina Island instead of I heart Cat.”
“So, no?”
“I’ll buy you ten phones if you get Keelie a full-time job at Ferdink Farms.” Drew was glaring at her fuchsia-haired nemesis who was going table to table with Henry and Will, trolling for signatures. And the worst part? She was wearing that green trucker hat.
“How can you afford ten phones?” Ruthie asked.
“I can’t. But if I could . . .”
Fonda closed her eyes and tried to collect herself. Yes, she wanted to dream up ways for Ruthie to earn money and help Drew overcome her Keelie insecurities, but right now? Really? If all three of their problems were patients in an emergency room, Fonda’s would definitely be treated first. Ruthie’s and Drew’s problems were like broken bones, but her problem was bleeding out.
“Hey, girl,” said Katharine Evans, an accomplished gymnast with an enthusiastic ponytail. “I heard you’re giving out Cat bracelets, and since everyone calls me Kat, I was wondering if I could have one.” She held out her wrist and cocked her head as if striking a pose for the judges.
“Actually, the Cat stands for Catalina Island,” Fonda explained. “We want to go there instead of Ferdink Farms.”
“I know, I heard,” Kat said, wrist still extended. “That was your idea, right?”
“It was!” Fonda’s sinking spirits perked back up. Finally, some recognition. “Are you interested in signing our petition?”
Kat lowered her arm. “What’s with these petitions? I feel like I’ve been signing them all day.”
“Yeah, but technically, you can only sign one, and it should be ours.”
“What is Catalina again? A cat rescue shelter?”
Ruthie laughed, assuming Kat was joking.
“What’s funny?”
“Nothing you said.” Ruthie blushed. “I promise.”
“Catalina is that island you see from the beach,” Fonda explained. “It has snorkeling and hiking and zip-lining and ice cream shops and—”
“How would we get there?”
“Ferry boat,” Ruthie said.
This time it was Kat who laughed. “Fairy boat? Really? Will there be magical wizards and unicorns too?” She rolled her eyes. “Now you’re just making stuff up.”
Fonda gave Drew and Ruthie a sharp look. Let it go.
“It’s very real, and it’s super fun,” Drew said. “And it won’t give you welts like paintball.”
“Welts?” Kat said. “Owie!”
“Yeah, so you should cross your name off Henry’s petition and sign ours. And tell your friends to do the same thing.”
“Cool,” Kat said, scribbling her name beside the number twenty. “Can I have a Cat bracelet now?”
After fastening the clasp, Kat hurried away to show it off. She didn’t even try to remove her name from Henry’s list.
“I better go,” Ruthie said. “I’ve been gone for almost seven minutes. My teacher’s gonna think I’m constipated.”
“Wait!” Fonda pleaded. “This is a disaster. What are we going to do?”
“We’ll figure it out after school, I promise.”
But after school would be too late. Once Ava H. and Henry realized they couldn’t have duplicate signatures, they’d start campaigning all over again and steal Fonda’s votes. It didn’t matter that Catalina was the best idea of the three. Unless Fonda could prove it, this was going to turn into a popularity contest—a contest she’d never win.
Drew slumped into an empty seat and unzipped her lunch box. “Now what?” she asked, totally unaware that she was sitting in the sixth-grade section.
Fonda sat beside her, too depressed to stress over optics. She had bigger political fish to fry. “How did the Women’s March on Washington get its message to the masses? How do big movements do it?”
Drew giggled.
“What?”
“Doug had a big movement this morning. My hair almost fell out when I walked into the bathroom.”
Fonda couldn’t help but laugh. “Did it have a shocked-emoji face?”
“No, I did.”
Normally, picturing Drew’s expression in that moment would have cracked Fonda up. But there was nothing funny about a body full of welts or a face caked in makeover makeup. Not to mention the loss of pride. There was only one thing left to do: text Joan.
Lots of competition. How do I get everyone to support Catalina? Protest, rally, or march?
Start with a GIM.
???
General Interest Meeting. Set up a time and place for people to come by and learn about your cause. If they believe in it, they’ll support it. Make posters, post on social media, hand out flyers . . . gather as many people as possible. Talk more tonight. Love you.
Fon
da put down her phone and turned to Drew, “We need to organize a GIM.”
“Who’s Jim?”
Fonda stood. “Our only shot at victory. Come on. We need to raid the art room.”
“Jim’s in the art room?” Drew asked, following her. “Is he cute? Maybe we can set him up with Keelie. You know, get her away from Will?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Fonda said, thinking only of her general interest meeting and the slight bit of hope that still remained.
chapter eight.
THE FOLLOWING DAY, Drew was heading back to math class after a pee break when she heard, “Yo, D, what up?”
The voice was unmistakably Will’s: deepish with a slight rasp. It was the D part she found so puzzling. Was it a term of endearment or a dropkick into the friend zone?
She finally turned, and there he was: blond hair spiked, denim-blue eyes smiling, red sneaks squeaking as he hurried to close the space between them. Drew’s stomach dropped to the floor and did the worm.
“Hey, duh—” Drew paused midsyllable. She was about to call him W but thought better of it. For one, W didn’t exactly roll off the tongue, and for two, if first initials were a friend-zone thing, she didn’t want to encourage it. So she blurted “Dude,” instead, which was worse. “What class are you escaping?”
“Science. You?”
“Math.”
“Cool.”
Drew nodded like a bobblehead while she searched for a quippy line or a charming observation to fill the silence. Something so fetching Will would fall in like with her all over again. But all she could muster was “So . . . Monday, right?”
“Yeah, things got kinda nuts toward the end.”
Drew remembered the toppings on Will’s yogurt. “Pun intended?”
He laughed a little, then quickly recovered. “We should do it again sometime. You know, like a do-over.”
“Totally.” Drew began bobbleheading all over again. Did he mean it, or was he just being polite? By “we” did he want everyone or just them? And if he did mean everyone, did that include Keelie? Drew made a mental note to search for a crush translator app when she got home. If one existed, she would download it twice.
Crush Stuff. Page 4
