by Laura Dower
First Madison found a yellow diary with a lock from five years before. It had never been written in. The pages were crackly to the touch.
Then she saw a stack of pictures she’d finger painted in kindergarten. They were mostly painted orange. It had been Madison’s favorite color back then, too.
On the bottom of the box, she found a photo album, the one with the word SNAPSHOTS spelled out in big, gold letters across the fake leather album cover. She had gotten the book from Aunt Angie for her eighth birthday.
Madison opened the book very slowly in case there was anything stuffed inside. She didn’t want things to fall out. Turning the plastic pages made a lot of noise.
On the first spread of photos, Madison saw herself wrapped in a fuzzy yellow blanket, looking more like a chick than a little baby. There were three poses in that outfit, next to a picture of Madison lying with a bare bottom on the living room floor. She had a big grin on her face and a teddy bear in her hand.
Madison turned the page quickly. Baby pictures could be so embarrassing.
The next spread showed Madison sitting high up on her dad’s shoulders. He was standing in the yard, watering flowers. In another photo he was barbecuing hot dogs. That was back when Madison’s mom still ate meat. She’d been a strict vegetarian for a few years now.
There was a big photo of Mom and Dad seated together on a hammock. They were kissing, in the picture. Madison stopped to look at that photograph a little longer than the others.
She couldn’t take her eyes off her parents. They had looked so happy then. In the photo, Madison could barely make out the shadow of a little child on the left side. She realized she was the one standing just outside the photo’s frame. She’d been standing there, watching Mom and Dad kiss.
She glanced through the next few pages to find even more shots of Mom, Dad, herself, and other family members:
Gramma Helen putting Madison’s hair into braids.
Grampa Joe carrying Madison into the ocean.
Dad pouring soapy water over Madison’s head in the tub.
Mom feeding Madison green mushy food.
Madison jumping on her bed.
Page after page, Madison found the baby and then grade school pictures she’d always loved. She looked through them all twice. And then she got to the pictures of second grade.
There was Ivy Daly. In almost every single one.
Their best friendship dated back to the beginning of school. Ivy and Madison had been inseparable. They had dressed alike and liked the same things. They had both liked to blow bubbles, climb trees, and plan tea parties for their dolls.
Madison saw photos that showed all of these things.
She saw an Ivy she’d forgotten existed.
She saw the nice Ivy she used to know, once upon a time.
Madison plucked one of her favorite photos off the page, a shot of her and Ivy standing with arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders, smiling. She would scan the photo to attach it to her Ivy online file.
At the very end, Madison found the last page stuck to the inside back cover of the photo album. She tried carefully to pry it apart, afraid it would rip.
And no sooner had she peeled it apart than something dropped out.
Something Madison definitely was not expecting.
Stuck inside the back cover of the album was a yellowing envelope that Madison barely remembered sealing. The envelope was stained with age-old, dried fingerprints, and someone had marked it very carefully on the outside.
MADISON FINN & IVY DALY
Do Not Open Until Seventh Grade
That Means NO ONE Except US!!!
It was an envelope from second grade. Madison could remember the day when she and Poison Ivy had torn the paper off a legal pad and signed their names in ink. She remembered Ivy hugging her when they licked the envelope shut and added a “backup” seal of black electrical tape, because that was the only tape they could find.
Madison peered closely at the envelope to see what it said. On the back was a different message:
MADISON FINN & IVY DALY
Friends Forever and Ever and Ever
For OUR eyes ONLY!!!
Ivy had drawn teeny little flowers and borders all over the envelope—and every flower Madison saw sent her mind back to the day when the letter had been written.
Madison always thought about the fact that Ivy was her mortal enemy. But she rarely thought about why.
Until now.
She picked up the envelope and read it three times more.
Madison could almost hear the sounds from back then, the time when she and Ivy had their seats next to each other in school, when they always teamed up for dodgeball, and when they vowed to both win the Far Hills Little Miss pageant together.
Inside the album were taped together pictures that showed the sides of Ivy most people in junior high had either forgotten or never known: the funny girl, the sometimes-too-shy girl, and even the scared-of-boys girl.
Once upon a time, Ivy hadn’t been poisonous.
“Madison!” a voice yelled from downstairs. “What’s going on up there? I called for you twice.”
Mom had probably reheated pizza and set the table.
“Come on down! Dinner is ready!” she yelled.
“Okay, Mom,” Madison mumbled.
Madison placed her secret cigar box back into the dusty carton, putting the report cards, papers, and other life memorabilia on top of that.
“So what time is it?” Madison asked as she bounded down the stairs.
Mom said it was six-thirty, and Madison nearly fell over. “Six-thirty? How did it get to be so late?”
“You were obviously having a good time going through boxes, Maddie. You went up there an hour ago,” Mom said. “So what did you find?”
Madison could feel the unopened seventh-grade letter from her and Ivy burning a hole inside her pocket…but she said nothing.
She would keep this discovery to herself—at least for now.
Chapter 7
From: MadFinn
To: Bigwheels
Subject: Need Your Advice
Date: Wed 17 Jan 7:59 PM
Thanks for cheering me up. I won’t worry about Hart if I can help it, but that’s like asking me not to eat chocolate. I can’t!!!
Right now I am worrying about something else instead. I am staring at this letter on my bed. It’s from Ivy, only it was written like a million years ago. Well, it was written by both of us in second grade. I’m telling you about it because I just feel so weird having it. I found it in the attic.
In second grade, Ivy used to be my best friend on the planet. And we spent all our time together, mostly wanting to be as cool as her older sister, Janet. She was five years older and she was the coolest. So when we were in second grade and Janet was in seventh grade, we thought that she got to do the best things. We wrote this list of things WE wanted to do in seventh grade—together! And then we signed it and sealed it and put it away never to be opened until we were in the REAL seventh grade.
That’s NOW.
What am I supposed to do with this? I don’t like Poison Ivy anymore, and I don’t want to share this letter with her, because she doesn’t deserve it. But it seems wrong not to share. Know what I mean? After all, we did both make a promise, and we sealed it together. You know I’m superstitious about things. Won’t I get seven years bad luck or something if I open it on my own?
What do you think? Should I show it to Ivy? HELP!
As always, I appreciate your advice from far away.
Write soon.
Yours till the mail boxes,
MadFinn
MADISON MARKED HER MESSAGE to Bigwheels with a little red exclamation point for priority mail service. She wanted to know what to do right away.
All at once, her computer bleeped.
And Bigwheels appeared like some kind of Internet fairy godmother.
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nbsp;
No sooner had Madison exited her Insta-Message chat with Bigwheels than she got an IM from Fiona.
Pzzzzzzzzzzzzt!
With a loud, sizzling sound, the power zapped off and Madison’s laptop computer screen went black.
“Fiona?” Madison said feebly as she hit a few keys and tried to boot up the laptop again. She was able to get the computer running again on her battery, but the Internet connection was lost.
Power, phones, and all connection to the outside world suddenly ended.
And her room was darker than dark.
It was nine-thirty P.M. and the storm had returned, bringing with it one last gust of wind and wet snow.
Madison felt her way over to the window in her bedroom. Streetlights were out, and all the houses on her block were cloaked in darkness. The only light Madison saw was the faint blue glow of her laptop. It cast a hue and threw shadows on her bedroom wall.
“Maddie?” Mom whispered from Madison’s bedroom doorway. She was holding a flashlight. “Where’s that blue light coming from?”
“My computer. The battery’s still charged,” Madison replied.
Mom clicked off her flashlight and came over by the window to put her arms around Madison’s shoulders. “This has without a doubt been the worst storm I’ve ever seen here in Far Hills.”
“It’s global warming, Mom,” Madison said. In addition to caring for endangered animals (and all animals), Madison had recently become worried about other environmental issues, too.
“First it snows, then it clears up, then it thunders, then the power goes out. Tomorrow it’ll probably be seventy degrees and humid.” Mom shook her head.
Madison squeezed Mom’s forearm. “Look over there!” she said. “It looks like someone else has a flashlight in their house.”
“There, too!” Mom said, pointing.
Madison gazed at her mom’s face. Although she looked bluish in the light of the bedroom, Mom still looked so pretty. Madison hadn’t really stared at her up close like this in a long time. She was too busy doing homework or something else to notice Mom’s eyes or lips or the way Mom’s hair curled up top.
“What do you say we go downstairs and light a few of those candles we got at the store today?” Mom suggested.
“Sure,” Madison said. “Good thing we bought extra supplies.”
Phinnie jumped up on Madison with his two paws and prodded her, whining. He wanted some attention, too.
Mom leaned over and scratched the top of Phin’s head.
Phin wheezed. His little brown pug eyes rolled into the back of his head.
“Happy dog.” Mom laughed.
They turned on the flashlight again and walked slowly down the stairs toward the living room.
A red-and-blue flashing light zoomed past the front windows.
“Must be the electric company,” Mom said.
Mom hummed as she lit a few of the fat, vanilla-scented candles. She arranged them on the coffee table. Then she and Madison sat on the couch together without saying much else.
After a few minutes, Mom took Madison’s hair out of its elastics and offered to brush it. Now it was Madison’s turn to hum. Mom hadn’t brushed her hair in years. It felt so good. After only a few moments of hair brushing, Madison fell asleep.
The next thing Madison remembered was waking up in the well-lit living room, curled up under one of Gramma’s quilts. Phinnie was asleep under the coffee table, snoring. It was morning.
“Mom?” Madison said, lifting her head off the couch. She could hear the humming and buzzing of appliances in the kitchen, so she knew the power was back on again.
“You conked right out last night, honey bear,” Mom said from the doorway to the kitchen. “I sat there as long as I could, but then my arm fell asleep.”
“I don’t even remember…” Madison said, yawning.
“Well, it’s Thursday, so you better get a move on,” Mom said. “Looks like the snow really has stopped for good. The sun is out, too. I’m assuming you’ll be spending the day with friends?”
“Friends?” Madison repeated. She flipped over on the couch to look out the living room window. It was brighter than bright outside. The storm was long gone. She got a sinking feeling in her stomach. Today would definitely be the day when everyone met at the lake to skate.
Madison stuck her head under the quilt and wished for more snow, more time, more something!
But it was too late for wishing.
“Madison?” Mom yelled from the kitchen. “Didn’t you hear the phone? Come on and answer it. It’s Walter.”
“Walter?” Madis
on moaned. She went over to the phone. “Hi, Egg.”
“Hey, Maddie!” Egg yelled into the receiver. “We’re meeting at eleven at the lake. Be there!”
“Um, Egg, I’m not sure I can go,” Madison said.
“Get out of here,” he said. “Everyone is going except for Fiona, and you have to be there. You promised.”
Madison sighed. “I can’t.”
“Yeah, whatever. I’ll see you at eleven,” Egg said. He hung up.
Madison immediately dialed Aimee’s number.
“Help!” she said as soon as Aimee picked up the phone. “What am I gonna wear to the lake?”
Aimee laughed. “Relax, Maddie. I’ll be right over.”
Chapter 8
“WHY DON’T YOU WANT to wear this?” Aimee suggested. “You always liked my striped ski sweater.”
“I just don’t know. Stripes make me look fat,” Madison said.
“What are you talking about?” Aimee said.
“Look at my hair. It’s all static electricity. I can’t go out like this.”
They were standing inside Madison’s bedroom with the closet doors thrown open and half of the closet now on the floor.
Aimee stepped over a pile of shirts and bent down to look through them a second time. “It’s just a dumb afternoon skate. Let’s not get so freaked out about the whole thing.”
“I am! I can’t skate!” Madison said.
“Okay, okay.” Aimee backed off.
Madison rifled through the few items that remained on hangers inside the closet. Then she apologized.
“I’m sorry, Aim. I just don’t like the idea of falling on my butt in front of everyone from school—including Poison Ivy. She’ll use that against me for years.”
Aimee nodded. “Well, maybe. But who cares about her? I thought we decided that we didn’t care about what Ivy said or did.”
“We don’t,” Madison blurted.
But what she wanted to do was scream.
Madison wanted to tell Aimee about the sealed letter she’d found in the attic, about how she missed the Ivy she knew in second grade, and about how she suddenly felt weirder than weird about being in Ivy’s presence.
“Maddie?” Aimee asked. “How about this sweater? I’ve never seen you wear this one.”
