“Well, don’t worry,” Teagan said, taking a deep breath and looking up at me. “You didn’t miss anything.”
“What do you m-m-mean—” I started.
Teagan stood up. “Not everyone makes friends as easily as you, Gabby. Have you ever thought about that?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” Teagan said, walking toward the door. “Grandpa’s class will be starting soon, so you should probably go.”
“Teagan, I …” So many thoughts were swirling inside my head. “Can’t we talk—”
“Forget about me, Gabby,” she said, walking away. “It shouldn’t be too hard. You’re halfway there already.”
Hello?” My voice echoed off the walls of the auditorium. The Liberty theater had four hundred and eighty seats, but I was the only soul in there today. I made my way to the far side of the theater, then scrunched down in a seat and let the big fat tears run out.
Not everyone makes friends as easily as you.
Teagan was working on that Pascal coding project alone.
She’d brushed me off when I suggested that boy from her class come over to play on the drum kit.
And she asked me to change that part of our poem where I said, the more friends you have, the greater the pleasure.
I didn’t miss meeting her Main Line friends at the carnival because she hadn’t made any.
And I had gone on and on about what I was doing with Aaliyah, even going so far as to include an inside joke about her in our friendship poem. No wonder she’d changed the Enchilada Princess lines.
Worst of all, I’d literally put my costume with Aaliyah ahead of my costume with her.
I pressed my palms to my eyes. When I looked at it that way, no wonder Teagan was so upset.
But … how was I supposed to know she was having trouble making friends if she never told me? We were BFFs, sure, but I couldn’t read her mind.
How had everything gotten so messed up?
Suddenly, my seat was really uncomfortable. The dancer in me needed to move around to work these feelings out. I got up and walked to the side aisle of the theater where intricately carved wooden decorations covered the walls. Swirls and curlicues, flowers and vines, and some angels, too. Teagan and I used to tell our secrets to the angels, and one time, we traced our fingers in all the grooves we could reach in the entire theater. It had taken all day.
I ran my finger along one of the vines, then looped around a giant flower petal. My finger followed the grooves to a smaller bud, sort of squished between two larger flowers. The carving here was so detailed, but the grooves were dusty—I’d have to tell Stan these decorations needed some care. Without even thinking about it, I recited some lines from my poem:
“They need so much water!
And care!
And light!
I do what I can,
I make sacrifices when necessary.”
I stopped. I’d written that last line after I decided to work on my ambassadors costume with Aaliyah instead of going to the carnival. It had seemed insignificant at the time, but now I saw why Teagan was so upset.
I had been so focused on watering my Big Dreams, I had forgotten about the little ones, like time spent with my best friend. Those little flowers deserved just as much care as the big ones.
I wiped the last of the tears from my eyes.
I wasn’t a wizard; I couldn’t make more hours in a day.
But I could take away a big flower to leave more water for the little ones. If I’d had my notebook with me, I would have added one more reason to my list to quit ballet:
Spend more time with my friends
I went over to one of the angels and whispered into its ear the decision I hadn’t been brave enough to make until I’d almost lost my BFF.
Now all I had to do was tell Mama and Amelia … and figure out what to do about my Voices poem.
First things first.
“Mama?” I knocked on her bedroom door, then pushed it open. She was sitting in bed, already in her nightgown, even though we’d just finished dinner. She had a paperback in her hands.
“Hey, Mama,” I said. “Do you have a minute?”
“Always, for you,” she said. She closed her book and slipped off her glasses as I climbed into bed beside her. “What’s on your mind?”
Just come out and say it, Gabby. You can do it.
“I-I-I …” A huge lump in my throat cut me off. Mama put her arm around me and I cuddled up next to her. “I-I … I want to quit ballet. Pl-Please don’t be-be mad at me!”
“Honey!” Mama hugged me even tighter. “I’m not mad at all. A little surprised, maybe, but not mad!”
I let out a giant breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Really?”
“Really,” she said. “But why don’t you tell me a little more about your decision?”
I filled her in on how I wanted more time for my poetry. And more time for my friends. And how I just didn’t want to go en pointe as much as I wanted to be a poet and a leader in my school community.
“Gabby,” she said, “I’m proud of you. I’m glad you’ve found something that makes you so happy. And I know how much Teagan and your friends mean to you. It’s very mature to make sure you’re putting who you love and what you love ahead of other things.”
“But, but, you’ve been so excited about me going en pointe. I’m so close. I’d be giving up on all that. You’re not mad at me for quitting, for giving up?”
“Of course not, Gabby,” Mama said. She sat up, then pulled away so I could see her face. “When I was your age … guess what I wanted to be when I grew up?”
“Um … an interior designer?” Mama was a little obsessed with the home improvement shows.
“Nope,” Mama said with a chuckle. “A Radio City Rockette. And after college I came to New York to make that happen. I auditioned a couple of times without getting cast, but I worked really hard in classes and eventually, I made it … sort of. They cast me in the Christmas Spectacular as a dancing teddy bear.”
I giggled, trying to picture Mama in a giant teddy bear costume.
“After the Christmas season,” she continued, “the producers said I should audition again next year to be a Rockette—they liked what they’d seen.”
“So did you?”
“I did,” Mama replied. “And they cast me.”
“What?!” I said. My own mother had been a Radio City Rockette, a dancer in the greatest show in the history of dance shows?! This was HUGE. I sat up in bed. “How come you never told me that?!”
“Because I turned them down.”
“Why would you do that?!” I was yelling now.
Mama laughed. “Because the previous summer, I had done some dance workshops at the senior center here in Philly and saw what an impact they had on the community. And on me. And as much as I loved being onstage, helping the community felt one hundred times better. So I auditioned for the Rockettes but also started looking for a venue to open my own arts center.” She shifted to put her arm around me again. “I got a call about the Rockettes, and two days later, I found out Liberty Theater was mine to use if I wanted it. And I did want it—more than anything I’d ever wanted before. More than I’d ever wanted to be a Rockette.”
“So you just gave up on being a Rockette?” I asked. “After all those years? Right when you were so close?”
“I turned them down, yes,” Mama said. “But I didn’t give up.”
“But you just said—”
“Gabby, sometimes, as we change, our dreams change, too, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
I pulled out my DREAM BIG notebook before going to bed. My Voices poem would need a proper revision later, but for now, I turned to the latest draft and wrote one final stanza.
Maybe dreaming big
means fewer seeds
And maybe growing those seeds
requires not just water
and care
but courage, too
Maybe dreaming big
means letting one seed go
in order to give another
the room it needs to grow
Mama put the car into park, then looked at me. “Ready?”
I nodded, smiling the best that I could. Last night, I had texted Teagan, asking her if I could come over to her house to talk. I kind of expected her to ignore me, or to tell me to stay far, far away, but she had just replied: Okay.
Mr. Harmon had already opened the door before I could even press the buzzer. “It’s good to see you, Gabby. You can go on back. She’s waiting for you.”
If Liberty was my second home, the Harmons’ house surely was my third. I ran my fingers along the old, dated wallpaper that Mr. Harmon loved so much, stopping as I reached Teagan’s door. I softly knocked.
“Come in,” she said.
I pushed the door open and entered the room. Teagan sat on her bed, her legs curled underneath her. Teagan’s room was smaller than mine, but that just made it feel cozier. I’d spent many nights here, making crafts on her baby-blue carpet.
I looked around, not sure where I was supposed to sit. Usually, I would drop onto the bed beside her, but that didn’t seem quite right today. “Thanks for letting me come over,” I finally said.
She shrugged. Then, as she curled a few strands of hair around her finger, she said, “Thanks for coming. I know it was hard, especially after what I said the other day.”
She was right. It had been hard. But I wanted our usual be-with-you-ness back. By having me over, I hoped she did, too.
I cleared my throat. “So, I was th-th-thinking—”
“I shouldn’t have said—”
Then we stopped, looked at each other, and blurted out, “I’m sorry!”
We smiled, then laughed, and it suddenly felt easier to breathe in the room.
“Let me go first,” I said. “I’m s-s-s-sorry about …” I stopped. Speak on the breath out, I reminded myself. “I sh-sh-shouldn’t have put off our costume until the last minute. I bet it felt like I was putting everything else before our fr-friendship … and-and-and … I sort of … sort of was. All that other stuff’s important to me, but so is our friendship.”
“Thanks for saying that,” Teagan said, nodding her head.
There was still one thing I didn’t understand, though. I took a step forward. “But … but why didn’t you t-t-tell me you were having trouble making friends at school?”
She shrugged. “I’m not used to having to tell you things. We used to just always be together all the time and so you knew things. And …” She unfolded her legs and swung them over the side of the bed. “No one wants to admit that they’re not making friends. And then you started being friends with Aaliyah …”
I slowly sat down on the edge of the bed. “I really do like Aaliyah,” I said after a moment. “She’s a good friend. But she’s not my b-b-b-best friend. You are.”
Teagan nodded. “But it wasn’t just that you were friends with her,” Teagan said. “You were doing things together. She went over to your house. And you never seemed to be able to make time for me.” She took a deep breath. “I was a little jealous. Okay, a lot jealous.”
I smiled. I knew that wasn’t easy for her to say. “The only reason Aaliyah came over was because she was helping me with my costume,” I said. “But I’m g-g-going to be one hundred percent honest. I really like hanging out with her. She’s really smart, and creative, and thoughtful—” Teagan was looking at me like I’d grown a second head.
“I mean, I-I know it didn’t seem like it in elementary school, and she was definitely mean to us last year, but one of the reasons she has so much to say is because she’s constantly thinking about things, making observations and coming up with new ideas. Kind of like someone else I know.” I raised my eyebrows at Teagan and she gave me a small smile. “And now that I know her, I realize that when she says something that seems annoying or mean, a lot of times, she’s just trying to help, in her own way.”
Teagan nodded. “There’s a few people like that at Main Line, too,” she said. “They’re not mean, they just say what they want to say, even if it’s hard to hear.”
I slid a little closer to her. “Teagan, do you really not have any friends at school? What about that boy who wrote that drum program?”
Teagan pulled at a string on her comforter. “He’s … he’s nice, I guess. And really smart. He asked about the poetry I have in my notebook one time. But …” She pulled on the string so hard it snapped. “I don’t know. He lives on the other side of town in this giant house and his family goes on vacations to crazy places like Antarctica, and—”
“And it sounds like he’s really interesting,” I said.
“He is,” Teagan replied. “It’s just … he’s so different from me, and I never know how to start a conversation. And mostly …” She looked up at me. “Mostly, it’s just so much harder than being friends with you.”
I laughed. “Well, obviously. You’ve known him for a couple months and me for a bajillion years!”
“I know,” Teagan said, smiling a bit. “But I don’t even know what to talk to him about, besides school and coding stuff.”
I knew that feeling. Like how Aaliyah and I only talked about school or ambassadors before we started eating lunch together. A smile spread across my face as I remembered the Enchilada Princess day.
“Maybe try bonding over the disgustingness of school lunch?” I suggested with a laugh.
“Except the lunches at Main Line are actually good,” Teagan said.
“Oh, right.”
“I see what you’re saying, though.” Teagan took a deep breath. “And if you can be friends with Aaliyah, I can make some friends at Main Line, I know I can. It’s just … now you and me feel different, too.” She blew a strand of hair hanging in front of her face. “Things are never going to be like they used to be, are they?”
I shook my head. I’d realized that, too. “Remember when we had different teachers in third grade, though? It was hard and a little weird at first, but we still stayed best friends. And we won some really cool octopuses. Or is it octopi?” I raised an eyebrow and smiled at her.
Teagan sat up. “Both are correct! Although, you could also use ‘octopod,’—” She paused, then sighed. “Let’s just go with octopuses.”
As I laughed, she said, “See! This is why I can’t make new friends.”
I laughed. “That’s not true! You just have to find the people that like you for you, like how I found Aaliyah. Seriously, though.” I grabbed her hand. “I want you to make friends at Main Line, and me at Kelly, b-b-but you’ll always be my best friend.”
“I know,” Teagan said. “And you’re mine. I just wish we had more time together.”
“I had an idea about that last night, actually,” I said. “What if we made a Gabby-and-Teagan Date Night?”
“I’m listening,” Teagan said, flipping her hair behind her shoulder.
“The same day every week,” I continued, “or if that’s too much, every other week or even once a month. We could always hang out more, but that way we’d always have our BFF time set aside.”
“I love that!” She gave me a hug. “Thanks, Gabby.”
“For what?”
“For … I don’t know, really. Just being Gabby, I guess.”
“You’re welcome. And thank you for being Teagan, my BFF Forever And Ever.”
“You mean your BFF … FAE?” Teagan giggled.
“Uh-huh. My BFF … FAE … AEAEAEAEAEAE—”
“Okay, I get it!!” Teagan said. She let out a big belly laugh and pushed me over on the bed. “Now, should we work on our poem? It’s been a while.”
“Definitely!” I said after I found my voice in all my laughter. Teagan grabbed her notebook off her desk.
“Oh shoot,” I said. “I didn’t bring my notebook.”
“No problem,” Teagan said, looping her
arm in mine. “We’re BFFs to infinity. You can share mine.”
Friendship
A poem for two voices
By Teagan Harmon and Gabriela McBride
Best friends are real
a forever deal
But that doesn’t mean
things can’t change
rearrange
Sometimes be strange
Between them
I like coding
and math
I like to dance
lead
forge my own path
This gives us a chance
to try things on our own
new projects
new places
and sometimes …
New faces
New friendships are formed
each unlike the last
new silliness
seriousness
And what-happened-to-me?-ness
I go back to the terms of the BFF deal
looking for something
that proves what I feel
is real—
that our BFF contract’s been broken
It must be—
that new friend’s not me
and can’t you see how broken I am?
But the BFF deal—
Here’s what it says:
The love between two BFFs
stays strong
through laughter and jokes …
And even new friends
The BFF deal—
Here’s what it says:
I promise I’ll listen
with my ears, eyes, and heart
And I’ll have your back
if you stumble
trip, fall, or fail
I’ll be there beside you
refusing to bail
We’re in this together
“we” and “us”
You and me
BFFs forever and ever
Always
To infinity
So?” Mama asked after picking me up from Teagan’s house.
I nodded. “We’re good. Better than good, actually.”
“That’s great, Gabby. I knew you two would work it out,” Mama said. She smiled at me.
Time for Change Page 9
