by Laura Dower
“I think that’s an old rumor from, like, a million years ago,” Madison said.
“Yes, but she’s been absent. Does anyone know why?” Drew asked.
Madison almost blurted out, “I do!”
But she didn’t.
Everyone piled the tomatoes and cheese and even the hot jalapeños onto their tacos. Madison poured on extra salsa. She loved Señora Diaz’s homemade creations. When everyone was set, they moved in to the family room. They turned on the TV, and people spread out on the floor to eat.
Hart sat next to Madison. He gave her one of his jalapeños, and she thought her mouth had caught fire. But then he jumped right up and got Madison a glass of water, too. Madison could see Fiona across the room, sitting next to Egg, rolling her eyes at Madison as she always did.
The rain went ping-ping-ping on the roof of the Diaz house. Egg dragged everyone over to the computer to view his updated blog page for Disaster Zone, but the computer froze. Drew took out a baseball-card collection that his grandfather had given to him recently. He always had something new to show off. He was one of the richest kids in Far Hills, and certainly in their crowd. His grandfather had Babe Ruth and Hank Aaron cards and an original Honus Wagner card, some of the most valuable ones available.
Conversation ebbed and flowed. The topics ranged from school (too much homework lately) to teachers (out of earshot of Señora Diaz, of course). Then somebody mentioned Ivy again, and Aimee laughed and repeated the gossip that they’d heard earlier that week, about the sophomore at Dunn Manor and Ivy’s getting suspended.
Madison brooded.
She wanted to speak up and tell her friends that they had the wrong information, but she didn’t.
How could she tell them the real deal when she didn’t even know all the facts herself?
“It’s working!” Egg yelled out as the Disaster Zone game screen finally reappeared. Everyone gathered around the computer to play.
“Who wants to team up?” Drew asked aloud.
Aimee grabbed Drew’s arm. “I’m your partner,” she declared. He nodded.
Chet and Fiona decided to pair up (instead of arguing, as they usually did). Egg and Dan were partners, too.
“That leaves Maddie and Hart,” Aimee said with a smirk.
Hart smiled. “No prob,” he went to high-five Madison but grabbed her hand instead.
Madison thought she was going to faint when he did that. Never in a zillion years could Madison have imagined that she would enjoy playing Disaster Zone that much.
Chapter 10
MADISON WAS TURNING INTO Harriet the Spy.
And it wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
All week long she had been stealing glimpses of journal pages and listening to conversations from inside bathroom stalls. After all of her trying and prying, she’d learned some of the surprising truth about Ivy.
That was bad enough.
Now it was Sunday, and she was poking around online, looking for more and better clues to the truth about Bigwheels, too. It had been almost the entire weekend, and Madison’s keypal still had not responded to Madison’s pointed questions about BloggerBlurt.com.
Was Bigwheels avoiding Madison on purpose?
Finally, there was Mom—an entirely different mystery. Since Friday, Mom had worried aloud about what to wear for her big Sunday night meeting, and Madison couldn’t help getting suspicious. Madison was certain that any “meeting” on a Sunday had to qualify as a date, especially when Mom’s outfit was a main focus, and no matter how many times Mom insisted that the good impression she needed to make was for Budge Films.
“What should I wear?” Mom asked.
“What about that red dress you like so much? You haven’t worn that in a long time,” Madison said.
“The red one?” Mom laughed. “No, that would give the wrong impression, honey bear. I’d better stick to navy.”
“But you look way prettier in the red one,” Madison said with a little smile. “Wear it with your sparkly earrings. The diamond ones from Great-gramma Peg. They’re good luck, aren’t they?”
“Maddie, looking pretty isn’t the goal here,” Mom insisted. “This is serious work. And I need to look serious.”
Madison wondered what kind of guy Mom must be seeing for dinner if she needed to look so serious. Was it a scientist? Or maybe an astronaut? Serious could be interesting. But serious could also be boring. What if the guy Mom was seeing was like Mr. Books? Not all librarians were boring, but he sure was.
In the midst of her dressing dilemma, Mom tossed Phin a treat. He danced around the room with delight. He hadn’t eaten any dog snaps all day, and after each one he did a little twirl and let out his quiet, happy growl. Phineas T. Finn’s stomach was a bottomless pit, at least when it came to Chow Bones, his favorite bacon-flavored snack.
Mom pulled on her nude hose and the navy dress with the buttons down the back. “Help me fasten these,” she said to Madison.
Madison pinched the fabric together and fastened the buttons as Mom had directed. Each button was a different shade of pearl, and the row of them glistened all the way down Mom’s back. In fact, everything about Mom, despite her “serious” pose, glistened a little bit just then. This was one of those moments when Madison saw just how beautiful her mother was.
“Will you be late tonight?” Madison asked as she did up the last button on the dress.
“Probably,” Mom said. “You know how these things can go. I hope you don’t mind staying with Dad and Stephanie—just in case I don’t get back before your bedtime.”
“Of course I don’t mind,” Madison said, even though she cringed at the notion of bedtime. Madison hadn’t gone to bed much before eleven these past few months and she wasn’t about to start now.
“I’ve seen a lot of Dad this week,” Madison said. “I like seeing Dad. I mean, he is my dad…”
“Oh, Maddie.” Mom frowned. “I know I’ve been shuffling you off to your father’s place all week. But it’s all for a very good cause—believe me.”
“Yeah?” Madison said, chewing on a hangnail.
“Yeah,” Mom replied.
There was no good reason that Madison didn’t come right out at that exact moment and ask Mom whom she was having dinner with—and why. But she didn’t ask.
Then the doorbell rang.
“Good! Your father’s here!” Mom gasped. “I have to go put on my shoes. Get the door, okay?”
Madison watched Mom trip over her stocking feet to get to her pair of navy high heels sitting in the hallway. In the meantime, Dad rang the bell twice more. Phin scratched and panted at the front door. Madison could hear Dad’s voice loud and clear.
“Hold your horses, dog!” Dad chuckled. “I’m coming in.”
Phin recognized Dad’s voice and let out a howl.
“Roworororoorooooo!”
Reaching the door, Madison quickly unbolted it.
“Phinnie, get down!” Dad cried.
He shook his leg to stop Phin from jumping up on him, but the dog wrapped his paws around Dad’s calf and wouldn’t let go. Dad staggered to the side and kissed Madison hello. He grabbed a duffel bag sitting on the floor in the hall.
“Got everything you need for the night, laptop included?”
Madison nodded and smiled. Dad understood Madison’s need to take her laptop everywhere. After all, he was the one who had first shown her how to use a computer. His business had him working on web projects all the time. He always downloaded cool applications onto Madison’s machine and gave her clever little tips on tweaking digital photos, formatting text, adding sound files and more.
Mom’s heels click-clacked on the floor as she appeared. “Jeffrey,” Mom said with a toss of her head. Her voice was sweeter than usual. “Thanks again for coming to our rescue.”
“Wow. You really do look great,” Dad said, his eyes fixing on her ankles and then traveling all the way up. Madison saw him stare the way he had used to, but she knew it didn’t really mean any
thing. No amount of wishing was going to reunite her parents. Madison had to keep telling herself that.
“Well, this is the big one,” Mom told Dad. “I appreciate your support.”
Dad extended his hand, and they shook but didn’t kiss on the cheek. That might have meant something.
“Good luck, Francine,” Dad said.
“Wait a minute. Are you guys speaking in code?” Madison blurted out. “‘Good luck’? ‘This is the big one’? What are you two really talking about?”
“Big meeting, dear,” Mom said.
“Good luck at the meeting,” Dad said in reply.
Madison wasn’t buying it. “Uh-huh,” she sighed, “whatever you say.” She hooked Phin’s leash onto his collar and walked him through the door. Dad followed right behind.
“Bye,” Madison said as she turned to blow Mom a kiss. “See you after school tomorrow?”
Mom winked. “You bet,” she said, catching the kiss in the air.
During the car ride to her dad’s apartment, Madison expected him to say something more about the way Mom was dressed or about the way he felt about her going on a big date. But strangely, he didn’t say another word about Mom. Instead, he asked Madison about her journaling assignments.
Madison had shown both Dad and Stephanie the composition notebook on Thursday. She’d also mentioned Ivy’s notebook—the one with the princess sticker. Dad knew Madison and Ivy’s troubled history. He’d been around for first grade, when they had sworn to be friends forever—and for fourth grade, when they had declared they’d be enemies forever.
But Dad wasn’t taking sides this time—at least, not Madison’s side.
“This journal assignment is not a competition, you know,” Dad said. “Your journal entries are yours. And Ivy’s are hers.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Madison asked defensively.
“Exactly what I said, Maddie. Some things are meant to be private…” Dad said. “Some secrets are not meant to be shared—until the person is ready to share them.”
“That’s exactly what Mom said,” Madison groaned.
“Well, she’s right.”
“I told you, Dad, I didn’t mean to look at Ivy’s journal. I just…peeked.”
“You should just forget what you saw. Ivy’s entitled to her ‘perfect life,’ Maddie, no matter how much you may dislike her for it,” Dad said.
“How can she be entitled to a perfect life when it’s not even perfect?” Madison asked. “No one’s life is perfect. She’s a total liar!”
“Look, Maddie,” Dad said, a little more sternly this time. “Is everything you write in your journal the whole truth and nothing but the truth? Don’t you ever write dreams or wishes? And don’t you think Ivy is allowed to do the same?”
Madison didn’t like being lectured, especially not on a subject like that. After all, Ivy was the enemy, right? And journals were Madison’s domain. She was the writer. She made the collages. She was the one who used TweenBlurt.com more than anyone.
“Writing in journals online or off is a very personal matter,” Dad continued. “We’ve talked about this before. I thought you understood. You wouldn’t want Ivy to take just a ‘quick peek’ at your words, would you?”
Dad had his eyes on the road, so he didn’t see Madison make a face. Nor did he hear her make a “hmmmph” sound, as if she were super annoyed at what he’d said. She pressed her cheek firmly against the window on the passenger’s side—a vain attempt at getting as far away from Dad as possible. Of course, “getting away” in a car was an impossible feat. All she could do was squish herself up against the door while her cheek got extra cold from the glass.
Dad pulled the car into the garage of his apartment building and parked alongside an oversized white SUV with tricked-out hubcaps and a big spoiler on the back.
“What a waste,” Dad mumbled when he saw the huge car. “Those things shouldn’t be allowed on the road.”
Madison wasn’t listening. She was too busy staying mad about their earlier conversation. As they exited the car, she had a single-minded plan: to go online. She needed to write down some of the feelings that were swirling around inside her head.
Stephanie wasn’t at the apartment when Madison got there, so Madison went directly into the room reserved for her at Dad’s and booted up the laptop.
The e-mailbox was blinking.
FROM SUBJECT
GoGramma Winter Scarf
GoGramma Winter Scarf
Wetwinz Re: My Teacher
Bigwheels JSS
BalletGrl My Teacher
Gramma Helen had sent the same e-mail twice. She did that sometimes. Once, she’d sent Madison seven copies of the same e-mail.
Today she wanted to know what colors Madison was wearing. Every winter, Gramma knitted a scarf for her granddaughter—and she wanted to make sure that it matched whatever was in Madison’s closet.
After the double e-mail from GoGramma, Madison opened the message from Fiona—a response to an e-mail that Aimee had forwarded to both of them, and to Lindsay, earlier that afternoon.
From: Wetwinz
To: BalletGrl; MadFinn; LINDSAY
Subject: Re: My Teacher
Date: Sun 17 Oct 4:12 PM
OMG Aim I am sososoSO sorry about your teacher. And I’m sorry 2 b/c we’re having guests for dinner and Mom says I can’t go out. Maybe we can all go and visit ur teacher this week? Let me know. I’m thinking of you.
xoxo
Fiona
p.s.: Will u be walking 2 school tomorrow? Chet’s getting sick and Maddie I know ur @ yr dad’s right? LYLAs!
--Original Message--
From: BalletGrl
To: MadFinn; Wetwinz; LINDSAY
Subject: My Teacher
Date: Sun 17 Oct 2:46 PM
I have incredibly bad news and that is my dance teacher is in the hospital again. I guess she had a side effect or something I’m not sure. N e way I’m going to make her a card today and I was wondering if u guys would come over l8r to help me make it. My brothers are being so annoying to me. They just don’t understand what I feel like to know someone so close to me who is sick like this. I don’t know if I will ever be able to dance the same again.
:*;
Aim
Madison hit REPLY.
From: MadFinn
To: BalletGrl; Wetwinz; LINDSAY
Subject: Re: My Teacher
Date: Sun 17 Oct 5:38 PM
Wow that is bad news Aim. But I’m @ Dad’s place and can’t come over. Maybe we should talk tonight? I feel so bad. I wish there was someone u could talk 2 who understood what u felt
Madison paused before finishing her sentence. Of course there was someone Aimee could talk to—Ivy. If Aimee only knew! Madison typed up something else for the end of her e-mail and hit SEND. Then she opened the one remaining unopened e-mail, from her keypal.
At last.
From: Bigwheels
To: MadFinn
Subject: JSS
Date: Sun 17 Oct 4:59 PM
JSS 4 everything. I know u wanted me to talk about the whole blog thing this week and I wasn’t really up for talking. I don’t want u 2 be mad or upset or left out. I WANT to keep it real with you. I do. That’s why I’m writing now.
The thing is--the reason I was writing about all that on the blog--well, it’s because we found out that my brother has been diagnosed with autism. My parents have known for a while but they weren’t talking about it that much. And they say it’s “mild” which makes it seem like it’s not so bad, but it’s hard to be around him sometimes--SO hard.
I know I’m not the only person on earth who has a brother with autism, but I feel like I am sometimes. Most people stare when my brother acts all weird in public and I want to scream at them. He hits himself sometimes. I love him but he embarrasses me, you know? He never sits still and he hates it when I touch him.
So that was what I was not talking about. I just froze up at th
e thought of telling u. I’ve written and rewritten this e-mail to you about ten times this weekend b/c I wanted it 2 be perfect. Of course u of all ppl should know the truth.
Thanks for listening/reading. I’ll write more l8r.
Yours till the ear waxes (LOL),
Vicki aka Bigwheels
Madison read all the way to the end and then went back up to the top. Was she reading this correctly? Bigwheels had a brother with autism?
All at once the air around Madison felt heavier than heavy, closing in on her like a wool blanket, choking her. It was hard to breathe.
Wait. Life wasn’t supposed to be this serious—was it?
Madison opened her files.
Keep It Real
Madison paused and read the file name aloud. Then she read it again.
She wanted to type, but the words wouldn’t come. Her fingers remained suspended above the keyboard in a state of paralysis.
All she could do was stare at the cursor.
Blink, blink, blink.
What was Madison supposed to do with this new, difficult information—about Ivy, about Bigwheels?
Was it possible that sometimes Madison was the one who didn’t know how to keep it real?
Chapter 11
MR. DANEHY SEEMED TO be feeling a hundred percent better on Monday.
Actually, it was more like a hundred and ten percent. No more congestion, loud coughing, or spraying sneezes. He was like Tigger bouncing around in front of the blackboard at the front of the room.
“Boys and girls, I have your quizzes from the library the other day,” Mr. Danehy announced with a lilt in his voice. Every move he made was way out of character for him. Madison half expected him to do a backflip. Was it his cold medicine?
Normally when Mr. Danehy passed out tests that he’d graded, he would make a little speech about how everyone could have tried harder or studied longer or done something more, more, MORE. Then he would announce, in a low, serious, and very grouchy voice, that he had decided to grade on a wide curve, “because the grades were just that bad.”
However, today the only curve in Mr. Danehy’s classroom was his ear-to-ear grin.
