Friends till the End
Page 4
“Girls, girls, girls,” Mr. Danehy said, holding up his hands like a referee. “I understand your concerns, but remember: the notes are irrelevant. Our work habits are not negotiable.”
Madison must have been making a “Huh?” face because Mr. Danehy continued with his explanation. His words quickly got a lot clearer.
“Ms. Finn,” Mr. Danehy said, “I need you and Ms. Daly to work together. You do know what that word means, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course—”
“Because I don’t like what I’m seeing. It appears Ivy here has been working much harder on the project notes.”
Madison started to reply. “But I was working—”
“We’ll figure it out,” Ivy added in her best Pollyanna voice.
“I guess…” Madison said.
“No guesswork involved,” Mr. Danehy said. “Either you will or you won’t, Ms. Finn. I know you’ll do the right thing.”
Madison bubbled up inside, like a pot ready to boil over.
“Very well,” Mr. Danehy said, rubbing his palms together. “Are you satisfied now, Ms. Daly? I assume there will be no further conflict here. Correct? After all, you do have one of the best students as your partner.”
After all of that conflict and defense of Ivy, Madison was further taken aback by Mr. Danehy’s backhanded compliment. At least he wasn’t totally taking sides.
No sooner had Mr. Danehy ushered the two girls out of the classroom than Madison and the enemy turned to face each other like wild animals. Ivy thrust the purple notebook right at Madison’s midsection.
“Here!” Ivy spat. “Here’s your dumb notebook. Better hang on to it, huh?”
“You’re so…so…pathetic,” Madison cried, finally—finally!—finding the right words. “I can’t believe you would go to Mr. Danehy and pretend that you worked on any of these notes. I can’t believe how low you can sink…”
“Glug, glug, glug,” Ivy taunted, as if she were pretending to sink in reality. Then she rolled her eyes and walked away. “See you later—much,” Ivy said, waving her hand without once looking back at Madison’s face.
Madison pushed the notebook into her orange bag and headed for the school lobby. If she ran fast enough, maybe she could catch up with her BFFs. Or at least she could catch Aimee at home. She needed a real friend to shake off these bad feelings. After a long walk with Phin, Aimee, and Aimee’s dog, Blossom, Madison knew she would feel better.
After all, anything was better than dealing with Poison Ivy.
Chapter 5
Mad Science
Poison Ivy is the bane of my existence, the thorn in my side, AND the pain in my neck. Wow, I sound like my Gramma Helen, who’s always coming up with those kooky sayings. Kidding aside though, today was DEFINITELY the next-to-the-last straw with Ivy.
Since Ivy doesn’t really care about this project and since she thinks LYING and passing off my work as hers is acceptable, then I can just pick whatever topic I want and DO whatever I want. So far I think I am partial to the “Why Is the Sky Blue?” question for a lot of reasons. I like blue, sunny skies more than I like rainy ones or dark ones. Plus, Dad gave me this prism charm once that refracts light and makes rainbows on my wall. I’d like to know more about how all that light stuff works.
So: no report on the earth as a cube (too hard), no basic chemistry (too impossible), and definitely no fungus (too gross). I’ll aim higher than all that. The blue sky really is the limit.
Rude Awakening: With a plan to show Ivy up, I give new meaning to the words “mad scientist.” Better make sure that I keep any rants confined to my files—just in case. :>)
Madison reread her file and pressed SAVE.
Sure, she’d been mad at Ivy plenty of times over the years, but she’d never steamed like this. The camel’s back really was broken. It was time to get back at the enemy for all those cruel digs, the ongoing flirtation with Hart, the nasty disposition, the mega-annoying pink cell phone case, and so much more. Maybe some of the revenge reasons were petty, but the majority weren’t—and majority ruled.
It seemed like such a distant memory—the days when Madison and Ivy had called each other friends.
Particular memories from second grade and before leaped into Madison’s head like lightning bolts. She remembered the days when the two of them had dressed alike and even talked alike. Their favorite outfits: capri pants in matching colors, T-shirts with cap sleeves and little sayings like “Cutie Pie” or “Honey Bug” printed on them. Their favorite sayings: “Getouttatown” and “No, you’re the bestest!”
There were a lot of good—no, great—memories.
In first grade, Ivy and Madison had been practically inseparable. They had learned to read together (along with Amelia Bedelia, Madison’s favorite misfit). They wrote their own picture books about life on a teddy bear farm (starring Madison’s own bear, Beary). Once, they had even started their own mud pie business, hawking pie tins filled with muck all over Ivy’s neighborhood. And people had actually bought them.
Back when Madison and Ivy were BFFs, Aimee had been there, too. The three of them would parade around together during school, at recess, and on the weekends, sharing a love of all things Barbie: dolls, clothes, accessories, and, of course, the Super Barbie Camper. No one had had a dog back then, but Ivy had had a cat named Paprika, with red-speckled fur and no claws.
Paprika was the trio’s mascot; they treated him as their collective pet. Ivy’s dad built a grand tree house in her backyard, and the three friends would drag the cat up there for by-invitation-only Barbie tea parties. Paprika hated it when they decorated his long fur with pink glitter. But Madison, Aimee, and Ivy loved those kitty makeovers.
It was third grade when Joan Kenyon and Roseanne Snyder (aka Phony Joanie and Rose Thorn) came to Far Hills elementary school. That was when things—including the balance of power—began to shift. The two new girls turned Madison’s threesome into a fivesome for most of their activities, including the tea parties. In retrospect, Madison should have seen the writing on the wall—and the collapse of the friendship. Ivy started to get more secretive and didn’t always want to hang out. She even defended Roseanne or Joan when the new girls said not-nice things.
It was a sign of things to come. A billboard, actually. From third grade on, it always seemed as though Ivy had something to complain about, and she started to blame Madison for all her problems. Then Ivy began spreading nasty rumors about Madison. Things never went back to the way they were.
Not that Mom and Dad (still married back then) helped much. At the time, they had chalked Madison’s big fight up to a “passing phase,” and Mom had said stuff like, “Look, Maddie, you’ll make and change friends a dozen times before middle school even starts. I don’t know why you’re letting yourself get so worked up about this.”
But of course, Madison had been worked up. And she was still worked up now, years later. It was as if Mom had said friendship was disposable. Madison hated the idea of that. She wondered why best friendships didn’t come with binding contracts and visitation rights and super glue.
Madison clicked her recent file marked MAD SCIENCE open again. She reread the angriest parts and considered erasing them, but didn’t. What else was she supposed to do with all those feelings? Madison scrolled down and began to type one more Rude Awakening. It hit the mark.
Rude Awakening #2: Sometimes the worst of friends make the best of enemies, but you find yourself still hanging on.
As she contemplated those words, something wet and warm tickled Madison’s left foot. It was a certain dog’s pug nose.
“Hey!” Madison cried, twisting to look. There was Phin, with his doggy grin. In a split second, Madison got her thoughts back on track; she focused again on the end-of-year science project.
She brought up the main search screen on TweenBlurt.com and entered the term “blue sky.” The initial hit returned a list of sites. There were at least three that talked about weather and blue skies. There were al
so several featuring such offerings as: an animation studio; a company that made lasers; and a rock band in Idaho (actual full name: Blue Sky Spaz). And there were other sites related to Madison’s scientific question. So she clicked on those web addresses for facts and figures. Eyeing the home pages of a few sites, Madison selected text she could use and then cut and pasted it (and a few diagrams, too) into her files, to be printed out later.
The surfing and searching lasted for about an hour, and Madison collected lots of good information. She was about to log off when she heard a familiar ding.
She had a new message!
Madison clicked the power button off, and the screen sizzled to black. Was there such a thing as staying online too long? Her brain felt deep-fried from all that chat.
After shutting the laptop with a loud click, petting Phin, and (barely) brushing her teeth, Madison crawled feet first under the blankets. By the time Mom came in to say good night, Madison was halfway to dreamland.
Chapter 6
MR. AND MRS. MONTEFIORE posted the school revue list prominently in the downstairs school lobby as they said they would, just before the second official meeting of the revue committee. Madison and her friends stopped off to check it out. They could barely see in all the chaos. Seventh, eighth, and ninth graders bobbed up and down to find their names.
“Wow!” Aimee shrieked when she saw her own name right at the top of the list. “I’m a choreographer’s assistant!”
Madison wanted to laugh. Aimee was jumping up and down as if she’d just won a coveted spot on American Idol.
“Oh, no,” Aimee said a moment later, in a much softer voice. “I see Rose on the list, too.”
“Yeah,” Fiona said, “but she doesn’t have ‘assistant’ after her name. That makes you way more important.”
“Oh, yeah,” Aimee said, giving her friend a high five.
Lindsay scanned the list for her own name and spotted it quickly under PERFORMERS.
“I’m a performer—and look, so is Fiona!” Lindsay cried. “I wonder what that means.”
“It means we are stars!” Fiona said.
“Of course, you are,” Madison said with a teeny bit of sarcasm.
Fiona caught the dig, but she still smiled. Then, in the middle of everything, she started to sing. Kids elbowed her as they moved closer to the list to find their names, but Fiona kept right on singing. Somehow, she didn’t get embarrassed by things that would have sent most kids diving under a rock.
Madison preferred to keep a safe distance from all the hoopla. She hovered at the fringes of the crowd. Was she even on the list?
As she stood there, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, Madison saw Poison Ivy and the drones step up to the list. Ivy looked ecstatic; Rose seemed less enthused; Joanie didn’t seem to care one way or the other; they were all whispering.
Madison craned her neck and tried to eavesdrop on their little conversation. She was just close enough to hear—yet far enough away to remain unnoticed.
“I refuse to sing with them,” were Ivy’s exact words. She always sounded as if she were plotting something. Madison could only guess what.
“What are you doing?” Aimee said.
Madison nearly jumped out of her skin. “Aim!” she cried. “I didn’t know you were standing right there—” She glanced behind Aimee to see if Ivy and the drones were watching, but they weren’t.
“Did you see the list? You’re a backstage assistant!” Aimee said. “Wait. That’s good, right? That’s what you wanted, right?”
Madison breathed a huge sigh of relief. “That means I don’t have to sing or dance. Of course it’s good,” she said.
Just then, Madhur raced over.
“Am I too late? I had to meet with the gym teacher, can you believe it? Did you know they blocked off the third-floor stairwell? I could just scream!”
“Come look for your name,” Aimee said as she dragged Madhur over to the side. It was there, right next to Aimee’s name, under CHOREOGRAPHY.
“Huh? Choreography?” Madhur said, breaking into a giggle. “I told Mr. Montefiore I’d do anything, but I
didn’t think I’d have to dance. Aimee, did you plan this?”
“You have to dance with me…” Aimee said.
Madison laughed and nudged Madhur. “Looks like Aimee’s roped you in, Maddie One,” she said, using the familiar nickname she had given to her.
“Well, as you know, I’m always up for new things, Maddie Two!” Madhur said cheerily. She threw her arm around Aimee’s shoulder. “So, I guess I will dance. I just hope I don’t fall on my face. Not that I haven’t done that before…”
The five pals chuckled and skittered over toward the auditorium, where the second meeting was about to take place. On the way in, Madison bumped right into Mariah.
“Yo! Slow it down, mama,” Mariah said, jokingly. “The meeting hasn’t even started yet.”
“Hey,” Madison said, standing up tall. She noticed that Mariah’s pink streaks were gone.
“What happened to your—?” Madison pointed to Mariah’s head.
“By order of the assistant principal. Ditch the pink or sit out the rest of the year,” Mariah said morosely. “I didn’t have much choice. My mom was so mad.”
“I bet she was,” Madison said, smirking. Señora Diaz played by the rules. Of course she had to, since she was a teacher at the school.
“Have you seen Egg?” Mariah asked Madison. “I didn’t see his name anywhere on the list…”
Madison looked over at Fiona. “What did Egg tell you again? He can’t do it because…”
“He’s too busy with his computer. Something like that,” Fiona explained. “He hasn’t come to any of the meetings. Hardly any of our guy friends have come. It’s a bummer.”
“It figures,” Mariah grumbled. “I’ll talk to him. Maybe there’s some way I can blackmail him into it.”
Everyone laughed at the thought of that. Once, Mariah had brought in a photo of Egg, naked, lying on a fuzzy blue rug; it was taken when he was a baby. She showed it to Madison and Aimee and a few other girls. Egg was mortified to know that everyone had seen his bare bottom—even if he was only two at the time the picture had been taken.
As they took their seats, the revue meeting began: loud, chaotic, and overwhelming. It got even more so as the time wore on. Kids pushed one another, diving into half-empty rows. For some reason, there were about three times as many kids at meeting number two as there had been at meeting number one. Another five teacher-advisers had joined the crew, helping Mr. and Mrs. Montefiore organize the crowd.