by Laura Dower
Nothing can compare to us,
Fast friends across the miles,
In good mail and bad.
No one gets me like you do,
Now and (friends) forever,
Yours till the web sites.
Madison quickly clicked COPY. Then she opened a new file, hit PASTE, and saved the poem as its own document. As she reread the words a fourth time, Madison noticed something extraspecial about the poem. The first letters of each line going down spelled something out: it was her name, Madison Finn, except for the Y at the end. But she didn’t mind being Madison Finny for one poem.
After hitting SAVE, Madison began to type some text of her own. No poems here, though. Instead, Madison reported about dinner.
Moving On (and On)
Rude Awakening: I‘ve heard of the nuclear family, but this is ridiculous. Dad and Stephanie sure know how to drop a bomb.
Tonight at dinner I was blabbing on (and on) about the Hart-boat-race/jealous-of-Ivy moment. I had to fess up about Will, too, which was sort of embarrassing. And then KERBLAM! Dad butts in about how he and Stephanie have this big—no HUMONGOUS—news.
Of course, I imagine the worst thing right away, like the Big D Revisited. Stephanie laughed and said, “oh no” and got all lovey-dovey with Dad. It was kind of gross. She kissed his ear. My next thought was, “You’re having a BABY!?” She laughed again and said something like, “Not yet.” I was relieved. I mean, one day I’d like a brother or sister (I guess) but not now.
Dad finally spilled the beans. “We’re moving, Maddie,” he said. My whole stomach flops. Where? I feel like shrieking right there in the middle of Tamales Mexican restaurant. Instead, I stuff three nachos into my mouth.
Dad says they decided to sell the apartment in downtown Far Hills and build a house, a big, suburban, house in some development. Here are the facts:
1. They are building a 4,000-square-foot house with central air-conditioning and a central vacuum cleaner (whatever that is) AND a library. That makes the new house twice the size of the house we live in now.
2. They will build the house on this big tract of land so they’d have a giant yard where Phinnie can come and run around to play and maybe they’ll even get another dog—or two—and Phinnie would get a brother or sister pooch. Maybe that’ll be like practice for when they decide to have a real baby?
3. They will only be a 15-or 20-minute drive from the house on Blueberry Street. So nothing will change in terms of weekly dinners.
As Dad talked, I inhaled this slice of mocha cake. That helped a lot. Sugar to the rescue again.
Does getting a huge suburban home mean Dad wants me to spend more time at his house than the one I live in now? What will that mean for me and Mom?
While she was typing, Madison’s eyes drooped. She lifted her head and tried to write more, but it was no use. This day was over and out. If she was going to survive the rest of the week’s revue run-throughs, test preps, and science experiments, she needed rest.
Phin obviously agreed.
He was already snoring.
After a good night’s snooze, Thursday started with a bang, literally. Mom was about to drive Madison to school when the car backfired—BOOM—in the driveway. It sent shock waves through Phinnie, who was prancing around in the backseat. He dived to the floor with a yelp.
“Sorry about that,” Mom croaked as she put the car in reverse and then first gear. “Is Phin okay?”
Madison spun around and checked. The poor dog was shaking and shedding.
“He’s a wreck, of course,” Madison said. She gently scratched Phin’s head.
Madison wished that someone would scratch her head, too, and tell her everything would be okay.
Later in the day, when Madison strolled into Mrs. Wing’s tech lab for her midaftemoon class, Egg was perched by his usual monitor, chatting with Drew and another kid, Lance. He looked up right away when he saw Madison.
“Hey, Maddie,” Egg called out. “What’s wrong?” He had a look of genuine concern on his face.
Madison frowned. Since when did Egg notice her mood in the middle of school?
“Nothing’s wrong,” Madison replied, a little wary of his question.
“Nothing’s wrong…except for your hair!” Egg joked.
Madison had to smile at his comment. In that moment, a bad joke seemed to work just as well as a kind word.
“You do all the inputs for Mrs. Wing, right?” Lance asked Madison. “We just got a new pile today.”
“Yeah, she left some more for you on your desk,” Drew said.
“Oh,” Madison said.
She checked her cubicle and saw the short stack of papers. More inputting of seventh-grade data and memory pages wasn’t such a bad thing, however. It meant Madison could focus on the computer and not on the boys.
Madison poked away at the keypad, entering names and statistics for each student page in her pile. Later, the students would scan in class photos to add to the memory pages. As Madison read through the text in front of her, she was reminded of the fact that she had not yet considered her own profile for the site.
Mrs. Wing came around to everyone’s desks, as usual. She shooed Lance back to his own seat and crouched down in front of Madison’s chair.
“How are you doing?” Mrs. Wing asked.
Madison shrugged. “Okay, I guess,” she said.
“Overwhelmed? Excited? Feeling older?” Mrs. Wing inquired. “I can’t believe it’s been a whole year. Can you?”
Madison just shrugged again, silently. “I guess.”
“Moving up from seventh grade is a big deal!” Mrs. Wing declared.
“Yeah,” Madison said. “Bigger than big, actually.”
“You know,” Mrs. Wing whispered, “I’ve been meaning to tell you how much I have enjoyed having you in my class and on the website team. I’ve always felt a strong connection between us. I am lucky to have so many gifted students.”
“Really? I’m one of those?”
“Of course,” Mrs. Wing said. As she draped her arm around Madison’s shoulder and the back of the chair, Mrs. Wing’s bracelets jangled. It was her trademark sound. Madison knew she would miss that and everything else about her favorite seventh-grade teacher.
Jangle, jangle.
“Thanks for being so helpful,” Madison said meekly, wanting to pay Mrs. Wing some compliments of her own.
“Of course,” Mrs. Wing winked. Still jangling, she walked on to the next student. In a way, Mrs. Wing’s bracelets had the same sort of calming effect on Madison as a head-scratch had on Phinnie.
After tech class, and then social studies class, Thursday ended with the opposite of a bang. Madison looked all over for Aimee or Fiona to walk home with her. But Fiona was apparently playing soccer, and Aimee had disappeared. Madison grabbed her cell phone and called Mom at work. She decided she wanted to head over to the animal clinic with Dan and needed permission.
Dan was psyched to have Madison join him. With all the work at school (and out of school), she had not been around to volunteer as much as she had in the fall. Together, they took the bus ride across town, where Dan’s mother, Eileen, met them.
Dan and Madison worked for a while in the back room of the clinic, cleaning cages and doing the late-afternoon feedings. A crate of new puppies, along with their mother, had come in to the clinic just that morning—the abandoned mommy German shepherd had been reported giving birth in an alley. The pups needed baths, standard shots, and, of course, clinic names. Every new animal that arrived at the clinic got a real name, not just a number, like Pekingese 2 or Manx 3 or Parrot 4. It was Dan’s job, with Madison’s help, to assist Dr. Wing and his staff with the bathing and shots, but it was the naming process that got them most excited.
“Isn’t it crazy that you’ve been volunteering here for a whole year now?” Dan said as they brain-stormed to come up with cute names for the fluffy pups.
“It doesn’t feel like a year,” Madison said. “Bu
t what is a year supposed to feel like?”
“Huh?” Dan asked, looking quizzically at Madison.
“A year? What is it supposed to feel like? Oh, never mind,” Madison said, looking away. “We have to name the puppies. Come on!”
“Uh…what about Doggy Doo One and Two?” Dan said, laughing a little.
“So not funny,” Madison groaned.
“Dog Wonder?”
“Lame.”
“Hey, it’s not like you’re dishing out any bright ideas. What about Madison? That’s a good dog name.”
“Oh, aren’t you real cute?” Madison said, giving Dan a quick shove.
Dan fell back and cried out as if in pain, when of course he wasn’t in any pain at all. Breaking into laughter, he sounded like some kind of deranged cartoon character.
Watching him stand there, fake-wincing and laughing through his nose, Madison’s mind began to go into rewind mode. She remembered another day that year, when she had discovered that he’d been her secret admirer.
For some reason, as she thought about Dan and the past and boys in general, the name Will came into her head like a kernel of corn in a hot pan—POP. Madison chased it away as quickly as it had come in and tried to think about something else. Something nonboy.
Back home, later that night, Madison watched a little TV with Phinnie and Mom. They spent a lot of time discussing Dad’s big news about the house. Mom was all thumbs-up and smiles about the move, despite Madison’s misgivings.
While they sat there, the phone rang. Mom grabbed the receiver. It was a Budge Films executive, calling later than late. Mom sat there listening on the portable, chatting about the Japan film project with her boss. Suddenly, Madison noticed, Mom paused to take another call; the line must have beeped.
“Oh, dear,” Mom said into the phone. “I’m sorry, but I’m on the line with an important call right now. Can I have Maddie call you back?”
Madison glanced over at the phone and at Mom’s face and mouthed the words Who is it? as clearly as she could.
It was probably Hart.
Mom waved Madison off, unable to tell her, and grabbed a pen from the table. She scribbled some words on the back of a magazine. When she switched off that call and returned to her work call, a grinning Mom pushed the magazine in front of Madison and covered the receiver for a split second.
“Were you expecting him to call?” Mom asked softly. The note read: WILL CALLED.
Madison’s mouth dropped open. Will? He had her e-mail and her phone number? He was trying to get in touch again? Her heart skipped a beat, as she thought about him, somewhere in the middle of New York City, trying to get in touch. Here she was, in the middle of Far Hills, with no clue as to how to respond.
She needed a clue.
Clicking off the TV, and leaving Mom and the dog alone in the living room, Madison raced upstairs to her laptop. She quickly logged on to TweenBlurt.com and briefly considered Ask the Blowfish as an option. After all, as had happened so many times before, Madison could simply ask, “What do I do?” and the Blowfish would give her the best advice in the world.
Or not.
Rather than rely upon a computerized fish for help with major life decisions, Madison decided to rely on her own wisdom (or lack thereof). She began to write, composing a real reply to Will’s notes—and calls. It was about time. Her scribbles gradually took the form of scientific equations. It seemed as if everything were finally getting in sync, at least a little bit.
What is your scientific goal? To like someone for real.
What is the scientific question you are trying to answer? Do I “like-like” or just “like” Will? Why do I want to him so much even though I can’t write him one lousy email? Or, am I a terrible person for likeing someone other than Hart?
Give a detailed explanation of how you will conduct the experiment to test your hypothesis. I will e-mail Will back finally and say hello. Then I will see what he says after that, crossing my fingers and holding my breath. In the meantime, I will tell Hart nothing.
Keep a detailed journal of data measurements. Details to come.
Madison leaned back.
It suddenly seemed that everything in seventh grade boiled down to science. Madison had a lot to learn.
Chapter 13
The Loooooong Weekend
I can’t believe the weekend is over already.
Friday was total fuzz. In the hallway, Ivy made some crack to me about how she’d done NO work (yes, nothing, nada, zip) on our Blue Sky project and I came this close to slugging her lights out. And I’m not even a violent person. LOL!!! Of course I spent most of Friday morning and afternoon still obsessing about Will. I tried to write something back after his second e-mail (yes, he sent another one) and his phone call (eeeps!), but every single word I wrote sounded moronic, so I did a major DELETE.
All in all, parts of the weekend were generally boring, which is not what I expected. I figured we’d all be hanging out before the end of school, having parties and sleepovers, but life was pretty much the same as usual. Mom had me help her clean the house (just call me “vacuum and dusting girl,” ok?). She’s starting to panic about not having enough time to juggle her new job and the big moving-up party she’s having for me and the rest of our family. Mom is so bad at hiding stress. But I am very glad that she didn’t take that other, harder job, for sure. She would have a meltdown every other day with THAT stress.
Somehow this weekend I did manage to make time on Sunday for homework (thanks to Mom’s endless nagging) and despite my lame partner, I worked up a great outline for our science project. I copied a BUNCH of stuff into the notebook. Not only that, but I found these 2 awesome experiments that we can use to PROVE our theories. Woo-hoo. Mr. Danehy will be so proud. Well, as proud as he gets. One experiment shows how light is refracted. We have to use nail polish, too, for the test (Ivy should LOVE that part). The other experiment has to do with shining light through soapy water. I’m not totally sure how that works, but it should be impressive. I want to be impressive PLUS.
Didn’t some famous scientist say that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction? I’ve decided that for every enemy action, I’ll provide an equal and opposite reaction. That translates into Ivy = bad & Maddie = good.
Rude Awakening: Bigwig scientists aren’t the only ones who have something to prove. I have something to prove, too.
Madison hit SAVE. She was killing time on Monday morning before science class, up in the library at school. Mr. Books, the librarian, lurked nearby, as usual. He was always ready to seize the moment if someone talked too loudly or stayed on the computer longer than his or her allotted time.
There were other kids there in the library doing the same thing as Madison. All year long she’d been going up there to work, think, and escape. It was probably her favorite place in the entire junior high school building, despite Mr. Books’s funny looks.
Today, Madison opted to use one of the library computers rather than her laptop. While sitting at the terminal, she heard a low, humming sound coming from her orange bag. Her cell phone was vibrating. The telltale outline of an envelope lit up right away in the corner of the phone display. There was a text message from Hart.
Hey, where r u? Gesswat? Im switching back 2 props for the revue ok b/c I promised ok??
Madison texted him right back:
TY and TTYL
Madison jumped up from the computer where she’d been sitting and typing. Hart was back on her team!
She happily wandered away from her purple notebook and the other books on the table so she could search the library shelves for a novel. Mr. Gibbons had requested one more book report for the school year, and he had given permission to the class to read anything.
She scanned the shelves for at least ten minutes, stopping to glance here and there at books with interesting titles or covers. Being there reminded her of times when she’d been there with her BFFs, laughing about someone’s dumb crush or cramming
for a test.
There really would be nothing like seventh grade ever again.
“What are you doing? Don’t we have science class?” Ivy Daly said, appearing suddenly from around the side of one of the bookcases.
Madison groaned. It was bad enough that she had to see the enemy in science class—but before science class, too?
“I’m looking for a book,” Madison said curtly.
“Duh, we’re in a library. I could have guessed that much,” Ivy said. “You want to walk to class together?”
“Together?” Madison asked. “Um…”
What else was she supposed to say?
“Sure, I guess,” Madison mumbled.
Ivy looked pleased with herself. Madison wasn’t quite sure why.
Madison picked up her books, and they walked down to Mr. Danehy’s classroom.
“We have to present our outline today,” Ivy whispered to Madison.
Madison looked at her dumbly. “Uh…yeah…I know.”
“Well, I was just making sure you did know, because we want to make a good impression, right?” Ivy said.
“Right,” Madison said as they entered the room.
“Welcome to P-Day, students,” Mr. Danehy said, his voice booming even louder than usual.
“P-Day?” Chet asked from the other side of the room.
Madison giggled.
“Project Day, Mr. Waters. And since you were our first to speak today, then go ahead and start us off. How is your project coming along? You and Mr. Jones have something to share, yes?”
Madison eyed Hart from her seat. She nodded sweetly, and he nodded back. They were speaking without words. What she was saying silently was, I feel so guilty that I was thinking about Will, but I really do like you, Hart, I really, really do.
This time, she hoped he could read minds.
Mr. Danehy was pleased with Hart and Chet’s experiment and project outline. They called their assignment “A Couple of Fungis.”
Chet said it at least four times, stressing the bad joke. “A couple of fun guys? Get it? Get it?”
