by P. J. Night
Katie looked at Whitney and smiled.
The next day after school, Katie got an e-mail from Amy.
Hey K, How are you? Sorry I didn’t write back yesterday. Life has been soooo busy (but fun). About Harvest Fair, I have to figure out about the dates. The thing is, Kira and Kyle might be going to a water park that weekend with their parents, and they said I should come with them. Oh, guess what. Kira says Kyle has a “thing” for me, whatever that means!
What was she talking about? Kira and Kyle might be going to some water park, so Amy suddenly wasn’t sure about Harvest Fair? Kyle had a “thing” for Amy? What on earth was a “thing”?
Katie wanted to write back, Who are you and what have you done with my best friend Amy???? but she stopped herself.
Something else seemed wrong. In her last text message Amy had said she needed to check with her parents. That seemed like a different reason from the one she was giving now. Why was she being so cagey? And thirteen was such an important birthday. They had celebrated Amy’s in real style, with the hot-air balloon ride at sunset and then dinner out at a fancy restaurant with her parents. The idea that Amy would blow off Katie’s birthday was stunning … and heartbreaking.
At school Katie could usually distract herself from thinking about Amy. She loved English class and was constantly surprising herself by really liking math this year. So far, her least favorite class was Spanish.
Spanish was the only class she had with Whitney, and it turned out that Whitney was practically fluent. She was given special projects and could work independently. Sometimes Ms. Marquez would ask her to read aloud, or use her in a conversation demonstration. She seemed to understand everything perfectly. One of her independent projects was to create a teen travel guide to Mexico City. Ms. Marquez explained that everyone would get to read it when it was finished, and that she would post it on some Spanish-language travel sites online.
“I didn’t know you spoke Spanish,” Katie had said to her at one of their first lunches.
“¡Sí, hablo Español!” Whitney had said casually. “Yo vivía en la ciudad de México por un año.”
“Um, translation, please.”
“Yes, I speak Spanish. I lived in Mexico City for a year.”
“Where haven’t you lived?” Katie teased, and Whitney laughed.
But it turned out to be great for Katie that Whitney was so good in Spanish, because Katie was struggling a little in that class. She’d gotten an eighty-five on her first quiz, which sent her into a bit of a panic. She didn’t usually get below a ninety on anything.
So when it was time for the second quiz, Whitney helped her memorize her vocabulary list over lunch. Whitney would say the word in Spanish, and Katie would say it in English.
“La guitarra,” Whitney said, rolling the R beautifully. It sounded like music.
“Easy. Guitar,” Katie said.
“Sí, bueno. Okay. Tocar.”
Katie knew this one. “To play.”
“Excelente. ¿Sabes cómo tocar la guitarra?”
“Translation, please,” Katie said. “Also, that’s not on the list. It’s just single words.”
“I know, but you can put it together, right?” Whitney asked encouragingly.
“Doubtful. Say it again, please,” Katie said.
“¿Sabes cómo tocar la guitarra?” Whitney said patiently.
Actually, it seemed to kind of make sense. Did she play the guitar? “No, no tocar la guitarra,” Katie said slowly.
Whitney clapped. “Very close. You’re really putting it together!” she said. It was so fun to be quizzed by Whitney and her pretty Spanish accent.
As Katie took the quiz, she felt like she had a secret weapon, and she got a ninety-nine.
The next day in homeroom, a Friday, everyone was going around the circle, answering Mr. Armstrong’s question: What was one success you had in school this week?
“I finally organized my binder,” Rachel said.
“Awesome,” Mr. Armstrong said. “Organization can be half the battle. Okay, Whitney, you’re next.”
“I got ahead in science with my independent research on the circulatory system,” she said.
“Nice, Whitney,” Mr. Armstrong said. “Why do you think you were able to do that?”
“I just like it so much it doesn’t seem like work.” Whitney shrugged, and Katie noticed Rachel and Emma rolling their eyes at each other.
They’re mean, Katie thought. They’re just mean. And now I officially don’t care that they’ve been cold to me this year.
It was Katie’s turn. “I got a ninety-nine on my Spanish quiz,” she said.
“¡Qué bueno!” Mr. Armstrong said. What, did everyone speak Spanish now? “And to what do you attribute such success?”
“Whitney speaks Spanish,” Katie explained. “And she helped me memorize the vocab list at lunch, before the quiz.”
“Thank you, Katie, for helping me introduce my next topic,” Mr. Armstrong said. “Okay, guys, here’s the deal. I know seventh grade is a big change from sixth, and I’m getting the feeling that most of you are a little stressed out. Is that a safe generalization?”
Everyone nodded yes immediately. The truth was, there was a lot more homework in seventh grade, and you had to organize yourself better. And your grades mattered more. If you were going to go to private high school, which some kids did, then your grades counted. But parents seemed more concerned with grades this year than last, no matter what. It seemed like the beginning of high school or something.
“So you’re going to join forces. You’re each going to get a partner, and that partner is going to be your resource. If you’re at home and you don’t understand your math assignment, you can call or e-mail or text your partner. Or if you have a test the next day, you can study together. Every day in homeroom, you’ll touch base with your partner to see how things are going.”
Hey, it’s the same idea as study buddies, thought Katie. Do all the homeroom teachers in the country get together at conventions and think of things like this? But then she thought about who her study buddy might be, and she realized she would be pretty psyched if hers were Whitney.
“I don’t want to assign partners because you know yourselves better than I do,” Mr. Armstrong said. “So I want you to each write on a sheet of paper who your top three choices are. Number them one, two, and three. Then fold it and hand it to me. I’ll look at everyone’s choices and determine who should be partners. Ready?”
Everyone started writing on their papers. Katie looked over at Whitney, who was looking directly at her.
Katie wrote, “1. Whitney, 2. Nobody, 3. Nobody.” She folded up her paper and gave it to Mr. Armstrong.
Whitney wrote simply, “I only want Katie.” She, too, folded her paper and handed it to Mr. Armstrong.
It took Mr. Armstrong a few minutes to read everyone’s choices and announce the results, but by the end of the homeroom period, Katie and Whitney were study buddies.
As the weeks approaching Harvest Fair passed, time seemed to speed up. Katie guessed that was good because sometimes Amy wouldn’t reply to a text or e-mail for a week. Katie tried hard to not take it personally. She texted:
A, HEY! HOPE YOU ARE HAVING A GOOD WEEK. DO YOU HEAR A LOT OF SPANISH IN CALIFORNIA? I BET YOU HEAR MORE THAN I DO. SO FAR IT IS MY HARDEST SUBJECT. OH GUESS WHAT, I HAVE A STUDY BUDDY TOO. HER NAME IS WHITNEY. (SHE’S THE ONE I HAD THE SLEEPOVER WITH.) DO HOMEROOM TEACHERS GET TOGETHER TO INVENT THIS STUFF? OH WELL, IT’S GOOD, ACTUALLY. BUT I MISS YOU SO MUCH. TOO MUCH.—BFF
Amy responded four days later:
HOLA K, CALIFORNIA WEATHER IS THE BEST!
Huh? Amy’s response had nothing to do with Katie’s text. It was like she hadn’t even read it.
HOLA A, LUCKY! THE LEAVES ARE BEGINNING TO CHANGE HERE, WHICH IS PRETTY, BUT YOU KNOW HOW I HATE WINTER. YOU SHOULD’VE LEFT ALL YOUR SWEATERS HERE FOR ME, YOU DON’T NEED THEM THERE!—BFF
Another week passed.
I TO
TALLY SHOULD’VE LEFT THE SWEATERS. KIRA AND I SHARE ALL OUR CLOTHES. IT’S SO FUN! OH, GUESS WHAT, WE GO TO SWIRLED WORLD SO MUCH WE ARE NOW ON THEIR “FAVORITE CUSTOMERS” BOARD. OUR PHOTO IS UP ON THEIR WALL. WE ARE FAMOUS! AND I AM GETTING SUPERHEALTHY. WE JOG!
Superhealthy? thought Katie. Amy “double-bacon cheeseburger” Fitzgerald? Jogging? Is she for real?
The more Katie looked at the text message, the more she was convinced someone had stolen Amy’s phone and was writing these messages. Also, hello, famous for what? Katie thought sadly. Ditching your best friend for a new one? But she tried to understand, and she wanted to keep the conversation going. She wrote right back.
I ALWAYS KNEW YOU WOULD BE FAMOUS. I CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU! DID YOU GET YOUR TICKETS YET?—BFF
No response. Then, a few days later, there was this:
K, I’M GOING TO HAVE TO COME VISIT ANOTHER TIME. THAT WEEKEND IS LOOKING BAD FOR ME BECAUSE OF THE WATER PARK PLANS. KYLE SAID HE REALLY WANTS ME TO COME. MAYBE IN THE SPRING?
That weekend is looking bad for you? Katie thought. The only bad thing about it is that you chose your new friends over me. She was so upset she couldn’t even respond for a few hours. And when she did, she couldn’t pretend that everything was okay. She had been pretending long enough.
A, I CAN’T BELIEVE IT. I’M SOOO DISAPPOINTED. TELL THE TRUTH: AM I NOT YOUR BFF ANYMORE?
And a full three days passed before Amy’s response:
K, THAT’S RIDICULOUS!
But it didn’t seem ridiculous at all.
In contrast, Whitney always responded right away. As study buddies, they talked on the phone most nights, but Katie had also talked Whitney into getting on e-mail. Whitney seemed anxious, but Katie talked her through it.
“Now you need to think of an address,” she said once Whitney was almost set up on the new computer her father had gotten her. “What do you want it to be?”
Whitney was silent.
“It can be anything,” Katie said. “Like, mine is kooka123. Kooka’s my nickname from my parents. And I had to add the 123 because just plain ‘Kooka’ was already taken.”
“What do you mean, taken?” Whitney asked. Wow, Katie thought, she really is not into technology.
“Someone else had already chosen it for their e-mail address.”
“Oh,” Whitney said. Katie waited for her to say something more, but she didn’t.
“So, what do you want yours to be?” Katie asked.
Whitney seemed totally stumped. “You think of something,” she said. It reminded Katie of when her mom got her grandmother set up online and her grandmother was asking questions like, “What’s the difference between online and the Internet?” Her mom had been patient, knowing it was a generational thing. Katie’s grandmother was old, and all this technology was new to her. But it was so funny that Whitney was acting the same way.
Katie tried to channel her mother’s patience. “Hmm, well, you have those superblue eyes. How about something like aqua? Hey, how about aquagirl? That sounds cool.”
“Aquagirl,” Whitney repeated. “I like it. Thanks.”
“My pleasure,” Katie said, pleased with herself. “Okay, type it in. When you get set up, send me a test e-mail.”
“What should it say?”
Katie groaned. “Anything! And welcome to the twenty-first century!” she said with a laugh. “Good-bye!”
About twenty minutes later, she got an e-mail from aquagirl123.
Hello, Katie. This is a test e-mail. I hope you get it. Thank you for helping me.
Katie laughed—Whitney sounded exactly like her grandmother!—and responded:
Hello, your test was successful. You’re welcome for helping you. Now we can be e-mail buddies.
And Whitney responded less than one minute later.
You know what? This is kind of fun. Oh. I forgot to tell you. “Aquagirl” was taken, so I made it aquagirl123 like you. Your friend, aquagirl123
Katie wrote:
Yay, aquagirl123! Glad to see you finally online. Tomorrow I’ll teach you how to send attachments. That will help with when we do homework together. But enough for one night. You must be exhausted! kooka123
Whitney wrote:
Yes, kooka123, I actually am. Good night! xoxo
Katie smiled, seeing “xoxo.” That was sweet. From then on, Whitney always responded right away to Katie’s e-mails, and they both signed them “xoxo.” It wasn’t the same as “BFF,” of course. Katie didn’t think she would want to write that because that was reserved for Amy. But “xoxo” was nice. And when Katie called her, she never got voice mail like she did with Amy. Amy couldn’t seem to be bothered to pick up her phone. Like, ever.
The week of Harvest Fair, Katie left Amy a voice mail as usual, then pressed the end call button and threw the phone across the couch.
“Whoa!” her dad said, dodging the flying phone. “What’s going on?”
“Sorry,” Katie said. “Amy never picks up her phone.”
Her dad raised his eyebrows. “That must be pretty disappointing,” he said.
“It certainly is.”
“You’ve been on the phone and online with Whitney a lot, though, haven’t you?” her dad said.
“Yeah,” Katie said. “It’s nice. It’s not the same, but it’s nice. She likes to hear from me. It’s nice to have someone who’s always happy to hear from me.”
“Sounds like she’s a good friend,” her dad replied.
“Yeah … she is a good friend,” Katie said. And as she said it, she realized she really meant it.
But that little moment of reasonableness and optimism quickly passed. Katie wound up moping around the house so much that week that her parents staged an intervention.
One evening after dinner, Katie sat at the table after her parents had moved into the living room. She was busy picking the polish off her fingers. It had already started chipping, and she couldn’t stand looking at it. Each little mini masterpiece now seemed like a big lie. Ladybugs! Watermelon! Rainbows! How simple life had seemed this summer. As she chipped away, she imagined Amy giving a themed manicure to Kira. What was she painting on Kira’s nails, the same exact things? She thought she might throw up.
Her parents called her into the living room and turned off the television. They patted her spot on the couch, and Katie obediently sat. It seemed serious.
“Kooka, what do you think you can do to make this coming weekend easier on yourself?” her mom said, with her hands wrapped around a mug of peppermint tea.
“Um, make it disappear?” Katie responded sharply. Then she felt bad for being rude. Her parents were just trying to help. It wasn’t their fault Amy had decided not to come back for Harvest Fair. Or that she was basically best friends with someone else. Or that she seemed to have a boyfriend. Or that she had abandoned Katie on the most important birthday of her whole life so far.
“You’ve been having a good time with Whitney at school, right?” her dad asked. “And you’re on the phone with her every night being study buddies. Maybe you want to invite her over for a sleepover here Friday night. You could bring her to Harvest Fair and then we’d pick you up. You don’t want to go to Harvest Fair with your boring old parents, do you?” He grinned.
Katie was still trying to get used to the idea of even going to Harvest Fair at all without Amy, but in her heart she knew she would miss it. She had never not gone to Harvest Fair in her entire life. Actually, some of her earliest memories were of playing in the Pumpkin Patch Playground there. It was a small area set up just for little kids, with haystacks to climb on, piles of leaves and straw to hide in, little toy rakes, and pumpkins of all shapes and sizes. The Pumpkin Patch Playground had seemed like a fall wonderland when she was little, but it looked kind of small and silly to her when she saw it now. But there were so many things she loved: the candy apple booth, the giant slide, and now, this year, maybe even the haunted house.
“Well, what does your gut tell you?” her dad asked.
&nb
sp; “Hmm, let me listen,” Katie said, looking closely at her belly. They all laughed as she pretended to listen closely.
“Okay, it’s saying, ‘Sometimes life is lame, but you gotta get yourself to Harvest Fair no matter what, and you should definitely have a sleepover the night before your thirteenth birthday,’” she reported.
Her parents smiled. “Well, there you go. That was a gutsy decision!” her dad said, then slapped his leg and laughed. The guy really cracked himself up.
At lunch the next day, Katie and Whitney sat nibbling candy corn that Katie had brought. Whitney had taken exactly four pieces when Katie had offered her some.
“You know how it’s my birthday on Saturday?” she asked Whitney.
“Of course I know!” Whitney said.
“Well, I wondered if you wanted to go to Harvest Fair together on Friday and then come to my house for a sleepover,” Katie said. She realized with some surprise that she would be very disappointed if Whitney couldn’t come. But Whitney’s face lit up immediately, and Katie felt a wave of relief that the eve of her thirteenth birthday wouldn’t be spent alone.
“I can’t wait to go to Harvest Fair. And it’s a perfect way to spend your birthday eve,” Whitney said. “But I insist that you come to my house for the sleepover afterward.”
Katie felt that same anxiety she’d felt the first time and replayed the crazy experience she’d had there weeks ago. Even though she’d dismissed it as dreams or her imagination gone wild, she still had a bad feeling in … well, in her gut.
“Really? But you’ve never been to my house,” Katie countered, trying desperately to think of a way to decline without hurting Whitney’s feelings.
“I know, but I have a special birthday surprise in store for you,” Whitney answered.
“Can’t you give it to me at my house?” Katie asked, racking her brains for a way to nicely insist that Whitney agree to come to her house instead.
