Dedication
To Ashley, #2, Ali, Heather, Libby, Rachel (x2), & Shannan
for helping me turn the page and start this new chapter.
—Lindsey
To BFFs everywhere.
Best friends make us happy, healthy, and stronger.
I’m grateful for mine.
—Robin
Contents
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
Prologue
French Class Notes:
French words
Other French words
Frenchy stuff
Is this working?
I’m hungry. Really wanting French fries now.
There’s no need to read any further. This is just a regular French notebook.
Move along.
Seriously. Anything beyond this page is just super boring and in a totally different language. If you speak French, then this is written in some other language that you don’t know.
Clipping toenails is more fun than this dumb book.
Yawn.
Really, you’re just embarrassing yourself now.
Close the notebook.
Move along.
There you go.
Whew. I think it’s safe now.
Turn the page ONLY if your name is Banana Noodle or Orange Snickerdoodle . . .
Chapter 1
Dearest Banana Noodle,
Of course, that’s not your real name, just like my real name isn’t Orange Snickerdoodle. But there’s a reason why I’m calling you that. A very good reason.
Secret identities. I’m thinking we should have them in case anyone ever discovers this notebook. Do you like how I added all that French stuff to cover our bases? Now we just need trench coats and magnifying glasses. No, wait, that’s spies, right? Or detectives maybe.
Anyway, Banana Noodle. You are holding this notebook because I had the best idea. The best. I think best ideas are like gifts, and recognizing them is like saying thank you to the Idea Fairy. That’s a thing, right?
Last night, I escaped to Target with Mom because my dad wanted me on Twin Patrol. Talin was at piano and Luke had volleyball, and since I have no special skills, I was in charge of bathing the twins for the third night in a row. And usually I don’t mind, but Flynn didn’t get to the potty in time and . . . I won’t share the details. So I told Dad I needed to have girl talk with Mom. The “talk” basically involved me saying, “Hey, can I buy deodorant?” and her answering, “Sure.” That’s it.
Thank you, sweat, for the bonding opportunity.
Because it’s October and fall is already in full swing, all of the school supplies were seventy-five percent off. My mom will buy anything at Target for seventy-five percent off—school supplies, odd-sized shoes, potato chips in weird flavors. Have I ever shown you the cupboard in our house full of random stuff that she somehow puts together into those thoughtful gift baskets? I promise, someone somewhere will get a glue stick and pickle-flavored potato chips from her and be super excited about it.
But back to us. You know it was fate when I spotted the only notebook left without a stupid teen celebrity on the cover. The blue sparkles called to me and said, “Piper . . . I mean, Orange Snickerdoodle, I belong to you. I am the most fabulous way for you to communicate with your best friend now that you’re in middle school and share only ONE SINGLE CLASS. One single class after two years of sharing homeroom teachers, pencils, everything. Hours and hours of quality friendship time cut down to fifty-two little minutes. But! In these pages, you can describe all the details of your separate worlds—Banana, in your super-smart-kids classes, and Orange, in your super-regular-kids classes. I am your connection, your lifeline. Come to me, Orange Snickerdoodle. Buy me. You hear only the sound of my voice and you must obey . . .”
Well, I grabbed the notebook, THIS notebook, before it hypnotized me completely. And then I turned on my manners. Which, you know, wasn’t easy.
“Mother.” Here I batted my eyes. “May I ask if you would mind purchasing me this lovely notebook?”
Mom didn’t even look up. She was shoving glue sticks in our cart like they were gold nuggets in the California gold rush. “I can get you notebooks from Doodle Bugs.”
“Even with your employee discount, the stationery store won’t be as cheap as this.”
She paused, coming up with another argument. “I just bought you notebooks for school last month.”
“Right. This wouldn’t be for school. This would be . . . a positivity notebook. So I can . . . be more positive?”
Mom finally stopped her “Eureka! Glue!” moment. “How do you plan to do that?”
“I’m not sure. That’s why I need this notebook. So I can explore my positive side. I think I’ll start with listing all the things that make my mom the coolest mom in the world. And if not the world, then in this aisle at Target.”
Mom cracked a grin. “Drop it in the basket.”
Which is my favorite answer.
Olivia, I mean, Banana . . . I mean . . . okay. Let’s ditch the code names. Olivia—this is what we’ve been looking for. We suffer from the Wrath of Principal Dawn if we text in school. And how can we ever forget the Mammoth Note Scandal of Fourth Grade when Mrs. Shipley read our note out loud debating which underwear brand had the best elasticity? Although I’m sure everyone secretly agreed that Hanes is the way to go, it still wasn’t fun being called the Undies Sisters for two whole months afterward.
But now? Our problem is solved! We can say this is a school notebook and pass it back and forth and no one will know! We are SO clever. The only thing keeping us away from being CIA operatives is the glitter on this cover. Although I bet CIA operatives would add glitter too, just to throw people off.
Okay, so that’s all I really have. Ta-da! A notebook. Now we need to figure out what we’re going to write.
I know the first thing you’ll want to discuss is our future because we are BEST FRIENDS FOREVER. You know, going to the same college, getting jobs in the same town, buying houses on the same street, riding same-brand bikes with our same-age kids.
Let’s hammer out some details on the double wedding first. Last time we talked about it, you said you wanted an empire waist dress, whatever that means. And my mom, of course, will design the invitations. We can have pansies or poppies or whatever flower you like. Those details aren’t important to me.
What I’d rather discuss is the romance between our caterer and the best man. The problem is, the wedding planner was in love with him before she joined the Peace Corps. She’s back now and will stop at nothing to get her man. Even if it means POISONING the caterer!
Sorry. It’s possible I’ve watched one too many e
pisodes of Love and Deception, the greatest soap opera in the history of storytelling. And by “one too many” I mean every single episode. Remind me to tell you what Randall Menard did in the last episode. Hint: it involves pure evil. And a wig.
I’m open to talking about other stuff. Although, if I can just get a vote in, let’s keep the Jackson Whittaker notes down to three a day. Just to mix it up a teeny bit.
Try, Olivia—just try.
Your favorite person,
Orange Snickerdoodle
(aka Piper. Unless you are a notebook thief, in which case, GIVE IT BACK AND NEVER SPEAK OF THIS AGAIN. Merci.)
P.S.—Remember in fifth grade when we had to keep actual grateful journals and write five things we were grateful for in them each day? And you always wrote Jackson, Jackson, Jackson, Jackson, and “rhymes with Tackson”?
Well, whatever. I’m starting again. Today my grateful entry is:
Target sales, best ideas, deodorant, glitter, and snickerdoodles. (Why did I have to do food names? I’m so hungry now.)
Chapter 2
Dear Brilliant-Yet-Hungry Piper,
This notebook is exactly what we need. I was hoping that formal complaint I wrote to the principal would fix all of this. But, no. Not even that quality paper from your mom’s stationery store that I used changed Principal Dawn’s mind about redoing our schedules. Who could refuse a request written on eco-friendly cardstock? Especially one with a Jolly Rancher attached?
I guess someone with a grape-flavoring allergy. (Whoops.)
Anyway. I still don’t understand why we only have one out of seven classes together when the statistical probability is in our favor.
If there are four hundred fifty-six students in our middle school . . .
with approximately twenty-seven students per class . . .
factoring in my three accelerated classes . . .
but subtracting our French elective, then logically the average shared class would be 2.267.
Or something totally close to that.
I think whoever invented middle schools was not great at math. And they certainly were never a person like me who is scared of change and predatory birds. (Predatory birds have nothing to do with this, but I did want to mention my raptor concerns.)
You and I have always had class together.
But now? It’s like a Deserted Island with No Cell Phone Reception. I was considering scraping S.O.S. into the dirt on the soccer field, so this notebook came at the right time.
But I do like your idea of being positive. So let’s look at our plan to be BEST FRIENDS FOREVER!
What if we lived in a duplex? We could tap in code on the walls at night.
If we marry brothers, can I please have the tall one? Or the one who is a gourmet cook? Being wonderful is super necessary, too.
The double wedding! I’m so glad you remembered our bouquets of flowers that start with a p. (Peonies. Very classy.) I think it’s interesting that you always care so much about the backstory of our wedding guests and all the staff people and not so much about the wedding itself. And, thankfully, it seems you gave up on the zombie theme.
Okay, back to the reality of middle school. There actually is one thing that I love: French class. My favorite part, besides seeing you, is Mademoiselle Carter’s glares. She has so many different kinds. The say-that-in-French glare, the don’t-be-late glare, the do-not-giggle-when-you-say-oui glare.
She’s very glary at you in particular. I’m guessing it’s because she hasn’t gotten over the first day when you asked her if you could go to the bathroom . . . in Spanish.
Let’s discuss Monday night. Miss Jill said we’re going to be assigned Trigger. He got off his leash when the new girl was working with him and he tried to run out to the parking lot and jump in a minivan. So she told me Trigger was all ours now.
Here’s the note she left me last week:
Olivia & Piper—
You two will be assigned the one and only Trigger next week!
This is an honor since you’re so good with the troubled ones.
Good luck!
—Miss Jill
ADOPTION CARD
MY NAME IS
TRIGGER—I’m special!!
FACTS ABOUT TRIGGER
Breed: English bulldog mix
Color: White/gray
Sex: Male
Age: Adult
SPECIAL DETAILS: Trigger loves to eat and lie in the sunshine. He’s also a champion sleeper due to some hearing impairments. He loves to go for walks, but he has an unusual dislike for tennis shoes. Be prepared and always wear work boots! Trigger also dislikes cats, television, heavy rain, and when you say the word “come.” Likes to sniff . . . sometimes excessively.
Oh, speaking of sniffing! Warning: this next sentence has nothing to do with sniffing around—I just couldn’t think of a better way to transition to this subject. Yes, you knew it was coming . . . Jackson Whittaker.
You know how Jackson and I have never been in the same class ever and I thought it was a sign from Cupid that we just weren’t meant to be together? Well, guess what Cupid did for me! (I’m going to go ahead and answer that because of time and all.)
JACKSON WHITTAKER IS IN MY MATH CLASS!!!!!
I repeat:
JACKSONWHITTAKERISINMYMATHCLASS!!!!!
Sorry to get all screamy there, but I’m sort of freaking out. There I was, innocently solving a math equation, when I happened to look up and see him standing at the door. Romantic music started playing. (In my head. My head has a wonderfully talented string section. The percussion needs some work.)
Was I dreaming? Was he an apparition, like all those ghosts in A Christmas Carol? Or was I just lucky?
Either way, Jackson appeared and was suddenly in a seat near-ish to mine. Even though it’s October and there was no reason to explain the sudden and wonderful appearance. I don’t know how that happened, but thank you, Cupid! I could hardly speak, much less solve for x.
So here’s where you come in . . . I’ve gotten by fine in the past with my standard flirty questions like, “Do you know what time it is?” and “Think it will rain today?”
But if I have a class with Jackson EVERY DAY, I’m going to have to come up with other questions to ask him.
Good questions.
Cute questions.
Meant-to-be-together questions.
Questions totally unlike the time I asked Robbie Morris if the rock next to his foot was igneous or sedimentary.
Because I am now certain—more than ever—that he’s the perfect guy. Here’s why: over the summer, Jackson grew two whole inches. You know what that means, right? We are now exactly the same height!
Eye to eye.
Heart to heart.
CUPID IS ON THE JOB!
Got screamy there again. Sorry. (I just took a couple of deep, cleansing breaths. It helped.)
It’s just that I feel like if I can’t conquer my fears of finally talking to him, then how will I ever learn the other life skills I need to survive middle school?
Hold on. Mr. Marsdale is looking at me. I’m going to pretend I didn’t already finish the assignment ten minutes ago so he doesn’t load me with “supplementary learning.”
TEN LONG MINUTES LATER.
Okay, I’m back. The period is almost over, and then I have to deal with the dreaded cafeteria. Life just isn’t the same without having lunch with you. We can’t make our famous Tater Tots castles on Tater Tots Tuesdays. And have miniature sword fights on French Fry Fridays.
Man, I miss elementary school.
Middle school lunches are so boring (option 1 or option 2? Come ON. No adorable descriptions?). I’m still packing my own lunches this year. Mom bought the hummus chips I asked for, but she forgot the unsweetened almond milk I put on the list. When I asked Dad what he wanted me to add to the grocery list he yelled, “Coffee and coffee!” as he dashed out the door. And Mom forgot the coffee too. It’s like I’m the only adult in our house.
I sh
ouldn’t complain about all this because I already vented to Blinkie last night while I paced my bedroom floor. He’s such a good listener. I’m fairly certain he blinks once for yes and twice for no. Or it could just mean he wants his litter changed.
In related news: I tell my secrets to my cat.
In double-related news: I’m the biggest nerd ever. (As my BFF, neither of these facts is actually news to you. But I felt they needed to be written down in our Super-Secret Sparkly Notebook. There should be a word for notebook that starts with s).
I know you hate having to be on diaper patrol with the twins and stuff, but I can’t help but be jealous that you have people to talk to . . . although in your house, there are a lot of people. Practically an entire soccer team—with substitutes. But the twins are so cute. Beyond cute. They’re pretty much the reason why people have kids. And one of these days I will figure out which one is which. Maybe draw a dot on their chins? Color-coding always helps me.
What did you do at lunch yesterday? Ate with massive amounts of lovely people, I’m guessing. Who wouldn’t want to hang out with you? I do.
Anyway, let’s just hope someone—hopefully a human—asks me to sit with them at lunch today. Yesterday, I sat with Dana Huffington and her minions. And when I say “sat with” I mean “squatted in a chair sort of near them.” It was not my favorite moment.
For your entertainment, here are the details of “not my favorite moment”:
I spotted an open seat near Dana and took it. Yay me! While I was trying to come up with some sort of opening remark, I studied the ridges on my chips (hummus and sea salt flavored) (they’re so good).
And then I overheard one of them whisper, “Who eats hummus chips?”
“Eww,” her friend said.
They all giggled and then pulled out their lunch items, spreading them out on the table. With all the food set out for display, it was almost as if they’d set up shop.
And what happened next was nothing short of amazing.
In a whir of activity, they began trading food . . .
Doritos for yogurt sticks.
The Pages Between Us Page 1
