I switch off the computer, move to my bed and carefully open the envelope.
Dear David,
Lindsay wrote to me and told me about Hammy.
“What?” I say out loud. “Not possible.” I drop the letter onto my bed and knock on Lindsay’s door.
“Enter if you’re famous.”
I smile and go in.
Lindsay’s on her bed, polishing her fingernails. The smell stings my nose.
“Hey,” I say, wiping my nose with the back of my hand.
“Hey yourself. Ready for tonight?”
I shrug. “Lindsay, can I ask you one question?”
“Shoot.”
“You said you’d never write to Mom, right?”
“Right. That was one question. You’re done.”
“Ha-ha.” I sit on the end of her bed.
“Watch it,” she says, wiping polish off her fingertip.
“Sorry, Linds. Did you write to Mom? About me?”
She stops polishing and looks at me. “You were really upset after Hammy died. I didn’t know what else to do.” She shrugs. “Lot of good it did. It’s not like Mom called or visited or anything.”
“She wrote me a letter,” I say. I walk over and kiss my sister on the cheek, which is practically zit free. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, David. Now get out before you mess up my polish.”
I smile and head back to my room to finish reading Mom’s letter.
When Lindsay wrote me that letter, I decided I needed to visit you.
My heart races. I almost run back into Lindsay’s room to tell her Mom’s going to visit.
I tried, David. I tried a hundred different times, but I couldn’t make myself leave the house and get into the car. Marcus tried to help, but I just couldn’t do it.
I remember how Mom used to freak out if she thought she’d have to leave the house when she lived here. Sometimes she even got upset if someone called on the phone for her, and she’d refuse to answer it. Come to think of it, it was amazing Mom was able to leave at all to go live with the Farmer in Maine.
I’m sorry, David. I’m sorry about Hammy. You have no idea how much I wanted to drive to the pet place in the mall and surprise you with a new hamster. I imagined the scene a million times.
Me too. But the pet place in the mall is closed, anyway.
About once a month, I’m able to walk with Marcus to the public library. It’s a long walk, but I do it so I can watch your videos, David. You’ve gotten so many comments lately, I hope you can still find mine—LADM—Lindsay and David’s Mom.
“You’re LADM?” I say out loud.
I’m sorry I couldn’t be everything your dad needed me to be. I hope he’s happy anyway. I’m sorry I couldn’t be what Lindsay needed me to be, but I’m so glad she finally wrote to me. And I’m sorry I can’t be there for you, David. Please keep me in your heart.
Love and candy corn,
Mom
I sniff hard and press Mom’s letter to my chest. She tried, I think. She really tried.
The doorbell rings.
“Got it,” Dad calls.
“Hey, where’s the big star?” I hear Alan Drummond say downstairs.
I fold the letter and slip it back into the envelope. Then I tuck it into the shoe box in my closet with the other dozens of letters from Mom. “Love you,” I say, and head downstairs.
“Hey,” Alan Drummond says, raising his glass to me. “You’re a real star, David.”
“Thanks,” I say, and duck my head.
The front door opens, and Aunt Sherry, Amy, Rachel and Jack walk in. Rachel pinches me. “Hi, David. Mom said I could stay up late to watch your show.”
“That’s great, Rach.” I rub my arm where she pinched it.
Jack gets me in a killer headlock and gives me noogies. “How cool is this, Cuz?”
“Cool,” I gasp.
It’s a good thing Jack lets me go, because Sophie and her mom walk in. Dad rushes over to greet them, and Sophie hands me a tray of cupcakes. Each one has my name in blue icing surrounded by a red star.
“Thanks,” I say.
“You’re welcome.” Sophie kisses me on the cheek, like it’s no big deal.
Alan Wexler walks in and so does Bubbe’s friend Estelle.
Our living room is packed, and even with extra chairs, lots of people are standing. Bubbe carries in trays of food. “Eat, bubelahs, eat.”
I think about Mom. I think that she should be here, that she’d love this, but then I realize she wouldn’t love it at all. It would make her nervous and scared. She never liked crowds. Hated having to go to parties. She was happiest just being quiet at home. She’s happy now. As happy as she can be.
The doorbell rings, and I turn to get it.
“Late as usual,” I say, punching Elliott in the arm.
Ms. Berger comes in, too. “Congratulations, sweetie,” she says, and kisses my forehead. I wonder if she even knows that Elliott and I weren’t friends.
“Party’s in here,” I say, leading them to the living room.
At eleven, Dad turns on the TV and tells everyone to be quiet. “We don’t want to miss this,” he says, even though we’re recording it.
The moment Jon Stewart appears, the room falls silent. I look over at Elliott, and he gives me a thumbs-up.
Lindsay ruffles my hair.
“Sha!” Bubbe says, even though no one is talking.
After a few jokes about the day’s news, Jon Stewart says, “And now, ladies and gentlemen, I want to introduce you to my replacement.”
Some people from the TV audience gasp. I hear Sophie squeal, and I get goose bumps on my arms.
“There’s a kid in Bensalem, Pennsylvania, who’s been making videos for the Internet. His name is David Greenberg.”
“Oh, yeah!” Jack says.
“Sha!” Bubbe scolds.
Then Jon Stewart says, “One of the shows was about, um, yours truly. Let’s watch it.”
And on the screen above Jon’s shoulder is the TalkTime I did with Magazine Cover Jon Stewart. I cringe at the French horn joke. The clip stops before the Daily Acne Forecast, and I’m so relieved.
Jon says, “Is this guy hilarious or what?”
He’s talking about me.
“I definitely think he’ll have my job someday.” Jon scowls at the camera. “But not yet. And that thing he said about the French horn? Totally true. Totally true. On to other news …”
Applause and cheers erupt in our living room. Before I know it, Elliott smashes me on the back, Jack gives me noogies and Lindsay squeezes my hand. “Great job, David. I’m so proud of you,” she says.
Bubbe pats my head. “Way to go, bubelah!”
Dad grabs me in a killer bear hug.
Even without Mom, I feel completely surrounded by love.
The last guest leaves after midnight.
“G’night, guys,” Dad says to me and Elliott, who is sleeping over.
“Night, David,” Lindsay says.
Bubbe pats my shoulder. “Oy vey, I’m tired,” she says, and stumbles off to her apartment.
Elliott opens a sleeping bag on the floor near my bed.
When the light’s out, he says, “David, you up?”
“Yeah.”
“Look, I’m sorry about … you know.”
“It’s okay. Really.”
I wait in the dark for Elliott to say something else, but all I hear are soft snoring sounds. I think about Sophie kissing me again and those star cupcakes. I think about all the people watching my video on The Daily Show. I think about Elliott sleeping here in my room again, just like old times. And I think about Mom, who probably wishes she were here, but can’t be. It’s not her fault, but it’s not mine or Dad’s or the Farmer’s, either.
I turn on the little light over my bed and pull out my Rubik’s Cube. I fiddle with it for a while but can’t get more than one side the same color. I remember that Mom taught me to close my eyes and visualize myself solv
ing it. I close my eyelids and remember the video I saw with the steps to solving it; then I imagine myself doing each of those steps. I open my eyelids and start doing them. When I get close to the end, I make the last several turns with my eyes closed. When I open them, I’m surprised to see that each side is a solid color.
I wish I could show Mom. I put the cube on my desk so Elliott will see it in the morning. He’ll be so impressed.
Then I pull a sheet of paper and a pen from my desk drawer. I think I’m going to write to Mom about the Rubik’s Cube, but instead I write this:
Dear Mom,
I’m sorry you couldn’t come here, but it’s okay. I love you anyway. I will always love you no matter what.
Maybe over Thanksgiving break, Dad will take me to visit you so you won’t have to leave your house. If that would be okay.
I’m going to make a new TalkTime with Elliott this weekend. And I’ll say hello to you on it. And whenever you get a chance to look at it in the library and write a comment, I will read it no matter how many other comments I get.
I love you,
David
I put the letter in an envelope to mail in the morning. Then I listen to the sounds of Elliott’s breathing. I think about Lindsay sleeping in the next room and Dad and Bubbe asleep, too. I think about Hammy out in the yard. Maybe I’ll get a new hamster someday. Maybe I’ll name it Hermy and he’ll like being in my videos, too.
I take a deep breath, turn out the light and close my eyes.
Bubbe’s Jewish Apple Cake
(If Bubbe isn’t available to help with this, find an adult to assist with slicing and oven work.)
4 large apples
1 tablespoon lemon juice
2 teaspoons cinnamon
4 eggs
1 ½ cups sugar, plus 2 tablespoons
1 cup applesauce
3 cups flour
3 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
½ cup orange juice
1 tablespoon vanilla
½ cup raisins (optional)
powdered sugar
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Grease and flour a 10-inch tube pan. Pare and slice apples. Soak apples in a large bowl of water with 1 tablespoon lemon juice. Set aside.
Combine two tablespoons sugar and two teaspoons cinnamon and set aside. Beat eggs; beat in 1½ cups sugar gradually; then beat in applesauce. In a separate bowl, combine flour, baking powder and salt. Add flour mixture and orange juice alternately to applesauce mixture, starting with flour mixture, stirring after each addition. Add vanilla and stir. Mix in raisins (optional).
Pour ¼ of the batter into greased pan; arrange ⅓ of the apple slices on top; sprinkle with ⅓ of the cinnamon mixture. Repeat layers twice, then add a layer of batter to the top.
Bake at 350 degrees for 80 minutes or until a knife comes out clean.
Top with powdered sugar.
Enjoy, bubelah.
Glossary of Yiddish Words
bubbe (noun)—grandmother
bubelah (noun)—darling (usually applied to children)
kugel (noun)—a savory or sweet pudding made from noodles or potatoes
matzo (noun)—unleavened bread
matzo ball (noun)—a dumpling made from matzo meal, usually served in soup
mensch (noun)—an honorable, decent person
nashn (verb)—to snack
oy vey! (interjection)—oh, no!; woe is me!
sha! (interjection)—quiet! hush!
sheyn ponem (interjection)—pretty face
schmo (noun)—foolish or stupid person; a goof
vos (pronoun)—what
zeyde (noun)—grandfather
Glossary of Spanish Words
¡Cállate!—Be quiet!
come or comes (verb)—eat
computadora (noun)—computer
de nada—you’re welcome
escalera (noun)—stairs
gallo (noun)—rooster
gracias—thank you
hámster (noun)—hamster
hija (noun)—daughter
madre (noun)—mother
mesa (noun)—table
mi (pronoun)—my
perro (noun)—dog
puerta (noun)—door
sillas (noun)—chair
About the Author
Donna Gephart’s first novel, As If Being 12¾ Isn’t Bad Enough, My Mother Is Running for President! won the prestigious Sid Fleischman Humor Award. Donna grew up in Philadelphia and now lives in South Florida with her family. Visit her on the Web at www.donnagephart.com.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2010 by Donna Gephart
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
Visit us on the Web! www.randomhouse.com/kids
Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools,
visit us at www.randomhouse.com/teachers
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Gephart, Donna.
How to survive middle school / Donna Gephart. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: When thirteen-year-old David Greenberg’s best friend makes the start of middle school even worse than he feared it could be, David becomes friends with Sophie, who shares his love of television shows and posts one of their skits on YouTube, making them wildly popular—online, at least.
eISBN: 978-0-375-89587-6
[1. Middle schools—Fiction. 2. Schools—Fiction. 3. Best friends—Fiction. 4. Friendship—Fiction. 5. Popularity—Fiction. 6. Video recordings—Production and direction—Fiction. 7. YouTube (Electronic resource)—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.G293463How 2010
[Fic]—dc22
2009021809
Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
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