BFF Breakup (14 page)

M
Y HAND SHOOK AS I PRESSED “END” ON MY
phone. She was the last person I expected to call. When I heard her voice, I froze. And then I got angry.

What did she do that was so bad? Try bringing me down. Try making a bad time in my life even worse by being so . . . Brooke-like. Why did she have to act like I wasn't allowed to have any friends besides her?

I didn't cry or throw things around my room.
I didn't run to IM or back to the phone to tell Susanna every detail. I sat stunned—by the things I had said, and how my best friend and I were treating each other. If I'd let myself think about it, I'd probably have been pretty ashamed of myself. But I didn't think about it. I stared at the wall and tried to think of nothing. Especially not the fact that I had totally and officially slammed the door on my and Brooke's friendship, much less any hope of making up. We were as done as the dried chicken Dad had attempted to cook for dinner.

I totally faked sick the next day. I couldn't deal with riding to school with Brooke and wondering if her mom would say anything. Did Brooke tell her what I said?

I also was not in the mood to see her at the locker, in class, in the halls, in the lunchroom. Basically I didn't want to deal with her, so I told Dad I didn't feel well. He put his hand to my forehead, I put on a sad-girl face, and he said he'd call in for me. I spent the day in bed, mostly sleeping and watching TV but not really paying attention. I let time pass.

By Friday, the next day, I knew I had to go back. It was just one day, I told myself, then it'd be the weekend and this whole stupid thing would resolve itself. Brooke would probably come over and apologize for acting like such a jerk during my biggest time of need. I'd apologize
for what I said about her mom and everything would go back to normal for my new junior high life.

Mom had started packing. She had boxes in the hall marked
OFFICE
and
BEDROOM
. She still came home at night—Dad slept on the couch in the office, Mom in the bedroom—but it was only a matter of time, days probably, and she'd be out for good.

Going back to school on Friday, I planned to look my best and keep my head high. I blew out my hair to show off its shininess, thinking again of getting it cut short like I'd talked to Brooke about for ages. I put a little extra blush on my cheeks so I'd look fresh and well-rested, like I didn't have a care in the world. I wore jeans that were sort of tight with a slightly dressy blouse that I left untucked, and I dug out a blazer Mom had insisted on buying me. Checking myself out in the full-length mirror, my whole look was mature and so over it. It said,
I don't have time for these childish games
.

When I asked Dad to drive me to school, he asked, “Isn't it Brooke's mom's week?”

“Yes,” I said, “but she's working more now, and I don't think she has time to drive us anymore.”

“Then who's taking Brooke to school?”

“Um, Abbey. I mean, friends of Abbey's. They take Brooke and then they go to school.”

“Oh,” Dad said, considering this. “We can't ask them to take you too?”

I regretfully shook my head. “I don't even know them.”

Luckily, Dad agreed that it would be rude to ask.

My plan at school was simple: ignore Brooke until she apologized. She should really apologize to all my friends, but she could start with me. That'd be something. But believe me, I wasn't holding my breath. She probably thought she hadn't done anything wrong.

Dad got me to school a little earlier than usual, so I went to my locker and got the books I needed until lunch. I texted Susanna, who planned to walk with me to as many classes as she could for extra support. Before lunch I'd meet her outside her fourth-period class, then go dump my books at my locker—by then Brooke should have come and gone—and then we'd go into the lunchroom together and prepare myself for the afternoon class I had with Brooke.

“Just forget her,” Susanna said as we walked to lunch. “If she can't own up to what she did to you then, I'm sorry, but who needs friends like that?”

I took a deep breath and said, “I know. That's what I keep telling myself. It's hard, though.”

She patted my arm and said, “I know. I'm so sorry. But you have three other amazing friends who would never treat you the way she did.”

In the cafeteria I did not let myself look around for Brooke. I had no idea where she sat or who she sat with or if she was even there. I kept my attention on my friends, who kept me occupied with laughing and talking about the weekend.

“This time, we're sleeping over at my house,” Susanna announced.

“No more leaky roof?” I asked.

“All taken care of,” Susanna said. “Natalie and Julia and I were talking and we think this time we should sneak out and go prank Derek Sampayo's house. Maybe TP it, or Julia suggested making creepy noises at his bedroom window to make him think it's a burglar or a monster or something. See how he reacts, you know?”

“Who's Derek Sampayo?” I asked.

“Oh my god!” They all three practically said it in unison.

“Only the hottest of the hot! Suse says he's in your drama class,” Julia said.

“I can't believe you,” Susanna teased. “How could you not notice Derek Sampayo?”

“No, I think I know who you're talking about,” I said, even though I was pretty sure I didn't know who he was. Our drama class was big. “Dark hair, right?”

“And rich, chocolate eyes and long lashes that you
could just fall right into, for days and days on end,” sighed Natalie.

“Wow, someone's been reading their mom's romance novels,” Susanna said.

“Again,” Julia said, and we all started laughing.

I picked at my lunch. Derek was cute, if he was the guy I was thinking of. Maybe a boy was just what I needed to distract myself. Brooke and I had said we were totally going to get boyfriends now that we were in junior high. And then I realized, even when I was trying not to think about Brooke, I was still thinking about her.

W
HAT A COWARD AND A FAKER, SKIPPING
school the day after our fight. I bet twenty-seven billion dollars she wasn't sick at all. She just couldn't face the reality of what she'd done, so she hid from it. And this business of not needing a ride from us anymore? Give me a break. It was going to be a huge burden on my mom, having to take me every day, but she didn't complain. She just said she'd have to rework her schedule. I wondered what Madeline told her parents about why we weren't
riding together anymore. Probably some whopper of a lie.

While Madeline was home hiding, I faced the cafeteria for the first time as a BFF-less—oh, who am I kidding?—as a friendless girl.

Great news though. It was
so
much easier than I thought it would be. It turns out junior high people are really open and accepting to “homeless” people—you know, those of us who don't have a set place to eat lunch every day or a steady group of friends. When I walked through the doors it was like the welcome wagon from olden times had pulled up, and everyone wanted me to sit at their table and share their food and be their new friend. It was amazing!

Except that is not what happened. What happened instead was I walked into a another teen movie, stood at the threshold of the cafeteria looking in, had a moment of panic, almost ran away, decided to stay, almost barfed on my Chucks, then spotted Mindy from elementary school, and headed for her table.

“Hey, Mindy,” I said, trying to act casual and cool and not at all desperate. “Anyone sitting here?”

“Wow, Brooke,” she said, and the other girls sitting with her looked up and inspected me. “It must be true, then.”

“What?”

“That you and Madeline had a huge fight and aren't friends anymore.”

“You heard about that?” I asked.

“Of course,” she said. She wore a narrow headband and pin-straight silver earrings. “Everyone's heard. Sit.” She gestured to the open seat, and I sat down.

“Thanks,” I said. The other girls eyed me but didn't say anything. “I'm Brooke,” I said.

“So,” Mindy began, leaning toward me from across the table, her eyes shining with excitement. “Tell us!”

I opened my lunch bag and said, “Tell you what?”

Mindy rolled her eyes and said, “About what happened! We've all been talking about it.” Her friends nodded anxiously, and I wondered what my defect was that everyone else had made new friends and I hadn't.

“Do you and Shawna still talk?” I asked, because they were as close as Madeline and I were, but they got separated by the school district lines.

“Shawna?” Mindy wrinkled her nose as if I had mentioned a skeevy ex-boyfriend. “She goes to
Ranger
.”

“That's true,” I said.
Was she being serious?
“Those long-distance text and IM fees are probably pretty huge.”

Mindy rolled her eyes. “I just mean we have different lives now. I don't even know what classes she's taking.”

“Who's Shawna?” one of the girls asked.

“This girl I used to know,” Mindy said.

Ouch. Nuff said.

One girl, a blonde with a flat face and sharp chin, asked, “So is it true that Madeline called you trailer trash?”

“No!” I said, truly shocked. Where had that come from? Why would someone even think to say that to me? Had Madeline said something like that?

“Man, Emily, have some sympathy,” Mindy told her. “Sorry, Brooke. But if you don't set the record straight, there will be rumors. What else are we supposed to do? Stories are flying. We grab on to what we can.”

“Thanks for clarifying,” I said. “The story is, Madeline and I had a little fight but it's no big deal. It'll all blow over by Monday.”

All four girls looked at me like I'd just clucked in Morse code. I unwrapped my turkey sandwich and started eating.

I wasn't sure where I'd sit on Monday, but it wouldn't be with them. Apparently, I was still homeless.

I'm not proud to admit this, but Friday I skipped lunch by hiding in the halls, the library, and the bathroom. It was the longest thirty-seven minutes of my life. As I leaned against a sink in a bathroom on the far side of the school near the shop classes, I knew I was doomed for a
life with bottom-feeders and tattletales. So what the heck; I decided I'd try sitting with Stacey Beckerman at lunch on Monday.

But in second-period science class, a note landed on my desk.

I looked around and saw the girl who sat next to me, Corrine, with a look on her face like,
It totally and completely wasn't me who threw that note on your desk.
Which, of course, meant she had.

The note read:

Are you friends with Susanna Gilman?

I almost dropped the note after reading such a horrible accusation.

Um, NO
, I wrote.
Why?

Saw you NOT sitting with her yesterday, but you did sit with her before. Got any lunch plans today?

I like hanging out in the bathroom by the shop classes. The smell of sawdust tickles my nose just so. Why?

Oh, yes. It goes well with the general urine-ness of that particular part of school. Well, if you can pull yourself away, feel free to sit with me and my friend Lily. She's quiet but cool. I am not quiet and cool.

Okay, sounds good.

We'll save ya a seat.

After class all she said was, “See you at lunch, Brooke.”

I wondered if it was all turning around for me, or if I was about to step into some sort of junior-high-world trap.

When I walked into the lunchroom, I felt that dread again about not finding a seat, people staring at me and laughing, throwing french fries at my head, etc. I purposely took my time getting there so I wouldn't have to see Madeline at the locker and wouldn't have to wait for Corrine and her friend Lily. What if I sat at the wrong table?