BFF* (4 page)

“Yeah,” I said. “He's a real hunk.” We started to laugh and I could feel Rachel relax, until the bus pulled up to school. Then she stiffened. But her homeroom, 7-202, turned out to be right next to mine, 7-203.

“Stay with me until the bell rings,” she begged. “And promise that you'll meet me here, in the hall, before first class so we can compare schedules … okay?”

“Okay,” I said. Alison was standing next to me. She kept putting her sunglasses on, then taking them off again.

“Look,” I said to Rachel, “there go the Klaff twins. Kara's in your homeroom and Peter's in mine.” The Klaff twins were in our sixth grade class. Their mother is our doctor. I figured Rachel would feel better knowing that Kara's in her homeroom.

“Well … I guess this is it,” Rachel said. “I'm going to count to ten, then I'm going to go in.”

“Okay.”

She counted very slowly. When she got to ten she said, “If I live through this I'll see you later.” She turned and marched into her homeroom. Sometimes Rachel is really dramatic.

Alison and I found desks next to each other. As soon as I sat down Eric Macaulay yelled, “Hey … it's Hershey Bar!” He
would
have to be in my homeroom! Last year he and some other boys got the brilliant idea of calling me Hershey Bar just because my last name is Hirsch. They're so stupid! Of course Eric had to go and take the desk right in front of mine.

Besides Eric Macaulay and Peter Klaff there were two other boys and two girls from sixth grade in my homeroom. One of them, Amber Ackbourne, I have never liked. She has such an attitude! The other one, Miri Levine, is okay. She took the desk on the other side of mine. I set my notebook, covered in Rachel's dining room wallpaper, on my desk. Miri Levine looked at it and said, “I like your notebook.”

I said, “Thanks.”

She had a plain spiral notebook on her desk.

“How'd you get the corners so perfect?” she asked.

“Rachel covered it for me.”

“Oh, Rachel … everything she does is perfect.”

“I know,” I said.

Alison unpacked her canvas bag. She pulled
out a gray-blue stone, a roll of Scotch tape, a pad decorated with stickers, a Uniball pen, cherry flavored lip gloss and a small framed photo. Then she put everything back into her bag except the stone. She passed it to me. “It's my favorite,” she said.

The stone was smooth and warm from Alison's hand.

When the bell rang a woman walked into our room. I was really surprised when she said, “Good morning, class. I'm Natalie Remo, your homeroom teacher.”

I'd expected someone young, around twenty-four, with short brown hair … someone a little overweight, like me. But Mrs. Remo is about my mother's age, which is thirty-eight, and she's black. She was wearing a suit. I noticed when she took off her jacket that the lining matched her blouse. She also had on gold earrings which she pulled off and set on her desk.

“Still pretty warm out,” she said, fanning herself with a yellow pad. “More like summer than fall.” She walked around the room opening the windows. “There … that's better.” She stood in front of the class again. “I hope you all received my cards.”

No one said anything.

“Did you … receive my cards?”

Everyone mumbled, “Yes.”

“Good,” Mrs. Remo said. “Welcome to J. E. Fox Junior High.”

I happen to know that our school is named for John Edward Fox. He was supposed to be the first principal here but he died right before the school opened.

“I teach math,” Mrs. Remo said. “So eventually most of you will wind up in one of my classes.”

Nobody said anything.

“Well …” Mrs. Remo continued, “either you're all still asleep or you're feeling pretty unsure about junior high. I think by the end of the day you're going to feel much better. Once you get used to changing classes you'll all relax.”

Nobody said anything.

Mrs. Remo smiled at us. “All right … let's see who's here today.” She called our names in alphabetical order. Amber Ackbourne was first. She always is.

When Mrs. Remo called my name I raised my hand and said, “Here …” As I did, Eric Macaulay turned around and whispered, “Hershey Bar.” I tried to kick him but I missed and kicked the leg of the chair instead. I hurt my foot so bad I groaned.

“Yes, Stephanie? Did you have something to say?” Mrs. Remo asked.

“No,” I said, and Eric Macaulay laughed.

When she got to Alison Mrs. Remo pronounced her last name Mon See U.

Alison corrected her. “It's spelled M-o-n-c-e-a-u,” she said. “But it's pronounced Mon So. It's French.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Remo said. “I should have known.”

Everyone turned and looked at Alison. Alison just sat there as if she didn't notice but I could see her clutching her favorite stone.

After that we got our locker assignments and our class schedules. Then Mrs. Remo told us when the bell rang we should proceed to our first class in an orderly way. We waited for the bell, then we all jumped up and raced for the door.

“Orderly …” Mrs. Remo reminded us.

Rachel was already in the hall, waiting. “Well,” she said, “let's see your schedule.”

I handed it to her. I knew from the expression on her face that the news wasn't good before she said, “I can't believe this. We don't have one class together. Not one!”

“Let me see,” I said, reaching for her schedule and mine. I compared them. “Look at this,” I said. “We both have first lunch period. And we're in the same gym class.”

“Gym,” Rachel sniffed. “Big deal.”

I felt bad for Rachel because Alison, Miri Levine and I are in the same English, math and social studies classes. Rachel has math first period, with Mrs. Remo. I said, “You're lucky. She's nice.”

“Out of my way, Hershey Bar!” Eric Macaulay said, shoving me.

“Watch it,” I told him.

“Watch it yourself,” he said. “I've got to get to my math class. If I can only find room 203.”

“This
is
room 203,” Alison told him.

He looked up at the number on the door. “Hey, you're right. I've got math right here. Right in my own homeroom.”

“Oh no!” Rachel groaned. “I'm in
his
math class. It couldn't be worse.”

“Yes it could,” I told her.

“You know your problem, Stephanie?” Rachel said.

“No, what?”

“You're an eternal optimist!”

“What's an optimist?”

“Look it up!”

As soon as I got to English class I looked up optimist in the dictionary.
Optimist: One who has a disposition or tendency to look on the more favorable side of happenings and to anticipate the most favorable result
. Well, I thought, what's wrong with that?

Maizie's Story

That afternoon, on our way to the school bus, Rachel admitted school hadn't been that bad. She knew some kids in her classes from last year and one, Stacey Green, she knew from music camp.

“You see? I told you it would all work out. The Eternal Optimist strikes again.”

Rachel raised her eyebrows at me.

“‘Optimist,'” I said, “
‘one who has a tendency to look on the more favorable side of happenings.'”

“I'm impressed,” Rachel said.

The boy in the chartreuse dragon jacket sat behind us on the bus. I heard him say something about a left wing to the boy next to him. I wasn't sure if he was talking about a bird or a plane.

When we got off the bus Alison asked us both to come over to her house.

Rachel said, “I have a flute lesson at four-thirty.”

“You play the flute?” Alison asked.

“Yes,” Rachel said.

“Are you any good?” Alison asked.

I laughed. Alison didn't know yet that Rachel is good at everything. “She's practically a professional,” I told Alison.

“I'm not
that
good,” Rachel said.

Alison checked her watch. “Look, it's only three-thirty … so why don't you come over for a little while? My dog can talk.”

Rachel glanced at me. I wasn't supposed to have told anyone about Maizie so I hoped she wouldn't give me away.

“Your dog can talk?” Rachel asked.

“Uh huh,” Alison said.

“Well …” Rachel said, “I guess I could come over for a little while.”

Maizie met us at Alison's kitchen door, shaking her little rear end from side to side, then leaping into the air. Alison put her books on the kitchen table and scooped Maizie up into her arms. She put her face right up close to Maizie's. It looked like they were talking—in French, I think. It was hard to tell because Alison spoke very softly. But
Maizie nodded, made small sounds and sometimes let out a bark.

Rachel looked skeptical as she watched the two of them. I learned that word—skeptical—from her. It means to question or doubt.

“What's new with Maizie?” I asked Alison.

Alison put Maizie down and giggled. “She told me the silliest story.”

“What story?” Rachel asked.

“I'm not sure it's true,” Alison said as she poured three glasses of grape juice and set a box of pretzels on the table.

“Tell it to us anyway,” Rachel said, taking a handful of pretzels.

“Well …” Alison began. She told us this story about her stepfather, Leon, who took Maizie for a walk in the woods. While they were walking Leon tripped over a branch and fell into the brook. He got soaked, which Maizie thought was a big joke.

“That's the whole story?” Rachel asked.

“Yes.” Alison looked at me. “Of course, Maizie might have made it up. Sometimes when she's bored she sits around making up stories.”

Rachel still wasn't convinced and Alison could tell. “I suppose we could ask Leon if it's true,” she said.

Alison pressed the button on the intercom.
Every house in Palfrey's Pond has an intercom. Ours doesn't work but probably when Dad comes home he'll fix it.

“Hi, Leon …” Alison said. “I'm home.”

“Be right down,” a man's voice answered.

In a minute Leon came down the stairs and into the kitchen. He was tall and mostly bald.

“Hello, Pumpkin,” Leon said to Alison, ruffling her hair.

Pumpkin? I thought.

“This is my stepfather, Leon Wishnik,” Alison said, introducing us.

Leon smiled. He had very nice teeth. I notice everybody's teeth. Mom says it's because I wear braces. She says once they come off I won't be so interested in teeth. But Dad says my interest in teeth could mean that I want to be a dentist.

“Glad to meet you, Rachel,” Leon said to me.

“I'm Stephanie,” I told him.

He laughed. “Well, glad to meet
you
, Stephanie. And glad to meet you, too, Rachel.” Leon lifted the lid off the pot on the stove and stirred. It smelled great.

“Maizie told me about your walk,” Alison said to Leon. “Is it true … did you really trip and fall into the brook?”

Leon turned away from the stove and wagged his finger at Maizie. “I asked you not to tell anyone about that,” he said to her.

Maizie ran under the kitchen table to hide.

“Then it's true?” Alison asked.

“Yes,” Leon said. “My shoes will never be the same.”

“Are you saying that your dog
really
talks?” Rachel asked Leon. I stared at her. She'd lowered her voice by an octave and sounded exactly like her mother. I could tell Leon was impressed. Tonight, while they were eating dinner, he would probably say to Alison,
That Rachel … she's certainly mature for her age
. He wouldn't know that this morning she was shaking with fear over the idea of junior high.

“Yes,” Leon said, sighing, “Maizie talks … usually too much.” He rested the wooden spoon on a saucer. “I've got to get back to work now. Nice to meet you, Stephanie and Rachel.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” we said.

Rachel still had a handful of pretzels and was licking the salt off them one at a time. She always licks pretzels until they're soggy.

Alison asked if we wanted to see her room. “But I'm warning you … it's incredibly ugly.”