Monkey Business (17 page)

“Totally,” I said. “Ted had to order his from Wisconsin and pay extra to have it rush delivered.”

As soon as I said this, I wished I could take it back. I glanced at Rachel out of the corner of my eye. She seemed to be rolling her eyes, but I wasn't positive. Maybe it was my imagination. I hoped so. I was so sick of her making rude comments, I'd been going out of my way not to say anything that could even be misconstrued as me being braggy or whatever.

Luckily, she didn't say a word or even look at me.

Claire chimed in instead. “So they didn't manufacture enough?” she asked. “What does that have to do with us?”

“They didn't make enough on purpose,” said Emma. “By making the iPad hard to get and exclusive, more people wanted it. And it totally paid off. So I was thinking, maybe we should
not
sell sock puppets for a few days and really build demand, create a panic in the marketplace.”

“What if people forget about them?” asked Rachel.

“Yeah, remember when everyone was into Rainbow Loom and then winter break happened and when we got back, no one cared?” Yumi said.

“Not only that, people started making fun of kids who were still wearing their Rainbow Loom jewelry,” I said.

Emma shook her head. “That won't happen to our sock puppets.”

“Are you sure?” asked Claire.

“Winter break was for three weeks. I'm just saying we take five days off,” said Emma. “That way we can stop what we're doing now, enjoy the week, and get back to work next weekend.”

“Not Saturday,” I said. “That's my birthday.”

“Sunday then,” said Emma. “We can have a marathon session. Make eight puppets each and really make them count.”

“It would be nice to have a break,” said Claire. “What does everyone else think?”

“Let's vote on it,” I said.

“All in favor of taking a week off, raise your hand,” said Emma.

She raised her hand and then Rachel raised hers and Yumi and Claire followed and I did too.

“It's unanimous,” Emma said with a smile. “But are you guys agreeing with my strategy or just wanting to take a break?”

“I would say a little of both,” said Claire. “But does it even matter?”

Emma slammed her notebook shut, stood up from the table, and stretched. “You guys, this is going to be amazing!”

My friends and I all agreed. It seemed like nothing could go wrong. But I guess those are famous last words for a reason.

“You bought balloons?” I cried, coming downstairs first thing in the morning and finding—to my horror—that the entire living room was filled with silver and blue balloons. My mom and Ted had gotten the regular kind as well as a bunch of those shiny Mylar balloons that said HAPPY BIRTHDAY on them with streamers and firecracker-like bursts of confetti in all the colors of the rainbow.

“Surprise,” said my mom, who was in the middle of putting up red and blue streamers. “I can't believe you're twelve.”

“And I can't believe you bought me balloons without asking first,” I said. “This is so not cool, Mom! Twelve-year-olds don't have balloons at their birthday parties!”

“They don't?” my mom asked.

Her reaction left me dumbfounded. How could she be so clueless? It made no sense!

“No!” I shouted.

I tried to think back to Emma's and Rachel's and Claire's and Yumi's parties. They had all been fun. But had it been balloon-type fun? I couldn't recall, but I didn't think so.

Of course, my party was different from theirs. I'd invited a few boys as well as my usual group of friends. And since this was my first boy-girl party, I was guessing that balloons were totally inappropriate.

“What's wrong with balloons?” Ted asked, coming into the living room.

“Only babies have balloons at their birthdays!” I cried.

My mom looked from me to the balloons. “I had balloons at my baby shower last week and they were lovely!”

“That totally proves my point,” I exclaimed. “Those balloons weren't for you—they were because of the future baby.”

Ted put his arm around my mom and said, “When I turned fifty last year, I had a hundred balloons at my party.”

“I remember,” said my mom. “That was such an amazing night—and the balloons were a wonderful addition.”

Every time one of them said “balloon,” I wanted to tear my hair out. Not literally, obviously, because the only thing worse than having a babyish balloon-themed party was attending said party bald. I mean,
come on—things were already bad enough. “You guys are totally not getting it,” I said. Okay, maybe I shouted. Probably, I did. But I couldn't help myself.

My mom and Ted just stared at me, like I'd been replaced by my bad-tempered alien clone. Like they didn't even know who I was and clearly, they didn't—hence the unauthorized balloon purchase. My gosh! As I stared at them, I realized how awful this was. The entire room would've been perfect for some kid turning six, but as of this morning I'm twice as old. This was a total disaster.

I took a deep breath and blinked hard and tried not to cry because I did not want red and puffy eyes for my party. Plus, crying would only reinforce my whole point—that balloons were babyish—and I was not going to act like a baby. But still. I was so angry. How could they buy balloons for me without asking? Ted, I could understand. He didn't know me that well, and he'd never had a daughter before. But my mom? She knew that this party was a very big deal. She knew that Oliver was going to be there and other boys, too: Sanjay, Tobias, Corn Dog Joe. We'd talked about the menu and the music and the cake and the whole swimming thing. She'd been so, so careful, asking my permission about everything. She definitely should've known better when it came to the balloons.

“Fine,” I said, trying my best to be patient with them. “I guess balloons are okay for old people and they're okay for babies, but they are not okay for me.”

“Annabelle, I think you're being a little silly about this,” my mom said, waving at the balloons with both hands as if they were some kind of amazing thing. “They're festive and sophisticated. Balloons are perfect for all birthday parties. It doesn't matter how old you are. Now, I know you're nervous about the party, but—”

“I am
not
nervous about the party!” I shouted. “Why would you even say that? And how come you sound like some public service announcement for balloons?”

“Tell you what,” said Ted, clapping his hands once. “I'll gather up all the balloons and put them in a closet. If you decide you want them later on, you can have them. If not, it's no big deal. Obviously, we should've checked with you first, Annabelle. It's your birthday.”

“Just make sure they're in a closet far away from the party space,” I said.

“That's enough, Annabelle!” my mom snapped.

“It's fine,” said Ted holding up his hands in surrender. “I'll put them upstairs in my closet. Okay?”

“Thank you!” I huffed, turning around and storming out of the room. Okay, part of me felt bratty for acting this way, but honestly, I couldn't help myself.

My mom started to go after me, but then I overheard Ted say, “Honey, wait. Give her some space.” And she listened to him—thankfully!

My mom was acting so weird these days, and
I figured it was because she was pregnant or maybe just so focused on the new baby that she was forgetting that she had a teenager now.

Okay, turning twelve did not make me an official teenager, but it sure put me close. I was merely a year away from being thirteen, which was a very big deal.

As soon as I got upstairs I opened up my closet and began shifting through my wardrobe. I was acutely aware of the fact that I only got to turn twelve once, and I didn't want to mess things up.

I'd just gotten a new bathing suit for the pool party. It was a blue-and-purple paisley tankini. I knew Rachel was going to say something about my new suit and I didn't want to have to answer to her. Deep down I had to admit to myself that I didn't even want her at the party at all. I felt bad about that, but it was true. Rachel had changed. She was not the same girl she used to be. But would she ever go back to the way she used to be, or was this the new Rachel? And if this was the new Rachel, did I want to spend so much time with her? Did I even want her to be my friend?

People grow up and grow apart—it's a fact of life. That's what people say, anyway. So it must be true. Right?

This year had already been a time of crazy change. I thought about my last birthday—turning eleven had seemed like a big deal too. I was still in my old apartment. I'd gone to a different school in a different town and had different friends. Mia and Sophia were my
best friends then, but now I hardly spoke to them. I'd invited them to the party today, even though I hadn't seen them in months, but it turns out they were busy. They had a dance recital at Ballerina Suprema—the dance studio where we all used to take classes. I actually never liked ballet so much—I danced because my best friends did. I was glad I was having a big pool party instead of being in a dance recital. I never liked the costumes, either—they always itched. And being onstage—it was a lot of pressure. Not fun.

I put on the new tankini and then slathered on sunscreen because I knew my mom would ask me about it. I had to prove that I was old and responsible enough—she didn't have to remind me about every small thing. Then I threw on a pair of cutoff jeans shorts and a red-and-blue-checked sleeveless, button-down shirt.

When I checked the clock, I realized my friends weren't due to arrive for thirty more minutes.

I looked around my room. Everyone might come up here at some point—even the boys—so I put the Uglydolls in the closet because even though they were cute and everything, I was twelve, which was probably too old for dolls of any kind.

I checked downstairs to make sure that the balloons were put away and they were. My mom and Ted had taken down the streamers, too. The room looked almost normal. Outside on the patio there was a giant bowl of watermelon, a jug of lemonade, and some chips
and salsa. Also, a stack of plates and cups filled with spoons, forks, and knives, and napkins held under a rock, so they wouldn't blow away in the breeze.

It didn't look like a birthday party scene—just a regular party and that seemed cool. I grabbed my phone and took a few pictures.

“Everything meet with your approval?” asked Ted.

I spun around, surprised and a little embarrassed. “Yeah. It's great.”

“Are you going to do a before-and-after thing?” asked Ted.

I smiled. “I don't know. I hadn't thought that far ahead. Um, thanks for handling the balloons. I don't know why my mom was being so difficult about them!”

Ted just smiled. He knew better than to take sides, I guess. “We're doing hamburgers and dogs, and veggie dogs for your vegetarian friends. Is that right?”

“Yup,” I said with a nod. “Claire is the only vegetarian, but Emma might eat veggie dogs too because she likes them better.”

“Got it.” Ted saluted and went back inside. Then I took some more pictures and flattened out the tablecloth in the corner where it was wrinkled. Once I was sure everything looked perfect—and every trace of a balloon had vanished—I went back upstairs and tried to read.

I only got a few pages into my book when the doorbell rang.

I saw Ted heading for the door, but I raced downstairs to get there first. “I'll get it,” I called.

“Okay.” Ted turned around and went back into the kitchen.

Claire arrived first, carrying a gigantic blue box with a yellow ribbon. Also attached to the box were three helium balloons. “Happy Birthday, Annabelle!” she said, handing me the present.

I wondered if maybe I did overreact with the whole balloon thing. But a few balloons from my friend were very different from a room filled with balloons from my parents.

“Thanks, Claire,” I said, giving her a hug. “But I said you didn't have to get me anything. I mean, come on, what can top these custom-made high-tops?” I asked, pointing to my feet.

“It's your birthday,” said Claire as she walked inside. “I had to get you a gift and I wanted to too.”

“Okay, thanks,” I said. “I'm not going to complain!”

“Do you have your bathing suit on yet?” Claire wondered. “I wasn't sure if I should wear mine under my clothes or not.”

“I do,” I said.

“Oh, then let me run upstairs and change,” said Claire.

I started to follow her to my room but then heard a knock at the door so I turned around again.

Oliver, Tobias, and Corn Dog Joe had all arrived together.

“Hi, guys,” I said.

“Happy Birthday, Spazabelle,” said Tobias.

“Hey, haven't we been over this a million times?” said Oliver, hitting Tobias on the back of his head.