The Pages Between Us (2 page)

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:

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 shouldn'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.

String cheese for raisins.

Fruit strips for teddy bear graham crackers.

It was some secret bartering system they had created, and it felt as if I needed a secret code to belong.

All I had were my hummus chips.

I pulled my lunch bag in close and ate in silence while they all happily snacked and threw their heads back in laughter as if they were having their own fancy cafeteria cocktail party.

I couldn't help but wish that someday I'd get invited.

But, hey . . . I shouldn't complain. At least I was in a seat
near other humans. Jackson would think I'm a total nerd if he ever saw me eating all alone.

Let's just hope that NEVER happens.

Meanwhile, I have to find the confidence to talk to Jackson. Cupid did all this hard work—I can't let him down.

You can help me figure out a way to talk to him, right?

RIGHT?!

Whew! There's the bell. Just in time for our next handoff. I love this notebook.

Your bestie,

Olivia

P.S. Yeah, we should probably ditch the code names. They were making me hungry too.

P.P.S. I love the boots you're wearing today.

P.P.P.S. My pants are too short again. But you knew that.

Okay, so here is my P.P.P.P.S. (You've created a monster!)

I'm sitting in next period, and I came up with something for the notebook.

It might be amazing.

Break it to me gently if it's not, but otherwise we have to do it.

You know how I put in that note from Miss Jill about Trigger? And you know how my anthropologist dad is always trying to get me to read books on ancient civilizations and I'm always telling him I'm just a sixth grader and not a college freshman like my brother?

Well, those two thoughts collided and gave me an inspiration:

What if humans somehow became extinct two hundred years from now, and all the books and computers and everything were somehow destroyed? Except this notebook miraculously survived. All the alien anthropologists would have to study was THIS notebook . . . our words . . .
to understand the preteen experience. We would need to let all the little green aliens know about double weddings, and lunch seating problems, and the way dog adoption works, and how
Gilmore Girls
is the best show in any universe. (I will be forever indebted to Netflix for putting
GG
on my list of recommended shows “Because You Watched
Parenthood
.” Even though it was my mom who streamed
Parenthood
.) We would have a responsibility to future generations—of aliens!

So let's document all this like anthropologists. One day I'll show it to my dad and he'll be proud of our scientific approach and he'll for sure be proud that I spelled it correctly the first time around.

I also forgot to add my five grateful things:

1. This brilliant notebook

2. Cupid

3. Blinkie's good listening skills

4. Open seats in the cafeteria (that's more of a “hope” than a “grateful”)

5.
Jackson
,
rhymes with Tackson
, That guy in my math class who happens to be my same exact height

(Of course I numbered my gratefuls. I was born a list-er.)

Love ya!

Olivia

As your best friend, I'm supposed to be all calm and collected and remind you that for the Jackson you saw in your math class to be a ghost, he would have to have somehow died. And if he had, there would have been a school assembly with grief counselors. Which there was not.

So . . . yay! Jackson's in your math class—I'm so excited for you! What are the chances? (It's okay. You don't have to tell me the actual chances.) I bet his schedule changed now that he got voted into student council. If he had math the same period as leadership class, it would need to switch, right?

Wait, why am I asking YOU this? I'm sure you have his schedule memorized.

So where does Jackson sit in relation to you? Is “near-ish” within the paper-passing radius? Do you like that I just wrote
paper-passing radius
? Who's the smarty-pants now?

I wish you guys shared English instead. Then you could get in the same group and study Shakespeare and volunteer to be Romeo and Juliet together. Your hands would touch,
your eyes would meet, and time would slow down while all the noises faded around you. (This is what happens with my favorite lovebirds, Ashley Desdemona and McKay Davis, on
Love and Deception
. There's also a lot of face slapping, which just seems unnecessary. Yet entertaining.)

Do we study Shakespeare in sixth grade? I don't know. Ooh! Big thought: maybe Jackson is bad at math. Maybe he'll need a tutor. And everyone knows
you
are the smartest math whiz in school. And please don't bring up that A-minus in fourth grade. No one cares.

And if he does need a tutor, you're the best. I know. Because you help me with reading comprehension stuff. I've, you know, struggled with understanding what I'm reading for a long time, but then you explained everything like it was real life, better than any teacher I've ever had. And you did it without even being paid or bribed with baked goods by my mom. Unless she did. Then our whole friendship is fake. Although for her snickerdoodles, I wouldn't blame you. Great. I'm hungry again. Okay, so, I know you are the list-er, so here goes . . .

WAYS TO CATCH YOUR LOVE BY TUTORING HIM

(which, yes, was a plotline in season eight or nine of
Love and Deception.
I have no actual experience in this. Obviously.).

1. Wear glasses. I know, you can still be smart and have twenty-twenty vision. But even if they are
fake glasses, they give you something to twirl, readjust, push up your nose . . . basically, glasses give you something to DO.

2. And if not glasses, then a scarf. Ashley Desdemona wears a scarf in almost all her scenes and she is the fiercest, boldest, prettiest character ever. I'll crochet you one and you can fidget with an accessory instead of counting hummus chip ridges. ☺

3. Know what you are talking about, but don't be a know-it-all.

4. Don't slump.

4.5. And don't say I sound like your mom. Guys love tall girls. Look at Taylor Clarke—she got asked out three times in one day and she's almost taller than her locker. Stand up straight, you beautiful giant!

5. I don't have a number 5, but four tips didn't seem long enough.

END SCENE

No worries about being un-positive sometimes. Positivity is a hard emotion to keep up. Especially at lunchtime, which is not my favorite time of day either.

Allow me to illustrate.

And by illustrate, I mean just tell you. Since we both know I can't draw pictures. (Bubble letters are something else.)

Bubble, in bubble letters. That's deep, right?

So our teacher let us out one minute before the bell as a reward for good behavior or something. And I didn't have to go to my locker to get my lunch. And my fourth period is across from the cafeteria. Add that all up, and what do you get?

Piper in the lunchroom! First person! Freedom!

I slid into a seat at a round table smack dab in the middle of the cafeteria. I figured, if someone sat by me, fine. If someone didn't, finer. Food is serious business for me. I just wanted to eat and not have to deal with what I was about to have to deal with. Which was—

Bethany. Livingston.

“Hey, Piper! How's class?!”

I know I said it was fine if someone sat by me . . . but it was
Bethany Livingston
. Queen blogger of all the comings and goings of Kennedy Middle School. You've got to be super peppy and involved to keep that up. And she's the president of my church youth group. I sorta feel like she's been assigned by
our bishop to be nice to me, just because I sit alone in Sunday school.

Liv, why does
alone
have to be so bad? Like in all these shows and movies, there is the LONER, and everyone makes fun of them when maybe they should say, “Gee, that person is comfortable enough that they can just do their own thing and not worry about everyone else.”

I do great alone. And it's not like I'm alone all the time. I have you and my family and my favorite soap opera (or, as my great-aunt calls them, my “stories”). I don't know why lunchtime has to be spent talking (not important) as well as chewing (very important).

But I did my best to make chitchat with Bethany. If I didn't, I worried she would try even
harder
. I chirped: “Class was great! I didn't understand today's assignment. And I've been hungry for a snickerdoodle for three days. How about you?”

Aren't I getting so good at sarcasm, Olivia?

“Super! My classes are sooo easy this year. Too easy. I think my mom is going to ask the teacher for enrichment work or something. Oh, hey, there's Scarlett!” (She said
enrichment
, I'm not even kidding.)

Scarlett joined us. Then Eve. And Tessa.

Bethany Livingston is one thing. But Eve was BESTIES
with . . . you know . . . Savannah Swanson. And I am NOT bringing up the Savannah Swanson Incident of third grade. But. I still can't be around those girls for very long. Even if it's three years later. Even if they are in my church class. And even if they act nice to me. I will never forget how they treated you. Not ever. I am by your side, Olivia. As a real friend should be. Isn't it better to have one true best friend than a bunch of girls who you don't totally trust?

I mean, I'm still a good person. I didn't throw Tater Tots at them. But I thought about it. I sure thought about it.

So this is what they all said to me. I don't remember who said what. They kind of melt into one another, like the extras who walk in and out of the background of
Love and Deception
.

“That turkey sandwich looks so yummy!”

No it didn't. It was really a tomato sandwich with a sliver of lunchmeat because my mom ran out this morning.

“Those are cute boots!”

I'm not even sure who said it but I don't think they meant it. But when
you
say it, I know you mean it, and thank you by the way. I bought them at Justice with my babysitting money.

“Did you buy your fabric for the blanket drive yet?”

Oh, yeah. The blanket drive. It's for church service day. I'm attaching the flyer in case you want to go. It's still a month and a half away, but I thought I should include it in case aliens
two hundred years later care about flyers (great idea on being anthropiligists. Even if I can't spell anthropiligist). Our class is in charge of fleece blankets for NICU babies. All the fabric store had left was camo. I hope some poor mom doesn't wrap her baby and lose him in all that camouflage.

“Hey, Piper, we'll see you at church!”

Eve. That girl should go to church a lot because she is probably swimming in guilt over the Savannah Swanson Incident. Not to bring it up again. Did I mention I will eternally and forever have your back?

Isn't it strange that the reason I was sitting in the same space with those girls is because our parents all believe in the same things? Sharing beliefs might be a big friend-maker in the adult world, but at that lunch table, it only meant that we ran out of things to say. So they turned to one another and started to plan their next slumber party.

Which I don't even want to go to, thanks for asking.

“Oh, I saw your dad's Mr. Brake commercial last night.” Eve turned toward me again. Yikes. “He's kind of famous, isn't he? Does he ever need models for his commercials? I model sometimes.”

I did not have the heart to tell Eve that Dad, aka Mr. Brake, is not her gateway to fame. He has one dorky car commercial that airs at four in the afternoon on, like, the second
Tuesday of the month in a small California town. You know how much I hated all the attention when it came out, and just when I think it's over, he has an idea for another one. Who buys brakes from a guy dressed like a genie, rubbing a lamp?

I picked up the pace on my eating. Thought maybe I could run to the library for some computer time. I haven't checked the
Love and Deception
chat boards in days.

“Did you see I had EIGHTEEN comments on my last blog entry?” Bethany asked me.

I wolfed down the rest of my sandwich in two monstrous bites. I didn't even eat my Fig Newtons, that's how desperate I was to get out of there. “That's great. Uh . . . happy blogging. Bye.”

“Thanks!” She smiled her automatic smile. “Peace out, Piper!”

She speaks in exclamation points. And all those exclamation points made my head hurt. Maybe people use them because of my name. Like it's naturally perky or something. Maybe when I go to college I'll rename myself something much more serious, like Eleanor.

Instead of the library, I went to the nurse's office to see if I could lie down and get rid of my bam-bam-bamming headache. And even though that dark, little room smells like turkey
gravy mixed with VapoRub, it was still better than sitting at that lunch table with all those exclamation points!!

Besides, Olivia. We have a pact. You know I would never, ever deal with girls like that. I like people who are nice. Like nice for real, not really nice because they are supposed to be. Yes. There is a difference.

Tell your wise cat, Blinkie, to blink once if he agrees with me: Middle School Lunch stinks.

BLINK.

See? Blinkie knows his stuff.

Peace out,

Piper!

Grateful: These boots, the cute rainbow yarn I bought at a yard sale, sounding super smart by using math words like
radius
, Mom's baking, and my dad giving me a hug today for no reason.