“You’re not mad, are you?” Alison asked.
“Let’s just say I’m surprised,” I told her.
“I want you to work on my campaign,” Alison said. “You will, won’t you?”
“If I can fit it into my schedule,” I said, sounding as snide as Charles. “I’m going to be really busy between Natural Helpers and Challenge.”
“What’s Challenge?” she asked.
“It’s this program at the college for—”
But Steph didn’t let me finish. “You’re going to college?”
“No, it’s for eighth and ninth graders. It’s like …” I tried to find a way to describe it. “It’s like enriched math … except …”
“It’s for geniuses!” Steph said.
“We’re not geniuses.”
“It’s for prodigies!” Alison said, trying out Charles’s favorite word.
“We are not prodigies!”
“Even so,” Alison said, sliding her arm around my waist, “I love having such a smart friend!”
A born politician! I thought.
“And you’ll still work on my campaign, right?” When I didn’t answer, she said, “Steph … tell Rachel you want her to work on my campaign.”
“Dah!” Steph said. “Who’d want Rachel!” Then she tackled me to the ground and Alison jumped on top of us.
On Sunday morning I carefully packed my flute in its case and tossed my last-minute stuff, like my hairbrush and Walkman, into my backpack, along with Anna Karenina, the novel Charles quoted the night we had our private talk in the kitchen—the one that begins, “Happy families are all alike …”
This is the first time I’m going to camp by bus with everyone else. I’ve always gone by train before. I put on the Sea-Bands and adjusted them. I hope they work! But what if they don’t? What if I get sick and the driver won’t pull over and … I stopped myself. I’m not going to get sick! Mom and Dad promised we’d be at the bus early enough for me to get a seat in the first row.
I walked around my room one last time, stopping to touch the box with the secret compartment. It’s always hard for me to leave, even when I really want to I’d said good-bye to Jess last night. Now that she’s working at Going Places six days a week, Sunday is her only chance to sleep late. She says she expects her skin to be clear the next time she sees me. I hope she’s right.
I went down to the kitchen to get a box of crackers for the road, just in case. Charles was standing at the counter, wolfing down a bowl of cold leftover pasta.
“What am I going to do without you for six weeks, Rachel?”
“Yeah … who’ll you torture?” I asked.
“I don’t know … it won’t be easy.” He swallowed a mouthful, then puckered up. “Kiss your big brother good-bye?”
“I sincerely hope you’re kidding.”
“Would I kid you, little sister?”
“You would if you could.”
“I’ll be counting the days till we’re together again.”
“Me, too,” I said. “I hope they go really slowly.”
“Rachel, is this possible … you’re developing a sense of humor?”
“Anything’s possible!” I told him. Then I walked out the door, laughing to myself.
About the Author
Judy Blume spent her childhood in Elizabeth, New Jersey, making up stories inside her head. She has spent her adult years in many places, doing the same thing, only now she writes her stories down on paper. Her twenty-three books have won more than ninety awards, none more important than those coming from her young readers.
Judy lives on islands up and down the East Coast with her husband, George Cooper. They have three grown children and one grandson. You can visit her at www.judyblume.com.
Judy Blume, Just as Long as We're Together
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