I crawl and crawl until my knees and hands ache and I’m panting. Then I hit a wall. Actually, it’s not a wall. It’s a pair of legs. I glance up to see Mr. Reynolds hovering over me with his megaphone.
He gives me a disapproving look. “Halt!” he yells, and the band stops. “At ease!”
I collapse onto my back and struggle to catch my breath. That’s when I hear the giggles. They start small but quickly spread through the group like a breeze blowing through a forest.
“Enough!” Mr. Reynolds calls into his megaphone. The band quiets down.
When I finally find the strength to pull myself to my feet, I spot Grace in the formation. She’s covering her mouth with her hand to whisper something to her neighbor, who starts laughing all over again.
Apparently, she was right all along. That was uproarious.
Okay, so marching band is out. That was a stupid idea anyway. I don’t even like playing the trumpet, which is probably why I quit in the first place. On to the next item on my list: join the science club. Unfortunately, though, the science club doesn’t meet until after school, so I have to wait.
Before first period, I look for Clementine, but I can’t find her. Not that I know where she normally hangs out or anything, and she doesn’t respond to any of the texts I send. So I just head to my first period. Trig. It takes me a few minutes to find the classroom, but once I do, I remember who’s in my trig class.
Cute Connor.
He’s sitting in the back row with his head bent over his notebook. Until this very moment, I’d almost managed to forget about the whole fiasco at the dance, but now it comes rushing back in a wave of humiliation. I can’t believe I told him he looked like a monkey! What was I thinking?
I slide into the seat next to him and keep my head down. When I peer up to see if he’s even noticed my presence, he’s looking right at me. Our eyes meet for just a second before we both look away.
After class, he stops me just outside the door. “Hey,” he says, inching his bag up his shoulder. “About today. I’m not sure I can tutor you. I have this…thing I have to do.” He looks at his feet. “It’s super-important. I can’t get out of it.”
“That’s fine,” I say, knowing that he’s lying. You don’t have to be in high school to read that awkward body language.
When I get to French class, Clementine is sitting way in the corner, surrounded by a group of girls, and there are no available seats next to her. I try to catch her eye as I come in but she’s staring down at something on her desk, giggling. Actually, all the girls around her are staring at her desk, giggling.
I inch closer to see that they’re looking at Clementine’s phone.
“Look!” Clementine says, covering her mouth. “Now she’s actually crawling!” The girls break out in more laughter and I feel something sticky form in my gut.
What are they looking at?
Then I hear it. Mr. Reynold’s voice yelling, “Halt! At ease!”
It’s coming from the phone.
Oh, no.
I shuffle closer to Clementine’s desk. Close enough that I can see what’s on the screen. Then my whole body turns ice-cold. There I am, crawling on my hands and knees, trying to escape being trampled by a bunch of tuba players.
Someone filmed it?
Clementine sees me approach and quickly shuts off the phone. “Nice performance,” she says and I don’t miss the sarcasm dripping from her words.
The other girls do their best to stifle their giggles.
“If you weren’t a YouTube star with our vlog, then you are now.”
Someone put it on YouTube?
Oh, gosh, this is not happening. This is not happening.
Just a second ago YouTube was my best friend; now it’s my mortal enemy.
And why is Clementine acting so mean? Is she mad at me because I didn’t hang out with her yesterday to film our vlog? I told her we could do it tonight and she said that was fine. Are we really supposed to hang out every second of every day? Can’t I have other friends, too? She clearly does.
Whatever. I find a seat on the other side of the room and listen to the teacher yammer on in French, trying to pretend like I understand a word she’s saying. I’m getting really good at that.
Pretending, that is.
By the time I get to English class, I’m itching for this day to be over. Everyone has seen “Marching Band Fail” on YouTube now. The link spread fast and I’m pretty much the laughingstock of the school. Fortunately it’s the last period of the day, so I only have fifty more minutes to go. Then I get to try my luck again with Grace’s science club.
Jacob is already seated at a desk near the back. He gives me a friendly wave and I smile and wave back. At least someone still likes me around here. Although maybe he just hasn’t seen the video yet.
I take a seat three rows behind Grace, who doesn’t even acknowledge that I’ve entered the room. Not that I expected her to.
The bell rings and Mr. Heath gets up from his desk. “Okay, so after our class on Friday, I got to thinking a little bit more about ‘Rip van Winkle.’ Yes, this is what English teachers like me do on the weekend. We sit around thinking about fictional literary characters. Sad, I know.”
The class snickers.
“And I thought we should explore the theme of nostalgia a little bit more, because it’s definitely an important one that we’ll see throughout many works of literature.” He snaps his fingers. “So, I’d like you to work on a little project.”
Everyone lets out a simultaneous groan.
Mr. Heath frowns. “Where’s your faith? This happens to be a fun project.”
Judging from the faces around the room, no one is convinced.
“Nostalgia is basically a longing for the past. It comes from the Greek root nostos, meaning ‘homecoming.’ Washington Irving explored this theme in his short story ‘Rip van Winkle,’ and now I want you to explore the theme in your own way. I want you to do a personal presentation about nostalgia. Something that represents the passage of time and how you personally feel about things that live in your past. You can get as creative as possible. There are really no guidelines. You can do a poem. You can do a painting. Whatever you want. Use your imaginations.” He turns and begins to walk back to his desk before remembering a last detail. “Oh, right. And I’m going to assign you to do this project in pairs.”
Pairs?
I immediately sit up straighter.
A partner project?
That’s an even better idea than joining the science club! I’ll be Grace’s partner! We’ll be forced to hang out together! She’ll have to listen to me if she wants to get an A, and knowing Grace, she’ll do anything to get an A, even hang out with the likes of me.
This is so perfect. This will fix everything. We’ll hang out, talk about our project, and I’ll show her that we still have tons of fun together and should be best friends again.
It’s kind of poetic really. It was a school assignment that broke us apart, and now it will be a school assignment that brings us back together!
“You’ll be picking random playing cards out of this hat.” Mr. Heath holds up a ratty old fedora and gives it a shake. “There are two of every card in here. Two jacks, two kings, two fours, you get the picture. Whoever has the same card as you is your partner. No complaining, no switching, that’s it. You must work with your partner on the assignment.”
I blow out a breath. How am I supposed to make sure I get paired with Grace? There are over twenty people in this class!
Think, Addie. Think.
Mr. Heath starts walking around the classroom with the hat. He stops at each desk to allow the student to draw a card. When it’s Grace’s turn, I lean forward in my seat so that I can see what she’s picked.
The six of clubs.
Six. Six. Six.
I have to pull out a six. My whole plan hinges on this very moment.
When the teacher gets to my desk, I close my eyes and bite my lip in concentration. Gra
ce and I always had this weird psychic connection. It never appeared when we were trying but it always seemed to work when we needed it most.
And right now, I need it more than anything!
I reach my hand into the hat and feel around. There are at least ten cards left. I try to sense which one could be the other six. I wait for one to speak to me.
It does.
This one!
My hand wraps around a playing card.
This is it! This is the one! I’m sure of it.
I pull the card out and hold it to my chest as Mr. Heath moves on to the boy sitting next to me, who looks extremely uninterested in the assignment. The hood of his sweatshirt is up and I’m pretty sure he’s hiding a cell phone under his desk.
I suck in a huge breath and ever so carefully peek at the card, without letting anyone else see it.
My heart plummets.
It’s a seven.
A seven!
So close!
I glance over at Hoodie Boy and my eyes widen when I see the six of hearts sitting on his desk. He’s barely even looking at it. His attention is back on the phone under his desk.
“Okay, everyone!” Mr. Heath says when the hat is empty. “Stand up and find your partner.”
I start to panic. I have to be paired with Grace. I can’t let this opportunity pass me by! I glance around the room for help. Everyone is slowly grumbling and rising from their seats to search out the student holding the matching card. My gaze lands on my neighbor’s backpack on the floor and I’m struck with an idea.
Forget psychic abilities. Forget magic. It’s time to make something happen for myself.
With my card safely tucked between my fingers, I stand up, trying to look innocent as I begin to make my way down the aisle. But my foot accidentally gets caught in the strap of Hoodie Boy’s backpack and I go tumbling across his desk. The boy catches me, looking really annoyed by the whole thing. I think he dropped his phone in the scramble.
“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!” I exclaim. “I must have tripped.”
The whole class is now staring at us.
“Adeline, are you okay?” Mr. Heath asks.
“Yup!” I say, bouncing up. “I’m just a superklutz! Sorry!”
I admit it was a louder crash than I anticipated and I must have hit my side on the corner of Hoodie Boy’s desk because it’s suddenly throbbing in pain, but it was worth it.
I furtively look down at the new card in my hand.
The six of hearts.
Mission accomplished.
Grace does not look happy when I show her my card. I try not to let her reaction deter me. It’s all temporary. She only thinks she doesn’t like me. But that’s because she thinks I’m still the shallow, snobby popular girl who films beauty tutorials and hangs out with Clementine Dumont.
But I’m different now. I’m not that girl. Maybe I was, in another version of my life, but I’ve made my choice. I don’t want to be her. I want to be me. And I want to be friends with Grace.
“So,” I say, smiling as I take the seat next to hers. “Do you want to meet up after school today and start working on the project?”
“I have science club after school,” Grace says dismissively.
“That’s okay,” I chirp. “We can meet after!”
Grace raises her hand and Mr. Heath promptly calls on her. “How much of our final grade does this project count for?”
The question definitely stings. Does she really hate me that much?
Mr. Heath gives Grace an impatient smile. “A large chunk of it, okay?”
Grace harrumphs and turns back to me. “We can meet after my club. Where?”
“My house?”
She sighs. “Fine.”
I tap my feet nervously against the coffee table as I take another sip of the large, overly sugared latte that I picked up from the Human Bean on the way home. It’s cold now but I don’t care. It gives me something to do with my hands. Although, in hindsight, I probably should have ordered a small. This thing is huge. I’m already so caffeinated I feel like my hair is going to buzz right off my scalp.
I spent the past hour getting the family room ready for Grace’s arrival. I have her favorite Summer Crush album playing. I made a bowl of her favorite mix of cheddar and caramel popcorn—Grace has always been a superfan of sweet and salty mixed together—and placed it on the coffee table. I even bought a few issues of Grace’s favorite science magazine and spread them out on the side table.
Everything is perfect.
Now I just have to wait.
Although, I admit, the waiting is making me more anxious by the second. I didn’t realize how many weird noises our house makes when it’s empty. I jump at every little sound, thinking it’s Grace knocking or Grace ringing the doorbell or Grace climbing over the fence in the backyard—which is just ridiculous because why would she do that?
I’ve tried to busy my mind by making a mental list of all the most memorable moments from our friendship. My plan is to casually drop a few into the conversation. You know, to subtly remind her of how great everything was when we were friends.
By the time she arrives, I’m so jumpy and nervous I have to clasp my hands together to keep myself from fidgeting.
“Hi,” she mumbles when I open the door. I can tell she’s uncomfortable being here. In my house. She tries to hide it but Grace does this weird ear-tugging thing when she’s nervous and she’s doing it now.
Buttercup ambles out of the kitchen to see who’s here and I don’t miss the elated surprise on Grace’s face, although she definitely tries to hide it. “You got a dog,” she says blankly. Like she’s just commenting on the weather.
“Yeah. This is Buttercup. We got her two years ago. Buttercup, this is my best friend.”
Grace winces at the title and I clear my throat. “I mean, this is…um…Grace Harrington.”
I feel ridiculous. Why am I introducing Grace to the dog like she’s an ambassador?
“I thought we could work in the family room,” I say quickly, changing the subject.
“Sure. Whatever.” Grace shrugs and Buttercup trots happily in front of us, leading the way.
Grace sets her bag down and sits on the couch, eyeing the popcorn on the coffee table.
I lift the bowl and offer it to her. “I made cheddar-caramel popcorn.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not hungry.”
Okay, so this is going to be harder than I thought. I need something to break the ice. Get the conversation rolling.
“How was science club? It sounds really fun. What do you guys do?”
“Let’s just work on the project,” Grace says tersely, getting a notebook out of her bag and clicking her pen.
“Okay.” I bite my lip, trying not to let my confidence waver. This will work. I just need to have faith. I refresh my smile and keep my voice upbeat. “Why don’t we start by making a list of things that we’re nostalgic about and then hopefully one of those will spark an idea.”
This is not a random suggestion. It’s all part of my plan. I think it’s quite brilliant, actually. If I can get Grace to talk about things from the past that make her happy, then I can easily segue into all the funny stories I have lined up to remind her of.
But Grace quickly dismisses my idea. “Let’s just write a short story. I’ll start it and then I’ll email it to you and you can finish.”
I frown. I know exactly what she’s trying to do. She’s trying to avoid spending time with me. I sit in silence for a moment as Berrin Mack croons the second verse of “I Just Wanna Know You” (Grace’s favorite Summer Crush song) over the speakers.
“We’re supposed to work on this together,” I point out, hoping my voice doesn’t sound as crushed as I feel.
Grace leans over her notebook, scribbling something. “I know. And we will. Just over email.”
My eyes start to burn with tears. I fight to keep them at bay. “I don’t think that’s what Mr. Heath had in mind.”
&n
bsp; Grace crosses her arms. “Do you have a better idea?”
I think about what Lily told me yesterday. How I left Grace to fend for herself on the last English project we did together. We were planning to make a video but I ended up doing one myself. That’s where all this animosity started. So that’s where I need to make amends.
“Why don’t we make a video?” I suggest, trying to sound casual, like this idea has just popped into my head.
I can see Grace flinch at the suggestion. “No,” she says automatically, resuming her scribbles. I’m not even sure she’s writing anything in there. I think she’s just trying to avoid looking at me.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a terrible idea,” she says, and I instantly feel her hostility.
I close my eyes, summoning strength. “Grace,” I say gently. “If this is about what happened in seventh grade, then I can promise you I won’t—”
But Grace cuts me off before I can even finish the sentence. “I don’t want to make a video, okay?”
I bite my lip to keep the frustration from boiling over. Why won’t she just talk to me about this? “Okay,” I mumble for what feels like the tenth time in the past five minutes.
She taps the pen against her teeth. “I Just Wanna Know You” continues playing in the otherwise silent family room. It’s almost at the best part. The final chorus, when all the boys join in on the harmonies and the guitars pick up and the drums do this awesome bum-di-bum-BUM thing, and then—
Grace slams her notebook down on the coffee table. “Argh! I can’t even think with all this noise!” She grabs the remote and turns off the song.
The silence is suffocating. Now I feel like I really might cry. I squeeze my lips together tight.
Grace goes back to tapping her pen against her teeth. Now that the music is off, the sound is starting to grate on my nerves.
“I know,” she says suddenly. “How about we do a slide show of the past sixteen years. We can show pictures of us with things that made us happy at that time. Like favorite toys or stuffed animals when we were little, or eating our favorite flavor of ice cream.”
“Buying new clothes!” I add, getting excited.