Read Online BFF* by Judy Blume - Free Book Online Page A

beach.”
    â€œMaybe so.”
    â€œAnyway … I love the shells!”
    â€œI’m glad,” Dad said. “So … what else is new at school?”
    Dad is always asking what’s new at school. I tell him what I think he wants to hear. What I don’t tell him about is boys. I don’t think he’d understand. If I told him that Peter Klaff stares at me he’d probably say,
Doesn’t he know it’s bad manners to stare?
And I certainly don’t tell him about watching Jeremy Dragon at soccer. Dad would never understand that.
    â€œWhat about your grades?” Dad asked.
    â€œWe haven’t gotten any yet.”
    If Mom and Dad were in a debate and the subject was grades, Mom would say that what you actually learn is more important than the grades you get. Dad would argue that grades are an indication of what you’ve learned and how you handle responsibility. If I had to choose sides I’d choose Mom’s.

Sadie Wishnik’s Brownies
    The rash on Alison’s foot is called contact dermatitis. That means Alison’s foot came into contact with something that caused the rash. What I don’t get is, how can one foot come into contact with something the other foot doesn’t? Dr. Klaff gave her a cream and told her to wear white cotton socks until the rash was gone.
    Sunday morning, when I got to Alison’s, she was waiting on her front steps. She had invited Rachel to come to Sadie Wishnik’s, too. But Rachel said she had to stay home to work on her speech. I think the real reason Rachel wouldn’t come is she gets carsick.
    Gena Farrell came out of the house carryingMaizie and a straw bag. She was wearing mirrored sunglasses. Her hair was tied back and she didn’t have on any makeup. You couldn’t tell she was famous. Leon followed, locking the door behind him. He carried the Sunday newspaper tucked under his arm.
    As soon as we got going Gena pulled a needlepoint canvas out of her bag and began to stitch it.
    â€œThat’s pretty,” I said, trying to get a better look from the back seat. “What’s it going to be?”
    Gena took off her mirrored glasses, turned around, and faced me. She has big eyes—deep blue, like the color of the sky on a beautiful spring day. She held the needlepoint out, studied it for a minute and said, “A pillow, I think.”
    â€œMom gave away twenty pillows last Christmas,” Alison said.
    Gena laughed. “I spend a lot of time sitting around and waiting on the set,” she said. “So I do a lot of needlepointing. It relaxes me.”
    I couldn’t believe Gena Farrell was talking to me as if we were both just regular people.
    It took two and a half hours to get to Sadie’s. Alison and I played Spit the whole time. Sadie lives in a place called Deal, in a big, old white house with a wraparound porch. She belongs to a group that brings food to people who are tooold or sick to cook for themselves. It’s called Meals on Wheels. When Leon told me about her, he sounded very proud.
    Hearing about Sadie made me think of my grandparents. Gran Lola, who gave me my bee-sting locket, isn’t the cooking kind of grandmother. She’s a stockbroker in New York. She wears suits and carries handbags that match her shoes. I once counted the handbags in her closet. She had twenty-seven of them. Mom says that’s because Gran Lola never throws anything away. Papa Jack is a stockbroker, too. He has an ulcer.
    My father’s parents are both dead. They died a week apart. I hate to think of Mom and Dad getting old and dying. It scares me. So I put it out of my mind.
    Sadie was waiting for us on her porch. When she saw the car pull into the driveway she came down the stairs to greet us. She was very small, with white hair and dark eyes, like Leon’s. She was wearing a pink sweat suit. She hugged Alison first. “My favorite granddaughter,” she said,