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Authors: Adriana Brad Schanen
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afraid to ask.
“What’s over?”
“Everything!”
Twenty-four
Quinny is no good at taking no for an answer.
She stands on the other side of my door, huffing and puffing, please -ing and why -ing.
But I don’t want to see her right now. I don’t want to play, or draw Mr. McSoren on a poster, or hear about her new backpack. I don’t even want to think about school supplies.
So I use my biggest, most awful voice to make her go away.
From my window, I watch Quinny shuffle home, dragging her new backpack and that poster behind her. I know I hurt her feelings. I should have told her that Trevor and Ty are coming home from camp today. That’s why I can’t play. My brothers will be home any minute. But that’s not the whole truth of why I can’t play. It’s just half.
The other half is worse.
I guess she’ll find out soon enough. Everything will change in a couple of weeks. And not just because my brothers will be home. When fall starts and school starts and the whole truth starts, Quinny will see the real me. And she won’t want to be friends with that person.
Nobody does.
Twenty-five
Maybe I am stupid. I thought that boy was my friend.
What did I do wrong? And what does he have against my new backpack, anyway? I’m not going to sniffle about it, that’s for sure. No matter how leaky my nose feels.
As I walk home, a big, shiny black car whooshes past me on the street. Its windows are so dark that I can’t even see who’s inside. The car stops in front of Mrs. Porridge’s house and out steps a girl wearing the glitteriest pair of sneakers ever, plus sparkly silver tights and a swishy pink and black striped dress. She stands there for a second, like she’s posing for a camera.
It’s Victoria. And this time I don’t accidentally spray her with a freezing water hose. This time I just stare. Did I mention she’s carrying a purse made of pink feathers?
I guess Victoria has forgiven me for soaking her with the hose, because she actually walks over to me. “Good morning,” she says. “Quinny, right? What are you doing with that poster?”
I glance down at my blank poster and then back at Hopper’s house. “Nothing, I guess.”
“Could you give it to me, then? I need it for something important.”
Before I know it, Victoria swoops the poster right out of my hand.
“T hanks a bunch,” she calls out as she walks back toward Mrs. Porridge’s house.
That big, shiny black car zooms away now, without even saying good-bye.
I follow Victoria a little. “Hey, wait…what are you going to do with my poster?”
She makes a mysterious little half smile. “Yo u’ll see.”
Then she goes right into Mrs. Porridge’s house and shuts the door behind her.
So I guess I won’t see.
But a moment later the door opens, and Victoria sticks her head back out. “By the way, I like your backpack.”
“Yo u do?” I feel my whole face smiling now.
“It’s not pink,” she says. “But it’s supercute anyway.”
“T hanks. Sorry I soaked your dress with the hose.”
Wa lter the cat hisses at me from Mrs. Porridge’s front steps.
“Yo u too, Wa lter. Sorry I soaked your fur.”
“I just got that dress,” Victoria sighs. “It was a special present from my dad.”
It was? I had no idea.
“He bought it in London,” she adds. “From a store they don’t even have here.”
“I’m very, very, extra-very sorry.”
“T hat’s okay,” says Victoria. “Maybe you could make it up to me by doing something nice, and then we can be friends.”
I nod eagerly.
“T hat watermelon barrette you’re wearing is really cool,” she says next. “I’ve been looking for a barrette just like that for a long time.”
I touch the watermelon barrette that’s up in my hair. Santa stuffed it into my stocking three years ago. It still smells like watermelon, and it’s so comfy that I wear it all the time.
But the way Victoria is looking at it now makes me nervous.
“Yo u’re so glamorous,” I
“What’s over?”
“Everything!”
Twenty-four
Quinny is no good at taking no for an answer.
She stands on the other side of my door, huffing and puffing, please -ing and why -ing.
But I don’t want to see her right now. I don’t want to play, or draw Mr. McSoren on a poster, or hear about her new backpack. I don’t even want to think about school supplies.
So I use my biggest, most awful voice to make her go away.
From my window, I watch Quinny shuffle home, dragging her new backpack and that poster behind her. I know I hurt her feelings. I should have told her that Trevor and Ty are coming home from camp today. That’s why I can’t play. My brothers will be home any minute. But that’s not the whole truth of why I can’t play. It’s just half.
The other half is worse.
I guess she’ll find out soon enough. Everything will change in a couple of weeks. And not just because my brothers will be home. When fall starts and school starts and the whole truth starts, Quinny will see the real me. And she won’t want to be friends with that person.
Nobody does.
Twenty-five
Maybe I am stupid. I thought that boy was my friend.
What did I do wrong? And what does he have against my new backpack, anyway? I’m not going to sniffle about it, that’s for sure. No matter how leaky my nose feels.
As I walk home, a big, shiny black car whooshes past me on the street. Its windows are so dark that I can’t even see who’s inside. The car stops in front of Mrs. Porridge’s house and out steps a girl wearing the glitteriest pair of sneakers ever, plus sparkly silver tights and a swishy pink and black striped dress. She stands there for a second, like she’s posing for a camera.
It’s Victoria. And this time I don’t accidentally spray her with a freezing water hose. This time I just stare. Did I mention she’s carrying a purse made of pink feathers?
I guess Victoria has forgiven me for soaking her with the hose, because she actually walks over to me. “Good morning,” she says. “Quinny, right? What are you doing with that poster?”
I glance down at my blank poster and then back at Hopper’s house. “Nothing, I guess.”
“Could you give it to me, then? I need it for something important.”
Before I know it, Victoria swoops the poster right out of my hand.
“T hanks a bunch,” she calls out as she walks back toward Mrs. Porridge’s house.
That big, shiny black car zooms away now, without even saying good-bye.
I follow Victoria a little. “Hey, wait…what are you going to do with my poster?”
She makes a mysterious little half smile. “Yo u’ll see.”
Then she goes right into Mrs. Porridge’s house and shuts the door behind her.
So I guess I won’t see.
But a moment later the door opens, and Victoria sticks her head back out. “By the way, I like your backpack.”
“Yo u do?” I feel my whole face smiling now.
“It’s not pink,” she says. “But it’s supercute anyway.”
“T hanks. Sorry I soaked your dress with the hose.”
Wa lter the cat hisses at me from Mrs. Porridge’s front steps.
“Yo u too, Wa lter. Sorry I soaked your fur.”
“I just got that dress,” Victoria sighs. “It was a special present from my dad.”
It was? I had no idea.
“He bought it in London,” she adds. “From a store they don’t even have here.”
“I’m very, very, extra-very sorry.”
“T hat’s okay,” says Victoria. “Maybe you could make it up to me by doing something nice, and then we can be friends.”
I nod eagerly.
“T hat watermelon barrette you’re wearing is really cool,” she says next. “I’ve been looking for a barrette just like that for a long time.”
I touch the watermelon barrette that’s up in my hair. Santa stuffed it into my stocking three years ago. It still smells like watermelon, and it’s so comfy that I wear it all the time.
But the way Victoria is looking at it now makes me nervous.
“Yo u’re so glamorous,” I
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