Read Friends till the End Online
Authors: Laura Dower
But it was too late. Egg already had the note open.
“Dear Finnster,”
he said, reading aloud.
Madison cringed. The identity of the note’s author was obvious: Hart Jones, Madison’s on-again, off-again, and now permanently on seventh-grade crush. Finnster was his special nickname for her, and everyone knew it. Thankfully, he was
not
in the classroom.
“Hart wrote you a note?” Egg cried. “What a drip.”
“He is not!” cried Madison.
“Dear Finnster,”
Egg continued reading. “
I can get my dad to drive us to the movies on Sunday. Can you come? LMK, Hart.”
“LMK? What’s that?” Drew asked.
“Let me know,” Madison said firmly.
“Why didn’t he write,
love,
Hart?” Egg asked, letting out a huge guffaw.
Predictably, Drew snorted at Egg’s comment.
Mrs. Wing heard the fuss. “What’s the problem over here, boys?” she asked, striding over, hands on her hips.
Egg crumpled the note in his fist and pretended nothing was going on. Drew kept silent. Madison felt too awkward to say a word.
Luckily for all of them, the bell rang out. Class was over. Egg opened his fist and tossed the note back at Madison.
“Sorry,” he grumbled, picking up his bag.
Madison pasted on a fake smile. “Sure,” she said, shuffling toward the classroom door.
Mrs. Wing called out from behind her desk, “Don’t forget! Tomorrow we will start inputting memory pages and fine-tuning the site together. And in addition to posting everyone else’s web memory pages, you will have to write a web page of your own. Think about what you want to say. It’s your seventh-grade legacy, after all…”
Madison and the rest of the class moved quickly out into the hall. She ducked into a stairwell, opened her orange bag, and plucked out her new cell phone. She’d been saving money from birthdays and holidays for months, and Mom had finally given permission. There was so much she could do with her new phone!
No text messages.
What a disaster. If only Hart had not sent her that handwritten note. If he’d texted her instead, then no one—least of all Egg—would have been able to read it.
Grrrrrrr.
After the second bell, Madison dashed out of the stairwell and headed for Mr. Danehy’s science class. Crowds of students changing classes in the hallway made the short walk feel like riding in a bumper car. Madison nearly lost her footing twice.
Posted on the walls in the hallway near Mr. Danehy’s room Madison spotted a row of cool posters promoting the upcoming events at school. One of the main events advertised was the first Friday meeting for the musical revue. At the top of the poster, the words
Are You Musical?
shed light on one of Madison’s end-of-year issues. How could someone as completely
un
musical as she was participate in a song-and-dance show?
Her eyes lingered on the poster. The harder Madison thought about getting onstage and singing or dancing or
both
(aaaagh!), the harder she tapped her foot on the ground anxiously.
Just then, someone walked up to her.
“School revue,” a voice said. “I am so psyched.”
Madison turned to see her nemesis, Ivy Daly, otherwise known as Poison Ivy. The enemy was decked out in a sundress with flowers along the hem.
“Are you doing the revue, too?” Madison asked Ivy.
“Of course,” Ivy replied.
“I wasn’t sure…”
“You’re
not doing the revue, are you?” Ivy asked, rolling her eyes.
Madison turned and glared. “Why shouldn’t I?”
Ivy pretended to stifle a laugh. “You know…hey…you’re not exactly a performer now, are you? I mean, you practically fall apart onstage…”
“What are you talking about?” Madison asked. “I can do the revue if I want. I can do anything—and everything—I want.”
“Wow, school’s almost over, and you still don’t get it, do you?” Ivy sighed, slinging her pink metallic bag over her shoulder.
“Don’t get what?” Madison asked, genuinely baffled.
Ivy fluttered her lashes. “You keep trying and trying, but you’ll never, ever be the class star,” Ivy said smugly. “Um…that position’s already been filled.”
And with that, Ivy turned on her heel and smoothly walked into Mr. Danehy’s room.
At that moment, with other kids elbowing past and the poster still asking
Are You Musical?,
Madison knew what she had to do. Not only would she sign up to be a part of the revue, but she would do everything in her power to show Ivy Daly—once and for all—who the better of the two of them was.
The problem? She only had until the end of seventh grade to do it.
“T
HERE ARE GOING
to be a few changes around here,” Mr. Danehy announced boldly at the start of class. His eyes twinkled when he said it, too, which made it seem all the more genuine. “First of all, there will be no more long, tedious reading assignments.”
“Cool!” someone said. The rest of the class let out a collective sigh of relief.
“Second, you can come to class late if you want. I understand,” Mr. Danehy said.
Madison did a double take. She thought she must have heard her teacher wrong. He never understood, especially when it came to lateness.
“Finally, there will be no more pop quizzes for the remainder of the year,” Mr. Danehy said, looking around. No one knew how to respond.
Of course, there was a catch. Just seconds later, Mr. Danehy let out a rough little laugh. “Just kidding!” he crooned. “A little springtime humor for my favorite students!”
The class sat in silence, semistunned by their teacher’s prank.
Of course, Madison should have known better. There was no way Mr. Danehy would give up on his crusade against students’ being late, his mission to conquer the textbook reading assignment, or his best booby-trap device of all: the pop quiz.
“I…can’t…believe…it…” Ivy flipped her red hair and sighed. “I thought he was
serious,”
she whined. “How can he possibly play a joke on us like that? That is just so …so…unfair.”
“Now that everyone’s awake,” Mr. Danehy continued, “let’s get to the heart of the matter: our latest assignment. Well, it’s more of a project, really.”
“Another project?” Chet Waters cried from across the science room. Chet was the twin brother of Madison’s BFF Fiona, and he always had something to say.
“Problem, Mr. Waters?” Mr. Danehy replied. “How can you object when you don’t even know what the project is yet?”
Chet gulped. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “I just figured, since the year was almost over, that maybe…”
“Almost
is the key word in your sentence,” Mr. Danehy said.
“Almost.
Not yet. Not now. We still have a few good work weeks left in us. Don’t we, students?”
Half of the class nodded in silent agreement. The other half stared down at their notebooks, wondering how they could possibly face
another
science project. It felt as if they’d done about ten of them already that year.
But Madison knew that the boom had not even been lowered yet. She knew that the worst news about this latest science project was still to come.
She was right.
“One more thing,” Mr. Danehy went on. “Many of you have requested an alternate science partner. But I have decided that you will be doing these end-of-year projects with your usual science partners. It gives you one last chance to prove your mettle. Show me your best teamwork.”
Madison groaned. It looked like she’d be working with Ivy…again.
“What’s
mettle?”
someone asked from a seat near Madison.
“Dumbo,” Ivy muttered under her breath. “Who doesn’t know what ‘metal’ means? Silver, gold—
duh!”
“I think Mr. Danehy means another kind of mettle,” Madison piped up. “It’s a different word.”
“Whatever you say, Miss Brainiac,” Ivy said. “Why do you always have to be such a show-off?”
Madison rolled her eyes. Class had only just begun, and she and Ivy had already been at each other’s throats for several minutes: first in the hallway and now here.
Mr. Danehy handed out a stack of papers and circled the room. On the top page, Madison saw a boldfaced list of science-project topics, covering a range of subjects that had been discussed throughout seventh grade.
“I can’t believe he really expects us to write a paper on this stuff…” Ivy said.
“And do experiments…” Madison added. “Don’t forget.”
“How can I forget? He’s completely unfair and unrealistic and…”
Ivy would have kept listing negatives for hours. Madison was sure of that.
But Mr. Danehy noticed Ivy’s grumbling.
“Excuse me, Ms. Daly…” he called out from the front of the classroom. “Is there something you would like to share with the rest of us?”
Although science class had been torturous all year, there had been high points, and this was sure to be another one. This was one of the moments when Mr. Danehy saw right through Ivy’s facade and called attention to her shenanigans in class. Madison was gladder than glad that despite her science teacher’s many,
many
flaws and annoying little habits, like telling nonjokes that he thought were just hysterical, he still managed to see through the enemy as if she were made of plastic wrap.
“I don’t care what he says,” Ivy muttered to Madison when Mr. Danehy finished embarrassing her.
“You wouldn’t,” Madison mumbled. She turned back to the page of instructions in front of her and began reading through them.
Solve a problem using the scientific method. State your problem, do research, make an educated guess about your problem, and then prove your hypothesis is correct. Describe what you do. Then, create a display to show your results. Use pie charts and graphs if you need to. Pictures and detailed notes are good, too.
The suggested list of project ideas looked complicated. Madison wasn’t sure about
any
of the choices. How could she and her partner—especially
this
partner—possibly narrow it down?
Madison’s eyes locked on to the slime idea. That was
perfect
for Poison Ivy, wasn’t it? This enemy was the slimiest of them all.
Unfortunately, slime or no slime, Ivy wouldn’t even talk about the project, opting instead to examine her cell phone and pick at some pale polish on her fingernails.
“I’m so revolting,” Ivy said after a while.
“Huh?” Madison’s eyes widened.
You said it, not me,
she thought.
And yes, you certainly are revolting.
Of course, Madison knew Ivy had just gotten the words mixed up—again.
“You mean you want to stage a revolt?” Madison asked, clarifying and trying very hard not to laugh too loud at Ivy’s linguistic mistake.
“Yes,
revolt,
that’s what I said,” Ivy barked.
“I understand that you’re upset, but we can’t revolt, Ivy. We have to get this project done,” Madison said. “It’s the last one of the year. We can do this if we work together.”
Madison sounded like a cheerleader.
“Get real, Madison. No one cares about this dumb project,” Ivy replied. She pursed her lips and spit out each word as if it pained her to even say it. “Mr. Danehy can fail us if he wants.”
Madison’s eyes widened again. She wanted to blurt out some kind of nasty retort or shout, “Well, I care!” but she said nothing. Right now her brain hurt from arguing. She’d have to find the right words, not necessarily the quickest ones.
When the class bell rang for lunch, Madison scooted out of her lab seat. Hart met her over by the door, and they left and walked to the cafeteria together.
“So, you and Poison Ivy are partners again?” Hart teased. “Party time.”
“Funny,” Madison said.
“Not as funny as Mr. Danehy’s joke at the start of class, though, right?”
“Right,” Madison smiled. “Here’s my problem: Ivy won’t do the project.”
“She has to do it,” Hart said. “She’ll fail if she doesn’t.”
“Ivy says she doesn’t care,” Madison said.
“What a liar,” Hart said. “You know Ivy. She always has to be the big shot. She cares—big-time.”
“And she says
I’m
the one who needs all the attention,” Madison said.
“Well, that’s true…” Hart smiled.
Madison punched him in the arm. They laughed their way down the hall.
Once they reached the cafeteria, Hart wandered off to meet up with the rest of the guys: Dan, Egg, Chet, and Drew. Madison looked for her girlfriends and found four of them clustered together around the salad bar: Aimee, Fiona, Lindsay, and Madhur. Thankfully, Ivy was nowhere in sight.
The five friends got their food and went to sit at their usual orange table in the back of the lunchroom. Madison picked at the food on her tray, but she seemed to have lost her appetite. She’d ordered a plate with steamed vegetables and lasagna, but it jiggled a little too much. Aimee didn’t seem to mind. She picked at Madison’s broccoli, popping little florets into her mouth one by one.
“So, my family decided what we’re doing this summer, and it is just amazing,” Madhur announced to everyone. Her eyes grew bright. “We’re going to Pakistan and India!”
“Wow,” Madison said. “You’re visiting Punjab?”
“You bet,” Madhur said. “My family’s homeland.”
“My brother will be so bummed out,” Fiona blurted. “I know he was hoping to see more of you this summer.”
“Really?” Madhur asked innocently.
Madison, Aimee, Fiona, and Lindsay all shot Madhur one of those “Oh, come on!” looks.
Madhur grinned. “I swear, Chet does not like me like that,” she insisted.