My Extra Best Friend (14 page)

“Because we didn’t tell on them,” Brooke replies. “That proves we’re good friends too.”

Jenna looks up from sweeping. “They didn’t care if we got into trouble, Brooke.”

Stacey nods. “All they cared about was getting our candy.”

Brooke scowls. “No they didn’t. They weren’t setting us up.”

Jenna stops sweeping. “If that’s true, then go ask them to give it back.”

Brooke narrows her eyes at Jenna. Then she jumps down from her bunk. “Fine,” she snips. “I will.”

She marches out the door.

“This I gotta see,” Randi says, dropping her broom and flying after Brooke.

We all do.

Out the door.

Down the steps.

Across the dewy grass to Hawk cabin.

“If you’re selling Girl Scout cookies,” Emillie says, a minute later, when Brooke bangs on the door, “we’re not buying.” She smiles sweetly through the screen, chewing a wad of gum. I bet I know where she got it.

“About last night,” Brooke begins.

Emillie crosses her arms. Chews her cud. “What about it?”

“We got caught,” Brooke says. “Did you?”

Nat pokes in. She studies us through the screen like we’re bugs in a box. “Caught?” she says innocently. “Doing what?”

Brooke blinks. “Sneaking out. With
us
. With our
candy
.” She stretches her neck, trying to see into the cabin. “Where is it, by the way?”

Nat and Emillie square their shoulders, blocking Brooke’s view. They look at each other, do matching smiles, and then look at us again. “What candy?” they singsong together.

Brooke’s jaw tightens. Her nostrils flare. “You…you took it,” she says. “And then you told us we’d go to the hideout…and then there was a noise in the woods…and we ran…and…”

“Calm down, Brooke,” Emillie cuts in. “You’re
babbling
again. We don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nat twirls one of her curls. “Yeah,
Babs
. It was probably just a bad dream.”

I frown. “Uh-huh, and you two had the starring roles.”

Liz nods.

Stacey sneers.

Meeka and Jolene plant their feet.

Randi squeezes her fists.

Brooke’s face burns. “My name isn’t
Babs,
” she says. “It’s
Brooke
. Two
o
’s. No
c
.”

Nat snickers. “Whatever you say…
Babs
.”

Laughter spills from Hawk.

Brooke’s eyes flash bright with tears.

She stumbles back.

Slips on the wet grass.

Falls to the ground.

More laughter sifts through the screen.

Brooke scrambles to her feet and bolts to Chickadee.

Nat does a fake gasp. “Oh dear,” she says, putting a hand to her lips. “Babs seems upset.”

Emillie snaps her gum. “Was it something we said?”

I glare at them, my hands clenched. Brooke Morgan can be mean and bossy and the worst kind of friend sometimes. But, right now, she needs us. And that makes her our extra-best friend.

“It’s true,” I say.

Emillie tilts her head and looks at me. “What’s true?”

“There really is a Meadowlark Monster,” I reply.
Then I glance at Nat. “
Two,
actually. I’m looking at them right now.”

Nat glares at me.

Emillie sneers.

Liz steps up and takes my hand. “Figaro,” she sings.

Emillie shifts her eyes to Liz. “Huh?”

“Figaro,”
Liz sings again, louder. “It’s opera. Monsters hate it.”

Jenna grins. Grabs Liz’s other hand. “Figaro!”

Stacey, Randi, Meeka, and Jolene grab hands too. We tip our chins to the bright blue sky. And belt it out like divas.

“Figaro…Figaro…Figarooooooo!”

Nat shakes her head when we’re done.
“Weirdos,”
she says.

“Freaks,”
Emillie chimes in.

“Takes one to know one,” Randi replies.

Then we sing the song again.

Louder
.

All the way back to Chickadee.

We’re laughing and chattering like chipmunks when we get inside. But as soon as we see Brooke, we go quiet as sock monkeys.

She’s lying on her bottom bunk, sobbing into a
pillow that has no pillowcase. Crumpled, like the clothes that are heaped around her. Empty, like the backpack that’s fallen to the floor.

She’s crying so hard no sound comes out. Her shoulders shake and the bunk creaks.

“This is bad,” Randi whispers.

“The baddest,” Stacey adds.

“What should we do?” Jolene asks.

No one has an answer. Not even Jenna. So we just stand there. Shuffling our feet. Glancing around. Letting Brooke cry. Because, sometimes, that’s all you can do for a friend.

Then something catches my eye.

A monkey tail dangling from my sleeping bag.

I run over.

Grab George.

Hold him out to Brooke.

She hauls him in.

Then Meeka darts to her bunk and pulls something out from her sleeping bag. A moment later, Brooke’s got a pink horse with a rainbow tail in the crook of her arm.

Jolene offers a plaid elephant.

Stacey, a teddy bear.

Randi, a frumpy tiger.

Liz, a floppy-eared dog that looks exactly like old Champ.

Even Jenna goes to her bunk and comes back with a bright green beanbag frog. A note is tied to its leg.

Get me a frog!

Love, Rachel

“I told you not to trust them,” Jenna says, setting the frog by Brooke. “If you had just listen—”

“Zip it, Jenna,” Randi cuts in. “What’s done is done.”

Jenna stops talking.

“If L-L-Liz had done her j-j-job,” Brooke stammers through her tears, “we wouldn’t have gotten c-c-caught. Then we could have found Nat and Emillie and n-n-none of this would have happened!”

Liz’s eyes go almost as wide as her glasses. “Don’t blame me! I didn’t make those losers steal your candy!”

Brooke shoots up from the bunk. Clothes fly. Stuffed animals tumble.

She glares at Liz, her hair matted and her face
streaked with tears. “The only loser here is
you,
Liz
butt!
”

“Brooke
—!” we all shout. Trust me, our voices don’t sound one bit huggy-huggy.

Brooke’s eyes dart to each of us, like they’re looking for a safe place to land. “If she…if we…if I…”

We all cross our arms and do laser eyes at her.

Brooke’s lips start trembling again. Her eyes brighten with fresh tears.

She slumps back down. “I’m s-s-sorry,” she says. “Nat and Emillie aren’t my friends. You guys are.”

We huddle around her.

The camp bell rings.

“Weeding time,” Jenna says, checking her watch.

“Alex will be back any second,” Meeka adds, giving Brooke a sideways hug.

Randi looks around the room. So do I. Animals and clothes are scattered at our feet. Suitcases left open. Brooms dropped, crisscross-applesauce.

“Bye-bye Silver Paddle,” Randi says. “This place is a mess.”

“
I’m
a mess,” Brooke says, smoothing back her tangled hair.

“So what,” I say, slinging an arm around Brooke’s shoulders. “I’d rather have messy friends than a clean cabin any day.”

Everyone nods.

Brooke gives us a smile. Then she sees the empty backpack that’s lying on the floor. She sighs. “All that candy. Gone to waste.”

“Not all of it,” Liz says, reaching into her hoodie pocket. She pulls out the sucker Brooke gave her last night.

Brooke sniffles. “One sucker,
eight
girls?”

Liz smiles. “One is plenty.” She unwraps the sucker and takes a lick. “Mmm…blue. My favorite flavor.”

She offers the sucker to Brooke.

Brooke sniffles again. “You’re joking, right?”

Liz shakes her head. “I never joke about blue suckers.”

Brooke hesitates. But then she takes the sucker and licks it too.

Then Stacey.

Then Randi.

Then Meeka and Jolene.

Then me.

I hold it out to Jenna.

She wrinkles her nose. “This is totally unsanitary.”

“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” I reply.

“Right,” Randi says, nodding. “Voluntary licking.”

Jenna studies the sucker. Looks at all of us.

Then she takes it.

Squeezes her eyes shut.

And sticks it in her mouth.

We applaud.

And pass the sucker around again.

And again.

And again.

Until we all have matching blue smiles.

The door creaks open. Alex steps in.

Liz snatches the sucker, wraps it up, and tucks it back in her pocket.

We hide our lips.

“Ready for weeding?” Alex asks.

“Mmm-hmm,” we all reply.

No one is in a hurry to get to the garden. We’re not big fans of weeding. Alex already went ahead to
the crafts cottage. Pete is going to supervise our work.

“Hey, Chickadees! Wait up!” someone shouts from behind us as we head down the path past the girls’ cabins.

We look back.

Nat and Emillie wave.

We keep walking.

“Give us a chance to explain,” Nat says, falling into step with us a moment later. “We were just joking around earlier.”

“That’s right,” Emillie says, draping her long, tan arm around Brooke’s shoulders like they’re old pals. “We still have your candy. In fact, if you have
more,
we could meet up tonight and have a
real
party!”

Nat nods excitedly. “That would be a total blast!” She twirls a curl and gives us her sweetest smile. “Do you? Have more candy?”

Brooke squirms out from under Emillie’s arm. She plants her purple sandals and punches her fists into her hips. “If we
did
have more, we wouldn’t share it with
you
.”

Emillie makes her face go all shocked. “But Babs, I thought we were
friends
.”

Brooke crosses her arms. “So did
I
.”

Liz nudges in. “Wait, Brooke. Don’t be such a meanie. We
did
save some candy…remember?”

Liz reaches into her pocket and pulls out the blue sucker.

Our eyes go wide. We suck in our lips.

Brooke studies the sucker for a moment. Then she makes her face go very smooth and flicks back her messy hair.

“Silly me,” she says, turning to Nat and Emillie. “I forgot. Liz saved some. Help yourself.”

Liz holds the sucker out to Emillie.

Emillie eyes it suspiciously.

We all wait anxiously.

Then, just when I’m sure she won’t fall for it, Emillie takes the sucker.

“That’s more like it,” she says, tossing the wrapper aside. She pops the sucker into her mouth and rolls it around with her tongue. “Mmm, I
love
this flavor.”

I nod. “Us too.”

Nat budges in. “Hey, what about me?” She eyes Liz’s hoodie. “I’m your friend, aren’t I?”

Liz pats her empty pockets. “I’m
soooo
sorry,
Nat,” she says. “That was the last sucker we
licked
.”

Nat blinks.

So does Emillie. She yanks the sucker out of her mouth. “You
didn’t,
” she says.

Liz smiles.

And sticks out her blue tongue.

We all do.

Emillie throws the sucker onto the path and pokes Liz in the chest. “You little
toad.
”

I step up and plant my sneakers next to Liz’s cowboy boots. “That’s
tadpole
to you.”

Randi snorts a laugh.

So do the others.

Emillie storms down the path.

Nat scurries after her.

But they can’t get in our way.

We fly right past them.

Sometimes friendship gives you wings.

Weeding isn’t as bad as we thought it would be. We get to wear gardening gloves and, for a boy, Pete has lots of good colors. Pink. Purple. Orange. Blue. Green. Plus, every time a creepy bug crawls anywhere near us, Pete flicks it away before we hardly have time to scream our heads off.

We sing the Camp Meadowlark theme song while we work. And when Rusty, Joey, Quinn, and Tom walk by on their way back from playing kickball, and plug their ears like our singing is poison to their brains, and razz us about getting into trouble, Pete pretends not to notice when we pitch a few rotten tomatoes at them.

“You throw like a girl!” Rusty sings like an opera star, dodging tomatoes.

“Your faces make me hurl!” Joey chimes in.

“Missed me by a mile,” Tom adds, snickering.

“Couldn’t hit a crocodile!” Quinn bellows, dancing.

“We should sic the Meadowlark Monster on them,” Randi grumbles as the boys gallop away, laughing and singing.

“Definitely,” Stacey agrees.

“We’d have to lure him in,” Meeka offers.

“With what?” Brooke asks. “Rat and Enemmie took all the candy.”

“That kind of monster eats campers, not candy,” Jolene says.

“Don’t ask
me
to volunteer,” Randi puts in. “I’m not gonna be monster bait.”

“We don’t need volunteers,” I say. “We don’t even need a real monster.”

Everyone looks at me.

Stacey’s eyes go all curious. “What do you mean?”

I pause, thinking. Then my mouth curls into a sneaky grin.

“I have a plan,” I say.

“You?”
Brooke says back.

“Yes,” I reply. “Me. Ida May. And it’s a good one.”

Liz scoots in. “Spill it.”

Everyone else huddles up too.

“We’ll need some supplies—” I start to say.

“Wait,” Jenna interrupts. She yanks off her gardening gloves and pulls a scrap of paper and a stubby pencil from her jeans pocket. “Okay, go.”

“A rope…” I say.

Jenna starts writing.

“A bucket of
slime…”

Randi’s eyes brighten.

“And…” I look across the garden to where Pete is picking beans. “The help of a friend.”

Everyone turns and looks at Pete too.

A moment later, he glances up.

“Will you?” I call to him. “Help us trick the boys?”

Pete sits back on his heels.

Wiggles his caterpillar eyebrows.

“At your service, Chickadees.”

It turns out you don’t need a rope to be a fake monster.