Buried beneath the snow, hibernating wood frogs can survive being frozen solid. Their hearts even stop beating. When the weather warms up again, they simply thaw out and get back to business.
—Animal Wisdom
Imagine being a frogsicle and getting to hide all winter! I bet they wake up with some horrible pins and needles though.
There are days you wake up and know things are different. Your bed feels weird. Your pillow won’t fluff right no matter how many times you punch it. Your best friend forgot your birthday for the first time ever.
And your idiot brother won’t leave you alone for ten minutes to let you wake up in the morning like a normal person.
“Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!” Daz screeched. “I am thirteen today! We are thirteen todayyyy!” He hopped on my desk and leaped over my bed. The springs creaked angrily as he kept bouncing.
“Gah, Daz!” I growled, throwing my covers off with a huff. Darwin flapped his wings in annoyance. “Get out!”
“What do you think we got for presents?!” He catapulted over me to land on the floor with a somersault. I had no idea how Daz managed to not break his face doing these stunts of his, but one thing was clear—he had definitely sneaked some coffee this morning.
“A robot servant!” I yelled, joining him by jumping on the bed. “Mom told me not to tell you!”
He stopped short. “Wait,” he said. His eyes widened, and he jumped up beside me. “Are you serious? Because I have been asking—” The joy in his eyes was hilarious to see. It was exactly what I needed after my awful night yesterday.
“Nope!” I yelped, diving away from him to avoid his reach. “You’re getting gullible in your old age, loser!”
I cackled as I ran down the hallway in my socked feet, sliding on the pine floors. For a moment, I thought maybe Daz and I had switched bodies on our birthday, like in that movie with Lindsay Lohan and that pretty older lady. But if I couldn’t tease my brother on my own birthday, then what was the point, right? Even a bad night with Liv couldn’t change the fact: I was thirteen today. I was officially a teenager!
“Good morning, my little birthday girl!” Dad greeted me in the kitchen with a plateful of pancakes. Sliced strawberries and bananas looked back at me in a fruity happy face. He set the plate on the table and wrapped me in a huge hug.
“I can’t believe my peanut is thirteen. It seems like only yesterday we were bringing you guys home from the hospital,” he said, ruffling my hair. I squirmed from the hair noogie, but deep down I was enjoying the feeling of being a teenager already. Even my cells felt older. Do your insides know when you become a teenager too?
Mom joined in, moving fast enough to wrangle Daz in a hug. “It was so nice of that random woman to leave you guys in the waiting room for us,” she joked.
“Thanks,” I said, sliding into my chair at the table. I took a deep breath as I stared at my breakfast, doing my best to remember this moment. As much as my mind kept drifting to Liv, I didn’t want my whole day to suck. I wouldn’t turn thirteen again for the rest of my whole life, so I wanted to make sure I wouldn’t forget any of it, you know? The pancakes, the berries, the way the sun was streaming in through the windows, and even the cold chill on the tips of my toes from the floor.
“Waiting for them to ask you to eat them?” Daz asked, plunking down next to me with his own plate. It was piled high with pancakes, along with a huge well of syrup that was dangerously close to slopping over the edge.
“I’m remembering the moment. We aren’t all cavemen,” I said haughtily. “Do you realize this is the only time in your entire life you’re going to turn thirteen.” I started cutting my pancakes into bite-sized pieces, sliding one through my pool of syrup with my fork.
“Not true,” Daz said, shoveling a huge bite into his mouth. His cheeks were stretched full like a chipmunk. “Mex fear ve be furdeen pus won!”
He chomped happily as Mom and Dad sat down to join us. A spark of excitement surged through me to see they had tucked a few shiny presents under their feet.
“Huh?” I said, edging away from Daz’s soon-to-be spit shower. “Please don’t mention pus at the table.”
He swallowed his bite. “Not true,” he repeated. “This isn’t the only time in our lives we’ll be turning thirteen.” He leaned over and poked me in the arm with his fork. “Think.” Then he tapped the same fork on his forehead to make his point, nearly taking out an eyeball.
I stared at him, silently trying to compute how he could be right. “There’s no way,” I said finally. “This is it, this moment here, and you’re ruining it by eating like a monkey.”
“Next year,” he said, jabbing his fork into another stack of pancakes. “We’ll be turning thirteen plus one. Thirteen will be in us, for the rest of our liiiiiives!” he bellowed, narrowing his eyes and taking aim at a strawberry on the edge of my plate.
I rolled my eyes at him, but I couldn’t help but feel a little comforted by the fact that maybe thirteen wasn’t as final as I thought. Not that I was going to admit that to the Pancake Monster pigging out beside me. Sometimes, when Daz makes me actually think I worry that he might secretly be a genius.
That would be so unfair.
“Strawberry deaaath,” he murmured, mashing his berries into his pancake.
Then again, maybe not.
“So,” Mom said. Her voice was full of mystery. “We know you guys have your party later today, but your dad and I wanted to give you our presents early, before everyone else.”
“Yeth!” Daz squealed through a mouthful. He raised his fork in the air like a victory move.
“Maybe after you finish eating,” Dad said wisely.
“Done!” Daz said, piling the last of his pancake into his mouth. I swear, I know we’re supposed to be twins and all that, but honestly if I ate as much as Daz did, I would probably be about the size of a hippo. Why didn’t he have to worry about fitting into his pants, when my pants seemed to get tighter when I even looked at a cookie?
Mom handed me a box wrapped in lime-green paper. It was the same color as the T-shirts we wear at the zoo. A smaller yellow box was tucked on the top, nearly hidden by a gigantic orange ribbon.
“These are for you, Ana,” she said.
Daz’s fingers wriggled excitedly as Mom handed him his gifts, a box wrapped in red paper and a smaller silvery gift bag.
“Ladies first,” Dad said, gesturing to me. “She was born a whole four minutes earlier, after all.” He winked at Mom.
Even though I was dying to rip open the paper first, I started with the card. If there’s one thing that being thirteen has taught me it’s that you have to do the mature thing, even if there are presents sitting in front of you.
Usually, my parents get us jokey cards. You know, with monkeys and bananas on the front or pigs dressed up in sunglasses and bow ties. But this one was more artistic and serious, like someone had hand drawn it. A girl in charcoal stared back at me, with a gray parrot sitting on her shoulder.
“That’s me!” I said, clutching the card. “Who drew this?” I inspected the bottom of the picture, and instantly my heart leaped. A bold “S. F.” was scribbled in the corner. “Shep Foster! Grandpa made this!” I held out the card for Daz to see.
Mom nodded. “He did one for each of you guys, to go with our presents,” she said. “We can’t draw, but he used to. Just like you, kiddo.”
I nodded. I still had the sketchbook that Grandpa had given me in the summer, full of his sketches and doodles. That was back when I thought we had nothing in common.
I read the inside of the card.
To our dearest Ana,
Words cannot express how incredibly proud we are to have you as our daughter, and watching you grow up to be a beautiful, intelligent young lady is one of the greatest gifts in our lives. Enjoy your special day!
Love always,
Mom and Dad
Usually, I wasn’t one for serious cards. But this one seemed different. I made a mental note to put it someplace special. A lump formed in my throat as I turned to the presents.
Tugging off the paper from the smaller box, I grinned with delight. “Art supplies!” I squealed.
Daz peered over my shoulder as I tore away the last of the paper and opened the box. Inside was a gorgeous wooden box, sanded down to a smooth, tawny finish. Lifting the top gingerly, I gasped at all the colors. A whole rainbow of possibilities stared back me.
“You guys! This is awesome! Everything is in here!” I pointed out the beautiful pastels, pencil crayons, charcoals, and oil paints. It even had watercolor pencils that you can only use on special paper.
“You haven’t had much time to doodle lately with school, but we know how happy it makes you,” Mom said, reaching around to hug me. “Never lose your creative spirit,” she whispered. “No matter what you do in life, okay? Maybe you could sketch some of the new animals at Safe Haven!”
I nodded. Already I couldn’t wait to make something. What was it about a box of fresh art supplies that made you feel like you fit the whole world inside your heart?
I squirmed with excitement as I moved on to the second box. This one was much bigger than the first and a little bit heavier.
“I hope they fit…” Mom said eagerly. Panic rose in my chest as I wondered what “they” could mean. Pants? Bras? She wouldn’t get me bras, would she? In front of Daz?!
But I didn’t have to worry.
Instead of embarrassing bras, a brand-new pair of beautiful brown leather boots with purple laces stared up at me. They weren’t fancy boots with heels, like some of the girls in school wear. But they also weren’t boring old work boots like my dad wears. They were perfect and in between, with a teensy bit of heel on the back so they looked polished and extra special.
“Ooh.” I breathed, running my hand over the soft leather. “I love them!” I looked up to Mom and Dad, who were now holding hands. Something about their kids getting old must make parents extra schmoopy around each other.
“See if they fit!” Dad said. “They should be the right size, and we picked up those laces for you. We also got you green ones, so you can switch them as you like.”
Mom’s smile widened. “We wanted something that you could wear every day, not only for special occasions,” she said.
I pulled one out of the box and stuck in my bare foot. The sole was extra squishy, like walking on a marshmallow. “They fit!” I exclaimed.
And they looked good.
I laced it up to the top, where they just covered my ankle. Mom was right—they would be perfect for wearing with jeans, but they were also nice enough that I could look a little extra special, if I wanted to. Buoyed with how awesome I already felt, I laced the second one up. They even looked good with my penguin pajamas on, that’s how cool they were.
“When I was thirteen, my father gave me a special pair of boots too,” Mom said.
“He did?” I asked. It was so hard to picture Grandpa having a thirteen-year-old daughter. Almost as hard as it was to picture my own mother being thirteen.
Her eyes shone. “He believes that every young woman should have something great to wear on her feet while she climbs mountains and conquers the world,” she said, blinking back her tears. “Your dad and I happen to agree.”
“Thanks, you guys,” I said. I stood up to give them a hug. I may not have been able to conquer the world, but I was definitely feeling more prepared for thirteen in these boots. Maybe even strong enough to finish my documentary, get an A plus, and fix my friendship with Liv.
I kept my boots on while Daz opened his gifts and hooted up a storm when he saw Mom and Dad had gotten him a year’s subscription to RobotWorld magazine—the world’s leading magazine for robot-loving, techie weirdos like my brother, I guess? He also got an engraved pocketknife, which, if you ask me, was asking for a trip to the ER, but it’s his eyeball, not mine.
When we were done with presents and breakfast, I undid my new boots and set them beside my bed. Darwin hopped down from my desk to check them out. I almost didn’t want to have a birthday party today. Instead, I could spend the whole day trying out my art supplies.
My phone buzzed beside me.
“Birthday banana!” Darwin crowed, hopping onto my shoulder. He watched intently as I checked my phone, reaching to peck at Ashley’s face on the screen. Her message was blinking impatiently.
Ash: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, WEIRDO! I was going to call you Scales, but it IS your birthday, after all, so I decided to be nice. You’d better not eat all the cake before I get there!
I grinned, then realized that this was actually the first text I’d received today. Usually, Liv sent me a birthday email, loaded with pictures of cute kittens and pizza. But Ashley’s message was the only thing in my inbox. So I guess not everything magically got better when you turned thirteen, after all.
“I did the right thing, Dar,” I said, leaning my head into his. “Liv and I seem barely friends at all right now. I can’t risk anything else bad.”
“Disaster banana!” he agreed. At least, I think he agreed.
Typing into my phone, I let him nibble at my fingers.
AnaBanana: I’ll save you a corner piece with all the icing! Still have to leave early?
Say yes, say yes.
Darwin hopped onto my desk as I drummed my fingers impatiently on my leg.
“What are you looking at?” I challenged him. “Liv forgot my birthday. Do you really think having her mortal enemy nearby will help?” I narrowed my eyes at him.
My phone beeped again.
Ash: Yeah, sorry!
I slumped with relief.
“Time to make myself look thirteen,” I told him. Leaving him to inspect my new boots, I gave myself one last pep-talk-y look in the mirror and headed for the shower. Cake would make everything better, right?
Top Three Weirdest Things about Being Thirteen
1. Although I don’t look any different, I definitely feel different. I mean, was I hoping to wake up and look in the mirror and see supermodel boobs staring back at me? Sure. But I’m still me, and it’s probably better to have no surprises on a day like today, rather than be wondering how I’m going to fit in all my old bras, right? Yes, that’s me doing my best to find a silver lining, but deal with it.
2. What was I saying again? Right, feeling different. Although it could be the pancakes and strawberries talking, I do feel a little older. Like my skin is stretching and my insides are bursting out. That probably sounds like a horrible disease, but maybe that’s one of the things grown-ups are always talking about when they say teenagers are weird. Really, we’re walking around practically bursting out of our skins doing our best to keep ourselves together against all the craziness in our heads.
3. The way your parents stare at you all dreamy-eyed with this faraway look in their eyes. I asked Mom why she and Dad kept doing it to me, and all she said was “Oh, honey, time flies, that’s all,” with this sad little smile. When exactly does time start flying exactly? When I’m twenty? Thirty? Because I don’t know about you, but there are about a million and a half reasons I would like time to fly (like when I’m stuck in the cafeteria line), and all I can tell is that this world doesn’t speed up for anyone.