Mavis had been told about a gazillion times that she must not go inside the Tullys’ house unless she was invited.
“Just because I’m in there making potato salad to put in a sterling silver bowl doesn’t mean you have a free admission ticket,” her mother said. Then she mumbled something about crystal goblets she had to wash by hand and linen napkins she had to iron and then added, “Well, la-di-da is what I think about that.”
She examined herself in the mirror on the closet door, patting her hair and then tying the apron Mrs. Tully had given her around her waist.
“So,” she said, turning to Mavis, “please don’t do anything to make that woman any more irritable than she already is. We’ve only been here two days, and clearly the honeymoon is over.”
Mavis shrugged and headed outside, where Rose was waiting at the bottom of the apartment steps.
“Where should we go?” Mavis asked. They were having their first club meeting today to talk about how to cheer up Mr. Duffy.
“I know a good spot,” Rose said.
Mavis followed her through the hydrangea garden, up the flagstone path along the side of the house, down the winding driveway, and across the street to a vacant lot.
BUILD YOUR DREAM HOME HERE read the sign in the middle of the lot. Beyond that, at the edge of the woods, a large pine tree had fallen. Rose sat on the tree trunk and said, “Is this a good place for a club meeting?”
Mavis looked around. Clumps of blackberry bushes and wildflowers were peppered among the weeds and large patches of dry red dirt. Not the best place for a club meeting, but maybe she could find something better later.
“I guess so,” she said.
Then she sat on the log next to Rose and said, “I’ll be president and you be vice president.”
Rose nodded.
Then they talked about things they could do for Mr. Duffy.
Decorate the gatehouse with crepe-paper streamers.
Make cupcakes with sprinkles.
Twirl batons.
“What’re y’all doing?”
Mavis looked up to see a girl with hair the color of cantaloupe skipping toward them.
“Nothing,” Rose said, crossing her arms and turning red in the face.
“Who are you?” Mavis asked the girl.
“Amanda Simm.” The girl tossed her cantaloupe hair over her shoulder and repeated, “What’re y’all doing?”
“Nothing,” Rose said again.
“Having a club meeting,” Mavis said.
“What kind of club?”
“A Best Friends Club. Want to join?”
Then she felt the sharp jab of Rose’s elbow in her side.
Amanda’s eyebrows arched up. “Do you live in Magnolia Estates?” she asked, plopping down on the tree trunk next to Mavis. Her skin was pale and covered with freckles, as if someone had sprinkled cinnamon on her.
Mavis told Amanda about the little apartment over Rose’s garage that she had moved into two days ago.
“And y’all are already best friends?”
“Yep,” Mavis said. “Right, Rose?”
Rose nodded.
“Wanna join our club?” Mavis asked Amanda again.
Then she felt another sharp jab of Rose’s elbow in her side.
“No, thanks,” Amanda said.
“Why not?”
Then this freckled girl named Amanda told Mavis about the friends she had. Girls who lived in the big houses in Magnolia Estates and took gymnastics lessons and were on the swim team. She showed Mavis her beaded bracelet she had made at a sleepover the night before and told her about the tennis camp she was going to later in the summer.
“All the girls in Magnolia Estates are going,” she said. Then she glanced over at Rose and added, “Well, almost all.”
Mavis felt a twinge of envy. She had been so happy to have one friend. Imagine having as many as Amanda did. Maybe if her mother would stay in Landry long enough, she could.
“What do you even do in your club, anyway?” Amanda asked.
“Well, right now we’re trying to think of ways to cheer up Mr. Duffy,” Mavis said. “Right, Rose?”
Amanda rolled her eyes. “Oh, brother,” she said. “He’s crazy.”
Suddenly Rose jumped up, stalked across the vacant lot, and marched up the road toward her house, leaving Mavis staring gape-mouthed after her on the log beside Amanda.