Chapter Eleven

Rosie

Friday, October 6

Rosie sat by herself on the bus and stared at her phone. Petra’s face stared back at her, except it didn’t really look like Petra’s face. Not the old Petra, at least. This new and unimproved Petra had big ears that stuck straight out and a head like a balloon. Who knew that Petra’s head was so big or that her neck was so scrawny? Good hair covers a multitude of sins, Rosie’s mom liked to say, and now Rosie knew what she meant.

How dare Petra cut her hair without discussing it with Rosie first! Not that Rosie was in charge of Petra or controlled their friendship—their former friendship—but they’d been a team. They conferred about clothes and makeup and boys. They did not make rash decisions about their hair.

Rosie sighed and looked out the window. She didn’t know why she was even thinking about Petra anymore. Petra was over. The problem was, lunch wasn’t as much fun without Petra, and recess was boring without Petra, but the bus ride home was the worst. It was when Rosie missed her former best friend the most. They’d always spent the ten-minute ride home going over every little detail of the day—who had worn what to school, who’d had a bad hair day (ha!), which kid in their class had said the stupidest thing (not counting Carson, who said stupid stuff on purpose), who they should spend the following day making miserable.

And the best part was the secret list they were keeping about Lila, using a notebook app on Petra’s phone. It actually wasn’t just one list, it was an entire city of lists. Rosie’s favorite one so far was called “What Lila could do with all that hair if she ever shaved her legs.” Their answers included: (1) Knit a sweater; (2) Make a wig for someone with cancer; (3) Give it to the birds to build nests with; (4) Weave it into fabric to make a skirt so we wouldn’t have to look at her hairy legs.

But on Wednesday, two days after she’d hacked off her hair, Petra had started riding her bike to and from school. Rosie hadn’t known you could ride your bike to school, but apparently if your parents filled out a permission slip that said you would promise to stay on the bike path, it was okay. Ever since Wednesday, Petra had shown up to school with her hair (what was left of it) all messed up and her jeans stuck into her socks like she was a mentally ill person.

Usually when she got off the bus at the end of the day, Rosie felt energized even though she’d spent the last seven hours being bored to death. It was those list-making sessions with Petra that revived her. And usually Fridays were her best days, because she didn’t have to do homework when she got home, so she could text with Petra and Carson and Matt, or even better, have a sleepover with Petra and text Lila about how they were soooo sorry Rosie’s mom would only let her have one friend sleep over at a time.

But today, on what should be the best day of her week, Rosie felt like she needed a nap, and she never needed a nap. She almost tripped getting off the bus, and a couple of kids laughed when Mr. Melton, the bus driver, called, “Careful, young lady! You could break an ankle!”

Rosie ignored him and trudged down the sidewalk to her house.

“You want a snack?” her mom asked when Rosie came into the kitchen and threw her backpack on the table. “I just made Gabe and Garrett some graham crackers and peanut butter.”

“Are you trying to make me fat?” Rosie only asked this to irritate her mom; she knew the answer was no. Her mom made a huge deal about people’s weight and went to Weight Watchers every week even though she didn’t need to lose a pound.

“The protein in the peanut butter balances the carbs in the graham crackers,” Rosie’s mother explained. “So you don’t get the same sort of insulin spike you would if you’d just eaten the graham crackers by themselves.”

Sometimes Rosie wondered what it was like to come home to a mother who was just pulling a tin of blueberry muffins out of the oven. Her mom had never been that kind of mom. For the first eight years of Rosie’s life, her mom had been a lawyer, and then quit when the twins were born. Just like that she went from the sort of mother who was always working and had a hard time making it to Rosie’s ballet recitals on time to a mother who was obsessed with making Gabe and Garrett the smartest, healthiest, most high-achieving babies ever known to humankind.

And now she never made it to Rosie’s ballet recitals. The twins weren’t good with babysitters. “Aunt Maggie is going, and she looks just like me,” her mom always said. “So everyone will think your mom’s there!”

Aunt Maggie and Rosie’s mom were twins too, and they did look a lot alike. But having someone who looked like your mom in the audience wasn’t the same as having your actual mom in the audience. And Rosie’s dad never came to anything because he was always out of town. Rosie was starting to suspect he traveled so much because he didn’t really like their family. Neither did she, actually, but she was stuck at home until she was eighteen whether she liked her family or not.

Oh well, Rosie thought as she grabbed a cup of yogurt from the fridge. She was planning on quitting ballet after this year anyway, so it wouldn’t matter who did or didn’t show up at her recitals, because she wouldn’t be there either.

“I’m going upstairs to FaceTime with—” Rosie almost said Petra, because that was another thing they did on Friday, video chat as soon as they got home to make weekend plans. Rosie had to remind herself she wouldn’t be caught dead FaceTiming with Petra anymore. “Lila—I’m going to FaceTime with Lila.”

“Oh, honey, I need you to look after the twins. It’s only for thirty minutes, but I didn’t make it to the store earlier, and if I don’t go now, I don’t know what we’ll do for dinner.”

“Order a pizza,” Rosie suggested as she grabbed her backpack from the table. “The twins love pizza.”

“Yeah, but my rear end doesn’t, and yours won’t either. You can chat with your friends in the living room. The twins are watching TV.”

Rosie sighed. The problem with having a former attorney for a mother was there was no point in arguing with her, because you couldn’t win. Rosie carried her yogurt and her phone into the next room. Gabe and Garrett were watching something idiotic on Nickelodeon, a channel Rosie’s old nanny, Amy, had never let her watch. Amy was pretty much against TV in general; she liked taking walks or playing soccer or helping Rosie practice for her dance recitals.

“Rosie Posie!” Gabe squealed when he saw her. “Can I sit on your lap?”

“No, you can’t,” Rosie told him. “And you can’t call me Rosie Posie, either. It’s stupid.”

“But I’m smart,” Gabe said. “I can read.”

“No, you can’t. Recognizing a stop sign isn’t the same as reading.”

“I can read too!” Garrett chimed in. “Stop! Green light! Go!”

Rosie sank into the couch, ignoring her brothers, the two most annoying three-year-olds on the face of the planet. Hi, Lila! she texted. What’s the Petra report for today? I still don’t get her eating lunch with Stefan. Lower your standards much?

Next, to Matt Collins: I saw you staring at Lila today. Are you in loooovvvve?

To Garrison: I heard Mrs. Herrera has two drunk driving charges on her license, and that’s why she’s going to get fired soon.

To Carson: My life is SO boring.

Then she waited. Of course Lila, Miss Overeager Pleaser, texted back two seconds later. How low can you go, right? I mean, Stefan? Why not date a hamburger?

Rosie rolled her eyes. Wha??

I mean, Stefan practically is a hamburger, right?

He’s okay, Rosie texted. We were friends in preschool.

I thought you said he reads too much.

I thought we were talking about Petra.

Ping! A text from Matt scrolled across the top of the screen. Lila!?!? UR NUTS!!!!

Rosie didn’t bother replying. Matt was boring. She tried Carson again. How’s travel soccer going? I heard you were playing striker.

Lila again. Petra smelled bad today. Like she was having stomach problems.

You mean like farts? If you mean farts, just say farts.

Yeah. Definitely farts!

Gabe turned up the TV. “Turn it down, or I’ll turn it down for you!” Rosie commanded.

“Rosie Posie is a nosey toesey!” Gabe said with a pout. But he turned down the TV.

My brothers suck, she wrote Lila. Why couldn’t I have a sister?

I have a little sister, Lila texted back. She’s okay, but she picks her nose.

You’re all about the body stuff, aren’t you? Farts, boogers. Sort of gross, Lila!

Why oh why did Petra have to go insane? Rosie wondered, leaning back against the couch cushions. She used to be so funny, and not fart and booger funny, either. Mean funny. It was like Petra could look at people and know their secrets. “Matt Collins is afraid of heights,” she’d observed one day at the pool last summer. “I’ll give you ten dollars if you ever see him go off the diving board or down the slide.” According to Petra, Carson played dumb because he was afraid he really was dumb, Garrison hardly ever talked because he was scared his voice would crack, and Cammi Lovett wore baggy shirts because she’d developed breasts over the summer—real ones. Petra knew which girls had actually started their periods and which ones said they had but hadn’t.

What happened to that Petra? Where did she go? Who was the girl in class today who called herself Petra but was someone else entirely? Rosie had actually overheard Petra asking Elizabeth Hernandez if she was interested in collecting clothes for kids who lived in some homeless shelter over near the mall.

“It’s my mom’s deal,” Petra had told Elizabeth. “She’s kind of a professional do-gooder. Really—she used to work for United Way. Now she volunteers a hundred hours a week at the shelter.”

Elizabeth’s face had gone all red and splotchy. “Uh, wow, that would be—collecting clothes would be—”

“Awesome, right?” Petra had finished for her. “If you could make some posters, I’ll bring in some collection bins. Mrs. Herrera said it would be okay.”

Clothes for the homeless? Okay, great, sure. Homeless people needed clothes like everybody else, Rosie guessed. But the old Petra wouldn’t have touched somebody else’s used and probably still dirty old clothes for a million dollars. Girl Scout work, she would have called it.

So when had Petra Wilde become a Girl Scout?

I miss the old Petra, she started to text Lila, but Lila wouldn’t get it. Lila was scared of Petra and glad that Petra had become the class weirdo. Rosie deleted the text. What she needed to do was get the old Petra back, the one with good hair and a mean sense of humor. Maybe if Rosie went into school on Monday and slapped Petra really hard, Petra would get over herself. Snap out of it, Petra! she’d yell, and Petra’s eyes would open superwide, like she’d been a zombie for a while, but Rosie’s slap had awakened her.

Of course, if she slapped Petra, she’d be automatically suspended from school. Besides, Rosie didn’t like drama—not loud, dramatic drama anyway. No, she needed a quieter plan, one that would appeal to Petra’s sneaky, devious side. She needed a plan that would remind Petra of how fun it was to be mean.

What could Rosie do that was subtle, yet would get Petra’s attention? It would have to be at school, because Insane Petra probably wouldn’t come over to her house (and honestly, Rosie didn’t want Insane Petra in her house), and it would have to be something that would cause a stir, but not a commotion. Nothing overly dramatic or crazy. Nothing that would make Henry Lloyd do backflips and start shouting nonsense words.

Rosie closed her eyes. She pictured Mrs. Herrera’s classroom. Desks, book nook, Editor’s Roundtable, Mrs. Herrera’s desk and bookshelf—Rosie stopped. Mrs. Herrera’s bookshelf, where Mrs. Herrera kept her special collection of special things. “These things remind me of why I want to teach,” Mrs. Herrera had told them the first day of school, and Rosie and Petra had looked at each other and pretended to gag. The things on the shelf weren’t that great—a stupid book, a stupid picture of some supposedly awesome teacher Mrs. Herrera had when she was in high school, her father’s junior high diploma, and a bunch of other junk. A football, some sugar cubes. Stupid. But the more Rosie thought about the shelf, the more she was sure the answer was there. Rosie had to lure the old Petra back with an example of good, mean fun, and what better than to do something that would make Mrs. Herrera go all Woe is me and start sniffling and snorting and telling the class about how special her special things were and how everything was meaningful, boo hoo!

Meet me at school early on Monday, she texted Lila. Get your mom to drive you so that you’re there before the buses get there. I’ll be waiting.

Because Rosie wasn’t going to do the dastardly deed herself, of course.

That’s what other people were for.