The FaceTime ringer beeps just as I’m getting ready for jail. I mean, school. Mae Tanaka — best friend, keeper of promises. As soon as I open the app on my iPad, I let out a big yawn.
“You must be tired!” Mae says.
“You would be too if you’d spent the whole weekend having nightmares.”
“I still can’t believe your parents sprung all of this on you!”
When Mom was stationed in the UK, Mae was the first friend I met on base. She and I were among the rare kids who preferred to be homeschooled rather than go to a new school every other year. That’s the life of an Air Force kid. Too many moves. Too many desperate attempts to make new friends. By the time we reached our third country, I was totally over it.
Because both of our dads were techies who worked from home, Mae and I had the perfect setup. Our dads would take turns teaching us. My dad would take the morning shift to teach us math, technology, and sciences. And in the afternoon, Mr. Tanaka taught us how to use “nature as our classroom.” We’d paint in the park, take strolls around the lake, and study foreign languages. We’d read and discuss the fine works of our favorite authors, Rita Williams-Garcia, Margarita Engle, and Kate DiCamillo.
Ah, those were the good old days.
There’s a knock at my door, and I already know who it is.
“Hold on. Mom alert.” I crack the door.
Mom weasels her face inside and looks at me, frowning because I’m still in my robe. “Need help getting dressed?” she asks, still wearing her I’m-sorry face.
“No, Mom. I’m fine. Plus, I’m FaceTiming with Mae for a couple minutes.”
“Tell her hello, and don’t take too long. Wouldn’t want you to be late to your meeting.”
Honestly, I’ve had enough meetings for one lifetime.
I hurry back to my iPad. It’s almost seven o’clock. That doesn’t give me much time, so I speed my way through everything that’s happened over the weekend. Mom’s TDY. The new school. The ridiculous school tour with a “buddy.”
I end my rant with, “So basically my life is ruined.”
Mae hits me with, “No, it isn’t. You’ll be amazing, Annabelle!”
Typical Mae. All rainbows and sunshine and bubbles.
I prop the iPad on my dresser. “Hold on while I get dressed,” I tell her.
“Ooh, what are you going to wear?” she asks. “I can’t even picture doing algebra in anything besides my pajamas.”
I have yet to receive all of my boxes from Germany. In my closet, there are three boxes I still haven’t unpacked. “I haven’t had time to even think about that,” I say, growing more frustrated as I look for clothes. Nothing seems good enough.
“You know,” Mae says, “I heard Americans like color. Look for something that stands out. Ooh, like Lady Gaga!”
“I’d rather snack on broken glass.”
“Just trust me!” Mae laughs.
At the bottom of one of the boxes, I find an oversized orange plaid shirt and purple leggings. I shuffle over to my dresser, still wrapped in my robe, and hold up the outfit.
“Gaga enough?” I ask.
“Oh, that’s perfect!” Mae says. “Now you just need shoes.”
In the closet, I find my favorite pair — teal Converse sneaker-boots. “I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten how this social thing works, Mae,” I say as I pull them on. “Like, who am I supposed to have lunch with? Aren’t there rules and reserved tables?” I sigh really heavy as I lace them up. Then I pop my face back on the screen so Mae can see me again.
“Ta-da!” I stand back so she can get a better view of my outfit.
At first she doesn’t say anything, just gives a long stare.
“Oh, no. You think I look awful, don’t you?” I ask.
“Actually, no.” Mae’s voice gets really soft. “I think you look perfect. I just miss you is all.”
I hold two fingers to my heart and wait for her to do it back. That’s our thing, the number two. Because even though miles and seas and time zones separate us, we’re always going to be two amigas, the best two mates there ever were.
There’s a rapid knock on my door.
“I have to go now, Mae.”
“Send me a text and let me know how it goes.”
I blow her a kiss and hang up. Before I can even open my door, Mom comes in, uninvited, and plops on my bed.
“I’m sorry, Annabelle,” she apologizes for the trillionth time.
And I know she means it, but it doesn’t change the fact that I do not want to go to school. I do not want to just up and change everything about our family. I like the way things are. Well, were.
“I’ll be OK, Mom,” I lie, cold and quick.
“At least you have one thing to look forward to — having a separate girl cave.” Mom smiles.
Usually when we moved bases, my girl cave would be in the same room as my bedroom. But with this big house, my parents promised me a room in the basement. I want to be excited, but this school thing ruined it.
“Oh, come on, Annabelle. You have to be just a little excited for your first day!”
“But it’s not the first day, Mom. School started weeks ago when we were still in Germany. You do know what this means, don’t you?”
“Oh, I hope you’re not worried about falling behind. You are a math and technology wizard. And how many languages are you up to by now? Three?”
“Actually four.” My cheeks go red. “Still, it’s not about the work. It’s just that by now everybody has formed their circles. That’s how school works. That’s why I stopped going in the first place. And now you guys are throwing me to the sharks!”
I look at myself in the mirror and contemplate doing something with my hair. In Germany, the weather was kinder to my curls. Judging by the way my hair is poofing out, Linden already hates me.
Mom lifts off the bed and stands behind me in the mirror.
“You look great, schätzchen. You’ll amaze everyone with your charm and wit. Those kids will be begging to be your friend. I just know it!”
I’m not so sure.