Saturday, January 17

DAVID

I’m sitting at the kitchen table eating my second delicious bowl of Lucky Charms when Sammie texts me. Want to hang out? Play Wii? I’ll meet you at the fort with hot chocolate & then we can come here.

Sammie hates playing Wii. The only reason the Goldsteins even have a Wii is because Sammie’s sisters use it to exercise. And what’s with her obsession with meeting at the fort? It was bad enough in December, when the temperature was at least above freezing. I check the weather app. High today of seventeen. What is Sammie thinking?

But I suddenly realize I haven’t hung out with her in weeks.

I’ll wear my warmest ski mittens and we won’t stay at the Fort long, and Sammie makes great hot chocolate. I do want to show her the awesome drawing I did of Elwin the Moose. Plus, I’m always up for playing Wii.

Sure, I text back.

1 hour.

I pop another spoonful of sugary deliciousness into my mouth, and my phone pings again. It’s a text from Luke: Want to come over?

Before I can text back, Mom’s cell rings. She answers, “Hi,” which means it’s Pop on the other end.

“Oh dear,” she says into her phone, shaking her head and making a tsking noise. “What a shame. And none of the others are available?” She tsks again and her eyes land on me, then look away, and I know exactly what that means: Staffing Crisis at L. H. Fischer Sporting Goods. Yet another loser sixteen-year-old has bailed on his Saturday morning shift because he’s suffering from an outbreak of flaming acne or explosive diarrhea. In one minute, Mom’s going to hang up her cell, turn to me, and say, “David, honey, your father really needs you at the store today.” I know how things go at L. H. Fischer Sporting Goods, and I know if I don’t act fast, my entire Saturday will be shot, and saying I already made plans with Sammie won’t count for squat. So I grab my phone and text Luke back, Sure. Now?

Whenever.

1 hour

OK. Don’t ring the bell. Just knock.

So when Mom hangs up the phone, turns to me, and says, “David, honey,” exactly as I predicted, I try to sound super sorry, like I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place.

“Gosh. I just made plans with Luke. He doesn’t have any other real friends in New Roque yet, and I think he’s having a really hard time, with the move and new school and all.” I lay it on super thick, too thick probably, but Mom doesn’t even notice.

She sighs and nods. “Wendy said the transition’s been rougher than they expected. It’s always hard to have to make new friends, and in the middle of the year in seventh grade—I wouldn’t want you to let him down.”

Which is how she ends up dropping Allie at a friend’s and me at Luke’s, and going herself to bail out Pop and the understaffed L. H. Fischer Sporting Goods. I kind of feel guilty about it, but she’s the one who married Lewis Herschel and his store.

It’s not until I’m standing on Luke’s front porch that I remember I didn’t tell Sammie about the change of plans. “Ugh,” I groan, bummed about missing out on Sammie’s hot chocolate, and on time with Sammie. I grab my phone and shoot her a text: Have to bail. Sorry. Have to hang with Luke today. I hit send just as Luke opens the door.

SAMMIE

I make a thermos of hot chocolate, pour the plate of homemade-by-the-Peas oatmeal raisin cookies into a bag, and head to the fort. Walking along the Greenway, in the sun, it feels almost warm. But when I get inside the fort, I remember how cold cement can be. I stand, not wanting to lean against the cold cement walls, and wait. I stamp my feet and wait. I drink a cup of hot chocolate. And wait. Drink another cup. Wish I’d thought to wear ski pants, and wait. When I’ve finished the entire thermos and my teeth are chattering, I figure I might as well walk to David’s.

But as soon as I’m up on the Greenway, I discover something else about our tunnel fort: there’s no cell service. Because David texted me a half an hour ago to tell me he was ditching me. For Luke. Again.

So I spend the morning alone in my room, doing homework and reading The Book of Three.

In the afternoon, the Peas actually come into my room, to check on me. They never come into my room. They never check on me. Most of the time, the Peas don’t even notice me. Which is fine, because I never know what to say to them. Becca’s a senior and Rachel’s a junior, and they’re all about school and clubs and varsity tennis and shopping. They have so much in common with each other that I’m not even a third wheel, I’m a wheel on a different car. But today, between their morning shopping outing and their afternoon trying-everything-on session, I catch their interest. I must look pretty pathetic because they come into my room together.

“Are you sick?” Rachel asks.

“Did you have a fight with David?” Becca asks.

“No,” I assure them. “I just have a lot of homework.”

“It’s a three-day weekend. You’ll have plenty of time to do homework,” Becca says. “Even you need a break from homework now and then. How about some fro-yo? Our treat.”

“Okay,” I say, mostly so they won’t go blabbing to my mother that something’s wrong with me. “Sounds fun.”

I change out of my pj’s, and we head to Milly’s Vanilli Yogurt Bar.

Becca drives, Rachel rides shotgun, and I sit in the back, trying to follow their conversation. Which is hard.

“That blue crop top only works with mom jeans,” Rachel says.

“Why are you wearing Mom’s jeans?” I ask.

“What about the Lululemon joggers?” Becca says to Rachel. “They’re perfect with a crop top.”

“To a party?” Rachel says doubtfully. “No way.”

“It’s a chill sesh,” Becca says.

“It’s a party,” Rachel says. “Micah will be there.”

“Hey,” I say. “Who’s Micah? And why are you wearing Mom’s jeans?”

Becca laughs. “Not Mom’s jeans, silly. Mom jeans. You know: high-waisted jeans. They’re super in right now. And”—she wags her finger at Rachel—“they’re perfect with crop tops.” She glances in the mirror at me. “You would look adorable in mom jeans. Want us to take you shopping for some?”

“Umm, no,” I say. “But thanks.”

At Milly’s, Becca and Rachel each get one kiddy-sized cup of sugar-free vanilla yogurt, which they each top with three blueberries and a walnut. I take a large cup and almost fill it with chocolate and peanut butter yogurt, leaving just enough room for some crushed Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup candy and hot fudge topping. Then we grab a table, and dig in. Or, I dig in, while the Peas take microscopic bites from their tiny treats. I’m almost enjoying myself, half listening to Becca and Rachel debate who should take photos for the school paper at the next basketball game—Becca is better with action shots but Rachel has an eye for artsy, unexpected pics—while I focus on getting just the right mix of cold yogurt, candy, and gooey hot fudge on my spoon.

Then the door opens, and Luke and David walk in, trailed by Luke’s mom holding his baby sister.

“Hey, Sammie!” Luke says, giving me a huge smile.

“Oh, hey,” I say.

Becca and Rachel interrupt their debate on each other’s photography skills to turn and stare at Luke.

“What’d you get?” Luke asks, leaning over me until his nose is practically in my yogurt. David hasn’t said anything. Not even hello.

“Fro-yo,” I say.

“Duh. What flavor? What toppings?”

“Chocolate and peanut butter, swirled together,” David says, his eyes not meeting mine. “With crushed-up Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and hot fudge on top.” He looks at me, then at Luke. “It’s what she always gets.”

“Sounds awesome,” Luke says. “Can I have a taste?” He opens his mouth, waiting. I clutch my little plastic spoon, loaded with a perfectly constructed mouthful of cold and warm sweetness, and I don’t move.

“Who’s this?” Becca asks.

“Luke,” I say, still holding my spoon.

“C’mon,” Luke says. “Lemme taste it.”

I don’t like to share my spoon with other people. Not even people I like, and Luke isn’t one of those.

David comes to the rescue. “Here,” he says, handing Luke a clean spoon. “Use this one.”

Luke shoves his spoon into my cup, takes a huge spoonful, and pops it in his mouth. He rolls the fro-yo around in his mouth, making mmm sounds, then swallows. “Pretty good. But not creative enough. C’mon, David. Let’s get our own.”

They head off to the fro-yo machines. LukeandDavid, I think. Together. I wish I could think of something to say to David so he would remember us, remember me. But anything I say to David I’ll be saying to Luke. I’m suddenly not hungry.

“Let’s go,” I say to Becca and Rachel, who have gone back to their photography debate.

“You didn’t finish,” Becca says.

“I took too much. I’m full.” I hold out my giant, gooey, chocolaty cup. “You guys want it?”

Becca and Rachel shake their heads no.

David and Luke have their backs to me, checking out all the available flavors. I want to tell Luke that David will get cotton candy with rainbow sprinkles, chocolate chips, and gummy worms. But I don’t. It doesn’t matter.

As we’re walking to the door, Becca says, “Aren’t you going to say bye to your friends?”

“Nah,” I say. “They’re busy.”

“That Luke kid is cute,” Rachel says as she climbs into the car. “Why have I never seen him before?”

“He’s new.”

“I think he likes you,” Becca says.

“Ugh,” I say. “I don’t like him.”

Rachel and Becca laugh.

“Middle school,” Rachel says, shaking her head. “It stinks.”