It took a few days, but the kids at school eventually stopped talking about Amberline and her diabetes.
Now it all made sense. Amberline stayed to herself so she could take her insulin in secret and not let anyone find out. And she didn’t care about kids calling her fat because she had more serious things to worry about than some dumb kid’s insult. And she probably acted mean on purpose, just to keep people far away. It all made sense to Dyamonde and Damaris now.
But Dyamonde and Damaris decided they weren’t going to let Amberline push them away anymore. They were going to try to make friends with her.
Everybody needs friends, thought Dyamonde.
Damaris kept an eye out for Amberline at lunchtime.
“Hey, Amberline!” called Damaris one day. “Come sit with us.”
“Yeah,” said Dyamonde. “There’s plenty of room at our table.”
Amberline looked at Dyamonde and Damaris as if they each had two heads.
“What? Are we friends all of a sudden? I don’t think so,” said Amberline. Then she walked away before they could say anything more.
Dyamonde shrugged. “I guess the old Amberline is back,” she said.
“I guess,” said Damaris. “She must be so lonely, though. I feel sorry for her.”
“Me too,” said Dyamonde. “But you can’t make somebody be your friend. They get to choose.”
Damaris sighed. “You’re right.”
“I’m glad you chose to be my friend,” said Dyamonde.
Those words made Damaris break into a smile. She turned to her friend and gave her a big hug.
“What’s all this huggy-huggy stuff?” asked Free as he reached the table. He plopped his tray down across from them. “I hope you’re not planning on hugging me!” He made a face.
“Oh, puleeze!” said Dyamonde. “You wish somebody would give you a hug.”
“Not even!” said Free. “That’s girly stuff. I look girly to you? No, so forget it. Hey, Damaris, you got too many fries on your plate. Can I have some?”
Damaris smacked his hand. “Get your fingers off my property!” she said.
The three friends laughed, then made all the food on their plates disappear.
In the days that followed, Damaris went back to being her old self. She gave up staring at herself in the mirror, Dyamonde noticed. And she stopped paying attention to anyone’s dumb comments and wishing she was skinny all the time.
This suited Dyamonde just fine, because she was eager to have Damaris come to her house for a sleepover, and sleepovers at Dyamonde’s house meant waking up to homemade banana pancakes covered in buttery maple syrup. Nobody ever got skinny eating those!
“Damaris,” said Dyamonde one day, “ask your mom if you can come spend the night on Friday.”
“Will your mom be making pancakes?” asked Damaris.
“Yup,” said Dyamonde.
“Yum!” said Damaris. “I’ll ask my mom tonight.”
“Pancakes?” said Free. He licked his lips. “Can I come?”
“Puleeze!” said Dyamonde. “This is for girls only!”
Free groaned loud enough for the whole school to hear him.
That Saturday, Dyamonde and Damaris rushed to the breakfast table and munched through a stack of pancakes in record time. Both girls went back for seconds.
Damaris had lifted the bottle of maple syrup, ready to pour some on her plate, when she stopped in midair. She put the bottle back on the table and sighed.
“What’s the matter?” asked Dyamonde.
Damaris was lost in thought. It took her a minute to snap out of it.
“Damaris?”
“Huh? Oh. Sorry,” she said. “I was just thinking Amberline was right.”
Dyamonde licked syrup from the corner of her mouth before it could drip onto her pajamas. “Right about what?” she asked.
“About me being lucky. Here I was all worried about being called Miss Piggy like Amberline or not being skinny enough, and I never thought about how lucky I was to be healthy.”
Dyamonde nodded.
“I don’t have diabetes, so I can eat whatever I want and I don’t have to think about it.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Daniel, interrupting, “that’s not entirely true. If you want to stay healthy, you still need to make sure you eat your vegetables, drink enough milk and water, and get plenty of rest and exercise.”
“I guess,” said Damaris. “Still.”
“Still,” added Dyamonde, “we don’t have to prick our fingers to check our blood every day, or get shots, or think about how much sugar is in everything we eat.”
“Yeah,” said Damaris. “That must be hard.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Daniel, “since you know that, I hope you’re both being extra nice to that girl.”
“We tried,” whispered Damaris.
“We can try again,” Dyamonde whispered back. Damaris nodded.
“What’s the girl’s name?” asked Mrs. Daniel.
“Amberline,” Dyamonde and Damaris said in unison.
“Amberline! Now that’s a mouthful!” said Mrs. Daniel. Dyamonde and Damaris smiled. “Now quit hogging that syrup and hand it over,” Mrs. Daniel said to Damaris.
“Mom!” Dyamonde chided. “Whatever happened to ‘please’?”
Damaris laughed and passed the syrup to Mrs. Daniel, but not before she’d poured plenty on her second stack of banana pancakes.
“Yum!” said Damaris.
“You can say that again!” Dyamonde chimed in.
“Yum!”