Frenemies Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  251 Park Avenue South, New York, NY 10010

  Copyright © 2019 by Sheryl Berk & Carrie Berk

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  Yellow Jacket is a trademark of Bonnier Publishing USA, and associated colophon is a trademark of Bonnier Publishing USA.

  Manufactured in the United States of America BVG 0119

  First Edition

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

  ISBN 978-1-4998-0648-9

  yellowjacketreads.com

  bonnierpublishingusa.com

  To Aunt Peggy,

  For who you are and all you do . . . we love you

  CONTENTS

  1 THE GOOD OLE DAYS AT ARMADILLO

  2 SECRETS AND LIES

  3 MY LIPS ARE SEALED

  4 SWITZERLAND

  5 THREE’S A CROWD

  6 WORDS GET IN THE WAY

  7 A ROYAL PROBLEM

  8 PICTURE THIS

  9 MONKEYING AROUND

  10 BIG-DAY BUTTERFLIES

  11 GET TO THE POINT

  12 ON THE SPOT

  13 ROUND TWO

  14 THE WAITING GAME

  15 AND THE WINNER IS . . .

  16 A MAGICAL NIGHT

  START YOUR OWN: MOTHER-DAUGHTER BOOK CLUB

  MEETING 1

  DIY FRIENDSHIP BRACELETS

  MENU FOR YOUR MEETING

  RECIPE: MINI GRILLED SWISS SAMMYS

  MEETING 2

  SUGGESTED ACTIVITY: GET ON YOUR FEET!

  MENU FOR YOUR MEETING: A DIY SMOOTHIE BAR

  Emma Woods kept a calendar above her desk, turning the pages of months and X-ing off the days until one small box in June finally read, “0 Days to Camp Armadillo!” The animal-themed day camp in the nearby Sweetland Mountains had been her summer home since she was five years old, a place filled with fun and friends and ice pops on sweltering-hot afternoons. It was where she learned to swim and dive; it was where she mastered making friendship bracelets and lanyard key chains. It was where she played her first starring role onstage: Belle in Beauty and the Beast. All of her best memories of being a kid were from Camp Armadillo—she proudly wore her camp T-shirt year-round and loved to sing the official camp cheer:

  Chick-Chick-Chickadee,

  Hippo, Moose, and Monkey!

  Everyone come say our chant—you know it’s pretty funky!

  We wear our camp shirts oh-so-proud whether Elephant or Cheetah,

  We swim and boat and play all day,

  We’re always on our feet-a!

  Give a cheer! Give a cry! Give a whoop-de-do!

  Armadillo, Armadillo, we love you!

  Armadillo was Emma’s, hers to love and treasure and look forward to all year long. When she became a sixth grader at Austen Middle School, her parents reminded her she was too big to be a camper anymore—eleven was the absolute age limit. Luckily, there were other options!

  She closed her eyes and recalled how last summer, she and her best friend, Harriet Horowitz, signed up to be Armadillo counselors in training (CITs). Harriet had all sorts of allergies—pollen, ragweed, mold—and was a little nervous about being “in the outdoors all day.” But Emma convinced her it would be a blast.

  “It’s just like babysitting—with benefits,” she assured her. Yes, they had to supervise the tiny Chickadee groups in the water and make sure they didn’t cry, fight, or swallow half the pool. But they also had CIT free swim, all-you-can-eat lunch, their very own bunk with lockers, and the annual staff trip to Hersheypark.

  Emma loved the idea of being a CIT; it made her feel like a grown-up. Sure, there was a tremendous amount of responsibility, but there was also a lot of freedom, a summer paycheck ($250!), and tips from parents who were eager to have her keep “a special eye” on their kids.

  “So Mrs. Marbutz gave me five dollars this morning to make sure little Mikey doesn’t get teased by his fellow Monkeys,” Emma told Harriet as she climbed into the camp bus and took a seat next to her. “The kids call him Mar-butthead,” Emma whispered. “What am I supposed to do about that?”

  Harriet seemed preoccupied with applying her bug spray and sunscreen. “I burn very easily,” she complained, showing Emma a red splotch on her shoulder. “Look at this! This was just from walking the Cheetahs yesterday to lunch. I was in the sun for five minutes, and look at me!”

  In Emma’s opinion, Harriet had it easy: She was a CIT for arts and crafts. Most of the day, she was inside the air-conditioned studio, handing out colored paper, pipe cleaners, glue, and markers. Emma, on the other hand, was in charge of the five-year-old-girl group. Not only did she have to chaperone them to nature, archery, horseback riding, and assorted sports, but she also took them to and from the bathroom, making sure they washed their hands and didn’t fall into the toilet!

  “You know what I love most about being a CIT?” Emma asked her.

  “Let me guess,” Harriet scoffed. “The bugs, the sunburn, the whiny campers with runny noses . . .”

  “No,” Emma said, putting her arm around her bestie. “Getting to hang with my BFF all summer long.”

  “Okay,” Harriet said. “That’s reasonable. But I miss Izzy.”

  The third member of their BFF trio, Isabelle Park, was at gymnastics sleepaway camp for eight weeks. And she barely had time to write either of them a letter—except to mention that she met a cute boy named Ben, who was captain of his middle school gymnastics team.

  “I know. I miss her too,” Emma said. At school, the three of them were virtually inseparable, and it had been that way since they first met in kindergarten.

  “What do you think Izzy is doing right now?” Emma wondered aloud.

  “Not sitting in a bus filled with five-year-olds,” Harriet said, “praying one of them doesn’t get bussick.” Emma glanced over at Mikey Marbutz. He did look a little green, and that would make the third time this week.

  Harriet dug a bottle of sanitizer out of her bag and poured it on her hands. “Why do little kids have to be so gross?”

  “We were that little once,” Emma said. “Remember?”

  “Little, yes. Gross, no!”

  “Remember the time in first grade when you dumped chocolate milk all over yourself and Izzy, right before we took class pictures? That was pretty gross!”

  “It was an accident,” Harriet replied. “My hands were slippery. Those crackers they gave us at snack time were very greasy.”

  Emma couldn’t help but giggle at the memory of Harriet in her white lace dress and Izzy in her pink satin one, both with big brown stains on their skirts. “You guys smelled like sour milk all day!”

  Harriet dotted some calamine lotion on another bite on her ankle. “I’d take school and sour milk over this any day.”

  “Earth to Emma!”

  Fingers snapped in her face and Emma’s eyes flew open. She was at a crowded table in the cafeteria—not at Armadillo, her happy place. She noticed Harriet was sipping a carton of chocolate milk.

  “Did you hear a single word I said?” Izzy asked impatiently. “What planet were you on?”

  It took a moment for Emma to recall they were now back in school, halfway through the seventh grade, and the next summer at Armadillo was several months away.

  “I was just daydreaming about last summer,” she said with a sigh. “It was so much fun.”

  “Speak for you
rself,” Harriet complained. “It was itchy and hot and filled with germs.”

  “Harriet begs to differ,” Izzy said, chuckling. “You sure you guys went to the same place?”

  “But you’ll be an Armadillo CIT with me next summer, right?” Emma practically begged Harriet.

  “Nope,” Harriet insisted. “I can’t do it again. I’m still having nightmares.”

  “Oh no!” Honestly, sometimes Harriet could be so closed-minded. “But you were a great CIT!” Emma assured her friend. “You have to do it again.”

  Emma turned to Izzy for support.

  “You can’t convince me either,” Izzy warned her. “So don’t even try.”

  “I wasn’t going to,” Emma fibbed. But she was—she was going to try to convince both of them, even if it took the rest of seventh grade to do so. How much fun would it be to have both her BFFs at Armadillo next summer—and it was only 153 days away!

  “I’m not even sure what an armadillo looks like,” Izzy admitted.

  “It’s got this hard shell with rings on it and a long, pointy tail and snout,” Harriet explained. “It’s not very attractive at all.”

  “It doesn’t matter what it looks like,” Emma defended her camp. “It’s an awesome place to spend the summer with friends!”

  Harriet shook her head emphatically. “Not gonna happen again . . . ever. Honestly, Ems, sometimes you can be a little too pushy.”

  “Hah! A little?” Izzy said. “Try a lot!”

  Emma scowled. “That’s not true.”

  “Really?” Izzy challenged her. “How about your Ask Emma advice blog? Isn’t that telling everyone what to do?”

  From the moment Emma had launched Ask Emma on Austen Middle’s website a few months ago, people questioned her motives—even her BFFs and her own brother. But blogging wasn’t about her. She wanted to help people with their problems, and she was really good at giving advice and sorting things out.

  “Iz, you know everyone likes Ask Emma,” Harriet said, piping up in Emma’s defense. Then she paused. “Now.”

  As much as Emma hated to admit, her friend was right—both of them were. In the beginning, there had been snide remarks and nasty comments from her peers. Then things escalated into cyberbullying, and her parents were even called into the principal’s office. Emma could have given up right then, but instead she decided to use her experience to make a difference.

  “I know, I know—it was a pretty bad situation at first,” she admitted. “But in the end, I did get everyone to sign the Say No to Cyberbullying Student Contract.” She had also gained the respect of her classmates and one boy in particular—Jackson Knight. The new kid in school had started off as perplexing as an advanced algebra problem, yet wound up as one of Emma’s biggest supporters.

  Izzy relented. “Fine, I’m just saying that sometimes you get too involved in other people’s lives instead of focusing on your own problems.”

  “Problems? What problems?”

  Izzy motioned toward a table in the back of the cafeteria where Jackson was sitting with some of the other boys from their grade.

  Emma blushed. She had thought about asking Jackson to sit with her at lunch today but wondered if that would be too bold a move.

  “Leave Emma alone,” Harriet tried to hush Izzy. “Her love life is none of our business.”

  “But she sticks her nose into my love life all the time!” Izzy insisted. “And remember how she tried to fix you up with Elton?”

  Harriet shuddered at the thought. “Marty is so much more my type than Elton. He’s into comics and Star Wars, and we’re allergic to practically all the same things!”

  Emma shrugged. She meant well and was happy that Harriet had a boyfriend—even if Marty hadn’t been her first choice for her BFF. Meddling was simply something Emma couldn’t control. She wanted everyone, especially her two closest friends, to find love—the wonderful, sweep-you-off-your-feet romance that Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy shared in Pride and Prejudice. It was the best movie she’d ever seen. Her mom had suggested they watch the miniseries (“Colin Firth is simply dreamy”) one week when they were both home sick with the flu. Emma had protested at first—but then she fell in love with the story after the very first episode.

  Despite her appreciation for old-fashioned romance, she had been too busy matchmaking for others to even think about a boyfriend for herself—until Jackson walked into her life and took the locker next to hers. Little by little, she had gained his trust. His affection, however, was a whole other story. That might take a little more finessing. For now, they were friends. Good friends.

  “What would Ask Emma advise you?” Harriet asked her. “Would she tell you to go up to Jax and say hi or play hard to get?”

  Emma considered. “I think she would say, ‘Don’t play games. Honesty is the best and only policy when it comes to relationships.’”

  Izzy snickered. “Until he thinks you’re a stalker. Or meets someone else and forgets you even exist.”

  “Nice job, Iz.”—Harriet elbowed her—“Way to ruin the romance.”

  “I’m just being practical,” she insisted.

  “She’s just being negative because the guy she met in sleepaway camp last summer didn’t work out,” Harriet pointed out.

  “I couldn’t care less about Ben,” Izzy said, sounding more than a little defensive. “I hope he has a great life without me.”

  Emma kept staring in Jackson’s direction until she caught his eye . . . and he smiled.

  “I’m going over there,” she said, getting up from their table.

  “Go get him!” Harriet cheered.

  Izzy rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

  Emma took a deep breath, crossed her fingers, and walked toward Jackson, who was now deep in discussion with Elton and two other boys.

  Okay, she told herself, here goes nothing!

  “Hey!” Emma said cheerfully.

  Jackson looked up from his conversation—why did he have to have such dreamy blue eyes?

  “Hey,” he answered. “What’s up, Emma?”

  She hovered over the table. “Um, not much. You?”

  Jackson shrugged. “Nothin’.”

  Elton jumped in. “You’re way too modest, dude! Jax got picked to represent Austen Middle at the National Student Congress.”

  Emma raised an eyebrow. “Student Congress? What’s that?”

  Jackson blushed. “It’s nothing.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Elton exclaimed. “It’s like the smartest kids in the country coming together to debate important stuff.”

  “What sort of important stuff?” Emma pressed.

  Jackson looked very uncomfortable with the conversation. She could tell because he kept running his hands through his dark wavy hair.

  “You know—issues,” Elton explained. “The things that kids have to deal with.”

  Issues? Things kids have to deal with? Wasn’t this what Ask Emma was about? And why was Jackson going and not her?

  “I don’t understand.” Emma tried to stay calm. “How did you get picked?”

  Jackson shrugged. “I dunno. I mean, Mr. Carter, my history teacher, submitted my name to Ms. Bates and he just told me today I’m going.”

  “To Washington, DC!” Elton interjected. “For a whole weekend! And they get to see the Lincoln Memorial at night and go to a huge after-party!”

  Emma could feel the anger bubbling up inside her. She stared at Jackson. Had he not planned on telling her any of this? She thought they were past all of this. When Jackson first came to Austen, he barely revealed anything about himself. But slowly, Emma had gotten him to trust her. This felt like a lie—and a huge step backward.

  “It’s really no biggie,” Jackson assured her. “I’m just kind of into American history and government stuff, and Mr. Carter thought I would make a good representative.”

  “Right,” Emma snapped back, completely forgetting that she had come over to his table to flirt. “You’ll make a great representative
with no experience dealing with student issues or figuring things out. You’re super qualified!”

  “Woah!” Elton said, whistling through his teeth. “That’s harsh!”

  “Emma, it’s not like I purposely tried to one-up you on this,” Jackson said.

  “Didn’t you? You could have turned it down, Jax. You could have suggested that they send me. That would have been the nice thing to do!”

  Jackson considered. “Well, yeah. But I want to go. I’ve never been to DC and Student Congress sounds pretty awesome.”

  Emma froze in her tracks. So a trip to DC was more important than her? “You go right ahead,” she shouted. “You go to DC. Have a great time!”

  “Gee, someone’s not a happy camper . . . ,” Elton said, snickering. “Take it easy, Emma.”

  “You butt out of this!” she shouted at Elton. “All you want to do is rub my nose in the fact that I’m not going. I thought we were friends!”

  “Emma, wait!” She heard Jackson calling after her as she marched away in a huff. She made a beeline out of the cafeteria so no one would see the steam coming out of her ears. She was furious! If anyone was going to represent Austen Middle at a Student Congress and talk about kids’ issues, it should be her—she handed out advice every day! She was the one who was sympathetic and compassionate and focused on fixing things that were broken. This was simply not acceptable! Emma barged into Principal Bates’s office, prepared to argue her case.

  “Ms. Bates, we need to talk,” she said, storming in.

  “Emma,” Ms. Bates said between mouthfuls of her ham-and-cheese sandwich. “Come in. Oh, wait—you are in. Without knocking.” By now, Ms. Bates was used to Emma’s impassioned outbursts—usually to right a wrong or inform her principal of a situation that needed immediate attention.

  “I’m sorry, but this simply can’t wait,” Emma said, taking a seat across from the principal.

  Ms. Bates sighed. “It never can. What is it now?”

  “Why am I not going?”

  “Going where?”

  “To the National Student Congress. Why is Jackson Knight going and not me?”

  Ms. Bates took a sip of tea. “Emma, I know you are very passionate about helping your peers—”