Frenemies Page 3

  “Switzerland goes really great with ham and mustard,” Mrs. Woods teased.

  “I think I would prefer it on a tuna melt,” Emma bantered back.

  Her mom grilled her a sandwich, and they split the snack.

  “You can find a happy medium—a way to state your opinions in a fair, nonjudgmental way without getting swept up in a tizzy,” her mom said. “Sometimes people hear you better if you whisper instead of shout.”

  “It’s so hard!” Emma said. “Sometimes I just open my mouth and things come flying out.”

  “I know. It’s because you care so much about so much,” her mom said. “You’ve got a big heart, Emma. You just have to learn how and when to unleash your amazing Emma-ness on the world.” She ruffled her hair. “Get it?”

  Emma chewed on a piece of crust. “Got it. And I think I’m going to try writing a post on my blog tonight.”

  “Good for you.” Her mom patted her on the back. “I’m sure it will be a great one.”

  Emma wasn’t so sure—but she knew she had to give it a try.

  Emma scanned her inbox for a question from one of her peers that didn’t work her up in “a tizzy.” There was one from a boy who thought recess should be an hour longer every day (“my brain needs the rest”); another was from a girl who insisted the girls’ bathroom sink on the third floor was always clogged (“I got splashed yesterday!”). While neither of these topics got her particularly fired up (a good thing), neither inspired a post (a bad thing). Then she saw what she was looking for:

  Emma, I need your help! I heard my supposed BFF talking about me to other kids behind my back. She said some really mean things and I don’t know whether I should say something or pretend everything is still okay between us.

  Wow, Emma thought. This is a serious situation! That friend is no friend! She’s a frenemy! She felt her heart race a little and her fingertips start to twitch—a sure sign that this would be a great new post the minute she began typing it. Then she remembered her promise not to get too worked up . . .

  Instead, she typed:

  Dear Potty Problems,

  Clogged drains can be very frustrating! I mean, you go to wash your hands and the whole sink floods over and the cute outfit you picked to wear that morning suddenly has a big wet stain on the front. I hear ya. I’d recommend going to talk to Mr. Hansen, the head custodian, and letting him know there’s an issue. I’m sure he can unclog it in no time. If the issue continues, clearly it’s a plumbing problem that might need a professional’s attention, in which case Mr. Hansen will have to make the call. It happens. One time, my brother flushed a water balloon down our toilet at home, and our whole second floor was practically underwater. My dad tried plunging and nada; the clog wouldn’t come loose and the water kept flowing. We had to get a professional plumber in to snake the pipes, and he found this big, blue popped balloon stuffing everything up. It was a huge mess, but we got through it and Luc got grounded for a week.

  Emma sighed. Her post seemed ridiculous. Why would anyone care that Luc flushed a balloon? Why would anyone be worried about a flood at Austen Middle? The sinks and toilets were always clogging, and Mr. Hansen was a whiz at fixing them. She reread what she wrote: It felt calm, cool, and impartial. She set it to post. It would simply have to do.

  The next morning, Emma was surprised to see Izzy and Harriet huddled by the water fountain together. This was the best news ever! They had fixed things between them and all was well again!

  “Yay, you’re talking!” she said to them.

  Izzy frowned. “We’re talking to each other. Not to you.”

  “Wait . . . what?” Emma replied, confused.

  Harriet nodded. “We made up and we agree you don’t care about either of us.”

  “Of course I care,” Emma insisted. “I know you’re mad at me, but I can explain: I promised Ms. Bates I would stay neutral for forty-eight hours so I could be a representative at the National Student Congress in DC. I have a whole day left and I have to mind my own business.”

  “Well, it won’t be a problem then,” Izzy replied, “because we don’t need you involved in our lives. Period.”

  Emma couldn’t believe what she was hearing! They were totally blowing things out of proportion! This wasn’t her fault—couldn’t they see that? Then she remembered how she had overreacted with Jackson, blaming him for something that wasn’t his fault either. It was so easy to get swept up in emotions and say things you didn’t mean.

  “Guys, come on! This is me, Emma! Your bestie?”

  “You mean former bestie,” Harriet said. “You deserted both of us when we needed you.”

  How could Emma make them understand that none of this had been intentional—when Izzy and Harriet seemed stubbornly determined to punish her?

  “But look!” Emma said. “You worked things out by yourselves! I’m so proud of you.”

  “Which proves we don’t need to ask Emma anything anymore,” Izzy said. “I called Harriet last night and said I was sorry and re-invited her to my meet.”

  “And I told Izzy I was sorry and would sit way in the back so I don’t make her nervous.”

  “I’ll come too!” Emma volunteered. “I’ll even buy the pizza after the meet.”

  “No thanks,” Harriet replied. “We’re having a sleepover at my house.”

  “Oh! That will be so much fun!” Emma said enthusiastically. “Let’s watch movie musicals!”

  Izzy moved in closer to Emma until they were standing nose to nose. “You’re missing the point. You’re not invited.”

  “You really hurt our feelings, Emma,” Harriet added. “I always thought I could count on you, and you made me feel”—she paused—“like I didn’t matter.”

  Before Emma could say another word in her defense, her friends turned their backs and walked away, arm in arm.

  This was ridiculous! A huge misunderstanding! Emma was happy that her friends were together again, but she hadn’t meant for their trio to become a duo. Emma walked to her locker and saw that Jackson was there, closing his beneath it. She braced herself for another ugly fight. But instead, Jackson just stood there, staring at her.

  “Say something,” she pleaded with him. “Izzy and Harriet aren’t talking to me. I can’t take the silence.”

  “Was it worth it?” he asked her calmly.

  “Worth what?”

  “Ruining all your friendships so you could go to some stupid Student Congress?” Clearly, he had seen the confrontation with Harriet and Izzy.

  “Student Congress isn’t stupid. You want to go.”

  “Not enough to hurt someone important to me,” he said. “I told Ms. Bates this morning I want to give up my seat so you could go in my place.”

  “You did what?!” Emma cried. “I never told you to do that.”

  Jackson rested a hand on her shoulder. “You didn’t have to.”

  Emma didn’t know what to say—she had never intended to take Jackson’s place. This felt wrong, horribly wrong. “Please! You have to go tell her you changed your mind and want your spot back!”

  “Well, I am going . . .”

  “She said no?” Emma asked. “So you still get to go to DC?”

  “Don’t sound so disappointed.”

  “I’m not. I mean, I am disappointed that I don’t have a spot. But I’m happy you’re still going. You shouldn’t have to make that big of a sacrifice for me.”

  Jackson combed his hair out of his eyes. “Well, maybe I wanted to. Maybe you’re worth it, Emma.” He smiled before heading off to class, and she smiled back. Things between them were back on track, and all she wanted to do was run and tell Izzy and Harriet.

  Emma could barely concentrate in math. Every word problem reminded her of her own problems:

  If Mary has 128 gumballs and wants to keep ¼ and share the rest with her 2 best friends, how much will each friend get?

  If Izzy had any gumballs, one thing would be certain: Now she would only share them with Harriet, not her! Emma
had to figure this out. Not just the equation, but how to get herself back into her friends’ good graces. The answer seemed easy on both fronts: Mary would have 32 gumballs, her 2 friends would each have 48, and Emma needed to write a new post—fast!

  Instead of going to lunch and eating alone, Emma grabbed a yogurt and hid in the computer lab. She started typing:

  It all began over a Barbie—the very first fight I had in kindergarten with my two BFFs (let’s call them Lizzy and Hattie), and it was a doozy. It was Hattie’s fifth birthday party, and her parents got her the Barbie doll of her dreams—Birthday Wishes Barbie, dressed in a flowing pink off-the-shoulder ball gown that lit up if you pressed a button on her back. I was totally in awe, but Lizzy had a different opinion.

  “I don’t like your doll,” she told Hattie. “If someone gave me that for a present, I’d give it back—or throw it away.”

  “Lizzy, you don’t mean that,” I interjected.

  “Yes, I do!” Lizzy insisted. “Why is her hair brown and not blonde? And her skirt is too poofy. Yuck!”

  Hattie’s lower lip trembled and I knew she was about to burst into tears.

  “Say you’re sorry,” I whispered to Lizzy, trying to prevent the birthday girl from having a meltdown before she even blew out the candles on her cake.

  “Sorry? I’m not saying sorry. It’s true. That doll is ugly and I hate it.”

  There was no persuading Lizzy to apologize, so I knew it was up to me: “Hattie,” I said, “that’s the prettiest Barbie in the whole world and you are so lucky.”

  Hattie sniffled. “Really? You think so?”

  “Absolutely!” I told her. “For my birthday, I’m asking for the very same one. So our dolls can be twins!”

  Lizzy pouted and marched off into a corner. I knew that if there was one thing my friend couldn’t stand, it was feeling like an outsider. Even at five years old, Lizzy had serious FOMO. But there was no other way to soothe Hattie’s hurt feelings. I had to side with her—it was, after all, her special day.

  Then Hattie went and did something totally unexpected: She walked over to where Lizzy was sulking and gently handed her the doll. “Don’t be sad, Lizzy. We can share my present if you want.” Hattie had completely forgotten that her friend had just dissed her doll in front of everyone. For the record, Hattie has the biggest heart—and even if it means that heart gets broken from time to time, it doesn’t stop her from putting it out there.

  Lizzy took the doll and all was forgiven. They skipped off hand in hand and ignored everyone else the rest of the party—including me. That’s when I realized something: in refereeing between my two friends, I’d actually erased myself from the equation. Suddenly I was invisible. So I got mad. Really, really mad. I marched over and yanked the Barbie right out of Lizzy’s hands, and in doing so, ripped the doll’s arm right off. Hattie was hysterically crying, but luckily, her mom had some Krazy Glue and did emergency surgery. Barbie was as good as new.

  Still, things were tense between all of us for at least a week. Hattie was totally traumatized, and Lizzy hated how I had sided against her—so it was payback time. My two BFFs had playdates after school every day without me. If it hadn’t been for Hattie’s mom finally inviting me to a sleepover with the two of them, it could have easily turned into World War Barbie. When we were finally back together as a trio, things felt right in the world again. We forgot our fight; we forgot what the fuss had been about. We stayed up all night gabbing and watching Hannah Montana episodes. A year later, none of us even wanted to play with dolls anymore. Barbie was bygones, and so was our fight and any hard feelings.

  What is the point of this post besides reminiscing about my elementary school days and a plastic doll now buried somewhere in Hattie’s basement? The point is, friends fight. Over Barbies, over boys, over misunderstandings. They sometimes say things they don’t mean, and people get hurt in the process. Why? Because we love and care about one another deeply. If we didn’t, it wouldn’t hurt so much. But you can’t let it pull you apart. You can’t get hung up on who said what or who did what; none of that matters. What matters is the bond that’s between you—it’s stronger than Krazy Glue. Think about it.

  XO,

  Emma

  Emma couldn’t wait for Friday to finally arrive; it meant the end of her agreement with Ms. Bates, and, hopefully, her reconciliation with Izzy and Harriet. By now she was pretty certain they had read her blog—a blast went out every Friday morning announcing a new post. Even though she had changed their names, she was sure they would figure out what she was trying to tell them and would be touched.

  Emma walked into Austen Middle a little earlier than usual that Friday morning hoping that her BFFs would be waiting at her locker to hug her. But she had no such luck.

  “Looking for me?” Elton asked, appearing out of nowhere.

  “No, actually I was looking for Izzy or Harriet. Or both.”

  “Haven’t seen them. But I did read your post. I forgive you.”

  Emma raised an eyebrow. “You forgive me?”

  “Yes, I can see how much you blame yourself for what happened between us.”

  Emma was utterly confused. “What are you talking about, Elton?”

  He put a hand on her shoulder. “Have you forgotten the little scene you made in the cafeteria? How you yelled at me and stormed out?”

  Emma shook her head in disbelief. Did Elton honestly think the post was all about him? Was he that clueless?

  “Elton, I—”

  “Want to apologize. That’s very big of you, Emma, and like I said, I forgive you.”

  Emma shook her head. “I should apologize? You got me upset over Student Congress and that’s why I got into a fight with Jax, Izzy, Harriet—”

  Elton held his hand up to hush her protests. “We’ve been friends since kindergarten, and I’m not gonna let this come between us. I can read between the lines of your post and I accept your apology for telling me off.”

  Emma rolled her eyes. He’d read her post all wrong! But the last thing she needed was another person hating her guts.

  “Oh yes, you’re right, Elton. You totally saw right through my post.”

  Just then, Izzy came storming down the hall. She stopped right in front of where Emma and Elton were standing.

  “How could you!” she shouted. “How could you make up such a terrible story about me and post it where everyone could see it?”

  “What?” Emma gasped. “I didn’t make up anything. That’s exactly how it happened.”

  “Really? So I was this mean, spoiled brat who almost destroyed Harriet’s birthday party? That’s how you see it?”

  Emma didn’t know how to answer. That hadn’t been her intention in writing the post. She wanted to say that sometimes fights were silly and based on nothing but ridiculous disagreements.

  “Do you know why I hated Izzy’s Barbie? Because I was jealous! Because my dad had just lost his job and my parents didn’t have money to buy me a fancy, expensive Barbie like hers. I begged and they said we couldn’t afford it. I was upset because Harriet got the one I wanted, something I would never have. And I was five years old, Emma! Did you have to make me sound like such a monster? Or maybe that’s how you really see me?”

  “I-I . . . ,” Emma stammered. “I didn’t know. I thought you were trying to make Harriet feel bad.”

  “I was the one who felt bad. I felt so awful for making Harriet cry. I tried all week to make it up to her. And reading your blog brought up those guilty feelings all over again.” She marched off, leaving Elton there with his mouth hanging open.

  “Wait, so Lizzy is Izzy?” he asked. “I’m confused.”

  “Ugh,” Emma said with a groan. Why was nothing working out the way she wanted it to? Why was everyone twisting and misconstruing her words? As if that wasn’t bad enough, she spotted Harriet headed for her next. Even from all the way down the hall, Emma could see how red and flushed her friend’s face was. Harriet was livid.

  “S
o I’m a crybaby? With a bad taste in Barbies?” Harriet confronted her. “How could you? How could you write that about me?”

  Elton scratched his head. “Wait. You’re Hattie?”

  Emma wanted to bang her head against her locker. Why was no one getting her point?

  “Did you read the whole post? The part about our bond being stronger than Krazy Glue?” she asked her friend.

  “For the record,” Harriet fumed, “my Barbie’s arm was never the same after you ripped it out. She couldn’t move her shoulder anymore and it was really hard to dress her.”

  “I said you had a big heart,” Emma protested. “I said how much your friendship means to me.”

  “You said I burst into tears and acted like an idiot at my own party!” Harriet seethed. “Honestly, Emma. How could you bring this up all over again when you know how humiliated I was?”

  “I’ll take it down. I’ll delete the post!”

  “Why? Everyone’s read it.” Harriet turned to Elton. “Did you read it?”

  Elton nodded. “Yeah, and I told Emma I forgive her.”

  “Well, I’m glad you do,” Harriet replied. “Because I don’t. I can’t. I never will! Not after this. And you told the world I keep Barbies in my basement? I’m going to be the laughingstock of Austen Middle!”

  “But I didn’t use your real name,” Emma tried to calm her friend down.

  “Do you believe everyone in school is stupid? They know you’re my BFF. Or you were—before you destroyed my life!”

  Harriet ran off to the bathroom in tears . . . again.

  Elton bit his lip. “You know, you should probably delete what you wrote,” he told Emma. “I appreciate the apology, but your post seems to be freaking people out.”

  Emma slammed her locker and headed straight for Ms. Bates’s office. She had to at least settle the Student Congress situation—or all of this would be for nothing.