regular for the month.
Also, Ms. Myers started putting my A+ science and math papers on the board next to her desk and picking my dog drawings to hang on the wall outside the art room (not to brag, but maybe because I live with a dog on a daily basis, I am pretty good at drawing them, especially in sitting or begging-for-bones positions).
These were the good things about moving—the only good things about it—the things that made me not want to say to everyone, “Um, you know what? Actually, if things go according to plan, we won’t be moving after all. But thanks.”
Then there were the bad things about moving—I mean,aside from my having to leave behind my rock collection, the possible zombie hand in the attic, my horrible new room, having to start over at a new school, and all of that.
One of these bad things was that Brittany Hauser and some of the other girls—concerned about my falling-out with Mary Kay—kept trying to get us back together by making up reasons why we should have to sit by each other at lunch. Like, they’d go, “Oh, today everyone wearing blue has to sit on the right side of the table. No, the right side…” And they’d try to encourage me to pick Mary Kay when I was captain in PE so she’d be on my team and stuff (“Allie, you should pick Mary Kay. She’s really good at crab ball. No, really!”).
I guess their reasoning was, if we sat together, or Mary Kay was on my team, or whatever, we’d have to talk.
And if we talked, then we’d become friends again.
And then everything would be back to normal.
What these girls didn’t understand was that nothing was ever going to be normal again—not with my moving,and definitely not between me and Mary Kay. Things had stopped being normal between us the day I’d poked Mary Kay in the uvula with the spatula. That’s why I’d had to start writing down the rules in the first place.
Not that any of them but Mary Kay knew about that. But still.
Anyway, none of the things Brittany and her friends tried to do in order to get me and Mary Kay back together again worked. Because every time Mary Kay ended up next to me—by accident or on purpose (because, truthfully, I was more than ready to end our fight)—Mary Kay would realize what was happening, get up, and flounce away, with her nose in the air.
Or, if she was on my team in PE, she would just stay as far away from me as she possibly could…like, in the way, way outfield, where none of the balls ever even come (which was just as well since Mary Kay would usually scream and duck and run for cover if a ball actually ever came close enough for her to catch it, anyway).
I told Brittany it was a lost cause. I told her to just give it up. Mary Kay, as my mom once said, can hold a grudge longer than anyone, including Grandma, meaning Dad’s mom, who still isn’t speaking to Uncle Jay because he dropped out of medical school to study poetry instead.
And that was three years ago.
But Brittany wouldn’t give up. She went, “Allie, you and Mary Kay can’t stop being friends. You two have been BFFs since kindergarten. That’s too long to just break up over something stupid like you telling Scott Stamphley you’re moving.”
“On her birthday,” I pointed out. “When she asked me not to mention it to anyone.” Breaking a promise to your best friend on her birthday is violating a major rule. I know that now. I mean, now that I’ve got my book of rules.
Too bad now is too late.
“Still,” Brittany said. “You without Mary Kay is like peanut butter without jelly. It’s like salt without pepper. It’s like…like…”
“Me without you, Brit?” Courtney Wilcox asked hopefully.
Brittany eyed her. “Um, yeah. Whatever. The point , Allie, is that we have to figure out a way to get you two talking again before you move.”
“Well,” I said. I didn’t want to mention the truth—that I wasn’t so sure I was going to be moving after all. My plan of keeping my house from
Also, Ms. Myers started putting my A+ science and math papers on the board next to her desk and picking my dog drawings to hang on the wall outside the art room (not to brag, but maybe because I live with a dog on a daily basis, I am pretty good at drawing them, especially in sitting or begging-for-bones positions).
These were the good things about moving—the only good things about it—the things that made me not want to say to everyone, “Um, you know what? Actually, if things go according to plan, we won’t be moving after all. But thanks.”
Then there were the bad things about moving—I mean,aside from my having to leave behind my rock collection, the possible zombie hand in the attic, my horrible new room, having to start over at a new school, and all of that.
One of these bad things was that Brittany Hauser and some of the other girls—concerned about my falling-out with Mary Kay—kept trying to get us back together by making up reasons why we should have to sit by each other at lunch. Like, they’d go, “Oh, today everyone wearing blue has to sit on the right side of the table. No, the right side…” And they’d try to encourage me to pick Mary Kay when I was captain in PE so she’d be on my team and stuff (“Allie, you should pick Mary Kay. She’s really good at crab ball. No, really!”).
I guess their reasoning was, if we sat together, or Mary Kay was on my team, or whatever, we’d have to talk.
And if we talked, then we’d become friends again.
And then everything would be back to normal.
What these girls didn’t understand was that nothing was ever going to be normal again—not with my moving,and definitely not between me and Mary Kay. Things had stopped being normal between us the day I’d poked Mary Kay in the uvula with the spatula. That’s why I’d had to start writing down the rules in the first place.
Not that any of them but Mary Kay knew about that. But still.
Anyway, none of the things Brittany and her friends tried to do in order to get me and Mary Kay back together again worked. Because every time Mary Kay ended up next to me—by accident or on purpose (because, truthfully, I was more than ready to end our fight)—Mary Kay would realize what was happening, get up, and flounce away, with her nose in the air.
Or, if she was on my team in PE, she would just stay as far away from me as she possibly could…like, in the way, way outfield, where none of the balls ever even come (which was just as well since Mary Kay would usually scream and duck and run for cover if a ball actually ever came close enough for her to catch it, anyway).
I told Brittany it was a lost cause. I told her to just give it up. Mary Kay, as my mom once said, can hold a grudge longer than anyone, including Grandma, meaning Dad’s mom, who still isn’t speaking to Uncle Jay because he dropped out of medical school to study poetry instead.
And that was three years ago.
But Brittany wouldn’t give up. She went, “Allie, you and Mary Kay can’t stop being friends. You two have been BFFs since kindergarten. That’s too long to just break up over something stupid like you telling Scott Stamphley you’re moving.”
“On her birthday,” I pointed out. “When she asked me not to mention it to anyone.” Breaking a promise to your best friend on her birthday is violating a major rule. I know that now. I mean, now that I’ve got my book of rules.
Too bad now is too late.
“Still,” Brittany said. “You without Mary Kay is like peanut butter without jelly. It’s like salt without pepper. It’s like…like…”
“Me without you, Brit?” Courtney Wilcox asked hopefully.
Brittany eyed her. “Um, yeah. Whatever. The point , Allie, is that we have to figure out a way to get you two talking again before you move.”
“Well,” I said. I didn’t want to mention the truth—that I wasn’t so sure I was going to be moving after all. My plan of keeping my house from
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