Best Friend Emma Read online

  The new girl is pretty, like I said before. She is tall and thin, and her shiny black hair falls over her shoulders like water. She is completely not nervous, which is completely unlike me on my first day at Oak Glen—only nine weeks ago.

  To my surprise, she smiles at me and gives me a little wave, like she knows me!

  “Where’s Annie Pat, Emma?” Ms. Sanchez asks as I hand her the late slip.

  “She had to go home early,” I announce, feeling important. Especially in front of the new girl.

  Cynthia turns her head away from Ms. Sanchez, puts a finger on her tongue, and does an imitation of someone throwing up.

  How does she know? There is no point in even asking, because Cynthia seems to know everything that goes on at Oak Glen. That is the source of her secret powers.

  Everyone who sees Cynthia do this laughs, and the new girl laughs, too, but not in a mean way. After all, she doesn’t even know Annie Pat. Not yet.

  “Please take your seat, Emma,” Ms. Sanchez tells me, coaxing a few stray hairs back into her bun with her engagement-ring hand. “We were just getting to know the newest member of our class, Krysten Rodriguez. Also called ‘Cry,’” Ms. Sanchez adds, confusingly.

  She gestures to the board behind her, where she has written the new girl’s name in perfect cursive—but with a star over the i in “Rodriguez.” Just for fun, I guess. And then Ms. Sanchez spelled out K-R-Y underneath the longer name.

  “That’s her nickname,” Cynthia calls out, which you are not supposed to do in our class, but Ms. Sanchez lets it pass this time.

  And then Cynthia flashes a big kiss-up smile in the new girl’s direction.

  I can already tell that Cynthia is trying to claim Kry for her own.

  We’ll see about that! Because Cynthia already has a first-best friend and a second-best friend, and neither one of them is me or Annie Pat, even though we try to be nice to her.

  Cynthia and I used to be kind-of friends when I first started going to Oak Glen, but now I only have one friend, Annie Pat Masterson. So it makes sense that Krysten Rodriguez, the new kid in class, should be mine.

  Mine and Annie Pat’s, I mean.

  After all, we saw her first!

  4

  Round One

  I called Annie Pat at home last night, but her mom said she was already asleep and she couldn’t come to the phone. So I have had to come up with a plan to get Kry Rodriguez to be our friend all by myself.

  There are other girls in my class besides the ones I’ve talked about so far, of course, but they already have each other, so I haven’t gotten to know them very well since I changed schools last September. Three of the other girls are best friends from church, and two are next-door neighbors. They always hang out together.

  The main girls I have met in my class at Oak Glen are the ones I’ve already named: Cynthia, Heather, Fiona, and Annie Pat. And this morning, before school starts, I am going to meet Kry.

  Like I said before, I actually used to be friends with Cynthia Harbison when I first started going to school at Oak Glen. In fact, I really hoped for a couple of weeks that Cynthia would be my new best friend, but something happened.

  Don’t ask me what, though, because I couldn’t really tell you! Cynthia just turned against me one day, and that was that. Maybe she got bored once I wasn’t new anymore. But by then I had Annie Pat, so who cares?

  I used to go to Magdalena School for Girls. It was private, and I never lost any friends there—until I had to leave, that is. But my mom got fired from her regular job, which was being a librarian for a big company near San Diego, and we had to move twenty miles from our house into an Oak Glen condominium. She works at home now.

  I almost never see my old friends anymore, and when I do it’s not the same.

  I am not crazy about living in a condo, if you want to know the truth. There are no pets allowed, which is just terrible for a girl like me who loves nature. Also, my mom and I suddenly have a whole lot of instant neighbors who live very close by, and their cooking smells weird.

  Not like ours.

  Also, you can hear scraps of other people’s conversations, TV shows, singing, and sometimes even fighting, even when you are just walking around outside minding your own business. Even when you put your hands over your ears and sing, “La, la, la!”

  You’re supposed to be perfectly quiet, though. Especially if you’re a kid.

  “Bye,” I murmur to my mom on Tuesday morning, and I tiptoe out the front door, hoping to get to school very, very early. This is the first part of my plan to make friends with Kry before Cynthia gets a chance to.

  So far, it’s the only part of my plan.

  “Do you have everything?” Mom calls after me, forgetting to keep her voice down.

  I nod and make a circle with my fingers to show that everything is okay, and then I head off down the street.

  It is cool and foggy outside today, with the kind of drizzle falling that feels more like tiny prickles on your face than it does like rain. The droopy eucalyptus trees’ crescent-moon leaves rustle and sigh as I walk down Candelaria Road.

  “Br-r-r,” I whisper to myself. But really, I am prepared for this drizzly day. I am wearing a cozy pink sweater that is nearly new. It is the color of bubble gum and is soft, fluffy, and reminds me of a little pink lamb, and my pants flare out perfectly, just like Kry’s did yesterday.

  She will think I look cool. Cool enough to make friends with today, that’s for sure.

  I can’t wait to get to Oak Glen, which is four blocks away. Even though I miss Magdalena, Oak Glen Primary School hasn’t been so bad. That is, if you ignore the boys, which I mostly do—except for Jared Matthews, who can be kind of mean, so you have to watch out for him. And except for Corey Robinson, who sits next to me in class, and smells like chlorine because he swims so much, and is afraid of arithmetic. He’s nice. And except for EllRay Jakes, who is the smallest—and loudest—kid in the third grade. I like him, too, though. He’s funny.

  “Hey,” I say, surprised, as I fling my book bag onto the picnic-table bench where most of the third-graders gather before school.

  “Hey yourself,” Cynthia Harbison says, because she is sitting there all alone in the foggy gloom—right on the picnic table, so she can have a good view of who’s coming, I guess. “What are you doing here so early?” she asks me, scowling with suspicion. “Waiting for Kry Rodriguez to show up?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” I say, shrugging. “Why do you care, anyway? Unless you’re waiting for her, too. Is that why you got here so early?”

  Cynthia is usually the last person to get to school. It’s part of what makes her famous.

  Cynthia shrugs, not answering either of my questions. She takes off her headband, flips her short straight hair forward and then back in a businesslike way, and then scrapes her headband over it so hard that little comb-stripes show in the hair just above her forehead. She looks as if she is ready for anything.

  “Don’t answer me, then,” I say with a shrug of my own. “Because I don’t even care. I’m just waiting for my friend.”

  “Barfy Pat Masterson?” Cynthia jeers at me. “Who probably won’t even be in school today?”

  “Annie Pat never actually threw up,” I remind her.

  Cynthia shakes her head in a pitying way. “Kry Rodriguez isn’t going to want to hang out with girls who smell like you-know-what. Or with you, either.”

  “Why are you being so mean to me?” I ask her. “Ms. Sanchez says all us girls should try to be friends. She says she’s tired of all the squabbling.”

  “Ms. Sanchez can’t make us like each other,” Cynthia says, her chin in the air. “Not once we’re on the playground. Kids are the boss of that. I’m the boss of that, and I decided I don’t like you.”

  “But—I still like you, Cynthia,” I tell her, telling the almost-truth. “We used to have fun, didn’t we?”

  “We had fun once,” Cynthia snaps. “Because I felt sorry for you when you were new. B
ut now it’s over, so give it up, Emma.”

  “You give it up,” I say, wishing suddenly that I could push Cynthia off the table. I don’t want to hurt her or anything—I would just like to see her go flying through the air like a wicked witch.

  “I can’t give it up,” Cynthia tells me, smiling a little. “Because Kry is going to be my new best friend. I just have a feeling.” And then she shivers in a fakey I-can-tell-the-future kind of way.

  “Maybe not,” I tell her, trying hard to keep my voice steady. “Maybe she’s going to be my new best friend.” I seem to have forgotten about Annie Pat, I realize after a second. But that’s okay, because so far, she’s not here today.

  “Kry is not going to be your friend,” Cynthia says, jumping down off the table.

  What’s Cynthia going to do, sock me? I don’t think so.

  “But you already have two friends,” I point out, trying to reason with her as I back away a little. “And I only have one. If I get Kry, though, it’ll make us even.”

  “I don’t want to be even,” Cynthia says, narrowing her eyes. “I want to win! So, tough. It’s not gonna happen, Emma.”

  “Tough, back,” I echo, not backing up anymore.

  I didn’t want to fight with anyone, even Cynthia.

  But it looks like round one of our fight for

  5

  My Big Chance

  Kry Rodriguez is already in class when Cynthia and I finally go inside. Kry is sitting in her newly assigned seat near Jared Matthews, Stanley Washington, one of the girl church-friends, and one of the girl neighbor-friends. I don’t get to sit near Kry, but at least Cynthia doesn’t, either.

  Annie Pat isn’t here today. I hope her stomach didn’t pop.

  I also hope that she’s okay by Saturday, Marine Universe day.

  “Let’s sit up straight and pay attention on this cold, wet Tuesday, ladies and gentlemen,” our beautiful teacher Ms. Sanchez says after she has taken roll. “We’re going to review how to write a book report this morning, because I want your finished reports handed in before Thanksgiving. And then, after recess, you’ll take turns subtracting multidigit numbers at the board.”

  Next to me, Corey Robinson groans. I’m not sure which is worse for him: multidigit subtraction or having to stand at the board in front of everyone. But put the two things together, and Corey would rather be swimming in a small tank with sharks. And not the fun kind of sharks, either.

  “Now, what are my two main rules for doing book reports?” Ms. Sanchez asks, perching on the corner of her desk. She looks extra pretty today. She is wearing a rose-and-cream flowered dress and shoes with tiny high heels and narrow bows on the front. I’ll bet she’s going out on a date with her fiancé after school is over! His name is Mr. Timberlake, but he’s not the one on MTV. Ms. Sanchez’s Mr. Timberlake works in a sporting-goods store.

  You should see her engagement ring.

  Hey, that’s something I could talk to Kry Rodriguez about! Because Ms. Sanchez is the prettiest teacher at Oak Glen, and the girls in my class love talking about the details of her life—even though we don’t know very many of them. But that doesn’t slow us down.

  I could be the one to bring Kry up to speed about the stuff we do know, however. She’ll be so grateful! She’ll definitely want to be my—

  “Emma?” Ms. Sanchez is saying. She gives me a scowl.

  I blink. “Yes?”

  “What is my first rule about book reports?” she asks a little too patiently—as if it is not the first time in the last minute that she’s asked me this question.

  “We have to read the book. The whole book,” I add hastily. Because Ms. Sanchez does not believe in skimming. For instance, you can’t read Sarah, Plain and Tall and then just say it’s about a plain lady who is also tall.

  “That is correct,” Ms. Sanchez says with a sharp, satisfied nod of her head. “And EllRay, can you stop bothering your neighbor long enough to tell the class my second book-report rule?”

  EllRay—who has been making upside-down faces at Heather—stares up at the ceiling, thinking hard. His jaw sags open a little. It is so quiet in class for a moment that you can hear the big wall clock tick. Ka-chuck, ka-chuck.

  “EllRay? Are you still with us?” Ms. Sanchez asks.

  “Oh! Oh!” Heather says, raising one arm high and leaning over her desk.

  Ms. Sanchez barely hides her sigh, because Heather always thinks she has the answer to a question—even when she doesn’t have a clue. “Yes, Heather?” Ms. Sanchez says.

  “The second rule is that we have to end the report right,” Heather says, triumphant. “We can’t just say, ‘To find out what happens next, you’ll have to read the book!’”

  Ms. Sanchez looks pleasantly surprised. “That is correct, Heather,” she says, smiling. “Good girl. Now, let’s move on to book-report headings. Who knows what information to put at the top of your report?”

  During morning recess, which comes between language arts and math, Kry has to stay inside with Ms. Sanchez and fill out some forms. So no one can try to make friends with her.

  The sun finally comes out—right after recess, naturally, but that raises my hopes.

  And when the lunch bell rings, Ms. Sanchez asks Cynthia to stay behind for a few minutes so she can go over a subtraction problem with her. Score! It’s my big chance to make an impression on Kry Rodriguez without Cynthia being there to bother me. But how can I do it?

  I could tell Kry a joke, but I can never remember jokes when I need them.

  I could say how nice she looks today, which she does, but after she says, “Thanks,” then what?

  I could give her half my sandwich, but she might not like my current favorite, peanut butter and crunchy lettuce on a bagel. Not everyone does.

  For instance, Annie Pat’s favorite sandwich is tuna and sliced dill pickles on pumpernickel bread. Urk.

  Annie Pat’s probably not eating that particu-lar sandwich today, not if she still has “tummy trouble.”

  “Hi,” Kry says to me—to me!—when I get near the table where the third-grade girls usually eat She is sitting at one end of the table, while Fiona and Heather sit at the opposite end of the table, silent. The other girls in our class are probably eating in the cafeteria today.

  Fiona and Heather probably don’t even want Cynthia to make friends with the new girl, because where would that leave them? Or maybe they are just feeling shy—the way I am. And we aren’t even the ones who are new.

  Kry peeks up at me through her long, straight bangs, and she smiles, waiting.

  “Uh, hi?” I murmur, turning my reply into a soft, wimpy question.

  “How’s your friend?” Kry asks, looking concerned. “The red-haired girl who—who didn’t feel good yesterday?” she adds, stumbling a little as she tries not to say “throw up,” “puke,” or “hurl.”

  Kry Rodriguez has very good manners! Now I really want her to be my friend.

  Besides, it will drive Cynthia crazy if she loses this battle, and then she and I will really be even. Because—why did she turn against me for no reason?

  Even though I have Annie Pat, it still hurts.

  “Who? Annie Pat?” I ask, as if I have lots of sick friends Kry might be asking about, though I think she might be referring to this particular one. “Oh, she’ll be fine,” I say, instantly dismissing whatever is wrong with Annie Pat.

  (Sorry, Annie Pat.)

  “That’s good,” Kry says, and then she pats the bench next to her. “Want to sit here?” she asks, smiling at me again.

  Do I? This is going better than I could ever have planned!

  “Sure. I guess,” I say, shrugging in what I hope is a casual way—because I want Kry to keep on thinking that being friends with me is her idea. That’ll really drive Cynthia nuts! “I—”

  “Sorry! Taken,” a high, shrill voice rings out, and Cynthia Harbison flings herself onto the picnic bench—right where Kry just patted.

  My seat!

  And then
Cynthia flashes me a triumphant smile.

  6

  Round Two?

  It is Thursday, exactly a week before Thanksgiving. I have stopped trying to stretch my stomach, though, because now I have much bigger problems than making room for pumpkin pie.

  Namely, my battle to make Kry Rodriguez my new best friend.

  Mine and Annie Pat’s, I mean.

  Kry is being nice to Cynthia, Fiona, and Heather, but that doesn’t mean much, because she’s being nice to everyone—even to the church-friends and the neighbor-friends, who probably don’t even notice—and to me.

  Kry is an equal-opportunity smiler.

  It’s almost as if she doesn’t care who her new best friends are. And that just doesn’t make any sense! At least not to me. I like to keep track of things like that.

  Thank goodness Annie Pat is back in school today, because that means this will be a fairer fight for Kry’s friendship. Annie Pat looks perfectly fine, not green and groany at all anymore.

  She could have come back to school yesterday, Annie Pat tells me, only her mom wanted to be extra careful. (Whenever I get sick, my mom can’t wait for me to go back to school! But maybe that’s because she works at home. Annie Pat’s mom doesn’t have a money job right now because like I said, she just had a new baby. It’s a boy named Murphy. He has red hair, too. I guess it runs in the family.)

  I called Annie Pat every night to see how she was, and to fill her in on our battle for Kry.

  To tell the truth, Annie Pat doesn’t seem that into it!

  But maybe now that she’s back in school, Annie Pat will see how important it is for Cynthia not always to get her own way. It’s crucial.

  The meanies shouldn’t get to win all the time.

  “How did you ever get the nickname ‘Kry’?” Annie Pat asks Kry Rodriguez shyly a few minutes before school starts. The mornings have turned nicer, and a bunch of us girls are clustered around one of the third-grade picnic tables. We are curled over the top of it like shrimps in a shrimp cocktail. Yum.