BFF Breakup by Taylor Morris Page B

lockers,” she said. “Let’s do that.”
    â€œI can’t believe Chris Meyers is by your locker.”
    â€œExcuse me, it’s Christopher now,” she said.
    â€œOh, well pardon,” I said, and we starting laughing—together—for the first time that day.

12 BROOKE
    F INALLY MY FIRST WEEK OF JUNIOR HIGH WAS over. By Friday I pretty much had the paths to each of my classes down and my locker combo memorized. I did the locker switch with Madeline’s neighbor—I ended up with a bottom after all, but it was still a good trade. Even though I hadn’t made any new friends in my classes, a couple of people seemed not so horrible. Lily, the squeaky girl in my Foods class even said something to me on Thursday, although she was so quiet I couldn’t understand her. I just smiled back.
    So I survived after all! A mutiny of ninth graders didn’t rise up and give me an atomic wedgie. I had to admit, it wasn’t all that bad. Don’t get me wrong—it was bad. It was school , after all. Even though I placed in one (count it, ONE!) advanced placement class (English), which by some standards means I’m somewhat smart, there was no need to go thinking that school wasn’t not horrible. (See how smart I am? Double negative! Ms. Hendricks would be thrilled.)
    To celebrate surviving our first week—and escaping any head-in-the-toilet debacles (and praising the end of those stupid jokes)—Madeline and I decided to have our first official sleepover as junior high students.
    We usually stayed at her house. Frankly, it’s a lot nicer than ours. It’s part of a new development that my parents refuse to sellout to because, for some reason, they like our shack. I didn’t mind having sleepovers at our house—my mom was known for making homemade goodies at a moment’s notice—but Madeline’s house just had more stuff. Bigger TVs, better food, a pool. It just became natural, I guess, to go there.
    But Friday afternoon at our lockers she asked if we could go to my house instead of hers.
    â€œHow come?” I asked.
    â€œMy mother, ” she said, with hearty of dash of ick.
    â€œWhat’s up with her?”
    â€œShe’s always in a bad mood, which puts my dad in a bad mood, which of course puts all of us in a rotten mood. Like, just because she hates her promotion doesn’t mean she has to make the rest of us miserable. I don’t even want to be there when she gets home,” Madeline said. “I think they might split up.”
    The look in her eyes said it all, that she was afraid of what might happen, but that things were miserable the way they were now. I felt awful for my friend.
    â€œI’m sure it’ll be okay,” I said, because what else could I say? The truth was, her parents probably would split eventually, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t terrible for her at home, living with that tension. Maybe things would be better if they split, more peaceful. “We’ll stay at my house. Mom will have a heart attack of excitement when she gets to make us cookies and set out craft projects like we’re still nine.”
    That got a small smile from her, which was something at least.
    After school, we ran up to Madeline’s room, threw some things in her bag, then raced out the back door even though Madeline said, “It’s not like she gets home before dinner, like, ever.” She’d called her dad from her cell on the drive home. He told her to have fun and they’d see her tomorrow.
    In my room, I couldn’t help but be happy to have her to myself for what felt like the first time all week. I was glad she’d made new friends, but I wasn’t sure they were the type of girls I’d hang out with, which seemed weird. If Madeline liked them, and I liked Madeline, why wouldn’t I like the people she liked? Something about them, especially Susanna, rubbed me the wrong