says.
I feel like throwing up. Literally, I may lose my breakfast bar right here and now. All my dreams are flying past me.
Whoosh!
There goes the one where I decide which of the A-Clique boys I want to date this summer.
Whoosh!
There goes the one where I get discovered at the mall and become a bigger supermodel than Kate Moss.
Whoosh!
There goes the one where I get voted Prom Princess in high school.
I get down on my knees and clasp my palms together. “Please, please, let me stay with Claire while you guys are gone. Mrs. Rockport loves me and they have plenty of room. I’ll come visit every school holiday. Well, Thanksgiving and Christmas, because Mrs. Rockport already invited me to Florida with them next spring break.”
“Hey, drama queen,” Dad says, crossing his arms. “We’re not leaving you a thousand miles away from us, so forget about it.”
The guy with the broad shoulders jogs by again and I suddenly feel the need to be running, too. How could they tell me we’re moving in like, a
week,
and I’m just supposed to be like, oh, okay, great! “I’m going to Claire’s,” I announce as I run out of the gazebo. “I’ll see you at Thanksgiving!”
“Claire lives three miles from here,” Mom yells after me.
I don’t answer. I just keep moving. After about a mile, I’m vaguely aware that they’re following me in the van (okay, I’m highly aware of it because no other car in town bangs and hisses as it goes down the road), but I pretend not to notice. I have to stop every few blocks so that I don’t pass out, but I’m determined to get there. All those step aerobics classes must have done some good because even though it hurts to breathe, at least I’m still moving. When I’m two blocks away I call Claire and tell her to leave the front door open. She asks why. Panting, I reply, “Parents . . . moving . . . campground . . . no . . . life . . . not . . . going . . . live . . . you?”
“Your parents are moving to a campground where you’d have no life so you’re not going and you want to live with me?” she asks.
And that’s why Claire is my best friend.
When I get to her front door a few minutes later, she’s waiting for me. She steps aside. I run in and collapse on the white leather couch. I’m panting worse than Claire’s dog Maizy, who’s watching me warily from across the room.
“My mother said of course you can stay with us,” Claire says, kneeling next to the couch. “You can’t move away from here—that’s crazy. What would I do without you?”
“Water,” I croak.
She hurries into the kitchen and comes back with a bottle of Evian. It’s bubbly, and it hurts a little going down. The doorbell rings and I freeze. “Don’t open it! It’s THEM.”
We huddle together on the couch as the bell rings again. Finally Mrs. Rockport comes out to answer it. Claire tries to stop her, but her mom says, “There’s no excuse for bad manners,” and swings open the door.
“Hello, Elizabeth,” I hear my mother say.
“Hello, Sandy,” Claire’s mother replies. “You look—I mean—it’s marvelous to see you.”
“You too,” Mom says. I can hear the forced cheer-fulness in her voice. “Is it okay if I come in? I really need to talk to Bree.”
“Of course,” Claire’s mom says, even though Claire is glaring at her.
I bury my face in the couch. It occurs to me too late that my makeup is probably smeared all over it.
“Bree,” Mom says, resting her hand on my back. “I know you don’t want to do this. I understand what a big sacrifice this is for you, I truly do. But I promise, this will be a wonderful experience. The three years will just fly by.”
“Three YEARS?” Claire says. “You’ll miss most of high school! How will you get into college?”
“Yeah, Mom!” I say, flipping over like a fish. “You don’t want to risk me not getting into a good college. That’s all you and Dad talk about!”
“First of all, that’s not true. And second,
I feel like throwing up. Literally, I may lose my breakfast bar right here and now. All my dreams are flying past me.
Whoosh!
There goes the one where I decide which of the A-Clique boys I want to date this summer.
Whoosh!
There goes the one where I get discovered at the mall and become a bigger supermodel than Kate Moss.
Whoosh!
There goes the one where I get voted Prom Princess in high school.
I get down on my knees and clasp my palms together. “Please, please, let me stay with Claire while you guys are gone. Mrs. Rockport loves me and they have plenty of room. I’ll come visit every school holiday. Well, Thanksgiving and Christmas, because Mrs. Rockport already invited me to Florida with them next spring break.”
“Hey, drama queen,” Dad says, crossing his arms. “We’re not leaving you a thousand miles away from us, so forget about it.”
The guy with the broad shoulders jogs by again and I suddenly feel the need to be running, too. How could they tell me we’re moving in like, a
week,
and I’m just supposed to be like, oh, okay, great! “I’m going to Claire’s,” I announce as I run out of the gazebo. “I’ll see you at Thanksgiving!”
“Claire lives three miles from here,” Mom yells after me.
I don’t answer. I just keep moving. After about a mile, I’m vaguely aware that they’re following me in the van (okay, I’m highly aware of it because no other car in town bangs and hisses as it goes down the road), but I pretend not to notice. I have to stop every few blocks so that I don’t pass out, but I’m determined to get there. All those step aerobics classes must have done some good because even though it hurts to breathe, at least I’m still moving. When I’m two blocks away I call Claire and tell her to leave the front door open. She asks why. Panting, I reply, “Parents . . . moving . . . campground . . . no . . . life . . . not . . . going . . . live . . . you?”
“Your parents are moving to a campground where you’d have no life so you’re not going and you want to live with me?” she asks.
And that’s why Claire is my best friend.
When I get to her front door a few minutes later, she’s waiting for me. She steps aside. I run in and collapse on the white leather couch. I’m panting worse than Claire’s dog Maizy, who’s watching me warily from across the room.
“My mother said of course you can stay with us,” Claire says, kneeling next to the couch. “You can’t move away from here—that’s crazy. What would I do without you?”
“Water,” I croak.
She hurries into the kitchen and comes back with a bottle of Evian. It’s bubbly, and it hurts a little going down. The doorbell rings and I freeze. “Don’t open it! It’s THEM.”
We huddle together on the couch as the bell rings again. Finally Mrs. Rockport comes out to answer it. Claire tries to stop her, but her mom says, “There’s no excuse for bad manners,” and swings open the door.
“Hello, Elizabeth,” I hear my mother say.
“Hello, Sandy,” Claire’s mother replies. “You look—I mean—it’s marvelous to see you.”
“You too,” Mom says. I can hear the forced cheer-fulness in her voice. “Is it okay if I come in? I really need to talk to Bree.”
“Of course,” Claire’s mom says, even though Claire is glaring at her.
I bury my face in the couch. It occurs to me too late that my makeup is probably smeared all over it.
“Bree,” Mom says, resting her hand on my back. “I know you don’t want to do this. I understand what a big sacrifice this is for you, I truly do. But I promise, this will be a wonderful experience. The three years will just fly by.”
“Three YEARS?” Claire says. “You’ll miss most of high school! How will you get into college?”
“Yeah, Mom!” I say, flipping over like a fish. “You don’t want to risk me not getting into a good college. That’s all you and Dad talk about!”
“First of all, that’s not true. And second,
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