How to Outfox Your Friends When You Don't Have a Clue by Jess Keating Page A

waste bag against a tree, and settled at the picnic table with my notebook. The weight of any unfinished project felt heavy on my shoulders, but after my horrible meet up with Liv, it seemed even more important that I thought of the perfect way to do it. I wished that instead of a crabapple tree, we had a great idea tree. Then I could pluck ideas off whenever I needed one.
    â€œWhat you got there?” Grandpa asked, sidling up next to me on the picnic table bench. He reached over to pour some of the cocoa from Mom’s thermos into a mug. “Some of your sketches?” He peeked over at my notes.
    â€œIt’s for a school project, actually,” I said. I handed him my project outline from Mr. Nicholson. “We’ve got to showcase five things that influence us using a form of media, like a record of what made us who we are in eighth grade. You know, like people and places and stuff.” I giggled at the cocoa mustache that had formed on his upper lip. “You’re on the list, by the way.” I pointed out his name, beside Liv, Ashley, and Bella. “And as for places, I had to include the zoo.”
    His mouth dropped open. “Me?” He wrapped his flannelly arm around me. “I’m one of your biggest influences? Banana, I’m honored !” He lifted his sleeve to his eye, sniffling once.
    I squirmed. Something about making your grandpa tear up was a bit too much emotion for yard-work day. But still, it was kind of nice that he cared that much, you know?
    â€œOf course,” I said. “You were one of the reasons I got…” I struggled for the right word to sum up how much bigger my life had gotten in such a short time. I had wanted to keep people from knowing we were even related , but now that seemed like a million years ago. “Braver,” I said finally. “I’m braver because of you.”
    He sniffed. “Ditto.” He nudged me and eyed the rest of my list. “Liv is your friend that moved, right?” He tapped her name on the page.
    â€œYep,” I said, my chest tightening. The image of her giggling over Leilani’s messages flashed in my head. “She’s visiting, and we’ve been kind of weird since she got here. I really want to show her she’s still my best friend, and I need the perfect way to do it. I want to do something different . Something nobody else will do,” I said, handing him a napkin for his cocoa mustache from the snack tray Mom had set out for us.
    â€œHmm…” he said, flipping the page over for Mr. Nicholson’s list of potential media we could use. “Some of these are pretty boring, huh? A blog post essay ?” He made a face. “I never did like writing essays in school,” he said, taking another sip of cocoa. “I always got too distracted by all the birds out the window to write more than a sentence or two.”
    â€œSounds like you.” I smirked. I couldn’t picture Grandpa as a kid like me, stuck in a classroom. He seemed built for the outdoors, surrounded by scary animals. Sometimes I wondered if he was actually raised by wolves, instead of human parents. That might have explained his shaggy hair and tendency to bear his teeth at Daz when he tried to sneak candy from his coat pocket without asking.
    â€œHow about a documentary?” Grandpa asked. “That must run in your blood by now, kiddo!” He chuckled, breaking a granola bar in half and tossing it into the air to catch it in his mouth.
    I narrowed my eyes. “Does that count?” I checked the list. Sure enough, under the list of film media, there it was.
    â€œHuh,” I said, tapping my pencil next to the entry. “I must have skimmed right over that. It sounds kind of…meh,” I said.
    Grandpa hacked on his granola bar. “Young lady!” He faked a shocked look, his cheeks turning rosy red. “The documentary is the single greatest invention of