our friends, to quit harassing us and just leave us alone,” I explained. “Because we’re not friends anymore, and they’re not exactly nice to us.”
“Seriously? Cassidy’s not nice?”
“Yup.”
“Why not?” asked Parker.
“Ask her,” I suggested.
“Maybe I will.”
“No, you won’t,” I said. “Please don’t talk to her.”
“Make up your mind. And what does making her favorite Rice Krispies Treats have to do with not talking to her anymore?” he asked.
“We’re … going to sort of smash them,” I said. “Or eat them. Or throw them in the fire or something.”
“You’re getting really weird as you get older.” Parker looked at me as if I’d lost my mind, and actually, I did think I was starting to sound that way. “That’s a waste. Give them to me instead,” he said. “I’ll eat half, then take the other half to Cassidy’s house and tell her you’re sorry. Or, instead of burning dessert, why don’t you just tell them to leave you alone?”
Sometimes Parker is kind of right about things, and insightful, which kind of makes me hate him. Maybe he was right this time, that the bigger and stronger thing to do would have been to confront them and just say, “Leave me alone and don’t write hurtful posts about my hair.”
But that wasn’t dramatic, and it wouldn’t change anything, either. And the fact that an immature ten-year-old could point out that this whole idea was sort of, well, immature, made me sad.
“But I’m
not
sorry!” I cried. “She’s the one who should be sorry.” Fortunately my mother came into the kitchen just then. “Mom, make Parker leave,” I insisted.
She laughed. “What do you think I am, a witch?”
I froze, mid-stir of the sticky marshmallow mix. If my mother were a witch, would she be able to help me with tonight’s ceremony? “Uh, why did you say that?” I asked.
“Because, I don’t have supernatural powers to get Parker to leave,” she said. “I suppose I could ask him nicely, or you could ask him more nicely than you just did.”
Was this really a time to go all Emily Post on me?
“Parker,” I said with a phony smile. “Would you mind not being here when my friends show up? And could you please stay invisible throughout the entire night? Because if you do that, I might promise I will save some good food for you.”
“Define ‘some,’ ” he said.
“Lots.”
“Okay,” he agreed. “I will gladly get lost. It’s not like I
want
to be here.”
“And it’s not like I want you to be here, either.”
“We’re on our way upstairs, Madison,” said Mom. “We’ll check back in a while.”
“No, don’t,” I muttered.
Mom coughed. “We will check back in a while,” she repeated slowly, giving me The Look. She sounded as if she was gritting her teeth a bit, too. What was
she
so stressed about? I was the one trying to change my life with one measly sleepover. She ought to meditate for a while and just chill out.
“Right. That’d be great. See you soon!” I hoped she understood I was under a lot of pressure: hosting, baking, and plotting the demise of former friendships.
I pressed the marshmallow and cereal into a rectangular cake pan. I’d never cooked something before that I planned on trashing. It did seem pretty wasteful. Maybe we should rethink this part of the plan, I decided.
No sooner had I finished the Rice Krispies Treatsand washed my hands than there was a knock at the back door.
Taylor walked in first, and then Olivia. Each carried a backpack, a sleeping bag, and some kind of food.
“Yay, you’re here! What did you guys bring?” I asked.
“I made devil’s food cake.” Taylor set a domed cake plate on the counter. “Three layers. My grandmother’s special recipe. Okay, technically my mom and I made it together—actually she made the cake part and I did the frosting. Some of the frosting.”
“Sounds delish, but I don’t get it,” I said.
“It’s
devil’s
food cake,”
“Seriously? Cassidy’s not nice?”
“Yup.”
“Why not?” asked Parker.
“Ask her,” I suggested.
“Maybe I will.”
“No, you won’t,” I said. “Please don’t talk to her.”
“Make up your mind. And what does making her favorite Rice Krispies Treats have to do with not talking to her anymore?” he asked.
“We’re … going to sort of smash them,” I said. “Or eat them. Or throw them in the fire or something.”
“You’re getting really weird as you get older.” Parker looked at me as if I’d lost my mind, and actually, I did think I was starting to sound that way. “That’s a waste. Give them to me instead,” he said. “I’ll eat half, then take the other half to Cassidy’s house and tell her you’re sorry. Or, instead of burning dessert, why don’t you just tell them to leave you alone?”
Sometimes Parker is kind of right about things, and insightful, which kind of makes me hate him. Maybe he was right this time, that the bigger and stronger thing to do would have been to confront them and just say, “Leave me alone and don’t write hurtful posts about my hair.”
But that wasn’t dramatic, and it wouldn’t change anything, either. And the fact that an immature ten-year-old could point out that this whole idea was sort of, well, immature, made me sad.
“But I’m
not
sorry!” I cried. “She’s the one who should be sorry.” Fortunately my mother came into the kitchen just then. “Mom, make Parker leave,” I insisted.
She laughed. “What do you think I am, a witch?”
I froze, mid-stir of the sticky marshmallow mix. If my mother were a witch, would she be able to help me with tonight’s ceremony? “Uh, why did you say that?” I asked.
“Because, I don’t have supernatural powers to get Parker to leave,” she said. “I suppose I could ask him nicely, or you could ask him more nicely than you just did.”
Was this really a time to go all Emily Post on me?
“Parker,” I said with a phony smile. “Would you mind not being here when my friends show up? And could you please stay invisible throughout the entire night? Because if you do that, I might promise I will save some good food for you.”
“Define ‘some,’ ” he said.
“Lots.”
“Okay,” he agreed. “I will gladly get lost. It’s not like I
want
to be here.”
“And it’s not like I want you to be here, either.”
“We’re on our way upstairs, Madison,” said Mom. “We’ll check back in a while.”
“No, don’t,” I muttered.
Mom coughed. “We will check back in a while,” she repeated slowly, giving me The Look. She sounded as if she was gritting her teeth a bit, too. What was
she
so stressed about? I was the one trying to change my life with one measly sleepover. She ought to meditate for a while and just chill out.
“Right. That’d be great. See you soon!” I hoped she understood I was under a lot of pressure: hosting, baking, and plotting the demise of former friendships.
I pressed the marshmallow and cereal into a rectangular cake pan. I’d never cooked something before that I planned on trashing. It did seem pretty wasteful. Maybe we should rethink this part of the plan, I decided.
No sooner had I finished the Rice Krispies Treatsand washed my hands than there was a knock at the back door.
Taylor walked in first, and then Olivia. Each carried a backpack, a sleeping bag, and some kind of food.
“Yay, you’re here! What did you guys bring?” I asked.
“I made devil’s food cake.” Taylor set a domed cake plate on the counter. “Three layers. My grandmother’s special recipe. Okay, technically my mom and I made it together—actually she made the cake part and I did the frosting. Some of the frosting.”
“Sounds delish, but I don’t get it,” I said.
“It’s
devil’s
food cake,”
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