The Sister Solution by Trudi Trueit

not?”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œYou know, that might actually work.” My sister starts rummaging through her backpack. “That’s what we’ll do, Jorgianna. It’s a great idea.”
    â€œWhat is?”
    Sammi pulls out a pen and a spiral notebook. As Mom drives down Edgemont Avenue, my sister opens the notebook and starts scribbling. “We don’t have much time,” she mutters to herself.
    I bend my neck at an awkward angle to try to read what she is writing. “What are you doing?”
    â€œMaking a contract.” She never takes her eyes off the page.
    â€œA contract? For us?”
    â€œUh-huh. We’ll make an agreement that while we are both on school grounds we won’t talk to, write, call, text, or acknowledge each other.”
    â€œYou’re kidding—”
    â€œWe’ll each lead our own lives, completely separate in every way. This way you won’t step on my toes and I won’t step on yours. It’s the perfect solution.”
    I want to say, “No, Sammi, it’s not the perfect solution at all. It’s anawful idea. What if I get lost? What if nobody talks to me? What if I need you?” I don’t, though. I don’t say anything. At least she’s speaking to me. I don’t want to make her angry again.
    Our mother is signaling left to turn in to the Tonasket Middle School parking lot. “We’ve got to hurry,” says Sammi. She hands the notebook and pen to me. “Sign, please.” She has written her full name near the bottom of the page in her loose, loopy, writing: Samantha Eleanor Tremayne . She is waiting for me to do the same. If signing the thing is what it takes to make her happy, I guess it’d be all right. I slowly sign my name next to hers, using my best slanted handwriting. Every letter is the exact same size. Jorgianna Miriam Tremayne . I finish as the wheels of our car come to a stop near the curb in front of the school.
    â€œGreat. I’ll make a copy for you when we get home,” says Sammi, shutting the notebook and stuffing it into her backpack. “Oh, and that includes the bus, too. No sitting together, okay?”
    â€œOkay,” I say sadly.
    She catches Mom eyeing us in the rearview mirror and whispers, “I’ll go in first.”
    I say loudly, “You go ahead, Sammi. I want to talk to Mom for a minute.”
    Sammi gets out of the car.
    Mom gives her a wave. “Bye, sweetie. Enjoy your day.”
    â€œI will now ,” she says, smiling at me for the first time in days. She shuts the door and strolls away.
    It’s all I can do not to shout, “Wait, Sammi, please wait for me!”
    My mother turns in her seat. “I know it’s forbidden for a parent to set foot on middle school territory, so I won’t walk you to the counseling office.”
    â€œThanks, Mom.” I lean forward. “You double-checked, right? You made sure I don’t—”
    â€œYou don’t have any classes with Sammi. I’m not certain about lunch, though. I forgot to ask about that.”
    â€œYou forgot? Moooom, how could you forget?”
    â€œSorry, honey. I’ve had a lot on my plate.”
    Sammi and I in the same lunch? This could ruin everything. I tell myself to calm down and think it through logically. How many kids are in one lunch? One hundred? Maybe two hundred. I don’t know. I can’tfigure the probability without knowing the variables. Okay, I will have to wing it. If it does happen and I do see Sammi, I will simply turn and head in another direction. I hope she won’t be upset if we end up in the same lunch. I don’t want her blaming me for it.
    My mother sees the concern on my face. “Everything’s going to be fine, Jorgianna. You’re going to handle your schoolwork beautifully, and Sammi will come around. You’ll see.” She puts a hand on my shoulder. “Relax. Be yourself.”
    Be myself?