“And just in the morning. She’ll feel better this afternoon. ”
“Well, it’s nice of you to help her, ” I say.
“I’m not doing it to be nice,” Jenna says. “I’m doing it because I have to. ” She puckers her mouth like a raisin. “Jenna,” she says in a fake-mom voice. “In this family we support and encourage each other. Now pick up that alligator and get to school! ”
Jenna huffs and squeezes the alligator tighter. “My mom can be such a boss. ”
A minute later, the school bus comes around the corner and we all climb on.
When we get to school, Jenna, Rachel, Tess, and the alligator head to the kindergarten wing. Quinn zooms past me, catching up to Zane and Rusty. Zane has his arm in a cast.
“What happened to you? ” I overhear Quinn ask Zane.
“Went sledding on Ricochet Ridge,” Zane replies.
“Whoa . . .” Quinn says. “What did you do? Hit a tree? ”
“Nah,” Zane says. “Rusty dared me to go down standing up. ”
Rusty bobs his head.
“I would’ve made it too,” Zane continues, “if some little kid hadn’t been poking along in front of me. ”
“Yeah,” Rusty says. “Zaney did a backside one eighty right over the kid! I swear he was airborne for five, ten seconds before he hit the hill. ”
“Snap, crackle, pop,” Zane says. “Busted my arm in three places. ”
“ Cool , ” Quinn says.
I hurry past the boys and head for the fourth-grade wing. I want to see Stacey before the bell rings.
As soon as I get there I notice the floor is as shiny as it was on the first day of school. Mr. Benson, our custodian, must have spent his holiday break scrubbing and waxing.
When I get to our coatroom, I hang up my jacket, kick off my boots, and slip on my sneakers. Then I pull my new box of oil pastels out of my backpack and go out to the hallway to find Stacey. But Randi Peterson finds me first.
Randi holds a bright orange basketball up to my nose. “Smell it, ” she says.
I take a sniff. “Smells like you got a new basketball for Christmas, ” I say.
Randi nods and presses her nose against it. She closes her eyes and breathes in. “ Ahhhh . . .” she says. “There’s nothin’ like the smell of a new basketball. ” Then she opens her eyes. “I’m gonna baby it too. So it’ll smell longer. ”
“Good plan, ” I say. “Did you get anything else? ”
“The usual, ” Randi says, bouncing the ball on the shiny floor. “Books from my grandma. Clothes from my mom and dad. Video games from my brothers so they can play with them. Stuff like that. How about you? ”
“I got this , ” I say, holding up my box of oil pastels.
“Crayons? ” Randi says.
“Not crayons , ” I reply. “ Oil pastels . Like real artists use.” I turn the box over and show her the pict ure of Arielle LaFayette, Award-Winning Artist .
Randi studies the picture for a moment. “That’s all you got? ” she asks.
I fidget a little. “Well, no, but this is the best I got. ”
“Huh, ” she says, and sniffs her basketball.
Just then, I see Stacey walking toward us. I smile and wave, but she doesn’t wave back because she’s busy unzipping her shiny silver jacket and talking to Brooke.
It’s no fun waving to someone who isn’t waving back, so I pull my hand down and swallow my smile.
Stacey takes off her fuzzy purple earmuffs. They must be new, because I’ve never seen them before. Stacey looks kind of new too. Different. Her hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, which makes her look even taller than she did the last time I saw her, ten days ago. Plus, she’s wearing a new outfit. It’s the matching kind you see in girls’ magazines. Red jumper. Blue turtleneck. Striped tights. White boots with furry trim and jingle bells at the ends of the laces.
Brooke has her long, dark hair pulled up into a high ponytail too. Only it’s a lot curlier than usual. Like her head grew springs. It matches Stacey’s ponytail perfectly and for one tiny second I wonder if they