“How’s the water?” Ed said.
“Cold,” Jules said, even though she’d been in it by choice for almost an hour. “You forgot to turn on the heat.”
“Sorry, kiddo. Blue, you didn’t want to swim?”
“I didn’t bring my suit.”
“Well, you’ll have to bring it next time. Or borrow one of Jules’s. She’s got tons, right, Jules?”
Jules dove down and breaststroked to the deep end without answering. Mom’s eyes got big for a split second. Let’s just say if I ever ignored my parents like that, they’d never let me go swimming again. Plus, we don’t have a pool. Plus, if we did, it wouldn’t have heat.
But Ed didn’t seem to notice any of it. I guessed this was normal for them, because he was watching Jules swim with a grin so wide it belonged on a World’s Proudest Dad mug.
“Hey, Blue, it’s really great the way you and Jules have hit it off. Like I said, she doesn’t know anyone here, and I bet you’ve got millions of friends. You wouldn’t mind taking Jules with you to the beach or something tomorrow, would you?”
I opened my mouth to tell Ed that I was really sorry but I wasn’t going to the beach tomorrow—and probably not any other day—because I had a school project to do and there was no possible way Jules could come with me because it had to be done completely alone (except for Otis, of course).
But before I could get a word out, Mom cut in and said, “What a great idea, Ed. Blue would love to take Jules to the beach tomorrow.”
Blue would not love to take Jules to the beach tomorrow! I need to start treasure hunting tomorrow! But I couldn’t say that to Mom, even if Ed and Jules hadn’t been standing in front of us.
Back in the truck, Mom turned up the volume on “I Feel the Earth Move” by Carole King, which she calls her “jam.”
“How could you do that to me!” I yelled over the music. “Jules is totally obnoxious—Otis, get your tongue out of my ear; you owe me three biscuits! I one hundred percent refuse to take her to the beach. I’ve already wasted a whole morning of my life; I’m not wasting another minute on some rich movie star’s spoiled kid.”
Mom looked over at me while she was driving. I hate it when she does that.
“Ed pledged half a million dollars to the Cure Juvenile Diabetes Foundation, and he’s inviting two hundred people to the party and bringing in a camera crew to film the event.”
Game over. Nothing I could say would change Mom’s mind, not when all that money and all those people could maybe possibly help find a cure for diabetes. Which I understood, and even agreed with. But it does feel sometimes like diabetes sucks the fun out of every single thing I ever want to do.
I looked away from Mom and stared out the window. “Fine. I’ll go with Jules tomorrow, but that’s it. I’m not babysitting her the whole summer.”
“Deal,” Mom said.
CHAPTER THREE
True Fact: Best friends are called “best” for a reason. (TF supplied by a throw pillow in the sale bin at Kmart.)
As if the morning hadn’t been bad enough, that night was Nora’s last night home before leaving for theater camp. This would be our first summer apart since we met in kindergarten. No biking to the wildlife sanctuary, no bonfires and s’mores on the beach, no epic rainy-day TV marathons. We decided to go to our happy place.
Island Bowl has been around forever. My grandparents bowled there, my parents bowled there, my friends and I bowl there. Outside, the green, yellow, and orange ISLAND BOWL sign was missing its B. Inside wafted the sounds of pop hits from the fifties and the aroma of sixty years of foot odor and onion rings.
Nora, Otis, and I were in lane twelve, which has been Otis’s favorite ever since he spotted a mouse running along the wall. That was two years ago, but Otis is an optimist—he’s still on the alert for another. Island Bowl doesn’t allow animals, but since Otis is a service dog, he gets to go everywhere I go.
Nora eyed the four pins standing at the end of the lane, blew on her lucky green ball, and—
“Inspiration break!” She spun around to face me and Otis at the scoring desk. “What if we just take however many points we need depending on how we’re feeling instead of how many pins we knock down?”
Nora is a big believer in finding new ways to express herself. But sadness-based scoring wasn’t going to make me feel any better about us being apart for seven weeks. I forced a smile. “Go for it,” I said. “But I think I’ll stick to the usual methods.”
“As you wish.” She swung the ball between her legs granny-style and let it go. Spare.
Back in elementary school, Nora and I used to play for the Gutter Girls, the Island Bowl youth league team that won the state championship three years straight. Let’s just say granny-style wasn’t always Nora’s bowling technique.
She stepped carefully over Otis, who was at his mouse-duty station on the floor between the desk and the wall, to slide in next to me. “I’m feeling pretty good right now, so I don’t need the whole ten points. Just give me three.”
I marked Nora’s score on the score sheet and went to the ball return for my yellow nine-pounder. Lined it up, released, and…
“Another strike for Blue!” Nora cheered.
She swiveled to face Otis and picked up his paws to make him dance with her. Otis tolerated the indignity because he loves Nora. “Phoebe and Sophia asked if we wanted to hang out tonight, but I told them we were having Special Blue and Nora Time,” she said to me.
Last fall Nora got a part in the middle school musical and “discovered the theater.” For three months she had rehearsals every day after school and sometimes even on weekends. When it’s just us, we’re still as close as ever, but now Nora has a bunch of new friends to hang out with too. She invites me to do things with them, but whenever I go, I feel weird and awkward, like I’m standing in the wings watching them put on a show. It’s been even worse since February, when my grandfather Pop Pop died.
I took my seat at the desk again. “You didn’t have to do that,” I said, even though I was relieved that she had. “They could have come.”
“Well, I did want to have Special Blue and Nora Time.”
I did too.
We played through the end of the game, both of us getting sadder and sadder, until Nora finally rolled a gutter ball and said, “Give me a thousand.”
She plopped down on the chair next to me. Otis whined softly and put his head in her lap. “What if everyone hates me and I don’t make a single friend and then I catch tuberculosis and no one visits me in the infirmary?” she said.
“Not possible,” I said. “Anyone who hates you is a moron and you wouldn’t want to be friends with them anyway. And if you get tuberculosis, Otis and I will hitchhike to camp and visit you.”
Nora kneaded one of Otis’s super-soft ears between two fingers. “What if I’m so bad that I don’t get cast in a single show and I have to spend the whole time sweeping the floors and shining all the actors’ shoes instead?”
“Also not possible. I’ve seen you act and you’re incredible. And I’ve seen you clean…” I bumped her shoulder with mine. “And you’re terrible.”