“Speaking of delicious,” said Izzy. “I told Granddad I’d help him get dinner ready. So I better head home.”
“Izzy, wait till you tell your granddad you tackled the rope swing today,” said Allie as she crammed her wet towel into her backpack.
“You didn’t just tackle it,” added Charlie. “You ACED it!”
“He’ll be proud,” said Allie.
“Yup, he will,” said Izzy as she and her friends hopped on their bikes and started down the lane. It was true: Izzy’s granddad was her biggest fan. After every A-plus report card, every “100% Perfect!” sticker on every quiz, Granddad was the first one waiting with a high five. Nobody believed in Izzy more than Granddad. Now, if she could just bring him with her to sixth-grade homeroom tomorrow. “You know, guys,” Izzy admitted to Charlie and Allie riding beside her. “I’m freaked out about tomorrow.”
“Me too,” said Charlie.
“Me three,” agreed Allie.
For a while, the girls pedaled silently. They were thinking of all the ways middle school was different from elementary school: changing classes, tons more homework, and dances. Tomorrow, they’d be swept up in the swirl of students flowing in from other elementary schools. There’d be lots of new faces.
“What if we aren’t in the same classes?” asked Izzy. She knew she sounded Dizzy Izzy-ish, but she couldn’t help worrying out loud. “How are we going to find our way around the building and get to our classes on time? What if the new kids are mean? What if we forget our homework assignments? Or locker combinations?”
“Allie,” said Charlie, “you’re good at numbers. Maybe you can help us remember our combinations.”
“Sure,” said Allie. “I’ll try, anyway.”
“I’m going to try out for the track team,” said Charlie. “Remember, in middle school you have to try out for stuff you want to do, like teams and chorus and the school play. It’s not like elementary school, where everybody does everything.”
“Oh, right!” said Izzy. “My brothers said something about tryouts.” Thinking about tryouts made Izzy feel wobbly on her bike. She had planned to play her favorite sport: ice hockey. She loved the physics of the blade on ice, the speed and the momentum, and the challenge of figuring out the perfect force and timing to hit the puck into the goal. It suddenly occurred to her that she might not even make the team. “Thanks a lot, Charlie,” she groaned. “Now I’m even more worried.”
“Nice going, Char,” said Allie. “Izzy’s already crazed about tomorrow.”
Tomorrow! Izzy repeated to herself. She trembled. The dreaded day was only hours away. She asked anxiously, “How will we meet up with each other in the morning before school? We should make a plan, a specific plan.”
“Let’s meet at the bike racks,” said Charlie. “I’m going to ride my bike to school. Are you guys?”
Allie answered yes. But before Izzy could respond, her phone beeped. It was an old flip phone that her mom had given her for emergencies. Coasting slowly, Izzy lifted the phone out of her bike basket, flipped it open one-handed, and saw that she had a text. “Whoa,” she breathed. She stopped her bike. “Intense.”
“What?” asked Allie and Charlie, stopping, too.
“Guess what?” said Izzy.
“What?” asked Allie and Charlie again.
“I just got a text from my mom,” said Izzy. “It’s about Marie. She’s back.”
“Wait, WHAT?” gasped both Allie and Charlie.
Izzy spoke slowly and clearly. “Marie’s mom texted my mom to say that they’re back. They’re in a new apartment, but Marie will be going to our school.”
“Marie. Is. Back,” stated Charlie, as if she needed to say it to believe it.
“Whoa…that is intense,” said Allie.
“It’s…it’s good intense,” said Izzy, looking at her friends. “Right?”
Charlie nodded slowly. “Sure,” she said. But she sounded unsure.
Marie Curie had been Izzy’s best friend since preschool. In elementary school, Marie and Izzy and Charlie and Allie had been a solid team. The girls had looked forward to being a fantastic fourth-grade foursome. But Marie left after third grade. She and her family had been living in Paris for the past two years.
At first, the four friends tried hard to Skype each other regularly. But it was hard. The time difference between America and France threw them off; it seemed like it was always the wrong time to talk, either way too early in the morning or way too late at night. And also, it seemed like Marie was always busy. She was traveling around Europe with her family, taking cooking classes, and exploring Paris with her cool new friends. For a while, Marie sent photos of herself in chic French clothing and weird French haircuts, made jokes in French, and referenced French celebrities, whom the other girls didn’t know. Then, suddenly, Marie stopped responding to e-mails and texts. One time, the girls tried to call her and there was no answer, so they gave up. Marie was a mystery—a mystery that hurt, too.
Izzy thought aloud, “The real question is: Why didn’t Marie text us to say she’s back?”
“She dumped us,” said Allie, sharp and certain. “That’s why. Face it.”
“Ohhh, no, I don’t know,” said Izzy. She hated to give up on anything, and a friendship seemed way too important to just kick to the curb. “Don’t you think we kind of fell apart because she was so far away in France? Now that she’s back, maybe we’ll be friends again.”
“Nope,” said Allie. “You can’t put a positive spin on this one, Izzy. Marie stopped talking to us a long time ago. I don’t know why. But it is clear that now, as far as she’s concerned, we’re over and out.”
“I still hope—” Izzy began.
Charlie interrupted gently. “I think Marie has made it pretty clear that she isn’t interested in us anymore,” she said. “I think she thinks she’s outgrown us. When she thinks of us, she probably remembers the goofy kid-stuff chemistry we used to do. Like, remember how we used to spend hours testing out different recipes for slime?”
“That’s not kid stuff. Making slime was FUN!” protested Izzy. “It’s STILL fun!”
“Fun that Marie is way too cool for now,” said Charlie. “Think of the photos she sent us where she looked so French and sophisticated. She used to be all about chemistry, but not anymore, judging by those photos.”
“Marie’s Marie,” said Izzy. “She’ll be glad to see us.”
“Hunh!” snorted Allie. “Don’t count on it.”
“Allie’s right,” said Charlie. “I know you don’t like change, Izzy. But I think you’ll only get hurt by hoping Marie will be the way she used to be. Past is past. We’re not the same, and she won’t be, either.”
“That’s one hundred percent for sure,” said Allie.
“But!” said Izzy, holding up her index finger to make a point. “There is a fifty-fifty chance that the new Marie will be friendly, right?”