Quinny & Hopper (8 page)

Twenty-four

Quinny is no good at taking no for an answer.

She stands on the other side of my door, huffing and puffing,
please
-ing and
why
-ing.

But I don’t want to see her right now. I don’t want to play, or draw Mr. McSoren on a poster, or hear about her new backpack. I don’t even want to
think
about school supplies.

So I use my biggest, most awful voice to make her go away.

From my window, I watch Quinny shuffle home, dragging her new backpack and that poster behind her. I know I hurt her feelings. I should have told her that Trevor and Ty are coming home from camp today. That’s why I can’t play. My brothers will be home any minute. But that’s not the whole truth of why I can’t play. It’s just half.

The other half is worse.

I guess she’ll find out soon enough. Everything will change in a couple of weeks. And not just because my brothers will be home. When fall starts and school starts and the whole truth starts, Quinny will see the real me. And she won’t want to be friends with that person.

Nobody does.

Twenty-five

Maybe I
am
stupid. I thought that boy was my friend.

What did I do wrong? And what does he have against my new backpack, anyway? I’m not going to sniffle about it, that’s for sure. No matter how leaky my nose feels.

As I walk home, a big, shiny black car whooshes past me on the street. Its windows are so dark that I can’t even see who’s inside. The car stops in front of Mrs. Porridge’s house and out steps a girl wearing the glitteriest pair of sneakers ever, plus sparkly silver tights and a swishy pink and black striped dress. She stands there for a second, like she’s posing for a camera.

It’s Victoria. And this time I don’t accidentally spray her with a freezing water hose. This time I just stare. Did I mention she’s carrying a purse made of pink feathers?

I guess Victoria has forgiven me for soaking her with the hose, because she actually walks over to me. “Good morning,” she says. “Quinny, right? What are you doing with that poster?”

I glance down at my blank poster and then back at Hopper’s house. “Nothing, I guess.”

“Could you give it to me, then? I need it for something important.”

Before I know it, Victoria swoops the poster right out of my hand.

“T
hanks a bunch,” she calls out as she walks back toward Mrs. Porridge’s house.

That big, shiny black car zooms away now, without even saying good-bye.

I follow Victoria a little. “Hey, wait…what are you going to do with my poster?”

She makes a mysterious little half smile.
“Yo
u’ll see.”

Then she goes right into Mrs. Porridge’s house and shuts the door behind her.

So I guess I won’t see.

But a moment later the door opens, and Victoria sticks her head back out. “By the way, I like your backpack.”

“Yo
u do?” I feel my whole face smiling now.

“It’s not pink,” she says. “But it’s supercute anyway.”

“T
hanks. Sorry I soaked your dress with the hose.”

Wa
lter the cat hisses at me from Mrs. Porridge’s front steps.

“Yo
u too,
Wa
lter. Sorry I soaked your fur.”

“I just got that dress,” Victoria sighs. “It was a special present from my dad.”

It was? I had no idea.

“He bought it in London,” she adds. “From a store they don’t even have here.”

“I’m very, very, extra-very sorry.”

“T
hat’s okay,” says Victoria. “Maybe you could make it up to me by doing something nice, and then we can be friends.”

I nod eagerly.

“T
hat watermelon barrette you’re wearing is really cool,” she says next. “I’ve been looking for a barrette just like that for a long time.”

I touch the watermelon barrette that’s up in my hair. Santa stuffed it into my stocking three years ago. It still smells like watermelon, and it’s so comfy that I wear it all the time.

But the way Victoria is looking at it now makes me nervous.

“Yo
u’re so glamorous,” I tell her. “Isn’t this fruity barrette kind of babyish for you?”

“Not at all,” says Victoria. “It’s fun and retro. And it’s my favorite shade of pink.”

I have no idea what
retro
means, but I do know something about colors.

“Hey, Victoria, you know, this barrette isn’t even pink,” I point out. “It’s red.”

“
Wa
termelon insides are reddish-rosy-pink, which is still pink,” she insists.

She’s wrong about that. But I want Victoria to know I’m sorry. I want to find out what she’s going to do with my poster and where on earth she got a purse made of pink feathers. I want us to be real friends.

So, very sadly, very slowly, I take off the watermelon barrette and hand it to her.

Victoria clicks my barrette into her own hair, then pulls a mirror out of her feathery purse and admires herself.
“T
hanks! I knew this would look fantastic on me!”

Being generous is supposed to make you feel good. But all I feel right now is confused. Without my favorite barrette, my hair zigzags down in front of my eyes. I try to push it back behind my ears, where it doesn’t like to stay for long.

Victoria admires herself for a long time and then snaps her mirror shut, which makes a really loud noise that startles me. “Okay, now we can pla
y,”
she says.

Fabulous! Except Victoria doesn’t want to help me catch Freya. “Who cares about a crazy old chicken?” She doesn’t want to play fortune-teller, either. She doesn’t even know what a smelling bee is, poor thing, and when I tell her, she says, “Gross!”

Victoria wants to play fashion show.

“
We
’ll start by pulling together some outfits,” she says.
“T
hen we’ll set up chairs and make a runway. My great-aunt said you’re from New
Yo
rk, right? Let’s go check out your closet.”

“I’ve got a better idea. Let’s dress
Wa
lter up for a cat fashion show! I bet that would cheer him up. C’mon, my mom’s got some goofy hats we could use.…”

I take Victoria’s hand and lead her toward my house.

“My great-aunt would never approve of that,” she says.

“Or we could have a zombie fashion show! Paint our faces green and walk around moaning and snarling—”

“It’s not even Halloween.”

“I know—that’s the great thing! People will think we’re real zombies and be extra scared!”

As we walk up to my front door, Piper pops out from behind a tree, like she always does. Barefoot, shirtless, dirty, and with a finger up her nose.

“What’s that?” Victoria asks.

“T
hat’s my little sister Piper.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s four.”

Piper follows us into the house. And up the stairs, toward my room.

Victoria looks back at Piper like she’s a walking germ. “On second thought, let’s go back to my great-aunt’s house,” she says. “
We
’ll have more privacy there.” Then she calls out, “Mrs. Bumble, Quinny wants to come have lunch with me!”

I do? Victoria sounds so sure, but I don’t remember her even asking me.

Mom’s busy on the phone, but she waves back a yes. Victoria grabs my hand and pulls me down the stairs. “Come on, I have a surprise for you, too.”

“A
surprise?” Piper asks, all excited, as she follows us. My little sister loves surprises.

“Sorry, no babies allowed,” Victoria says with a sniff.

“Y
eah.” I smile down at my filthy little twit-ster.

Victoria pulls me along some more. I turn back and see Piper’s disappointed face watching us walk away.

I don’t know what Victoria’s surprise is, but here is another surprise that is truly surprising: seeing Victoria be rude to Piper doesn’t feel good.

In fact, it almost makes me want to go back and hug my little sister. Almost.

On our way to Mrs. Porridge’s house, Victoria and I pass by Hopper’s house. I look up at his window. No one looks back out at me. So I pause for just a second, in case he is about to look out. I think about juggling. And feet. And that beautiful-weird picture book of body parts Hopper likes so much. I think about Freya. Who will help me catch her now?

“Quinny, hurry up,” calls Victoria.

One of my feet wants to keep following Victoria toward the exciting surprise, but the other foot wants to go find out why Hopper was being such a crabby-pants before.

“Victoria, wait, I have a better idea.…”

But before I can explain, a minivan pulls into Hopper’s driveway, and Trevor and Ty burst out of it. Those beastly bully twins are back from summer camp! They run into their yard and pull that soccer goalie net out from behind the garage.

The one that broke, all by itself, when Hopper and I turned it into a hammock.

Uh-oh.

I turn and run to catch up with Victoria. Spending the afternoon safe inside Mrs. Porridge’s house suddenly sounds like the best idea after all.

Twenty-six

My brothers get home from camp, all rough and loud and covered with mosquito bites. They’re furious about their broken soccer net. They’re curious about who broke it. Which means they find me (hiding under my bed) and swing me around by my ankles.

But I keep quiet. I’m not tattling on Quinny, no matter what.

Mom finally comes in and makes them stop.

“Boys, that’s enough. Sometimes things just break,” she says, looking at me like she knows how this particular thing broke.
“T
hat’s called life. Now stop this nonsense and come downstairs for lunch.”

“
We
know it was you.” Trevor pokes me in the chest.

“T
his isn’t over,” hisses Ty.

It never is.

“Lunch. Now,” Mom reminds us.

“I want pigs in a blanket!” shouts Trevor.

“I want chicken nuggets and fries!” roars Ty.

Mom serves them turkey sandwiches and carrot chips instead. My brothers are so busy whining about the healthy lunch that they forget to keep bothering me. I sit all the way at the other end of the kitchen table. I finish eating my cauliflower sandwich and look out the window.

That’s when I notice Quinny walking down the street with Victoria Porridge.

Wa
it a second.

Victoria only talks to people she can boss. I didn’t think anybody could boss Quinny. I watch the two of them walk away. It looks like they’re headed toward Mrs. Porridge’s house. It looks like they’re friends now.

I think I just lost my appetite.

Victoria Porridge never says hi to me, but she’s being nice to Quinny. Most people are
nice to Quinny, I think. She makes friends wherever she goes. She’ll be fine without me when school starts. I’m the one who won’t be fine without her.

Because the whole truth is this: I have no friends at school.

None, as in zero.

I used to have a friend, Owen, who I met in kindergarten. Owen built birdhouses out of toothpicks and ate cauliflower sandwiches for lunch and never went anywhere without his pocket dictionary. But he moved away after first grade. And then in second grade, I didn’t find anyone else to like who also liked me back.

Of course, there were some friendly grown-ups at school. My second-grade teacher, Mrs. Santos, was kind. The librarian and the lunch lady always said hi. And some of the kids were okay. But there is a big difference between finding an okay kid and finding a true friend. A true friend saves you a seat at lunch, and no one did. A true friend asks, “Where were you?” if you were absent, and no one did. A true friend invites you to his birthday party, and no one did (except for Liam Crewson, who invited the whole class because his parents made him).

I don’t know why, but none of the kids at school really noticed me last year. And Victoria Porridge is the one who didn’t notice me the most.

Once Quinny finds all this out, she won’t be my friend anymore. After all, who wants to be friends with someone who doesn’t have any friends?

I finish my sandwich, by hiding most of it under a napkin. Trevor and Ty are wrestling on the floor now. Mom is talking on her phone. I go upstairs without anyone noticing.

I look out my window. From up here I can see Mrs. Porridge’s house. I can see Quinny and Victoria standing by the front door, talking.

And talking.

Quinny doesn’t look up at me. Not even once.

Finally she and Victoria go inside Mrs. Porridge’s house together.

And I pull my window shade down. For good.