This Is Me From Now On Page 3

“This is Francesca,” I said, giving Nisha a look. “She’s on Team F and she’s also my neighbor.”

  The word “neighbor” must have rung a bell, because Nisha blinked at me. “Well, nice to meet you, Francesca. I’m sure I’ll see you around. Evie, we have, like, two minutes before Mom totally loses it.”

  “Okay,” I said loudly. “We’d better find those Post-its, then. See you, Francesca.”

  Francesca gave us a dazzling smile, which for some reason made me feel guilty again, and we ran off

  “Why were you so weird just now?” Nisha asked as she grabbed a bunch of Post-its

  I gave her the sound bite of the whole ice cream store disaster. “And now she’s standing in the middle of Staples refusing to buy school supplies. Does that even seem normal to you?”

  “Maybe she’s just cheap.”

  “She couldn’t be. Her family’s in the oil business.”

  “You mean like cooking oil?”

  “No. I think like oil oil.” I checked behind us to make sure she wasn’t following. And also that Zane wasn’t anywhere nearby. “That’s why I didn’t want you to beep before: so I wouldn’t have to deal with her today.”

  “Well, anyway, she’s not your problem,” Nisha said distractedly. “Try not to obsess about her, okay? Look, there’s Mom.”

  Mrs. Guptil was scolding some poor stock boy about the way they’d arranged the packs of subject dividers. We managed to drag her away and pay for our stuff, then cram it all into the car on the seat next to Jimmy. I couldn’t help noticing he smelled even more like Jasmine Orange Blossom than before. Lily denied it, but I’m pretty positive she’d detangled his butt for the ride home. Anyway, I unrolled my window as far down as I could so at least my supplies wouldn’t also stink for the entire school year.

  That night, the second we sat down to dinner, the kitchen doorbell rang. And rang and rang, like there was some kind of big, scary emergency. My parents have a strict

  no-phone-calls-during-dinner policy, but doorbell ringing was different. I mean, you couldn’t just sit there munching your broccoli while the whole house was vibrating.

  So without even excusing myself, I got up from the table and opened the kitchen door

  It was Francesca. She was wearing one of those tacky Hawaiian shirts with grapefruit-size pink and yellow flowers, and also the gold chandelier earrings she’d had on at Staples. And she was holding an enormous red box that said, I SCREAM FOR ICE CREAM!

  “Here,” she said, handing it to me. “This is for yesterday at the ice cream place. I decided I desperately needed to apologize.”

  “No, you didn’t,” I said. Then I just stood there stupidly, holding the freezing, heavy box.

  She tapped on the lid with a longish, chipped pink fingernail. “Well? Aren’t you going to open it?”

  So I opened it.

  Inside was a gigantic white ice cream cake, the kind you get when you’re five years old and have one of those mega-birthday parties where you invite the whole class. It had blue rosebuds with neon green leaves, and on the sides were those tiny bits of rainbow candy that look like confetti.

  And on top, in swirly purple icing, it said, BON VOYAGE, LOIS & DAVE.

  “Uh, thank you,” I said slowly. “It looks delicious. But who are Lois and Dave?”

  She laughed. “Nobody. I made them up. There wasn’t room for ‘Sorry I acted like such a greedy pig yesterday.’”

  “You didn’t—”

  “Don’t lie, Evie. You know that’s exactly what you were thinking, so why not just admit it?”

  “Okay. You kind of did, actually.” I waited to feel proud of myself for being honest. When nothing happened, I added brilliantly, “Whoa. That is definitely a very large cake.”

  “I know; isn’t it fantastic? And it has all the best flavors, but I can’t remember their names. Anyway, I paid in cash, so all is forgiven.”

  “You mean with Zane?” I caught my breath. “How do you know that?”

  “Relax, Evie. I could just tell. I even bought myself a huge scoop of chocolate chip. And you’re right, it was deeply scrumptious.”

  I exhaled. Zane wasn’t angry at her, which meant he wasn’t angry at me. Well, that was certainly a major relief

  Francesca was beaming. “So. Aren’t you going to have an enormous slice before it all melts?”

  “It’s six thirty,” I answered. “We’re just having dinner. I can’t eat dessert before I finish dinner.”

  Then her smile flickered, the way lights do when there’s a thunderstorm the next town over. And suddenly I found myself thinking, Oh, Evie. Why can’t you be nicer to her? She apologized, didn’t she? Plus, she brought you this cake

  Just then, Mom came into the kitchen. “Hi, Francesca,” she said, her junk-food-detector automatically on High Alert. “Oh boy, what a beautiful cake. What does it say? ‘Bon voyage—’”

  “Lois and Dave,” Francesca said helpfully. “Very old and dear friends of Aunt Sam’s. They were shipping out for the Greek Isles, so they gave it to us. And since we’re just about to take off too, we thought we’d share it with you.” She smiled sweetly at Mom

  “How generous,” Mom said, giving me a look. I knew exactly what she wanted: I was supposed to say, Oh yes, Francesca, how generous. But I couldn’t, because right at that moment I was too busy trying to read Francesca’s eyes. Old and dear friends of Aunt Sam’s? What? Just, like, thirty seconds ago she’d said that she’d “made up” Lois and Dave. And also paid Zane “in cash.” She had the box from Zane’s store, which meant she’d obviously bought the cake there. But then why would she lie to Mom about her aunt’s “friends”? And the Greek Isles? What was even the point?

  Mom opened the freezer and somehow stuffed in the cake without squishing the box. “Would you like to join us for dinner?” she was asking Francesca. “We’re just now sitting down to veggie burgers.”

  Francesca held up her hand. “Oh, no thanks, Mrs. Webber. Aunt Sam and I are actually heading out the door. I promised I’d drop off the cake and then dash, and I’m interrupting your dinner, I can tell. Anyway, see you at school, Evie. In five days!”

  “Four,” I corrected her, watching from the kitchen window as she hopped into the black convertible and sped off

  chapter 3

  The next three days flew by, but I’m not sure where they went. It was strange how I never once saw Francesca. Not that I wanted to, especially. But Mom insisted I ring her doorbell a couple of times to thank her for the Lois & Dave cake. She even suggested (“and this is just a suggestion,” she said) that I invite her over to have some, since it was taking up so much room in our freezer.

  But nobody ever answered their door, and I could see the mail starting to spill out of Samantha Pattison’s mailbox. Then I remembered Francesca saying she and her aunt were just about to “take off” somewhere. I wondered where: back to Saudi Arabia? No; that was too big a trip if Francesca was going to make it back for the first day of school. But of course she’d thought school started in five days, not four, so maybe she didn’t even care about showing up on time. Maybe going to Morning Homeroom and getting her schedule and all that other First Day of School stuff would be “suppressing her spirit,” or whatever she’d called it. Maybe, I thought, she’d left Blanton Middle before she’d even started it.

  And then all of a sudden, the night before school, she was back. Grace and I were just finishing up the dinner dishes when I heard a car screech up her driveway. So I peeked out the kitchen window and saw Francesca and Samantha getting out of the convertible, carrying a bunch of grocery bags and laughing their heads off

  “Just in time,” commented Grace. “I thought we’d never seen them again.”

  “You thought they’d moved?” I asked

  “Fled,” she answered as Samantha took a huge mosquito-zapper out of the trunk of her car

  That night just as I was pulling up my pj bottoms, I realized Grace was standing in my room. “How can you possibly sleep with all this
noise?” she muttered

  “What noise?”

  “You don’t hear anything? God, Evie, you must be going deaf.”

  I followed her down the hall to her bedroom, which was thumping with some kind of horrible eighties-sounding music, plus the sound of people laughing like they were at the most fun party ever. Grace yanked open her lavender tie-dyed curtains and we both stared out. You couldn’t see very much from that angle, but I could just make out Samantha’s back deck, and about twenty incredibly gorgeous grown-ups (male and female) dancing, drinking, talking, and obviously having a fabulous time. And in the corner of the deck was Francesca, leaning against the railing and eating what looked like an enormous sandwich.

  Grace glared. “I can’t believe how inconsiderate this is. Doesn’t Samantha Pattison read the school calendar?”

  “Why should she?”

  “Well, theoretically Francesca’s going to school in the morning, right? Somebody should do something.”

  “Like what?” I asked uneasily

  “I don’t know. Tell Mom?”

  “What’s she supposed to do?”

  “Just watch,” Grace said. Then she marched out of her bedroom

  About two minutes later, the music stopped. I could hear the sound of a screen door slamming, over and over, so I looked out. All the guests were scurrying inside like it had started thundering, and Mom was standing on the deck giving a big speech to Samantha. All I could hear was every fifth word: intolerable, timing, Francesca, delighted. How did those words possibly make up a sentence? I was too tired and jittery to figure it out

  The next morning at breakfast Mom informed me that I was walking Francesca to school.

  “But I can’t,” I said through a mouthful of English muffin. “I’ve got plans with Nisha and Lily. We always walk together the first day. For good luck.” Ever since fourth grade we had a set routine: I’d walk over to Nisha’s and then the two of us would pick up Lily. At school we’d hang out on the grass and play Spot the Differences From Last Spring, noticing things like who had a new haircut, and whose body had gotten weirder. I wouldn’t call it fun, exactly, but it helped me make it to Morning Homeroom.

  “Oh, Evie, don’t be so babyish,” Mom said. She was unloading the dishwasher in order: knives, spoons, forks, dinner plates, salad plates, whatever plates. “Why can’t you just let Francesca tag along—”

  “Because we’re not playing tag, Mom!”

  “Hey,” said Dad in a warning voice. “Don’t talk to your mother that way.” His BlackBerry made a windchime noise, so he took it out of his bathrobe pocket

  “I’m sorry, Dad,” I said loudly. “But this is just incredibly unfair.”

  Mom pursed her lips. “All right, Evie. It’s a very busy morning and we don’t have time for all this cliquish girl nonsense. Just be nice and think of Francesca’s feelings. It’s her first day at a new school.”

  “Fine. But I really wish you’d asked me first.”

  “Evie,” Dad said. Then he typed something

  The front doorbell rang

  I got up to answer it. I am not a cliquish girl I told myself. I just really, really needed to walk with my two best friends on a morning when my underarms were already clammy from nerves. And why did that give Mom the right to call me names like babyish, just because I didn’t do exactly what she wanted? I mean, she didn’t even ask for my input; she just organized me like I was a piece of silverware.

  And of course Dad took her side. He always did. About everything.

  Gah. The first day of seventh grade was hard enough. So why did my own parents have to make it even harder?

  “Oh, good morning,” Francesca said, looking startled, as if I’d just showed up on her doorstep.

  “Hi,” I said. “You look nice.” She was wearing a Bazooka-colored peasant top and a short yellow skirt with, like, a million flounces. And she had on those stilettos, which made her bare legs look shaky and skinny, kind of like a newborn giraffe’s. But the funny thing was, she really did look nice. In a parallel-universe sort of way

  Francesca gave me the short version of her dazzling smile. “Well, thanks, Evie. So do you. Are you ready?”

  I shrugged. Then I remembered something. Nisha was waiting for me at her house; I couldn’t just not show up. “I have to make a quick call first, okay?” I mumbled.

  Not waiting for Francesca to answer, I went back inside and speed-dialed Nisha. “Listen, I’ll meet you and Lily at school, I can’t explain, my Mom arranged it,” I said

  “Evie?” Nisha said

  “Wait for me in front of the building.” I grabbed my backpack. “BYE,” I called down the hall to the kitchen, because I didn’t want to leave the house in the middle of a fight. Then I double-checked to make sure I had everything: pencils, blue pens, lip gloss, keys, cell, pack of sugar-free Bubblelicious. That was when it occurred to me that Francesca wasn’t carrying a backpack. In fact, she wasn’t carrying anything, not even paper and pencils

  I unwrapped a stick of gum and started chomping

  We walked for half a block in the windy heat without saying a single word. The Scavullos’ automatic lawn sprinkler was going thwip, thwip, thwip, shooting water all over the sidewalk, so mostly I just concentrated on not getting drenched. But Francesca didn’t care. All of a sudden she took off her shoes, walked right over to the sprinkler, and let it spray her for as long as it took me to yell, “OMIGOD, FRANCESCA, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Then she ran back over to me, laughing. Maybe because of all those flounces and layers, her clothes hardly even looked damp, but her long, caramel-colored hair was definitely drippy

  “Whew. Wow. That was funfunfun,” she said, stepping back into her shoes. “Don’t be so boring, Evie—you should do it too. It’ll wake you up!”

  “I’m awake already,” I answered, not too thrilled with the word “boring.” I watched her shake her hair like an overgrown puppy. “But I bet you were up incredibly late last night.”

  “Oh, I was! Aunt Sam gives the best parties. Although truthfully this one was sort of sad.”

  “Sad?”

  “It was a cast party. For when a play is over.” We started walking again. “Aunt Sam’s an actress. You knew that, right?”

  “How would I possibly—”

  “That’s odd. I thought you did.” She stopped for a second to adjust her shoe strap; I noticed her foot didn’t seem so peely anymore. “I guess I just assumed Aunt Sam mentioned it to your mom. Who, by the way, is utterly brilliant.”

  “No she’s not,” I said. “She’s just . . . organized.”

  “She’s terrifying. She should direct theater, the way she stormed over last night and ordered all those actors around. Aunt Sam was actually trembling. But your mom said you’d walk me to school today, so that was excaliburly sweet of her. And you, Evie. Thanks.”

  By the time we got to school, Nisha and Lily were sitting on the grass, listening to a bunch of people complain/brag about their boring/amazing summers. Francesca had to give some “emergency forms” to the main office, so I showed her where to go. Then I plopped down beside Nisha

  “So you were walking with Malibu Barbie?” Nisha asked, watching Francesca clomp up the front steps of Blanton Middle

  “Mom forced me,” I answered. “We had a huge fight about it at breakfast.”

  “Well, try to relax about it now,” Lily said, patting my back

  “And she doesn’t even know Francesca,” I continued, definitely not relaxing. “I swear, if Mom had any clue what a liar she is—”

  “Francesca lies?” Nisha asked. “Really? So it’s not just that she steals ice cream?”

  I looked at her. Nisha was the most honest person I knew. Too honest, sometimes. Now her eyes were wide and interested.

  “She didn’t exactly steal it,” I said, sighing. “Anyway, you guys, let’s forget about Francesca. What period is Espee?”

  Nisha glanced at her schedule. “Sixth. But you’re walking with us tomorrow morning, right?”
r />   “Of course I am.”

  “Well, good. Because, Evie? That girl is definitely a little off.”

  I can’t tell you a whole lot about the rest of that morning because it was basically just one big blob of meeting teachers, getting textbooks, and filling out Learning Style questionnaires that were probably thrown away the second we walked out of the classroom. Most of the Hard Team teachers seemed human (or at least humanoid) and, anyway, at least they didn’t make us do any actual work. The only really interesting one was the new Art teacher, Mr. Rafferty, who Lily swore looked exactly like Orlando Bloom if he were ten years older with soul patch and a really bad haircut, but Nisha said she was hallucinating.

  I didn’t see Francesca very much because they had her doing all sorts of Welcome to Blanton Middle–type activities. But finally, it was sixth period, which meant, drumroll, Espee’s U.S. History. And I don’t know how this could have happened, but somehow, instead of taking seats the way we always did—LilyEvieNisha—we ended up LilyNishaEvie. So the very second I sat down, Francesca slipped into the empty seat to my right. She dumped some loose papers on the desk, gave me her dazzling smile, then pointed at some writing on the whiteboard

  “SPUSH?” she practically shouted. “What’s Spush, Evie?”

  “It’s not Spush, it’s SP’s U.S. History,” I said. “Stephanie Pierce.”

  “Oh, right. Her. I met her at the New Students Breakfast. She’s sort of funny, actually. They put out all these yummy pastries, but all she had was gallons of black coffee.”

  Immediately I saw the entire scene: Francesca taking random bites of fifteen different muffins, while Stephanie Pierce stood behind her, caffeinating herself for the entire school year and thinking, What is this girl’s PROBLEM?

  The classroom door opened. “See you later,” Espee called to someone down the hall, then speed-walked into the classroom.

  That was when Nisha started humming the Miss Gulch, Wicked Witch of the West music from The Wizard of Oz.

  “Shut up,” I hissed. “She’ll hear you!”

  “Evie?” Nisha said. “You okay?”