Friendship Over (The Top-Secret Diary of Celie Valentine) Page 3

  “SKINNY JEANS?!” I said, as soon as I’d read it. “Skinny jeans don’t matter! They’re pants! And also, it has to be a blood oath. I’ll find you something to cut yourself with.”

  I was ready to get a big knife from the kitchen. But Jo stopped me. And told me I was being ridiculous. And put her hands on her hips and said I should stop being so rude and show both of them what I had or just LEAVE THEM ALONE.

  “But it has to do with Granny,” I told her.

  “Granny’s fine—her phone’s back up, and the storm wasn’t that bad,” Jo said. “Mom already told me.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” I said.

  “Is this the same Granny who did the wart painting?” Trina said. She started to laugh. “That painting is hilarious.”

  “It’s not a wart,” I told her. “It’s wart medication.”

  Then I stomped out of that room. Because there was NO WAY I was telling Skinny Jeans anything about Granny.

  Jo called after me, but I didn’t turn back or stop. Not even for a second. She should’ve left Trina and followed me. And apologized for picking Trina over me. Then I probably would’ve shown her the email.

  But she didn’t. She just let me leave. So now she’s lost her chance forever.

  Later. Sitting In Living Room. All Alone.

  Mom hasn’t checked on me and neither has Jo. I’m not talking to either one of them ever again.

  I wish Dad was home.

  I don’t care what Skinny Jeans or anybody else says.

  I love Granny’s paintings.

  I want to take a bath, before I’ve even had supper. Just like Granny.

  NOTES FROM THE TUB

  Granny is the only person in the world who would use wart medication for art. Nobody else would ever think of that.

  She is original and creative.

  So maybe she’s using frozen trash for art, too? Original and creative art?

  Maybe.

  I wish I could try using frozen trash for art. Only, I don’t want to touch trash. Especially right now, because this bath has made me very clean.

  Like Granny would say, I’m fresh as a daisy!

  Thursday, November 11

  Ta-da! My beautiful picture of a real-life frozen dryer sheet that came straight from the trash!

  I am very proud of myself. I used a napkin to lift that dryer sheet out of our kitchen garbage after my bath yesterday. The dryer sheet was pretty wet—I think milk got on it in the trash. Also, some coffee grounds got on it. Which is a tiny bit disgusting. But very artistic and interesting.

  Anyway, I hid the sheet in the back of the freezer. It stayed there all night.

  Now it is very frozen. And very beautiful. I’m going to clear out a whole desk drawer for it. So it’s a little hidden, and doesn’t get crushed.

  Here’s another picture, from a different angle:

  I wish it would never melt.

  Friday, November 12

  Friendship Forward started today.

  It was terrible.

  I should’ve fake-fainted, so I wouldn’t have had to go.

  It was so awkward, there in Miss Wilde’s dark office. Lula sat as far from me as she possibly could on the leather couch. Plus I don’t think she looked at me once. Whenever I peeked at her, she was staring right at Miss Wilde. And she sat so straight, with her hands folded in her lap. Like she was just perfect. So I had to sit all stiff and tall, too. Which gave me a big backache.

  Miss Wilde sat across from us, in a wooden chair. She didn’t look stiff. She looked pretty. I like her dark hair. But she waited too long whenever it was her turn to say something. She squinted and nodded, when she should have been talking. I kept wanting to tell her, “Stop nodding! Start talking!”

  She did ask us a bunch of questions. Not hard ones. Just whether we liked school, and how long we had known each other, and had we always been in the same classes. Stuff like that.

  I didn’t say much. Lula didn’t say much either.

  Then Miss Wilde gave us our writing assignment. Basically, she told us to write a letter to each other.

  “A letter about what’s happened between you,” she said, tilting her head and squinting at both of us. “Because it can be easier to write about our feelings than to talk about them.” She put her hand on her heart. “Please be very honest about your feelings.”

  Also, she said, “Don’t worry about your friend reading it. I promise not to show her, or anyone.”

  “Wait,” I said. “I’m writing a letter to Lula that Lula isn’t going to read? Shouldn’t I just write a letter to you?”

  “I love that question,” Miss Wilde said, nodding even more than usual. “Writing to Lula will help you tap into your feelings about Lula. Does that make sense?”

  Before I could decide whether or not it made sense, Lula spoke up.

  “I want to start,” she said. “Can I have some paper, please?”

  Miss Wilde handed Lula a sheet of paper, and Lula turned her whole body away from me. So I could only see her ponytail and the back of her purple sweater. Then she leaned over to the coffee table in front of the couch and started to write and write and write.

  I couldn’t believe it! What was she writing? So much and so fast!

  I stopped watching her and stuck my hand out toward Miss Wilde.

  “Me too,” I said. Super mad. “I want to write about my feelings, too. Right now.”

  Miss Wilde handed me a few sheets of paper. I leaned over to the coffee table and wrote this letter:

  Dear To Lula,

  I feel like pushing you off this couch. That is the honest truth about my feelings.

  Why are you being so mean to me? I never did a single thing wrong.

  Not Your Friend Anymore,

  Celie

  Lula was still writing when I finished. Writing and writing.

  I didn’t like that at all. She couldn’t possibly be telling the truth! If she was telling the truth, she wouldn’t want Miss Wilde to know.

  I decided I’d better tell the whole truth. Because Lula was probably blaming me. Unfairly! I took a second sheet of paper and wrote:

  To Lula,

  I’m supposed to write what happened between us. Only, I don’t know what happened between us!

  We were best friends. We’d been best friends FOREVER. We never used to fight. I pulled out your first loose tooth for you, because you were scared it would hurt. I got my stuffed hippo Shanghai to match your stuffed hippo Beijing. SHANGHAI IS VERY MAD AT YOU! I know that you actually love that singer that you tell everyone else you hate. I never told a single soul. I’m not even writing his name now, because Miss Wilde will read this. THAT IS HOW GOOD I AM AT KEEPING YOUR SECRETS!

  Then we had that play date at your house, when that thing happened with your parents that I am also not going to talk about because you asked me not to tell anyone. I am STILL KEEPING YOUR SECRETS. Then, all of a sudden, you stopped talking to me. You wouldn’t be my partner in math or Spanish anymore. And you asked Mrs. McElhaney to change your table so you don’t sit with me during Words, Words, Words anymore. And you said I wasn’t allowed to hang out with you and Violet during recess.

  When Mrs. McElhaney saw how upset I was about recess, she said you weren’t allowed to say I wasn’t allowed. But it didn’t matter. I’m not going to go anywhere near you and Violet—because you are ALWAYS with Violet now—if you don’t want me to. I’ll be with Nora. She’s a nice person.

  I want to read that letter you’re writing over there. I hate it that I can’t. It’s a letter to me! I should be able to read it!

  That’s as far as I got before Miss Wilde collected our papers. She read them quickly, her face very serious. Then she handed them back.

  “These letters are for you,” she said. “They are an important part of the process.”

  The bell rang then. Lula and I both stood up. I refused to look at her. I will never look at her again.

  “I want you both to dig deep this weekend,” Mis
s Wilde told me and Lula, as she opened the door for us to leave. “Really dig deep. Try to think about this from the other person’s point of view. That is your homework assignment. I’ll see you next week.”

  That is the weirdest homework assignment ever. I know one thing for sure. I know Lula is not digging deep right now. She’s having her big movie party, with everyone else but me.

  Maybe Coke will get spilled in her lap.

  I want chocolate pudding.

  Later

  Delores was here, and she made her famous double chocolate fudge brownies! They were even better than pudding!

  I love Delores.

  delicious yummy goodness, by Delores

  A Little Later

  Sometimes Delores straightens things a little too much. Jo just found this note from Dad, to me and Jo, in a stack of papers on the kitchen table:

  Dearest Daughters,

  I forgot to tell you something before you both ran out the door after your mother, screaming at one another: “You always make me late for school!” “I never make you late for school!” “Call the elevator!” “Where are you going?! WHY ARE YOU TAKING OFF YOUR SHIRT?” “It has water on it.” “It will DRY!! DAD! TELL CELIE SHE CAN’T CHANGE HER SHIRT! WE DON’T HAVE TIME!!!”

  Wouldn’t it be fun, just once, to depart calmly and quietly, like little ducklings waddling in a row behind the Mama Duck? Shall we try it on Monday? I’ll waddle with you, all the way to the elevator.

  And now, here is the news I forgot to share: I will be home early tonight, and we will all have dinner and a family meeting. I will come bearing dessert and libations. Celie, you are in charge of those ice cubes in which you have been known to freeze large chunks of fruit. Bubbles, I have four words for you: egg in a hole.

  And now it is late. I must run screaming through the house without changing my shirt and call the elevator.

  Never forget how much I love you both.

  xoxoxoxox,

  Dad

  A family meeting! I wonder why. Are we in trouble? Did something happen? Is it about Granny?

  I bet it is about Granny. Mom and Dad must be worried about Meepsie’s email. I guess they don’t realize yet—I have to tell them that the frozen trash is most probably art. They’ll feel better then.

  Only, I’m not supposed to know about the frozen trash.

  Today is so HARD!

  Later

  We’re waiting for Dad now. He’s on his way, but stuck in traffic.

  Jo just finished eggs in a hole that look like this. I am not eating the burnt one.

  Jo cooked me way too long!

  And here’s a picture of our table, which I set with Granny’s pretty tablecloth. The one she gave me for my birthday:

  I have to go check on my ice cubes. I hope they had enough time to freeze.

  After Dinner, Same Day

  I hated that dinner. My ice cubes melted in two seconds and Jo dripped yolk on Granny’s pretty tablecloth. We might never get that stain out. Plus Mom and Dad had stinking, rotten news.

  Practically as soon as we sat down, Jo said, “So why are we having this family meeting?”

  Mom looked at Dad, who looked back at her. Then she set her fork down.

  “I don’t want you girls to get frightened when I say this,” she said.

  Which made me very frightened! My stomach did a flip, and I put my own fork down.

  “I have to go away for a week or two,” she said.

  “Does this have to do with Granny?” I said.

  Mom nodded.

  I tried to figure out very fast how to ask about the Meepsie email without showing that I knew about the Meepsie email. But it was hard.

  “You already told me that Granny’s fine,” Jo said to Mom then. “You said the storm didn’t hit her house very hard. Remember?”

  “Yes,” Mom said. “But this isn’t about the storm.”

  Oh no! I thought. They really believe Granny is crazy!

  “Granny does art,” I said, trying to explain. I started miming someone painting. “She’s very creative.”

  Everyone stared at me like I was crazy.

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Jo said.

  “Never mind,” I said. My mind start spinning again, trying to figure out what to say.

  “Granny is getting older,” Mom said. “She might be having some health issues. We’re not sure. I want to check it out and make sure everything’s being done that needs to be done.”

  “Granny is fine,” I said. “Her body AND HER MIND are fine.”

  Mom and Dad really focused on me then.

  “Why would you mention her mind?” Dad said. “Has she said something strange to you on the phone? Or in her letters?”

  “Not at all,” I said, very fast. I was so mad at myself! I should never have mentioned her mind! “She’s FINE.”

  They didn’t stop looking worried.

  “I’ve spoken to Granny,” Mom said. “We’re just going to have her doctors run some tests. I’d like to be there with her for that.”

  My heart fell fast then. Because why did Granny agree to tests, if nothing really was wrong with her?

  And then I realized another problem.

  “Who’s going to take care of us?” I said. “While you’re gone and Dad’s at work?”

  Mom and Dad looked at each other.

  Then Dad said, “Cousin Carla.”

  “WHAT?” Jo practically shouted.

  “We don’t like Cousin Carla!” I said. “She’s embarrassing!”

  “Her jeans come down too low!” Jo said. “And so do her V-necks! She shows too many cracks!”

  “Oh, dear,” Dad said.

  “You’ve never complained about the older girls in your school who show their cracks,” Mom said to Jo.

  “Can we please stop talking about cracks?” Dad said.

  “Cousin Carla is too old to show cracks!” I said, ignoring him.

  “Forty is not old,” Dad said. “Life starts at forty.”

  “Wrinkles start at forty,” Jo said. “Squishiness starts at forty.”

  “I’m suddenly feeling self-conscious,” Mom said.

  “No more talk of aging,” Dad said. “What matters is that Cousin Carla is a nice person, regardless of her choice of clothing. And she’s not working right now, so she can pick you up at school and bring you here and take care of you until I get home from work.”

  “What about Delores?” I said. “Delores would be so much better.”

  “Delores has other jobs,” Mom said. “She’s only available one morning a week.”

  “Cousin Carla is NOT picking me up from school,” Jo said. “I’m old enough to go on the subway by myself. Everybody else goes home alone—Trina and Michaela and Caroline have been doing it since last year.”

  “I’m going home with Jo,” I said. “Just the two of us.”

  Both my parents were shaking their heads.

  “You’re not ready for that,” Mom said.

  “WE’RE not ready for that,” Dad said.

  “Cousin Carla will do a good job taking care of you,” Mom said.

  “I don’t need taking care of!” Jo said.

  “We all need taking care of,” Dad said.

  Jo ignored him.

  “When exactly are you leaving?” she said to Mom. “Because Trina’s supposed to come over Monday afternoon. We’ve been planning it forever.”

  “I’m leaving Sunday,” Mom said. “But there’s no reason Trina can’t come over. It will be perfectly fine with Cousin Carla.”

  “Or maybe it won’t be fine,” I said. Because I hate Trina.

  Jo glared at Mom.

  “Unless you tell me right now that you trust me enough to go home without a grown-up and wait for Dad on my own, like a sixth grader—which I am,” she said, “—then I’m not talking to you anymore.”

  She glared at Dad, too.

  “Or you,” she said.

  “I’m sorry,” Mom said. “But w
e can’t tell you that.”

  Jo stood up then, with her mouth closed really tight, and left the room. I stood up, too, and followed her into our room. I wanted to start writing this right away.

  And that was how that suckish dinner ended.

  From the

  Top-Secret Spy Notebook of

  Celie

  Date and time:

  Saturday, November 13, 11:13 AM

  Remember: Know the enemy! Collect information on his or her misdeeds, past and/or present. Interview possible witnesses. Paste any evidence gathered here.

  Misdeed #1: One day last month, Jo and I were reading happily on the sofa in our living room. AND THEN Cousin Carla plopped herself down between us. “Time for girl talk!” she said. And I thought, Uh-oh. Then Cousin Carla said to Jo, “So. When I was your age, I got my period.”

  The second she said “period,” I buried my head under a big throw pillow. But she kept going.

  “I walked around with toilet paper in my pants,” she said, “because I couldn’t stand the thought of telling my mom. I want you both to know that you do not have to walk around with toilet paper in your pants. You come talk to me. I’ll take care of you. Got it?”

  I did not look out from under that pillow. I heard Jo say, “Um . . . thanks.” Then I felt her get off the couch.

  So I threw the pillow off the couch and jumped up too. “I need fruit!” I said, without even looking at Cousin Carla. And I ran out of the room.

  Misdeed #2: One day over the summer, while Mom and Dad were both at one of Dad’s lawyer conferences, Cousin Carla took me to Lula’s for a play date. She was supposed to just drop me off. Instead, she came inside Lula’s apartment with me. And stayed forever. She told Lula and me and Lula’s mom a RIDICULOUSLY LONG story about a cab driver. And then she called that guy two bad words! Very bad words that I definitely cannot say! I wanted to close myself in the refrigerator. I know Lula’s mom didn’t like it. She covered Lula’s ears. And Cousin Carla just said, “Oops.”

  Misdeed #3: Aren’t those two enough??? How could Mom and Dad ever leave us with that embarrassing person?