Moving Day (10 page)

A week later, it was my last day at my old school, and Ms. Myers’s fourth-grade class was throwing a good-bye party for me. Well, sort of. Mostly I was throwing it for myself. Mom bought cupcakes—vanilla with chocolate frosting, with sprinkles—at Kroger and brought them over…not just for me, but for Mark’s class, and Kevin’s, too.

So I had to have a party, whether I felt like it or not. Which, what with the whole Mary Kay still hating me and being Brittany Hauser’s new best friend thing, I really didn’t. But I didn’t have much of a choice.

I should have known things were going to be weird at my good-bye party because things started out being weird much earlier that day. For one thing, when I came out of my house to walk to school that morning, Mary Kay was waiting for me.

That’s right.
Mary Kay
had tried to walk to school with me. Even though I walked very fast ahead of her, I had to listen to her whining, “Come on, Allie, can’t we be friends again?” the whole way. It was so
annoying.

The thing is, if she hadn’t waited until THE DAY BEFORE I was moving away, maybe I would have wanted to be friends again.

But it was a little late NOW.

I thought maybe it had just been because it was my last day and all, and she’d felt bad for being so mean to me, and telling everyone about my book of rules, and all of that.

But then, when I’d gotten to school, Brittany Hauser had started acting all nice to me, too, saying my hair looked pretty, and had I done anything different to it
(I’d remembered to brush it for once), and asking me if I wanted to sit with her at lunch.

I said no, of course. Why would I want to sit with that big phony?

I got even
more
suspicious when Brittany didn’t even get mad when I said no to her sitting-with-her-at-lunch invitation. She just went, “Okay, Allie, whatever you say. Hey, do you want to come over this weekend?”

I went, “No. I’m moving this weekend.”

I was going to add, “Besides, I hate you.”

But it’s wrong to say you hate people. That’s a rule. Even people who are totally hate-worthy, like Brittany Hauser.

“Oh, right,” Brittany said, giggling at her own space-headedness. “Silly me! I forgot. Well, some other time, then.”

“Brittany.” I couldn’t help myself. I
had
to find out what was going on. “Why are you asking me to come over? Don’t you remember what happened last time?”

“Oh, you mean about Lady Serena Archibald?”
Brittany giggled some more. “Whatever! I’m so over that. Besides, we had fun, didn’t we?”

I
hadn’t had fun. I didn’t even know what she was talking about. Neither did Courtney, when I asked her at lunch.

“Maybe,” she suggested, “their bodies have been taken over by aliens.”

This seemed the most likely explanation.

I didn’t figure out what was REALLY going on until the last period of the day, when it was time for my good-bye party and Ms. Myers called me to the front of the class and put her arm around me, saying in front of everyone how much she was going to miss me.

I was standing up there with Ms. Myers, and she was going on about what an asset I’d been to the fourth grade, and how well I’d always done in math and science and all.

“And in addition to her many academic accomplishments—Scott Stamphley, if you feel that you are choking on something,” Ms. Myers said, because Scott was
making gagging noises at all the nice things she was saying about me, “and would like to be excused, you know where the bathroom pass is—Allie Finkle has also proved herself to be something of an animal rights activist, bravely saving a turtle from certain death in a cookpot at a popular local eatery…at least according to this morning’s paper.”

That’s when Ms. Myers pulled out a copy of the city paper and showed the class—and me, because I hadn’t seen it (Mom and Dad had canceled delivery of our paper due to the fact that we’d be moving in one day)—a big article about my having stolen the Lung Chung turtle and hidden it in “a safe house”…at least according to the article’s author, Harmony Culpepper. There was a full-color photo accompanying the article of me standing next to the construction site behind my house, wearing my cowboy boots and emptying a large bag of geodes into the big hole beneath me. My hair looked very weird, because I hadn’t brushed it, but you could still totally tell it was me. Under the photo, it said,
ALLIE FINKLE: JUNIOR ACTIVIST FOR ANIMAL RIGHTS
.

That’s when I remembered Harmony taking a picture of me with her little digital camera that evening she’d interviewed me for her class. Also, her saying if her professor liked her article, he might send it to the local paper for their features section. He only did that, Harmony said, with articles he really, really liked.

Which meant he must have really, really liked her article about me and Wang Ba.

Suddenly, I knew why Mary Kay had wanted to walk to school with me again, and why Brittany Hauser had wanted to sit by me at lunch.

I was a celebrity.

Seriously. I was famous.

Well, the most famous person in Ms. Myers’s fourth-grade class, anyway.

“Allie, we’re going to miss you so much—” Ms. Myers went on.

“Not all of us,” Scott Stamphley said. Only you couldn’t really tell that’s what he’d said, because he’d said it in the form of a cough. Only, I happen to know how to speak cough, because I practically invented that language.

I gave Scott a dirty look.

“I beg your pardon, Scott,” Ms. Myers said. “If you need to be excused for a drink of water, you know where the pass is.”

“I’m all right, Ms. Myers,” Scott said.

“Good,” she said. “Well, I just wanted to add that even though I know Allie is going to love her new school, we’re going to miss her very, very much, and that’s why we made her this…right, class? To remember us by.”

“Right,” said various people in my class, including Brittany Hauser, who said it the loudest. Which also made it the most phony, incidentally.

That’s when Ms. Myers brought out a large piece of poster roll on which everyone in the class had written a message to me saying how much they would miss me—or not, as in the case of Scott Stamphley, who’d written only,
Smell ya later, Stinkle!

“Wow,” I said. I noticed that Brittany and Mary Kay had only signed their names, which showed that the class had made this before I’d become a celebrity and before
they’d decided they wanted to be friends with me again. “Thanks, everybody. This means so much to me.”

Because it’s a rule that even if someone gives you something that you don’t really want, you should still say thank you.

“And now let’s have some of these delicious cupcakes your mom brought,” Ms. Myers said.

“Delicious chemical cakes, you mean,” I heard Scott Stamphley whisper. The boys sitting around him laughed.

“Sure,” I said to Ms. Myers, pretending I hadn’t heard Scott. “Let me pass them out, Ms. Myers.”

“Thank you, Allie,” Ms. Myers said. “But are you sure you don’t want any help?”

“Oh, I’ll help!” Brittany Hauser nearly broke her arm, she flung it in the air so fast, volunteering to help. “Let me, Ms. Myers. Let me!”

“That’s okay,” I said, with a smile that I hoped was as sugary-sweet as the cupcakes. “I’m happy to do it myself.”

“Okay, Allie,” Ms. Myers said. “If you’re sure…” She handed me the big white pastry box from Kroger.

“Oh,” I said, “I’m sure.”

I went slowly around the room, handing out the cupcakes. When I got to Mary Kay, she went, in a soft voice, tears glistening in her eyes, “Listen, Allie. What you did for that turtle…that was so…so brave.”

“Thanks, Mary Kay,” I said. “But I didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have done.”

I knew this was a total lie. No way would Mary Kay have saved Wang Ba. She never would have had the guts.

“Listen,” Mary Kay whispered, “I know we’ve been fighting a lot lately. And I’m really sorry I told Brittany about your book of rules. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m really sorry. I want you to know you’ll always be one of my best friends, Allie. Always.”

I thought that was very interesting, considering that up until yesterday Mary Kay hadn’t thought of me as a friend at all. Then, suddenly, I’m a celebrity animal activist, and she thinks of me as her best friend again?

“Gee, thanks, Mary Kay,” I said, as fake as she was being. Because two can play that game.

“Don’t mention it,” Mary Kay said, taking a big bite of her cupcake.

When I got to Courtney Wilcox, she said, “Here, Allie, this is for you,” and handed me a little box. I had to put down the cupcakes in order to open the box, which turned out to have half a silver heart necklace in it.

“See?” Courtney asked excitedly, showing me what was around her neck, which was the other half of the silver heart necklace. “By each of us wearing half of the broken heart, it shows we’re friends, even if we’re not together. My mom got it at the mall. I thought you’d like it.”

I did like it. What I liked it about it was that Courtney’s mom had to have gotten it for her before she knew I was a celebrity animal activist. Because I only became one this morning.

Courtney Wilcox, unlike Mary Kay, was being completely unfake.

“Neat,” I said. I put the necklace on, then held out the box from Kroger. “Have a cupcake.”

“Thanks,” Courtney said, and took a cupcake.

Then I turned to Brittany. I had saved her for last.

“Cupcake?” I said to her.

“My, these look delicious,” Brittany said, reaching for the last one.

“Here, allow me,” I said.

I picked Brittany’s cupcake up and pretended like I was going to hand it to her.

But instead, I smashed it in her face. Then I ground it in, for good measure.

“Food fight!” Scott Stamphley yelled.

And the next thing I knew, everyone who had any cupcake left in Ms. Myers’s fourth-grade class was throwing whatever was still in their hands. By some sort of unspoken agreement, the girls were throwing theirs at Scott Stamphley, and the boys were throwing theirs at Brittany Hauser and Mary Kay Shiner…I think mostly because Brittany was the one who started screaming “Not in my hair” the loudest when bits of cupcake began flying (also, of course, because she didn’t have any cupcake to throw back). And Mary Kay, of course, was the
one who started crying. This made them both irresistible targets.

At least to me.

So, really, my last five minutes at Walnut Knolls Elementary were the best five minutes of school ever.

Even if I did end up in the principal’s office.

The other thing was, I had to sit by Scott Stamphley while we both waited for our parents to come pick us up.

And he kept singing a song about diarrhea that, by the way, I have known since second grade.

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’ve known that song since kindergarten,” I told him, which was an exaggeration, but only a slight one.

“Yeah?” Scott stopped singing. “Well, why don’t you sing along then?”

“Because it’s stupid,” I said.

“Like your face?” Scott asked.

I couldn’t believe I was stuck in the principal’s office on my last day of school. With Scott Stamphley. I knew nothing bad was going to happen to me, since Mrs. Grant,
our principal, is always very understanding…unlike my new principal, Mrs. Jenkins, seemed like she’d be.

Still.

“Like everything about you,” I said. “Only to infinity.” I really meant it, too.

“Yeah,” Scott said. “Well, you really nailed Mary Kay Shiner with that last bit of frosting.”

I couldn’t help smiling at this unexpected compliment. I actually couldn’t believe he’d noticed.

“I did,” I said, “didn’t I?”

“She screamed,” Scott said, “just like a girl. Did you see when I got Brittany Hauser in the head with all those leftover sprinkles from inside the box?”

“She’s going to be finding sprinkles in her hair for weeks,” I said with relish.

“Ooooh, my hair,”
Scott squealed, in a dead-on imitation of Brittany.

“Hey, that’s good,” I said. “You should be in the talent show at the end of the year.”

“Come on,” Scott said modestly.

“No,” I said. “Really. Nothing would make her madder.”

“You think?”

“I bet she’d even cry.”

“You know, Allie Finkle,” Scott Stamphley said, “you’re all right, sometimes.”

This was such an astonishing remark to have come from a boy like Scott that for a moment I was stunned speechless. What had just happened? Had Scott Stamphley actually said something
nice
to me?

Before I could say anything in reply, however, my mother showed up, looking mad. Right behind her was Scott’s mom, not looking too happy, either.

“Allie Finkle,” Mom was saying. “What is this I hear about you? What is that in your
hair
, young lady? Is that…is that CUPCAKE? The cupcakes I BOUGHT for you? You had a FOOD FIGHT? Are you nine years old, or FIVE? Ms. Myers couldn’t be more disappointed in you…Oh, that is it. THAT IS IT. When I get you home—If you think you’re getting a kitten now—”

I have to admit, hearing that Ms. Myers was disappointed in me, not to mention the part about my not getting a kitten anymore, made my eyes fill up with tears. I probably would have started crying, too, if I hadn’t remembered Scott Stamphley was right there, watching me. Plus how totally great it had felt, rubbing that frosting into Mary Kay’s hair.

I looked over at Scott. His mom was saying a lot of the same things to him that mine had said to me, only not the part about the kitten, obviously. And she didn’t call him “young lady.”

I noticed he wasn’t crying, though, either. In fact, he was calmly picking bits of cupcake off his shirt. And eating them.

This, I realized as my mom dragged me off to our car, was going to be my last image of Walnut Knolls Elementary:

Scott Stamphley eating bits of my good-bye cupcakes off his shirt.

Good-bye, Ms. Myers. Sorry I disappointed you.

Good-bye, fourth-grade class. I forgot my poster with all your messages on it.

Good-bye, Brittany Hauser. I guess I don’t really hate you. But I don’t really like you very much, either.