Friend or Fiend? with the Pain and the Great One Read online

  The deli was huge. It took up a whole block. It was busy, too. There were lines everywhere. Mom took charge. “William, get on the bread line.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Yes,” Mom said, “if you ever want to have lunch.” Then she told Sierra to get a number and wait on line at the deli meats counter.

  “No way,” Sierra said. “I’m a veggie. I don’t go near that stuff.”

  “Okay …” Mom said. “You can pick up the cheese and the rest of what’s on the list. I’ll wait on line here.”

  “She has to help me,” Sierra said, pointing at me.

  “My name is Abigail,” I told her.

  “Whatever,” Sierra said.

  Sierra used to be nice. One time when I was little we baked cupcakes together.

  I followed her through the deli. “I hate this city,” she said, loud enough for anyone to hear. A couple of people turned to look at her. “You can’t ride your horse or anything.”

  “You have a horse?” I asked.

  Sierra said, “We have six horses. You probably don’t know, but we moved to Montana with our mom. You probably don’t even know where Montana is.”

  “Yes, I do,” I told her. I tried to picture the map of the states on the wall in my classroom. Montana … Montana … which state was Montana?

  “It’s out west,” Sierra told me.

  “I know that,” I said.

  “I ride my horse to school.”

  “That sounds so cool.”

  “You know what’s not cool?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “You and your family. And that includes my dad.”

  “That’s rude,” I told her.

  She laughed and shoved the list in my face. “Get this stuff. I’ve got to text my boyfriend.” She pushed a basket at me, then took off.

  I didn’t know what to get. I mean, I could read the list, but there were about fifty kinds of mustard. I threw in the one with the fanciest label. Next on the list was olive oil. There were rows and rows of olive oil. I chose the one in the prettiest bottle. But what kind of cheese was I supposed to get? I stood in front of the cheese counter. There were so many! A hundred, at least. I didn’t recognize any of the names.

  “Do you need some help?” a woman asked.

  “I need cheese,” I told her.

  “What kind?”

  “I don’t know. For lunch.”

  “How about cheddar?” she said.

  “Is it white? My brother only eats white food.”

  She reached for a chunk of cheese and handed it to me. “I think this will do the trick,” she said.

  I thanked her, then looked around for Sierra. I didn’t see her anywhere, so I ran through the store looking for Mom. I kept going down the wrong aisles. Once I passed William. “Hey,” he called. “Cousin …” Like he couldn’t remember my name.

  Finally, I found Mom and the Pain. Mom was still waiting for her number to be called. “Where’s Sierra?” she asked.

  I shrugged.

  “Why didn’t you stay with her?”

  I shrugged again.

  Mom took my basket. “I didn’t know which kind of mustard to get … or olive oil … or cheese …”

  “You did a good job,” Mom said.

  “Did you get something for me?” the Pain asked.

  “White cheese,” I told him.

  He nodded. “Good.”

  When all our shopping was done, Mom found Sierra outside the store, yakking on her cell. Mom handed each of us a bag to carry, and she carried two.

  We were almost back at Uncle Phil’s when I tripped on the curb and fell. The bag I was carrying flew out of my hand. Lemons rolled down the sidewalk, packages of deli meat flew out, and a bag of sandwich rolls landed with a thud.

  “Oh, honey …” Mom said, helping me up. “Are you okay?”

  I looked down at my knees. They were scraped and bloody and one of them had pebbles stuck to it. I definitely wasn’t okay.

  “Jake,” Mom called, “get those lemons! William, pick up the rolls and the deli meats.”

  Sierra shook her head. “Useless …” she said, looking at my knees.

  “Really, Sierra …” Mom said. “Surely you can be kinder than that.”

  “I don’t think so,” Sierra muttered.

  Mom handed Sierra money and asked her to go to the closest drugstore. “We need alcohol and Band-Aids,” Mom told her. “Unless your dad has them at the apartment.”

  “How would I know?” Sierra said.

  “Let’s not take a chance,” Mom said. “Just go and get them. There’s a drugstore on almost every block. Then come back to the apartment.”

  “You expect a lot,” Sierra told Mom.

  Mom muttered something to herself.

  While the Pain chased lemons, William opened the package of sandwich rolls and shoved one in his mouth.

  “William …” Mom said.

  “I’m hungry,” William told her.

  “We’re all hungry,” Mom said.

  “And some of us are injured,” I added, in case he didn’t know. Blood trickled down one of my legs and my knees burned like crazy.

  When we got back to the apartment, Dad met us at the door. Mom shoved the shopping bags at him and said, “Don’t ask….” Then she took me to the bathroom and washed off my knees.

  “Ouch …” I kept saying. But when Sierra got back with the alcohol they burned even worse. Mom kept saying she was sorry but she had to make sure they were clean.

  At last we sat down to lunch. Dad was the only one still in a good mood. He tried to get Sierra and William to talk. He asked them questions about school. They didn’t answer. He tried riddles, but only the Pain laughed at the answers.

  Then he tried to get Uncle Phil to talk about when they were growing up. That was a big mistake.

  “Let me tell you what it was like back then,” Uncle Phil said to the rest of us, and I didn’t like the way he smiled. “Little Andy could do no wrong.” Andy is Dad’s name. “Little Andy was everyone’s favorite. Just ask him.”

  “Come on, Phil….” Dad said. “We’re grown-ups now … it’s time to let that go.”

  But Sierra jumped in. “I know just how you feel, Dad,” she said. “Because William is the favorite in our family and I’m less than zero. Isn’t that right?”

  “I like being the favorite,” William said.

  “I’m sure I’d like being the favorite too,” Sierra said.

  The Pain looked over at me.

  “What are you kids talking about?” Uncle Phil finally asked. “I don’t play favorites.”

  It got really quiet. So I said, “Did you know Sierra rides her horse to school in Montana? Isn’t that cool?”

  William snorted. He sounded like a horse.

  “Montana?” Uncle Phil said. Then his voice boomed. “Her horse?”

  “She has six horses.” I knew I should stop, but I couldn’t help myself.

  “Six horses?” Uncle Phil repeated.

  Sierra shouted, “Yes, six horses! That’s how it could be if you and Mom—”

  Uncle Phil didn’t wait for her to finish. “That’s enough, Sierra!” Sierra’s face turned red. She shoved back her chair and ran for the bathroom. The door slammed.

  “This is a fun lunch,” William said.

  That’s when the Pain spilled his milk all over William. “Useless!” William shouted at him. “Look at this … I’m soaked.”

  Mom jumped up to get kitchen towels. I could tell the Pain wanted to cry. He got out of his seat, went over to Dad, and rested his head against Dad’s shoulder. “Can we go now?” he whispered.

  “Soon,” Dad said. Then he looked at Uncle Phil. “Phil, I think …”

  “I don’t give a hooey what you think, Andy! So keep it to yourself for once.”

  We left Uncle Phil’s right after lunch. Dad was really upset. Usually nothing bothers him, but this time was different. “My brother and those kids …” he said so qui
etly I could hardly hear him.

  “They’re teenagers,” Mom reminded him. “They’re going through a lot.”

  “Don’t worry, Dad,” I said. “We’re never going to be like William and Sierra. Right, Jake?”

  “They’re fiends,” the Pain said.

  “They behaved badly,” Mom said. “I won’t argue with that.”

  “They called us useless!” I said.

  “The divorce has been hard on them,” Mom said.

  “They have their own horses,” I said.

  Mom and Dad looked at each other. “Sierra probably wishes they had horses,” Mom said.

  “You mean she doesn’t have her own horse?”

  Dad shook his head.

  “But how do you know? They live in Montana.”

  Mom and Dad looked at each other again. “Actually, they live in Cincinnati,” Mom said.

  “Is that in Montana?” I asked.

  “No, it’s a city in Ohio,” Dad said.

  “You mean Sierra was lying?” I asked.

  “Sometimes there’s a fine line between lying and wishing,” Mom said.

  “That’s just a nice way to say she was lying,” I said. And then I remembered the time I told my friends I could ride a bike when I couldn’t. Did that mean I was like Sierra?

  “Where’s Ohio?” the Pain asked.

  “When we get home I’ll show you on a map,” Dad said.

  Mom looked around. “It’s such a beautiful day. It’s a shame to waste it. How about a quick trip to the zoo in Central Park?”

  Mom always comes up with good ideas.

  So we went to the zoo and watched the penguins. And all the way home the Pain and I were really nice to each other, even going through the tunnel.

  When we got home Dad spread out the atlas on the floor. An atlas is a big book of maps. Dad’s is very old. He got it when he graduated from high school. He showed us Cincinnati on the map of Ohio.

  The Pain said, “I’m glad Sierra’s not my sister.”

  And I said, “I’m glad William’s not my brother.”

  Then we both jumped on Dad. “And we’re really, really glad Uncle Phil’s not our dad.”

  Dad hugged us and said, “And I’m really glad you two are my kids.”

  She Stole My Story

  I told Sasha about Sunday at Uncle Phil’s. I told her how William and Sierra called us useless. Then I made her promise never to tell anyone, not even Emily or Kaylee.

  That afternoon our teacher, Mr. Gee, said, “Today we’re going to write a story in class.”

  “Is it a never take your pencil off the paper story?” Lucas asked.

  “Yes,” Mr. Gee said. “From the time I say go to the time I say stop, just write, write, write.”

  “About what?” Emily asked.

  “Something that happened to you,” Mr. Gee said. “This time let’s make it about something you didn’t like.”

  When Mr. Gee said, “Go!” I started writing. I wrote about the time we visited a farm and a goose chased me. He honked and snapped at my behind. I screamed until Dad rescued me.

  I kept writing, writing, writing until Mr. Gee called, “Pencils down!” Then he asked who would like to read a story to the class. Half the class raised their hands, including me. Mr. Gee called on Sasha.

  Sasha went to the front of the room. “The name of my story is ‘Useless,’” she said.

  I looked up.

  Then she started to read. And the story she started to read was my story—the story I’d told her about visiting Uncle Phil. Only she wrote it like it happened to her instead of to me. I couldn’t believe it. I trusted her when she promised she’d never ever tell, and now she was telling the whole world. My heart started beating really fast. I felt like grabbing her paper and ripping it to shreds.

  When she finished Mr. Gee said, “Good work, Sasha.”

  Sasha smiled.

  As soon as I could, I went over to her desk. “You stole my story!”

  “Not really,” she said. “I just wrote about it.”

  “But it happened to me, not you!”

  “So?”

  “So, we’re supposed to be friends. And friends don’t steal from each other.”

  “I didn’t think you’d mind,” Sasha said. “I thought you’d like the idea.”

  “You what?”

  “You heard me, Abigail,” she said. “I thought you’d like the idea.”

  “Liar!” I shouted. Our class got very quiet. Everyone was listening. But I didn’t care.

  “You have no right to call me names,” Sasha said, very quietly.

  “I’m never speaking to you again,” I told her.

  “Fine, then I’m never speaking to you, either.”

  “I said it first,” I told her.

  “I thought it first,” she said.

  “You copy everything,” I told her. “Even my thoughts!”

  “Copying is the highest form of flattery,” she said.

  “Who told you that?” I asked.

  “My mother,” she said.

  “Then maybe your mother is a copycat too. Maybe your mother steals from her friends, just like you!”

  “Abigail!” Mr. Gee said sharply. “Sasha!”

  I went up to Mr. Gee. But before I could say She stole my story, the bell rang and the school day was over.

  I didn’t sit near Sasha on the bus going home. I sat with Emily. I told her the whole story. “No wonder you’re mad,” she said.

  That night, before dinner, Mom asked if I was feeling okay. “I hate Sasha!” I said.

  “But Sasha’s your friend,” Mom said.

  “Was my friend.”

  Mom took the chicken out of the oven. “Want to talk about it?”

  So while she was dishing out the green beans and potatoes, I told her how Sasha stole my story.

  “That must have hurt,” Mom said.

  “It did. It hurt really bad.”

  Telling Mom made me feel better. So at dinner I told Dad how Sasha stole my story. “She wrote it exactly the way I told it to her.”

  “Did she write about me?” the Pain asked.

  “Not every story is about you,” I said.

  Then I went on and on. “She even wrote about my knees.” I stopped for a minute, to check them. They didn’t have scabs yet. “I wanted to rip the paper out of her hand and tear it into teeny tiny bits.”

  “You should have,” the Pain said.

  Before we went to bed the Pain asked, “How do you spell Sasha?”

  I spelled it out for him. A few minutes later he brought a sign to my room. It said, Sasha is a Fiend! He helped me tape it to the wall above my bed. “Thank you,” I said.

  The Pain smiled.

  The next morning on the school bus, I didn’t look at Sasha. She didn’t look at me, either. It was the same in class. And on the playground.

  That afternoon Mr. Gee called us up to his desk. Before he even asked what was going on, I blurted it out. “That story Sasha read yesterday … she stole it from me.”

  “My mother says copying is the highest form of flattery,” Sasha repeated.

  Mr. Gee looked at Sasha, then he looked at me. “I hope you two can work this out on your own.”

  Madison Purdy got all the girls in our class to choose sides. She made it me against Sasha. I can’t stand Madison Purdy. One time at ballet she called me a weed. Now she acted like she was in charge of the whole world. Emily sided with me. Kaylee sided with Sasha. My stomach hurt almost all the time.

  On Friday, Mr. Gee called Sasha and me up to his desk again. “This has gone far enough.”

  “But …” I started to say.

  “No buts,” Mr. Gee said.

  “If only Madison …” Sasha began, but Mr. Gee stopped her, too.

  “No if onlys.”

  “Give us one more chance,” Sasha said.

  “Okay,” Mr. Gee said. “But this is it.”

  On the playground my group huddled to one side and Sas
ha’s group huddled to the other. Everybody had ideas of what we should do. But we couldn’t agree on anything. Finally, Sasha and Kaylee came over to us. The other girls backed away until it was just me and Emily, and Kaylee and Sasha. Kaylee said, “Sasha has something to say to you, Abigail.” She gave Sasha a little nudge.

  “I’m sorry I used your story,” Sasha said.

  “You mean stole my story,” I said.

  “She didn’t steal it,” Kaylee said. “She borrowed it.”

  Emily said, “You can’t borrow something if you don’t ask first.”

  “I never thought of that,” Kaylee said. She looked at Sasha. “Emily’s right. It’s like you can’t borrow my jacket unless you ask and then I say okay.”

  Sasha was quiet for a minute. “From now on I’ll ask,” she said.

  “And when a friend tells you something that’s private you won’t blab it all over town?” I said.

  “I didn’t blab it,” Sasha said. “Nobody knew it was your family until you blabbed it.”

  That was probably true, I thought. But still …

  Mr. Gee came over to us. “How’s it going?”

  Now Kaylee and Emily backed away, leaving just me and Sasha. “You want to know why I did it?” Sasha asked. “Because my family is so boring. Nothing ever happens in my family.”

  “Sasha,” Mr. Gee said. “Can you understand why Abigail feels you betrayed her?”

  “I guess.” Sasha choked up. “But she dissed my mom. She said my mom steals from her friends.”

  “I said maybe your mom steals from her friends.”

  Mr. Gee rocked back and forth on his heels.

  I knew what I had to do. I just didn’t want to do it. “Okay,” I said, and I took a big breath. “I’m sorry I dissed your mom.”

  “You’re really sorry?” Sasha said.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  “Well,” Mr. Gee said. “I’m glad you two worked out your problems.” He went over to a group of boys.

  Sasha turned to me and said, “I’ll tell you a secret if you promise not to tell.”