The Pages Between Us Read online

  String cheese for raisins.

  Fruit strips for teddy bear graham crackers.

  It was some secret bartering system they had created, and it felt as if I needed a secret code to belong.

  All I had were my hummus chips.

  I pulled my lunch bag in close and ate in silence while they all happily snacked and threw their heads back in laughter as if they were having their own fancy cafeteria cocktail party.

  I couldn’t help but wish that someday I’d get invited.

  But, hey . . . I shouldn’t complain. At least I was in a seat near other humans. Jackson would think I’m a total nerd if he ever saw me eating all alone.

  Let’s just hope that NEVER happens.

  Meanwhile, I have to find the confidence to talk to Jackson. Cupid did all this hard work—I can’t let him down.

  You can help me figure out a way to talk to him, right?

  RIGHT?!

  Whew! There’s the bell. Just in time for our next handoff. I love this notebook.

  Your bestie,

  Olivia

  P.S. Yeah, we should probably ditch the code names. They were making me hungry too.

  P.P.S. I love the boots you’re wearing today.

  P.P.P.S. My pants are too short again. But you knew that.

  Chapter 3

  Piper,

  Okay, so here is my P.P.P.P.S. (You’ve created a monster!)

  I’m sitting in next period, and I came up with something for the notebook.

  It might be amazing.

  Break it to me gently if it’s not, but otherwise we have to do it.

  You know how I put in that note from Miss Jill about Trigger? And you know how my anthropologist dad is always trying to get me to read books on ancient civilizations and I’m always telling him I’m just a sixth grader and not a college freshman like my brother?

  Well, those two thoughts collided and gave me an inspiration:

  What if humans somehow became extinct two hundred years from now, and all the books and computers and everything were somehow destroyed? Except this notebook miraculously survived. All the alien anthropologists would have to study was THIS notebook . . . our words . . . to understand the preteen experience. We would need to let all the little green aliens know about double weddings, and lunch seating problems, and the way dog adoption works, and how Gilmore Girls is the best show in any universe. (I will be forever indebted to Netflix for putting GG on my list of recommended shows “Because You Watched Parenthood.” Even though it was my mom who streamed Parenthood.) We would have a responsibility to future generations—of aliens!

  So let’s document all this like anthropologists. One day I’ll show it to my dad and he’ll be proud of our scientific approach and he’ll for sure be proud that I spelled it correctly the first time around.

  I also forgot to add my five grateful things:

  1. This brilliant notebook

  2. Cupid

  3. Blinkie’s good listening skills

  4. Open seats in the cafeteria (that’s more of a “hope” than a “grateful”)

  5. Jackson, rhymes with Tackson, That guy in my math class who happens to be my same exact height

  (Of course I numbered my gratefuls. I was born a list-er.)

  Love ya!

  Olivia

  Chapter 4

  Olivia!

  As your best friend, I’m supposed to be all calm and collected and remind you that for the Jackson you saw in your math class to be a ghost, he would have to have somehow died. And if he had, there would have been a school assembly with grief counselors. Which there was not.

  So . . . yay! Jackson’s in your math class—I’m so excited for you! What are the chances? (It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me the actual chances.) I bet his schedule changed now that he got voted into student council. If he had math the same period as leadership class, it would need to switch, right?

  Wait, why am I asking YOU this? I’m sure you have his schedule memorized.

  So where does Jackson sit in relation to you? Is “near-ish” within the paper-passing radius? Do you like that I just wrote paper-passing radius? Who’s the smarty-pants now?

  I wish you guys shared English instead. Then you could get in the same group and study Shakespeare and volunteer to be Romeo and Juliet together. Your hands would touch, your eyes would meet, and time would slow down while all the noises faded around you. (This is what happens with my favorite lovebirds, Ashley Desdemona and McKay Davis, on Love and Deception. There’s also a lot of face slapping, which just seems unnecessary. Yet entertaining.)

  Do we study Shakespeare in sixth grade? I don’t know. Ooh! Big thought: maybe Jackson is bad at math. Maybe he’ll need a tutor. And everyone knows you are the smartest math whiz in school. And please don’t bring up that A-minus in fourth grade. No one cares.

  And if he does need a tutor, you’re the best. I know. Because you help me with reading comprehension stuff. I’ve, you know, struggled with understanding what I’m reading for a long time, but then you explained everything like it was real life, better than any teacher I’ve ever had. And you did it without even being paid or bribed with baked goods by my mom. Unless she did. Then our whole friendship is fake. Although for her snickerdoodles, I wouldn’t blame you. Great. I’m hungry again. Okay, so, I know you are the list-er, so here goes . . .

  WAYS TO CATCH YOUR LOVE BY TUTORING HIM

  (which, yes, was a plotline in season eight or nine of Love and Deception. I have no actual experience in this. Obviously.).

  1. Wear glasses. I know, you can still be smart and have twenty-twenty vision. But even if they are fake glasses, they give you something to twirl, readjust, push up your nose . . . basically, glasses give you something to DO.

  2. And if not glasses, then a scarf. Ashley Desdemona wears a scarf in almost all her scenes and she is the fiercest, boldest, prettiest character ever. I’ll crochet you one and you can fidget with an accessory instead of counting hummus chip ridges. ☺

  3. Know what you are talking about, but don’t be a know-it-all.

  4. Don’t slump.

  4.5. And don’t say I sound like your mom. Guys love tall girls. Look at Taylor Clarke—she got asked out three times in one day and she’s almost taller than her locker. Stand up straight, you beautiful giant!

  5. I don’t have a number 5, but four tips didn’t seem long enough.

  END SCENE

  No worries about being un-positive sometimes. Positivity is a hard emotion to keep up. Especially at lunchtime, which is not my favorite time of day either.

  Allow me to illustrate.

  And by illustrate, I mean just tell you. Since we both know I can’t draw pictures. (Bubble letters are something else.)

  Bubble, in bubble letters. That’s deep, right?

  So our teacher let us out one minute before the bell as a reward for good behavior or something. And I didn’t have to go to my locker to get my lunch. And my fourth period is across from the cafeteria. Add that all up, and what do you get?

  Piper in the lunchroom! First person! Freedom!

  I slid into a seat at a round table smack dab in the middle of the cafeteria. I figured, if someone sat by me, fine. If someone didn’t, finer. Food is serious business for me. I just wanted to eat and not have to deal with what I was about to have to deal with. Which was—

  Bethany. Livingston.

  “Hey, Piper! How’s class?!”

  I know I said it was fine if someone sat by me . . . but it was Bethany Livingston. Queen blogger of all the comings and goings of Kennedy Middle School. You’ve got to be super peppy and involved to keep that up. And she’s the president of my church youth group. I sorta feel like she’s been assigned by our bishop to be nice to me, just because I sit alone in Sunday school.

  Liv, why does alone have to be so bad? Like in all these shows and movies, there is the LONER, and everyone makes fun of them when maybe they should say, “Gee, that person is comfortable enough that they can j
ust do their own thing and not worry about everyone else.”

  I do great alone. And it’s not like I’m alone all the time. I have you and my family and my favorite soap opera (or, as my great-aunt calls them, my “stories”). I don’t know why lunchtime has to be spent talking (not important) as well as chewing (very important).

  But I did my best to make chitchat with Bethany. If I didn’t, I worried she would try even harder. I chirped: “Class was great! I didn’t understand today’s assignment. And I’ve been hungry for a snickerdoodle for three days. How about you?”

  Aren’t I getting so good at sarcasm, Olivia?

  “Super! My classes are sooo easy this year. Too easy. I think my mom is going to ask the teacher for enrichment work or something. Oh, hey, there’s Scarlett!” (She said enrichment, I’m not even kidding.)

  Scarlett joined us. Then Eve. And Tessa.

  Bethany Livingston is one thing. But Eve was BESTIES with . . . you know . . . Savannah Swanson. And I am NOT bringing up the Savannah Swanson Incident of third grade. But. I still can’t be around those girls for very long. Even if it’s three years later. Even if they are in my church class. And even if they act nice to me. I will never forget how they treated you. Not ever. I am by your side, Olivia. As a real friend should be. Isn’t it better to have one true best friend than a bunch of girls who you don’t totally trust?

  I mean, I’m still a good person. I didn’t throw Tater Tots at them. But I thought about it. I sure thought about it.

  So this is what they all said to me. I don’t remember who said what. They kind of melt into one another, like the extras who walk in and out of the background of Love and Deception.

  “That turkey sandwich looks so yummy!”

  No it didn’t. It was really a tomato sandwich with a sliver of lunchmeat because my mom ran out this morning.

  “Those are cute boots!”

  I’m not even sure who said it but I don’t think they meant it. But when you say it, I know you mean it, and thank you by the way. I bought them at Justice with my babysitting money.

  “Did you buy your fabric for the blanket drive yet?”

  Oh, yeah. The blanket drive. It’s for church service day. I’m attaching the flyer in case you want to go. It’s still a month and a half away, but I thought I should include it in case aliens two hundred years later care about flyers (great idea on being anthropiligists. Even if I can’t spell anthropiligist). Our class is in charge of fleece blankets for NICU babies. All the fabric store had left was camo. I hope some poor mom doesn’t wrap her baby and lose him in all that camouflage.

  “Hey, Piper, we’ll see you at church!”

  Eve. That girl should go to church a lot because she is probably swimming in guilt over the Savannah Swanson Incident. Not to bring it up again. Did I mention I will eternally and forever have your back?

  Isn’t it strange that the reason I was sitting in the same space with those girls is because our parents all believe in the same things? Sharing beliefs might be a big friend-maker in the adult world, but at that lunch table, it only meant that we ran out of things to say. So they turned to one another and started to plan their next slumber party.

  Which I don’t even want to go to, thanks for asking.

  “Oh, I saw your dad’s Mr. Brake commercial last night.” Eve turned toward me again. Yikes. “He’s kind of famous, isn’t he? Does he ever need models for his commercials? I model sometimes.”

  I did not have the heart to tell Eve that Dad, aka Mr. Brake, is not her gateway to fame. He has one dorky car commercial that airs at four in the afternoon on, like, the second Tuesday of the month in a small California town. You know how much I hated all the attention when it came out, and just when I think it’s over, he has an idea for another one. Who buys brakes from a guy dressed like a genie, rubbing a lamp?

  I picked up the pace on my eating. Thought maybe I could run to the library for some computer time. I haven’t checked the Love and Deception chat boards in days.

  “Did you see I had EIGHTEEN comments on my last blog entry?” Bethany asked me.

  I wolfed down the rest of my sandwich in two monstrous bites. I didn’t even eat my Fig Newtons, that’s how desperate I was to get out of there. “That’s great. Uh . . . happy blogging. Bye.”

  “Thanks!” She smiled her automatic smile. “Peace out, Piper!”

  She speaks in exclamation points. And all those exclamation points made my head hurt. Maybe people use them because of my name. Like it’s naturally perky or something. Maybe when I go to college I’ll rename myself something much more serious, like Eleanor.

  Instead of the library, I went to the nurse’s office to see if I could lie down and get rid of my bam-bam-bamming headache. And even though that dark, little room smells like turkey gravy mixed with VapoRub, it was still better than sitting at that lunch table with all those exclamation points!!

  Besides, Olivia. We have a pact. You know I would never, ever deal with girls like that. I like people who are nice. Like nice for real, not really nice because they are supposed to be. Yes. There is a difference.

  Tell your wise cat, Blinkie, to blink once if he agrees with me: Middle School Lunch stinks.

  BLINK.

  See? Blinkie knows his stuff.

  Peace out,

  Piper!

  Grateful: These boots, the cute rainbow yarn I bought at a yard sale, sounding super smart by using math words like radius, Mom’s baking, and my dad giving me a hug today for no reason.

  SOUPER SATURDAY!

  SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 29

  CLASSES AVAILABLE FROM 10–3

  Come for a day filled with

  service, sweets, and serenity!

  PICK TWO OF THE FOLLOWING:

  Blanket Tie for NICU babies

  (hosted by youth group!)

  Hygiene kits for homeless center

  Care packages for the troops

  Freezer dinners for Meals on Wheels

  Delicious soups provided by the activity committee.

  Bring a plate of your favorite cookies

  for our annual cookie swap!

  It’s going to be a SOUPER day!

  Chapter 5

  Piper,

  Souper (Super) Saturday actually looks like it could be fun. We’ll be together—it’ll be fine. I may even strike up a conversation with someone I don’t know! (I can’t believe that sentence just came out of my pencil. We all know “striking up conversations” isn’t really my thing.)

  But whatever, let’s go. I’ll make those organic cranberry cookies you love—and I’ll cram in a bunch of chocolate chips “to make them go down easier” just like you like ’em!

  I’m sorry you had to spend the rest of lunch in the nurse’s office enduring that turkey gravy/VapoRub smell. I know the smell well. It stinks that you had to sit next to those girls at lunch. And thanks, by the way, for always having my back.

  Honestly, I think the whole Savannah Swanson Incident gave me a disease . . . Social Sickness. Which consists of me COMPLETELY REPELLING PEOPLE.

  Seriously. Whenever I even TRY to start up a conversation with a fellow middle-schooler it seems to turn into a disaster every single time. It may be due to the fact that I use phrases like “fellow middle-schooler.” (Help. Me.)

  So, for example, this morning when I was at my locker, Tara Long said (to no one in particular), “Oh, darn! I broke my pencil.”

  As luck would have it, I happened to have a finely sharpened extra pencil on me. (Three; I had three finely sharpened extra pencils. Stop laughing.)

  And it would have been the perfect moment for me to say, “You can have mine, Tara.” And we could have carried on from there as we walked side by side down the hall.

  But what came out of my mouth?

  Just a stutter of the word “you.” Which sounds like this: “yuh-yuh-yuh.” Don’t try it, you’ll hurt your tongue.

  Tara turned to me looking horrified and said, “Are you choking on something?”

>   I waved her off as politely as possible. She whirled around and took off.

  Impressive, right? She probably thinks I’m possessed by a demon. A stuttering demon.

  Honestly, the only other bright spot besides French is math class with Jackson. Oh, look at that! I mentioned him already.

  Here are all the necessary details:

  I don’t think the act of me “saying” “things” to “his face” will ever happen. That means our future wedding will be quite awkward.

  So I need to lay some groundwork. I’m going to focus all my energy into getting a note to him. Jackson is almost within note-passing range.

  Which means getting it to him might require the help of a middleman.

  Or middlewoman.

  To be specific, Jackson is one seat up and two seats over. Like, if this was a chess game and I was a knight, he’d totally be MINE.

  Dad and I don’t play chess as much since he went back to teaching at the university. While he was taking that year off to “do research on economic growth in Midwestern cities during the 1850s” (a phrase he constantly muttered), we played a game of chess every day. On good days, we played two.

  Of course, he’d stop mid-game if Jason happened to call from school. Chatting about Jason’s coursework seemed to be Dad’s true passion in life. I guess I sort of assumed that he would start chatting with me as soon as Jason moved out. All I got was one to two chess games a day.

  Maybe I should have been grateful for that.

  Now that Dad’s back to work full-time? I can hardly get the word “chess” out of my mouth before he’s running out the door, gripping his mug of coffee and barely saying good-bye.

  This explains why I recently Googled the phrase “Can you teach chess to a cat?”

  In related news: YouTube videos of cats playing chess is A THING. And also how I lost forty-five minutes of my life.

  But I did find out that you, of course, were right, and Jackson being in my math class wasn’t a ghostly vision. Yes, they had to rearrange his schedule because of student council. But the best part of that news? He was voted in as class secretary. Secretary!