Confidentially Yours #5 Page 6

  “I can help if you want,” said Heather. She was in almost all advanced classes.

  My eyes lit up. “I would love that.”

  “And I can teach you to read,” said Tim with a grin.

  I smiled back. “You wouldn’t rather teach me to dance?”

  “Ooh!” said V, giving me a high five while Heather giggled behind her hand.

  A month ago, a joke like that would’ve sent Tim into hiding. He was a great dancer but didn’t want anyone to know. Now he’s proud of it and doesn’t mind a little teasing.

  “I deserved that one,” he admitted with a good-natured grin.

  “So enough about me,” I said. “V, how’s your new fashion plan going?”

  In answer, she reached under the table and produced a notebook with patterned fabric swatches fanning out from the sides.

  “Glad you asked,” she said, “because I wanted your opinion on something. That includes you, Tim.”

  He eyed the book warily. “Okay, but I can already tell you penguins with umbrellas do not look good on me.” He flicked one of the swatches.

  “Oh, no. Those are just place markers,” said V. She flipped to the section marked with the penguin print. “Here’s what I’m really working on.”

  Heather, Tim, and I crowded around the notebook. The page showed a sketch of a girl in a tank top with ruffled straps.

  “That’s cute,” Heather said.

  “Yeah, I like it,” I said.

  “Are the straps available without ruffles?” Tim asked.

  V smirked. “If they were, then they couldn’t do this.” She turned the page and pointed to a different image, which showed the ruffles in the straps lengthening into gauzy sleeves.

  “Upgrading from cute to super cute!” Heather said.

  “This is awesome!” I agreed.

  Vanessa showed us a few more ideas she and Katie had been working on until the lunch bell rang and it was time for Journalism. I hung back to say hi to Abel, who had the lunch after mine, while my friends went to check for new advice requests.

  “Hey!” he said when he saw me. “Is today a better day?”

  “Better now,” I said, hugging him. “One hug down, forty-nine to go! How was your morning?”

  “I found ten bucks in my jeans!” he said.

  “So, it was good, then.” I smiled.

  “My stomach thought so anyway,” he said, rubbing it. “I bought double breakfast.” When my eyes widened, he added, “All this training has me starving every morning.”

  “Yeah, but if you eat too much, won’t that just slow you down?” I asked, poking him in the stomach.

  Abel frowned and moved my hand. “Don’t be mean.”

  “Aw, I’m sorry. I was just kidding,” I said. “But what did you have for breakfast exactly? Because if it’s just carbs, you should—”

  “Stop telling me what to do. I know how to eat right,” he said. “Better than you probably.”

  I stepped back and crossed my arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Pizza almost every day?” asked Abel.

  “I run around enough to make up for it,” I said. “And I get thin crust.”

  Abel rolled his eyes. “You’re right. That makes all the difference. Thank goodness you give health advice to everyone in school.”

  My jaw dropped. “Now who’s being mean?”

  He sighed and rubbed his face with a hand. “Sorry. I’m just . . . can we talk later? I’m starving, and I’m not in the mood.”

  Without another word, Abel headed for the lunch line.

  I didn’t bother going after him because, honestly, I was furious. His comment reminded me of how we’d first started talking, when he criticized me on Toughen Up Tuesday.

  “Thinks he knows everything,” I muttered, stomping down the hall. “Which of us is writing for the advice column? Huh?”

  A passing student blinked at me and then kept walking.

  My friends had already checked the advice box, so I threw my bag down by my desk and dropped into my seat.

  “What’s up with you?” asked Tim. “Did you get bit by a voluminous snake?” He smiled but I didn’t. “Okay, yikes. I’m out.” He turned and faced the front of the classroom.

  “Everything okay?” asked V.

  I shook my head, but instead of speaking to her, I turned to Heather. “I’m going with you after school. And Madame Delphi better have some good news.”

  CHAPTER

  5

  Back to the Future

  I may have spoken slightly louder than necessary.

  “Uh . . . you’re gonna what?” Vanessa stared wide-eyed at Heather, who squirmed in her seat.

  “It’s no big deal. I just didn’t get a complete fortune like you guys, and I want to know what I’m missing.”

  “Nothing-uh!” V drew out the word and made her thumb and fingers into a zero. “Because it’s all a bunch of make-believe.” She pointed her pen at me. “And why do you want to waste your money? She’s only going to tell you the same thing when she sees you.”

  I snapped my fingers. “You’re right! I should wear a disguise.”

  Vanessa made an exasperated sound. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Actually, I think she should go,” spoke up Tim.

  “What?” V frowned.

  “Think about it. If Brooke goes in disguise and gets a completely different fortune, we’ll know Madame Delphi’s a fraud.”

  “Oh.” The anger in Vanessa’s eyes subsided. “That’s not a bad idea.”

  “And if I get the same fortune, this time I can ask how long I’m destined for doom,” I said. Then I batted my eyelashes at V. “By the way, I could really use someone’s help with my disguise.”

  Vanessa was quiet for a moment before she nodded. “Okay, I’ll do it. But only to prove you wrong. And I’m coming with you guys to make sure you don’t get swept up in the crazy.”

  “Oh, yay, this’ll be fun!” said Heather. “Tim, do you want to join us?”

  I expected him to laugh until soda came out his nose, but instead he nodded. “Sure. I want to meet the infamous Madame Delphi.”

  He, Vanessa, and I texted our parents to let them know, and Heather texted her bubbe to make sure she had room in her car for three more passengers.

  We put our phones away just as Mrs. H took her place at the front of the classroom and called for order.

  “You’ve had a day to think about what you’d like to contribute to our winning issue”—she emphasized with a smile—“so tell me what you’ve got.”

  There were a couple of teams like mine who were waiting for better material to come in, but Stefan held up a huge piece of poster board. He turned it so we could all see the front, which was a mock-up of an article about basketball, complete with a photo he’d taken during a basketball practice that had caught a player midair.

  “Nice action shot!” someone said. Stefan nodded his agreement.

  “This is the sports team’s submission,” said Stefan. “I know I said my Adrenaline Dennis piece was going to be the winner, but then I remembered this article. It’s about a player who can only see out of one eye.”

  Several people murmured appreciation.

  “Yeah,” said Stefan. “The sports team is pretty proud of this piece.”

  Heather, V, and I glanced at Tim, who shook his head. “First I’m hearing of it.”

  Mrs. H was polite enough to simply nod, but Mary Patrick said, “You wasted your money on this? You could’ve just sent me the file.”

  Stefan blushed but held the poster board even higher. “I just wanted to make sure everyone had a chance to see it and agree.” He swiveled in his seat again so we could all get a glimpse.

  Mrs. H glanced at Mary Patrick. “It is a good article . . . and a really good photo,” she said, putting a checkmark on the board by the sports team. She called on the clubs team last, and I stiffened, thinking of their bid for Young Sherlocks, until they announced they’d chosen t
o write about the newest clubs of the season.

  We broke into our small groups, and I went into Bossy Brooke mode.

  “Okay, guys, we only have a few more days to pick what could be our best column ever and part of our best paper ever. Make me laugh, make me cry, and make me think.”

  All four of us were quiet for a while, reviewing advice requests and going over the online ones I’d printed out to share.

  “Wow, when people are anonymous, they do not hold back,” said Heather. “‘Dear Lincoln’s Letters, I can’t stop eating dog biscuits. I don’t even own a dog!’”

  “Sounds rrruff!” said Tim, barking. The rest of us laughed.

  “What was Anonymous’s question?” asked Vanessa.

  “He wanted to know if he’s going to die,” said Heather, clutching the paper to her chest and making a sad pout. “And he signed it ‘Good Boy.’”

  “Awww!” said V and I.

  “Maybe he’s part dog,” said Tim. “We should find out and sell his story to the tabloids.”

  “What is it with you and money lately?” I asked.

  “Do you realize how much it costs to be friends with Berkeley Dennis?” he countered.

  Heather’s jaw dropped. “He makes you pay to be his friend? Tim . . .”

  He shook his head. “Of course not! It’s just that the kinds of things he likes to do are a little outside my budget.”

  “Things like what?” Heather pressed.

  Tim held out a hand, palm up. “I’ll tell you if you give me five dollars.”

  “No to that,” I cut in. “And no, Good Boy isn’t going to die from eating dog biscuits. When they make pet food in factories, they actually have humans taste-test it.”

  My friends all stared at me.

  “What?” I could feel my face warming. “It’s common knowledge. Everybody knows.”

  “I didn’t know that,” said Tim.

  “Me neither,” said Heather.

  “Me neither,” said Vanessa. A grin spread across her face. “How did you know?”

  I sighed and whispered, “My parents had a dog when I was a baby, and I used to eat some of his food, okay?”

  Instantly, our corner of the room was filled with a chorus of “Ewww!” and laughter.

  “Did you eat side by side from the same dish?” asked Tim with a gleeful grin. “Or did you get your own bowl of kibble?”

  Vanessa slapped her desk and laughed even harder.

  “Guys, stop! It was just like baby food!” I said. Then, because they wouldn’t stop laughing, I couldn’t help starting. “And it gave me a really shiny coat,” I added with a giggle.

  Heather let out a squeal of laughter and clapped a hand over her mouth when the rest of the class turned to look.

  “Okay, shh, shh,” I said, putting my finger to my lips. “We have to focus before Mary Patrick comes over here. Sorry, Heather, but a boy who eats dog biscuits isn’t award-winning material.”

  “And Brooke should know as champion of the Westminster Dog Show!” said Tim.

  We all cracked up again.

  By the time class ended we’d settled on a question for Tim to run in the overall contest from a girl who wanted to know why guys never went for smart girls. After spending time with my friends I was in a better mood, so as soon as the bell rang, I left to find Abel so we could talk.

  But he wasn’t very interested.

  “I walked past your classroom when I finished eating,” he said. “I figured you’d be upset about our fight, but when I looked in the window, there you were, laughing like everything was just fine.”

  I couldn’t win with him.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t curled up in the corner in a crying heap, but it was just a little fight,” I told him. “You were rude and I got over it. I thought you’d be—”

  “I was rude?” He pointed to himself, wide-eyed. “Brooke . . .” Abel ducked his head and turned away. “Forget it.”

  “Wait, what?” I tried to grab Abel’s arm, but he pulled out of my grasp and kept walking. “Abel!”

  Maybe it was time for me to start turning in advice questions to Tim.

  My stomach twisted as I watched Abel leave, and my forehead wrinkled so much that it was still stuck that way when I met Vanessa and Heather in the girl’s bathroom after school.

  “What’s going on here?” V asked, tapping my forehead with a pencil.

  “Are you still worrying about Abel?” asked Heather, who was sitting on the counter next to me. Since she and I were in history together, I’d told her about my brief and confusing encounter. All she could suggest was giving him time to cool off.

  “I did like you said,” I informed her while Vanessa went to work on my makeover. “But when I went by his locker just now, he mumbled about talking later and left.”

  “He’ll come to you when he’s ready,” said Heather with a sympathetic smile.

  I could feel Vanessa drawing on my eyebrows, but it felt like she was coloring way outside the lines.

  “If you’re making me look like a clown, I will throw a pie at you,” I warned her.

  “Relax,” she said when she was finished. “I’m giving you darker, thicker brows. Auburn eyebrows aren’t very common, you know. Come to think of it, neither is auburn hair.”

  “I already thought of that,” I said. I reached for my backpack and pulled out a baseball cap, tugging it onto my head so only my ponytail showed. “We can tuck my hair underneath.”

  “That’ll work,” said Vanessa, pulling the cap back off. Then she opened a makeup palette and dipped a makeup sponge in white goo.

  “You are trying to make me look like a clown!” I shied away, but she put a firm hand on one of my legs.

  “Brooke, stay still! I’m contouring. It’s an optical illusion to change the shape of your face.” After she applied white to my forehead and cheeks, she switched to a darker shade and rubbed it into my nose and jawline.

  “Wow,” said Heather while Vanessa worked. “That’s amazing!”

  “Right?” V asked with a smile. “Katie taught me. Apparently, it’s a big thing in California.”

  With a few more flicks of the wrist, V turned me toward the mirror. “What do you think?”

  I was gazing at a stranger . . . a stranger who could predict my every move. When my mouth dropped open, so did hers.

  “Whoa,” I said. “This is so creepy.”

  The girl in the mirror agreed.

  “And you know what? Let’s not go with the baseball cap.” V untied the scarf she’d been wearing around her waist like a sash. “Let’s go head wrap.”

  She draped it over my head and tucked my hair underneath before fastening the ends.

  The last sign of me was gone.

  “Perfect!” I said. “Time to meet Tim.”

  The three of us found him waiting in the student lounge, and when he saw me, he did a double take.

  “Brooke?” He squinted at me and then looked at V. “What did you do, wash her face?”

  She and Heather laughed.

  “You’re lucky I injured my punching hand,” I told Tim with a mock scowl. “Are we ready to go?”

  It was fun to walk down the hall and see people stare in confusion. And when we got into Heather’s grandma’s car, she studied me so long she almost swerved into a fire hydrant.

  That part wasn’t as fun.

  “Why the disguise?” she asked.

  I couldn’t very well tell her the real reason. You see, a fortune-teller told me I had bad luck, so I’m going to trick her into giving me a different future. So I settled for “We’re doing an exposé for the paper, and I’m undercover.”

  That answer seemed to satisfy her, and she parked in front of Madame Delphi’s.

  “Thanks, Bubbe,” said Heather. “We’ll see you in a—”

  She laughed. “You think I’m going to wait out here and let the cold get into my bones? I’m going in too!”

  Heather and I exchanged a nervous glance, but Vanessa and Ti
m couldn’t have been happier.

  “Yeah, the more the merrier!” said V.

  “Maybe you can get your fortune read too,” said Tim.

  I kicked him as we got out of the car.

  “Ow! Calm down. I don’t have a biscuit for you, Fluffy.”

  “Biscuit?” asked Heather’s grandmother. “Fluffy?”

  “It’s a long story,” said Heather. She paused and added, “Actually, it’s short. Brooke used to eat dog food.”

  “Hey!” I said. “Nobody else needs to know.”

  I didn’t run up the stairs this time. Not with the way my luck was going. I let my friends go first and then I followed behind, holding the porch railing with my left hand as I went up the steps. Heather opened the door, and we were greeted first by harp music, and then by Madame Delphi.

  “Welcome! Welcome!” She looked from Heather to Vanessa and smiled. “You’ve returned!” Then her gaze took in Tim, Heather’s grandma, and me. “And you brought some new friends.”

  Score one for Vanessa’s makeup job.

  Heather nodded. “I wanted a full consultation this time,” she said. “And my friend . . . uh . . . River”—she pointed to me—“wants one too. It’s her first time.”

  Madame Delphi nodded at me and smiled at V, Tim, and Heather’s grandma. “What about the rest of you?”

  “I’m the chauffeur,” said Heather’s grandma with a chuckle.

  “I just wanted to watch,” said Tim.

  “Me too,” said Vanessa. “And maybe ask some questions.”

  The expression on her face had gone from friendly to standoffish. I couldn’t let her ruin this for me.

  “Would it be okay if I went first?” I asked in a high-pitched voice that made Tim snicker. After a lethal look from me, he stopped.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I just saw the love potions on sale.” He nodded to the merchandise section of the cottage. “Are those your biggest seller? Or is it the instant money . . .” He trailed off and smiled. “Excuse me.” Then he double-timed it over to the display.

  Madame Delphi held open the door to her inner chamber and beckoned for me to enter. I handed Heather my coat, and she squeezed my hand with a hopeful expression.

  I sat in the same chair as before while Madame Delphi closed the door and settled in her own chair.