Five, Six, Seven, Nate! by Federle Tim

Author:Federle, Tim [Federle, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers
Published: 2014-01-21T00:00:00+00:00

William O’Keefe

(Two weeks till first preview)

Heidi runs out to the twenty-four-hour Duane Reade to pick up “lady things” (I don’t ask), and I’m done with my homework, so I look for Libby online. She’s there in one Skype click.

“My Quixote.”

“My windmill.”

She’s lounging on her bed, painting her nails. Libby never paints her nails. “You never paint your nails. Since when did you start painting your nails?”

“Since my best friend left me for a life of fame-dom.”

Fame-dom! “Ha! Libby, most of my days are spent trying not to get cut from production numbers.”

She caps the polish, grabs a foot, and blows on her toes. Neither of us is flexible, so it’s pretty impressive; she looks like Gumby after a car accident. “Well, whatever. By the time you’re back in Jankburg, I’m going to be painting more than my nails.”

I minimize my own face onscreen. “Oh?”

“Yes. I’m going to be painting the white picket fence on the house I will own—with my first potential ex-husband.”

I give her the WTF eyebrow.

“William O’Keefe,” she says. Really slow.

“William ‘Bill’ O’Keefe?” I say, maximizing the face window to see what I look like when I’m this surprised. Or hurt. “He torments me, Libby.”

“Tormented. Past tense, Natey.”

“He T.P.’d my mom’s minivan, Libby. While I was in it.”

“Not true. James Madison did. Bill just stood guard. And ever since James was expelled for the firecracker incident, the Bills have lightened up considerably.”

James Madison and his Bills of Rights, the most notorious bullies in a school of fish packed to the gills with future criminals, were the worst of the worst. They hated me for loving musicals. They hated me for being friends with girls. They hated my clothes (so did I), my accent (I adopted something vaguely French during seventh grade), they even hated my dog (having once stumbled upon me and Feather acting out a scene from Into the Woods in the forest behind our house).

“I’m just . . . surprised, is all.”

But I’m more than surprised. Bill O’Keefe used to hold my bookbag while James Madison gave me Indian rug burns.

“Here’s the deal,” Libby says, grabbing the teddy bear from Mom’s shop and clutching it like a toddler. My own pirate bear sits at my feet.

“Don’t pull the innocent kid act on me, Libby.”

I hear Heidi’s front door open, and she races for the bathroom. Perhaps her “lady things” will keep her busy for a while longer.

I continue. “That teddy bear”—besides being superexpensive—“shouldn’t be, like, a bargaining tool here. I mean . . . Bill O’Keefe, Libby? Seriously?”

“Nate, what do you expect? I’m getting older. And Billy was directionless without James.”

“So . . . what?” I say, hearing my voice getting madder. “You swooped in and rescued him? Have you also put him on a diet?”

Bill O’Keefe is the exact shape of the first letter of his last name.

“Watch it, Nate,” Libby says, casting the teddy bear aside. “There’s nothing wrong with Billy having a little more to love. You should know.”

Sting. Also, Libby and I have the same silhouette, so she’s basically just making fun of herself.

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