How to Rock Best Friends and Frenemies by Meg Haston

Author:Meg Haston
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Juvenile Fiction / Girls - Women, Juvenile Fiction / Juvenile Fiction - Social Issues - Adolescence, Juvenile Fiction / Social Issues - Values & Virtues, Juvenile Fiction / Social Issues - Friendship, Juvenile Fiction / Social Issues - Emotions & Feelings
Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
Published: 2013-12-24T05:00:00+00:00

THE ICE IS GETTING THINNER

Wednesday, 6:35 P.M.

“Simon, we’ve got a problem.” That night after rehearsal at the loft, Stevie and I stood side by side on a crowded southbound Red Line train. We stared into the inky Chicago night as the El stopped at Lakeview, then Lincoln Park, then River North. Further south was Chicago’s Loop, the commercial district downtown where Stevie and I were meeting Mom, Ella, and Gabe for a skating date at the Millennium Park rink.

“You’re going to have to be more specific.” I glowered past my own reflection in the window, the city racing by just out of my reach. “I’ve got lots of problems right now.”

After the prank at Shedd, I’d thought the administration would ban Stevie from the dance, or (preferably) school property, or (even more preferably) the Midwest. When that didn’t happen, I assumed her dad would ground her. But apparently, Gabe didn’t believe in punishment. I should have known. The man wore hemp.

“Hello? I’m talking about our parents.” Stevie yanked the ends of her salmon-colored scarf. “My dad has this thing he does when he’s in a really good mood.”

“Lemme guess. He does a little dance around the rain forest. No. Wait. He plays the bongo drums in a loincloth.”

The train lurched to a stop and Stevie slammed into me, pinning me to the cold silver pole closest to the doors.

“Ow! Get off!”

“Oops. Sorry.” She blinked innocently, showing off a set of turquoise-and-navy faux lashes that looked like peacock feathers. I hated how awesome they looked. “No, whenever he’s in a really good mood, he hums in the shower.”

“So what? A lot of people hum in the shower. I do, and trust me when I say I am not happy right now.” The doors slid open and I hopped onto the platform, which was packed with tourists doing headcounts on their kids and comparing the maps on their iPhones with the ones on the station wall.

Stevie’s hand fell heavily on my shoulder. I fought the urge to shrug it off. “Yeah, but this morning he was singing a Marvin Gaye song. In a really low key.”

“Ewwwww!” A blast of cold air whipped my cheeks as we stepped onto State Street. “Please don’t tell me which song.”

“You know the one.”

“Craaaaaaap.” I stuffed my hands in my coat pockets and stormed south. “Can we not talk about this anymore?” I’d always loved hitting downtown at night, and I wasn’t about to let Stevie or Gabe or Marvin Gaye and his sexy songs ruin the experience. The bite to the evening air, the golden storefronts glowing around us, the hustle of people on the sidewalks and the distant honking of horns: Chicago had a rhythm, a kind of music to it that made me feel alive.

“Just one more thing.” Stevie fell into step beside me. “This morning at breakfast, he told me he was planning a big date for her. Something about a hot-air balloon ride.”

I sucked in a breath, and the cold air pricked my lungs.

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