Free Best Friend Next Door by Carolyn Mackler Page A

grab my heap of clothes, sit on a bench, and start getting dressed. It’s not easy to tug on clothes under a towel but that’s how we do it. “I’m just glad I got through those sprints.”
    “And I’m glad practice is over,” Hannah says. She looks in the mirror and attempts to gather her hair into a ponytail. I’ve noticed that it’s started to get longer. “I didn’t want to come today.”
    “Why not?” I ask. As much as it can be exhausting, I still love swim practice.
    “Volleyball is so much more fun,” Hannah says. She shakes her hair around her shoulders again. “So is basketball. So is eating. Did I tell you I heard about a restaurant in New York City that specializes in peanut butter? Cinnamon peanut butter … maple peanut butter … spicy peanut—”
    “I’m so hungry!” I say. “Don’t talk about peanut butter right now.”
    We both laugh and then hurry into the lobby of the YMCA to meet her dad.
    After lunch, I’m in my room when Hannah knocks on the door and then walks right in. That’s typical for us these days. We’re always running back and forth between each other’s houses.
    “What’s up?” I say. I finally unpacked my ribbons from my swim meets in Captiva and I’m hanging them above my bed. I was going to use nails, but Mom C suggested thumbtacks instead.
    “Cool ribbons,” Hannah says. “That’s a lot of firsts.”
    “Mostly breaststroke. Some medleys, too.” It’s true that I’ve placed first a lot. People say that if you want to be a serious swimmer you have to be tall with long arms and legs, but being short hasn’t hurt me so far.
    “So,” Hannah says, handing me a thumbtack. “I’ve been thinking about it and we have to tell your moms.”
    I turn to her. Is she saying what I think she’s saying? “Tell them what?”
    “About what’s going on at school.” Hannah gestures toward the door. “Like … now.”
    I shake my head quickly. I seriously don’t want to do this.
    “You can do it, Emme.” She points to my neat row of ribbons. “You’re a winner.”
    I feel like the opposite of a winner. But I also get what Hannah is saying and so I set a second-place ribbon (breaststroke, twenty-five meters) back in the shoe box, run into the bathroom to pee, and then follow her downstairs.
    Mom J and Mom C are in the backyard, digging holes to plant bulbs. They’ve become obsessed with daffodil bulbs and tulip bulbs and how you have to plant them in the ideal location on the ideal day in the fall with the ideal low-nitrogen fertilizer.
    As Hannah pushes open the back door, I drag slowly behind her. I think I have to pee again.
    “Claire? Julia?” Hannah says.
    Mom J wipes her hands on her jeans and looks over at Mom C, who leans her shovel against the tree. “What’s up?”
    “Maybe we can all sit down,” Hannah says, steering me toward the picnic table. “Something’s going on at school. With Emme.”
    As we slide into the table, I keep telling myself you’re a winner, you’re a winner . But I’m definitely feeling more like a loser, just like they wrote on the collage.
    “The thing is,” Hannah says, “Ms. Linhart is terrible. And some girls in Emme’s class are being awful to her. Gina and Alexa and Haley. I know them and they’re all really mean. They’re making fun of Emme. They even ruined her collage. They wrote something bad on it.”
    “Oh, Emme,” Mom J says. “Have you told anyone? Why didn’t you tell us?”
    I glance at Hannah and she nods encouragingly. “There’s nothing you can do about it,” I say quietly. “I told Hannah. And I told Leesa a little.”
    “What did Leesa say?” Mom J asks.
    “To be true to myself,” I say. “And to keep up the good vibes.”
    This time Mom C gives Mom J a look. Leesa is Mom C’s older sister’s daughter. I think she drives both my moms a little crazy.
    “Does Ms. Linhart know?” Mom C asks. “Have you talked about it with her?”
    “No,” I say. “But she has to see