Free My Extra Best Friend by Julie Bowe Page A

Why would I need to copy
her
picture? She’s not as good of a drawer as me.
    I stretch my neck, looking.
    She crooks her arm harder.
    Dumber.
    A minute later, she folds the paper like a card, flipping it over so fast there’s no way I can see what she drew. Not that I care. Then she picks up a pinecone.
    “I’m going to make a dog,” she tells Tom.
    Tom nods, gluing red felt ears to his pinecone. “The fox and the hound. Cool!”
    He gives Elizabeth a friendly smile.
    She gives him one back.
    I pull a spike off my pinecone.
    Loud laughter comes from the other table.
    We all look.
    Nat holds up a squashed pinecone. Red paint drips from its crushed spikes. Two googly eyes barely hang on.
    “What
is
it?” Tom asks.
    Nat does a sly grin. “Roadkill,” she replies.
    Emillie cracks up.
    So does Brooke.
    Stacey just smiles.

Chapter
10
    “Our first Quiet Time,” Meeka says when we get back to Chickadee after lunch. “We should commemorate the occasion.”
    She clicks a few pictures while we climb onto our bunks. We’re supposed to relax and read and write letters until it’s time to go to the beach. Sort of like rest time in kindergarten without the napping mats.
    But I’m not tired. And I forgot to bring a book to read even though it was on my camp list. I have my sketchbook, but I don’t feel like drawing. I did enough art at the crafts cottage this morning.
    I glance at the pinecone critters that are sitting on the little table under my window. Stacey’s cat. Elizabeth’s dog. My monkey. Brooke’s roadkill. She copied Nat’s design.
    But it’s not the pinecone critters that keep catching my eye.
    It’s a card that Brooke insisted we prop up for everyone to see because she was the inspiration for it. The one Elizabeth made at the crafts cottage and kept hidden from me. A bright orange bird is on the cover, singing a bright orange song:
    Tweet! Tweet!
    Orange you glad to hear from me?!
    After crafts, I saw Elizabeth show the card to Tom. Then I heard her say that she’s going to mail it to her parents as soon as she writes a letter inside. That must be what she’s doing now. I can hear her pencil scritch-scratching below me.
    I pull George partway out of my sleeping bag so I know he can hear me thinking to him.
She’s been away from her family for
one day,
George,
and already she’s sending them a card
and
a letter. She was away from me for a
whole year
and I didn’t get one scribble.
    I hear someone laugh and glance across the room. Randi is reading a book. It must be funny,because she laughs again and turns the page. Stacey and Brooke are whispering. Meeka and Jolene are passing notes. Jenna is writing a letter. I wonder what she’s telling her family. That she’s having a good time? That Elizabeth is here? That she’s moving back?
    I look at the orange bird again. Then I stuff George down and pull out my notepaper and a purple gel pen from under my pillow.
    I think for a moment. Then
I
start writing.
    If you ask me, it’s R-U-D-E rude to pretend your favorite color is orange just so Brooke will like you. Obviously it’s blue or you wouldn’t paint your room that color. Plus, blue has always been your favorite. Or did you leave behind your favorite color too when you moved away?
    Ida
    I slip the note through the crack between my bunk and the wall. Then I tuck away my pen, flip onto my back, and do a satisfied smile. “There,” I whisper to George. “She may have Brooke fooled, but she can’t fool me.”
    Elizabeth’s bed creaks below me.
    More scritch-scratching.
    A minute later, a note rises up from the crack.
    I snatch it and read the words.
    I think it’s R-U-D-E-R ruder to X out someone’s bird.
    Liz
    I frown. But before I can crumple up the note and shoot for the wastebasket,
another
note appears.
    It waves like a little flag.
    I snatch it too.
    P.S. Blue is still my best color. Orange is my extra best.
    Not because of Brooke.
    Because of me.
    Things change, you know.
    Liz
    I squeeze