Free Somebody on This Bus Is Going to Be Famous by J. B. Cheaney Page A

bulky line forward. Besides, Miranda wasn’t sure how cool it was to get so totally into a story you had to keep a Kleenex box nearby. Soon, icy raindrops were stinging her face.
    Penelope took the Lord’s name in vain as she stuck the book under her jacket and pulled up her hood. “If this is a drill, it’s the stupidest one ever. My dad’s going to call the school board and complain.”
    Miranda surprised herself. She knew Penelope’s dad was a bank president, and Penelope was probably the richest kid in town. And who was Miranda? Nobody. All the same, she opened her mouth and said, “My dad’s going to call city hall.”
    By the time they got to the playground fence, two fire trucks had arrived to prove this wasn’t a drill. While they shivered in the schoolyard, the two girls amused themselves playing My Dad knows more important people than Your Dad: “Mine is going to call Channel Ten News!” “Mine is going to call our senator!” “Well, mine is going to call the president!”
    They giggled, and then Miranda surprised herself for the second time that afternoon: “Actually, my dad won’t even know about it. He lives in Arizona.”
    Penelope didn’t say anything for a minute. Then she squeezed Miranda’s hand. It seemed kind of natural at the time, because all the kids were huddled so close together they looked like a giant mushroom under the drippy sky. But Miranda couldn’t help thinking that she’d let a piece of her real self slip in a very dorky way—like when you bend over and the elastic of your underwear rides up over your jeans. But Pen’s squeeze seemed to tell her it was okay.
    A lot of calls were made that week: to city hall and the school board and the fire department and the county health extension office and the mayor. But among those calls was one made by Penelope to Miranda: “Want to ask your mom if you can come over after school on Friday?”
    Come over?! To that huge, glassy, rustic-lodgey house she and her mother used to guess about when they drove by?
    When Mrs. Scott came to pick Miranda up after work that Friday, she seemed a little nervous about meeting Mrs. Gage. Penelope’s mother didn’t act snotty, but she had an edge. So did Penelope, for that matter: both were thin, with narrow faces, sharp noses, and glassy-green eyes, whereas both Miranda and her mother were roundish (okay, overweight), with round faces, curly brown hair, and big dark cow’s eyes.
    Mrs. Gage invited Mrs. Scott in for a cup of herbal tea, but Mrs. Scott said no, she had tons of stuff to do at home. “I know the feeling,” Mrs. Gage said, already closing the heavy front door with its beveled glass. “Thanks for letting Melissa come over. See you later.”
    â€œ Miranda , Mom!” Penelope’s voice came muffled from behind the door.
    Penelope was sometimes hard to be friends with. She usually ignored Miranda when boys were around, and she accepted an invitation to go to a concert for Miranda’s birthday but canceled the day before with a lame excuse. They always ate lunch together, and half the time, Penelope unloaded on Jayden or Jordan or Jenn—or her brother or her brother’s girlfriend or even her mom. Or she would talk about college and how she couldn’t wait to get out of this boring little town where the most excitement was Rodeo Days.
    â€œYou know who I can’t stand?” Penelope asked at lunch on the next-to-next-to-last day of school.
    Just about everybody , Miranda thought, but she didn’t say it.
    â€œShelly Alvarez, that’s who. She thinks she is so hot. You should have seen her after school yesterday, at the Talent Fling tryouts.”
    â€œHow did your ballet go?”
    â€œLet me tell you. I spent at least twenty minutes getting ready but only got to dance for, like, two minutes! I was just warming up when Mrs. Jarvis stopped me.