The Best Friend Battle Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  About the Illustrator

  Copyright

  It was eight o’clock in the morning, and I was standing on the pitcher’s mound. Georgie Diaz was up to bat. He wiped his sweaty black hair off his forehead. He spat something gross right next to his shoe. He raised his bat into position. Then he smiled. “Let’s see if you can get the ball over the plate, Scruggs.”

  I stamped my cleat into the pitcher’s mound. “Oh yeah,” I said. “Well, you’d better start closing your eyes now, the ball’s gonna come so fast.”

  Georgie crouched lower, getting ready to hit. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “Throw the ball, Sylvie,” my coach said in her exasperated tone, the one that means she is tired of being seven months pregnant and standing in the dugout, watching a bunch of nine-year-olds play baseball.

  “Okay, Mom,” I said.

  “Go, Sylvie!” said my twin brothers, Tate and Cale. “Rip out his heart. Stamp on his gizzards. Eat his brains for lunch!” The twins were five, and they loved smack talk.

  I straddled the pitcher’s mound, my long brown hair tucked behind my ears. In one smooth motion, I pulled my legs together, the ball and glove coming up to my chest. There was a runner on first and a runner on third. I gave them both the eye. Then I looked into the stands where I knew my best friend, Miranda, would be watching.

  And there she was, behind home plate like always. Her hands were clasped together; her face was tense. Her mouth opened. Her lips began to move. I waited for the thumbs-up and the “Go, Sylvie!” she always gives me when I need it.

  “Go, Georgie!” she cried. “You can do it! Whack that ball! Home run! Home run!”

  The ball fell from my hand onto the mound. I couldn’t believe it.

  “Come on, Scruggs,” Georgie called. “Throw the ball already.”

  But I was still staring at Miranda, who was looking at me now. She gave me a thumbs-up and a “Go, Sylvie!” but it wasn’t the same. What good is a “Go, Sylvie!” when you’ve just shouted “Go, Georgie!”? You can’t cheer for two people at the same time. Not when those two people are enemies.

  I picked up the ball and threw it at Georgie, but it was no use. My pitch went straight toward him, too slow, too easy. Georgie’s bat hit the ball with a crack. The ball soared over my head and into the outfield, where it smacked into the fence and thumped to the ground.

  My entire team groaned. Even my coach.

  Georgie took off like a cheetah with short legs. He ran to first base, then to second, then to third, and then home, following the two runners before him. Then he did the stupid disco dance he always does whenever he scores. At the end of his dance, he pointed to himself and said, “Me? Home run? Oh, yeah, baby, home run.”

  I kicked at the air as hard as I could. That was not a true home run. The ball has to go over the fence to be a true home run. Everyone knows that, and I was about to shout this when my coach grabbed my arm.

  “You’re tired, honey,” she said. “We got in really late last night, and you didn’t get much sleep on the plane. Let’s let someone else pitch.”

  “Mom!” I cried. I couldn’t leave the mound, because if I stopped pitching, Georgie would think he’d won. He’d think I was being kicked off the field because he got a hit off me. “No,” I said. “I can’t stop pitching now.”

  “Of course you can,” my mom said, meaning she was going to make me.

  I looked at Miranda. She was pushing her shiny dark hair out of her eyes and smiling at Georgie. “Nice hit!” she shouted.

  Miranda, my best friend.

  “Sylvie,” my mom said. “It’s time to go.”

  I stamped my foot into the mound. “It’s still my turn,” I said.

  My mom crossed her angry arms and gave me her you’d-better-watch-it look.

  “I’m not moving,” I said.

  “I’m the coach, Sylvie.”

  “No, you’re not,” I said, even though she was.

  “Spank her bum!” the twins yelled at my mom. “Spank her bum! Spank her bum!” and it looked as if she just might. Especially when I kicked at the mound and a dirt cloud billowed up in her face.

  But she didn’t spank my bum. She just tossed me out of the game.

  Miranda and I had been friends since we were babies. We ate our first food together (something called “rice cereal” that should really be called “white-mush cereal”). We were in the same preschool class when Joe Kramer peed all over the “Meet at the Circle” carpet. In first grade, we built a fort made of cardboard, sugar cubes, and peanut butter all by ourselves, and they put a picture of it in the news. And last year, when the other girls started writing “secret admirer” notes and chasing the boys on the playground, Miranda and I made a club called “The Club for People Who Want to Do Fun Things.” And Miranda has come to every single one of my baseball games (except for seven).

  She and I were meant to be best friends. We were made to be best friends. We had to be best friends. We were such good friends, I didn’t need any others. Miranda was the only friend I needed.

  She was the only friend I had.

  When she finally got home later that morning, I was waiting on her porch steps.

  “Sylvie!” she cried when she popped out of her car, and I was suddenly in a colossal, friend-crushing hug. “Great game! How was your trip? Did you bring me back a surprise?”

  I’d been gone for our regular two-week trip out West to see historical sites in the desert and go to family reunions. Miranda was a scientist, and she loved dead desert things like bugs and snakeskins. She stored her collection in a small toy castle she called her laboratory. I always brought her something back from my trips, something she wouldn’t expect. Because Miranda loved surprises.

  “I did bring you something,” I said, and I held out a Baggie of shiny beetle bodies, a specimen I was sure she’d never seen before.

  “Oh, click beetles!” she said, but when she reached for the bag, I didn’t let go right away.

  “Why did you cheer for Georgie?” I said.

  Miranda pulled the bag from my hand. “What do you mean?”

  I looked seriously at my friend. “Right as I was about to pitch to him, you told him to get a home run. And he did — except it wasn’t a true home run — and we lost!”

  Miranda had a shiny black beetle in her hand. She was paying more attention to it than to me. “I just cheered for him a little. I cheered for you too. You can cheer for more than one person.”

  I frowned and crossed my arms. “Not in baseball.”

  Miranda began rearranging the beetle’s antennae. “I know we didn’t like Georgie before. But he’s actually really nice.”

  “Georgie is not nice,” I informed her. “One, he didn’t invite me to his welcome-Georgie-to-the-neighborhood party even though I am clearly part of the neighborhood; two, he makes fun of me every time I pitch; three, he pretended he didn’t know I lived in the neighborhood so he didn’t have to invite me to his party; four —” I couldn’t remember four. “Five, he’s a boy, and the worst kind of boy. The kind who makes fun of girls whenever they play baseball.”

  Miranda was gently adjusting the beetle’s wings. “He didn’t mean to not invite you, Sylvie. His abuela
made the invitations and she didn’t know you lived here. She thought it was just the twins at your house.”

  “Ha!” I said, because Miranda had told me this before. After she went to Georgie’s party and I did not. After I was the only kid in the neighborhood not there.

  “Besides, that was three months ago,” Miranda said in her patientest voice. “He’s actually really considerate — he brought over brownies for the funeral.”

  I opened my mouth to say, “You didn’t like him before. You used to think just like me.” But then I realized what else she said. That there had been a funeral.

  Someone had died.

  Miranda put the beetle back in the bag. Her circle-shaped face went very, very long. “Muffin is dead.”

  “Oh no!” I said. “Muffin!” Muffin was Miranda’s dog since before she was born, and he was really, really old. He was an awful dog, the absolute worst. He left pools of slobber in my shoes; he chewed up my favorite jaguar pencil; and he tooted about every five seconds, really stinky dog toots. Plus, he bit the mailman, Miranda’s grandpa, and the neighbor’s miniature pygmy goat. He’d been about to die any day now, and the neighborhood would be a safer place.

  But he was Miranda’s best pet, her only pet, and I knew how much she would miss him. “I’m really sorry,” I said, giving her an I’m-really-sorry hug. “Muffin used to be alive,” I said to comfort her. “And you really loved him because you’re such a nice person. If he could have talked, he would have said, ‘Thanks for taking such good care of me, Miranda. You always gave me belly rubs, even when I had those scabby bumps on my skin and my breath smelled like cucumbers.’ ”

  Miranda sniffed. “You’re right. He would have said that. He was such a good dog.”

  “He was,” I said, though he really wasn’t. But it was time to get back to the point. “What about Georgie? Why was he at the funeral?”

  “Well,” she said. “My mom invited his family over for root beer floats.”

  “Root beer floats?” I didn’t even know her family ate root beer floats.

  “Um-hmm,” Miranda said, like this was no big deal. “They were really yummy. And when Georgie was over here, I told him about Muffin, and he thought we should have a funeral.”

  “A funeral!” I shook my head. “We can’t have a funeral, Miranda. Not now. We’d need flowers and an organ and a religion guy and some veils to wear over our faces. And your birthday party is in two days. There’s no time for a funeral.”

  “We already had it,” she said.

  I gasped. “You already had the birthday party?” This was impossible. I’d never missed any of Miranda’s birthday parties except her third and seventh. And those were accidents.

  “No, silly. Not the birthday party. The funeral.”

  “Oh,” I said. “But you had the funeral without me?”

  “Uh-huh. Georgie’s grandmother played the banjo, and since Muffin’s body had to stay at the vet’s, we buried his collar and his leash and that thing he had to wear around his head when he had ear infections. Then Josh gave a speech.”

  “Josh?” I said. “Josh Stetson?” Josh Stetson was also a boy. He’d lived in the neighborhood forever, and he was really, really tall.

  “Uh-huh. Then we dropped flowers and rice all over the grave and had more root beer floats.”

  Miranda took me into the backyard to see the tombstone. It was just old cardboard covered in splotchy gray paint. Someone had written on it in the kind of dumb handwriting all boys have that is small and impossible to read. It said:

  Georgie’s work for sure.

  “Do you like it?” Miranda said.

  “Huh,” I said.

  Miranda and I normally played together every single day. Normally, she missed me so much while I was on vacation, she couldn’t wait till I got back again.

  But this time, she’d had funerals while I was gone. This time she’d had Georgie. I wondered if she’d missed me at all.

  “Have you made the bug decorations for your party yet?” I said. I said this to remind Miranda that I had helped her plan her party months and months and months ago and that we had decided on a bug theme together. Georgie probably didn’t know about bug themes. Georgie probably didn’t even know about bugs.

  “I’ve made the rhinoceros beetles and the water striders,” she said. “And Georgie and Josh are coming over later to help us make the rest.”

  “What?” I said as my stomach fell to the bottom of my feet. “They’re coming over? To your house?”

  “Um-hmm. They should be here soon.”

  “But why?” I said. I thought about Georgie’s horrible tombstone, the one he made for Muffin. “You only need two people to make bugs,” I told her. “And boys shouldn’t make things. Ever. And I’m here.”

  Miranda smiled like the sun had just come out. “Come on, Sylvie.” She bumped me with her shoulder. “It’s not a big deal. It’ll be fun.”

  I just stared at her. Of course it was a big deal. It was a huge deal. And it would not be fun.

  I was about to say this when something occurred to me. Something very, very bad. “Did you invite Georgie to your birthday party?”

  “Yes!” Miranda’s wavy hair bounced. “Georgie hasn’t been to a birthday party since he moved here. I invited Josh too. They’re really excited.”

  I put my hand over my eyes, because this could not be true. She couldn’t have done it. She couldn’t! “But Miranda,” I said, trying to stay calm. “It’s a girls only birthday party. You can’t invite boys to a girls only birthday party.”

  “It doesn’t have to be girls only, Sylvie. It’s not a rule.” Then she started talking about how much I would like Georgie as soon as I got to know him. How we would be really good friends. How we had a lot in common.

  This was not true. Except for baseball, I had nothing in common with Georgie. And we didn’t even play the same kind of baseball. Georgie played mean, ha-ha, I’m-so-awesome-you-stink baseball. I played regular baseball. And I played it way better than him too.

  As Miranda talked on and on, I scoured her yard for Georgie. He was like a flea waiting to pop out of the grass and bite me. He could be lurking in Miranda’s bushes. He could be hiding behind that parked car in front of the Zhus’ house. He could walk down the sidewalk any minute. He seemed to be everywhere all of a sudden, at baseball games, at funerals, at root-beer-float parties — maybe even at birthday parties.

  If Georgie and Miranda became friends, Miranda wouldn’t need me anymore. Georgie would bring Miranda beetles for her collection. Georgie would remind Miranda not to blow herself up when they played scientist. Georgie would plan all her birthday parties and help her do her chores early in the morning so they could go on a bike ride. They’d read books together, except Georgie probably didn’t read books, and they’d build a city in Miranda’s backyard, a giant city made of rocks — just like Miranda and I planned to do after all the birthday hoopla hoop was over.

  “Let’s go inside,” I said. “Right now.” And I took her hand and got her safely into the house as fast as I could.

  We were in Miranda’s room, trying to find space for the new beetles in her castle/laboratory, when Mrs. Tan’s voice came floating through the open window. “Miranda! Phone’s for you! It’s your aunt Ju calling to wish you an early happy birthday! Come get it outside, dear — I’m in the backyard spreading topsoil.”

  “Okay!” Miranda called. Then she looked at me. “Listen for the doorbell, okay? In case Georgie and Josh come over?”

  “Um-hmm,” I said, but I was too busy lining up beetles in the castle dungeon to really hear her. Almost too busy.

  The doorbell rang one minute later. I rushed to Miranda’s window, looked down at the front porch, and gasped in horror.

  It was Georgie.

  Faster than a cheetah, I raced from Miranda’s room to the Tans’ front door before he could ring the doorbell again. I opened the door, and there he was, still in his baseball clothes. Josh stood beside him.

&
nbsp; “Hey, Scruggs,” Georgie said.

  Josh gave me a head nod and a smile.

  I did not smile in return. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Josh. Except that he was a boy, Josh was all right as long as he was alone. But he wasn’t here alone. He was here with Georgie.

  “Good game today,” Georgie said to me. “You threw a few decent pitches. Too bad you lost.”

  Georgie was always saying things like that. Things that almost sounded nice but really weren’t. I made a you-are-so-not-funny face at him and pointed at the thing in his arms. “What is that?”

  Georgie looked at the goldfish bowl pushing up against his stomach. “What does it look like?”

  “A goldfish bowl,” I said. “With two goldfish in it. But why are you carrying it around?”

  “I’m giving them to Miranda,” he said.

  “Miranda?” I grabbed the door so I didn’t fall over. “Why? For a birthday present?”

  Georgie shrugged, because he always shrugs. “Yeah. And because Muffin died.”

  A terrible scene flashed before my eyes. Georgie giving Miranda the goldfish. Miranda clapping her hands with joy and inviting Georgie in and forgetting I was there.

  “They’re real,” Josh said, pointing to the goldfish bowl.

  Too real, I thought, glaring at the small orange creatures. “Miranda wouldn’t want goldfish,” I said. “Goldfish aren’t good for anything — you can’t take them out exploring. You can’t do science experiments with goldfish.”

  “Science experiments?” Georgie said.

  I rolled my eyes, because Georgie had no idea what science even was. “Miranda and I used to test things out on Muffin,” I told him. “Like one time we wanted to see if he liked Christmas music better than Fourth of July music and which one made him eat more Cheetos. Miranda and I do stuff like that. Together. Stuff you wouldn’t like.”

  Georgie was staring at the goldfish. “Science experiments?” he said again.

  “Yeah,” I said. “With things like microscopes and beakers. Miranda would like the goldfish bowl better than the goldfish.”