How to Outfox Your Friends When You Don't Have a Clue (17 page)

Five Influences in My Life—A Media Project by: Ana Wright (Version 2.0)

Dear Mr. Nicholson,

I know we were supposed to write a big report to include with our project, so thank you for the chance to give you this for extra credit. You see, I felt terrible I had to miss out on our project night because I had this totally awesome project prepared. It's a documentary, and I followed people around with a real video camera. I spent hours editing the footage, so you could learn all about them and also all about me. I even got help from my grandpa's girlfriend, Sugar, who it turns out is an amazing filmmaker and my soon-to-be grandmother. (But that's a story for another day!) Anyway. In a dramatic turn of events (those are important in documentaries too), I couldn't actually do the presentation. I know how serious you take your deadlines, so I wanted to show you that I'm serious too. I mean,
yes
it's sort of late. But it's also TWO projects in one! The second half of my project is not a documentary, and there's no fancy musical introduction, but I think you'll be able to learn a lot about who and what influences me this way too.

So along with my documentary, please accept this cast.
Technically
, it's still on my arm, but I've taken good photos of it from all sorts of angles so you can see every single signature and message. When my six weeks are up, I'll make sure you get the real deal. I hope this means you won't dock me points!

As you'll see by what they've written, each of my friends is
so
different. Some of them are supersmart, and some are shy basket cases. Some skip school (but know better), and one's even a giant princess who happens to love sharks. But despite how different they are, they are all great friends to me.

Actually, maybe they're great friends to me
because
of how different they are. I need all of them because they bring out different parts of myself too. And I may not be the best at being great friends back to them yet, but I am trying. All you can do is your best, right? The strong survive, and I know that these friendships will too. Even if it takes a little work sometimes.

Real friends are worth it.

Thanks,

Ana Wright :)

PS

Oh, and in case you're wondering who drew the comic of the giant lizard destroying the school, it was Daz. Feel free to ignore that.

Ms. Jane Wright's Pineapple Cookies (Top Secret!)

Okay, so these are pretty much the only things Mom can make without making the whole kitchen smell like burning—trust me, they are amazing! I've seen Dad eat entire batches of them in an hour!

What You'll Need:

-6 tablespoons of room temperature butter

-6 tablespoons of applesauce

-1 cup of sugar (plus extra for sprinkling!)

-2 eggs

-1 1/4 cups of canned pineapple (don't drain it!)

-3 cups of flour (regular white flour or whole wheat)

-1 teaspoon of salt

-1/2 teaspoon of baking soda

-1 teaspoon of cinnamon (plus extra for sprinkling!)

-1/2 teaspoon of nutmeg

What to Do:

1.
Start by preheating your oven to 375°F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. (Remember, parchment paper is
not
the same as wax paper! You don't want to smoke up the kitchen!)

2.
Mix up the butter, applesauce, sugar, and eggs in a big bowl. Add in your pineapple now. You can use a hand mixer, or you can do it by hand.

3.
In a separate bowl, mix up the flour, salt, baking soda, and spices.

4.
Mix the wet stuff with the dry ingredients, and make sure it's well combined. It will look sort of gloopy and sticky, but that's okay.

5.
Use two spoons to make golf ball–sized cookie balls on your baking sheet. They will spread and puff up in the oven, so leave about 2 inches between them.

6.
Sprinkle a little (or a lot!) of leftover cinnamon and sugar over the top of the cookies.

7.
Bake them for 10–15 minutes. They will be light brown on the bottom when they're ready.

8.
You know the rest—eat them up! Mom always tells me to wait and let them cool before I eat them, but who are we kidding here? Warm cookies are the
best
.

I am one lucky writer to have so many amazing people to thank! As always, Kathleen Rushall, you deserve a mountain of gratitude. You're the best agent a writer could ask for and an incredible friend. I love making books with you!

To Aubrey Poole, my brilliant editor! And to superstars Kathryn Lynch, Katherine Prosswimmer, Elizabeth Boyer, Elissa Erwin, Sandra Ogle, Alex Yeadon, and the rest of the wonderful team at Sourcebooks. You have all taught me so much, and I feel lucky every day to work with you. And thank you to Fernanda Viveiros, for working so hard to get Ana's adventures out in the world!

To the kidlit community, the Nerdy Book Club (hey, Nerdcampers!), and my ridiculously wonderful friends! And a shout-out to all of the teachers and educators, working so tirelessly and passionately to promote literacy and find the perfect book for every reader. You are all heroes to me and we owe you the world!

To my parents and family for all the love and support. To Justin, for putting up with revision-brain and providing endless hugs, pizza, and laughs as needed.

And of course, to my awesome readers! When writing a book about friendship, it's hard not to reflect on how lucky you are to have your own set of friends. Thank you all for being such great friends to this series, and for including Ana in your reading lives. Your emails, tweets, and messages make me smile every day! Happy reading!

See how it all began in

How to Outrun a Crocodile When Your Shoes Are Untied

By Jess Keating

“Male peacocks use their huge, ornamented tail to attract female attention. Flashy male displays are a common way to successfully obtain a mate.”

—Animal Wisdom

Mondays are a lot like lions hiding in the tall grass. They are always ready to pounce. And if you're going to school
without
your best friend, Mondays can be just as dangerous. Ever since Liv moved away, I felt like I was walking around with a giant target on my back. I had to pretend like nothing had changed.

But everything had changed.

I kept my head down as I walked to my locker before the bell rang. The halls of our school were buzzing with activity. Summer was almost here, and you could tell it was starting to get to everyone. Even the teachers would stare out the window, like they were looking at a giant slice of pie they wanted to scarf down.

Posters for the end-of-school dance (which they called the “School End Dance”—geniuses) were suspended from the ceilings and people were getting extra touchy-feely all over each other. What is it about upcoming dances and skirt weather that makes girls all eye-batty and guys more rowdy than usual? I mean, it's even on a Monday. Who has a dance on a
Monday
?

Middle school, that's who.

I shoved my backpack into my locker and dug around for a binder. Our final tests were coming up, and my May calendar stared me in the face on my locker door, with each test day marked with a sticker. My math test was the worst of all, looming on my calendar like a giant black hole instead of the cute little unicorn sticker Liv had given me. What if I didn't even pass? I could be stuck in the bottom end of junior high forever. All of the buildup made little flutters of anxiety buzz around in my stomach.

A palm tree sticker on my calendar reminded me about my English assignment. Mrs. Roca has this tradition where she makes us each stand up in front of the room and ramble on for exactly two minutes about a topic that she pulls from a hat. Seriously, she even has this moldy-looking top hat specifically for these little torture sessions. We aren't allowed to say “um” or we lose points. My topic is Harry Houdini, and after coming up with a zillion excuses for the past month on why I wasn't ready, my big day was coming this week.

The only magical guy named Harry that I know anything about had a lightning bolt scar on his forehead, so there is no way I've got two minutes' worth. But mostly, the thought of standing at the front of the room while everybody secretly hopes for me to throw up like I did in fifth grade during group debates was almost enough to make me, well…throw up again. All those eyes just…staring at me.

“Um, can I get into here…?” A low voice interrupted my locker scan. A familiar knocking began in my chest. It was Zack.
The
Zack.

“Hey!” I cleared my throat. Did I just yell that? “Hey, Zack. Nice weather we're having, hmm?”

I actually said that. I wanted to tear out my vocal chords with a pen. I stepped aside so he could get into his locker, which was serendipitously placed beside mine.

I couldn't decide whether it was good or bad luck yet.

Given the last thirty seconds, bad.

Zack was the type of guy that should come with a warning label: Do not look at if you are operating heavy machinery, walking, or trying not to make a complete fool of yourself. Once, Liv caught me doodling a cartoon of Zack looking up at me on a balcony, Romeo and Juliet style. I even drew him holding flowers.
That's
how pathetically sad and insane it makes me having Zack pop up at a moment's notice.

Not only was he seriously the cutest guy in school, Zack was also a tennis star. Girls who couldn't even
spell
tennis showed up to his games. He also had the ability to make me stutter, a development I've noticed since the summer sun had given his hair a decidedly beachy look.

Mmm.

He slid a textbook into his locker with a thud, jerking me from my little daydream. Apparently if Zack is around, I have the attention span of a gnat. I stood there gaping at him, digging around in my head for the perfect, witty thing to say.

“Uh…” was all I came up with.

That's when I heard a high-pitched voice coming from down the hall. I wished for the hundredth time that I was invisible as I peeked past Zack.

The
Sneerers.

Three girls swayed their hips as they walked in their usual line formation. They each had on black skirts with a loose tank top clinging at their hips, each in a different color. I don't know how they managed it, but they always seemed to walk like there was a soundtrack playing for them—only they were the only ones who could hear it.

“Hey, Zack.” Ashley gave a flirty wave as she approached us. I ducked my head behind my locker door, hoping they wouldn't notice me.

Ashley, Brooke, and Rayna were the worst part of my day. Every day. You know how some girls you're friends with earlier in school, say, first grade, but then something happens and they start hating on you for no reason?

Yeah. Ashley is nothing like that. We've never been friends. She's always hated me, and she
loves
to feel like she's super mature. She even wears a matching set of earrings and a necklace, which (as she told us a bazillion times) her mother got her when she got her first bra. Because of this (the attitude, the pearl earrings, and the solid B cup), I've always avoided her like a school-borne plague. Tweedledee and Tweedledum stick with her like those little scavenger fish around a shark, eager to get a bite of popularity from her. Actually, Ashley would make a pretty good shark because she's even on the swim team with Rayna. I can't imagine anyone that would
voluntarily
put on a Speedo under those nasty lights, but they seem to have some sort of supergene that makes their blond hair not turn green with all that chlorine. Brooke moved here a year or so ago, so she's currently the lowest rank on Team Sneerer.

“Hey, Scales.” Ashley's voice dripped with sweetness. You could tell she was aware that Zack was listening by the way her eyes flitted to him every four seconds—such a shark. She swept a lock of blond hair from her eyes. The silver on her earrings twinkled in the light. “I hope there aren't any bugs in your pants today. Must be hard without Liv around to do your hair for you, huh?” She twirled her hair around her fingertip and eyed my ponytail with fake sympathy.

Seriously, ever since my idiot brother let slip that I was named after a snake—an anaconda to be precise—I hadn't heard the end of it. And the whole bug thing—so I accidentally left the house with a pocket full of crickets after feeding some of Daz's snakes. One time. Four years ago. If it hadn't been so mortifying, it would have been funny; they started chirping during Mr. Dixon's grammar lecture, and it sounded exactly like a movie where everybody gets bored. Usually the Sneerers had to face Liv whenever they made fun of me, but now? I am basically target practice.

“Hey, Ashley, did you know that some perfumes are made with whale vomit? Maybe you want to go a little easy on the spritzing tomorrow?”

I
so
wish I'd said that, but the voice belonged to someone else.

I swiveled around wide-eyed to see who had the guts to talk back to Ashley. A tall girl in red warm-up pants was half jogging toward us.

Rebecca!

I gulped and kept my eyes forward, not wanting to make eye contact. Rebecca was Ashley's older sister, and being in eighth grade, she was even more popular (and therefore scarier) than anyone our age in seventh. But she did it without being a kraken. Although it was sort of cool to see someone take a dig at Ashley. How could a nice girl like Rebecca be sisters with Ashley?

“Why don't you shut up, Becca?” Ashley spat at her sister.

Rebecca ignored her and smirked at me. My cheeks burned at the attention. “Ignore her. She's just miffed I beat her time at practice this morning,
again
. Aren't you,
kiddo
?” Rebecca reached out and punched Ashley playfully on the arm before sauntering away to her friends.

See? Some people seem to ooze confidence all over the place. Whereas the only thing I oozed was a bit of prickly sweat under my arms when I was nervous. Which was almost all the time.

I bit my tongue, unable to hide my smile. I guess sometimes the best way to deal with mean ones was to be mean right back? Of course, the thought of saying anything like that to Ashley made me want to lose my breakfast.

Ashley's perfectly stained lips pressed thin, and her face shifted to a grim mask of anger. She makes that face a lot, and it always makes me think her skin is going to melt off and reveal a metal robot skull and a flickering, short-circuited eyeball. I could see it.

She glared at me. “Whatever, geek. Smile all you want, but we'll see how happy you are in English class,” she said, puffing up her chest. “I just talked to Mrs. Roca, and she said I could switch my talk with yours. So you'll be talking today, instead of the end of the week,” she cooed. “She mentioned something about you putting it off long enough?
You're welcome.
” Ashley's eyes were wide with phony innocence.

My stomach plummeted to the floor. I swear, the devil must take lessons from Ashley. Now what was I going to do?! Two minutes, two minutes…how could I avoid stage fright puking with such short notice?!