A/N: Thank you Gdog90 for your reviews. I really appreciate the feedback. It especially helps to know that the plot is clear so far and that characters seem in-character. You're the guy, guy.
This chapter is a bit of a handful. I hesitate to post one this long, but I'm kind of free-flowing this story and the best cut off point seemed to be where I left it. Let me know if you disagree. I may end up cleaning this up later.
The Ashleys were beaming. Spinelli imagined the gleam in their eyes was the same menacing glow she saw late at night with her brothers, in the the eyes of the Terminator. In that moment each girl seemed six feet tall. Their pearly white teeth shone like chrome titanium, revealing the truth: that beneath each girly, Ashley-disguise, lurked a relentless, unstoppable machine.
The sight of them filled Spinelli with dread. She started to wish she hadn't run off all by herself.
The shiver that ran down her spine told her what to do. It said, "Run, Spinelli. Run as fast and far as you can, and maybe you'll escape them." But from her hard beating heart, she heard another command: "Fight, Spinelli. No matter how fast you run, you can never outrun a name – not your name. So fight, or die."
"Ashley Spinelli," read Ashley A., from her carefully unravelled, coffee stained scroll. "By the order of King Bob: Once an Ashley, always an Ashley. You are, like, coming with us."
Her voice sounded like victory. Her smile was Vince's smile, when he was about to swish from half-court, knowing that there was nothing anyone could do to stop him. Swish swish. The smile said. I beat you, and I made it look easy. To see that smile on Vince was an insult. On Ashley A., it was corrosive. Far more than Spinelli could tolerate.
So Spinelli lunged at her.
"Why you little –" Spinelli cried as her hands tightened around Ashley A.'s arms and they both smashed into to the ground, limbs flailing. Ashley A. screamed, and so did the other Ashleys, as they rushed in to pull Spinelli off her.
"You absolute ogre!" cried Ashley Q, as she struggled to restrain Spinelli's right arm, while Ashley T. strained to hold back her left. Leaving Ashley B. to tend to the disoriented Ashley A. on the ground.
They all glared at Spinelli, though she was pleased to notice Ashley A.'s fury shone through red rimmed eyes.
"Yeah, I'm an ogre" cried Spinelli. "I'm a troll and a beast and a dog and whatever you want to call me. So why don't you just leave me alone! I'm not one of you and I don't want to be!"
Her voice shuddered, and by the sound of it Spinelli realized that she, too, had started to cry.
Suddenly the two Ashleys holding her pushed her away, and Spinelli stumbled forward. She balled her fists.
"Fine! Then, like, go, you freak," said Ashley Q. Then she rushed to comfort Ashley A.
Ashley T. followed suit, but not before giving Spinelli one more hard shove from behind, causing her to trip and fall onto her hands and knees. She growled and was about to jump at her, but she had already run to the safety of the huddle around Ashley A.
Spinelli glared at them, breathing heavy, her pulse drumming in her ears. She was almost confused she was so angry. Feeling overwhelmed her. For a moment she felt completely lost to herself.
"Just GO away," spat Ashley Q.
That is exactly what Spinelli would have done, if she could have thought clearly. And if she hadn't heard the far too familiar sound of the coming of the snitch.
"Go?" Randall laughed. He stood a safe distance away, so that he could gloat before he turned in his prey. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation, like a fly cleaning his hands before a most vile meal. "That's a good one. Nobody is going anywhere, ladies, except to detention. Fighting on the playground? Tut, tut. That warrants at least a level five detention for each of you. And for you, Ashley Spinelli," he taunted, "maybe even expulsion."
Spinelli didn't even have time to react. She was still kneeling on the ground. Her palms were bloody, covered in pebbles and grass. They stung.
Then Ashley Q. sprinted straight at Randall. He was clearly expecting Spinelli, and he was caught off guard. But Randall was slippery, and Ashley Q. didn't know to grab onto him before he could get away – or maybe she just didn't want to dirty her hands by touching the human snake that was Randall Weems. She got a good kick in, and Randell yelped in pain as he fled.
"I'm telling!" He cried out, pathetically, as he escaped. As always, he somehow managed to sound both gleeful and outraged.
"What should we do?" asked Ashley T., worried. "Detention is, like, the worst."
"Miss Finster will be here any second," said Ashley B, stressing the urgency of action.
"Like, easy," said Ashley Q. She crossed her arms and glared at Spinelli. "It was all her fault. She started it."
"No," said Ashley A.,speaking for the first time since she fell. She looked worn out, like a flower that had been forgotten for days in someone's pocket, the stem bent and the petals torn. She sniffled, then said: "We are not snitches. We should go hide in the clubhouse. If Miss Finster finds us, we can say he, like, made it all up."
The Ashleys nodded and started to run away, but Ashley A. held back. She looked at Spinelli. "Come on," she said. "If you don't come with us, we'll all get in trouble."
Spinelli frowned. But she didn't have time to argue. Another minute and Finster would be on them. Randall wasn't lying when he said Spinelli risked the worst of it. This wouldn't be her first strike – not even close.
"Fine," she said, and the five of them ran to the tire fort at the edge of the playground. There they took refuge until recess was over. The Ashleys cleaned up Ashley A., and restored her to her former state as best they could. No matter what they did, however, she remained a little paler than usual. All Spinelli got was some band-aids for her palms out of their emergency kit. They didn't have running water, so she had to settle for cleaning her cuts with hand sanitizer, but she didn't mind.
For the rest of recess, Spinelli didn't talk to them, and the Ashleys didn't talk to her. They sat at different sides of the clubhouse – the Ashleys together on the couch, while Spinelli sat on the ground, in the corner beside the wardrobe.
It wasn't until they heard the final bell summoning them back to class that Spinelli finally spoke. She didn't look at anyone in particular, she just spoke to the air, with a calm that exposed her exhaustion.
"It was just a stupid picture. So I smiled – so what? That doesn't mean I'm an Ashley, or that I need to be a part of your stupid club. I don't understand why you guys keep trying. It's all so stupid."
"Well, you are an Ashley," corrected Ashley B. "Whether any of us likes it or not. That's just, like, the truth."
"But I'm not an Ashley," insisted Spinelli. "I'm just me. Spinelli. You don't even like me."
"We totally, like, could like you, though," said Ashley A. "That picture wasn't just a picture. It was a window into the world that should have been."
"And what world is that?" Spinelli rolled her eyes. "That world where I wear dresses and play with dollies? How special."
Ashley T. stepped forward. "There is nothing wrong with wearing dresses and playing with dolls. And don't pretend, like, you never did."
"In kindergarten," stressed Spinelli, offended at the thought. "But we were all little savages then."
"All we wanted was for you to be, like, our sister," said Ashley T. "Honestly, I'm like, not sure I even want that anymore. You are so not an Ashley. Like, at all."
"Like, what's even the point," agreed Ashley Q, nodding vigorously. "So do we need to keep talking about it, or, like, are we all fine with being late?"
"That's what I keep telling you," said Spinelli, growing more and more annoyed by every word the Ashleys said. "Why did you even want another 'sister,'' she put in mock quotes. "Don't you have enough friends?"
Ashley A. stomped her foot – a childish action she hadn't done since a time when she was five and wasn't allowed to carry baby Brittany around the store – and then immediately regretted it. She put her hands on her hips.
"You don't need to be so – difficult. We have the law on our side, and so you, like, don't have a choice. You are going to hang out with us, because you are an Ashley, and that means you are our sister. We all know that sisters fight from time to time," she touched the back of her head and winced, "though usually not so aggressively. But then they apologize and forgive each other and are closer than ever."
"I'm not apologizing," said Spinelli, her arms crossed. "And I don't have sisters. I have brothers. And we get along great."
"Whatever," Ashley A. said, though she was clearly irritated by the lack of an apology. "Like I said, we have the law. And if you want to fight it, then take it up with King Bob. But, like, fair warning, he said whoever argued with his command would earn a swirly. So I hope getting away from us is, like, worth that much to you."
Spinelli was tempted to scream in frustration – really give it to their ear drums – but all this fighting had left her sore and tired. She just wanted to go to class and put her head down.
Nevertheless, there was a battle to be fought, however tired she was. "I'm not leaving my friends," she insisted.
Ashley A. looked like she was about to start tearing someones hair out – either Spinelli's or her own. "Oh my God, will you just, like, read the stupid order King Bob wrote? We knew you would be all whiny and loyal to your dumb friends, so we didn't, like, ask for that. You can hang with them, you just, like, have to hang with us to. We can do, like, alternating recesses or something."
"I don't know why, we, like, even bother," said Ashley Q.
Ashley A. nodded gingerly, still holding her head. "On days like these, don't I know it."
Spinelli had to laugh at that. It caught her off guard, how much her feelings seemed to be mirrored by each girl in the room. They all felt the same dislike, that same exhaustion and frustration, and (Ashley A. at least) even the same bodily pain. Yet they were still forcing themselves to go through with it.
It was crazy. Everyone in this room was absolutely insane.
Ashley A. seemed to get why she laughed. When Spinelli looked at her she saw the same understanding in her eyes, and in the way her lips twitched, like she wanted to smile. Or maybe Spinelli just saw her own expression, her own feeling, once again mirrored in an Ashley.
"Girls," interrupted Ashley B, "we actually are, like, late late. We better run."
And though none of them felt up to it, the girls filed up the tunnel leading to the playground and then jogged across the field toward the school doors.
As they ran, a strange feeling came over Spinelli. It was like the time they'd broken into Finster's office. They nearly got themselves trapped, but then luck and teamwork pulled together and somehow they got away with the goods. She had passed through the fire, felt the heat of the flame, and left it behind her; at the end of it all, they toasted to stolen sweets.
For the life of her, she had no idea where that feeling came from.
T.J. knew something was up when Spinelli never found them again at recess. He didn't know exactly what was up, but he knew it was going to be a problem. She'd been acting weird lately and hadn't given a single clue as to why.
What bothered him most was the quiet. Spinelli was many things, but quiet was hardly one of them. If she had a problem with someone, or something, she said so – loudly, repeatedly, and usually with a demonstration of what her fist was going to do to that someone, or something. But this – head down during class, avoiding eye contact – T.J. didn't know what to make of this.
Then she came into class, late, with Ashley B. and Q.
T.J's jaw dropped.
Miss Grotke seemed just as surprised. "Girls," she said, "is there a reason you three are late?"
Ashley B.'s face morphed into a model of apology. "We are, like, so sorry, Miss Grotke. We Ashleys were, like, trying to sort out some tensions between us and we, like, didn't notice the bell until we looked up and were like, 'where did everybody go?' And then we ran here as fast as we could."
Ashley Q. nodded her agreement to every word.
Miss. Grotke hummed an approving note. "I appreciate your honesty, Ashley B. And I admire you girls for not keeping all that tension and disagreement locked up inside you. The only way we people can get along harmoniously is if we maintain an open dialogue with one another. I won't punish you this time, but in the future please try to keep an ear open for the bell."
"Oh, I totally agree. It won't happen again. Like, thank you, Miss Grotke." The three girls then started to cross the class to take their seats, but stopped when Miss Grotke held her hand up.
"And Spinelli," she said, "why were you late?"
Spinelli froze. Her mouth opened but no words came out.
Seeing that they weren't wanted, the Ashleys rushed to their seats, leaving Spinelli to stand alone.
T.J. watched her closely, as eager for her answer to Miss Grotke's question as everybody else in the class seemed to be; kids were leaning across their desks to get a closer look. He was so intensely focused that he gave a startled cry when a sudden loud sigh come from behind him. He spun around to find the culprit.
Ashley Q. had her hand up.
"Um... Yes, Ashley Q.?" said Miss Grotke, clearly confused by the strange happenings playing out in her classroom.
"Yeah, Ashley S. - I mean, Spinelli – was with us," she said, with clear reluctance. "She is, like, the Ashley we had tensions with."
Ashley B. also put her hand up. "Sorry that I wasn't clear," she said, "I thought that was obvious. Ashley S. was totally with us."
The class gasped.
T.J. fell back into his seat.
Miss Grotke scratched her head.
"Oh," she said. "You know, Spinelli, I forgot your name was also Ashley. Well, take your seat, and we can get started. We have a lot to get through if you kids are going to be able to do your homework tonight."
The class groaned. Everyone, that is, except for T.J. and Gretchen. Both were watching Spinelli. Gretchen, desperately trying to get her attention to find out what she had found in the lost and found. T.J., because he guessed she never got anywhere near the lost and found – he guessed that for some reason she spent all recess with the Ashleys.
On any other day he would bet Spinelli hadn't been anywhere near the Ashleys, except maybe to scare them off from some trick they were playing on some unlucky kid. But today? Today started with Spinelli running back home to brush her teeth.
T.J. just didn't know.
The Ashleys had given her an alibi. That alone was a red flag big enough for a big dumb idiot to take notice. And T.J. Detweiler was no big dumb idiot.
Or maybe he was. T.J.'s eyes went wide as he finally processed what he'd heard. It hit him late, but all at once, like a bad fall off the monkey bars you don't really feel until you try to sit down.
What did Ashley Q. say?
T.J. turned around in his seat and he called across the room.
"Ashley Q.," he said, startling everyone around him. "What was that you called Spinelli?"
"What?" she asked, too surprised at being spoken to to understand the question.
"Please, T.J.," said Miss Grotke, "you know this is inappropriate. You can talk to Ashley Q. after class, not while I'm teaching."
"But, Miss Grotke," T.J. objected, now somewhat panicked. "Did she call Spinelli Ash –" T.J. choked on it like it was a curse word. He tried again. "Did she say Ashley S.?"
"So?" asked Ashley Q, with a sneer. "That's, like, her name."
"T.J.," said Miss. Grotke, "while I'm sure this is of the upmost importance to you, and I don't wish to invalidate your feelings in any way, if you continue to be disruptive I will have to give you a detention. Can all we please pay attention and leave the talking for the playground?"
T.J. sighed, then nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
'Ashley S.,' he thought, bitterly. That's a name he never wanted to hear again. But he had a bad feeling in his stomach that said he was about to start hearing it a lot.
For the rest of class Spinelli refused to look at him. And with every passing minute, T.J.'s bad feeling grew worse and worse. He wanted to pull Spinelli from her desk and shake her till he got the answered he needed. Something was wrong with his friend, and T.J. Detweiler always helped his friends.
When the final bell rang and Miss Grotke let them go, T.J. wanted to rush out, dragging Spinelli behind him. But she seemed to watch to take her time. She packed her bag one paper at a time. But T.J. didn't rush her. Didn't give her an excuse to say, "Go ahead, I'll catch up." No sir. T.J. was going to be the gum in her hair. So he stood patiently, not saying a word.
The Ashleys walked past them just as quiet. Ashley Q. didn't look at either of them, but Ashley B. glanced at Spinelli, and seemed to hesitate for a moment by her desk. T.J. didn't know what to make of it, and he was getting real sick and tired of not knowing.
As soon as they stepped outside onto the front steps, he was just about ready to let Spinelli have it, but she beat him to the punch.
"Okay, okay," she said, "I'll tell you what happened. Just stop staring at me like that. It made me feel like there were bugs crawling under my skin, the way you were watching me all class."
T.J. shrugged and looked at his shoes. "Sorry. But you know you can't blame me. Now what is going on with you and the Ashleys?"
"Yeah, I want to know, too," said Gus, as he suddenly appeared beside them. Or was he there the whole time? T.J. couldn't have said. He looked to the other side and found Gretchen, Vince, and Mickey all right there with them, watching Spinelli with undisguised curiosity.
"I admit I am also rather interested to hear why you were late and why the Ashleys called you Ashley S.," said Gretchen, pushing between T.J. and Spinelli, "but first I would appreciate an update on what you found out from Menlo. I presume you didn't find Galileo, or else you would have returned him to me, but perhaps you uncovered a lead?"
Spinelli hit her forehead with her palm and looked at Gretchen apologetically. "Oh, man, I'm sorry Gretchen. I didn't even get to the office before the Ashleys ambushed me. We kind of got into it, and then Randall showed up, and, well, I ended up spending the entire recess hiding from Finster."
"Oh," said Gretchen. "I see."
Her whole body drooped from the weight of disappointment, as if her hope in Spinelli was the only thing keeping her upright, and now it was gone. Vince patted her on the back.
"It's okay, Gretch," he said. "We can all take a shot at Menlo tomorrow. If anyone knows anything about where Galileo is, he's the one. I just know it. We'll find him."
"Yeah," said Gus, enthusiastically. "After all, we looked everywhere else we possibly could. If Menlo doesn't know where he is, then no one does!"
"I suppose that would be some relief," said Gretchen, though it was clear she didn't mean a word of it. "That Galileo is lost forever, to never again come alive in the hands of an inquiring mind – to never again help a friend in need of dire assistance – I guess that's better than him being in the hands of a stranger. Even if it means I never get him back, and have to spend the rest of my life wondering what happened to him, perpetually tormented by the one question I can never answer."
There was a haunted look in her eyes.
Spinelli looked away. She noticed a nice round pebble on the ground and and kicked at it. She missed.
Then, chuckling awkwardly, Spinelli backed away from the gang. "Well, sorry to say, but I have to run. I'll see you guys tomorrow. Try and keep your head up, Gretchen. I'm sure Vince is right. Tomorrow is the day. . . See ya!"
"But – wait!" T.J. called out, running after her. Trying desperately to be gum in her hair – to make the metaphor stick, and to get the answers he needed. "You didn't tell us what the Ashleys are up to!"
Spinelli shouted over her shoulder, "I don't know. The same thing they're always up to, I guess. Trying to get their own way. But it won't work! I promise, I'll tell you more tomorrow! I've just got this really important – thing! Goodbye!"
T.J. stopped chasing and watched her go while the rest of the gang caught up to him. He wanted to kick himself.
'She sure ditched me, easy,' he thought.
"That was weird," said Mikey.
"Worse than weird, Mikey," said T.J, with a dire look on his face.
Vince gave T.J. and odd look. "What are you thinking, Teej?"
"I'm thinking the Ashleys are after Spinelli. Trying to make her like them. But I think they're doing something different this time. Something more. . . subtle. Not like abducting her, or signing her up for a pageant, or something obvious like that. I think –" T.J. paused. This was the part he didn't quite get. But it was the only answer that made sense to him. "I think they've got something on her."
Gus gasped. "You mean they're blackmailing her?"
T.J. nodded. "That has to be it. Like when Randall got dirt on King Bob. They're pushing her around, but we haven't even noticed because she's too embarrassed to tell us. And we didn't know, so we couldn't help her. The Ashleys have got her doing half their work for them."
"An interesting hypothesis, T.J.," said Gretchen. "But difficult to prove. Spinelli isn't likely to admit to being blackmailed if that could compromise whatever it is she's trying to hide. And of course the Ashleys will do their best to hide evidence of their coercion, if such evidence even exists."
"What could they possibly have on Spinelli?" asked Mikey.
"I don't know," said T.J, indignantly. "And, for once, I don't want to know. If Spinelli wants to keep something to herself, that's her right as an American and a Kid. The Ashleys have no right to hold it over her – whatever it is."
"So what's the plan?" asked Vince. He started shadowboxing, throwing jabs and wild swings. "I'm getting pretty eager to kick some Ashley butt."
"I've got a seed of an idea, but no plan just yet." T.J. frowned, deep in thought, then shook his head. "Yeah, no plan yet. I've got to think hard on this one. I better get home. It's going to be a long night. We're going to have a lot of work to do tomorrow."
"But wait," said Gretchen, anxiously. "While I don't object to helping Spinelli, we are still going to keep looking for Galileo, right? I don't need to remind anyone that he is still missing and we haven't given up hope of his safe return."
T.J. was quick to reassure her. "Of course we'll look for Galileo, Gretchen. Only, Spinelli would be a great help, and we might need to help her first before we can resume the search."
Vince jumped in. "T.J. is right. Wherever your computer is, Gretchen, I'm sure he's not going anywhere. We better deal with the Ashleys first, before they do something awful."
"Like what?" asked Gretchen, bitterly. "Will they pit us against each other? Make us choose which of our friends we care about more – make us decide whose problems we think are more worthy of attention? It seems to me like that's already happened, and I certainly don't blame the Ashleys for it."
"Hold on there, Gretchen," said T.J. "Nobody said we don't care about you or your problem. We are simply trying to prioritize."
"And Spinelli comes first," said Gretchen, her pitch rising. "Even though my problem happened first, we are going to give it up to focus on Spinelli. Who, I may add, we don't even know has a problem. She certainly didn't ask for help, or act like she needed it."
T.J. waved his hands in frustration. "I already told you – I think they got something on her."
Gretchen waved her hand right back at him. "Complete speculation. And even if the Ashleys are making Spinelli join their club – so what? She could handle that for a few days while we searched for Galileo. The Ashleys may be annoying, and Spinelli may not like them to a considerable degree, but it won't do her any real harm. In my experience the Ashleys can be perfectly friendly and civil when the mood hits them."
"You're talking nonsense," said Vince. "'Perfectly friendly when the mood hit them'? The Ashleys are evil and we have to take them down. We can't wait until we find your computer! That could take months – we might never find it."
Gretchen gasped. Her lips quivered. "So much for camaraderie. I'm going home. I would advise you not to talk to me at school until you deem me important enough to come first. And who knows, maybe by the time you do, I won't deem you important enough."
Then she stormed away.
T.J. threw his hat on the ground and stomped on it. "Is everyone just losing their minds? What's happened to us?"
"Weren't you listening," said Mikey. He glared at T.J., and had tears in his eyes. "The problem is that some people in our friendship are closer friends than others. Galileo means the world to Gretchen, and so do we. And just when she lost the one, you two pushed her aside to focus on what matters to you. I guess fighting the Ashleys is more fun than caring for a friend in a time of need. Now if you'll excuse me, I think what Gretchen needs is a friend right now."
Then Mikey stormed off after Gretchen.
T.J. and Vince looked at each other, and nodded. Nothing needed to be said. Then they both looked at Gus.
He shrugged. "I want to help both of them."
T.J. sighed. "So do I. I don't know when that got so complicated."
When Spinelli got home she did a thorough sweep of her bedroom. She checked under her pillows, her mattress, her clothes. She pushed her bed to the other side of the room so that she could sort through the junk under her bed. She found so many old toys and forgotten memories that she could sit for hours reminiscing. But her panic wouldn't let her sit still.
She still hadn't found Galileo.
It was a brick of shiny metal. It shouldn't be so hard to find. Either she was blind – which she wasn't willing to quite rule out – or it wasn't in her room.
She went downstairs and interrogated her parents and her brothers. Each claimed they hadn't set foot in her room while she was gone. Eventually, Spinelli had to believe them. After all, they really didn't have a reason to lie.
Of course, her mom took the opportunity to lecture her on not keeping her room tidy. "Maybe if you were willing to put your laundry in the hamper instead of all over the floor you wouldn't misplace things."
Suddenly, Spinelli figured it out. She was so proud of herself she even snapped her fingers as she said,
"Laundry."
In a whirlwind of movement, she jumped on her mom and gave her a tight hug, and then bolted out the front door, leaving behind a cloud of dust and the echo of her yelling, "I'll be back in time for dinner!"
She had been sure she lost Galileo in her room. That's where she dropped her jacket when she got back from the Ashley clubhouse, and Galileo had been in her jacket pocket. It only made sense that that was were it slipped out.
But that was her mistake. There was one other time that evening when Galileo could have escaped her pocket without her noticing, and that when she was buried under that mountain of clothes that fell out of the Ashleys' wardrobe. As she pulled herself free it must have slipped into the pile.
And to top it off, Spinelli was willing to bet the Ashleys didn't even know they had it. If their habits were anything like hers – and for once she didn't shudder at the thought – then they weren't going to sort through all that mess and carefully put it away. No, they would just shove it all back into the wardrobe, Galileo and all.
All Spinelli needed to do was break into the Ashley clubhouse again. Only this time she would find what she lost the first time she was there. And to make everything nice and easy, this go around she not only knew what the password was, she also knew exactly where to look once she was inside.
Spinelli had so much energy vibrating through her she didn't stop for a second the whole way back to Third St.
Only when she finally got there and punched in that familiar code – 17, 14, 13, 5 – did it occur to her that the Ashleys could be inside. That would be trouble she didn't need.
But it was when the entrance didn't slide open that she realize the true problem with her plan. A problem she didn't have any way around.
The Ashleys had changed their password.
Spinelli was dumbfounded. She pounded on the steel door with her fist. Kicked it until her feet were sore. Screamed to the high heavens. Sat down and banged her head.
Then she walked home.
Her family was eating when she got in.
'What a day,' she thought. 'Late to school, late to class, late to dinner. With my luck, I'll be late to bed. Though, at the rate I've been going, I might just doze off on my plate. At least that would get this day over with.'
But before the day could properly end, there was one last thing Spinelli had to do. Her guilt and responsibility forced her to, no matter how many excuses she made up.
After she finished eating she went up to her room – which was still in shambles from her search – and went to the memory pile that had formed out of the things she found under her bed. From the pile she pulled out a tiny blue book, the size of her hand. It was an address book. She had used it in kindergarten, and filled it up with the names and phone numbers of all her new friends – which at the time meant everybody in her class. It was full of names, scribbled in her barely legible scrawl– some of which Spinelli didn't even remember, probably because they had moved away before the first grade.
But it wasn't those names she was interested in. It was the four names on the first page. They were not right at the top where they alphabetically belonged (that spot belonged to Mikey for some reason), but very close. And under each name was a phone-number.
As the phone dialed, Spinelli didn't know what she hoped for – that their number hadn't changed, or that when the other line picked up it was going to be some mechanic named Red who happened to have a lot of good advice that would relate to her problems.
"Hi, Mrs. Armbruster, this is Spinelli calling, I'm a friend of. . . Yeah, I'm Ashley S. That's me. No, I'm not coming to the slumber party. I don't know. I'm busy, I guess. Sure, I'll ask my mom. But, actually, is Ashley A. busy? I was hoping I could talk to her. Thank you, Mrs. Armbruster. Yes, it's nice to talk to you, too."