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Best Friends

Roaring Brook Press

Alice and I are best friends. I've known her all my life. That is absolutely true. Our moms were in the hospital at the same time when they were having us. I got born first, at six o'clock in the morning on July 3. Alice took ages and didn't arrive until four in the afternoon. We both had a long cuddle with our moms, and at nighttime we were tucked up next to each other in little weeny cots.

I expect Alice was a bit frightened. She'd have cried. She's actually still a bit of a crybaby now, but I try not to tease her about it. I always do my best to comfort her.

I bet that first day I called to her in baby-coo language. I'd have said, "Hi, I'm Gemma. Being born is a bit weird, isn't it? Are you OK?"

And Alice would say, "I'm not sure. I'm Alice. I don't think I like it here. I want my mom."

"We'll see our moms again soon. We'll get fed. I'm starving." I'd have started crying too, in case there was a chance of being fed straight away.

I suppose I'm still a bit greedy, if I'm absolutely honest. Not quite as greedy as Biscuits though. Well, his real name is Billy McVitie, but everyone calls him Biscuits, even the teachers. He's this boy in our class at school and his appetite is astonishing. He can eat an entire packet of chocolate biscuits, or cookies, munch-crunch, munch-crunch, in two minutes flat.

We had this Grand Biscuit Challenge at playtime. I managed only three quarters of a packet. I probably could have managed a whole packet too, but a crumb went down the wrong way and I choked. I ended up with chocolate drool all down the front of my white school blouse. But that's nothing new. I always seem to get a bit messy and scruffy and scuffed. Alice stays neat and sweet.

When we were babies, one of us crawled right into the trash can and played mud wrestling in the garden and fell in the pond when we fed the ducks. The other one of us sat up prettily in her stroller cuddling Golden Syrup (her yellow teddy bear) and giggled at her naughty friend.

When we went to nursery school one of us played Fireman in the water tank and Moles in the sandbox, and she didn't stop at finger painting, she did entire body painting. The other one of us sat demurely at the dinky table and made clay necklaces (one for each of us) and sang "Itsy Bitsy Spider" with all the cute hand gestures.

When we went to kindergarten, one of us pretended to be a Wild Thing and roared such terrible roars in class, she got sent out of the room. She also got into a fight with a big boy who snatched her best friend's chocolate, and made his nose bleed! The other one of us read Milly-Molly-Mandy and wrote stories about a little thatched cottage in the country in her very neat printing.

Now that we're in elementary school, one of us ran right into the boys' bathroom for a dare. She did, really, and they all yelled at her. She also climbed halfway up the drainpipe in the playground to get her ball back — only the drainpipe came away from the wall. They both went crash, clonk. Mr. Beaton, the principal, was NOT pleased. The other one of us got made an attendance monitor and wore her silver sparkly top (with matching silver glitter on her eyelids) to the school party, and all the boys wanted to dance with her, but guess what! She danced with her bad best friend all evening instead.

We're best friends but we're not one bit alike. I suppose that goes without saying. Though I seem to have said it a lot. My mom says it too. Also a lot.

"For heaven's sake, Gemma, why can't you stop being so rough and silly and boisterous? Boy being the operative bit! To think I was so thrilled when I had my baby girl. But now it's just like I've got three boys — and you're the biggest troublemaker of them all!"

There's my big brother Callum, who's seventeen. Callum and I used to be friends. He taught me to skateboard and showed me how to do cannon balls in the swimming pool. Every Sunday I'd balance on the back of his bike and we'd wobble over to Granddad's. But now Callum's got this girlfriend, Ayesha, and all they do is look into each other's eyes and go kissykissy-kiss. Yuck.

Alice and I played spies and followed them to the park once because we wanted to see if they did anything even yuckier, but Callum caught us and he turned me upside down and shook me until I felt sick.

There's my other brother, Jack, but he's nowhere near as much fun as Callum. Jack is totally brainy, such a nerd that he always gets the top grade in every exam. Jack hasn't got a girlfriend. He doesn't get out enough to meet any. He just holes up in his room, hunched over his homework. He does take our dog, Barking Mad, out for a walk very late at night. And he likes to wear black. And doesn't like garlic bread. Maybe Jack is turning into Jacula? I'll have to check to see if his teeth aren't getting alarmingly pointy.

It's annoying having Jack as my brother. Sometimes the teachers hope I'm going to be brainy too and get ten out of ten all the time. As if!

I can do some things. Mr. Beaton says I can talk the hind leg off a donkey — and its front leg and its ears and its tail. He says I act like a donkey too. I think donkeys kick if you're not careful. I often feel like kicking Mr. Beaton.

I get lots of ideas and work things out as quick as quick in my head, but it's soooo boring writing it all down, so I often don't bother. Or I try to get Alice to write it all out for me. Alice gets much better grades than me in all classes. Apart from soccer. I don't want to boast, but I'm on the school soccer team even though I'm the youngest and the littlest and the only girl.

Alice doesn't like sports at all. We have different hobbies. She likes to draw lines of little girls in party frocks and she writes in her diary with her gel pens and she paints her nails all different colors and plays with her jewelry. Alice is into jewelry in a big way. She keeps it in a special box that used to be her grandma's. It's blue velvet, and if you wind it up and open the lid, a little ballet dancer twirls around and around. Alice has got a little gold heart on a chain and a tiny gold bangle she wore when she was a baby and a jade bangle from an uncle in Hong Kong and a silver locket and a Scottie dog sparkly brooch and a charm bracelet with ten jingly charms. My favorite charm is the little silver Noah's Ark. You can open it up and see absolutely minute giraffes and elephants and tigers inside.

Alice also has heaps of rings — a real Russian gold ring, a Victorian garnet, and lots of pretendy ones out of Cracker Jacks. She gave me a big bright silver-and-blue one as a friendship ring. I loved it and called it my sapphire — only I forgot to take it off when I went swimming and the silver went black and the sapphire fell out.

"Typical," said Mom, sighing.

I think Mom sometimes wishes she'd swapped the cribs around when we were born. I'm sure she'd much rather have Alice as a daughter. She doesn't say so, but I'm not dumb. I'd sooner have Alice as my daughter.

"I wouldn't," said my dad, and he ruffled my hair so it stood up on end. Well, it was probably standing up anyway. I've got the sort of hair that looks like I'm permanently plugged into the electric outlet. Mom made me grow it long but I kept losing my silly bows and bobbles. Then it got a bit sticky when I went in for this giant bubble-blowing contest with Biscuits and the other boys and hurray, hurray my hair had to be chopped off. Mom cried but I didn't mind one bit.

I know you're not really meant to have favorites in your family, but I think I love my dad more than my mom. I don't get to see him much because he drives a taxi and so he's up before I wake up, taking people to the airport, and often he's out till very late, picking people up from the pub. When he is home, he likes to lie on the sofa in front of the TV and have a little snooze. It's often a long, long, long snooze, but if you're feeling lonely, you can cuddle up beside him. He pats you and mumbles, "Hello, little Cuddle Bun," and then goes back to sleep again.

My granddad used to drive our cab but he's retired now, though he helps out when the car-hire firm needs an extra driver. They've got a white Rolls for weddings and Granddad once took me for a sneaky drive in it. He's lovely, my granddad. Maybe he's my all-time absolute favorite relative. He's always looked after me, right from when I was a baby. Our mom went back to work fulltime just as Granddad retired, so he's acted like my babysitter.

He still meets me after school. We go back to Granddad's apartment, which is right at the top of the high rise. You look out of Granddad's window and you see the birds flying past — it's just magical. On a clear day, you can see for miles and miles across the town to the woods and hills of the countryside. Sometimes Granddad narrows his eyes and pretends he's looking through a telescope. He swears he's squinting all the way to the sea, but I think he's joking.

He jokes a lot, my granddad. He calls me funny names too. I'm his little Iced Gem. He always gives me packets of iced gems, small doll-size cookies with white and pink and yellow yummy icing.

This annoys Mom when she picks me up. "I wish you wouldn't feed her," she says to Granddad, "she's going to have her dinner the minute she gets home. Gemma, you mind you clean your teeth properly. I don't like you eating all that sugary stuff."

Granddad always says he's sorry, but he crosses his eyes behind Mom's back and makes a funny face. I get the giggles and annoy Mom even more.

Sometimes I think everyone annoys my mom. Everyone except Alice. Mom works in the makeup department of Joseph Pilbeam, the big store, and she gives Alice all these dinky samples of skincare products and little lipsticks and bottles of scent. Once when she was in a really good mood, she sat Alice down at her dressing table and gave her a full grown-up lady's makeup. My mom made me up too, though she told me off for fidgeting (well, it was tickly) and then my eyes itched and I rubbed them and got that black mascara stuff all over the place, so I looked like a panda.

Alice's makeup stayed prettily in place all day long. She didn't even smudge her pink lipstick when she had her dinner. It was pizza, but she cut hers up into tiny bite-size pieces instead of shoving a lovely big slice in her mouth.

If Alice wasn't my very best friend, she might just get on my nerves sometimes. Especially when Mom makes a big fuss of her and then looks at me and sighs.

Still, it's great that Mom does like Alice because she never minds if she comes for a sleepover at our house.

My mom has banned big birthday sleepovers forever. Callum doesn't care as the only person he'd like to sleep over is Ayesha. Jack doesn't care either. He's got a few nerdy friends at school, but they don't communicate face-to-face, they just e-mail and text each other.

I've got heaps of ordinary friends as well as my best friend, Alice. Last birthday, I invited three boys and three girls for a sleepover party. Alice was top of the list, of course. We were supposed to play out in the garden but it rained, so we all had a crazy game of soccer with a cushion in the living room (well, not quite all — Alice wouldn't play and Biscuits is terrible at games). Someone broke my mom's wedding present Lladró lady and burst the cushion. My mom was so mad she wouldn't let any of them sleep over and sent them all home. Except for Alice.

I'm still allowed one-special-friend sleepovers so long as that special friend is Alice. So that's great, great, great because as I've probably said before, Alice is my very best friend.

I don't know what I'd do without her.

I don't know what to do. I'm worried. Something weird is going on.

It's Alice. She's got a secret and she's not telling me. We've never ever had secrets from each other before.

I've told Alice all sorts of stuff. Even real embarrassing awful things, like the time I thought I could make it home from McDonald's after drinking two large Cokes and a milkshake without going to the bathroom. Alice knows I don't like to sleep without my little rabbit-house night-light because I don't actually like the dark very much. When Granddad had to go into the hospital for an operation, I told Alice I was scared he wouldn't get better, though thank goodness he was fine again in no time.

Alice has always told me her secret stuff too. She told me when her mom and dad had a big fight because her dad drank too much at a party. She told me how she once stole a chocolate toffee from the corner store. It was on the floor so she hoped it might count as trash, but she was still scared it meant she was a thief. She was so worried about it she didn't even dare eat the toffee. I ate it for her, just so she'd stop worrying about it.

She's told me heaps and heaps of stuff. But now she's got this secret. She doesn't know that I know she's got a secret. I found out in a bad way. I read her diary.

I know you shouldn't ever read anyone's private diary. Especially not your best friend's. I've actually had a peep at Alice's diary several times. Not to be mean and sneaky. It's just so interesting finding out what she's thinking, like there's a little window in her forehead and you can peep through into her brain. It's usually lovely because she writes all this stuff about me.

Gemma was so funny in class today that even Mrs. Watson burst out laughing ... Gemma and I made up our own cartoon story about all the animals in Noah's Ark and the giraffes stood up too suddenly and made a hole in the roof and it was raining hard but the elephants spread their ears to keep Noah and his family dry. Gem gets such good ideas ... I was feeling fed up at school today because Mom won't let me have that suede jacket we sawon Saturday but Gemma shared her chocolate with me and said she'll buy me as many suede jackets as I want when we're grown up.

I love it that she writes page after page saying I'm comical and inventive and kind. I love it that she's stuck a funny photo of us with our arms around each other at the front of her diary. She's outlined it with silver pen like it's a frame and then stuck her favorite stickers of flowers and dolphins and kittens and ballet dancers all over the page.

This is why I took the tiniest peek at her diary yesterday. We'd had a lovely afternoon making a picture of the apartment we're going to share together when we're old enough. Alice seemed a little odd about this at first, but I just thought it was because she's not quite as good at drawing as I am.

She perked up when I said we'd cut stuff out of my mom's magazines. She liked choosing and cutting out our twin beds and our huge squashy velvet sofa and our giant fridge and our big white furry rug. She started cutting teensy weensy bright hexagons out of the magazines in different colors to make into patchwork quilts for our beds, with matching patchwork cushions for the sofa. I enjoyed cutting out lots of food to stick into our fridge, although some of the tubs of ice cream and chocolate éclairs were so big they spilled out onto the floor. Imagine a tub of ice cream so big you could stick your whole head inside it to have a good lick; imagine chocolate éclairs so enormous you could sit astride them (though it might make your pants a bit sticky). Then I inked eyes and ears and a snout and four claws on the big white furry rug, turning it into a real live polar bear for us to cuddle and take turns riding on his back.

Alice did get a bit irritated about that. "I thought we were going to do this properly, Gem. You're just messing about," she said, opening and closing her little pink mouth every time she opened and closed her scissors.

I got a bit irritated too because she spent ages and ages getting all the colors of her patchwork pieces in place and making them into a pattern. Alice got even more irritated when I had an itchy nose and sneezed and blew all the pieces away before she'd had a chance to stick them down.

But that was just us, ordinary Alice-and-Gemma fuss. It wasn't like a real quarrel. We don't ever, ever, ever have real quarrels. We haven't ever broken friends, not even for half a day. So why won't she tell me this terrible secret?

Doesn't she want me to be her friend anymore? She did act a bit weird at dinnertime. It was a special dinner, even though it was just Mom and Alice and me. Dad was out in his cab working, Callum was over at Ayesha's, and Jack had a tray up in his room because he couldn't be dragged away from his computer. We had Mom's spaghetti Bolognese and then fruit salad with that lovely squirty whippy cream out of a can and then a handful of M&Ms each. I chose all the blue ones and Alice picked out all the pink.

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Excerpted from Best Friends by Jacqueline Wilson, Nick Sharratt. Copyright © 2004 Jacqueline Wilson. Excerpted by permission of Roaring Brook Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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