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Chapter 1 <figure> CHAPTER 1
As I look down at my phone screen, my nerves start to get the best of me, and I absently chew the eraser on my pencil. I have to reread the question. Is the answer A or B? Or even C? I feel so unprepared. Like one of those bad dreams where you walk into class and the teacher puts a test in front of you and you realize you are totally clueless. This is so unlike me. I’m almost always prepared for whatever test or quiz I have to take in school!
Just breathe, Julie, I tell myself. With a clear head, I choose an answer and tap B with confidence.
Now that all the questions are answered, I go back and carefully score myself against the answer key at the bottom of the article. When I see my results, I can’t help but smile from ear to ear! I’ve been right all along! I am meant to be with James Carter Jr.!
The quiz is called “Is He Your Soul Mate?”
I guess you could say that I rely on the monthly quizzes on the Chic Chick blog I subscribe to for guidance on all things related to James Carter Jr. When this month’s issue came out and I saw the title of the quiz, I hoped deep down that it would erase all my doubts. And now that I have taken—and aced—the quiz, I was right—there is no doubt that James is my soul mate!
“James,” I whisper, slowly and dreamily as I lie back on my bed. It has such a perfect sound to it. The J of James, then the -ames, the simple two-syllable last name, it’s like a little song. It’s the perfect name for the perfect boy.
I turn over onto my stomach and open an app on my phone. In it I doodle in large loopy letters. Julie Carter. Then: Julie & James. James & Julie. We already sound like a couple. Not to mention, his name starts with J, my name starts with J. Our names fit together perfectly, J+J, as if it were meant to be. Because, of course, it is. Julie and James TLF. True Love Forever.
I roll off my bed and head straight for my desk, open the drawer, and pull out the oversize pink card that’s face down and shoved toward the back. I turn it over and read.
THE LOVE PLAN:
OPERATION CELL PHONE
On this index card I have carefully drawn out a neat flowchart, just like the ones I learned to draw in science class last spring. The arrows point from one box to another: If yes, go to this box. If no, go to that box. They all end up at the heart-shaped goal at the bottom:
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I love plans. I love organizing things, making lists, and having everything in its place. My mom always jokes that it’s because I’m an only child and like things the way I’m used to them, but my dad says that it’s because I’m just like him. We’re both “very precise,” he says. But being an only child does help keep things just the way I like it. There’s no one here to mess up my room or to make my parents veer off schedule. It’s simply always calm and quiet at the Garcia house, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I’ve been to friends’ houses where it’s total chaos, and I truly have no idea how they live like that. My one friend Sadie has two younger brothers and a baby sister. There’s always so much yelling and noise that I sometimes make excuses not to go when I’m invited there.
My dad is the one who taught me about plans. We always have a plan in this family. For cleaning out the basement, for juggling the chores, even for our summer vacation, which starts today with three weeks at the beach. My dad has the plan all mapped out. He’s calling it “Operation Get Out of Town,” and we’ve both been packed and ready to go for days now. See, I know that at exactly three o’clock Dad will be in the driveway with the car all packed up, waiting for Mom, who is most likely going to be running around making sure that all the appliances are turned off and that the plants have been watered. My mom is less of a planner and more of a “make it up as one goes along” kind of person. At least that’s how Dad describes her.
But I’m just like my dad, a planner for sure. And I have a plan of my own this summer. It has a name too, “The Love Plan.” My Love Plan is foolproof. It’s how I’m going to get James to notice me. Then talk to me. And once he does, I know he’ll realize that we’re meant to be together. I’ve spent months figuring out every angle and anticipating every scenario. I can be a bit of a worrywart. Sometimes I worry that the Plan won’t work, or, if it does and James notices me, he might not like me. This is why plans are good. If you plan for it, then you’ll be prepared and there is virtually nothing to worry about! Besides, I’m a pretty nice girl. What’s there not to like?
I mean, I’m not the most popular girl in school or the class president or anything like that. I’m just a regular kid. Mom always tells me I’m a “good soul,” and Dad always praises my “kind heart.” And, according to Mom and Dad at least, those things are way more important than perfect looks or being the head cheerleader.
It’s not that I don’t have any friends; I do. I get invited to plenty of sleepover parties, and I have a group to sit with at lunch. But when it comes down to it, I’m pretty shy, and I’m used to being by myself a lot. I don’t mind it at all. I can happily read a book in my room or go for a walk by myself. Mom always praises my “independence.”
Deep down, though, I worry about not having a really close friend at my age—a BFF. Most of the other girls at school seem to have one or even two BFFs. A BFF sounds really cool. A BFF would be someone I could talk to about the Love Plan.
But a BFF is not a part of the Love Plan. The first step of the Love Plan means that I will be starting out my summer vacation by making sure James has my cell number. “Operation Cell Phone” will take care of that. By the end of the summer, when James has fallen totally in love with me and it’s time to say goodbye, he will grab me by the hand, look deep into my eyes, and say, “Of course I’ll be keeping in touch. I’ve got your number....”
I can’t help but sigh just thinking about how perfect it will be.
“Julie! Have you eaten breakfast?”
Mom is calling me from the kitchen, the exasperation in her tone audible from way up here. Quickly I slide the pink card into the side flap of my backpack, which is propped up on my desk alongside the how-to book I ordered online. The book is called Frisbee: Techniques and Tactics.
“I’m coming!” I call down.
“Good! Finally! Come downstairs. I have a surprise to tell you about!” Mom yells back.
Now I’m curious. I don’t normally like surprises. They’re never part of a plan.
As I stand up to leave my room, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror over my dresser and let out another long sigh. I wish I would have a growth spurt already! I’m practically the smallest girl in my grade, which isn’t such a big deal, but I’m pretty sure that James has already had his growth spurt. He’s for sure taller than any of the boys at my school. Focus on the positive, I remind myself. Just the other day I read a whole blog post in Chic Chick about the importance of capitalizing on your assets. My eyes scan my reflection top to bottom trying to identify said assets.
Everyone says I have a nice smile, I guess that’s one. And thanks to my new haircut, if I move my head in just the right direction, my hair swings and falls over my eyes in the most flattering way. At least that’s what my hairdresser, Tania, says. Also in the positive column, I just got a cute two-piece bathing suit that I spent a big chunk of my babysitting money on. I really hope James likes the color, a sort of coral pink.
I lean in closer to the mirror, squinting my eyes, trying to really examine my face. I have nice long eyelashes, and my older cousin Becs says that my eyebrows have “the perfect natural arch.” Unfortunately, there isn’t much I can do about my freckles that cover the entire bridge of my nose. Maybe I can try to hide them behind huge sunglasses. Or who knows? Maybe James likes freckles. Chic Chick did say freckles are totally in these days.
“Julie!”
“Yep! Sorry! Coming!” I snap back up and hurry down to the kitchen.
All the breakfast stuff sits spread out on the table, while Mom loudly rummages through the cupboard, searching for the lid to a plastic container. Two other plastic containers sit on the counter partially packed with food and condiments. “Daddy went out and got bagels this morning,” Mom says, her face still shoved inside the cupboard. “Have a glass of milk with yours—we need to use it up before we go!”
I do as I’m told and pop half of a bagel into the toaster oven. “So what’s the big surprise you want to tell me?” I ask, opening the fridge and pulling out the carton of milk.
My mother backs out of the cupboard, her dark hair tumbling from her ponytail in several strands over her face, triumphantly holding the lid she was searching for. As she stands up, she tightens her ponytail and puts a few strands of hair behind her ears. Then she turns toward me, her eyes shining. “Well,” she says, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. “I thought you might be pleased to know that we are bringing someone with us to the beach house this year.”
“Oh!” I say, my curiosity growing. I pour myself a tall glass of milk and take a guess. “Is Abuelo coming to stay with us again? That’s fine. I can sleep on the cot on the screen porch.”
But she shakes her head no. “Not Abuelo. A friend. A friend of yours.”
“Of mine?” I set down the carton and furrow my brows. “Who?”
“Sophia!” Mom says. “Sophia Madison!”
“W-wait, what?” I stammer.
“I know!” Mom says with pure excitement. “Her mom and I wanted to surprise you guys! We’ve got it all worked out. Andrea and Rob have to go back to California for a couple of weeks to take care of some business with their old house. Sophia’s big sister, Ava, will be away at camp for the whole month, and they didn’t really want to drag Sophia all the way back to California, so I suggested she stay with us. I told them that we’d take her with us to the beach, and the two of you could share your room and be beach buddies for the next three weeks!”
I open my mouth to reply, but then I close it again because I’m not exactly sure how I feel about this news. Sophia Madison is not part of the Love Plan. Sophia Madison is not part of any plan.
“Honey? This is okay, isn’t it? I thought you and Sophia were good friends.” Now Mom’s face is becoming one of concern instead of excitement like it was just a few moments ago.
“Oh no, she is—I mean, we are friends. Sophia is great. It’s not that,” I say, struggling to find the words that’ll make my mother feel good about this decision. The truth is, it’s really hard because my mind is spinning! I pull it together and say, “That’s awesome. I was just—surprised is all.”
A look of relief washes over Mom’s face. “I’m glad you’re glad, honey,” she says as she opens the large utility drawer next to the sink and starts rummaging around in it for utensils to pack. “I thought you’d be pleased to have someone to spend time with at the beach. And Andrea—Mrs. Madison—was so appreciative. They usually rent somewhere for this time of year, but because of their trip, they couldn’t swing it. She was delighted that Sophia would get a beach vacation after all.”
I stare off at the wall and nod, still trying to absorb this news. Just then my father’s muffled voice calls from the basement.
“I sent your father down there to find my suitcase,” Mom says. “I’d better go see what’s going on.”
Mom leaves the kitchen and heads to the basement, leaving me completely lost in my thoughts. Sophia Madison is coming with us? For the whole three weeks? I feel as though someone has just dumped a bucket of ice water down my back. What am I going to do now?
I drop my bagel onto the plate, but I no longer have an appetite. I run upstairs to my room, close the door, and throw myself onto the bed. This is a flat-out, full-blown disaster.
