The Fix-It Friends--Sticks and Stones Read online

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  For Giovanni, my beamish boy, strong and true

  With special thanks to Lauren Knickerbocker, PhD, from the NYU Child Study Center

  Chapter 1

  I’m Veronica Conti and I’m seven. I don’t mean to brag, but I’m great at fixing things.

  Well, I’m not great at fixing stuff, like necklaces or computers or precious glass vases that accidentally got knocked off the shelf and shattered into a billion pieces. I’m better at breaking that kind of stuff than fixing it.

  But I can fix problems. In fact, I am the president of a problem-solving group. Just read the sign hanging on my bedroom wall.

  When my big brother, Jude, saw my sign, he rolled his eyes and said, “First of all, we’re not ‘professional.’ That means people pay us, and they don’t.”

  So I crossed out professional and wrote world-famous instead.

  Was he satisfied? Of course not.

  “‘World-famous’ isn’t true, either,” he said. “And you can’t say that no problem is too big. What if someone’s appendix bursts? That problem would be too big.”

  “JUDE!” I hollered. “You are driving me bonkers!” I crossed out a bunch of things and wrote new things.

  “And you’re not the president,” he said. “We don’t have a president.”

  Jude is very bossy. He’s in fourth grade, and I’m in second, so he is only two years older than me, but he acts like he’s already a grown-up.

  “Here,” I said, taping the sign back up. This is what it said:

  “Fine,” Jude said.

  He didn’t care that I called him Bossy Pants, because his real middle name is much, much worse than that. It’s so embarrassing, he made me swear never to tell a living soul. Or a dead soul, either.

  There are four Fix-It Friends. We each made our own personal posters, which I hung up next to the group poster. Jude said he didn’t want so many posters cluttering up his bedroom wall, but I said it was my wall, actually. We share a bedroom, and we share the walls, too. Two for me, two for him.

  My walls are completely full of posters and pictures and fascinating stuff like that. Jude’s walls are completely blank because he is completely boring.

  These are the posters each of us made. First, Jude’s, in his oh-so-perfect penmanship:

  His best friend, Ezra, made a cool sign on his computer:

  He didn’t write that he was good at speed talking, but he is. In fact, it’s the only way he talks. When he grows up, if he is not a rich and famous computer inventor, he could get a job being the person who talks really fast at the end of commercials and says stuff like “No substitutions, exchanges, or refunds. Must be eighteen or older to order.”

  Cora, who is my best friend, wrote her sign in script. We didn’t learn it at school yet, but she taught it to herself:

  I know it seems like she wrote the same word twice, but she didn’t. Mediation is when you help people stop fighting. It’s like being a peacemaker. Once a week, Cora is a mediator at the recess playground, and so is Jude. I tried to be one, but the mean recess teacher, Miss Tibbs, didn’t pick me. She said I had “too much personality” for the job—which doesn’t even make sense! That’s like saying you can have too much whipped cream. Impossible!

  Meditation is totally different and a lot more boring, if you ask me. I tried to meditate once, when our teacher Miss Mabel made us. We folded our legs into lotus position, which is like crisscross applesauce only more uncomfortable. Then we closed our eyes.

  “What do we do now?” I asked Miss Mabel.

  “We do nothing,” she whispered. “We think nothing. We say nothing.”

  Right away, my nose got sooooo itchy, and I tried to scratch it with my tongue. All the kids laughed, and I got in trouble. But Cora sat perfectly still for so long, if a pigeon had been passing by, he would have thought she was a statue and pooped on her. So it’s true. She really is good at meditation and mediation.

  I made a poster, too. I used turquoise glitter. Everything’s better with turquoise glitter.

  Dad calls me a chatterbox. Mom says I’ve got the gift of gab. Jude says I’m a motormouth. But I don’t care, because talking is how I find people with problems that need solving.

  Like Noah.

  I’ve been friends with Noah since first grade. For a long time, I thought he was mute. That’s what you call it when someone doesn’t talk. Like when you hit the “mute” button on the TV, and it makes the sound turn off.

  I didn’t mind that Noah was mute, because you don’t have to talk to play tag, and Noah is the best tag player in the universe. He runs so fast, he is basically a blur. One second he’s standing in front of you, and the next second he’s halfway across the playground.

  If I were Noah, I would always be yelling, “Eat my dust!” but he never yells that because he never yells at all.

  I used to think Noah couldn’t talk, so I helped him by answering questions for him. Then one day our friend Minnie was giving out Life Savers at recess. She gave one to Noah, but he shook his head. So I explained, “He’s allergic.”

  Then, all of a sudden, Noah opened his mouth, and words came out!

  “No, I’m not,” he said. “I just don’t like the cherry kind. Do you have any pineapple?”

  I gasped.

  I love to gasp. It adds drama to the day.

  “Noah! It’s a miracle! You can talk!” I shouted.

  “I could always talk,” he said.

  “You could?”

  “Sure,” he said oh-so-casually. “I just don’t always have something to say.”

  So Noah’s not mute. He’s just the quiet type. I always liked that about him.

  I always liked it until J.J. Taylor happened. After I saw what J.J. did in the school yard, I started to think that Noah needed to speak up. And if he wouldn’t, then the Fix-It Friends would speak up for him.

  Chapter 2

  At first, I thought Noah and J.J. Taylor were friends because I saw them talking at lunch. I don’t sit near Noah at lunch, because he’s not in my class and we have to sit at a table with our class. But I see him sometimes, and I always wave. He always waves back.

  One day in the beginning of November, I was chatting with Minnie and eating my lunch when I spilled my milk all over Minnie’s sandwich. I got up to grab some napkins so I could clean up the mess before Miss Tibbs yelled at me. That’s when I passed by Noah’s table.

  I waved like I always do. This time, though, Noah didn’t wave back. He was too busy listening to a boy sitting behind him, at the next table.

  Here’s what the boy looked like:

  1.  Tall. Really tall. I could tell even though he was sitting down because his head was so much higher than Noah’s head.

  2.  Hair that reached down to his shoulders. It was strawberry blond, which means a bit red and a bit blond. I wish my hair was strawb
erry blond, but it’s just regular lemon blond.

  3.  Wearing an orange hoodie that was so bright, you could probably see it from outer space. It said FLORIDA on the back.

  The mystery boy was sitting at the table next to Noah’s. He was leaning way over to talk to him. I do this all the time with Maya, who sits at the table next to mine. Maya sits with her back facing my back, and all I have to do is turn around and leeeeeean over. Then I can chat with her or play with her super-long hair or tell her jokes. Once I leaned over a little too far, and I fell backward off the bench. I got a knot on my head, and I got scolded by Miss Tibbs.

  The mystery boy was leaning way over to talk to Noah, and the boy was laughing his head off, which is why I thought they were friends. Noah wasn’t laughing or talking. But like I said, Noah’s kind of mysterious. So I didn’t think about it too much.

  A few days later at lunch, I got up to get a spork for my mac ’n’ cheese. I love sporks! When you need a fork but you also need a spoon, it’s just the thing for you. I also love the name. If I ever get a dog, which I probably won’t because my dad is allergic, I really, really want to name him Spork.

  When I got my spork, I passed Noah. The same mystery boy in the same orange hoodie was leaning over to talk to him. But this time, Noah had his back to the boy, like he wasn’t listening.

  “Hi, Noah!” I said, but he didn’t look up.

  “Hey, Noah! Over here!” I said louder. He still didn’t look up. He ate his sandwich and chewed very slowly like it was hard work and he had to concentrate on it.

  “Noah! Noah Rocha!” I yelled. I said his whole name in case he thought I was talking to another Noah.

  The mystery boy looked at me and laughed even harder. Noah looked up, too, and waved, but he didn’t smile. In fact, he sort of frowned.

  “Noah looks kind of upset,” I told Minnie and Cora when I sat back down at our table. “Do you know why?”

  Minnie shrugged. “It’s hard to know-a with Noah.” We both giggled.

  Cora said, “Maybe he doesn’t like his lunch. That’s what’s wrong with me. Look what my mom packed for me today!”

  Cora slid her lunch box over to show us what was inside—a jar of extra crunchy peanut butter and a cold, cooked corn on the cob.

  Cora’s mom sometimes puts super-strange things in her lunch box. That’s because she’s very busy since she has four kids. Cora has an identical twin sister named Camille, and they have two younger brothers, who are also identical twins. Their names are Bo and Lou, and they’re five years old.

  When you go to Cora’s house, it is always very loud because Bo and Lou like to shout and do karate and battle with foam swords. Cora’s mom is always drinking coffee and doing things very fast. She even gets dressed fast. I can tell because lots of times her clothes are on inside out or buttoned up crooked. Usually, she doesn’t notice until I tell her. Then she laughs and says, “What would I do without you, V?” She’s so busy, she doesn’t even have time to say my whole name!

  Some mornings, Cora’s mom doesn’t have time to make lunch, so she just tosses different foods into Cora’s lunch box. Minnie calls this “Loco Lunch Box.” I tell Cora just to get school lunch on those days, and she refuses because she is a very picky eater. But her lunch problems are easy for me to fix since I like all sorts of food, except broccoli … and cauliflower … and arugula … but Cora’s mom never gives her that stuff. So, I just give her some of my lunch and I eat some of hers, and—presto!—problem solved.

  So, that’s what I did that day at lunch, and soon I forgot all about Noah and how he was upset.

  I forgot all about Noah until a few days later, after school, in the yard. That’s when I met J.J.

  Chapter 3

  The yard in back of our school is where we have recess and also get dismissed. It has a climbing wall and a whole jungle gym with monkey bars and slides and firefighter poles and stuff.

  It also has a big open place for playing ball and tag and running in circles like a chicken with no head. At dismissal time, all the teachers lead their classes in two lines into that big open space in the yard.

  The kids who go to after-school meet by the red doors and go to the gym to do activities. Minnie goes to after-school and says it’s really fun. She has learned sewing, yoga, hockey, tap dancing, and ventriloquism. That’s where you hold a dummy and pretend the dummy’s talking, but it’s really you talking, only you hardly move your lips.

  At after-school, you can also learn how to play the piano and speak Spanish, but Minnie already knows how to do that stuff. She even taught me some Spanish, like how to say “¿Dónde está el baño?” which means, “Where’s the bathroom?” and “¡Cuidado! ¡No se pare en esa caca del dragón!” which means, “Watch out! Don’t step in that dragon poop!”

  The kids who don’t go to after-school get picked up in the yard by their parents or grandparents or babysitters or whoever is in charge of them. A few kids go home in the car or bus, but most everyone lives close to the school, so they can walk home. Some of the fifth graders even get to walk home by themselves! Jude has been begging Mom to let him walk by himself, but Mom says not yet.

  If the weather is nice, I always ask Mom or Dad or Nana if we can please, please, please play in the yard for a few minutes before we go home. Lots of other kids do the same thing. After all, who wants to go straight home and do—blegh!—homework? Playing in the yard after school is even more fun than recess. That’s because cranky Miss Tibbs isn’t there watching us like a hawk.

  After school, all the grown-ups are there standing by the fence, and they watch us. But they are usually busy chatting about boring stuff like the price of college and how broccoli is really good for you. While they are all busy chatting, we can do stuff we’re not really allowed to at school recess, like jump off the top of the monkey bars and go headfirst down the slide holding on to one another’s ankles.

  I always thought it was a good thing that the grown-ups don’t pay such close attention to what’s happening in the yard. But when the trouble started with J.J. Taylor, I wasn’t so sure about that anymore.

  It was a Monday, and I was going to Cora’s house to play after school. Her mom picked us up. She was holding a jumbo cup of coffee, and her sweater was on backward. She said we could stay in the yard for a while.

  Cora’s mom always lets her kids play in the school yard, except on the days when they have to go straight to Hebrew school. She wants Bo and Lou to “burn off energy” so they’ll be too tired for mischief later at home. Their favorite thing to do is climb on top of the high furniture in their house and wait up there for someone to pass by. Then they yell, “BOO!” and throw stuffed animals at your head.

  So when Cora’s mom picked us up from school, she said, “Run wild, you monkeys. Run, run, run, run!” I told her that her sweater was on backward, and she laughed and said, “V, you’re a lifesaver.” Then she zipped her jacket all the way up over the sweater and took a big gulp of her coffee.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked Cora and Camille.

  “Zombie Tag!” we all shrieked together. It is funny to hear them talk at the same time because Cora has a squeaky voice like a parakeet, and Camille has a raspy voice like a grizzly bear.

  “Let’s find Noah!” I said. “He must be here, waiting for Ivy.”

  Ivy is Noah’s babysitter. Listen to this: She is a teenager!

  I think teenagers are very fascinating. It’s like they are half kid and half grown-up. Sort of like how a centaur is half man and half horse.

  Of all the teenagers I’ve ever met, Ivy is the most interesting. She has four earrings in each ear and one in her nose. I asked her if it hurt, and she said, “Nah. I’m a tough cookie.”

  She always wears the same black boots, even in the summertime. Guess what’s hidden inside the toe part of her boots? Metal! I know that because one time she told me to step on her foot as hard as I could. So I jumped with both feet on her toe, and she didn’t even make a
peep.

  “Steel-toe boots,” she said oh-so-casually.

  “Wow,” I said. “It’s like you’re wearing a suit of armor on your feet!”

  Ivy has super-shiny hair that is as black as midnight except for one chunk in the front. You will never believe what color that is. Green!

  I ask her a billion questions about her hair.

  “How did you make it green?”

  “Did it hurt?”

  “Will it last forever?”

  “Do you use green shampoo?”

  She just laughs, which is what she usually does when I ask her questions. Which I do all the time, of course, because she’s fascinating!

  Ivy has to walk from her school to our school to pick up Noah, so she is usually a few minutes late. That means Noah is always hanging around the yard for a few minutes after school, so he can always play tag.

  Most days, Noah runs right over to us, but on this day, he didn’t. So we went looking for him. Camille went inside the school to see if he was in the bathroom or at the water fountain. Cora and I walked around the playground. We couldn’t find him. Then we saw Matthew Sawyer, who was trying to see how far he could spit. It is one of his favorite hobbies.

  The more disgusting something is, the more Matthew Sawyer loves it. His mom is a doctor, so she tells him all about gross things like bloodsucking ticks and flesh-eating bacteria. Then he grosses everyone out by telling us all about it at lunch.

  I try to stay away from Matthew Sawyer, but Cora doesn’t mind him because Cora doesn’t mind anyone. She ran right up to him and said, “Have you seen Noah?”

  “Noelle?” he asked, pretending he hadn’t heard her. “Nope, haven’t seen her.”