Dad turns his head to the side, but with his eyes still on the waffle iron. “Kiera? Little Kiera Bryant? You haven’tbrought her around in some time now. I didn’t know she was having a birthday party.”
I open my mouth to explain that I’m not going, because I most definitely was not invited.
“Oh yeah,” says Oscar. “A huge party at Trampoline Zone.”
“I didn’t think that place opened for another few weeks.”
“Her parents got the place to let her have her party there anyway.”
Dad shakes his head. “Good for Kiera,” he says. But I know what he’s not saying. Mr. Bryant, who Mom calls a “polarizing personality,” and Dad have been friends since Dad moved back here with Mom after she was done with college. Unfortunately for Dad, though, Mr. Bryant didn’t take it too well when Dad explained to his bowling team why he and Mom were getting a divorce.
Oscar looks at me meaningfully. He’s the only person I’ve told about Dad, and there’s nothing Oscar respects more than a secret, especially one this huge.
“Breakfast is served!” says Dad, placing a plate of waffles in front of us. He claps his hands together. “We’ll drop Oscar off and then pick out a present for Kiera’s birthday party?”
I look to Oscar. I know he’s dying to go to Trampoline Zone, and he was willing to skip the whole thing just forme. If I think about it, I guess Ikind ofwas invited. I mean, Mrs. Bryant said so.
I nod. “Okay.”
I know it’s a bad idea, but something about that letter from last night spurs me to say yes.
Chapter Eleven
It’s the Thought That Counts
When I was little, I used to do this thing when I went shopping for birthday presents where I would just buy all the things that I really wanted that Mom wouldn’t let me get for myself. So that meant when Mom wasn’t really paying attention, Dusty got a Harry Potter cloak when the only thing he cared about was Pokémon and Alyssa got a water-balloon gun even though she cried when she got her hair wet at field day.
I guess you could say I’ve grown up a little bit, but sometimes I still love present shopping because it gives me a chance to buy things I think are cool even when I don’t get to keep them. But if I’m going to go to the trouble of buying a present for Kiera, I’m at least going to use it as anopportunity, which is why my dad asked me if I was totally 100 percent sure when I skipped up to the register with a lint roller, a book calledThe U in Puberty, and deodorant.
“Sweet Pea,” Dad says, eyeing me suspiciously. “That doesn’t seem like a very thoughtful gift. What about a game? Or maybe some of that flavored lip gloss you’re always asking me for?”
“Trust me,” I say. “Kiera will love this. We’re both cat lovers.” I hold up the lint roller. Which is totally true, actually. Kiera has a tuxedo cat named Domino who has one extra toe on his back left paw. “And one can never have too many lint rollers.” I point to the deodorant on the conveyor belt. “This is rose scented. She’ll love it. Here, smell it.”
Dad pulls back. “Uh, no thanks. I’m good.”
I hold up the book. “And Mom is always saying we should all be more in touch with our bodies.”
Dad blushes and pulls a gift bag from the display next to the greeting cards. “At least get her a bag and a card.”
“Sure thing, Daddio.”
As I’m picking out a card and a bag, I remember the letter Kiera wrote, and for a minute I kind of feel a little bad. Parental drama is the worst.
My fingers trail along the cards until they settle on a card shaped like a pickle. The inside reads, “Happy Birthday. I got you this pickle.”
“Perfect,” I mutter to myself as my guilt dissolves.
In the car, with Dad’s pen, I sign the card and add,Here’s a pickle since you decided ours wasn’t worth keeping.
Trust me. To Kiera, it will make sense.
After that first morning at the bowling alley when Kiera and I hung out in the arcade, we started spending more time together. I’ll never forget going over to her house for the first time and seeing that elephant from the claw machine given prime real estate front and center on her perfectly made bed.
Pickle the stuffed hot-pink elephant became sort of our friendship mascot. We named him Pickle because we thought it went well with Cheese. After all, cheese and pickles are the most common toppings on any burger. Pickle stayed there at Kiera’s house on her bed until the first slumber party she hosted in fourth grade with me and all her new fifth-grade friends, a tight circle of pretty girls, several of whom even had boyfriends. All they talked about was which YouTubers were dating who and which of them had started their periods. I tried to smile along even though I felt totally left out.
“Hey, where’d Pickle go?” I whispered to Kiera when no one else was around.
She shrugged. “Me and my mom cleaned out my room, and I donated him with a bunch of other toys.”
