BFF Breakup Read Online Free PDF Page A

“Because learning to bake like a housewife is so useful.”
    â€œIt sounds fun! When else are you going to learn how to cook?”
    I shook my head and watched as other kids easily signed up for electives, knowing exactly what they wanted. I watched the Lily girl walk with her mom out of the caf.
    â€œJust think of it, Brooke,” Mom said. “You’ll get to eat in class.”
    Okay, she got me. “Let me see that description again.” It was basically a cooking class, and if you cooked, someone had to eat it, right? How else would you know ifyou’d done it right or not? “Fine,” I said. “I’ll take Foods for Living.”
    Mom beamed and patted my back. “I think it’s best that Abbey and Madeline aren’t here. About time you started making decisions for yourself.”
    After witnessing my mother try to set up a Smell Party for the woman who completed my registration—a memory so heinous I hope to bury it deep within my psyche so that I actually forget it ever happened—we went home so that I could wait out the rest of the summer in solitary confinement. That’s the thing about very best friends: When one of you gets punished, the other does too.

7 MADELINE
    T HE BOOGIE BOARD MOVE WAS, IN THEORY, brilliant.
    It’d been raining for four days straight and Brooke and I had been passing the time doing one of my all-time favorite activities: We cranked the AC up to high, set my ceiling fan on high, and then huddled under layers of blankets and my comforter to watch romcom after romcom. She’s a bit more outdoorsy than I am, so I didn’t tell her that sometimes my favorite days are spent doing just that.
    But after four days it got to be too much, even for me. That’s when inspiration struck. I saw my brother Josh’s boogie board inside his bedroom.
    My plan was almost too good. Because I was down the stairs and splayed out in the foyer so quickly, I didn’t even have time to savor the ride. Brooke was beside me in an instant, asking in a mildly freaked-out voice if I was okay. But before I could answer, I heard another voice.
    â€œWhat is this?” an oh-so-maternal voice bellowed. Yes, my mother actually bellows.
    It is so humiliating to be yelled at by your parents in front of your friends, even if said friend has seen you cry over a boy who called you Arrowhead Face due to your slightly pointy chin and angular jaw. The point is, having your parents yell at you is humiliating, no matter who sees it.
    â€œMadeline Rose Gottlieb.” Mom’s lips were tight, and that vein in her neck was growing larger by the nanosecond. “What do you think you’re doing?”
    I slowly sat up, realizing that, with the use of my full name, this was pretty serious. I was kind of hating myself for sliding down those stairs in the first place. The thrill of flying ended so quickly, and now my knee screamed in protest when I moved it.
    Then Dad entered, and I just knew I was about to get busted hard-core.
    â€œLook at this door!” Mom said, pointing to the slice of wood I’d taken out on impact.
    Thankfully Dad has a heart, and he bent down with worry in his blue eyes, and that’s when I felt tears sting my own. Dad was always nice to us. The more maternal one, some might say. “Are you okay, girl? Let me see that knee.”
    That’s about the time the drama really started.
    Mom wanted answers about the door and she wanted them now. Dad told her to calm down, to at least see if I was okay first. (Way to go, Dad!) Then Mom accused Dad of babying me and Dad accused Mom of being heartless, then Mom accused me of being irresponsible and Dad accused Mom of being a bully. You know, your basic family chitchat, just shooting the breeze. Brooke was practically cowering behind the banister, trying to make like she wasn’t there. She had probably gone to her mental happy place. Her parents never fought—at least,