Part 5 (1/2)

*Hey,' I said, *that's not a bad idea.'

Rule #7.

If Someone Is Having a Party and Doesn't Invite You, Just Have Your Own Party and Don't Invite Them (and Make Your Party Better).

The Kissing Game didn't actually end up lasting all that long a” just a day before Cheyenne's slumber party, Mrs Hunter and some other teachers realized what was happening, and put a stop to it.

Or maybe someone's mother called in and complained or something. I don't know.

All I know is, on Friday before morning recess Mrs Hunter slipped on to her stool where she normally reads to us (we were doing A Swiftly Tilting Planet, which sequels to A Wrinkle in Time and one of my favourites, besides the Boxcar Children, of course, although it's actually a completely different kind of story), and said, *Cla.s.s, I've been hearing that there's a new game some of you have been playing at recess a” a kind of kissing game, where girls chase boys or boys chase girls until they catch and kiss them . . . I don't know the details, and frankly I don't want to know. What I do know is, it's going to stop now. I'm not going to say anything more about it. Except that if I see anyone playing it again, everyone involved is going to get their recess taken away for the rest of the week. Is that understood?'

Everyone in cla.s.s got very quiet. Except for me and Rosemary. We both scooted out our chairs and leaned back so we could look past Stuart Maxwell at each other. Then we gave each other great big smiles.

To the vast majority of girls in Room 209, what Mrs Hunter had just said was very bad news. From where I sat, I could see that Marianne in particular looked as if she was about to cry with disappointment.

But to Rosemary, whose kickball games were always getting interrupted by hordes of screaming girls chasing down their prey, this was really, really good news.

And to me, who was always having to listen to Joey Fields go on about how come no girls would ever chase him, it was even better.

*High-five,' Rosemary whispered to me, holding up her hand behind Stuart Maxwell's back.

I high-fived her. I had to admit, I was feeling pretty good. If I'd known whose mom had maybe called in, I'd have given that kid a great big hug. Even if it had been Patrick Day's mom. Heck, even it had been Joey Fields's.

Joey looked like he could have used a hug too. He looked so upset, he was practically crying.

*I d-don't understand,' he whispered. *Does this mean you guys aren't going to play that game any more?'

*We never played it,' I whispered back, pointing to me and Rosemary. *Those guys did.' I pointed to Cheyenne, who had a pretty crabby look on her face. You could tell she was mad about Mrs Hunter making her stop playing her favourite recess game. What was she going to play now?

Oh, I forgot. Nothing. Cheyenne doesn't play at recess. She's too mature.

*But.' Joey seriously looked upset. He'd combed his hair that day and everything. *n.o.body's going to chase me now?'

I couldn't help rolling my eyes. Boys. Seriously.

*No, Joey,' I said. *n.o.body's going to chase you.'

*I'll chase you, Joey,' Rosemary volunteered helpfully. *I'll chase you and knock you down and even rub some snow in your face, if you want.'

Joey blinked a few times. *No,' he said. *That's OK. Thanks.'

At recess, Cheyenne and all the other fourth-grade girls who'd been forbidden from partic.i.p.ating in their favourite school activity gathered in a tight cl.u.s.ter by the swings. We couldn't tell what they were doing, but we guessed they were probably talking about what they were going to start doing at recess now that Cheyenne couldn't spread her disgusting germs everywhere.

Since it seemed obvious they might come up with an even worse activity, I suggested we send a spy over to listen in. The spy I recommended was Sophie, because she was the prettiest and also the best at acting like she fitted in.

*Aw,' Sophie said, fluttering her eyelashes, a skill she'd learned from Jill in The Silver Chair of The Chronicles of Narnia, *thanks.'

*No spying,' Caroline said firmly. *If we send a spy over, they'll figure out what we're doing, and then they'll think we care what they think, which we don't.'

*I care what they think,' Erica volunteered.

*Well, I don't,' Rosemary said. *I'm going to go play kickball. Goodbye.' And she left to do just that.

*They probably think we're the ones who told on them,' I said, looking over at the group of girls by the swings. *The reason I can tell is, they keep looking over here.'

One way you can tell that people are talking about you is if they look over at you a lot while they are talking to other people. This is a rule.

*Just ignore them,' Caroline said. *Come on, let's go to our secret place.'

*It's not really a secret any more,' Sophie pointed out as we crossed the playground, resolutely not looking in the direction of Cheyenne and her friends, *if everybody else knows about it.'

*You guys,' Erica said as we were walking.

*That's OK,' Caroline said. *How are the organizational plans going for the slumber party tomorrow night, Allie?'

*Excellent,' I said. We had decided that the slumber party would be at my place, because I was the one who had gotten Dance Party America for Christmas. It was going to be a Dance Party America marathon slumber party. We were going to play it until our feet fell off. The reason we were going to get to do this was because my mom and dad were going to a faculty party at the university and were going to be out until after midnight, so Uncle Jay was going to be babysitting. And Uncle Jay was the best babysitter in the whole world!

*You guys,' Erica said again. *Don't look now, but I think we're being followed.'

We all turned to look behind us. Erica was right. Cheyenne, leading a pack of girls that included Marianne, Dominique, Shamira, Rosie and even shy Elizabeth and some girls from Room 208, was tromping in the dirty snow right behind us.

None of them seemed too happy either.

*I said not to look,' Erica whispered.

We'd just been starting up the little slope that led to the bushes that hid the entrance to our secret hideout too. We couldn't exactly duck into it. Not with all those girls watching. They'd know exactly where it was.

*Hey,' Cheyenne said in a very mean voice, staring right at us. So it was very clear she meant us.

Still, Caroline looked all around and then pointed at herself and went, *Who? Us?'

Caroline was stalling for time. I knew she was hoping if she kept on doing so, with luck the bell would ring soon. Caroline is very clever in this way.

*Yeah, you,' Cheyenne said. Today she was dressed, as usual, in the height of Canadian chic (which is a French word for stylish) in her knee-high zip-up boots, brown striped tights, a corduroy miniskirt, a puffy sky-blue parka and rabbit-fur earm.u.f.fs.

I wondered if she knew a rabbit had died to make those earm.u.f.fs. It is one thing to wear leather, which comes from cows, which we also eat.

But I don't know anyone who eats rabbits. Except French people, according to Erica's brother, John.

But John is a known liar.

*Which one of you told on us about the Kissing Game?' Cheyenne wanted to know. *We know it was one of you. So you might as well just tell us.'

*Yeah,' Dominique and Marianne and some of the other girls yelled, *just tell us!'