Not really buddies, p.1
Not Really Buddies, page 1
Published by
PEACHTREE PUBLISHING COMPANY INC.
1700 Chattahoochee Avenue
Atlanta, Georgia 30318-2112
PeachtreeBooks.com
Text © 2023 by Jan Carr
Illustrations © 2023 by Kris Mukai
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Edited by Catherine Frank
Design and composition by Lily Steele
The illustrations were rendered digitally.
ISBN 9781682635346
Ebook ISBN 9781682635575
Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available from the Library of Congress.
a_prh_6.0_144228932_c0_r0
For Jhoanna Robledo, who set down roots and blazed brightly as a maple. And for Phoebe Lee Carr, happy sapling and my go-to Kid Consultant.
–J.C.
For the kids, George, Cammy, Peter, Camille, Dilly, Francie, Ori, and Lee.
–K.M.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE: Surprise
CHAPTER TWO: The Opposite of Pink
CHAPTER THREE: A Classroom Trend
CHAPTER FOUR: A Very Distinctive Hat
CHAPTER FIVE: Bird-Watching
CHAPTER SIX: Cowlick
CHAPTER SEVEN: Between Two Urinals
CHAPTER EIGHT: Maple Tree
CHAPTER NINE: Moo!
The light turned green. WALK. Buddy started to step off the curb. Zoom! A car sped past.
Whoops. Buddy had forgotten to look. There were lots of busy streets on the way to school. And a lot of zooming traffic. He jumped back. His cap fell off.
“Careful there, Buddy,” said Poppy. Lots of parents called their sons buddy. But Buddy’s name really was Buddy. Daddo picked up Buddy’s cap and set it back on his head. “And hang on to that today,” he said. “Okay?”
“I’ll try,” said Buddy.
Buddy was good at losing things. That’s because he was absentminded. That’s how his dads always explained it. They didn’t mean Buddy was absent. Just sometimes his mind was.
“You’re a dreamer,” Poppy would say.
“Our poky little daydreamer,” Daddo would chime in. And then both his dads would hug him. Eesh!
Buddy reached for Poppy’s hand to cross the street. “What class am I in again?” he asked. On the first day of school, there was always a lot to remember.
“2–108,” said Poppy.
“Right,” said Buddy. The “2” part meant second grade. And “108” was his room number.
Poppy squeezed Buddy’s hand. “I have a good feeling about this year,” he said.
“Me, too,” said Buddy. “All my friends are in my class. Joey. And Kaveh. And Malik and Omar.” That had never happened before.
“And me!” said Amber. Amber and her mom had slipped up behind them. They lived in Buddy’s building.
“Yeah,” said Buddy. “Plus, we have the best teacher in second grade. Jabari!”
“Jabari?” asked Daddo. “Is he your teacher this year?” He looked unsure.
Buddy nodded. “Jabari’s a bird-watcher,” he told Daddo. “He takes his class bird-watching. And he lets us call him by his first name.”
Amber scrunched her face. She turned to her mom. “Do we have Jabari?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” said her mom. “They never tell us ahead of time.”
It was true. The school never said which teachers would be in what room. Not before school started. They kept it a secret. Like a surprise party! But Buddy was sure. It would be Jabari.
By now they were at the front gate. A crowd of kids was trying to cram through to the schoolyard. It was a jam-up. Like when ketchup gets stuck in the neck of the bottle. And you have to give it a whack so it splatters out.
Poppy straightened Buddy’s cap.
“Go get ’em, Buddy!” he said. “You’re going to rock second grade.”
Buddy took a big breath. The crowd looked, well, crowded.
“Make way!” he said. Nobody budged. “Coming through!” Maybe he hadn’t said it loud enough? He hesitated. Should he just push in?
Amber elbowed past Buddy. “Incoming!” she yelled. Buddy squeezed in behind her, following in her wake. Splat! The two of them spilled out into the schoolyard.
Amber spied the sign for their class across the yard. “There,” she said. “2–108.”
Buddy pushed his glasses higher on his nose. A lot of his friends were already standing by the sign.
“Joey!” he called. Joey was with Keiko and Marisol. And Tamar and Priya. Everyone was gathered around Priya. Buddy and Amber joined them.
“Guess who our teacher is,” Priya was saying. Her mom was class parent. So sometimes Priya knew things other kids didn’t.
“Jabari,” said Buddy.
“Nope,” said Priya.
“He is,” said Buddy. “Which means we’ll go bird-watching. In the park. With binoculars!”
“No,” said Priya. “I told you. Not Jabari.”
“But he is!” said Buddy. “I know!”
“How?” asked Amber.
“Because,” said Buddy. “At the end of first grade, Jabari passed me in the hall. On the very last day. And he winked at me.”
“So?” said Priya.
“It was a big wink. Like he was telling me something. Like he was saying, ‘I’m going to be your teacher in the fall.’ ”
“That didn’t mean that,” said Priya.
“It did.”
“It didn’t.”
“I could tell!” said Buddy.
Joey pointed. “Jabari!” There he was. Walking toward them.
Jabari had a fresh-cut fade with an Afro on top. He waved at them. Ha! Buddy grinned.
But then Jabari kept walking. He walked to a different sign. 2–110.
Wait. Oh…Buddy’s face fell.
“See?” said Priya.
Someone else was walking toward them. Another grown-up. She was wearing black leggings and a swingy skirt. Her hair was plaited in a thick braid slung over one shoulder. Buddy had never seen her before.
“That’s our teacher,” whispered Priya. “She’s new.”
The teacher smiled. “Hello, Class 2–108,” she said.
Buddy made a face. “You’re not Jabari,” he said. That didn’t exactly come out right. It didn’t sound friendly.
“No,” she said. “I’m Ms. Maple.”
Ms. Maple? What kind of name was that? A tree name? Buddy wondered if she’d take them to the park to see trees instead of birds.
They probably wouldn’t get to use binoculars.
Buddy turned to look back at Jabari’s class.
Lucky class.
Lucky kids.
He fell in line with Joey. They all followed Ms. Maple into the school.
Inside the classroom, the kids all sat on the rug. It had squares with different colors. Buddy had raced for a purple one.
Ms. Maple was already talking. Oh. Buddy forgot he was supposed to be listening. He’d still been thinking about Jabari. Ms. Maple seemed to be telling them about a first-day project.
“I want us all to get to know each other,” she was saying. “But first, we have to take care of some housekeeping.”
Housekeeping? Like cleaning? Buddy raised his hand.
“The tables are already clean,” he said.
Ms. Maple blinked at him. “Tables?” She seemed confused.
“Yeah,” said Buddy. “The whole classroom is clean. In this school, we wash everything at the end of the year. ’Cause we were the ones who made it dirty.”
“Oh,” said Ms. Maple. “Housekeeping. I can see why you thought I meant cleaning. I just meant chores. Our classroom chores. But it sounds like you’re good citizens at this school.”
Buddy nodded. He was definitely a good citizen. Ms. Maple was new. And she didn’t know anything about the school. He was happy to help her. Even if she wasn’t a bird-watcher.
Ms. Maple took out her attendance list. “Housekeeping,” she said, waving the list. She smiled at Buddy. “The light kind.”
Buddy had no idea what she meant by that. Was Ms. Maple going to be the kind of teacher who didn’t always make sense? Some grown-ups were like that. You never knew what they were talking about.
Ms. Maple started calling out names, one by one.
“Buddy Finn-Lee?” she said.
Buddy raised his hand. “That’s me!”
But when Ms. Maple got to the next name, no one answered. It was Bea Somebody. Buddy’d never heard of her.
“Who?” said Joey.
“Does anyone know Bea?” asked Ms. Maple. Nobody did. “She must be new then?”
New and a no-show! Buddy grinned. There had been one of those last year. A new kid who never showed up. Joey had saved a seat for her at their table. And he kept saving it. It was a funny joke they had all year.
When attendance was finished, Ms. Maple started talking again about the first-day project.
“You’re going to draw a picture of yourself. A self-portra
Priya raised her hand. “But we all know each other already,” she said. “Except for you. We don’t know you.”
Ms. Maple paused. As if she wasn’t sure what to say. “Right,” she said. “Well then, introduce yourself to me.”
Ms. Maple told them to go find spots at the tables. She smiled at Buddy. “The very clean tables,” she said.
Buddy raced to a table. He and Joey could save a place again for this year’s no-show. They could have the same joke!
“Joey! Here!” He slapped his hand down to save Joey’s place. On the other side, he saved a seat for the no-show.
Ms. Maple walked over. Near the saved seat.
“That’s for the no-show,” Buddy told her.
“Who?”
“That Bea girl. I’m saving it. For if she shows up.”
“How thoughtful,” said Ms. Maple. “You’re very good at helping those of us who are new, aren’t you?”
Suddenly, the classroom door burst open. A girl stood there. She was wearing a pink T-shirt with a sparkly unicorn on it. Her pants had big pink flowers. All her clothes were really pink. But to Buddy, she didn’t look like a pink person. Her hair was messy. And her fists were balled at her side. One of her sneakers had a big red paint splotch. She looked kind of the opposite of pink.
“Who’s Ms. Maple?” the girl asked loudly.
“That’s me,” said Ms. Maple. “Are you by any chance Bea?”
“I am!”
Ms. Maple pulled out the empty chair. “Then you can sit here,” she said. “Buddy Finn-Lee has very thoughtfully saved a seat for you.”
Bea started to sit down. But before she could, Buddy threw his feet up onto the chair he’d saved.
“Hey!” cried Bea.
Buddy scowled. Suddenly, he didn’t feel like being helpful. Bea was supposed to be a no-show. But then she’d shown up. A no-show who showed? She’d spoiled his funny joke. A joke that was supposed to last the whole year.
But Buddy felt Ms. Maple watching him. So he moved his feet. Bea sat down.
She plopped her backpack onto the table. Right in Buddy’s space. Buddy pushed it away. The backpack fell off the table. By accident!
Bea reached down and righted the backpack. Then she peered past Buddy, at Joey. “Hey,” she said. “How come you have a wheelchair?”
What kind of question was that?
Joey narrowed his eyes. “Because I use a wheelchair,” he said.
Buddy scooted closer to his friend. He wanted to make sure Bea knew they were a team. Then Buddy asked her, “How come you have paint on your shoe?”
“It’s not paint,” she said.
“Right there! That red paint.”
“I told you, it’s not paint. It’s blood.”
“Blood?”
“Yeah. That’s why I’m late. There was a whole lot more. All over my pants. Gran made me change.”
She pulled up her pant leg. There was a big bandage with tape all across it. It took up her whole shin.
“Wow,” said Joey.
It was impressive. Even Buddy had to admit.
Ms. Maple handed out sheets of paper. Buddy took a pencil from the big can in the middle of the table.
“What are we doing?” asked Bea.
Buddy eyed her. “Drawing,” he said.
“Drawing what?”
Should he tell her? She’d ruined his no-show joke.
“Pictures of ourselves,” said Joey.
“Of something we want everyone to know about us,” Buddy added.
See? He could still be helpful.
Bea cocked her head, studying Buddy. “Are you going to draw your glasses?”
“My glasses?” Why did she ask that? Was she being mean? Maybe.
“They’re really big,” said Bea.
Buddy straightened his glasses. Sometimes they got askew. “My face has to grow into them,” he said. That’s what Poppy had told him when they’d bought them.
“Well,” said Bea. “At least they’re circles.” Buddy’s glasses were round. “So they should be easy. To draw, I mean.” Then Bea looked at the top of his head. “What about your hair?”
“What about it?”
“Are you going to draw the sticky-up part?”
“What?”
“Your hair sticks up. At the top. In back.”
Buddy knew his hair stuck up. But he didn’t know other people could notice. There was a word for when your hair stuck up. Daddo had told him. But he couldn’t remember it. Not exactly.
“It’s because of a cow,” he said. It was something like that. He patted it down.
Bea angled herself away from Buddy and Joey. She circled her arms around her paper. Like a fence. She leaned over so they couldn’t see what she was drawing.
Buddy slid his paper away from her and did the same.
Buddy stared down at the blank sheet. Everyone around him was drawing. But Buddy didn’t know what to draw yet. Was he being poky? Poky Buddy. Sometimes his dads called him that. Poky was just part of being daydreamy. Right? But he didn’t want to draw about being daydreamy.
So what else could he share about himself? He couldn’t think of anything. He decided to just start drawing. Maybe an idea would come.
Buddy drew his face. He pressed his pencil lightly. That way, if he made a mistake, he could fix it. If he had to erase, it would still look neat.
Then Buddy drew his hair. He wanted each strand to be perfect. But the hairs he was drawing looked too fat.
Buddy touched his finger to the tip of his pencil. Ah, that was why. His pencil needed to be pointier.
Buddy got up and walked to the pencil sharpener. As soon as he did, Malik got up to sharpen his pencil. Then Amber did, too. And Joey.
Soon, a whole bunch of kids were getting up to sharpen their pencils. There were so many, they made a long line. The line snaked down one whole side of the room. Buddy felt proud. He’d started a trend! A classroom trend!
He glanced at Ms. Maple. Had she noticed? She was definitely staring at the line. She was probably glad everyone was sharpening their pencils. She’d probably think it was a really grown-up, second-grade thing to do.
But did she realize he was the one who’d started the trend?
Buddy hoped so.
Then Buddy looked behind him. Everyone was waiting. For him.
Whoops.
But he couldn’t go faster. Something was wrong with the pencil sharpener.
Buddy stuck his pencil in the sharpener again. He let it whir a long time. But every time he took out his pencil, the pointy part was too long. It kept breaking off. So he kept having to sharpen it again.
Four tries. Five. Buddy touched the tip. Finally! He headed back to his seat.
But when Buddy sat down, he noticed something. His picture looked different. It was much messier than he remembered. There seemed to be extra lines at the top. By the hair. Bristly lines. He couldn’t remember drawing those. Maybe his hand had slipped? Or maybe his big fat pencil had smudged it when he wasn’t looking?
Buddy really didn’t think so. Maybe that Bea girl had done it.
But Bea was in line for the pencil sharpener. So Buddy couldn’t be sure.
Buddy tried to erase the messy part. But when he did, the picture just got smudged. He erased harder. That made a tiny hole in his paper. Buddy panicked. He pressed harder on the eraser. Yikes. That was a bad idea. Why did he think he could erase a hole? Now the paper had an even bigger hole!
Bea had come back to the table. Buddy pointed at his picture. “Did you do this?” he asked.
Bea squinted. “Do what? Make that hole? Why would I make a hole?”
“Not the hole,” said Buddy. “The hair.”
Bea shook her head. Hard. Her messy hair flopped back and forth over her eyes. “No!” she said loudly.
Buddy wasn’t sure he believed her.
“Five more minutes,” said Ms. Maple. “Then everyone will get a chance to talk about their picture.”
