The Friendship Matchmaker Goes Undercover

  To my English teachers,

  Neela Mitra and Nigel Jackson—

  you made this possible

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Randa Abdel-Fattah

  Stargirl Earth to Potts County Middle School’s Friendship Matchmaker! Maybe U missed my last 9 msgs? U usually reply so quickly. Have U got the measles or broken a leg or something? Anyway, that’s no excuse. U can’t just disappear off the face of the planet like this! Oh . . . maybe U died? Well, even if UR dead then UR family should let people on this site know & not just leave me wondering what I’m supposed 2 do about the fact that Lizzy didn’t choose me 2 sleep in the same cabin as her 4 camp. If UR not dead, then ANSWER ME PLEASE!

  Paperscissorsrock So obviously I’m desperate, seeing as how U ignored my last msg, and so I’m trying again. Norman had his birthday party at a laser games center & he said he was only allowed to invite his cousins cause it’d be 2 expensive 2 invite school friends 2. So I find out that actually Toby and Juan were invited. So do I say something or is he going to think I’m a stalker?

  KidAgainstParent I know somebody who knows somebody who can’t stop crying at night ’cause she has no friends to play with at school. What should I do? I mean, not me personally, but what should I tell the somebody who knows somebody to do, to, you know, find a friend?

  Paperscissorsrock So have you, like, maybe been struck by lightning or something? So, like, I know there have been storms the past couple of weeks but, like, get undercover will you! Are you there, FMM . . .?

  Stargirl U CAN’T JUST DROP PEOPLE LIKE THIS! THIS IS CAMP. MY ENTIRE FUTURE DEPENDS ON WHICH CABIN I’M IN AND THE ONLY CABINS LEFT ARE WITH THE DORKS. HELPPPPPPPPPPP MEEEEEEEEEE, FMM!

  FMM Automated message: Please note that the Friendship Matchmaker account has been canceled. Apologies for any inconvenience this may cause.

  Chapter 1

  “Right!” Ms. Pria shouted over the noisy classroom. “Get into pairs and start working on the math problems on page three of the handout.”

  I turned to Tanya Zito, who was sitting at the same table as me, and smiled to myself. The old me would have challenged Ms. Pria on the spot and demanded the right to work alone. But the new me didn’t feel the slightest temptation to take on Ms. Pria. Tanya had already started writing our names at the top of the handout. It was like that now. I called it Friendship Telepathy. When Ms. Pria ordered the class to get into pairs, we didn’t need to look around the room for another loner to pair up with. We knew that we had each other.

  “Hey, Lara,” Tanya said cheerfully. “Don’t you just love fractions? I do!”

  Tanya is allowed to say nerdy things like this to me now because the new me doesn’t bother making up rules and lists such as Acceptable Things to Say at School, or Subjects You Are Not Allowed to Like in Public.

  The old me would have whacked her on the head with my pencil case and demanded she keep such dorky enthusiasm to herself.

  But I just smiled and said, “I sure do, although multiplication tables are great too.”

  I sharpened my pencil and scanned the room. I noticed Stephanie nervously shuffling the papers on her desk. She was obviously trying to avoid eye contact with anybody. On the other side of the classroom I noticed Lila Bernard. Her head was half-buried in her schoolbag like a shy tortoise, as she pretended to be sorting through her papers.

  I say “pretended” because I am an expert in Total Loner Avoidance Tactics. Total Loners who are forced to find a partner in class are generally too self-conscious to approach somebody and ask to work together. It’s a standard protection tactic against being rejected.

  So Total Loners will avoid offering to pair up with somebody in the hope that a) another Total Loner with more confidence will ask them; or b) the teacher will realize they’re in trouble and put them in a pair.

  Stephanie and Lila were clearly hoping for either option. But Ms. Pria was too busy writing formulas on the whiteboard to notice their panic.

  My insides went all funny. Once upon a term, when I was Potts County Middle School’s Official Friendship Matchmaker, I would have sorted out this situation in no time. All I needed to do was find something in common between Stephanie and Lila.

  Profile—Lila

  1. Not terribly bright.

  2. Can be quite sweet.

  3. Loves walking and plans to break a world record as the first brunette to walk to China. Trying to explain to Lila that hair color isn’t a world record criterion is like trying to explain quantum physics to a one-year-old. It’s just not going to happen.

  Profile—Stephanie

  1. Doesn’t stop talking.

  2. Ambition in life is to be a radio journalist.

  3. Finds it hard to make and keep friends because she prefers interviews to conversations.

  4. This term she started running Potts County Middle School FM Radio. (Theoretically, our librarian runs it, but who is she kidding? Stephanie has total control.) Actually, I was the one who encouraged Stephanie to channel her lung activity into a radio station. The idea came to me after I’d tried to pair her up with Tanya Zito last term, when I was on a mission to find Tanya a best friend (before realizing I was Tanya’s perfect match!). A radio station seemed like a good idea for Stephanie.

  A Lila-Stephanie alliance could work. I just had to find what I used to call the Common Factor. In this case, it was easy. They were both obsessed with their goals. At assembly or standing in the cafeteria line, Lila couldn’t stand still. She took steps on the spot, clocking them on the pedometer she kept attached to her clothes. She was in training. Since the start of term, she’d clocked 750,000 steps, or was it 75 million?

  As for Stephanie, she was happiest when she was talking.

  So . . . Lila and Stephanie could walk, while Stephanie talked.

  It was so simple it was beautiful.

  It was also so tempting. But I’d promised myself—and Tanya for that matter—that my Friendship Matchmaking days were over. I mean, I’ve always had a heart of twenty-four-carat gold, but I had to control myself. If I let myself slip, even once, I’d get the matchmaking itch, and before I knew it I’d be back spending my recess running Mediation Sessions and lecturing on my Fashion Rules during lunchtime. And then what would happen with Tanya, my new best friend? I’d have no time for her, she’d dump me, and I’d end up being a loner.

  But, boy, was it hard.

  So instead of pointing out the obvious to Lila and Stephanie, I turned away and started working on fractions with Tanya.

  It was difficult not to scratch my matchmaking itch. But with a heart like mine, I could make the sacrifice.

  Chapter 2

  Except it felt like I had chicken pox. The more I thought about not scratching, the more my body itched and prickled and twitched. My skin burned as I walked through the playground during recess. It resembled the site of a long and bloody battle. Broken friendships and speared hearts were scattered all around the
quadrangle and basketball courts.

  Tanya and I were hanging out with Emily, who was dividing up a package of gummy worms we’d bought by pooling our lunch money.

  The thing about Emily was that she got along with everybody. When I first started my work as Friendship Matchmaker, I used to categorize people’s personalities by color. For example, a person might be fluorescent pink or tangerine orange. You had to be careful who you paired them with because they clashed easily. Other people were neutral shades, or pastels. They didn’t stand out or draw attention to themselves, and they could be matched easily. But Emily turned out to be a rarity. In all my matchmaking days, I’d never seen it before.

  Her personality was the color white.

  She didn’t clash with anybody. Put her beside any kid in the lunch line, library, or quad and she easily blended in.

  “How many of these do you think you could eat before you felt sick?” Emily asked, handing me my pile of gummy worms.

  “I don’t know,” I said distractedly, surveying the war zone around us. There was no denying it. Potts County Middle School was falling apart.

  The teachers on playground duty were rushing around with harassed looks on their faces, yelling out orders to one another as they tried to sort casualties into a makeshift triage system.

  “New kid near the monkey bars,” Mr. Stirelli hollered at Ms. Masters as he ran through the playground. “Crying. Suspect ran toward cafeteria!”

  “I’m on it!” Ms. Masters cried back, racing to the other end of the playground, her cardigan flapping in the wind.

  “Fight in the science lab!” Mr. Stirelli yelled out to Mrs. Ireland, who was busy breaking up another fight between a crowd of fifth-graders.

  “What do I do about this crew?” she snapped back.

  “Leave them to the student teacher. The other group is critical!”

  Mrs. Ireland dashed to the science lab.

  “I think I could probably eat about fifty,” Tanya said, biting into a blue gummy worm as she examined the remaining half, oblivious to what was going on around us.

  “I ate four bags once,” Emily said, grinning. “I was sick for hours afterward. But it was worth it.” Emily suddenly looked like she’d remembered something. “Can I do the Roald Dahl assignment with you two, by the way? I was out sick the day everybody chose their group or partner.”

  Tanya nodded enthusiastically, her mouth full of gummy worms.

  Emily turned to me. “Lara?”

  Just then I noticed Mr. Stirelli skid to a halt in front of the lockers to the right of where we were sitting. He’d spotted Chris Martin, the school Bully with a capital B, towering over a whimpering Raymond Carlos.

  Anything involving Chris Martin needed to be dealt with as an emergency.

  Chris Martin had kept me busy during my Friendship Matchmaking days, whether it was comforting his victims or training them in tactical defenses—otherwise known as CMAS (Chris Martin Avoidance Strategies). It seemed to me that since my Friendship Matchmaking days, Chris Martin’s pile of victims had grown higher.

  The problem was, nobody was safe. Chris Martin was stocky and big enough to take on most kids. That he was great at sports meant he made a point of picking on the non-sporty kids. Not to mention he was a computer whiz, so if he didn’t find you during school hours you were cyber-world prey when you got home.

  Mr. Stirelli rushed up to Chris and Raymond.

  “What’s going on here?” he demanded. “Raymond, is Chris giving you a hard time?”

  Honestly, what planet did teachers come from? Did Mr. Stirelli really think Raymond was going to tell on Chris?

  Sure enough Raymond—Chris glaring at him—spluttered: “I . . . it’s nothing, Mr. Stirelli. Chris was just, uh, telling me about his weekend . . .”

  Chris smirked triumphantly, and Mr. Stirelli raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

  “Is that right, Chris?” Mr. Stirelli asked. “Just having a chat about your weekend, were you?”

  Chris grinned. “That’s right, Mr. Stirelli.”

  “Off you go, Raymond,” Mr. Stirelli said. Raymond hurried away, a relieved expression on his face. I frowned. Without CMAS, Chris would find Raymond again and pick up where he’d left off.

  Tanya tugged at my sleeve. “Earth to Lara!” She snapped her fingers in front of my face. “You’re not listening,” she said with a pout.

  “Sorry,” I said with a sheepish smile. “What’s up?”

  “The Roald Dahl assignment,” Emily said. “Do you mind if I join you?”

  “Uh, yeah . . . I mean, no!” I shook my head. “Sorry. That’s fine.”

  Emily and Tanya gave me weird looks.

  “What’s on your mind?” Tanya asked slowly.

  “What on earth is Chris Martin doing behind those garbage cans . . .?”

  “Lara!” Tanya cried in exasperation, just as an empty can crashed to the ground. The group of girls sitting nearby screamed, jumping up in fright, and Chris Martin laughed hysterically as he sauntered away.

  Chapter 3

  The playground was spiraling out of control. Every corner I turned I found kids arguing or teasing each other. The teachers looked weary. And that’s saying a lot because as far as I was concerned teachers always looked tired. In fact, one lunchtime I overheard some teachers on lunch duty wondering why they were all suddenly more tired than usual. They couldn’t figure out why they were going through their vitamins and wheatgrass shots and protein powder drinks so quickly.

  As for me, I was struggling to concentrate on my schoolwork and my grades were suffering. When I was Potts County Middle School’s Official Friendship Matchmaker, one of the rules in my Friendship Matchmaker Manual had been about brainiacs. I told the smart kids not to be too hardworking or they’d end up getting straight As and be doomed to having reputations as nerds and geeks. My philosophy was that everybody should keep their heads down, try to blend in with average grades, and never “go the extra mile,” as Ms. Pria always liked to say we should. Of course, if a kid was really dumb I’d tell them to go as many miles as possible or they’d be picked on for being the slowest kid in class. It was all about playing it safe. Naturally, with my intelligence, I had to hold myself back. But when I threw my Manual away in the girls’ bathroom at the aquarium last term, I kissed all my Rules goodbye. Since then, I haven’t minded acing my tests or putting in extra effort on my projects.

  But with all the suffering around me, I’d kind of lost interest in schoolwork.

  “Come on, let’s hang out in the quad,” I said to Tanya at recess.

  The main action was always on the basketball courts, grassed area, play equipment, or quad. I needed to be close to the ground. You didn’t become a Friendship Matchmaker without noticing what went on at school. I’d been ignoring the battles around me for too long.

  She groaned. “Oh come on, Lara! Again?Why can’t we go to the library like we always do?”

  We usually spent a lot of time in the library because we were both crazy about books and writing. Before Tanya and I became friends, and she’d been a Total Loner, she’d lived in the library. The less visible she was, the less chance she had of being teased. So for her it was self-defense. And she got to read and write and hang out with the librarian. When we became best friends, and I retired from being Official Friendship Matchmaker, I suddenly had recess and lunchtimes free. During my Friendship Matchmaker days I’d been too busy serving the school community to think about myself.

  I didn’t mind spending time in the library now, though, because we’d go on the computer, read, and swap stories we’d written. But best of all, we’d talk. About everything. Tanya’s parents had divorced last term. She didn’t say much about it, but when she did feel upset she confided in me.

  We liked sitting in the beanbag corner. I’d listen. She’d talk. Sometimes cry a bit. Then she’d feel better and we’d go back to our computer game or books.

  But I couldn’t keep a close eye on casualties if I was hidden in th
e school’s refugee camp. I needed to be out in the war zone, not where most victims fled for protection.

  “Come on,” I pleaded, dragging her along.

  “Fine,” she muttered. “What are we going to do, anyway?”

  “Just sit and talk,” I said. “Get some fresh air . . .” I’d spotted a sixth-grade girl trying to break into a circle of girls having a conversation, but they were blocking her. What was I supposed to do? Just pretend I couldn’t see? Tanya had to understand. She’d been that girl before.

  “Can you see that girl over there?”

  “Macy?”

  “Yeah. She’s being left out.”

  “Oh.” Tanya stared at her sympathetically.

  “So shouldn’t we do something?”

  “Like what? We could ask her to sit with us.”

  “That’s not enough,” I said, shaking my head. “We have to tell the others off! They shouldn’t be allowed to do that to her.”

  Tanya looked horrified. “It would be brutal! They’d turn on us.”

  “We need to get them all talking,” I said, more to myself than to Tanya. “Sort the problem out.”

  “You can’t force them to like her,” she said. “Then it’d be like charity. We should invite her over to hang out with us.”

  “Huh? Yeah . . . sure . . .” I wasn’t paying attention to what she was saying and gripped her shoulder. “I’m thinking a Friendship Intervention Mediation Session followed by an intense conversation boot camp.” My eyes were wide as saucers as I thought of all the possibilities.

  “No!” Tanya snapped and screwed up her face and stared at the ground. “You can’t meddle,” she said softly. “People can get hurt, remember?”

  She looked me in the eye. I thought for a moment. I understood her completely.

  See, Tanya didn’t have the backbone to deal with the situation. And why should she? She wasn’t popular. I loved her to bits, but Tanya was the color gray. The color of sadness.

  It wasn’t her fault. Before the divorce, when her parents would fight constantly, she’d come to school with barely a word or a smile. She’d stare out the window. Sniff her school supplies.