Page 68 of The Surprise

I laugh. “No way.”

“Then how. . .?”

“My cousin bought this stupid-fancy quilting machine, but she couldn’t afford it. My mom ‘invested—’” I make air quotes. “—in her machine, under the deal that Samantha would make her any quilts she ever wanted.”

“Oh.” Beth shrugs. “Okay, so these are leftovers.”

“I figured if you ever need a friend and I’m busy, you can curl up under this and remember that you do have one.”

Beth’s smile is like a hundred-watt bulb, and it makes me happy inside, even if I didn’t make the move to the end zone yet. Even if it’s not time forus, I’m okay being here for her.

However she needs me.

14

Beth

My friend Hannah’s an only child, just like I am. Her parents throw her a huge birthday party every single year. Last year, when I said, “Mrs. Stillman, you always throw Hannah the best parties,” her mom responded with, “Of course I do. My little Hannah Banana will be gone soon, and all I have are a few more years with her.”

My parents went a different direction.

I’ve never had an actual birthday party. I mean, my mom and dad always give me something. Usually it’s something nice or at least enough cash to buy something nice. My mom often buys me way more than she should, frankly. But my dad’s not big on friends, and my mom’s never really doing well enough to try and organize a huge party.

Not for me, at least.

But this year, Izzy told me that if I didn’t have plans, I should come over to her house on my birthday. I pretended it would be hard to get away, but I knew Mom and Dad might not even remember what day it was. When I wake up on my birthday, my words prove prophetic. My mom’s still sleeping, and my dad barely nods at me when I walk past.

I look in the mirror on my way out the door.

It may be wishful thinking, but I feel like Ilookolder. More mature. More confident.

I took too long curling my hair, and I’m actually late to school. It’s not like it really matters. The most they do for tardies is send a letter to my parents, and I’m the only one who ever gets the mail and carries it inside. Plus, if they did happen to grab it, what would they say?

No one at school realizes it’s my birthday either, at least, not until lunch when Izzy drops an apple on the edge of the table in front of me.

“What the heck is that for?” Maren asks. “I really hope it’s not, like, a birthday present.” She pulls a pink package out of her bag and sets it on top of my lunchbox.

“Hey, what’s that?” Izzy asks.

Maren shrugs. “I guess you’ll have to WAFO.”

“WAFO?” I ask.

“Wait and find out,” Maren says with a smirk.

“I got you this.” Whitney plonks a bottle of lotion down next to me.

“That’s used,” Maren says. “Gross.”

“Shut up,” Whitney says. “Or I’ll tell your mom about—”

“About what?” Maren asks. “Because if you’re talking about the thing I think you’re talking about, you wouldn’t dare.”

“It’s perfect,” I say. “I love honeysuckle.” I squeeze some lotion on my hands and rub it in. “Thank you.”

“It’s barely used,” Whitney says. “I mean, I had to make sure it didn’t smell gross.”

In my entire life, I’ve never had anyone argue about what people are giving me, and no one has ever brought me anything to school. Well, my friend Hannah brought me a banana once, if that’s not too ridiculous for words, given her nickname. It was pretty mashed, though. I figured it was probably hers from lunch, and she just didn’t want it.

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