Read My Forever Friends for Free Online Page A

backpack. Then she pulls out a bag of noodles—rotini, elbow, wagon wheel, bowtie—all dyed bright colors. She dumps everything onto the table, shifts to her knees, and holds up a wagon wheel. “I recommend using these,” she tells us. “They stick best to picture frames.”
    Rachel grabs a glue bottle. “You can make anything stick if you use enough of this stuff.” She twists open the cap.
    â€œGlue away,” Jenna snips, picking up a square of tagboard and another bottle of glue. “Just don’t come crying to me when your frame turns into a noodle disaster.” She dots glue along the edge of her tagboard and starts pressing craft sticks onto it, making a frame.
    â€œI don’t hardly ever come crying to you anymore,” Rachel replies, pulling a piece of tagboard toward her. She plunks craft sticks and noodles around it and drizzles glue over them like icing.
    At least Jenna and Rachel are talking to each other again. Ever since Rachel got mad at Jenna on Monday, she’s only been talking to me. Yesterday, when I told her she could go first in hopscotch, she even said, “You’re my big sister now, okay, Ida?”
    I didn’t know what to say, so I just kept drawing the “10” square at the top of our hopscotch path and pretended I hadn’t heard her.
    I snuck a look at Jenna, though. She was over by the porch, hunting for a perfect hopscotch rock, so maybe she didn’t hear.
    But she stiffened for a second, so maybe she did.
    Since then, Jenna has been talking to Rachel again. Not all sweet, but not all spicy either.
    Jenna keeps glancing up from her frame. She sighs loudly as Rachel adds another layer of noodles and glue to hers.
    â€œIf you ask me,” Jenna finally says, “less is more when it comes to noodle frames.”
    â€œThen it’s good nobody asked you,” Rachel replies.
    Jenna scowls at her sister. “Listen here, Rachel—”
    â€œIf you ask me, ” I interrupt, “this would be more fun if you two stopped fighting.”
    â€œWe’re not fighting,” Jenna says. “We’re talking.”
    â€œThen pick different words to talk with,” I reply. “Because the ones you’re using now are giving me a stomachache.”
    â€œShe started it,” Rachel grumbles.
    â€œI didn’t start anything,” Jenna snaps.
    I rub my stomach and go back to my frame. Rotini noodles twist down the sides of it like the new slides we’re getting for our playground.
    Elbow macaroni and bowties bump along the top and bottom. All different colors.
    â€œFinished,” Jenna says, pushing back from the table. Wagon wheels circle her frame. Red, green, blue. Red, green, blue.
    Jenna flicks glue snot off her fingers and gives my frame the once-over. “Not bad,” she says. “For a first try.”
    â€œThanks,” I reply, squeezing in another rotini.
    â€œWhat are you going to put inside it?” Jenna asks.
    I look up. “Inside what? My frame?”
    â€œDuh, yes.”
    â€œDuh, a picture.”
    â€œI know that . But which one?”
    â€œUm . . . I don’t know,” I say. “I haven’t given it much thought.”
    â€œYou can have one of my school pictures,” Rachel says, smiling at me.
    â€œIt’s too late for that,” Jenna says. “She’s already getting one of mine.”
    â€œShe is?” Rachel asks.
    â€œI am?” I say.
    Jenna nods at me. “And you can give me one of yours,” she continues, “for my frame. That’s what best friends do. Exchange pictures.”
    â€œUm . . . okay.” That’s what I say on the outside, but on the inside I’m saying, Best friends? Me and Jenna?
    â€œNot mine though,” Rachel says. “I’m saving my frame for a picture of my baby.”
    â€œHow nice,” Jenna says, glancing at Rachel. “More stuff for the baby’s