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room.” She looks at me again. “I’ll bring the picture tomorrow, okay?”
    â€œBut it’s Saturday tomorrow,” I say. “You don’t have to come over.”
    I don’t say that last part in a mean way, but I guess that’s how it sounds to Jenna. Her cheeks suddenly go red and her eyes get as narrow as the edges of spoons.
    â€œSilly me,” she says like her tongue is sticky with glue. She starts tossing noodles and craft sticks back into her bag.
    â€œI didn’t mean you couldn’t—”
    â€œI can’t,” Jenna cuts in. She takes a big breath and shakes back her braids. “Sorry,” she says, “but I’ll be too busy to come over tomorrow. I have to watch Miss Beanstalk plant jellybeans in our backyard. And help my dad change channels on the TV. Oh, and bring my mother snacks while she sits around waiting for Little Precious to be born.”
    She twists the lid closed on her glue bottle. Then she pulls a thimble out of a pocket in her backpack. “Come on,” she says to us. “Game time. Hide the thimble.”

Chapter 5
    Stacey’s mom drops her off at my house on her way to work early the next morning. I haven’t even eaten breakfast or changed out of my pajamas yet. Neither has Stacey.
    â€œWe should do a backwards day,” I say as I help Stacey carry her stuff upstairs. “We’ll start out with a slumber party and end with breakfast.”
    â€œNice!” Stacey says.
    â€œRoll out your sleeping bag,” I say when we get to my room. “I’ll go ask if we can have popcorn and soda instead of cereal and juice.”
    I find Dad in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee and reading The Purdee Press .
    â€œBreakfast?” he asks, looking up from the newspaper.
    â€œActually, could we have our bedtime snack now and breakfast at, say, midnight?”
    Dad’s forehead wrinkles. Then it goes smooth. “Backwards day?” he asks.
    â€œYep,” I say, digging chips and candy out of the snack cupboard.
    â€œI’ll make a batch of popcorn right after I finish reading this article about the spring carnival,” he says.
    â€œ Our carnival? At school?” I pull two cans of soda out of the fridge and hug everything to my chest.
    I look over Dad’s shoulder. Plans for School Auction /Carnival in Full Swing tops the page. A photo of Mrs. Drews on a playground swing is under the headlines. She isn’t actually swinging. She’s just sitting there, gripping the chains and squinting at the camera. Maybe the sun is in her eyes. Or maybe she’s sitting on one of her long braids. Or maybe she’s feeling squished because the baby is taking up so much space inside her.
    The caption under her picture says: Paula Drews, PTA President and Chairperson of the spring fund-raiser.
    â€œThere’s a quote from Mrs. Drews too,” Dad says. “Under my direction, this fund-raiser is sure to be Purdee’s most successful event.”
    â€œBut she’s not in charge anymore,” I say. “Brooke’s mom is.”
    Dad looks up. “They must have written the article before she stepped down.”
    I nod and wonder how Jenna will feel if she sees the article. Not great, I bet.
    â€œMrs. Morgan will make a good chairperson too,” Dad says. “She knows how to make an event really shine.”
    I nod again. “Just like Brooke.”
    I think about Brooke. And Jenna. And how their talents fit together.
    Jenna knows how to cook things up.
    Brooke knows how to add the sprinkles.
    I shift my snacks. “Popcorn?”
    Dad sets down the newspaper. “I’m on it. Salty? Spicy? Sweet?” He pulls little jars of popcorn seasoning out of a cupboard.
    â€œThe works, please,” I say. “Thank you. Good night!”
    â€œSleep tight!” he calls as I head upstairs in the bright morning sun.
    Stacey is lying on her sleeping bag reading