The Curse of Addy McMahon Chapter One "C'mon, Addy, what's the use of being a best friend if you don't get to share secrets?" Jackie asked. "Pleeeeeeeeease show me what you're writing?" "I'm only drawing. Why don't you just finish your math homework?" I said. I stepped over Jackie's books and papers, which were scattered in a semi-circle on my floor. I flopped down on the bed and started sketching my next page. "Is that your autobio . . . autobi . . . autobiography strip?" "Wait." I tore a page out of my pad, scribbled a cheat sheet, and Frisbeed it down to the floor. As she picked it up and started to read, I said, "Repeat after me: auto-bi-aw-gra-strip." Jackie sailed the paper back to me and said, "Very funny." She stood up and leaned over, trying to see what I was working on. "Let me look at it anyway." I curled my arm around my notebook and asked, "Do you let me see your diary?" "That's different, Addy." "Just because my journal is like a comic strip and yours isn't?" Jackie harrumphed. "Exactly! The pictures make it nothing like mine, and you're probably the first kid ever in the history of kids who had a graphic diary. So it's no fair you're not sharing! C'mon, you know how much I love a good comic book." I could tell it was killing her since Jackie didn't like to miss out on anything, which was why she was so terrible about surprises. Every year she found her birthday gifts and peeked. She was fantastic at rewrapping. We weren't even on holiday break yet, and she'd already searched her house and found six Christmas presents. Without thinking, I looked over at a package on my shelf, and she followed my eyes. It was about the size of our math textbook, wrapped in red-and-white-striped paper. I'd tied about a million mini candy canes on green ribbons, and they dangled from the package like wind chimes. Jackie loved candy canes. Which is why I wrapped her present like that. "Who's that for?" she asked, jumping up and reaching for the package. I was faster, though, and grabbed it, making the candy canes click together. "No one. It isn't for you . . . yet!" I said, dashing into the hall with Jackie right behind me. But I got to my mom's room with enough time to stash it under a pile of blankets on a chair in the corner. I turned around to find Jackie standing in the doorway, arms crossed, craning her neck to see behind me. We both knew she'd never go searching through my mom's room, so for now, at least, that was one Christmas present she wouldn't get until December twenty-fifth. We went back into my room, and I picked up my autobiogra-strip. "And this isn't for public viewing either, but I will tell you this," I said. "My mom and I were at Lovely Ladies, buying something I didn't even need, so why was I there in the first place, and Marsha Pittel Like French walked in and saw." "Addy," Jackie scolded. "What? I'm just saying what she always says. 'It's Pittel, like French'!" I didn't know what the problem was. I sounded exactly like Marsha. I couldn't figure out why it wasn't obvious to everyone that Marsha Pittel was the most obnoxious girl in our entire class. I could see it the day she moved here in the middle of fourth grade and started taking over practically everything. Each day at recess all the kids played kickball and I was the best, even if I do say so. Ezra Samuels and Leon Ravets were fantastic, but I could skunk them, too. Then Marsha moved in and she was really good. No matter how hard I tried to get her out, I missed, and missed, and missed again. Everyone wanted her on their side. To top it all off, Marsha joined the Tigers, my soccer team since kindergarten. It was bad enough to be in the same classroom, listening to her show off every single vocabulary word she knew or watching her go to the blackboard to do a math problem in six seconds flat. And she never even erased anything. That's just freakish. But when she started playing on my soccer team, I had to quit. I didn't need to be her teammate, too. That was the first year the Tigers ever went to the championships. "Anyway," Jackie said, "could that be your worst nightmare, or what? Nothing like your biggest enemy watching your mom buy you your first bra." "Hey! How'd you know it was a bra?" Jackie laughed. "You said it was something you didn't need!" "Ha. Ha. Ha," I said, and flicked my pen at her. "At least you got to go to Lovely Ladies. They have the nicest stuff around," Jackie said. "You are such a fashionista." "Hey, can I help it if I happen to be stylin'?" She put one hand on her waist and the other at the back of her head, wiggled her hips around, and struck a pose. "Yep, you're the real thing," I said as Jackie fanned herself with her hand. "I am hot, and I don't mean temperature-wise." "She even tried to crack a lame joke," I said. "Who did?" Jackie asked, plopping back down on the floor. "Marsha! She said, 'Why is your mom buying your brother a bra?' Like it was so small only a boy would wear it. Even though, you know, boys don't--" "I know what she meant. What did you say?" Jackie stacked her homework in a neat pile and started to slide everything into her backpack. "Nothing. I left and waited for my mom by the car." "No," Jackie said. "I mean, what did you say to her first? About her name?" "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about." The Curse of Addy McMahon . Copyright © by Katie Davis. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold. Excerpted from The Curse of Addy McMahon by Katie Davis All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
