8

I eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch every day. Mom used to make them for me, but now I do it by myself in the morning: one slice of Pepperidge Farm white bread, creamy peanut butter (I hate crunchy), Smucker’s grape jelly, and another slice of bread to finish. I cut the crusts off afterwards, and snack on them as my breakfast. Sometimes, I cut off a little extra to eat on the walk to school. I’d say I’m an expert at making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches now. I made one for Dad yesterday and he said it was the best sandwich he had ever eaten. I don’t know if I’d go that far, but I’m grateful that he said it.

We’re learning about gratitude right now in school. Ms. Kelly says it’s very important to show your gratitude for other people, especially your parents. She made us write “thank you” cards to everyone in our family. I only had to write two, for mom and dad, but my best friend, Georgia, had to write five. I’m grateful that I didn’t have to write that many.

School just ended and I’m at Georgia’s house right now. Her family has a big house, much bigger than ours. I guess they need more space because they have more people. They have a pool, too, shaped like a bean. There’s even a hot tub on the side that we’re not supposed to go into, but sometimes she and I sneak in there when no one is watching. It’s fun to break the rules, even if it doesn’t make much sense to use a hot tub in 90 degree weather.

It’s so hot outside that I think the soles of my flip-flops are starting to melt into the sidewalk. I really hope they aren’t, since these are my favorite pair: white soles with tiny unicorns, and sparkly pink straps. My shoes hold up long enough for me to reach the chocolate store, which has been converted to an ice cream parlor (it is summer, after all). As soon as I step through the door, I am hit with the coolness of AC and the smell of ice cream, candy, waffle cones, and sweetness. It feels like heaven. I make my way to the back of the line, fidgeting with my change as I wait. It’s a 2005 Oregon quarter. Dad and I made it our goal last year to get all the states in quarters, and so far, we’re only missing three. Kentucky, Maryland, and Colorado. The names replay in my head as I look around to the front of the line. The girl taking orders looks like a high schooler. She has a streak of pink through her hair, and her black eyeliner is a little smudged. She is so cool. “Hi, what can I get you today?” she asks me. She’s smiling but she sounds a bit bored. Even cooler.

“Can I get a small birthday cake ice cream with rainbow sprinkles, please? And in a cone.” I have mastered my ice cream order. Mom and Dad say it’s too sweet, but I think it’s perfect.

“Okay, that’ll be 5.25.” I hand her a five dollar bill and my Oregon quarter. “That’ll be right out for you.” I smile and thank her.

Ice cream dribbles down the sides of the bowl and onto my fingers and then the concrete. Georgia and I are sitting by the side of her pool, eating ice cream sundaes that her mom made us. Her mom, Mary, is nice. She gives us food and makes us lemonade, even when we don’t ask for any. She’s blonde, like Georgia, and she wears a lot of makeup. She scares me a little bit, though, because I’ve seen her yell at Marcus, Georgia’s older brother. Whenever she yells at him, she says he’s a disappointment and a “lazy ass.” Once she even threw a fork at him. Mom always says that swearing is off-limits, but I guess that doesn’t apply to grown-ups. I feel bad for Marcus when she yells at him, especially since I think he’s kinda cute. He’s almost in high school though, and he doesn’t do much except play video games, so maybe Mary is right. Georgia and I have never talked about Mary and Marcus’ fights. We don’t even make eye contact when it happens. We just sit, pretending to ignore the screaming coming from downstairs, and play with the bits of string that have begun to come undone from her rug.

I also have a rug in my room, except it’s much smaller, and we got it secondhand, with a small grey stain. Georgia’s was a gift from her aunt and uncle, who are both lawyers in New York. I got mine with Mom and Dad, while we were shopping for my room. It was my fourth birthday and they had decided to take me to Goodwill. You can get anything you want, Dad told me. I told him I wanted a rug. Mom trailed behind while the two of us walked hand in hand, making up stories about the miniature statues and dolls sitting on the shelves — which ones secretly have superpowers, which ones ran away from home, which ones are in feuds — until we finally got to the rugs. It was Mom who found it: a small rug, a little bigger than a welcome mat, on it a unicorn running through a field. The first thing I did when we got home was put it by the side of my bed. I wanted the unicorn to be the first thing I saw in the morning after getting up. Mom never commented on the placement, but I think she smiled when she saw.

We’re in the car, on the way to get groceries. It’s Saturday, so tonight Mom and I will make pizzas. It’s one of my favorite traditions, and pizza is my favorite food, even more so than peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Mom pulls into the Stop & Shop parking lot. As we walk into the store, she turns to me.

“What do you want for your birthday?” I’m surprised that she asked, since she always makes sure my birthday gift is a surprise. “I just thought, since you’re getting older,” she continues, “you might want something that I don’t know much about.” I think about it.

“I want you to pick it out,” I tell her. “Your gifts are always the best.” And it’s true. Last birthday, she got me my favorite flip-flops.

Mom smiles. “Alright then, if that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

It’s the day before my birthday and I’m at Georgia’s house again. We just finished eating dinner (spaghetti and meatballs, made by Mary), and now we’re drinking pink lemonade in her living room while her younger sisters, Penny and Lacy, watch Bluey.

“Are you excited for your birthday?” Georgia asks.

“I guess. I don’t know, it’s not like I’m having a party or anything. Mom and I are gonna make pizza for dinner, though. And Dad’s gonna take me to the movies.” She nods, staring at the ground. “Are you?” Her birthday is one month after mine.

“Yeah, kinda. Mom said that I can have my party at the trampoline park, and I can invite anyone I want.” I struggle to hide my excitement. Georgia always has the best birthday parties, and Mary is always sure to buy her a custom birthday cake. Last year, it was chocolate cake with strawberry frosting and chocolate mermaids on top, from the best bakery in town.

Georgia raises her head. “Do you wanna go upstairs?” she asks.

I nod again, and we head up, leaving our glasses of lemonade on the coffee table. We sit on her rug. She starts playing Barbie of Swan Lake on her iPad as I lean back against the foot of her bed.

I wake up in the dark, on Georgia’s floor. She’s right next to me, sleeping. Her iPad is nowhere to be seen. She must have put it away before she fell asleep. I focus my eyes, and look around for the time. The clock on her nightstand reads 1:07 AM. It’s my birthday.