Kap Makes a Friend

Written by: Cherie Black

Here I am, the first day of third grade. I couldn't wait to step on the bus this morning. The summer was boring. My sister Deidre's sixteenth birthday was just before school began, and though I made her a kite, she wanted to shop at the mall with her friends. She thanked me for the present but said she'd outgrown kite flying. Outgrown kite flying? Who does that?

When I invited my brother, Paul, whose three years older than me, to join me in our backyard, he said he'd rather play the Legend of Zelda. I didn't get it. What is so fascinating about purchasing more shoes when you already have all you need or slaying a pretend flower monster when you could watch a kite catch wind and rise to a height that could bruise your fingers as you hold on tight to the spool? In any case, I spent that day with the chickadees. As they flew past my diamond-shaped wind-catcher, I determined that I would make friends this year at school. Sure it was a new school, but that didn't scare me.

Today though didn't quite turn out as I'd planned. My first attempt at making friends was when I talked to a girl named Jennifer who I sat next to on the bus. She responded to all my questions with one word answers. "Do you watch Loony Toons?" I asked.

"No," she said.

"Do you have a favorite food?" I asked.

"Nope," she said.

"Aren't Barbies silly?" I asked. At which point, she glared and crossed her arms. "Nope," she said. After that I chose to study the plastic back of the chair in front of me.

During story-time, we were paired with another student to read Frog and Toad Are Friends. The stories were boring - who cares about lost buttons or waking up from a winter sleep? So I suggested to Justin, my reading buddy, that we make up our own stories, ones about Frog and Toad saving the world from falling stars, but he said, "Toads are too small to save the earth from a star. Let's just read the story."

"But animals don't lose buttons!" I protested, as he pulled the book up closer to his face and ignored me.

My last attempt to make friends was at lunch. Mom had included a chocolate chip granola bar with my usual peanut butter and blueberry jelly sandwich, and I decided I would sacrifice this granola bar for friendship. I sat next to Elizabeth (I remembered her name from when the teacher called on her to ask what three plus five is to which responded, "The same as it was last year."). When I offered her my bar, I said "I'm not too hungry today. Would you like it?"

Unfortunately, when she opened the wrapper and saw the chocolate chips, she started screaming. "I'M ALLERGIC TO CHOCOLATE, I'M ALLERGIC TO CHOCOLATE. GET AWAY FROM ME! GET AWAY!"

So here I am, sitting in one of three wooden chairs, waiting outside the principal's office as he speaks with Mom. I didn't realize that making friends was so difficult. As I overhear Mr. Foote listing which foods are acceptable for me to bring to school, I notice a daddy long legs creeping its away across the wall. I have a funny feeling that if I mention it to the secretary Mrs. Wells, she'll drop the pen she's scribbling with and try to squash the daddy long legs with the back of her shoe. I don't want to be the cause of that. If I can't make friends with my brother or sister or schoolmates, at the very least I can be a friend to daddy long legs.

A "Psst" to the right of me breaks my train of thought. I'm pretty sure she's a fourth-grader. I'd seen her at recess jumping rope with two other girls and had liked the way she'd greet some of the students who passed by. I didn't see any of the third-graders doing that.

"They're poisonous, right?" she whispers.

Ah, she'd seen daddy long legs too. "I think so," I say. "But my dad says they can't bite humans 'cause their fangs are too short to get into the skin." I pause for a second and then ask, "Why are you here?"

She turns her head to show me a bunch of hair, held together by something white. "Nick squeezed a glue bottle too hard and it was pointed at the back of my head. He didn't mean to, but he's clumsy. I don't know why his mother doesn't buy him glue sticks. Maybe the school will ban glue bottles. Anyway, when it got in my hair, he tried to wipe it out and it made things worse. I'm waiting for my dad to pick me up. How about you?"

"I gave Elizabeth chocolate and she's allergic."

"Did you do it on purpose?" she asks.

"No," I reply. "What's your name?"

"Amanda. And yours?"

"Natalie, but my family calls me Kap."

"Why do they do that?"

"Well, my middle name is Kaptiva. Dad chose it. He said I 'captivated him' the moment I was born."

"That's cool. My friends call me Mandy, but I don't like it."

"Why not?"

She puckers her lips and then says, "I don't know exactly. Maybe it's because it sounds like 'candy'? And it's not very grown up either."

"What would you like to be called?" I ask.

"I've always liked the name Kirsten. That's the name of my American Girl doll that my Aunt Rose gave me when I was five. She's Swedish and she and her family lives on a farm..."

"You like American Girl dolls?" I interrupt excitedly.

"Oh, yes. She is my favorite. I have all of the books."

"I have Samantha. I like all the mystery ones."

For the next ten minutes, Amanda and I name the outfits and furniture we each have and neither of us see our parents come in until they are calling our names. We wave goodbye and promise to trade American Girl books tomorrow.

When I return home, my sister is studying at the kitchen table, saying "Ugh. Homework on the first day of school," while Paul shrieks after defeating the boss monster. I smile as I walk upstairs to my bedroom. Finally, I think, I know someone who enjoys cool things.