And when your best friend not being hospitalized for a life-threatening allergy is the highlight of your day, you know it was pretty rotten. We hurried back to her house, and her mom pulled out the stinger and gave us some Neosporin and a Band-Aid. Then we headed back outside and sat down on Yumi’s front lawn in the shade. None of us spoke for a while—we were all too hot and sticky and exhausted, not to mention seriously depressed. “So what’s the new plan?” asked Rachel. “Yeah, we need to figure something out,” said Claire. Yumi examined her Band-Aid, while Rachel picked a blade of grass, folded it, put it to her lips, and tried to whistle. Then, before any of us had the chance to speak, a red station wagon drove by. It was old and dirty and spewing smoke out of its tailpipe. “That car is so gross,” Claire whispered. “Shh,” said Rachel. “They’ll hear you.” “They can’t hear with the windows up,” Claire said. “You never know,” I said. “Plus, it’s rude to say that.
