Brooke's Not-So-Perfect Plan by Jo Whittemore Page A

gave Gabby a big hug.
    â€œMy request?” Gabby looked over Heather’s shoulder at me. I nodded.
    â€œFrom Betrayed in Berryville?” I said.
    Gabby shook her head. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
    I clapped my hand to my forehead. “So there’s potentially another girl out there running around with a bucket of snow-cone syrup?”
    The others laughed.
    â€œWe forgive you,” I told Gabby, smiling. “And we’ve made it a ‘Lincoln’s Letters’ rule not to do anything more than give advice.”
    â€œWe have rules?” asked Tim.
    â€œYeah, when did this happen?” asked Vanessa.
    Heather and I went over the list we’d started.
    â€œAnd rule number six: If people ask for advice but don’t take it, don’t get mad,” finished Heather.
    â€œTo go along with that, I think we should addanother one,” I said. “Rule number seven: never give up on people.”
    Heather smiled. “I like it!”
    â€œMe too,” said Vanessa.
    â€œYou know what this list needs?” asked Tim. “An official book!”
    Vanessa snapped her fingers. “Be right back.”
    She squeezed past Heather, Gabby, and me and disappeared into her room, returning a minute later with a leather-bound journal. “Ta-da!” She held it up and showed us the empty pages. “I bought a couple of these for sketches, but I can sacrifice one for the greater good.”
    â€œPerfect!” Tim took it, along with a pen Vanessa offered. “What was rule number one?”
    While Heather and I repeated the rules, Vanessa worked on my hair, and Gabby called her mom and begged for purple highlights. We all talked and laughed, and Mom and Mrs. Jackson ordered takeout and brought it up so we couldeat. It was the oddest and only bathroom party I’d ever attended and the most fun I’d had since school started.
    The only downside was that I’d missed soccer practice and a trip to the library for my history project.
    But I still had plenty of time, right?

CHAPTER
8
Popular Opinion
    W hen Mom dropped me off at school the next morning, Tim, Vanessa, and Heather were all waiting for me at the curb.
    â€œHey, guys!” I greeted them. “What’s up?”
    â€œMary Patrick,” said Tim, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.
    â€œUh-oh.” I peered around him. “What’d she do now?”
    â€œJust come with us,” said Vanessa, hooking her arm through mine. “She refuses to speak to anyone but our section lead.”
    When we got closer to the building, I couldsee Mary Patrick by the entrance, wearing a bright-yellow hard hat.
    â€œWhy is she dressed like a construction worker?” I asked Vanessa. “Did she hear how accident-prone you were?”
    Vanessa shoved me.
    â€œWe think she’s on some safety committee,” said Heather.
    â€œOr that she’s just crazy,” said Tim.
    His guess turned out to be the closest.
    When we approached her, Mary Patrick’s eyes fixed on me.
    â€œFinally,” she said. “I was beginning to wonder if your team even knew who their section lead was!”
    â€œYou can talk to any of them at any time,” I said. “What’s with the Bob the Builder getup?”
    â€œIt’s Toughen-Up Tuesday,” said Mary Patrick, taking off the hard hat and plopping it on my head. “Toughen up!”
    â€œUh . . . why?” asked Heather.
    â€œBecause today is when you’ll start receiving feedback about your first column,” said Mary Patrick. “And it won’t all be pretty.”
    â€œYou don’t know that,” I said.
    Mary Patrick gave me a sad smile. “Look inside the hat.”
    I turned it over to find pieces of paper taped inside.
    â€œâ€˜Brooke Jacobs gives bad advice,’” I read.
    â€œOh boy,” said Vanessa.
    â€œâ€˜She’s not a professional and doesn’t know