The Friendship Riddle by Megan Frazer Blakemore Page B

brought the clue she had found, and she was going to ask me to help solve the rest with her. If she asked nicely, I just might say yes.
    I tucked around the corner and found Charlotte tugging on her hair and wearing skinny jeans and those stupid fluffy boots. “I heard you went to Lucas’s yesterday.”
    She was invited for a playdate, too. Her dads must be making her go and she wants a preview.
    â€œYep,” I said. Let her discover those bugs on her own.
    â€œYou shouldn’t do that.”
    When we were seven, we rode our bikes through town, down by the water. A dog charged out of the yard of a rental property. It was long and lean with muscles as tight as a racehorse’s. It bounded straight toward her with teeth bared and drool spewing. I pedaled hard in front of her, then spun my bike out so my back wheel hit the dog and sent him mewling back home. The hit shook my bike, my hands, my bones. Through her tears, she had said, “Why’d you do that? You shouldn’t hurt a dog.”
    She stomped her boot to loosen some snow that was stuck onto the suede. “You can’t just go to Lucas’s house.”
    â€œWhy not?” I knew why she thought I shouldn’t—the rumors that would start, his social leprosy—but I wanted to hear too-kind-to-hurt-a-raging-dog-Charlotte say it.
    â€œYou just shouldn’t,” she told me. “I’m trying to help.”
    I turned toward the hallway. Could I just walk away?
    â€œIf you would just be a little more normal, Ruth, it wouldn’t be so bad. You’d see. Melinda’s really nice—if you would just—” She stopped. “Never mind. Forget it.” She turned and left methere standing in the dirty puddle of water that had melted off our boots.
    I wanted to be angry, but my heart was pitter-pattering because Charlotte had maybe just told me she still wanted to be my friend.

Eleven
Contrapuntal

    I stared right into the nonexistent eyes of Ferdinand Frontenac. He seemed to be sleeping, dreaming of his glory days as the great unifier of the peninsula.
    The squares on the floor were made up of four smaller squares, two feet by two feet in total. I flipped through Lucas’s
Essential Chess
book to the page about how knights can move. They make L shapes. I turned so my back faced the statue, moved two big squares to the left, then forward one. I was about to move forward like a rook, but then I stopped. If Ferdinand was the king, then I should start where the knight would start on a chessboard.
    From the gym down the hall, I heard the thump, thump, and squeak of basketball practice. Charlotte was in there. She’d tried out for the team with Melinda, and both had made the cut, though Melinda was on the traveling team, and Charlotte was on the more-junior varsity team, only they didn’t call it that, since they didn’t want to make anyone feel bad.
    I flipped back in the book to the diagram of how the chessboard was set for the start of the game. The knight was to the right of the king, with a bishop between them. I moved so there was one square between me and the statue. I wondered if Coco played chess. I could ask him, but then he might want to know why, and I didn’t want to share these clues with anyone. If I found a couple more, I could bring them to Charlotte. Or maybe this would be my solo expedition, like Taryn in
The Riddled Cottage
. Either way, I didn’t want anyone else involved, not even Coco.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” It was Melinda, because of course it was Melinda. Her ponytail was high on her head, and she was wearing a white sleeveless shirt and bright pink short shorts that matched her pink-and-white basketball shoes. In her hand she held a shining mouth guard.
    â€œThe latest dance craze. Chess hop. Haven’t you heard of it?”
    She rolled her eyes.
    â€œMy New York City friends told me about it.” I didn’t have any New York City friends,