We were officially the weirdest family on the block.

The thing was, life had already been bad enough for me before that crummy afternoon when Uncle Danny parked his rusty Ford Escort in the driveway and started unloading pet carriers filled with furry brown ferrets into our garage.

But that didn’t stop our two wiener dogs (Babs and Roger) from going ballistic, barking and leaping as high in the air as their stubby legs could carry them (like they’d actually know what to do with the ferrets if they caught them). And it didn’t stop Grandma from rushing outside in her pink nightgown, practically foaming at the mouth because all the commotion was ruining Oprah.

When she saw the ferrets, Grandma let out a high-pitched scream that sounded almost exactly like the teakettle she boiled every afternoon. Then she started raving about a rat infestation.

And she kept going, even when Uncle Danny told her over and over again that they weren’t rats at all (which they weren’t. In fact, aside from their creepy hunched backs, they were surprisingly cute, which I realize is kind of beside the point), but Grandma was too busy freaking out to listen.

Dad pulled into the driveway, his Honda still making the funny banging noise that not even his mechanic could figure out. He looked confused as he climbed out of the car and adjusted his belt. (His belly was bigger than I’d ever seen it and even though I liked the solid roundness of it, Mom said it “had to go”. For weeks she’d been trying to make him do morning calisthenics and pour flax seed on his cereal). His dark hair was neatly combed, the way it had to be at the bank, and his eyebrows were squished close together with concern.

He squinted through his new glasses to get a better look at the situation and that was when he spotted the ferrets. His face, which was usually a completely normal color, turned the most amazing cartoon red. I half-expected steam to shoot out of his nostrils and I was sure that if anyone so much as tugged on his earlobe, his whole head would have exploded.

This all came as a shock because Dad was usually the calmest person within a twenty-mile radius.

Actually, make that forty miles.

Mom called him “The Voice of Reason.”

I watched him take a deep breath, so deep he could have spent the next two weeks under water.

And in the water was exactly where I would have rather been right then (and all the time, as a matter of fact).

The pool was the only place where I felt like nothing else mattered, and as I glanced away from my crazy front yard to the Elliot’s house, knowing there was a beautiful crystal blue one, (with a slide and a diving board!) behind the fence that no one even used, it almost drove me bonkers.

Some people didn’t even know how lucky they were.

But I knew exactly how unlucky I was.

I sighed and turned my attention back to Dad, who was about to speak. When he did, he sounded like he was choking.

He asked Uncle Danny why on earth he’d brought the ferrets to our house when Danny himself was barely welcome in the spare bedroom. After all, Dad reminded him, he owed my parents over two thousand dollars in rent and they were starting to wonder if he was ever going to pay it back.

Uncle Danny didn’t have a chance to say a word in his defense before Dad threw in a bit of guilt by reminding him that the money was supposed to go toward braces for my older brother, Kenneth. Even though Dad didn’t say it out loud, we all knew what that meant: Kenneth would spend the tenth grade as buck-toothed (and weird looking) as he’d been in the ninth.

Maybe even worse.

Under normal circumstances, this would have been bad enough, but Kenneth went to Edgevale High School, home of the Edgevale Beavers.

You do the math.

Then my Mom raced around the corner in our minivan, the tires squealing like the freaking Indy 500, with a police car chasing her. Its lights were flashing and the siren howled loudly enough for Mr. Owens next door to run outside, where I could tell he was doing his best not to look at Grandma in her nightie. (What I couldn’t tell was whether it was because, like me, he was scared of the bulging dark blue veins that ran down the backs of her legs or if he had some kind of old-people crush on her. The truth was, I probably didn’t want to know.)

Anyway, Mom got out of the van and started explaining herself to us and the policeman, jabbing her car keys in the air with every third word, like she was stabbing mosquitoes. It turned out that she’d rolled through a stop sign then refused to pull over for the policeman when he turned on his lights. She thought she had a good reason, though: my baby brother, Clayton, was going to wet his pants and she’d needed to get him home.

Fast.

Clay unbuckled his car seat himself, jumped out of the van and ran across the lawn, tugging at his zipper. As she watched him, Mom sighed and told the policeman to go ahead and write the ticket. She raised her hands in surrender, and admitted she was guilty, but wanted to make sure he understood that she couldn’t let almost six month’s worth of potty training go down the toilet.

Then Kenneth, who always has to be what Grandma calls a “smart aleck”, reminded Mom that the toilet was exactly where she wanted it to go.

Mom grounded him on the spot.

This meant that, along with being stuck with his buck teeth for no one knew how much longer, he also wouldn’t be able to go to some stupid concert he’d already bought tickets for.

My big brother, who looked like a ghost after spending half the summer locked in his bedroom listening to music and daydreaming about being a rock star, threw the kind of temper tantrum fifteen year-olds don’t usually throw in public because they’re too busy trying to look cool, even when they’re not.

And Kenneth was not cool.

Not even when he stood in front of the open refrigerator.

The policeman’s mouth hung open, and I was pretty sure he was wishing he could turn around and walk away from the whole scene, just like I wished at that moment (and many others in the past eleven years, but that’s also beside the point).

Instead of backing away slowly and trying to convince himself that my family was a figment of his imagination, the policeman pulled out his pad and started writing the ticket.

So, between the flashing lights of the squad car, the ferrets, the frantic wiener dogs, my hysterical grandmother, the toilet training and Kenneth’s spontaneous meltdown, the neighbors didn’t have to take a vote, or even talk it over.

Everyone on the street just kind of knew that the Boone family was the weirdest.

Aside from the obvious but temporary embarrassment, all of this would have been okay, it really would have, but at that exact moment, when everyone seemed to be going crazy at once, I saw them, and the whole situation suddenly felt about ten times worse.

My very best friend since the first grade, Amy Higgins, was walking past the front of my house with her new best friend, Samantha McCallister.

I froze in my flip-flops.

Oh, fishsticks.

My mouth dried up and everything slowed down, like an instant replay on Monday Night Football.

While I watched from fifty feet away (which felt like a thousand miles), Amy pulled her blonde ponytail over her shoulder and played with the ends while Samantha leaned in and whispered something that made Amy’s eyes bug out. Then they both laughed, the way they had at the zoo when I ran into them at the penguin exhibit, and again at Sweet Dreams when my family went for ice cream on Grandma’s birthday. I’d sat there, licking my stupid pistachio cone and gritting my teeth while Mom, who had no idea that we weren’t friends anymore, smiled and waved to Amy from across the restaurant as though nothing was wrong.

But everything was wrong.

Seeing both of them laughing at the free circus in my front yard, I felt hollow inside, like there was nothing but stale air where my bones and organs were supposed to be.

Back when Amy was my best friend, she would have stood next to me and made me feel better. She would have told me that while her family might not be as crazy as mine, they were a very close second.

Why did she stop liking me and pick snotty Samantha McAllister to be her best friend instead?

Maybe it was because I didn’t drool over Kevin Lee or Steven Benson, like Samantha did.

Or maybe it was because I liked riding my bike more than painting my fingernails.

The thing was, Amy used to love riding bikes, too. In fact, she used to like all the same stuff as me, until she suddenly changed and decided none of it was “awesome” anymore.

And that meant I wasn’t awesome anymore either.

It started just before the school year ended, when Amy didn’t meet me at our usual recess spot to trade stickers with the other kids. I joined in anyway, but kept checking the door to see if she was on her way out and worrying that she was sick, in trouble with Ms. Midland or something even worse.

When I asked her about it later, she said she didn’t feel like “messing around with stickers”, so she’d stayed inside instead.

The next day, I couldn’t find her at lunch, and it turned out that even though it was hot dog day in the cafeteria (our favorite), she’d gone home with Samantha to eat veggie burgers and work on an assignment for Social Studies together.

I had the same assignment, but they hadn’t invited me along.

The idea made my stomach twist.

Even though I knew something wasn’t quite right between us, I tried to act like it was.

Then Amy started telling me she was “busy” in the afternoons and “had plans” on the weekends when normally we would have had a sleepover (on at least one of the nights).

Nosy Beth Oberman was the one who clued me in after almost a whole month of not knowing what was going on or what to do about it. She flat out told me that Amy didn’t want to hang out with me anymore, and the superior look on her face when she lied like that was enough to make me hate her.

I told her to buzz off, figuring she was either crazy or jealous, and headed for my locker.

That’s when I overheard Amy and Samantha talking.

About me.

“Callie’s so stupid, she doesn’t even get it,” Samantha said.

My ears filled with a rushing sound as I leaned against the wall. I was as quiet and still as I could be.

What didn’t I get?

My palms were sweating and I held my breath.

“I know,” Amy said. Then, instead of telling Samantha that we were best friends, she added, “Even though we’re the same age, it’s like she’s a baby sister who keeps trying to tag along.”

Tag along?

My cheeks were burning hot and tears prickled my eyes.

“I don’t know how you could stand her for so long.”

“Me neither,” Amy said. “She’s a loser.”

I turned away before I heard anything else and ran for the door.

I shoved it open just as my hands started to shake.

Why?

The word flashed like a neon sign, over and over again in my head.

I took a big gulp of fresh air as the door squeaked shut behind me. I leaned against it, as if I could keep what I’d overheard from following me home.

But I knew I couldn’t.

I couldn’t believe what Amy said, and my head spun, trying to come up with a reason for it.

Why?

As I wiped my sweaty hands on my shorts, all I wanted was to be at home, curled up in a ball on my bed.

Instead, I checked out the scene in front of me.

The schoolyard was packed with kids in groups of two, three and more. Some were huddled together to talk, or passing a basketball, and others were waving goodbye to their friends as their moms picked them up.

Aside from me, the only person who stood alone was the crossing guard, waiting for the next batch of kids.

Well, him and a First Grader with his finger up his nose.

I took another deep breath and almost choked on it.

My very best friend on the planet had called me a loser.

A loser.

Big fat tears filled both of my eyes, and I blinked hard a few times to stop them from overflowing.

Nosy Beth Oberman hadn’t lied.

Amy really didn’t want to be best friends anymore.

Why?

What did I do wrong?

I couldn’t think of a single thing that would make her stop liking me.

We told jokes, played games, watched TV, sang along with the car radio, braided each other’s hair, traded books and shared secrets.

We did everything together.

For as long as I could remember.

My throat was so dry and tight, it hurt to swallow.

She wanted to be friends with Samantha McAllister instead? Samantha McAllister who was supposed to be best friends with Julie Foster?

She had her own stupid best friend!

And Amy had me!

Why was this happening?

And how could I fix it?

Another pair of tears made everything blurry and this time I wiped them away with the back of my hands.

I didn’t do anything wrong!

“Callie, are you okay?” Mrs. Banner asked, walking toward me with a worried look.

I had to think fast.

“Yes,” I told her, moving away from the building and down the stairs. “I have allergies.”

“Maybe the school nurse-”

“It’s okay,” I told her, hating the quiver in my voice. “I have stuff at the house.”

“Very well, then,” she said, as I walked past her. “Enjoy your summer.”

“I will,” I lied.

How was I supposed to enjoy a summer without Amy?

How was I supposed to enjoy anything?

I wondered if Amy and Samantha were still talking about me, right that second, and I wanted to run back inside the school and tell them to stop.

But even more, I wanted to run away from the school, from Amy, from all the kids who didn’t look like they had anything to worry about but whether they’d make the next basket.

So I left.

On the lonely walk home, I used every bit of strength I had not to let a single tear fall, which was almost impossible.

If I hadn’t been too embarrassed to tell Mom (or anyone else) what had happened, she would have patted me on the back and congratulated me on, “sucking it up.”

But if sucking it up meant barely managing to stop myself from bursting into tears and begging Amy to tell me why she dumped me, then sucking it up. . .sucked.

It had barely started, but it had already been the longest summer of my life. For the first time ever, I wasn’t looking forward to going back to school in September. Instead of planning a trip to the mall with Amy, where we’d shop for supplies from the sixth grade list together, I hung out at home and dreaded that first day back, when I’d have to walk up the front steps of Lincoln Middle School, with no best friend next to me and no idea who I’d eat lunch with.

Sometimes I’d forget about Amy for a little while, if I was busy with something else, like giving Clayton a bath or reading a good book, but then I’d suddenly remember again and a horrible feeling came over me, like I might throw up.

I wasn’t scared, exactly, but worried, because I wasn’t sure how much had changed. I wasn’t sure whether not being best friends meant not being friends at all.

I didn’t know if I’d be invited to her birthday parties and sleepovers, or if I’d ever be welcome in Amy’s house again and I hadn’t even done anything wrong!

I missed her mom’s chocolate chip walnut cookies and the way we all teased Mr. Higgins about his goofy bed-head when he made French toast for us kids on Sunday mornings.

I’d missed having a best friend from the very second school ended, but the moment I missed her the most was that afternoon with the ferrets, when she was only a few steps away from my house.

While I watched Amy and Samantha make fun of my family from across the street, I reached for the red and blue braided friendship bracelet my ex-best friend had made for me. It was double-knotted on my wrist.

Was she still wearing the one I made for her?

When we’d exchanged them, we’d both solemnly promised to wear them forever.

Just thinking about it made me want to cry.

Why was I still treasuring mine when she probably didn’t care about hers?

Why was a bunch of colored string the only proof that we used to be friends?

I started to tug on the knot, but stopped right away. The truth was, I wasn’t ready to take it off yet. Even though I felt like Amy and Samantha would make fun of me for wearing it, I knew that if it was gone, I’d feel even lonelier and sadder than I had since school ended.

I let my hands drop to my sides, embarrassed that a stupid bracelet was that important to me.

I bit my lip and watched Amy and Samantha shake their heads, their twin ponytails bouncing in the sun.

I wished I could just waltz over there and start a conversation, as though nothing had ever happened between us.

But I couldn’t.

I wished my whole family was inside the house, acting like normal human beings.

But they weren’t.

Instead, they were acting like lunatics and showing Amy that she was probably right about me.

Maybe I wasn’t cool enough to be her best friend.

I sighed as the two girls turned to walk toward Jefferson Park, whispering and snickering more with every step.

I watched Mom accept her ticket, the rest of the family walk back into the house and the police car slowly drive away.

And while I stood in the shadows of the garage, like a big, lonely lump of loser, I tried to pretend none of it mattered.

But of course it did.