Lisi Harrison - crush stuff.

girl stuff.

awkward stuff.

The Pack

Alphas Series

The Clique Series

Monster High Series

Pretenders Series

IN THE MOVIES, Halloween seasonor what boring people call Octoberis depicted by howling wind, skeletal tree branches, and creeping shadows. But in Poplar Creek, California, where wind is more of a lazy sigh, palm fronds sway like a fresh blowout, and the sun is too bright for shadows, Halloween season ushers in a different type of terror, one that Fonda Miller named the Seventh- Grade Slopover.

The Ferdink Farms field trip is pure hell, Fonda said as she, Drew, and Ruthie walked home from Poplar Middle School. It was Friday, and the next-door besties, or nesties, as they called themselves, were spending the night at Fondas. Her stride should have had spring, her steps pep. But the feet in her leopard-print high-tops were heavy with dread because this years Seventh-Grade Slopover would be no different than last years Sixth-Grade Slopover. And no different was no bueno.

How bad can it be? Ruthie asked, her wide blue eyes beaming optimism. And who could blame her? The students in the Talented and Gifted program were also invited. Which meant that for three days and two nights, Ruthie and her TAG friends would have the same schedule as Fonda and Drew. It was something Ruthie had always wanted. It was something they had all wanted. But not like this.

Two nights, three days, and seven meals of nothing but pig slop. Thats how bad. Fonda removed the mirrored heart-shaped sunglasses shed borrowed from her sister Amelia so they could see the panic in her eyes. We shovel horse poo, milk cows, and sleep on mattresses that smell like oily grandfather scalp.

My grandfather is bald, so his scalp doesnt smell oily, Ruthie said. His has more of a minty smell. Hey, maybe my mattress will smell minty!

Then mine will smell like sticky notes, Drew said, because her Grandpa Lou tacked Post-it reminders all over the house so her Grandma Mae wouldnt forget anything.

I bet Weird-Os mattress is gonna smell like money, Fonda said, pointing at the boy who lived at the top of their street. He was ambling up his driveway, shoulders rounded and neck arched, as he thumbed the screen of his phone. His rich, preppy, private-school lookbutton-down shirt, white sneakers, and corn-tortilla-colored slacksmight be on point in Connecticut or, say, Bostonbut it completely missed the point in California. Everything about Weird-O missed the point.

His name is Owen Lowell-Kline, Ruthie said, defending him as usual. Not because she liked Owen, or even really knew him. But because two years earlier, he bought her entire supply of Girl Scout cookies, which freed her up to go to the beach with Fonda and Drew. I feel bad for him.

Why? Drew asked. Because he ate fifty boxes of Do-si-dos?

They werent all Do-si-dos. There were Samoas and Tagalongs too. And, no. I feel bad for Owen because he doesnt have any friends.

Because hes a pick-me, Fonda said. If Ruthie had ever had the misfortune of being in class with Owen and witnessed him waving his hand at the teacher while shouting, Pick me, pick me, she would have felt bad for herself, not Owen.

Just because hes a pick-me doesnt mean you have to be a pick-on-him, Ruthie said. Then she laughed. Everyone did. Because it was one of the clunkiest comebacks of all time.

The laughter stopped the moment Fondas mother greeted them in the kitchen and asked how her day was. Tell me everything, Joan said, her russet-brown eyes wide and eager.

She was a feminist studies professor at UC Irvine and didnt teach on Fridays, which freed her up to serve snacks and pry at the end of every week. Kitchen time was something Fonda looked forward to. But not today. Today, Fonda didnt want to relive the details; she wanted to forget them and get right to the snacks.

She opened the pantry and grabbed three bags of cheese popcorn. They announced the Slopover today.

Whats a slopover? Joan asked. She set out three glasses on the table for the girls and filled them with chocolate almond milk. And why do you seem so miserable about it?

We have to scoop horse poo, Ruthie said.