"Hi, Becca!" I called,

"Hi." Becca's eyes were downcast. She didn't smile. She didn't even greet Squirt, whom she loves as much as I do. (In case you're wondering, Squirt is not my brother's real name. His name is John Philip Ramsey, Jr. But when he was born in the Oakley,New Jersey , hospital, he was the smallest baby in the nursery. It was the hospital staff who first called him Squirt, and the name has stuck, even though Squirt isn't much of a squirt anymore.)

"Is something wrong?" I asked Becca. "Something with the toy drive?"

Becca dropped her schoolbag on the ground and sat on the end of the slide. "No," she replied, "the toy drive is going really well. Bellair's gave us one hundred dollars' worth of new toys." (Bellair's is Stoneybrook's department store.)

"That's great!" I exclaimed. "So why do you look like you just lost your best fr — ?" 1 stopped talking. Maybe Becca had just lost her best friend. Maybe she'd had a fight with Charlotte Johanssen. Having a fight with a friend is never fun, but for Becca it would be a crushing blow. First of all, she doesn't make friends easily. Second of all, moving to Sto-neybrook was difficult for my family; not just because of who we left behind inNew Jersey (our relatives and good friends), but because not everyone in Stoneybrook accepted us in the beginning. That was because my family is black, and only a few black families live in Stoneybrook. People thought we were "different." But now we've settled in and made friends. However — had something happened between Becca and Charlotte?

"Did you and Char have a fight?" 1 asked.

Becca looked shocked. "A fight?" she squeaked.

"Well, you're upset about something."

"Yes, but not Char. Or the toy drive. It's the Kids Club." Becca sat on the ground next to me, where I was playing with Squirt. "We might not be able to have the club anymore. We might have to stop it."