Everybody loves Girl Scout cookies. Especially the nine-to-five workforce, stuck at their desks, in meetings all day. A Girl Scout cookie is the perfect pick-me-up before and after lunch. This is not a theory. I’ve walked the aisles and have seen the light brought back to each adult face— my green junior vests a hopeful beacon. Cubicle by cubicle, I made my way around my dad’s office, selling over a hundred orders. I had broken the cookie-selling record. 

The only scout who’d gotten close was Morgan Hallmore. Last year, I watched her smile her way to the front of the art room, with her greasy brown hair, thick bouncing red frames loose on her nose. She snatched the badge from our troop leader, her mother, as if taking back a borrowed toy. I wanted it. I wanted the clapping, the cheering, the bright orange cookie badge. If I won first place, things would get better. The other girls would invite me to more sleepovers. Not just birthday parties, they were obligated to, urged by their mothers, who barely knew how to pronounce my name. 

“Koroma,” my mother called from the kitchen. I had been in the bathroom an extra half-hour staring at the mirror, smoothing my ponytail, adjusting my mint green sash so that all my badges would stand out. I couldn’t wait for school to end and our troop meeting to begin. I ran downstairs to eat breakfast.

“Hurry up. You’re going to be late for the bus,” Mom said, putting a plate of pancakes in front of me with scrambled eggs. She wiped her floury, maple brown hands on her pink apron.

“Thanks, Ma.” I dug my fork into the short stack, stuffing my left cheek, chipmunk style.

She sat next to me, face pinched with concern, and asked, “How are you liking the troop this year? Did you make any more friends?”

I chewed slower to think of a lie. “Yeah, Tessa and Veronica invited me to their birthday party next month. I’m really starting to feel like I’m not the new kid anymore.”

“Well, I  hope so, it’s been a year.”

“Mom, I told you, all these guys grew up together, it’s going to take time.”

She grabbed my hand with the same care she did when I was sick. Smoothed down my curly edges, then held my face so I was looking at her. “You know, you don’t need anyone’s approval to be great. Friends don’t keep you out when they want you in.”

“I know, Mom. I really think everyone likes me in the troop.”

After winning the badge, it would be true.

The bus bounced over a pothole. Afreen fixed her headscarf again, which was bright green, the same color as my sash. I called Afreen the night before to tell her about my success. She had wanted to celebrate in her own way since her parents wouldn’t let her join Girl Scouts. They thought her time would be better spent on music lessons.

“It seems a little loose today,” I said.

“I was rushing, trying to find the right color this morning. So, tell me, are you excited?”

Afreen asked. We were turned toward each other, our knees touching.

“Omg, yes! I can’t wait to see the look on everyone’s faces when I get that badge.”

We high-fived, then locked pinkies blowing on our thumbs like trumpets. Laughing, I imagined what Girl Scouts would be like with Afreen. She’d love the games we played. The songs and trips we took, hiking, crafts. I smiled to myself. That evening, I would make her a friendship bracelet—two of them.

“Ouch.” Afreen recoiled, more surprised than hurt by the sudden attack of paper balls. Snickering laughter from a few seats ahead revealed the culprits. The Bus Rider Boys. Victor, Basil, Devontay, and Matt. They messed with everyone. Everyday. But Afreen seemed to be their favorite target. One time, they tried to yank off her headscarf, convinced that she was bald underneath. They asked questions about her accent, if she was related to terrorists. When she passed them on the way down the bus aisle, they held their noses, as if she smelled like… Well, I wasn’t sure what. To me, Afreen always smelled like drying pine, sometimes-fresh cinnamon, and coconut. They never messed with me though, because Afreen and I weren’t really friends. We had assigned bus seats. Outside of mornings and afternoons, we didn’t see one another much. She was in the other 4th-grade class and had recess the hour before mine. We mostly talked by passing notes in the hall, but the boys were never around to see that.

Afreen opened the balls of paper one by one. The handwriting was distinct against the white notebook paper. Each had written one awful thing.

Sand Digger.

Ugly.

Darky.

I peered over the top of our seat, watching the boys nudge each other pointing back at Afreen. I watched Devontay specifically, the only one of them that wasn’t white. Although his skin was pale, right under the surface, present as a fading summer tan was his mother’s toffee skin tone, determined to be seen. I didn’t understand how he could act the same as the others. He was different, too.

Afreen crushed the papers in her hand, then let them fall to the ground, snowflakes against the bus floor. They rolled behind the seat as the bus drove over uneven black asphalt.

“They’re idiots,” I said. Afreen looked out the window, then back at me with a small smile and a shoulder shrug.

“Did you ever get around to asking your parents about coming over this weekend?”

I put my hand on my forehead, trying to sell my second lie of the day. “Oh no. I totally forgot. I can ask when she picks me up after school.”

Afreen’s smile faltered. Guilt caught in my throat.

Swallowing, I took her pinky in mine. “I promise I’ll ask my mom. I promise.”

After a moment, her slack pinky tightened. Everything was OK again. The bus driver hit the brakes, causing the papers to roll back under our feet. A thought, slow as passing clouds, grew. I compared Afreen’s skin to mine, watched the sun play off the roundest parts of her cheeks. Even in the shadows of reaching trees, she was clearly not darker than me.

***

Throughout my class, I couldn’t stop thinking about the bus ride to school. The note that seemed to be about me, and not her. I touched my skin, absently rubbing the hair on my arms into twists.

The bell rang for recess, reminding me that Afreen would be expecting a note that I hadn’t written. The thing was that it wasn’t just the Bus Rider Boys. I noticed how people stared at her in the hall, and how none of the girls in Girl Scouts talked to Afreen. I was too close to having real friends. I couldn’t let anyone jeopardize that, not even Afreen. On my way to recess, she tried to pass me a tightly folded square of loose-leaf paper. I pretended to tie my shoe. My head tucked low so I wouldn’t see her face. I saw her pink jelly sandals pause, then walk towards the building. In the hallway, I waved at her, only after making sure no one important was around. She smiled, distracted, talking to another girl in a headscarf by her locker. I hooked my thumb through my belt loop, feeling less guilty, glad she had other friends to talk to.

At lunch, I went to my usual spot with the other Girl Scouts. Everyone was wearing their sashes like it was a Miss Universe contest. All the chairs were taken, so I grabbed one from another table. Before I joined the troop, lunch used to be awful. I had to sit wherever there was a free chair. The other kids at the tables would be polite enough, but it was lonely. They would talk about the past years and joke about things I didn’t get. 

Morgan finally noticed that I had sat down. She stopped talking and tossed me a wide Colgate smile. Her hair was tamed today, brushed into a neat bun on the back of her head. She’d gotten contacts over the summer, and without her glasses, her eyes were more intrusive. They scraped over every inch of you, judging.

“Hey, girlie are you excited? I saw that you sold a lot of boxes this year,” Morgan said.

Veronica and Tessa nodded, heads bobbing in unison. They wore matching floral shirts like they always did on troop days. Morgan offered me her open box of Thin Mints. Her family always got an early order. I took two even though they were my least favorite cookies.

“Yeah, I think the boxes are going to fill up my dad’s entire truck. Maybe I’ll even get the first-place cookie badge.” I bit down on the cookie and swallowed quickly, trying not to taste the toothpaste flavor.

Morgan smiled hard. I thought that it looked a bit painful, as if her teeth would crack. “Of course, girlie. Oh, also, did you get Cora’s birthday invite?”

“Nope, maybe I will tonight.”

“Probably, she was making invitations at her sleepover last weekend.”

I felt my smile tighten. The sleepover I wasn’t invited to. Cora was one of the few scouts who talked to me outside of meetings, but she never mentioned any sleepover. I looked around at the other girls at the table. Teen magazines flipped like pages in a book, but didn’t feel as satisfying to hear. The glossy paper was noisy, unlike the soft paper of a novel.

Scouts with lips sparkling, glossy, and skirts that I’d never wear. I pulled at my plain blue shirt and loose jeans, noticing the tightness of all the girls around me. I took out my chapstick; Morgan took out her lip gloss. She offered me more cookies, but I didn’t take any.

“Yeah, I think she’ll invite me at the troop meeting.” I tucked my hands under my thighs, self-conscious. In my chest, a feeling fluttered like the flicker of music on a broken radio, the sound of missing something that you can’t fully catch.

***

The second bell rang, alerting the bus riders they had three minutes to get outside. I jogged down the steps heading to the art room. Afreen was making her way through the crowd of students. I slowed to a walk, so she wouldn’t see me. The Bus Rider Boys were only a few kids behind her. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs. The main hallway started to clear out until I could see the waxed tile floor littered with paper and snack wrappers. The school banner hung above my head with the phrase, raising students to be excellent members of society. Nervously, I slid my lip back and forth between my teeth. Through the glass, I saw Afreen walk to the back of the bus and sit alone in our space. The boys sat down in the middle. They threw pointed looks at Afreen. 

When I finally pushed through the doors, the rest of the troop was already sitting at the tall wooden tables. Art pieces hung around the room, finger paintings, fruit drawings, and yarn art. Morgan waved me over, her pale skin the same shade as notebook paper. She had never saved me a seat before. I knew her approval was a gateway, so I walked over, trying to keep my cool. I sat across from Morgan. We each opened a plastic container to take out yarn, beads, and string. This was so exciting, I couldn’t wait to tell Afreen. I stopped, laid my hands in my lap to smooth out the imaginary wrinkles on my blue jeans. A thought that usually brought me comfort filled me with shame, sharp and precise in my stomach like snapping bubble wrap.

“Alright ladies, before we announce the winner of the cookie badge, we’re going to craft friendship bracelets.” Mrs. Hallmore went on to talk about how different colors can mean different things to people. That friendship comes in all shapes and sizes. She recited the friendship song before we began weaving colors. “Make new friends, but keep the old ones. One is silver and the others gold.”

I picked dark purple and lavender for Afreen. Our favorite colors. I thought over the school day as I bound the colors together. I knew I should’ve been better. I shouldn’t have avoided her. Nodding, I knew this would be a great apology.

“Who are you going to give that to?” Tess asked.

“Afreen,” I paused, “We uh, ride the bus together.”

“That girl who wears a scarf?” Cora asked.

I shrugged, not certain if I should confirm that or not.

Veronica interrupted, not caring who Afreen was. “Whoever she is you should make another one for Morgan, she loves collecting these.” She placed a bracelet in front of Morgan’s empty seat. There were six other bracelets there as well. I really didn’t want to make her one, but she had invited me to sit with them, and it would probably start to solidify things even more in the troop.

I finished with Afreen’s bracelet and set it aside, then started another one with reds and oranges. Morgan walked back to her chair from chatting with other scouts, a collection of new bracelets on her wrist like trophy skins from hunted animals.

“Oh my god, these are so good, you guys. Koroma! Girlie. Is that for me too?” Morgan asked. She pointed to the bracelet in front of me. The one I had made for Afreen. I looked around the table, felt the weight of my answer in my throat. Their stares were expectant, eyebrows rose, bared teeth smiles ready to bite.

“Um,” I said.

“It’s really pretty,” Morgan answered, already fingering the bracelet.

I held up the colored strings loose as noodles in my hand and said, “I was making this one for you.”

Morgan pouted liked an unfed fish, mouth slightly parted. “Oh, oh, but I really, really like this one. Were you saving it?”

The room buzzed with chatter, but our table had fallen to paper-cutting whispers. I felt trapped behind glass, exposed and on display. I swallowed, touched the bracelet with my fingertips, wondering if I put it in my pocket, would that make my problems go away.

Morgan pulled the purple woven strings towards her, away from my touch. “Please, please, you’re already working on another one,” she said.

“But this one is going to be yours,” I said.

“Yes, but I want this one.” Morgan stopped pouting. She sat up straight. She would not give in, and if I didn’t give her what she wante,d I knew I would be left out of everything.

I picked up the bracelet. Morgan reached out and waited for me to drop it into her hand, and I did. She showed it off to the table. The other girls complimented my craft, the raised inverted twists, the changing color patterns, and the two silver beads knotted at the ends. I used all the purple string and could not recreate the bracelet. I had to use a mixture of other colors.

After all the craft material was put away, Mrs. Hallmore made a show of holding a bedazzled envelope above her head. The entire troop clapped, but I clapped the loudest, energized by the knowledge that this was my moment.

“This year our troop sold the most cookies since 1996. I am so proud of all of you. It was a close call for first place this year, only a two-box difference.” Mrs. Hallmore paused for effect.

I mentally counted the tallies in my head again. It was me. It had to be me.

“Because two people sold so many boxes, breaking the troop record, we decided to give away two badges this year. The most boxes sold badge and second place, the record breaker badge. Remember ladies, it’s not about getting first place, it’s about the troop, first and foremost. Please come to the front, Morgan Hallmore and Koroma Gardner.”

Second place. I walked. Morgan pulled me to the front with her. I felt a chill roll across my skin, it made Morgan’s hand, slick with sweat, more noticeable against my palm. Mrs. Hallmore handed Morgan her second orange badge. Mrs. Hallmore gave me a squeeze on my shoulder before handing me a turquoise badge of the same design, three dancing chocolate chips with musical notes and buck teeth grins. Mrs. Hallmore’s touch left me damp with her sympathy; her soft, pudgy hand lingered too long for her congratulations to be genuine. The faces of the troop were all melting like butter into one wide white smile—something was not right. There was a feeling I couldn’t shake from that touch. 

***

After everyone left the room, I pretended I needed to find something in the craft boxes. Morgan’s order sheet and mine were on the desk with the rest of Mrs. Hallmore’s things. The troop leader would be busy for a while, she always made sure each scout got picked up before leaving with Morgan. I quickly walked over to the desk and put the order sheets side by side. I traced my thumb down the paper and saw my number totaled to one hundred and three. I looked at Morgan’s orders. Her number had been changed, scratched out with a red pen like a rash. The last order on her sheet was from Billy Hallmore, the police chief, and her father. Morgan couldn’t lose; everything was stacked on her side.

I wanted to tear my stupid sash off my neck. It squeezed too close across my chest, rubbed my neck raw like a wool Christmas sweater. I kicked a stool and left the room to the sound of it clattering to the floor. The hall was empty enough to hear distant footsteps. I listened to the echoes ripple through the air. Fought back a wave of sadness that threatened to curl around my chest, the pressure choked me. I did not walk outside until I knew I wouldn’t cry.

Outside, Mrs. Hallmore waved me goodbye with one last congratulation. I was tempted to give her the finger, but instead walked to my dad’s silver Grand Cherokee without waving back.

“Hey!” Morgan called out.

Before I could reach the door handle Morgan was beside me. My hand twitched at my side. Possibly, if I felt like it, I’d punch her in the face.

“I’m having a sleepover this weekend. You should totes come girlie.” Morgan surprised me by wrapping my tight frame in a hug. What was this, she had won everything today, got everything, what else— what did she want from me? Did she even know about what her dad did, was that why she was so nice to me? She felt sorry for me? That was all today was. Her father’s squad car rounded the corner, which stopped me from shoving her off me. I was positive I couldn’t go to jail, but I’m sure he might find a way to take my dad instead. Morgan released me without waiting for an answer, she waved goodbye. I turned around and got into the SUV. I couldn’t imagine a world where Morgan never got what she wanted. If I don’t go to her party, I might as well quit Girl Scouts, but did I want to? Did I like the troop? I leaned back into the front seat cushions, counted the street lamps out the window to stable my breath. I felt for the bracelet I made Afreen in my pocket.

I saw my Dad’s eyes in the review mirror.“Hey, honey, are you OK?”

Instead of answering, I asked him, “Do you remember Afreen?”

“Mmm I think I do. You ride the bus with her, right?”

I wanted to tell him more, like that she was the girl I passed notes to in the hallway. That she was the first person to talk to me last year, in third grade, when I was new, and no one else had the time to get to know me. Last year, she was the only person to invite me to her birthday party. The one I didn’t go to this year, because Tess had moved her party to the same week as Afreen’s. I wish I had taken the bus home instead of watching her alone, reading our favorite book. I could imagine Afreen hunched over, trying to ignore whatever the boys threw at her, the awful things they yelled at her.

“Did you want to ask me something else, Koroma?”

I shook my head, not sure what I wanted to say. I wasn’t even sure if Afreen was my friend, or if I really wanted to go to her house, or just stick it out with Girl Scouts. I thought about what Mom had said, how friends didn’t keep you out if they wanted you in, but that wasn’t helpful. Girl Scouts was a group, groups made you do stuff to join them. Didn’t they? But I also didn’t know if I was ready for what being friends with Afreen might mean. I just—I just didn’t know. Worried, Dad reached back to touch my leg. He said nothing. I looked to the sky, pink and purple clouds. Closed my eyes and wished desperately that I could be those colors; they seemed to know just where they fit in.