“Hey!” says Cooper, clearly annoyed. “What about Kiera’s party at Trampoline Zone this Sunday? That’s going to be awesome. I can’t believe her dad got them to let her have a party there two whole weeks before they open.”

Kiera’s having a birthday party? I feel queasy. “Yeah,” I squeak. “I think I’ve got something else going on that weekend.”

Greg whispers something to Cooper, and all I can make out is the word invited. I shrink back a little, completely mortified. The only thing worse than realizing you’ve been left out is when other people know you’ve been left out.

Last year, Kiera went on a big trip to New York City for her birthday, and the year before that she had a slumber party with her other friends, Sarah Beth, Kassidy, and Claire, so this is the first year I’ve had to face the reality of her having a big birthday party and not inviting me. I feel sick to my stomach, and I hate that I care so much, because that means, somewhere deep down, Kiera still has the power to hurt my feelings.

What else did I expect, though? And of course she’s having it at Trampoline Zone, the place everyone in Valentine under the age of fourteen has been waiting months for. Oscar and I watched with eyes bigger than avocados as they started doing construction on the Valentine Mini Mall Shopping Center months ago.

Oscar looks at me, his face ashen with embarrassment, and I don’t have to be a detective to know that even he got an invite. I bite my lips together, keeping my anger bottled up. He could’ve at least warned me!

I eat the rest of my lunch in silence while Greg and Cooper talk about our end-of-year field day and all the ridiculous pranks Coop wants to play on the sixth graders before we leave this place behind for secondary school.

If I could get over my own little pity party, I would talk to them about how weird it is that at Valentine Primary School, we’re treated like royalty, because we’re finally the oldest.

Honestly, the secondary school is just across the street, but I still don’t like to think about graduating, since we’re basically the seniors of primary school right now. In secondary school we’re just going to be starting at the bottom of the food chain all over again. And by the looks of it, I’ll be at the bottom of the bottom all by myself.

That afternoon, as I’m walking to my bus, Oscar calls out to me. “Sweet Pea! Wait up!”

I don’t turn around. I’m trying to decide if I’m still mad at him. It sure feels like it.

“Come on! You know I hate running,” he says in between pants as he skids to a stop a few feet behind me.

I finally turn around. “You could have told me about Kiera’s party.”

His shoulders slump. “It’s not like I would go without you. Even if I would sell my baby cousin for a chance to go to Trampoline Zone a whole two weeks before it opens.”