ALSO BY JUDY BLUME
The Pain and the Great One
The One in the Middle Is the Green Kangaroo
Freckle Juice
Iggie’s House
Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great
Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing
Superfudge
Fudge-a-Mania
Blubber
Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret.
Starring Sally J. Freedman as Herself
It’s Not the End of the World
Then Again, Maybe I Won’t
Just as Long as We’re Together
Here’s to You, Rachel Robinson
BFF: Best Friends Forever
Deenie
Tiger Eyes
Published by Delacorte Press
an imprint of Random House Children’s Books
a division of Random House, Inc.
New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2007 by Judy Blume
This edition contains the complete and unabridged texts of the original editions. This omnibus was originally published in separate volumes under the titles:
Just as Long as We’re Together, copyright © 1987 by Judy Blume
Here’s to You, Rachel Robinson, copyright © 1993 by Judy Blume
All rights reserved.
SIDE BY SIDE by Harry Woods. Copyright © MCMXXVII
Shapiro, Bernstein & Co., Inc., New York. Renewed. All rights reserved.
International copyright secured. Used by permission.
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registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
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is available upon request.
eISBN: 978-0-307-49410-8
v3.1_r3
Judy blume
Hi, Friends and Readers!
I’m so happy that these two books, favorites of mine, are now available in one big volume. When I first got the idea for Just as Long as We’re Together, I was remembering being part of a trio as I was growing up. Like Stephanie, I had two best friends all through elementary school. There were times when one or another of us felt left out by the other two. And there was a terrible time when one of us felt betrayed by the others. So I know that being part of a trio isn’t always easy.
When the three of us started junior high, everything changed. We began to grow apart. It was hard and sometimes painful. I often felt that I was the one who no longer fit in. But maybe my two friends felt the same way. I don’t know. We never talked about it. In time, each of us found new interests and new friends.
I had to find out for myself that you can’t have a best friend without being one. Friendship depends on trust, caring, and loyalty. You have to work at it. You have to value your friend. In seventh grade, I met the girl who would become my best friend for life. There was a connection between us from the beginning. We were sometimes competitive, which wasn’t good for our friendship, but somehow we got through that. Maybe we learned that boys and popularity come and go but neither is as important as a true friend. Together, we’ve learned what BFF really means.
Before I sat down to write these two books, I knew my characters well, or thought I did. But I like it best when my characters surprise me as I’m writing, and these three girls and their families certainly did. Nothing turned out the way I thought it would. By creating fictional families and situations that kids have no control over, I get to see how they cope. Sooner or later, most real-life kids find themselves in situations they can’t control. You can’t control your family. You can’t control your friends, either—but at least you get to choose your friends.
Both Stephanie and Rachel have to deal with major family changes. Neither one wants to tell the other what’s going on at home.
Sometimes friendships change. Rachel doesn’t want to lose Stephanie, but she also wants to have other friends—friends from music camp, friends from math class. Steph is threatened by this. If Rachel finds new friends, what will happen to their friendship? At the same time, Steph wants to be friends with Alison. And she doesn’t know how to do that without trying to make Alison and Rachel friends too. As the new girl in town, Alison comes up with a way to attract new friends. But she’s careful not to give away much about her family. She wants to be liked for herself. It’s not easy for her to come into a friendship that has a long history. It’s not easy being caught between Stephanie and Rachel.
The thing is, it’s good to have friends from different parts of your life—school, activities, the neighborhood, summer. They won’t all become your BFF, but that’s okay.
I hope you enjoy these two novels about Stephanie, Rachel and Alison. I’d always planned to write three books, one from each girl’s point of view. But I never got around to writing Alison’s story. Maybe someday.
I’d love to hear from you. You can visit me online at www.judyblume.com. Click on Book List, then on Just as Long as We’re Together and Here’s to You, Rachel Robinson to find out how I chose the titles for these two books, how I named the characters, and more.
CONTENTS
Cover
Other Books by this Author
Title Page
Copyright
Just as Long as We’re Together
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Here’s to You, Rachel Robinson
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
About the Author
Just as Long as We’re Together
To my friend,
STEPHEN MURPHY
who touched my life with his courage, dignity
and never-end
ing sense of humor
Lola will always remember …
Hunks
“Stephanie is into hunks,” my mother said to my aunt on Sunday afternoon. They were in the kitchen making potato salad and I was stretched out on the grass in our yard, reading. But the kitchen window was wide open so I could hear every word my mother and aunt were saying. I wasn’t paying much attention though, until I heard my name.
At first I wasn’t sure what my mother meant by Stephanie is into hunks, but I got the message when she added, “She’s taped a poster of Richard Gere on the ceiling above her bed. She says she likes to look up at him while she’s trying to fall asleep at night.”
“Oh-oh,” Aunt Denise said. “You’d better have a talk with her.”
“She already knows about the birds and the bees,” Mom said.
“Yes, but what does she know about boys?” Aunt Denise asked.
It so happens I know plenty about boys. As for hunks, I’ve never known one personally. Most boys my age—and I’m starting seventh grade in two weeks—are babies. As for my Richard Gere poster, I didn’t even know he was famous when I bought it. I got it on sale. The picture must have been taken a long time ago because he looks young, around seventeen. He was really cute back then. I love the expression on his face, kind of a half-smile, as if he’s sharing a secret with me.
Actually, I don’t call him Richard Gere. I call him Benjamin but my mother doesn’t know that. To her he’s some famous actor. To me, he’s Benjamin Moore, he’s seventeen and he’s my first boyfriend. I love that name—Benjamin Moore. I got it off a paint can. We moved over the summer and for weeks our new house reeked of paint. While my room was being done I slept in my brother’s room. His name is Bruce and he’s ten. I didn’t get a good night’s sleep all that week because Bruce has nightmares.
Anyway, as soon as the painters were out of my room I moved back in and taped up my posters. I have nineteen of them, not counting Benjamin Moore. And he’s the only one on the ceiling. It took me all day to arrange my posters in just the right way and that night, as soon as my mother got home from work, I called her up to see them.
“Oh, Stephanie!” she said. “You should have used tacks, not tape. Tape pulls the paint off the walls.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I said.
“Yes, it does.”
“Look … I’ll prove it to you,” I said, taking down a poster of a lion with her cubs. But my mother was right. The tape did pull chips of paint off the wall. “I guess I better not move my posters around,” I said.
“I guess not,” Mom said. “We’ll have to ask the painters to touch up that wall.”
I felt kind of bad then and I guess Mom could tell because she said, “Your posters do look nice though. You’ve arranged them very artistically. Especially the one over your bed.”
Rachel
“I can’t believe this room!” my best friend, Rachel Robinson, said. She came over the second she got home from music camp. We shrieked when we saw each other. Dad says he doesn’t understand why girls have to shriek like that. There’s no way I can explain it to him.
Rachel must have grown another two inches over the summer because when Mom hugged her, Rachel was taller. She’ll probably be the tallest girl in seventh grade.
“I’ve never seen so many posters!” Rachel stood in the middle of my room, shaking her head. When she noticed Benjamin Moore she asked, “How come that one’s on your ceiling?”
“Lie down,” I said.
“Not now.”
“Yes, now …” I pushed her toward the bed. “It’s the only way you can really see him.”
Rachel shoved an armload of stuffed animals out of the way and lay down.
I flopped beside her. “Isn’t he cute?”
“Yeah … he is.”
“My mother calls him a hunk.”
Rachel laughed.
“You know what I call him?”
“What?”
“Benjamin Moore.”
“Benjamin Moore …” Rachel said, propping herself up on one elbow. “Isn’t that a brand of paint?”
“Yes, but I love the name.”
Rachel tossed a stuffed monkey at me. “You are so bizarre, Steph!”
I knew she meant that as a compliment.
“Is that the bee-sting necklace?” Rachel asked, reaching over to touch the locket around my neck. As she did, her hair, which is curly and reddish-brown, brushed against my arm. “Can I see how it works?”
“Sure.”
I stepped on a bee in July while I was at Girl Scout camp and had an allergic reaction to its sting. The camp nurse had to revive me because I went into shock. The doctor said from now on I’ve got to carry pills with me in case I get stung again. They’re small and blue. I hope I never have to take them. I’m not the greatest at swallowing pills. When I got back from camp, Gran Lola, my grandmother, gave me this necklace. I’d written all about it to Rachel.
I opened the small gold heart. “See …” I said, showing it to her, “instead of a place for a picture inside there’s room for three pills.”
Rachel touched them. “What did it feel like to be in shock?”
“I don’t remember. I think I felt dizzy … then everything went black.”
“Promise you’ll always wear the necklace,” Rachel said, “just in case.”
“I promise.”
“Good.” She closed the heart. “Now … what about those cartons?” she asked, pointing across the room. “When are you going to unpack them?”
“Soon.”
“I’ll help you do it now.”
“That’s okay,” I told her.
“You’ve got to get organized before school starts, Steph.” She crossed the room and kneeled in front of the biggest carton. “Books!” she said. “You want to arrange them by subject or author?”
“This isn’t a library,” I said, “it’s a bedroom.”
“I know … but as long as we’re doing it we might as well do it right.”
“I don’t need to have my books arranged in any special order,” I said.
“But how will you find them?”
“I recognize them by their color.”
Rachel laughed. “You’re hopeless!”
Later, I walked Rachel home. It’s funny, because when I first heard we were going to move I cried my eyes out. Then, when my parents told me we were moving to Palfrey’s Pond, I couldn’t believe how lucky I was, since that’s where Rachel lives. Now, besides being best friends we’ll also be neighbors. And moving just a few blocks away really isn’t like moving at all. I think the only reason we moved is that our house needed a new roof and Mom and Dad just about passed out when they learned what it would cost.
The houses at Palfrey’s Pond are scattered all around, not lined up in a row like on a regular street. They’re supposed to look old, like the houses in a colonial village. Rachel’s is on the other side of the pond. When we got there she said, “Now I’ll walk you home.”
I looked at her and we both laughed.
When we got back to my house I said, “Now I’ll walk you.”
Then Rachel walked me home.
Then I walked her.
Then she walked me.
We managed to walk each other home nine times before Mom called me inside.
Alison
The day before school started was hot and still. I was hanging out by the pond, dipping my feet into the water. That’s when I first saw the girl. She was crouching by the tree with the big hole in it. I figured she was trying to get a look at the raccoon family that lives inside. I’ve never seen them myself, but my brother has.
I shook the water off my feet, put on my sandals, and walked over to her. She looked about Bruce’s age. Her red and white striped T-shirt came down to her knees. Probably it belonged to her father. Her hair was long. She hadn’t brushed it that day. I could tell by her crooked part and the tangles at the ends. I guess she wasn’t worried about stepping on a bee becaus
e she was barefoot.
She had a small dog with her, the kind that has fur hanging over its eyes. As soon as I came close the dog started to bark.
“Be quiet, Maizie,” the girl said. Then she turned to me. “Hi … I’m Alison. We just moved in. You probably didn’t notice because we didn’t have a moving van. We’re renting Number 25.”
“I’m Stephanie,” I said. “I live here, too. Number 9.”
Alison stood up and brushed off her hands. She reached under her T-shirt, into the pocket of her shorts, and pulled out a card. I was really surprised because I got one just like it last week. On the front it said, Looking forward … And inside it said, to meeting you next Thursday. It was signed Natalie Remo, seventh grade homeroom teacher, Room 203.
“What do you know about Mrs. Remo?” Alison asked. “Because that’s who I’ve got for homeroom.”
I guess she could tell I was surprised. She said, “You probably thought I was younger. Everyone does since I’m so small. But I’m going to be thirteen in April.”
I didn’t tell her I’d thought she was Bruce’s age. Instead I said, “I’ll be thirteen in February.” I didn’t mention the date either—February 2—Ground Hog Day. “I’m in Mrs. Remo’s homeroom, too. She sent me the same card.”
“Oh,” Alison said. “I thought she sent it to me because I’m new. I’m from Los Angeles.”
“My father’s there now, on business,” I told her. He’s been there since the beginning of August, ever since we moved. I don’t know how long he’s going to be away this time. Once he had to go to Japan for six weeks.
Maizie, the dog, barked. Alison kneeled next to her. “What’d you say, Maizie?” she asked, pressing her ear right up to Maizie’s mouth.
Maizie made a couple of sounds and Alison nodded, then giggled. “Oh, come on, Maizie,” she said, as if she were talking to her dog. Then Alison looked up at me. “Maizie is such a character! She told me to tell you she’s glad we’re in the same homeroom because she was worried about me not knowing anyone in my new school.”
“Your dog told you that?”
“Yes,” Alison said. “But look … I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t say anything about it. Once people find out your dog can talk, forget it. In L.A. there were always reporters and photographers following us around. We’re trying to avoid the same kind of publicity here.”