Chapter One CHAPTER ONE Long ago, in the heart of Africa, there was the first spider, Kwaku Anansi, and he was a trickster god. MOST FRIENDSHIPS-- Well, let me back up a bit. There are many different kinds of friendships. So maybe I should define what I''m actually talking about. Friendships are, in fact, a lot like peanut butter. There are some really quality peanut butters (here''s looking at you, crunchy peanut butter), there are some okay-ish peanut butters (creamy can go in this slot), and then there are some peanut butters that are downright inedible (Mom''s organic, sugar-free, homemade peanut "spread"). Friendships are the same way. I have creamy-peanut-butter friends, and we get along just fine.

I also have what you would call Mom''s-peanut-butter-style of friends. Well, maybe these people aren''t really my friends. The relationship is more of a love-hate kind of thing (emphasis on the hate). Okay, okay. Maybe I only imagine these people as my friends, as they''re really popular and it''s fun to envision a world where we''re friends, but in a cold, icy kind of way. Then there are crunchy-peanut-butter kinds of friends. Let me start again. Most crunchy-peanut-butter friendships start on the playground with two kids swapping sand-filled sandwiches and soggy crackers, and then-- bam-- you have a built-in BFF for kindergarten, elementary school, middle school, and beyond.

Unfortunately for me, before I was born, my mother took a class titled The Dangers of Childhood, and she did not let me go to the playground (they were cesspools of germs) or on playdates with other children (what if they weren''t up-to-date on their shots?). So while other children started kindergarten with friendships already locked in, I started school not knowing a soul while also donning latex gloves that stretched up to my elbows. I spent that day simultaneously fascinated and horrified by the presence of other children (honestly, didn''t somebody, somewhere, tell my mother how important socialization is for kids?), and for the most part they avoided me, only getting near enough to borrow supplies from my basket or to covertly snatch up a toy. My first day of school was miserable, and I told my mom that I never wanted to go back. To comfort me she decided to make me my favorite food, funnel cake. And this wasn''t just any old funnel cake. This was a funnel cake with the works. It was topped with canned peaches, whipped cream, and drizzled chocolate.

I was taking my first bite when the doorbell rang, and I was ushered to the door to meet our brand-new neighbors, the Banerjees. When I first met Deve, he stood in between his mother and father, his head heavy with inky curls, and his skinny body in clothes that were just a bit too big for him. Deve''s father was a tall man. He had to hunch his shoulders under our low doorframe. Deve''s mother was a beautiful woman. She clutched Deve''s shoulder with one hand while cradling a sleeping toddler with her other. "Hello," Deve''s father said. "We''re your new neighbors, the Banerjees.

" He had a strong, sure voice, a voice that commanded attention and respect. "My name is Pratul. This is my wife, Aritra." He pointed to the woman. "And those are our children, Deve and Mishti." The toddler jostled in her mother''s arms when she heard her name. "Well, hello! Come on in," my dad said. My dad loved hosting.

My mother, on the other hand, was convinced that any new acquaintance was (A) likely to be part of a covert child kidnapping ring that sold kids to the circus, or (B) a carrier of the second coming of the bubonic plague. "Edwin, perhaps you''re forgetting something?" As in, he was forgetting about the sure dangers lurking in every corner of the world. My mom used her I am very serious. You''d better listen to me voice. But my dad is a pro at handling my mom''s anxieties. He placed a warm hand on her back, a subtle sign of support. He was like my mom''s own personal stress ball. "Aw, you''re right, Belle.

We didn''t introduce ourselves. I''m Edwin Nkrumah. That''s my wife, Belle, and that little one over there is my daughter, Bernadette," my dad said, pointing to me. My dad kept his hand steady on her back, and the tension seemed to leak out of my mom bit by bit. "Nice to meet you," Aritra said, flashing all of us a smile. My mom, being a sucker for a nice smile, smiled back, and with that small gesture they were allowed to come in. My mom and dad balance each other out that way. The adults set Deve up at the kitchen table to eat funnel cake with me while my parents showed the Banerjees around the house.

Before she left us in the kitchen, my mom vehemently promised she''d be back as quickly as possible, and she pleaded with me to chew my food at least ten times before I swallowed, to prevent choking. Deve sat across from me, his floppy hair in his eyes and his mouth settled into a frown. He wore the same expression that the rest of the kids at school had had when they''d seen me with my gloves on, the Look at this weirdo expression. I ignored him just like I had done with all the annoying kids at school. I stuck my fork into my funnel cake and began to eat. Deve broke the silence first, but his mouth was full of funnel cake. "Why are you dressed like a shoe keeper?" I huffed, losing count of how much I''d chewed that particular bite. "How do I look like a shoe keeper?" "I said ''zookeeper,''?" Deve insisted.

"The person who takes care of the animals at the zoo." "I know what a zookeeper is," I mumbled irritably. "But I don''t look like one." He pointed to my yellow gloves. "Zookeepers wear those to pick up poop." I stuck my nose in the air. "My gloves are not poop gloves. They protect me from germs," I replied smugly.

"It''s completely normal." But then I thought back to all the stares from the kids in my class. Was it normal? Deve remained quiet. "Did you know there are about one billion trillion species of germs in the world?" I asked. I''d forgotten the actual number, so I came up with a number that sounded about right. For some reason I wanted him to think I was normal. I continued, "And you can die from germs if you aren''t careful. So I wear gloves to make sure I stay safe.

" I shoveled another bit of funnel cake into my mouth. Deve still hadn''t said anything. "What''s the matter?" I asked slyly. "You want your own gloves now, don''t you?" "No," Deve said, picking up his fork to take another bite of funnel cake, this one with a peach. His expression brightened with a flicker of delight. "I don''t." "Well, why not?" I grumbled, folding my arms across my chest. Deve shrugged.

"Seems kind of pointless. That''s all." "And why''s that?" Deve pointed to my exposed head with his fork. "You can breathe in germs through your nose. So aren''t the gloves kind of useless?" I hadn''t thought of that. Why hadn''t I thought of that? "It just seems like the gloves wouldn''t really work." Deve continued to eat the funnel cake, stopping every few seconds to glance up at me. "I really like this.

What is it called?" "Funnel cake," I mumbled back. Deve nodded. "I like it," he said again simply. "Yeah," I said with a sigh. "It''s my favorite." Deve smiled, spooning a big chunk into his mouth. "I think it''s mine, too." "How is it yours? You didn''t even know what it was five seconds ago.

" Smiling, Deve shrugged. "Doesn''t mean it can''t be my favorite." I humphed. I was irritated. In fact, I was beyond irritated. My plate was clean. It had been for at least three minutes, and now I had to sit there and watch some strange boy eat my favorite food. The same strange boy who thought I was a weirdo, like all the kids in my kindergarten class did.

Deve looked up again, examining me, pushing his floppy hair out of his eyes. He noted my scowl, and his smile dropped off his face. After a moment of silence he pushed the plate toward me. "Here," he said. "You can have the last bite." "You don''t want it?" Deve shook his head. "I''m full," he replied. Gratefully I speared the remaining piece of funnel cake on his plate.

I plopped it into my mouth with a satisfied grunt. Deve watched me with a smile. I eyeballed him across the table. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Deve wasn''t who I''d originally thought he was. "I guess funnel cake could be your favorite food too. It is pretty yummy." "Yeah, it is," Deve said, smiling wider.

I moved to get up from the table, grabbing our plates so that I could set them in the sink. "You know," Deve said from behind me, "gloves might not protect from all germs, but maybe they''re cool anyway. Maybe I will get a pair." So, yeah. We didn''t meet on the playground, but Deve is a total crunchy-peanut-butter friend, and he has been since that day. He is my ride or die. My bestie for the restie. My person.

And as my designated best friend, he is who I depend on during life-altering, cataclysmic emergencies. Such as the one I''m having right now. "Deve-e," I huff out. Being under five feet at thirteen does have certain advantages. For example, when I''m in class and I''m feeling a bit sleepy, I can slink down a bit in my chair, and because everyone else is so much taller, I can hide and take a quick nap. But my lack of gr.