As Long As We're Together Read online

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  All rights reserved. Published by Disney Press, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney Press, 1200 Grand Central Avenue, Glendale, California 91201.

  ISBN 978-1-368-04396-0

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  CONTENTS

  Title page

  Copyright

  Part One

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Part Two

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  It was an unusually sunny morning in Shadyside, but Andi Mack was feeling anything but cheery as she walked to Jefferson Middle School with her two best friends on either side of her. For the last few days, Andi had been stressing out over what she hoped was just a minor issue. But she knew she needed to talk the problem through with someone. So, trying to act casual, she glanced at Cyrus Goodman on her left, and then at Buffy Driscoll on her right. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth, determined to tell them what was on her mind.

  But then, noticing a tableful of boys finishing up some homework in front of school, Andi quickly pressed her lips back together. What if those guys overheard her and laughed? What if Buffy and Cyrus laughed at her little—or what she hoped was a little—problem?

  They’re your best friends, Andi tried to reassure herself. They would never make fun of you!

  Again, Andi glanced at Cyrus. Not only was he reliable beyond belief, but he was the kind of friend who was always ready to offer a wise word—or, at least, what he thought was a wise word. The best thing about Cyrus, though, was that he had this quirky way of looking at life that never ceased to make his friends laugh. Then Andi looked at Buffy—the one in their group who always spoke her mind, constantly pushing everyone around her to be a bit bolder, a bit tougher. Plus, she always had Andi’s back. She would totally serve up the pep talk Andi needed.

  Yes. Andi nodded to herself. Between the two of them, Cyrus and Buffy would definitely be able to help. So without giving it another thought, she went ahead and blurted out that she had to ask them a question.

  “Lay it on us,” Buffy quickly replied, an invincible look in her big brown eyes, and Andi knew she’d come to the right place. Buffy loved solving problems. She was a total overachiever—in school, in sports, in life. She would probably have more answers than Andi even had questions…especially considering Andi really only had one.

  So Andi clenched her fists, took a deep breath, and tried not to sound too desperate as the words finally tumbled out of her mouth. “Should Jonah and I be holding hands by now?”

  Buffy was about to respond, but before she could, Cyrus’s arm shot out and he placed a hand on Andi’s shoulder, stepping in front of the girls to stop them in their tracks. “I’d better take this one,” he said, arching one dark eyebrow and smiling without a hint of irony, let alone humility. “I mean, I am the only one with…hands-on hand-holding experience.”

  Buffy rolled her eyes, but she and Andi both had to admit that Cyrus was technically right—he had been on at least a couple of real dates with Iris. It felt weird even to think about Cyrus in a romantic relationship, not to mention with someone who was two years older. Iris was an actual high school freshman, and she also happened to be best friends with Jonah’s ex-girlfriend, Amber, which was how Cyrus had met her. Yeah, it was complicated—but not nearly as complicated as Andi’s current dilemma.

  Seriously. Why hadn’t Jonah even attempted to hold her hand in the weeks since he’d broken up with Amber? He certainly acted like he wanted to be with Andi, and he’d had plenty of opportunities to make a hand-holding move. It was something Andi had pictured in her mind a million times. After all, the Jonah Beck was her longtime crush—an eighth grader whom she never would have expected to become her friend, let alone something more serious than that. But then Bex had set up a surprise Frisbee lesson with Jonah for Andi’s thirteenth birthday. And as truly shocking (not to mention mortifying) as that lesson had been, the bigger surprise had been the undeniable spark between Andi and Jonah.

  After that, Jonah asked Andi to join the Ultimate Frisbee team, and he and Andi started spending more time together. And the more time they spent together, the more they realized they liked each other. A lot. So although there had been plenty of bumps along the way—including all the stuff with Amber—Andi and Jonah seemed to be moving toward coupledom. But if they were a real couple, Andi had to wonder why he wasn’t he holding her hand. Was he scared? Embarrassed? Or was there…something wrong with Andi?

  This was precisely why she needed to discuss it with Buffy and Cyrus. Every time she started to think about Jonah’s hand holding her hand—or, well, not holding her hand—she felt like her head was going to explode. She shot a pleading look at Cyrus, beyond ready for him to bestow his wealth of hand-holding wisdom upon her.

  “May I see your hand, please?” Cyrus asked, and Andi reluctantly held it out for Cyrus to inspect, which he proceeded to do with all the focus and care of a skilled—if slightly mad—scientist. “Hmmm…healthy nail beds, no calluses, good-sized knuckles!” Impressed with his findings, Cyrus grinned and locked eyes with Andi, then offered his formal diagnosis: “I don’t see any reason not to be holding this hand.”

  Relieved as Andi was, she still frowned. “And yet, he isn’t holding it.”

  Cyrus nodded sympathetically but then held up an index finger. “Perhaps you suffer from hyperhidrosis.”

  Andi wrinkled her nose and turned to look at Buffy, who appeared to be just as confused as Andi.

  Cyrus widened his eyes, amazed that his friends had no idea what he was talking about. “Sweaty palms?” he clarified.

  Andi inspected her hands. “They don’t look sweaty.” She rubbed her palms together. “They don’t feel sweaty.”

  Cyrus gently grabbed Andi by the wrists and tried to explain, with as much patience as he could muster. “You’re not nervous when you hold your own hand.”

  “So, if I’m holding Jonah’s hand…” Andi suddenly gasped, her heart beginning to race as it dawned on her. “It can just happen?”

  “Hyperhidrosis is a cruel mistress,” Cyrus said with a sigh, adjusting the strap on his beige cross-body messenger bag.

  But Buffy was done listening to Cyrus, and she decided Andi should be, too. “If you want to hold Jonah’s hand, hold Jonah’s hand,” she counseled forcefully, putting an arm around Andi and guiding her toward the front of the school. “Don’t wait for him to instigate, just go for it!”

  At that very moment, as fate would have it, Andi looked up and discovered Jonah walking directly toward her.

  “Here he comes now,” Buffy whispered, a sly smile crossing her lips.

  Andi sucked in her breath and realized her hands were already starting to perspire a bit—and how could they not, given how hot it was? And by hot, Andi mostly meant Jonah. He looked so cute in his gray-and-green-striped hoodie, his backpack draped casually over one shoulder, his brown hair flopping into his spectacularly blue eyes. But the best part was that when Jonah noticed Andi, his whole face lit up. His eyes s
eemed extra sparkly that morning, and the dimples in his cheeks looked especially…dimply.

  As Andi and Jonah walked toward each other, practically in slow motion, Andi rubbed a palm on her black-and-white-checkered pants, and once she was certain she’d conquered any possible hint of hyperhidrosis, she wiggled her fingers in anticipation, like a gunfighter before a duel. Finally, when she and Jonah were almost close enough to touch, Andi reached out her hand—and Jonah did, too.

  Andi grinned. It was going to happen. They were going to hold hands at last!

  “Andi.” A clipboard suddenly shot between Andi and Jonah, preventing them from making contact. Andi’s heart sank as she looked up to see Dr. Metcalf, the silver-haired school principal, looking especially strict that morning in a gray suit with a purple tie. “We’re trying something different today. Please step over to the table marked A.”

  Andi spun around to see two office workers sitting behind tables in front of the school’s main building. One table was draped in a blue tablecloth and had a sign emblazoned with a large black A, and the other had an orange tablecloth with a B sign on it.

  “Jonah, you’re over there at the B table,” Dr. Metcalf added with a casual wave of his hand.

  Andi and Jonah furrowed their brows in confusion, but then Andi had an idea. She turned to the principal. “Can I be at the B table, too?”

  Dr. Metcalf leaned down, stared into Andi’s eyes like she was all of two years old, and said, “No, you cannot.” Then he tersely motioned for her to hurry along before turning to direct the rest of her classmates. “Buffy, you go to B. Cyrus, you’re at the A table. Everybody, come on. Denise, B. Erin, A. Farrah, B…”

  Andi and her friends were all given plastic wristbands—Andi and Cyrus sported neon-green ones marked with A, and Jonah’s and Buffy’s were orange and marked with Bs—and they searched each other’s faces for some sort of explanation.

  “Wristbands. Are we going somewhere?” Cyrus wondered, genuinely concerned that perhaps there was a field trip he’d forgotten about. He hadn’t brought a brown-bag lunch that day, which could mean serious trouble, given his history of hypoglycemia.

  Jonah shrugged and turned to look at Andi, his lips curving into a pout. “Why can’t we be in the same group?”

  Andi shook her head and sighed. “Maybe someone in your group will switch?” She rose up onto her toes and searched the crowd of students for potential candidates.

  But once again, Dr. Metcalf shut her down, his voice laced with condescension. “Andi, these groups are not random. They were chosen according to very specific guidelines.”

  Buffy stepped in and tossed her long curly hair, then narrowed her eyes at the principal like she was challenging him to a duel. “Which are?”

  “Um, let me see.…” Dr. Metcalf looked down and riffled through the papers on his clipboard, laughing briefly as he found what he was looking for, but then matching Buffy’s hostile stare and snapping, “None of your business!”

  Buffy hooked her thumbs into the front pockets of her wide-legged jeans and shot daggers at the principal, who simply turned his attention to the rest of the students. “Everybody, stay with your group!” he called out to them. “No intermingling. It’s very important!”

  Then, before Buffy and Andi could even attempt to speak to each other, Dr. Metcalf glared at them again and waved his clipboard threateningly. “Stay with your group!”

  So though they had absolutely no idea why, Andi and Cyrus headed toward the glass doors to the school that were marked with another A sign, while Buffy and Jonah made their way to the ones marked B.

  They all felt defeated. It was obvious the principal was on some sort of twisted, controlling mission—and, at least for the moment, there was nothing they could do except fall into line…or, well, two separate lines.

  When they got to their first class of the day, Andi, Buffy, and Cyrus discovered that all the desks had been separated into two groups, too—and everyone with a green A wristband was directed to one side of the room, while those with orange B wristbands were expected to sit on the opposite side.

  “Pop quiz,” Mr. Plimpton said wearily, setting down a paper in front of each student in the A group and then dumping a large stack of thick booklets on Buffy’s desk. “When you finish, you’re free to go.”

  Andi looked down at the single sheet of paper, started working on it for a moment, then spun around to look at Cyrus. “This is our pop quiz?” she scoffed. She couldn’t help it. “A connect-the-dots puzzle?”

  “Apparently.” Cyrus shrugged and dutifully returned his attention to the paper. A pop quiz was a pop quiz, and who was he to question authority—especially when said authority was making his life easier for a change?

  But Buffy, who was on the other side of the aisle, frowned at Andi and craned her neck to get a better look at Group A’s pop quiz. “Wait…I didn’t get a connect-the-dots puzzle.”

  “What’d you get?” Andi asked, even more confused now.

  “A twenty-page booklet of math proofs.” Buffy held up the packet and flipped through it, her cheeks angrily flushing as pink as her sleeveless top. “And this is English!”

  Andi smacked her hands down on her desk and widened her eyes at Mr. Plimpton, who was now sitting on the edge of his own desk at the front of the classroom. “Why’d we get different tests?” she demanded.

  The teacher slowly closed his eyes, shook his head, and sighed. “I am seven years from retirement,” he muttered, barely reopening his eyes to stare down into his mug of coffee as he blew into it. “Just do the work.”

  Andi exhaled loudly, beyond frustrated, but turned her attention back to her puzzle. Meanwhile, Buffy—never one to back down from a challenge, even one as obviously irrational as this—tossed a haughty look at her friends and quipped, “I guess we’re the smarter group.”

  Cyrus glared at Buffy but continued to work on his puzzle until, a few desks over, a redheaded classmate named Gus held up his paper, his eyes blinking behind his dark-rimmed glasses. “It’s a baby giraffe!” he said so enthusiastically that saliva sprayed through his braces. “Look!”

  Buffy rolled her eyes and sneered, “Group A’s finest.” Then, annoyed as she was, she dove into the packet of math problems with even more fortitude.

  Moments later, Andi and the rest of Group A completed their puzzles, handed them in, and began filing out of the classroom—except for Cyrus, who couldn’t resist stopping at Buffy’s desk, eager to rectify her earlier comment regarding the intellectual superiority of Group B. “Buffy, your GPA isn’t that much higher than Andi’s and mine,” he pointed out, raising his dark eyebrows at her.

  Undeterred, Buffy glared at the connect-the-dots puzzle Cyrus still had in his hands and scoffed. “Your baby giraffe has five legs.”

  Cyrus did a quick double take at his paper and scowled when he realized his friend was right. Not that it mattered. Mr. Plimpton had said that when they were finished with their quizzes, they were free to go—which meant that while Buffy would be stuck working on torturous math proofs for the rest of the period, Cyrus and Andi were already out of there.

  While Andi was in her morning classes, Rebecca Mack—a.k.a. Bex—pulled into her parents’ driveway on her motorcycle. It was a scene reminiscent of that day not long before when she had returned to Shadyside, just before Andi’s thirteenth birthday, to finally reveal the truth: that she wasn’t Andi’s older sister, as Andi had always believed, but in fact her mother. That meant that Celia and Ham, who had raised Andi all those years, were actually her grandparents. As shocking as the news had been, everyone involved had been doing their best to adjust to the situation—including Bowie Quinn, Bex’s free-spirited high school boyfriend…who was Andi’s father.

  In fact, Bowie had adjusted so well that he’d practically become a regular fixture at the Mack house. With his incredible cooking skills, not to mention his miraculous ability to nurture practically any plant, he had even achieved what Bex had once believed to be her ow
n personal mission impossible: he had totally and completely won over Celia, Andi’s grandmother—whom she was not to call Grandma, but CeCe. So it wasn’t all that surprising that when Bex pulled up in front of the house that day, she found Bowie working on CeCe’s beloved flower bed in the front garden.

  “Wow!” Bex said as she climbed off her motorcycle and unstrapped her helmet. She pulled it off and headed over to take a closer look at Bowie’s landscaping skills. As always, Bex was the picture of cool. Her dark wavy hair was pulled up into a messy bun, and she wore one of her standard outfits: a turquoise choker and a long silver chain around her neck, distressed jeans, heavy boots, and a classic concert tee beneath her black leather motorcycle jacket.

  Bowie shook his chin-length curls and flashed a goofy grin before returning his attention to the flower bed. Until Bex had returned to town, he’d been living his dream as a touring musician, playing guitar with the Renaissance Boys. But the moment he discovered he was a father and got the chance to meet Andi, he decided to stick around so he could spend more time with her…and with Bex. Bowie had even proposed to Bex, but much to his dismay—and Andi’s—Bex turned him down. Still, they were all finding a way to be their own version of a family. Bowie had even decided to put down roots, literally, by getting a job at the local nursery, Judy’s Blooms, which thrilled CeCe to no end. To her, it was the next best thing to being a doctor.

  “You like it?” Bowie asked Bex, sounding nervous as he studied the wood chips, which he had meticulously placed around a large group of bushes. “I wasn’t sure if I should go with the pine bark or the spruce bark.”

  Bex couldn’t help laughing at how seriously Bowie was taking this particular gardening gig. But she also understood why he was worried. Even though the bark and plants looked as flawless as every other inch of the front garden, and even though CeCe now loved Bowie more than any other guy Bex had ever brought home—and, well, maybe even more than she loved Bex herself—she was still CeCe…and trying to meet the woman’s painfully high expectations could be downright scary.