Juicebox Manifesto

Welcome to the Treehouse! We’re so happy to have you here. When Sofia said she was getting new neighbors, especially with a kid our age, we knew you were destined to join us. Of course, you know that everything said in the Treehouse remains in the Treehouse. This is no laughing matter. We trust that we have your utmost loyalty in that regard. Understand? Great. We meet every week after Soccer Club, and you are only excused with a parental signature. Has anyone told you about Lily? No one? I thought you’d be more prepared. Last year she started studying more, missed a few meetings for math tutoring and such. She had to go.

Well, enough of that housekeeping. I’m sure that you don’t have anything to worry about, as long as you do your part for us. Provide snacks once a month, make sure you’re in the same class with the rest of us. Yes, that matters. How are we supposed to plan if one of us is stuck across the hall all day? Perfect. Now then, let’s show you around. No, I know we don’t have the best square footage. It really is bigger on the inside. Pinky-swear. Are you ready?

Back there is the communal lounge. That’s where you’ll be the most, assuming that you make some friends here. That’s Sam, in the hoodie, playing Jenga. You can tell he’s playing with a newbie, just like you. You don’t want to go against Sam in anything. He’ll trick you into letting your tongue slip, and then he’ll blackmail you straight out of your cubby. He’s always on the lookout for prime real estate.

Oh, her? With the pigtails, by the window? That’s Brenda. She hates her name, so if you want to get on her good side, call her “The B-Machine.” I know. Just between us, you really shouldn’t give her your personal email. She’ll spam you with chainmail like you wouldn’t believe. All that “killer ghost” and “send this to 12 people or get 7 years of bad luck” stuff. Her parents let her get an email account a whole year before the rest of us did, and ever since then she’s acted like she’s Steve Jobs or something.

Josh is much more charming than he looks. He always kisses up to the teacher, compliments her sweaters and pins, in order to get more Pixy Stix than the rest of the class on Halloween. He’ll do anything for a sugar fix. His mom is one of those health nuts who never pack hims Oreos or pudding, not even on his birthday. Can you imagine?

Behind the curtain is the conference room. That’s for us kids who have been here since the crib. You like the decor? Yeah, Sofia’s mom had that old sheet of fabric sitting in her attic for long enough for us to just dig it out and hang it here. Lizzie’s always back there, deciding the day’s task. One time we had to take turns holding this frog from Frank’s backyard creek until it peed all over our hands. That was not our shining moment. It was tragic, honestly. These days we require unanimous approval before enacting any changes. Unanimous among us leaders, of course. You’ll claw your way to the top eventually, I just know it.

Sam trades baseball cards with Josh, who carpools with Frank, who dated Brenda for a week in kindergarten, who endlessly annoys Sofia, who is Lizzie’s best friend. And me? I run this whole place. Lizzie likes to think she does, but it’s me. I’m the one who chooses whether we go trampoline jumping or house egging. Decorating our art folders, or reading scary stories to the preschool kids. Don’t tell anyone, but Brenda still doesn’t really have a grip on the whole reading thing. Come on. We’ve spent enough time in the doorway. It’s time to get you introduced. No, don’t be scared! I’m sure you’ll make a great first impression. Yes, your braids look fine. No, there are no ambiguous sauce stains on your shirt. The Treehouse is a network. We support each other. Now that you’re in here, you’re one of us. And we intend to never let you go.