“Oh, okay,” I said. “We’ll try to keep quiet.”
“Thanks, Augusta.” Dr. Chen’s shoulders relaxed as she switched George to her other arm and carried him toward her bedroom. I looked at his sleepy little face and thought how sweet and easy life must be when you’re a baby. Lucky George.
“Gusta!” Ama was really beginning to lose her cool now that I’d been there a whole three minutes and still hadn’t made it upstairs. “I need you!”
“Okay, I’m coming!” I said in a loud whisper. “But we have to be quiet so we don’t wake Mama and George.”
That was obviously of little concern to Ama. She ignored her mother’s pat on the head as she walked by, and as I made my way up the stairs she started jumping and clapping her hands. When I got to the top of the stairs, she grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me toward her room.
“Okay, look!” she said as we walked through her doorway. She gestured toward a little table set with plates, teacups, a teapot, and a vase of fake flowers. Around the table were four empty chairs.
“It’s a tea party!” she squealed, blatantly ignoring the quiet rule.
“Ooh, it sure is!” I said. “Who are you inviting to it?”
“You! And me! And also my two other friends!”
“Your two other friends? When are they coming?” I was wondering how I was going to handle three kids here and keep them quiet while Dr. Chen napped.
“They’re already here!” Ama said, like she couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen them. “This is Scooter,” she said, gesturing toward one of the empty chairs.
“Scooter?” I was about to ask Ama who Scooter was when she made another introduction.
“And this is Granola,” she explained, pointing to another empty chair.
“Oh, okay,” I said, realizing I was in the presence of Ama’s imaginary friends (and relieved that no more actual four-year-olds were coming over). “I can’t believe I didn’t notice them.”
“You sit here,” Ama said, pointing to the chair beside Granola.
I took a seat and leaned over to Granola’s spot. “Granola, it’s so nice to meet you,” I said. “You must be nice if you’re a friend of Ama’s.”
“No, Granola’s not nice,” Ama said, shaking her head. “She does the wrong thing sometimes.”
“Well, everyone does the wrong thing sometimes,” I said. “What kinds of things does Granola do?”
“She plays with Mommy’s phone when she’s not supposed to. And once she was so noisy that she woke baby George.”
“Hmm. Did you talk to her about that?”
“Yes,” Ama sighed. “But she’s still naughty.”
“What about you, Scooter?” I asked, turning toward the other chair. “Are you naughty too?”
“Scooter won’t talk to you,” Ama said. “She only likes to talk to me. She only wants to be my friend.”
I was running out of ideas. “Should we just have tea, then?” I suggested.
That was the moment Ama was waiting for. She was out of the room in a flash, running to the bathroom to fill the teapot with water.
And for the second time that day, I felt envious of one of the Chen kids. What if real friends could be like imaginary friends, and you could make them do whatever you wanted? What if I could say to Jocelyn, “No, Layla only wants to be friends with me!” and it actually worked? And what if I had another friend like Granola, who would take the fall for me whenever I did something wrong? Is that how I would know when I had my village? My “people” that Ms. Barakat talked about?
That seemed too easy. I doubted I’d ever feel as sure about my people as Ama did about hers.
When Ama’s dad took me back to Dad’s apartment that night, you guys were busy setting up the new fish tank you’d bought at the pet store around the corner from Dad’s place while I was out. Dad said we could go back to the store the next morning if I wanted to pick out another fish or decorations for the tank, but I told him what you guys got was fine. I think he was worried that I’d be mad about not having been included on the fish-shopping trip, but I didn’t care. That kind of thing bothers you more than it bothers me, Lou. I’m more bothered by things like, say, our mother dating my teacher.
Dad must have known that was on my mind, because he called me into the kitchen with him while you were setting up the hot-pink gravel in the aquarium. Finley, the fish you’d named, was swimming around in Grandma Dotty’s big glass pitcher as she waited for her new home to be ready. It was weird being at Dad’s apartment and seeing something that once lived in our house with Mom. Especially something Mom had used all the time; she had made so much lemonade in that pitcher. But when Dad moved out she said he should take it with him since Grandma Dotty was his mother. So here it was, looking extra bright and cheery in Dad’s mostly beige kitchen, like it was trying to convince itself, and us, that we all belonged here. Finley looked confused; I wonder if she felt as out of place in her new home as the rest of us did.
“Do you want to talk about last night at all?” Dad asked once we were in the kitchen. “With everything else that went on, I didn’t even get to hear how the dance was.”
“I don’t want to talk about the dance,” I said.
Dad looked at me for a second, then started putting cups in the dishwasher. “Okay,” he said. “Do you want to talk about anything else? Like Mom and Mr. Singer?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” I said. “I only found out right before the dance.” I didn’t want to tell Dad that Mom had specifically asked me not to tell him. I didn’t want to give them another reason to fight.
“I don’t care about that, Gus. Besides, it’s not your job to tell me. I just wonder if you want to talk about it at all. With me…or we can call Mom if you want. I know it must be kind of weird for you.”
“Yeah. I don’t really know what to say about it. Can I just help with the fish tank?”
“Okay,” Dad said. He didn’t really know what else to say either.
That’s when I went out to the living room and saw you doing something strange: you were putting some of the gravel into a little ziplock bag. When I asked what you were doing, you said, “I just need it,” then turned almost as pink as the gravel and ran with it back to our room. I figured you were squirreling it away to use in another one of your goofy potions.
I wondered if you were thinking at all about Mom and Mr. Singer, or about Dad and his crummy car luck, or me and what had happened at the dance. I thought about how you always seemed to be thinking about little things like potions and aquarium gravel and trading stickers with Isabella when there were much bigger things going on.
But now I know I was wrong about you, Lou. I’m sorry.
Dismal as the dance had been on Friday night, I was still glad to be going back to school Monday morning. Sunday night at home was just too weird. I hadn’t wanted to go back to Mom’s house at all, but we had to since Dad still had no car. He was going to pick it up from the shop Monday morning, and there wouldn’t be enough time to do that and get us off to school on schedule. So back to Mom’s we went. Apart from the world’s most awkward gathering in the police station, that was the first time Mom was seeing me since the dance. And when she asked how it went, I said, “It was fine, whatever,” like I usually did when you guys asked me about anything related to middle school. How can you explain how weird and uniquely unfun a middle-school dance is to a fourth grader? Or to your mother? Even if I wasn’t still upset with her for the business with Mr. Singer. Which I was. No thank you. That’s why I told you guys I wasn’t feeling great and spent the night texting Sarah in my room.
Lou, that was the night—well, one of the nights—when you came into my room and asked if I wanted to play Garbage, the card game you learned at after-school. And I yelled at you not to come in without knocking. And even after you went back out into the hallway and knoc
ked, I still yelled that no, I didn’t want to play cards, and said I needed space. And you yelled that I never play with you anymore, and I always need space. Which I know is kind of true. And maybe not much fun for you.
* * *
Sarah was waiting by the flagpole when I got to school. I started to put my backpack on the low wall that ran around the flag area when a familiar voice yelled, “Watch it!” It was Davis Davis. He and some of his JROTC buddies were giving the dingy wall a new coat of white paint. I guess he’d had a solid plan for the paint in his locker after all. I noticed that Tyler Peterson was helping him. Even though Tyler was a wing nut, I guess I was glad for him that he was making friends who weren’t the Beatles.
“You can’t put your backpack there!” Davis said. “JROTC painting project.”
“This part hasn’t been painted yet,” I told him.
“Doesn’t matter. This area is restricted until the project is completed.”
“Okay, okay,” I said, hoisting my bag back up onto my shoulder and rolling my eyes. What was Davis Davis going to be like as a grown-up if he was this serious now?
“How was this morning with your mom?” Sarah asked as we started walking around back to the sixth-grade doors and away from the JROTC painters. She knew I was barely speaking to Mom last night.
“Ugh, I don’t know. She had an early shift at the hospital, so I didn’t see her much, luckily.”
Sarah nodded. “This one could be awkward for a while, huh? What if Mr. Singer becomes your stepdad?”
Like I hadn’t already thought of that supremely insane scenario. “Ew, Sarah, you don’t have to say that out loud!” I said, chucking my hip into hers. She laughed. I couldn’t imagine talking like this with Layla about the Mom–Mr. Singer situation. Her family was too perfect. Knowing that Sarah had also been through weird stuff with her parents made it easier to joke with her about mine.
“Meet you in the courtyard?” Sarah said as we went our separate ways for homeroom.
“Yerp.” Even though it was November, the weather was decent enough for courtyard lunch, and I was glad. I didn’t want to have to face the Silver Sisters in the cafeteria today.
There was one person I did want to see, though, and it was someone I normally didn’t talk to. Elaine. As I sat through homeroom and then science, I thought about what I wanted to say to her. When I got to social studies, she was already there, quietly huddled over a book at her desk, as usual.
I slid into the seat behind hers, which was still empty. “Hey, Elaine,” I said, leaning forward and tapping her shoulder. “I wanted to thank you.”
She turned and looked around, like she was unconvinced I was actually talking to her.
“Thank me for what?” she asked. She seemed suspicious, like this might be a joke.
“For Friday,” I said. “For tripping the Gooser. That was amazing.”
“What’s the Gooser?” she asked.
I couldn’t believe she didn’t know him by his nickname. I thought the whole school knew. I actually had to think for a few seconds before I remembered his real name.
“Ronald Gosley,” I said. “The Gooser. You tripped him after he pinched me at the dance.”
Elaine’s cheeks turned a bit red. “Oh yeah,” she said. “He’s my neighbor. He’s been doing that to girls since we were little. I’m sick of it.”
“Me too!” I said. “I can’t imagine having that jerk for a neighbor! Does he ever get in trouble for it?”
“Not really,” she said. “My parents always just said, ‘Some boys are like that, so just stay away from him.’ ”
“That’s not fair,” I said. “Why should you have to change what you do when he’s the one who’s wrong?”
“Yeah, I guess,” she said. “Did you tell your parents about the pinching?”
“No, not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Well…they’ve kind of had a lot going on lately. Besides, if no one else here is telling any adults about it, I guess I don’t want to be the one tattletale baby who can’t handle it.”
“I know what you mean,” Elaine said. Her face changed slightly. She looked nervous now, more like her usual self. “You didn’t tell anyone I tripped him, did you?”
“No,” I said. “But it was awesome; you should be proud!”
“I still have to live near him,” she said. “Please just don’t tell anyone.”
“Okay,” I said. “It’ll be our secret.”
Elaine was about to turn back around when I had another thought.
“Hey, are you eating lunch in the courtyard today?” I asked.
“I always do,” she said. “Even when it’s cold and you guys aren’t there.”
“Oh. Well, do you want to sit with me and Sarah today?”
Again, the suspicious face for a couple of seconds. But then she nodded.
“Yeah, okay,” she said.
“Cool.” It felt like the least I could do after what Elaine did to the Gooser.
“Okay, so I’ll see you in the courtyard?” Elaine asked when the bell rang to release us from social studies and Ms. Tedesco. She phrased it as a question, like she wondered if I’d changed my mind about asking her to eat with us.
“Sure,” I said. “I just need to stop by my locker first.” I did still want Elaine to sit with us in the courtyard, but now I was wondering if it had been a bad idea to ask her before checking with Sarah. It wasn’t as though Sarah would say Elaine couldn’t eat with us—she wasn’t like Addison and Heidi—but, well, Elaine wasn’t exactly the easiest person to talk to. And she didn’t know about our parents, or how we felt about the Silver Sisters, or my contact-lens fund—could we really cover any of those things with her there?
Maybe if I hurried, I could get to the courtyard before Elaine and give Sarah a heads-up. Let her know that Elaine was really okay, and that I felt like inviting her to eat with us was the right thing to do after she tripped the Gooser on Friday.
But as usual, one person was going to make it impossible for me to get anywhere fast. Davis Davis. When I got to my locker, he was already there, drying paintbrushes on a rag with military precision and meticulously wrapping them in paper towels before putting them in his locker.
“Can I just put my backpack away real quick?” I asked.
“I don’t know—can you?” He gave me a glance as he slowly reached down to pick up another freshly rinsed paintbrush.
“Davis. It will take me two seconds. You’re going to be here forever.”
“I got here first. You can wait.”
“Ugh, forget it.” With my backpack still full of books, I turned to zip down the hall toward the courtyard. As I rounded the corner, I saw right away that I hadn’t beaten Elaine there. Or Sarah. Or Nick. In fact, I hadn’t beaten anyone there, and there were even more kids than usual crowded around the courtyard door, trying to see something. Some were quiet; others were nudging their friends, pointing, and laughing.
“What are you guys looking at?” I tried to peer in between Sarah and Elaine, who were actually standing right next to each other. Nick, who was beside them with Syd, pointed. “You might need to get higher,” he said in a low voice.
I stood on tiptoe to get a better look. And then I saw what the other kids were seeing. On the far wall of the courtyard, near where Elaine sat every day with her book, was kind of a rough mural. Stick figures with big heads and exaggerated features. One girl with tangled hair. Another with a serious frown. A third with giant glasses. Boys too: One who had ratty-looking hair and a dopey smile. One with spotty freckles on a goofy-looking face. It almost looked like something Ama would draw. But Ama would never have written the names under the figures: Elaine, Sarah, Augusta, Nick, Syd. No, Ama would never have done something so immature, or so mean.
I sank back down off my tiptoes. I didn’t
need to keep looking.
“Do you guys want to get out of here?” Nick was looking at me, Sarah, Elaine, and Syd.
I nodded, and Sarah and Syd said “Yeah” at the same time. Elaine looked stunned; I hoped she knew she could come with us.
“Maybe we can hang in the stairwell,” Nick said. I figured he was thinking the same thing I was thinking, that he didn’t want to go to the cafeteria now more than ever.
We were about ten steps down the hall toward the stairwell when I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard a voice saying “Not so fast,” like I was a villain in a cartoon. I knew right away who that meaty hand and ridiculous cartoon voice belonged to. Smeed.
“You five. Where are you going? The cafeteria’s the other way.”
“We have to go—” Nick started to say.
“You have to go where?” Smeed snapped. “Far away from the scene of your crime?”
“Our crime?” Sarah said. “What do you mean?”
“You were in the courtyard on Friday night during the dance. When I made you return to the gym, I should have investigated out there to see what you were up to. Especially knowing what Mr. Zambrano and Ms. Reynolds are capable of.”
“I wasn’t in the courtyard!” Nick protested. “I was DJ’ing.”
“How do I know you didn’t slip in later to add to your friends’ drawings?” Smeed said. “Besides, your name is right there on the wall with theirs. You signed your work!”
Nick looked stunned. “Why would any of us paint stupid pictures of ourselves?” he said. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Sense is something you don’t seem to have a lot of, Mr. Zambrano. Maybe detention would knock some into you.”
“Detention?” Nick’s tone said what we were all thinking. “For something we didn’t do?”
“Wait, how come they got silent lunch before, but this gets detention?” Sarah asked.
The 47 People You'll Meet in Middle School Page 13
