girl stuff.

by Lisi Harrison

  Fonda crumpled up the empty bag of Sun Chips. “There’s no time for realistic. The Avas are already posting about some boy-girl party they’re throwing in October, and school hasn’t even started yet. But if Will is in the mix, maybe we can throw our own boy-girl party.”

  “What’s with you and the Avas?” Ruthie asked, wondering why three girls with the same name were so important to Fonda, why she brought them up in conversation at least once a week. She never referenced the funny things they said, their mind-expanding hobbies, or the contributions, if any, they were making to society. All she talked about was how great they thought they were and that they never let anyone sit with them at lunch. “You’ve been obsessing over them for years. I don’t get it.”

  “I’m only obsessed with them because everyone else is obsessed with them, and they don’t deserve all that attention. We do.” Fonda palmed her straight hair. “Now that we’re going to be together, we can start our own thing. You know, show the Avas how fun is done.”

  “I have an idea!” Drew said. She retrieved her Battleflag overnight bag and pulled a Ziploc baggie from the outside pocket. Inside were three pink-and-gray beaded bracelets with the letters FDR in the center.

  “Best US president ever,” Ruthie gushed.

  “More like our initials, nerd,” Drew teased. “They’re our new friendship bracelets.” The girls held out their arms while Drew fastened her latest creations to their wrists. They now had eight matching bracelets in total.

  “It’s a great start,” Fonda said. “But we need something else.”

  “A necklace?” Ruthie suggested.

  “No, a strategy. And I have one. It’s called LIKES.”

  “As in Will likes Zombie, and so do I?” Drew said.

  In an effort to be supportive, Ruthie laughed. Normally Fonda would have laughed too, but that all-business hair of hers wasn’t having it.

  “Each letter stands for a different part of the plan,” she explained. “So, L is for lunch. If we sit in the same seats at the same table every day, people will see us as an established group. I is for inseparable. We stay together as much as possible.”

  Ruthie let out a happy squeak. She was so over being apart.

  “K is for kind,” Fonda continued. “The nicer we are, the more people will want to hang out with us. And the goal is to make everyone want to hang out with us. So, think eye contact and smiles.”

  Drew and Ruthie nodded.

  “E is for extra because everything we do has to be extra awesome. And S is for style.” She flicked a glance at Ruthie’s pineapple print romper and Drew’s plaid pajama bottoms, which she sometimes wore to the movies. “I say we pick a color of the day, every day, and we all have to wear it. I plan on mixing a lot of patterns this season, so think more dominant color than monochromatic, but I’m open to suggestions.”

  Drew’s hand shot up. “Can the boys wear our dominant colors too, or is this strictly a girl thing?”

  “Thirsty much?” Fonda teased.

  “Yes,” Drew said. “Very much. And you would be too if you spent the last six years at an all-girls school.”

  “What exactly are you thirsty for?” Ruthie pressed. She wasn’t ready for crushes and kisses. And she wasn’t ready for Drew to be ready either.

  “Nothing.” Drew twisted the end of her ponytail. “Just someone to skate with.” Her cheeks grew red. “Can we move on now, please?”

  They spent the rest of the night swapping stories about their summers and debating which color they should wear on the first day of school. Fonda wanted red because it was strong. Drew wanted purple because it matched the flames on her skateboard. And Ruthie wanted plaid because it included all the colors. But they agreed on one thing: seventh grade was going to be a game changer, and Fonda was playing to win.

  chapter four.

  THE FIRST DAY of school was postcard perfect. Sunlight saturated the cul-de-sac and illuminated the flowers like crown jewels. It was the kind of morning that smacked of Instagram filters and laundry detergent commercials: the hues and tones were that bright. But much to Fonda’s disappointment, the color love stopped there.

  “We agreed on the COD last night,” she told Drew and Ruthie on their inaugural walk to Poplar Middle. “And the Color of the Day was red.” Fonda could hear the frustration in her voice, feel its weight crush her bones. Because, come on. Red symbolized passion and fire. It transformed lips with a single swipe and literally stopped traffic. Why were they fighting that?

  “That’s exactly why I wore this.” Drew pointed at the diamond-shaped logo on her green tee. Yes, it was red. It was also the size of a grape. Fonda understood that after years of wearing a uniform, Drew wanted to be comfortable. But green? It didn’t make people stop. It told them to keep going. And Ruthie’s romper was no better.

  “The cherries are red,” Ruthie argued.

  Fonda wanted to scream, but she stopped herself. They had ten months to get this COD thing right. The important thing was that they were finally together.

  A horde of students had gathered at the school crosswalk and were waiting for the light to change. Normally, Fonda would have slowed down to avoid the awkwardness of standing with them. Today, however, she sped up. Her plan was to be visible when she told Drew and Ruthie about her revolutionary new accessory, because whispers and giggles would definitely follow, and nothing said we’re the fun group like three girls wearing matching friendship bracelets and whisper-giggling at eight fifteen in the morning.

  “Check this out,” Fonda said, pulling a white canvas bag with red polka dots from her backpack. Her voice was louder than it needed to be, considering she, Drew, and Ruthie were practically touching. But Fonda wanted to pique the interest of the other kids, and with the passing cars and app sounds wafting off nearby phones, vocal projection was the only way to command attention.

  “Cute pencil case!” Drew gushed.

  “It’s not a pencil case,” Fonda said. “It’s a”—she gestured for them to lean closer—“period purse.”

  Ruthie drew back her head. “What’s a—”

  Fonda slapped a hand over Ruthie’s mouth. “Shhh,” she said with an exaggerated laugh and a casual side-eye glance at her audience. And yes, they were side-eyeing her back. Mission accomplished!

  Omitting the part about getting the idea from her sisters, Fonda quietly explained that it was stocked with menstrual essentials so she’d never get caught off guard.

  Drew gasped. “Hold up! When did you get your . . . P? Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “I didn’t,” Fonda said. “But when I do, I’ll be prepared.”

  “Why does your period need a purse?”

  “It’s going to be very fahn-cy,” Ruthie said with a terrible British accent.

  They giggled. Heads turned. It was perfect.

  A peppy woman wearing an orange vest stepped into the crosswalk and waved the students forward. Fonda’s audience dissipated, but her plan had worked. Next time any one of those kids saw her, they’d think, There’s that girl from the crosswalk. The one who had friendship bracelets and secrets on the first day.

  “I still don’t get why you need that,” Ruthie said as they approached the busy campus.

  “A woman’s first period can come at any time. When it does, she’ll need pads, a change of underwear, essential oils to help with cramps, and Reese’s Pieces.”

  “Why RPs?”

  “They’re delicious.”

  “I want a period purse,” Ruthie said.

  Fonda beamed. “I’ll get right on it.”

  “Hashtag me too,” added Drew.

  “That’s such an inappropriate use of hashtag me too,” Ruthie explained.

  “Hashtag not now,” Fonda sighed as the bustling Great Lawn of Poplar Middle came into view. “It’s showtime.” With that, she rolled back her shoulders, jutted her chi
n, and cat-walked toward the chaos like Victoria’s best-kept secret. Yes, her red-striped tank dress and leopard-print high-tops were on point, but this sudden burst of confidence was about more than fashion, even more than friends. It was about hope. The kind associated with fresh starts and second chances.

  With a shaky hand, Fonda slid off one of the straps from her backpack (only elementary kids slung over both) and linked arms with Drew and Ruthie. The COD disaster was behind them. They were back on track.

  “Wow.” Ruthie stopped, taking it all in. “This is just like the movies . . .” She shielded her eyes from the glaring sun to marvel at the line of SUVs inching toward the drop-off area, the reuniting friends, the introverts slouching over smartphones, and the American flag at the center of it all. “This is nothing like Forest Day. It’s”—she pulled Fonda and Drew closer—“a lot.”

  “It’s not so bad,” Fonda said, surprising herself. In the past, she thought of the two glass wings that extended off the main entrance as open blades on a Swiss Army knife. Steely and cold. Now they were outstretched arms, there to welcome her into the mix. A mix that no longer included Winfrey or Amelia. A mix made entirely of her own ingredients—including her two best friends.

  Drew shook her head. “I can’t believe I can wear shorts to school.”

  Fonda beamed, as if the relaxed dress code had been her idea. “You guys are gonna love it here.”

  “No more skirts!” Drew dropped her backpack to the grass and did a cartwheel, right there in front of everyone. “I’m freeeee!”

  Fonda flushed. She wanted attention, but was this the kind of attention she wanted? Yes. Yes it is, she thought upon noticing that a few kids were watching. Even the three Avas glanced over as they passed by. Fonda smiled. Drew was just being herself, as always. It occurred to Fonda that was actually pretty cool.

  “That was extra,” Ruthie said as Drew picked up her backpack.

  “Yep.” Fonda smiled. “She just put the E in LIKES.”

  “I’d rather put the he in schedule,” Drew said, cheeks flushed, ponytail askew.

  Ruthie and Fonda looked back at her, confused.

  “Will,” Drew said. “I want to know if he’s in any of my classes.”

  “Come,” Fonda said, as if Drew’s comment didn’t make her feel the tiniest bit hurt. She was happy to fold Will into the mix, but not today. Today was supposed to be about them. “Let’s find out,” she managed to say anyway.

  With pride, Fonda led the girls down the crowded glass hallway toward the gym. “The ceilings are retractable. They stay open when the weather is nice.”

  “So . . . always?” Ruthie said, squinting up at the sentinel of palm trees standing watch overhead.

  “Yep, pretty much.”

  Confidence strengthened Fonda’s voice and fueled her strides as she indicated where the bathrooms were, named the boring teachers, and pointed out the vending machine that gave back extra change.

  Once in the gym, the girls splintered off to get their schedules, each one heading to the table marked with the first letter of her last name. While Fonda waited with the other Ms, she greeted the familiar faces with a warm smile and a wave. Each time someone waved back, joy ricocheted through her entire body. She had this.

  “Yes!” she said to Drew once they reconvened on the bleachers. “We have four out of six classes together. Everything but PE and math.” She searched the crowd, wondering what was taking Ruthie so long.

  Then Ruthie appeared, waving her schedule as she approached. “I don’t get it. How am I supposed to know where my classes are?”

  “The room number is printed on your schedule,” Fonda said, “next to the subject.”

  “Not mine.”

  “Let me see that.” Fonda swiped the paper from Ruthie’s hand. As she scanned the columns, those ricocheting jolts of joy morphed into stabs of pain. “Oh no . . .”

  Ruthie sat. “What?”

  “This is bad.”

  Ruthie stood. “What?”

  “Is she in trouble?” Drew asked.

  “Worse.”

  “What?” Drew and Ruthie said at the same time.

  “You’re in TAG.”

  “Meaning?”

  “The Talented and Gifted program. It’s a whole other thing. Totally. Separate. From us.”

  Ruthie’s mouth froze in the shape of an O. Her blue eyes glistened with tears. “But we were supposed to be together.”

  “I know,” Fonda said, her once-strong voice now barely audible. Her seventh-grade vision was ruined. They were not going to be inseparable. They were not going to share jokes about teachers. They would not be invited to the same birthday parties.

  “Can we change it?” Drew tried.

  “Maybe,” Fonda said, even though she was pretty sure class assignments were definite. “We can still have lunch together.”

  “And walk home together,” Drew added.

  Ruthie sniffled. “Can we pee together?”

  Fonda looked down at her high-tops. “I’m pretty sure you have your own bathrooms.”

  The five-minute bell sounded. Everyone headed for the doors, everyone except them. While rubbing soothing circles on Ruthie’s slumped back, Fonda couldn’t help wondering if her vision board needed glasses, because this was the opposite of what she was trying to manifest. Not that it mattered. The damage was done.

  “We better go,” Fonda sighed. “Tardy is no way to stardy.”

  “We’ll meet you after school.” Drew pouted as they parted ways in the hall.

  “Bye,” Ruthie mouthed, as if her throat were too dry to speak. Then she slow-waved and shuffled off in the opposite direction.

  “There goes the I in LIKES,” Fonda said, because, as of that moment, inseparable was in-possible.

  chapter five.

  THE TAG PROGRAM was small: four boys, five girls, and one teacher who wore a shapeless orange dress, gray flats, and a curious black bob she continuously forced behind her ears. Their classroom didn’t look like anything Ruthie was used to. The desks were round tables, there were balance balls instead of chairs, and glass doors opened onto a private garden.

  “Welcome back, Titans!” said the teacher. Her name, Rhea Alden (but call me Rhea), was written on the whiteboard behind her, the sight of which made Ruthie smile out loud. If only Drew and Fonda were there, they would be cracking up. Instead, she had to pretend a woman named after loose stool was perfectly normal. “I hope you had an enriching summer! Come in—take a seat!”

  Ruthie tried to sit, but the giant ball under her butt put up a fight. She had to grip her desk to stabilize.

  “It helps if you suck in your abs,” whispered the skinny boy to her right. The name on his folder read Everest Bolden.

  “Good morning, Titans!” Rhea said.

  Titans? Did the teacher really just refer to them as Titans?

  Ruthie had never felt so imbalanced in her life. How was she going to survive in this alternate universe? A place where students were referred to as Titans and the simple act of sitting required extreme core engagement?

  “We have a great new mind among us today. Welcome, Ruthie! We are going to have fun learning together. As the founding father of genetics, Gregor Mendel, says, Whoo-pea!”

  The class tittered, and Ruthie cracked a smile—Gregor Mendel did his experiments with pea plants. It was the kind of corny science joke Ruthie loved, that no one else ever got.

  “Titans, like the deities in Greek mythology, you are powerful, and influential . . .”

  Ruthie peeled her hands off her desk and tried to balance. She swayed left and grabbed back on while glimpsing the clock above the bookshelves. Three more hours until lunch with Drew and Fonda.

  “Everyone thinks TAG stands for Talented and Gifted,” Rhea continued. “But I know it means Titans Are . . .”

  Eigh
t hands shot up while Ruthie’s remained down, fixed to the edge of her desk to avoid tipping over.

  “Every day after the pledge, we come up with a new word for the G in TAG,” Rhea informed Ruthie. Then she pointed at the redhead in the denim jumpsuit beside Everest. “Yes, Alberta?”

  “Titans Are Giants,” she said.

  “Quite literally,” Rhea said, pleased. “Titans were giants who ruled the heavens, and that’s what I expect from all of you this year. I want you to rule the—”

  Ruthie raised her hand, lost her balance, and slid onto the floor.

  Rhea’s eyes flashed compassion. “They take a bit of getting used to, but once you do, you’ll be amazed at how charged your mind will feel. Something to add, Ruthie?”

  Ruthie’s heart began to pound, a Morse code message to cease and desist. “It’s okay. I’m good. It was just a random fun fact.”

  “No, really—share.” Rhea smiled. “We worship fun facts, don’t we, Titans?”

  No one nodded.

  “See?” Rhea said, oblivious. “Go on, tell us.”

  “I was going to say that technically, after the ten-year war, the Titans were overthrown by the Olympians, then imprisoned in the Underworld for all of eternity. So yes, they ruled heaven, but not for very long.”

  Rhea hooked her hair behind her ear. “True, but unfortunately, we can’t call ourselves Olympians.”

  “Why not?”

  “There’s no O in TAG.”

  The students laughed.

  “What if we named ourselves Troubadours or Tigers or . . . Oh, Trailblazers would be fun!”

  A girl let out a giggle, then quickly looked down. A curtain of straight pink hair covered her mouth, and her eyes were obscured by thick black frames. Was she giggling with Ruthie or at her?

  “Thank you for your input, Ruthie. I admire your pluck,” Rhea said. “But I just placed an order for Titans spirit wear, so let’s do our best to focus on their good years, okay?”