by Beth Vrabel
“Hey, Pipi,” he said with a half smile, just big enough to show off his straight, perfect teeth.
“Heep,” I said. I have no idea why. What is wrong with you, Pipi?
Jackson just kept on smiling as if I hadn’t combined hello and help into one word. Then he shifted to the side a little and there was Sarah.
“Hi, Penelope!” she said.
Not trusting my blabber mouth, I just nodded.
“So, Sarah and me were talking,” Jackson said. He glanced at Ricky, who was still reading the book to Tasha, then back at me. “Can you talk for a sec?”
“Yelp,” I said. Why? Why, Pipi? Since there was only a minute left before class, I grabbed my stuff and followed them to the hallway.
“Sarah says you’re into poetry, too. That’s great,” Jackson said. “I mean, we should all be, you know”—he stared off in the distance for a second—“braided into the community of those who speak their spirits.”
Sarah stepped a little closer. “I was telling Jackson what you said about meeting at the gym.” She pushed one of her braids off her shoulder. “There’s an open mic thing in Collinsville in a couple weeks, and I thought it’d be really cool to go.” She shifted a little, and her eyes darted down the hall to where Kara had gone. “The thing is, though, my poetry is kind of personal.…”
“The total baring of one’s soul onto the page,” Jackson cut in.
“Right,” Sarah said, her mouth tightening a bit. “So, I’m trying to keep it kind of quiet, you know? Until I feel like I’m any good at it.”
“Yeah, Sarah and me figured you’d be safe since no one really talks to you except Tasha and Ricky,” Jackson said.
Sarah’s face pinked. “I didn’t say it like that. I mean, if your friends are into writing, then definitely invite them, but—”
“No, no,” I said. “It’s fine. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.” I was in a secret club! Hidden from Vile Kara Samson! “It’s totally fine to meet at the gym.”
Jackson put his hand across his heart and stared into the distance. “It’d be like… like homecoming after a swift river cuts—”
“So, I’ll see you at training?” Sarah broke in, then darted away. I glanced behind me to see the bathroom door swinging open down the hall and Kara stepping out.
“—through the emptiness of our poetry-less souls,” Jackson finished.
“What?” I stammered. “Oh, yeah. That’s great.”
“Just came up with it, just there,” Jackson said. “The stanzas”—he popped his hands out like a fan—“they just come to me, you know?”
“That’s great,” I said. Again.
“So, what are your poems about? Mine are mostly, you know, about the futility of existence,” Jackson said, walking down the hall next to me. Jackson Thorpe was walking down the hall with me! “Stuff like that.”
“Oh, um, my poetry is really…” Nonexistent. My poetry is nonexistent because I do not write poetry. “Developing, I guess.”
Jackson nodded. “Cool. I could really show you a lot about it. How to write and stuff.”
“Right,” I said, stopping by my English class door. “Tonight.”
In the hall, a couple kids gaped. Jackson leaned forward. “But, um,” he said, his voice low, “we’ve got to keep this club thing private, you know? For Sarah. She’s trying, you know, to figure out how to do stuff on her own. So, let’s keep it all secret.”
“Yeah, totally,” I said. “Totally. Definitely. Secret.” But Jackson already was striding away down the hall.
“What were you doing talking to her?” Wade asked him.
Jackson just laughed and disappeared around the corner.
When my legs stopped acting like their bones had dissolved and agreed to carry me into the classroom, I spotted Tasha sitting on top of her desk. She hopped to her feet when I walked through the door.
“What was that about?” she asked, meeting me just inside the room. We got to choose our seats the first day of class, so her desk was in the row next to mine.
Kara pushed through behind me, rolling her eyes and saying, “Excuse me,” as she shoved by.
I shrugged, trying to look casual. “Oh, nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing,” Tasha pressed. “Jackson and Sarah talking to you in private? What is up with that?”
Kara paused, her back stiffening. I bit my lip to keep from smiling and nodded toward Kara. Tasha glanced behind her, saw Kara, and her eyebrow raised to the roof. “I’m not going to get into it,” I said. “It’s kind of a secret. Just between us.” Kara’s head jerked to the side and I shifted my focus to Tasha. After a beat or two, Kara kept going to her seat.
“Pipi,” Tasha whispered.
“It’s all part of The List,” I whispered back.
Tasha stared at me for a second. “Okay,” she said. “Keep your secrets.”
I glanced at Kara, who was now seated across the room, talking with a couple other basketball players in the class. I heard her complaining about having to go to the gym (“I mean, Pipi’s mom owns it. Ew.”) for training, but it didn’t even bother me, knowing she was feeling left out.
“Look,” I said as low as I could to Tasha. “You wouldn’t like it anyway. We’re sort of making a club.”
“You don’t think I want to be in a club with you?” Tasha crossed her arms. “I’m the queen of clubs.”
“Not this kind of club. It’s a writing club, a poetry thing.” I slid into my seat and pulled out my English notebook. It took me a second to realize Tasha was still standing there next to my desk, staring at me. “What?”
Her mouth was set in a hard line. “And you thought I wouldn’t want to be part of a writing club because?”
I looked around as if the words I needed would be scattered near me. “Well, you know,” I said.
“I know what?” Tasha stared at me.
“The dyslexia thing,” I said. “You wouldn’t want to be in a writing club when you can’t wri—” I bit off the rest of the word, realizing too late what I had been about to say. Tasha, judging from her gasp, realized it, too. “I don’t mean that,” I said, jumping back to my feet so we were eye to eye. “I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t—”
Tasha took a step back, but her face was scary and still. “I don’t know what you mean lately.”
I grabbed her hand and squeezed it. Tasha blinked at me but didn’t jerk her hand away. “It’s all part of The List stuff. Please, just trust me.”
After a long pause, Tasha nodded. “This stings, but I’m going to let it slide. I don’t think you meant it the way it came out.”
“I didn’t! I’m a doofus,” I said. “I should’ve thought—”
“You’re not a doofus,” Tasha answered. “Just don’t forget who your real friends are.”
“Friend,” I corrected. “Singular, as in, just you.”
Tasha smiled a little and swung our hands. Across the room, Kara snickered. “Ew!” she said. “They’re holding hands.”
Tasha whipped around. “Grow the heck up, Kara!” Only she didn’t say heck. Thank goodness the English teacher was always late to class.
Unfortunately, someone else was in the hall. Frau Jacobs’s face popped into the classroom. “Now, now, Tasha Martins. I thought that might be you. Inappropriate language!”
“Yeah, but she was being ridi—”
“Enough! You will not speak to me that way. I deserve respect!” Frau Jacobs slithered further into the room. Everything I ate for lunch tried to jump up into my throat at the sight of her.
Somehow, I found myself on my feet. “But you don’t know—”
Frau Jacobs’s face swiveled from Tasha to me. “Don’t tell me what I do or do not know, Miss McGee. I doubt Miss Martins and I need insight from a person known to struggle with basic hygiene.”
“Hey!” Tasha snapped. Kara cackled in the corner, and the rest of the class’s noise was buzzing around me. Frau Jacobs’s arms crossed her chest.
And
me? I sat down, my arms at my sides, my back curled as I stared down at my lap. If I could’ve folded myself into origami, I would’ve. My body felt too big for the chair, too much and too disgusting and too embarrassing. I wanted to stand up for my friend, but who would listen to me? I was a joke, the fill-in for whenever anyone wanted a well-at-least-I’m-not-her moment. Or worse? I was a virus, apt to infect anyone by association or touch alone. It was just a comment from Frau Jacobs, right? And it wasn’t like it was any worse than any of my other humiliations. This wouldn’t even make The List. But it buckled me.
Kara laughed again from the corner, but she wasn’t alone. Loads of other kids laughed along with her.
Frau Jacobs turned her attention back to Tasha. “Miss Martins, what is it that you’re wearing?”
Everyone—including Tasha—looked down at her outfit. She was wearing a white and black striped T-shirt, with shiny black leggings and a denim jacket. Her T-shirt reached her hips in the front and flowed longer to mid-thigh in the back.
“Uh, clothing?” Tasha said.
Frau Jacobs huffed as though that were questionable. “Put your hands at your sides.”
“Are you serious? You’re dress-coding me?” Tasha said. “This isn’t even your class!”
Just then the actual English teacher came in. Miss Miller was new—this was her first year teaching—and her eyes widened at Frau Jacobs and Tasha’s standoff, but she didn’t say anything, just strode quickly to her desk at the back of the room.
Tasha shook her head at Miss Miller’s back, then sighed and put her hands at her sides. “See?” she said. “The back of my shirt goes well past my fingertips. Satisfied?”
Frau Jacobs shook her head. “The dress code calls for shirts to be longer than your fingertips when your hands are at your sides and to completely cover a girl’s backside.”
“It does,” Tasha said.
“No,” Frau Jacobs said. “The back does. The front does not.”
“How is the front of my shirt supposed to cover my backside?”
Frau Jacobs smiled. “Go to the office, dear.”
Vile Kara Samson snickered. Frau Jacobs turned to her and a thick eyebrow popped up. “Is that your shoulder, dear?” she asked. Kara rolled her eyes but pulled up the side of a cardigan that had fallen, exposing her shoulder.
“Perhaps you’d like to accompany Ms. Martins to the office?” Frau Jacobs continued in a sugary voice. “Unless, of course, you can maintain control of that sweater?”
A few of the kids who had been laughing at Tasha were now smirking at Kara.
Miss Miller cleared her throat. “We’re covering important themes today in this class. Items that will be on the next exam?” It sounded like she was asking Frau Jacobs a question. I remembered that on the first day Miss Miller said what a thrill it had been to start teaching in the same school she had attended as a student. Chances were, Frau Jacobs had been one of her teachers. Miss Miller cleared her throat again. “I think we’ll make an exception today.” She turned to Tasha and nodded. “So long as Tasha remembers to dress more carefully in the future.”
“I’m sure the other students in your classroom would prefer to concentrate on the lecture you’re about to give instead of Miss Martins’s attire,” Frau Jacobs snapped.
“There is nothing wrong with my clothes! I bought these with my grandmom.” Tasha glanced around the classroom. “You guys know this is ridiculous, right?” Several girls were nodding their heads or tugging at their own T-shirts. A couple boys were openly grinning at each other, but many looked annoyed. Kara crossed her arms and watched everything with an eyebrow peaked. I squeezed my eyes shut when Tasha’s head swiveled in my direction.
Frau Jacobs sighed. “I don’t make the rules, dear. Unlike many teachers, however, I do enforce them.”
Miss Miller’s eyes narrowed a little at that. “Thank you for your guidance on this issue, but I’ll take it from here.”
Frau Jacobs nodded, unfolded her arms, and slapped her knees. “Alrighty then.” Over her shoulder her eyes once again swept down Tasha and she shook her head.
“Okay, class, let’s continue,” Miss Miller said, and for a moment the classroom was filled with the sounds of students grabbing notebooks and pencils.
“Are you okay?” I whispered to Tasha.
She nodded, but her chin wobbled.
Frau Jacobs would pay for this.
Maybe it was the pure rage for Frau Jacobs and Vile Kara Samson that pumped through me that afternoon, but spin class was so intense even Coach asked me to tone it down. “I want the girls to be able to walk!”
I skipped all the countryside scenes and had the team pumping through a cityscape I had downloaded. When Kara’s pace slowed, I moved to half-standing and pumped even faster. Sarah kept up, her grin growing the faster I went. Afterward, I wasn’t sure my legs would hold me when I slipped down from the bike, but when Kara collapsed in a puddle beside her bike I stalked out of that room.
Sarah told me Jackson would be coming to the gym a half hour after practice, so I grabbed a towel and headed to the showers. I was still in the stall toweling off when Kara and Sarah came in. They were wrapped up in arguing with each other and didn’t know I was there.
“What do you mean your mom’s picking you up? My mom is right here! She’ll take us home,” Kara said.
“Sorry,” Sarah said. “I’ve got plans, okay?”
“What kind of plans?”
Sarah dampened a paper towel and squirted soap into it. She ran it along her arms and behind her neck. Kara handed her a clean gym towel to dry off. “I’m hanging out with Pipi,” Sarah said.
“Gross,” Kara said.
Honestly, I was so used to hearing Kara say mean stuff about me that it didn’t even hurt anymore. Yep. Not at all. Not even a little.
“Stop it,” Sarah said. “She’s nice.”
“She’s disgusting. Remember when she threw up all over you? You had nightmares for weeks.”
I was suddenly grateful for Annie’s early years, when we’d all move silently throughout the house so as not to wake her. Without making a sound, I wrapped the towel around my dripping hair and pulled on the clean clothes I had kept in Mom’s office. Maybe sweats and a T-shirt weren’t the ideal outfit for making Jackson fall in love with me, but they were a better option than Sarah’s sink shower.
“Is it for a project for class or something?” Kara asked. “I’m sure I could get you out of being PeePee’s partner.”
“No,” Sarah answered. “And don’t call her that.”
Kara snickered.
Sarah sighed. “It’s for… it doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
I peeked through the half-inch space around the shower door. Kara tugged on Sarah’s braid. “We’re cousins and best friends. You can tell me anything.”
Sarah splashed water on her face but didn’t say anything.
“Sarah.” Kara stretched out the name. “Aunt Belle told Mom you’ve been secretive lately. She asked me to keep an eye on you.”
Sarah locked eyes with Kara’s in the mirror. “I do not need you to keep an eye on me, Kara. I don’t need you to protect me anymore.”
Kara huffed from her nose and shook her head. “Please, Sarah.” Kara’s eyes flipped to her own reflection. “Have you ever thought about what perfect little Sarah’s life would be like if it weren’t for me? I’m the one who strikes first. I’m the one who keeps your secrets. I swear, if you weren’t my cousin, I could destroy you. Not that I would, of course.” She smiled and kept her voice as pleasant as two moms discussing the weather. “The only thing keeping you from being exactly like PeePee McGee is me.” Kara smoothed her hair back into a new ponytail and twisted her head from side to side. Then her eyes met Sarah’s again. “Oh, hey. I just rhymed. Maybe I’m a poet, too. Maybe I should join your club.”
Sarah’s face had been bright red from the workout. Now it drained of all color.
Kara smiled at her. “Oh, you thought
I didn’t know about that little poetry thing you’ve got going on with Jackson? My mom thinks you’ve got a crush on him, that you’ve finally come to your senses.”
Quietly, Sarah said, “That’s not going to happen. Jackson knows I don’t like him, and you do, too. We’re just friends. I wish you’d—”
“Oh, I’m not like my mom. I don’t think you’re confused. But I do think you need to be smart. And smart people don’t talk about things better left quiet. Just me and you. It was a risk to add Jackson, but that’s where it should stop.” Kara said. “It’s like we’re our own little club.” She tugged on Sarah’s braid. “Let’s keep it that way. Trust me. Some things are better left unsaid.”
She turned on her heel. “See you later, Sarah. Don’t forget to wash off the Pipi Touch when you get home.”
Sarah watched the door slam shut behind her cousin. She pulled in a deep breath, stared at herself in the mirror for the longest minute ever, and then left the bathroom. I sat there, wondering about what I had heard.
Chapter Fourteen
Mom gave us a small workout room at the gym for our poetry meeting. It was filled with exercise balls, so we perched on those while we talked. My mind whirled with what I had overheard in the bathroom—what was the secret Kara wanted Sarah to keep to just her, Sarah, and Jackson? Did Sarah really mean it when she said she didn’t like Jackson and that Jackson knew it?—but Sarah didn’t seem to notice; she was too focused on talking about the poetry club. Jackson bounced on an exercise ball, but I rolled mine against the wall, then leaned against it. A side benefit of leading a super intense workout: I was too beat to be hyped about being in a room with Jackson. I tried not to look directly at him too long in case doing so was like staring at the sun and I’d go blind. He, however, glanced only at Sarah.
