by Beth Vrabel
“And, um, here,” I said, not looking at anyone but Piper as I pulled the tiny bluebird out of my pocket. “This is for you.”
Piper held out both hands and I placed the bird inside. “Whoa,” Piper said, tilting her hands so she could see the bird.
“That’s really cool,” Ricky said.
“Pipi makes them,” Annie said. “Her whole room is filled with them. MomMom says it’s so she won’t feel so lonely, but Eliza says it’s creepy.”
“Thanks, Annie,” I muttered.
“Spying,” she whispered, her eyes wide.
“Did you really make that?” Ricky asked. He held out his hand and Piper tipped the bird into it. He tilted it under the light, checking out the little black beak and the lines on the feathers. Those take forever. So does blending the blue to the white so it overlays like separate feathers.
I shrugged, my cheeks burning. “It’s just for fun.”
“It’s really amazing,” he said.
Piper tapped his hand. “Sorry,” Ricky said and gave the bird back to Piper.
“It’s for good luck,” I told her.
“No,” she corrected me. “It’s for my birthday, silly goose!”
Piper’s parents snapped dozens of pictures and thanked us over and over again for coming to the party. Though Piper’s mom looked nothing like Eliza, they both had that same expression when they saw their daughters. I used to think it meant Eliza was worried Annie was going to mess up. But now, watching Piper and her mom, I realized I had it all wrong. She was worried she was going to mess up her daughter.
“I pushed her to have a party,” Piper’s mom told me. “She said no one would show up, but I made her invite everyone. If it weren’t for you guys…”
Piper’s dad rubbed her back and offered us more pizza. Ricky held his stomach. “Well, maybe just one more,” he said and grabbed a slice.
After Piper’s parents turned away, I whispered, “How can you eat this? The pizza tastes like a foot.”
Ricky wiped at his mouth with a paper napkin. “Bad pizza is still pizza.”
“You should meet my dad,” I said. “Thanks again for coming.”
Ricky shrugged. “I got out of a day of babysitting and scored free lunch. Plus, I got to hang out with Piper.” He crumpled the napkin. “And you. You’re not so bad.”
“Oh, wow. Thanks.” I picked up the napkin and threw it at his head. “You’re just jealous I creamed you in Skee-Ball.”
Ricky dodged the napkin and laughed. “I mean when you’re not trying to exact revenge or being completely obsessed with bad things that have happened to you, you’re fun to be around.”
“Not you, too,” I said, crossing my arms. “You sound like Tasha.”
“You should listen to your friends,” Ricky said.
I sucked in my breath. Did I have two friends—Tasha and Ricky? I pushed the thought away. “Listen, I’m trying to stop obsessing about The List. That’s why I’m doing the whole thing.”
Ricky crossed his hands behind his head. His voice was even and light. “Yeah, but what’s it cost other people?”
“That’s so not fair,” I said, my heart thumping. “I didn’t know Piper had pink eye.”
Ricky grabbed one of his little brothers and swiped at his pizza-sauced face with a napkin. “Tell the others—five-minute warning.” Then he turned back to me. “I wasn’t talking about Piper.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“I’ve got to go,” he said. “Forget it, okay?”
“You told them five minutes. It hasn’t even been thirty seconds.”
Ricky stood. He smiled, but it looked more like a grimace. “This—” he glanced around the party table, covered in prizes and surrounded by all of the kids, with Piper and Annie right in the middle—“has been a lot of fun. Because it was just about having fun.” He shrugged. “I get The List thing. I do. Just don’t forget who your real friends are.” He clapped his hands three times. “Salindos, assemble.”
Ricky’s siblings rushed toward him, the littlest three grabbing his legs. “Happy birthday, Piper,” he said with a salute. “See you at school, Penelope.”
Chapter Fifteen
Monday was an in-service day, so I didn’t see Ricky again until we took the bus to kindergarten volunteering on Tuesday. On the way, Ricky and I shared pictures we had taken at Piper’s party.
“Wow.” I laughed. “I didn’t think I could smile that big!”
“Who would’ve thought that the best party we’d go to this year would be for a kindergartener?” Ricky laughed.
“Wait,” I said. “There’ve been parties?” I hadn’t been going to parties. Was Ricky going to parties? Was Tasha? Were they going to parties together? Ricky laughed again.
Narrator Boy paused in describing the bus driver’s expert handling of the right turn into the school parking lot and turned toward us. In a voice so loud it carried to the back of the bus, he said, “Eighth graders went to Pink Eye Piper’s birthday party. They said it was the best birthday party. Now the eighth graders are nodding. Look at them nod!”
A little hand poked my shoulder from the back. “Did you really go to Piper’s party?”
“Yep,” I said.
“It was awesome, too,” Ricky added. He held up his phone, showing a shot of all of us gathered around Piper as she blew out her candles.
“Did you get the Pink Eye?” another kid whispered.
“No.” I scrunched my face and shook my head. “Of course not.”
“Yeah,” Ricky said. “Piper’s super cool.”
All the little kids said “ooohhh,” their mouths forming perfect circles.
When we got to the school, Narrator Boy was the first one off the bus. Like a tiny town crier, he went into the classroom, telling everyone about the “big kids” who went to Piper’s party.
“Look at this!” I tugged on Ricky’s sleeve. “Everyone’s talking about Piper, and not in a ‘got the Pink Eye’ sort of way. We did it!” I bounced. “She’s super popular.”
“Didn’t you already cross kindergarten off your list?” Ricky asked.
“Yeah, but it’s like we reversed the Pipi Touch for Piper.” I pointed to the coat room, where a dozen kids surrounded Piper, asking her about her party.
“Is it true the big kids were there?” Future Sarah Trickle asked.
“Was it so much fun?” asked another kid.
“When will you have another?” asked a third.
Sarah and Jackson were already in the classroom. “What’s going on?” Sarah asked.
I laughed. “We crashed Piper’s party on Saturday.”
“You guys were hanging out?” Sarah asked, surprised. Yes, Sarah, I answered in my head. Sometimes I go to parties, too. Mental me pushed away the whole for a kindergartener aspect.
“Yeah, for a while on Saturday,” I said instead. Then, feeling babyish, I added, “It was just P. Art Tee’s.”
Sarah laughed. “Beats what I did—teaching Kara how to do laundry since her dad is traveling and Aunt Estelle doesn’t know how, either.”
Ricky nudged me with his elbow. “So, I was thinking I could totally win the next round of Skee-Ball. Want to bring Annie next Saturday to P. Art Tee’s? Rematch with my little brothers and sister?”
“That sounds—”
“Pipi!” Jackson shouted from across the room. He trotted toward us. “I’ve been texting you all weekend.” Miss Gonzalez pulled the lunch bucket cart down the aisle, and Jackson wedged between me and Ricky to let her by.
“Oh,” I said, “yeah, I wanted to talk… um… in person.” Truth was, Jackson had sent me a dozen poems over the past two days. They were long. Like maybe you’d fall asleep in the middle of dinner trying to read them. And I tried—honestly, I truly tried—to find the existential the-past-is-a-ball-of-air bit in lines like the ball sliced through the air like a pizza cutter divides the pie, but I just couldn’t do it.
“So, what did you think?” Jackson asked.
>
“They were really, really great,” I said. “I really like all the descriptions where you, um, described all the stuff.”
Jackson grinned. He pushed his beautiful blond hair from his face. For years of my life, I dreamed that someday Jackson would call my name from across the room. That he would smile at me as he pushed hair from his face. That he would send me poetry was beyond any dream I could create. Except I didn’t really think about the poetry itself—like that it would be boring.
“Thanks,” he said. “What else?”
“Well, it was really deep.”
“You didn’t get them, did you?” Jackson said. He grinned again, temporarily blinding me.
I shook my head. “That doesn’t mean they aren’t—”
“It’s cool,” Jackson said. “I’ll explain it all to you. Don’t worry; you’ll get poetry soon.” He patted my head. My brain seemed to split into two pieces. One half screamed, OMG! Jackson Thorpe touched me! The other half whispered, Did Jackson just pat me like a puppy? I shushed both of them as Jackson continued. “Maybe you just need time to think about them. I’ll check in with you later this week. You’re going to be at the game Friday, right?”
“Right,” I said. The first basketball scrimmages for both the girls’ and boys’ teams were right after school at the high school. As manager, I’d make sure the players had basketballs to practice with during halftimes, fill water bottles for players when they were called off the court, and pretend to be busy and important.
“Here,” Jackson said and shoved a piece of paper into my hand. “I seriously just wrote this.” He shook his head like he couldn’t believe his own ability. “Read it. Think about it. Really think. Think about the concept of life as a continuation of fate’s basketball, okay?” he said. “I’ll see if you get it before the game.”
“Right,” I said again. Jackson kept on talking about his poetry, reading lines from memory and then explaining those lines. Again, split brain was sputtering at the same time. One half: He wants to know what I think! The other? I like him more when he isn’t talking. “I’ve, um, gotta go. I’ve got to talk to someone.”
I pushed past Jackson and ducked into the cloak room to find Piper. “Hey,” I said as she pulled her lunch bag out of her little backpack. “Look who’s so popular today!”
Piper crossed her arms. “Why is everyone talking to me?”
I grinned and knelt in front of her. “Because you’re awesome. They all feel bad about not coming to your party.” I squeezed her hand. “This is your chance, Piper! Your chance to be really popular.”
“Why?” Piper asked.
I rocked back on my heels. “Well, because. They all want to be like you now. They all want to know what you think.”
“Just because you guys came to my party?” she side-eyed the kid standing too close to where we talked.
I shrugged. “I guess so. Isn’t it great?”
Piper shook her head.
“Sure, it is!” I laughed. “You’ve got so many friends now.”
Piper’s face brightened. “That’s right! I do!”
“That’s right!” I echoed.
“I’ve got Annie! And Tomas, and Henry, and…” Piper’s voice trailed off. She glanced at Ricky. “What are their names?”
Ricky laughed. “I have trouble keeping track, too. Tomas, Henry, Martin, David, Raul, and Martha.”
“Yeah!” Piper said. “They’re all my friends. And so is Mr. Pickle the Bird.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the bluebird I had given her.
“Its name is Mr. Pickle?” I asked.
Piper’s forehead wrinkled. “Of course, it is.”
Miss Gonzalez called the class together for morning meeting. The kids gathered in a circle on the rug, most of them still peppering Piper with questions about her party. “You were all invited. If you wanted to know, you should’ve come!” she hissed.
Future Sarah Trickle squeezed in beside Piper. “I love your headbands.”
Piper patted the four headbands on her head. “Thank you,” she said. “My friend Annie gave them to me.”
“You could share one with me,” Future Sarah Trickle said.
“No, you’d get the Piper Pink Eye.” Piper crossed her arms.
Future Sarah Trickle laughed. “You don’t have that anymore!”
I’m not sure what Piper said next, but it sounded a lot like “For now.” Future Sarah Trickle played with Piper’s hair. Piper wiggled toward the girl next to her.
Narrator Boy whispered, “Everyone wants to be next to Piper. Piper is frowning. She is frowning. Her face is red. Red, red, red.”
Miss Gonzalez clapped her hands four times fast then twice slow. The class automatically repeated the pattern. “You’re all super excited to share this morning!” she exclaimed. “Who would like to share something exciting about their weekend first?”
Narrator Boy raised his hand. Miss Gonzalez nodded at him. “Yes?”
Narrator Boy stood. He straightened his shorts. “I took the city bus to the zoo. First the doors opened like this.” He bent and straightened his arms a couple of times. “Then we got to our seats. The seats were brown. There was gum under my seat. I sat down. I buckled my seatbelt. Mama sat down. The seat made a sound like a fart. Mama buckled—”
“Perhaps,” interrupted Miss Gonzalez, “you could skip ahead to the part where you’re at the zoo?”
Narrator Boy nodded. He cleared his throat. “We got to the zoo. The bus driver said, ‘We’re at the zoo!’ He pulled the brake. The bus stopped. The doors opened like this—”
“That sounds lovely,” Miss Gonzalez said. “Thank you for sharing. Anyone else?”
More kids whispered Piper’s name, but not about her. To her. I nudged Ricky. We were sitting at tables beside the rug. “She’s like super popular now!” I whispered.
Ricky grimaced. “I think she’s going to explode.”
With each whisper, each time Future Sarah Trickle or any of Future Sarah Trickle’s friends played with her hair or touched her crisscross-applesauced legs, the creases in Piper’s forehead deepened. A low growl bubbled out of her.
“Piper?” Miss Gonzalez called. “Would you like to share? Many of your friends seem to be excited to hear something from you.”
As though it were an invitation, a dozen or so kids erupted. “Piper had a big party! Big kids were there!”
“They were there!” another said, pointing to me and Ricky. “At P. Art Tee’s!”
“P. Art Tee’s! P. Art Tee’s!” the class chanted.
Miss Gonzalez held up her hands. “Now, now!” she said as the class quieted down. “Piper? Anything you would like to share?”
Piper, her little hands in fists, shook off the girls playing with her hair and went to stand beside Miss Gonzalez’s rocking chair.
“Thank you all for not coming to my party,” she said.
“What?” Miss Gonzalez said as Ricky choked on a laugh.
“I invited all of you to my party and none of you came. I’m really happy about that because I don’t like any of you. I don’t like kindergarten. I only like P. Art Tee’s. But if you see me there, don’t talk to me.” With that, Piper went back to her spot and sat down.
“Piper!” Miss Gonzalez said. “We do not speak to our friends that way.”
“I didn’t,” Piper said, her eyes wide with surprise. “They’re not my friends.”
“Piper!” the teacher said again. “Apologize.”
Piper, still looking confused, said, “I’m sorry for not liking any of you.”
At school the next day, I spotted Ricky on the way to lunch. His shoulders immediately started shaking with laughter again. “‘I’m sorry for not liking any of you.’ That was epic!”
I fell in place walking with him to the cafeteria. Since it was Wednesday, I could sit with Tasha. “Yeah,” I said, “but what about tomorrow? Those kids are never going to play with her again.”
Ricky stopped in his tracks, making me
stop, too. “Don’t you get it, Pipi? She doesn’t want to hang out with those kids. She doesn’t care. It’s awesome.”
I guess because we stopped so suddenly, someone bumped into me from behind, knocking me to the side. The boy glanced at me, but it was like his eyes glazed over. He went on talking to his friend.
“Hey!” Ricky called to him.
“Ricky!” the boy said. “Did I knock you? Sorry, man.”
“No, but you hit Penelope,” Ricky said.
“Oh, yeah.” He shrugged. Then, grinning, he knocked the kid beside him. “The Touch, man.” The boy looked from Ricky to me and back. “Want to sit with us, Ricky? Room at our table.”
“Nah, I’m good,” Ricky said after a pause.
The boy’s face scrunched up. “Seriously?” He glanced at me, then back at Ricky. “Oh,” he said super slowly. “You wanna sit with Tasha today?”
Ricky’s jaw tightened, but before he could say anything, the boy said, “Cool. See you later.”
Neither of us said anything else until we got to the table, where Tasha was waiting for us. I plopped into the seat across from her and put my head on my arms. Ricky sat next to Tasha and looked over my head across the cafeteria.
“Hey,” Tasha said, not looking at either of us, her mouth set.
I raised my head, peeking at her. “What’s up?”
Tasha shook her head, still not looking at either of us.
Something behind me distracted Tasha. I glanced at Ricky just in time to see him roll his eyes. I turned around to see Vile Kara Samson standing in front of me with her arms crossed. Her usual table was missing Sarah and Jackson. I smirked, remembering. Sarah had said something about talking with the school secretary about starting official school clubs during lunch. I had said I wanted to have lunch with Tasha, and of course Jackson would’ve followed Sarah there.
Kara’s breath came out in huffs through her nose, and, furious, she held herself still. Even so, her voice lilted, like mid-laugh, as she said (way too loudly for how close we were standing), “Is it true what I heard? That you and Ricky were hanging out at P. Art Tee’s this weekend? For a birthday party?” She chuckled, but it sounded like gargling glass.
