by Justin Sayre
PENGUIN WORKSHOP
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Copyright © 2019 by Justin Sayre. All rights reserved. Published by Penguin Workshop, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, New York. PENGUIN and PENGUIN WORKSHOP are trademarks of Penguin Books Ltd, and the W colophon is a registered trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
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Ebook ISBN 9781524787967
Version_1
To Madeleine
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
About the Author
Chapter 1
Sometimes, in my head, I imagine the halls of my school as a big video game. A game where I’m the only player and all the rest of the people are the enemy or waiting to be. In my head, it’s a little more steampunk. And I’m fighting a bunch of zombie-like people who don’t even know that they’re zombies. They’re just walking around doing all the things that they think they’re supposed to do and acting the way they’re supposed to act, but not me. I’m not falling for any of that.
Walking around my middle school honestly does feel like a zombie outbreak. Not as scary as the trailer, sure, but most horror movies aren’t as scary as the trailer. I think. I wouldn’t know; I’m not really supposed to see most of them. My dad thinks they give me nightmares. One time! But I’m never allowed to forget it. If he saw what I see, it would give him nightmares too.
I know this sounds like I’m a complete nutcase, but I swear, I’m not. I’m just seeing how people change, and I guess I don’t like it. Everyone around me is catching this disease of being grown-up, without actually thinking about what any of that means. It makes people, cool people, people you used to know and hang out with, turn into crying, angry monsters chasing boys and forgetting you ever existed. It turns smart girls dumb and gross guys into heartthrobs. I guess it’s not a disease as much as a delusion, but I feel like I’m the only one who sees it.
It’s not that I’m not growing up, or even afraid of it. I just don’t understand why it has to be such a big friggin’ deal. People change everything about themselves to become something they think is more in line with the person they’re supposed to be. But see, that’s the thing right there, they don’t even know. They’re just guessing. They think they have to be boy crazy and angry and mean and nasty, when they don’t. They don’t have to be anything. They just have to chill.
Chill is hard when you’re in the seventh grade. Chill is especially hard when you’re best friends with a drama queen like Ducks. He’s been pretty calm these last couple of weeks, so I guess I shouldn’t give him a hard time. I mean, I will anyway, that’s sort of our thing.
“And then I heard that they are totally into each other and are easily making out all the time.” This part he whispers because he thinks it’s really good, though he says he doesn’t want anyone to find out. But then why is he telling me? I’m someone, and I don’t want to know. “Tongues, and he’s even unhooked her bra.”
“Well, that’s great. Maybe she needed help.” I slam my locker shut.
“What?” Ducks looks at me, confused.
“Bras are tricky, Ducks. Doesn’t yours give you trouble?” I smile.
Ducks doesn’t think that’s funny. Or doesn’t want to. He wants to be mad about it or thinks he has to be. If we could all just chill, we wouldn’t be talking about some girl in our class making out with some doofus our friend Sophie dated for like a hot minute. He would think that it’s funny that I asked if he was wearing a bra, because it is. And this would all just be nothing, but I can see from the flair in Ducks’s nostrils that I’m not going to be that lucky this morning. I try another joke to maybe stop the blowup that’s about to happen.
“I didn’t mean you needed one. I just thought you had one for comfort,” I say, walking ahead of him to third period. I know that he’ll follow me. Even if he is mad, he’d rather be mad with me than mad alone. Being mad alone would make Ducks feel like everyone was watching him be mad. At least with me, he can pretend to be mad at me. Next to opera and gossip, Ducks’s favorite thing in the world is to pretend to be mad at me. And why?
The thing about all this is: I don’t care. I don’t care who is dating whom, or unhooking whosever bra. I don’t care about being cool, at least by anybody’s standards here. I mean, if you want to be cool, I think you should be cool on more of a bigger scale. Like if you want to be cool, why not be cool like Rihanna? She seems pretty boss. And I don’t think she’s really worried about who doofus Ryan is making out with, or if Sophie will find out, or what Sophie will think. If Ducks is so worried about what Sophie will think, why doesn’t he just ask her? She’s our friend. She’ll answer our question.
Third period is Mr. Gennetti’s class, social studies, a hotbed of zombies. Mr. Gennetti is a hot guy, and that’ll perk a lot of girl zombies right up. I’m not saying he’s not cute. He totally is. But he’s also, like, thirty. What’s gonna happen there? Is he going to have a random affair with a thirteen-year-old? I doubt it. So everybody can just calm down. As we get to the doorway, Ducks pulls at my arm and says to me super quietly, “Okay, but please don’t tell Sophie what I told you. It could really hurt her.” Ducks moves to his desk, and I go right to mine behind Sophie, who doesn’t seem hurt at all. She’s smiling.
“What were you two talking about?” Sophie asks me as I take my seat behind her.
“You. What else?” I answer and Sophie laughs a little. Ducks is not laughing, because he heard me and I have yet again confirmed just how mean I am. Ducks mouths the word sorry to Sophie, but she just smiles.
“About Ryan?” Sophie asks me as I’m taking out my book.
“Yup.” I smile a little too wide. “He’s unhooking bras. And not his own.”
Sophie laughs at that, because it’s funny and even though she can sometimes get into some zombie behavior, she can still be pretty cool about it. Also I don’t think she really cares what Ryan is doing. They dated for like a month, and he was a tool for most of it. I don’t think she’s devastated over the news, but then again, sometimes with Sophie you never can tell. She’s been through a lot
this year with her mom. She didn’t let anyone know about it until a few weeks ago. So maybe Ducks was right. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.
Then Sophie drops the words on me that could make me fear an all-out zombie attack.
“Allegra needs to ask you a favor.”
I think I make a d’oh sound. I don’t mean to let it out like that, but I can’t help it. Why me? What do I have that she needs? How does she even still remember my name? I make the sound so loud that Mr. Gennetti asks me if there’s anything wrong, and I have to lie and say no, so we can just get started with the class and I can worry about what friggin’ Allegra needs from me quietly to myself for the rest of the period.
I saw her quickly in the hall but ducked into my next class before she saw me. If I just keep staying away from her, she’ll forget whatever she needs from me or it will give her enough time to get it from someone else. I make it through almost the whole day until, at my locker trying to grab my books and escape, she finds me.
“You’re Jewish, right?” Allegra asks without saying hello.
“Um, yeah.”
“And you’re, like, having a bat mitzvah, right?” Allegra asks. Ducks is walking toward me to head out, but seeing Allegra, he just keeps walking. That’s stone-cold mean, Ducks, so thanks for that.
A bat mitzvah is this ancient custom where, when you’re thirteen and Jewish, you stand in front of all your friends and family, and you read in Hebrew to show them just how Jewish you are. They get really happy that you’re that Jewish, because they’re all that Jewish, and then presto, you’re a Woman. It’s like leveling up in Judaism. You complete a task, you say some words, then you get a bunch of money and there’s a party and you’re a Woman. Mine is in a few weeks.
“Yes. I think I sent you an invitation,” I answer back. My dad made me invite my whole class and, unfortunately, that meant Allegra too.
“Oh sure. And I’m totally going. Did you get mine?” Allegra asks.
“Probably.” I answer back, not really remembering if I did or not, but honestly hoping that it’s a not.
“Do you have your haftarah memorized?” Allegra asks me.
Those are the magic words. You read from the Torah, the holy book, and you read it in Hebrew. It’s hard but that’s part of it, and everybody has to do it. You also have to, like, speak-sing it, so there’s more to it than just reading out loud. It’s involved.
“Not yet,” I say. I don’t know where any of this is going, but since Allegra still hasn’t asked me for a favor, I’m getting more and more worried as to what the favor might be.
“Do you have anyone helping you?” Allegra asks. She looks almost a little embarrassed, which is a new thing for Allegra because I never thought anything could embarrass her.
“Well, I go to Hebrew school,” I answer.
“Where?” Allegra perks up. It’s getting later and later. The hallway is almost completely cleared out. I’m not worried that Ducks won’t wait for me. He’s probably out there foaming at the mouth to know what’s going on between me and Allegra. Since Allegra still hasn’t asked for anything, I am hoping that I can honestly report back nothing. I tell her that I take a class on Wednesdays after school right in the neighborhood, and then she drops it on me.
“Cool, can I come with?” Allegra asks.
With me? Why does she have to come with me? Can’t she find anyone else in the world to teach her Hebrew? I mean, I know there aren’t that many Jews in the world, but we live in Brooklyn; there should be plenty around here. And all the time I’m thinking this, I’m not saying anything. I’m frozen. Trapped, because I know what’s coming next. Allegra starts to tell me that her dad had hired a tutor to help her, but she quit because Allegra wouldn’t get off her phone, which is “like, totally unreasonable.” And now her father is threatening that if she doesn’t find someone else to help her, he will call off the whole party and everything. Allegra can’t let that happen. She needs that party, that party that hopefully I’m not invited to. So can she come?
I’m frozen. This is a direct attack and I don’t know what to do. I’m not a warrior now, am I? I try to stay chill and think of some way to say no, but I panic, and before I can think of anything else, I blurt out yes.
Then she hugs me. And there’s nothing I can do. The zombie-queen is right in front of me and I freeze. I tried to handle it like a game today, but I lost, and I lost big-time.
Chapter 2
“Are you going to be friends with her now?” Ducks pretends to ask me, with these big wide eyes and a lip that’s trying to hold in his laugh. He knows I’m not going to be friends with Allegra, but he’s loving torturing me.
“Yes. Best Friends for Evah!” I reply. Allegra says Evah. It’s her thing. One of her things. All of them annoying. “What was I supposed to do? Tell her no?”
Ducks giggles and says, “I don’t know. She doesn’t really talk to me.”
“Well, don’t rub it in,” I joke back. “Maybe it won’t be so bad.”
“Maybe,” Ducks replies, trying to make me feel a little better. Until he starts to laugh again. And I’m the mean one. Me being the Mean one is Ducks’s thing. Forever ago at Passover, my cousin Shelley, who acts like she knows everything but doesn’t, told me that by the time you get to high school you get one adjective to describe you. Shelley’s into popularity, stuff like that. She’s all about it, and I know she just told me this to freak me out about high school, but I didn’t care. I still don’t. The only reason I told Ducks and Sophie about it is I thought it would be kind of funny to come up with what we thought our adjectives would be. Ducks was Funny when we came up with them. Secretly, I knew he’d be worried that he’d be the “fat” one. I don’t think he’s fat. I don’t think he’s all that funny either. Especially not now. Sophie’s always Pretty. Even though I think she deserves better than that. And I was Mean. Sophie said “sarcastic,” but she was just trying to be nice. That was it, and I was Mean. Not mean enough, though, because now I’m stuck with Allegra.
As always, the minute I walk in the door at home, I get tackled by my sister, Hannah. She’s almost six now, so she’s getting heavier than she was when this started with her at two. Now she’s a lot heavier and the impact almost always knocks me over. Her nanny, Rosalinda, follows her and signs that she should let me come in the door, but that’s not going to happen. Hannah’s too excited. Hannah’s always a little too excited. I know I should find it annoying, and I do, but I also love it. It’s nice to know that someone loves you enough to tackle you at the door every day. Hannah loves me that much, and even though I’m not the best at showing it, I love her that much back. I’m just a little less rough about it. Hannah’s my favorite person in the world.
When my mom told me she was pregnant with Hannah, I was thrilled. I didn’t jump around or anything, but I loved the idea of having a little person in the house. I loved the idea of having somebody to look out for and being a big sister. The minute they brought her home from the hospital, I wanted to be as close to her as I could. Maybe it’s my fault that she tackles me now. She always has to be so close to me. She never wants to let me go. She even cries when I go to school. It’s the only thing we ever fight about. Sometimes I have to push her off the couch just so I can play Call of Duty. Sometimes I just need a little space.
Hannah starts signing me all about her day, and her hands are moving too fast for me to understand. Hannah’s deaf, and we all had to learn sign language, but I’m not as fast as she is because I don’t use it all day. She’s just telling me about going to the park and what she had for lunch. I mean, none of it is that exciting, but if she’s taking the time to tell me, I want to at least see what she has to sign.
Rosalinda just laughs at us. “Your father said he’ll be home late so you should do your homework before dinner.”
Hannah is asking me about my day. And then if I’ll play with her. And then if I’l
l look at her dolls. And then if I’ll sit next to her for dinner, and I want to tell her, I always do, but I also just want to get to the table to put my bag down. By the time I finally make it over, I’ve promised Hannah everything and she’s going through my bag.
“Did my dad say how late?” I ask Rosalinda.
“No. But I don’t figure that late. It’s just work,” Rosalinda replies. There’s steam from the kitchen and smells of something really fantastic. Spicy and warm, which is a lot better than we would ever have if my dad was home on time. My parents aren’t really cooking people. They’re both doctors and that means neither is home a lot. It’s worse with my mom. She travels all over the world to help people, which you would think would be a really great thing, and I guess for those people it is. But not for me.
My parents fight about it all the time. Mostly at night when they don’t think we can hear them, but we do. Hannah can tell something’s going on in the house, and she sneaks into my room to sleep with me. My mom is in Chicago at the moment doing some sort of heart surgery with a pig heart and a person. It’s amazing. I know that, and I’m proud of my mom for being a heart surgeon rock star. I just wish she was around enough for me to tell her.
I don’t have much homework, so I can sort of fudge it a bit to pay some attention to Hannah and keep her entertained while Rosalinda finishes making dinner. Hannah wants to look over all my homework like she’s correcting it, and we get into a little game like she’s my teacher. She even puts on sunglasses to “read” it better. I can’t help but laugh. She’s looking at my algebra upside-down, and she wants to write an A on it, before I even turn it in. She’s crazy.
Rosalinda’s dinner is so good, I eat seconds and even thirds. It gets later and later and Dad still isn’t home, so Rosalinda has to put Hannah to bed, which is always a whole bunch of trouble. Hannah hates going to bed when there are still people awake. Especially me. She can be falling over sleepy but still fight you tooth and nail as you try to get her into bed. I help Rosalinda to get her up the stairs and offer to read her a story, but Rosalinda says she’s being so bold she doesn’t deserve a story and I sort of agree. Finally, after a bunch of screaming and stomping around, she falls asleep and the house is quiet.
