On the walk to The Children’s School, Dad and Benji talk about parkour and ninja training. My brother loves watching shows where people compete in obstacle courses using extreme climbing and gymnastics. Sometimes I watch with him even though there’s no way I’ll ever have the strength to sprint straight up a warped wall. My dad’s real passion is soccer, but since Benji is obsessed with being a ninja, Dad is getting into it too. He signed Benji up for climbing on Thursdays, and he’s assistant coaching his Saturday morning parkour class in Riverside Park.
As we get closer to school, I say good-bye to Dad and run ahead into the building. We often bump into Ruby and her mom at drop-off and that could be a major problem today. Like, what if my dad and Ruby’s mom decide that now that they’ve told us the news they can start kissing and hugging every morning? Thinking about that, I run through the lobby of school and up all five flights of stairs. I’m breathing hard as I stumble into Ms. Lacey’s classroom and fling my backpack onto a hook by the door.
“Hey, Willa,” Ruby says.
As soon as I see her, my stomach jumps around nervously. She’s the only one in the classroom so far, except for Ms. Lacey, who is over at her desk reading her phone and wiping her nose with a tissue. Our teacher says she’s counting the seconds until the trees stop blossoming.
“Hey,” I say to Ruby. I wonder if she also came in early to avoid any possible parental kissing and hugging. Like, maybe she’s come to her senses that her mom and my dad being together is weird and gross.
“Why are you here early?” I ask hopefully.
“My mom had to be in court for a trial this morning, so she dropped me off ten minutes ago,” Ruby says.
“Oh,” I reply flatly.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about it all night,” Ruby says, smiling. “Can you believe it? Think about how much fun we’re going to have.”
“Shut up!” I snap.
Ms. Lacey looks up from her phone, sniffles, and touches her finger to her lips. I know I can be loud without realizing it, but what Ms. Lacey doesn’t understand is that this is no time to be a quiet and calm type of person. This is the time to shut Ruby up before she broadcasts to the whole world that my dad has a girlfriend, and it’s her mom.
“Jeez, Willa.” Ruby shakes her head. “I didn’t even say anything.”
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. The last thing I want is to be in a fight with Ruby on top of everything else. “It’s just … it’s not like I want to tell everyone.”
“Like who?” Ruby says, looking around. “No one is even here. Honestly, Willa, it’s going to be awesome. I’m so glad that of all the people they could have picked—”
“Can we please not talk about it?” I tug at my shorts, trying to inch them down toward my knees. Even though most days I like my legs liberated from pants, my skin is feeling cold and shivery right now, and all I want is to be wrapped in warm fabric.
Ruby pushes her tongue up into her palate expander and then sucks in some saliva. “Okay … but before everyone gets here I just wanted to say that your dad is really nice. And funny. So I’m happy for my mom.”
Now is when I’m supposed to say that Ruby’s mom is also really nice. And she is nice. But being nice does not mean I want her to be my dad’s girlfriend.
“Did you hear about Avery?” I ask, changing the subject.
Ruby visibly shudders. “Okay, that was annoying. They did not need to hold hands in front of the Tanakas. They should have just kept their business to themselves.”
“So you don’t want everyone to know?” I ask hopefully.
Ruby shakes her head. “Everyone is fine. Just not Avery. Avery will find a way to make it seem bad.”
For a second, I’m glad there’s something Ruby and I agree on. But as I tip back and forth in my chair, I realize that Ruby said that Avery will find a way to make it bad. The thing is, Avery doesn’t have to find a way to make it bad. It IS already bad.
When Avery walks into the classroom a few minutes later, I rock so vigorously in my chair I end up crashing backward into a bookshelf, knocking two science books and a row of novels onto the floor. Thank goodness Ms. Lacey is in the hallway, because if you’re too disruptive she’ll make you sit in the Think Chair, which is a beanbag chair at the edge of the classroom where people go when they have to chill out. It’s humiliating to do time in the Think Chair, because everyone glances at you while you pretend not to notice.
As I quickly shove the books back onto the shelf, I try not to look at Avery. She’s wearing a black dress and a white plastic headband with black glitter and black-and-white sparkly earrings. Teachers love Avery, but I can see through the sparkles and glitter to her evil core. I settle back at my table and glance over at Ruby, who is flipping a page in her book. We’re all supposed to read quietly before morning meeting. I’m reading Because of Winn-Dixie for the fourth time. Girl saves dog, dog saves girl—it doesn’t get better than that. But I can’t concentrate on a single word right now.
“Aren’t you cold, Willa?” Avery asks, fiddling with the charm bracelet on her wrist as she peers at my shorts. “It was in the forties this morning.”
“I’m fine,” I say, tugging my shorts farther down over my knees.
“Just say it, Avery,” Ruby says coolly. “We know you saw them on Wednesday night.”
Ruby doesn’t get nervous around Avery like I do. Probably because she hasn’t known Avery since preschool and hasn’t been subjected to as much torture at her manicured fingertips.
“Yes, I saw them,” Avery says. “And, Willa, you probably know that your dad texted my mom last night and said that they told you guys. You have no idea how hard it was to keep it a secret all day yesterday.”
Ruby glances at me worriedly but I’m holding my breath, waiting to see where Avery is going with this.
“Don’t worry,” Avery says. “My mom said I’m not supposed to tell people about it. She said it’s your business.”
I exhale slowly. This actually isn’t as terrible as I anticipated.
Avery clicks a dog charm against a silver A on her bracelet. “Since no one else is around, I guess I can say one thing.” She grins slyly and pauses for emphasis. “I was just thinking about how you’re practically sisters now.”
I can feel blood pounding in my ears. “We’re not sisters!” I shout.
Ms. Lacey returns to the classroom, her red-rimmed eyes watching us closely.
Avery shrugs. “I guess I shouldn’t have said ‘sisters.’ I should have said ‘stepsisters.’”
Ruby groans. I sag back in my chair, but I’m careful to keep both feet on the ground so I don’t go crashing backward again. The twins, Norie and Zoe, are looking on curiously from the next table, their books open in front of them. Along with Ruby, Norie and Zoe are my other friends in the class. Sometimes I chat with the boys, like Elijah and Sam, who live to trade LEGOs, and sometimes I even trade minifigures with them. I can see a bunch of the LEGO-trading boys watching too. Great. Before the end of the day everyone is going to know that my dad fell in love with my best friend’s mom. Which is so weird when all I want in my life is not to be weird.
“Here’s the thing,” Avery says. “My sister is taking a psychology class this semester. She goes to a very selective high school.”
Ruby and I shake our heads like we don’t care about Avery’s sister’s high school, but that doesn’t stop Avery. Nothing stops her from her bragging. We all know that she rocked her audition to a performing arts middle school, and her parents are rich, and her dog, Pippin, descends from a Best in Show Cavalier King Charles spaniel.
“Anyway, my sister is taking a psychology class on family relationships, and she learned that most second marriages have little chance of succeeding if there are stepchildren in the picture. I just thought you should know that. This relationship may be a short-lived problem.”
“Can you just shut up?” I hiss, leaning in close to Avery. I hate to think about her and her sister talking about us.
>
“It’s not a problem,” Ruby says, sucking at her palate expander. “And what would be so wrong with being step—”
“Stop it!” I shout, jumping to my feet. My chair clatters backward onto the floor, so no doubt everyone is looking at me. Well, I don’t care because right now I need them both to stop talking.
“Girls.”
Ms. Lacey is standing between Avery and me.
“I didn’t do anything!” I say. It’s only now that I realize my hands are trembling.
“For real,” Ruby tells Ms. Lacey. “Willa didn’t do anything. Avery was—”
Ms. Lacey holds up her palm. Her eyes are watery and she’s clutching a fistful of tissues. “Avery, please go to your table spot. Ruby, you can sit down again. Willa, can I please talk to you in the hallway?”
Oh god. I’m totally getting sentenced to the Think Chair.
“But I …” I say, wiggling my fingers. I’m trying to remember what Maureen tells me to do when I’m having sensory overload, but I can’t think because my brain is crashing like an ocean during a storm.
“Ms. Lacey,” Avery says, smiling sweetly, “did you know my mom is an immunologist? If you need someone to talk to about your seasonal allergies, I’m sure she would—”
“I do know that about your mom,” Ms. Lacey interrupts, “but I have my own immunologist I’m working with. Now, please sit down and get your book out.” Then she turns to me. “Willa,” she says, her voice so nasal it comes out more like Villa. “Let’s talk in the hallway.”
My body feels jittery and I’m rolling my ankles inside and out. I can’t believe I’m getting in trouble over this! Avery was the one who started it, and she gets to sit there smirking in her perfect headband and perfect dress. Sometimes I wish I were four years old again because I would like to go in for another bite, only this time I wouldn’t stop at Avery’s sweatshirt.
“Class,” Ms. Lacey says, clapping her hands together. “I’m going to step out for a moment. I expect that all of you will continue reading quietly.”
As everyone stares at me, I snap at a rubber band on my wrist and rock back and forth on my feet.
“Want to do a few wall pushes before we talk?” Ms. Lacey asks when we get out to the hallway. She knows I have sensory issues and will sometimes suggest wall pushes or jumping jacks in the hallway. Or she’ll ask me to deliver the attendance sheet to the upstairs office. I appreciate that Ms. Lacey isn’t obvious about my special needs. She always pulls me aside and tells me privately.
“No thanks,” I say, tapping my fingers together. “Can you just tell me if I’m getting in trouble?”
“It seems like you’re having a tough morning … but don’t worry,” Ms. Lacey says, blowing her nose. “It’s a good thing I’m going to tell you.”
“Good?”
Ms. Lacey smiles. “I just opened a letter from the guidance counselor.” She gestures to a paper that I hadn’t even realized was in her hand. “There’s a kindergartner who he thinks might need your help.”
The Children’s School is big on having older kids work with younger kids, as reading buddies or math mentors.
“Why me?” I ask.
“She’s having a hard time fitting in socially.”
Oh, great. They’re pairing me with the kindergarten outcast. That must be how they see me, a fifth-grade outcast mentor.
Ms. Lacey continues. “Her name is Sophie. We were talking about her the other day, and Mr. Torres told me that all she wants to do is play LEGOs. He has a big box of them and has been having her come into his office once a week to play and talk. Except she’s not talking. I remembered your research paper on LEGOs, and I suggested that you play LEGOs with her. Sophie may even be inspired by you. Mr. Torres loved the idea and dropped a letter on my desk firming it up. So … what do you think?”
I shrug. I’ll never say no to LEGOs, even if it means hanging out with a kindergartner. “What would I miss? Would I have to make up a class?”
Ms. Lacey winces like she’s about to deliver bad news. “Gym. Is that okay? I know some of you wait all week for gym class.”
I try to play it cool but inside I’m donkey kicking all over the place. Getting out of gym to build LEGOs! I would get out of gym to clean toilets. Okay, maybe not toilets. But I would get out of gym to replace paper towels in the bathroom. Though I might be tempted to wad up wet ones and stick them to the ceiling so they’d fall whenever Avery came in to pee.
“Sure, I’ll do it,” I tell Ms. Lacey.
The rest of the day isn’t bad. Ruby and I sit together at lunch but we definitely don’t talk about our parents. She’s reading a book on ghosts, so we take turns telling each other scary stories. I tell Ruby a story about a doll who holds up a finger every time she kills someone. It’s so creepy that Ruby has to run out of the cafeteria and into the bathroom before she wets her pants.
Other than to tell us that she has stories even creepier than ours, Avery leaves us alone at lunch. She’s working on a project with the twins, Norie and Zoe Robbins. I think they’re writing a pop song together. Norie and Zoe are famous at school for three reasons. For one, they’re completely identical except Norie has a thin scar above her lip. For two, they get along with everyone. And for three, they’re boy crazy. I don’t have crushes yet, and neither does Ruby, but it’s still fun to hang out with the twins.
As I’m leaving school to walk home, I pass Ruby sitting on the front steps, her elbows resting on her knees.
“Don’t you have afterschool?” I ask, standing above her.
Ruby shakes her head. “My mom’s picking me up soon. I’m getting my palate expander checked. If everything looks good, I’ll get it off next week.”
“That’s great,” I say. Ruby’s always complaining about how food gets stuck under it and she still can’t swallow her spit even after a year of having it on.
“I can’t wait,” Ruby says, digging her phone out of her backpack and glancing at the screen. “I’ll finally be able to eat gummy bears without lying to my orthodontist.”
At the mention of gummy bears, I think about I Scream yesterday. Ruby must be thinking it, too, because she sighs heavily. She picks up her soccer backpack and flops it onto her other side to make room for me. I lower myself onto the stairs and reach into my bag for a piece of gum.
“I’m sorry I told you to shut up this morning,” I say, folding a stick into my mouth and vowing not to swallow this one.
“It’s okay.” Ruby glances at her phone again. Her cheeks are flushed, though, and she’s squinting like she’s upset.
“Also …” I pause. I’m not sure where I’m going with this but I want to say something to make Ruby look less sad. “I was thinking about it and—”
“You’re excited?” Ruby asks, smiling hopefully. “Please say you’re excited. I mean, think about it. We’re going to have so much fun. Like maybe we’ll take vacations together and do holidays and road trips. We can even have family game nights!”
“Uhhh,” I say, shaking my head. The thing is, I already have a family for vacations and holidays and road trips and game nights, and I really don’t want that to change. Also I like that my family is my safe place where I can be myself and never worry about looking weird.
“I was just going to say that your mom is nice,” I finally tell her.
Ruby stares at me like, Huh?
“You said this morning that my dad is nice,” I explain. “Your mom is nice too.”
“Oh,” Ruby says.
I sigh heavily and lean into Ruby’s shoulder. She leans back and we press hard into each other. The front steps of school are crowded with kids shouting and texting their parents, but right now I feel like it’s just Ruby and me. From the outside, we look so different. Ruby is small and Indian American, with her black hair and her backpack that’s built to hold a soccer ball and cleats. I’m tall and white, with my curly blond hair and my Lands’ End backpack full of novels and embroidered with a brown dog and my W.A.G. initials. But
we don’t have to look alike to be best friends.
Ruby pushes harder at my shoulder, seeing if she can tip me over. I push her back. We’re both giggling and pushing into each other until we’re laughing and gulping for air.
Ruby’s phone pings in her hand. She glances at the screen. “Oh! My mom is almost here.”
The thing is, even though Ruby’s mom is nice, she’s no longer just Ruby’s mom. She’s also my dad’s girlfriend, and I totally don’t want to be around when she shows up.
“Bye!” I say to Ruby, hopping up and grabbing for my backpack. “See you Monday.”
Ruby lifts her eyebrows like she’s surprised I’m rushing off so quickly. “Okay,” she says. “Have a good weekend.”
I suddenly remember that my dad and Ruby might play soccer together this weekend. Ugh. I slide another piece of gum into my mouth and hurry toward Broadway without turning back.
Every Saturday morning, after my dad and Benji finish their parkour class in Riverside Park, we get in the car and drive to my mom’s house in Tomsville. My brother and I stay there until Sunday evening, when Mom and Bill drive us back to the city after dinner. It’s a two-hour drive up the Hudson River to Tomsville. Dad, Benji, and I generally chat or listen to an audio book, because my brother gets carsick from reading in the back seat. And he doesn’t get just a little carsick. He’s a projectile puker.
This morning as we’re driving, I’m looking out the window at the blossoming trees, which makes me think about Ms. Lacey and her allergies. I yawn and stretch. That’s when I notice that my brother is shuffling his Pokémon cards in his lap.
“Stop looking at those,” I tell him. “It’s going to make you puke.”
“Benji.” Dad glances into the rearview mirror. “Are you reading?”
My brother raises and lowers his narrow shoulders. “It depends on the definition of reading. Mostly I was just glancing at my cards.”
“If you puke—” I start to say.
Dad’s phone rings. He puts the call on speaker and says, “Hey, you.”
Not If I Can Help It Page 4
