Different

by Janet McLaughlin

  Just as we’re leaving, they bring out a birthday cake with nine candles on it. It’s hard to believe that the tiny little girl sitting in the chair is that old. She looks more like five or six.

  When we get outside, Jamie is sitting on the curb, fiddling with his phone. I guess he’s waiting for his family to come out. When he sees us, I wave. He turns his head, gets up, and walks over to a car. He climbs into the back seat and lies down.

  That’s when I realize it. Jamie isn’t sick. He’s embarrassed. Embarrassed about being seen with his sister. And boy, does that make me mad.

  Chapter 29

  The weekend with Abbie and Hannah is fun, though every once in a while I think of Jamie and his sister. Okay, more than once in a while. Truth is I can’t get it out of my mind. But I don’t bring it up. It’s not right to say something about someone when all you have is a hunch. A thought. No proof.

  But Monday at lunch, when Hannah mentions how much fun the weekend was, especially the dinner at the restaurant, it pops out of my mouth like a hiccup or a sneeze.

  “I think Jamie was embarrassed about his sister.” Grunt. Tap, tap, tap.

  Abbie and Hannah stare at me, like they don’t know what I’m talking about.

  “At the restaurant. Friday night. When he left as soon as he saw us.” Another grunt.

  “Where did that come from?” Abbie asks.

  “I don’t know. It’s just been bothering me all weekend.”

  “What’s to be embarrassed about?” Hannah asks. “She can’t help it that she has problems.”

  “I know that, but why else would he act so strange?”

  Abbie shrugs. “Maybe he really was sick.”

  “Then why was he sitting on the curb playing with his phone instead of lying down in the car like he said he would?”

  Hannah clears her throat. “Ummm. I notice you mention Jamie a lot. Do you, like, have a crush on him?”

  I tap, tap, tap the table. Bite my lip to keep the grunt down. I can feel the heat climbing up my neck and onto my face.

  Abbie’s eyes widen. “Oh my God, Izzy. Hannah’s right. You do talk a lot about him. Are you crushing on him?”

  Grunting, I say, “Can we talk about something else?”

  I grab Abbie’s apple. Throw it in the air. Catch it. Throw it again. This time I miss it, and it falls to the floor. I pick it up and hand it to Abbie.

  Abbie looks at her now bruised apple, shakes her head. “Sure we can talk about something else. How about you trade me that apple for your bag of chips?”

  We all laugh.

  “I guess that’s fair,” I say.

  Abbie grabs the bag before I can toss it and crush it in the catching act. I take a bite of the apple. It’s juicy and sweet. I think I got the better end of that deal.

  Hannah asks about Saturday’s dance, and I tune out. What does Jamie have to be embarrassed about? Abbie never seems to be ashamed to be seen with me. And believe me, some of the stuff my body does—stuff I have no control over, like the poking or the obsessing—can be pretty embarrassing, especially when I do it in public, which is most of the time. I mean I’m embarrassed by me. But Abbie acts as if what I do is normal.

  Maybe I was wrong getting mad at Jamie. Maybe it’s something else that’s bothering him.

  The next day Jamie comes in just before Mrs. Morgan closes the door. All during class I stare hard at him, trying to get his attention, but he doesn’t look at me once. When class ends, he’s up and out of the room before the bell stops ringing. It’s like he’s trying to avoid me or something.

  At first I think it’s because of me seeing him steal those posters. Or maybe he noticed that I kind of like him and that freaks him out. But the more I think about it, I realize that Jamie always acted a little weird around me. He’s never really mean. He just kind of avoids me.

  Maybe he thinks Tourette Syndrome is something you can catch. Now that’s just plain silly. Maybe I’ll find a time where he can’t run away and just ask him what his problem is. Maybe I’ll do that real soon. Like Saturday. At the dance. Maybe I just will.

  Chapter 30

  “Come on, Izzy. It’s just a stupid dance. Okay. It’s a special dance just for the eighth graders, but you don’t have to freak out over it.”

  Mom peeks around the bathroom door. “What are you mumbling about?”

  I grunt and point the mascara wand at my face. “Look at me!” There’s a big, black blotch on the upper corner of my right eye and another on the eyebrow of my left eye. “I’ve been trying for 20 minutes but I keep messing up.” I tap, tap, tap the mascara wand on the edge of the sink in frustration. Now there’s black goop there, too.

  Mom comes over to me and gently takes the wand from my hand. “Maybe I can help with that.”

  I grunt and stamp my foot, upset at everything and everybody. Mom waits for me to settle down.

  After a couple of minutes of grunting and stamping, I blow out a sigh. “Sorry. I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you, too.”

  I grunt again, flip the light switch on and off, then poke, poke, poke Mom on the shoulder. “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you, too. You’re really nervous about this dance, huh?”

  I nod. Grunt. Poke.

  Again, she waits. When my breathing steadies and I’m able to stop fidgeting, she asks, “Ready?”

  “Yeah. I guess.” I hold on to the bathroom sink to keep myself still.

  Mom looks at me, finger to her lips, then smiles. “Easy peasy.”

  She dampens a tissue, cleans up where I missed and painted my face. Then she finishes putting the mascara on my lashes.

  “Next,” she says.

  I hand her some lipstick. She looks at the deep brown color, shakes her head, and picks up a soft red. “This,” she says, “is the perfect color for your skin tone, and it matches your new dress. That other stuff makes you look like a zombie.”

  I lift my hands, hold them like claws, and growl. Mom shakes her head and laughs. “Stand still, missy, or you’ll look more like a clown.”

  When she’s done she stands back, tilts her head, and smiles. “You are so beautiful, Izzy.”

  I turn and stare into the mirror. I’d put big rollers in my hair when it was wet and now it’s falling in soft, brown waves around my face. And the mascara and lipstick—they make me look a lot older. That’s when I realize I look a lot like my mom, and she’s really pretty. If a guy— okay, I’m just going to say it— if Jamie can look past the weirdness, just maybe he’ll think I’m pretty, too.

  Chapter 31

  The music is blasting when I walk into the school gym. Abbie and Hannah are already there. I join them, and we stand around swaying to the music, trying to talk over the noise. One by one, the rest of the team joins us.

  “Hey.” Meghan waves and slips between Abbie and me. She looks me up and down. Nods. “You look good in red, Izzy.”

  I’m surprised she’s talking to me. She gets so annoyed at me when I mess up on the field. “Thanks.” I gently tap, tap, tap her on the shoulder. “You look good in black.”

  Meghan shakes her head. “You are so strange sometimes.” She looks Abbie over, glances down at her gold, strappy high-heeled shoes. “Those are pretty awesome! I want a pair.”

  “Thanks. I bought them with my babysitting money. Mom said they were too high and that I’d be sorry I wore them.” Abbie scrunches up her nose. “I’ll never admit it to her, but she’s right. They hurt like crazy.”

  I glance down at my shoes. Actually, they’re my mom’s. We finally wear the same size and, though they’re not real high, I think they’re kind of cool. I bend down to touch them, and hide the tic by fooling around with the buckle.

  When I look up, Mike from our English class is walking toward us. I clench my fists so I won’t go poking at him. He asks Abbie to dance. After they leave, I relax.

  Abbie is part way to the dance floor when she stops and calls out, “Wait!” A minute later, her shoes are off
her feet and stashed under the snack table that holds the punch and chips. “Don’t tell my mom,” she says as she passes me. “I hate it when she’s right.”

  Laughing, I give her a thumbs up.

  Abbie comes back from her dance, and we stand around talking. After a few minutes, I notice Mike staring at Abbie from across the dance floor. His friends are punching him on the arm, laughing. Mike’s face turns a bright red.

  “Mike keeps looking at you,” I say. “I think he likes you.”

  A smile spreads across her face. “Really? He is cute, isn’t he?”

  Before I can answer, Mike is heading our way again. I glance at Abbie. Her face is bright with excitement.

  Abbie and Mike stay on the dance floor for the next few dances. Hannah is dancing with Tyler from history class. After a while, a couple of guys ask me to dance, too. I am having fun, sort of, but most of the time I’m looking for Jamie. When I finally see him, he’s hanging out with a bunch of guys on the other side of the room.

  The DJ is just coming back from his break. Before I lose my nerve, I walk over to Jamie, straight across the empty dance floor. I don’t know what exactly I’m going to say to him. Should I start with the posters? The bruises? Or maybe the dinner and Katie?

  Jamie spots me coming just as the music starts up again. His face turns a bright red. He looks down at his feet, then up again at me. I stop walking. Maybe I should wait to talk to him. I mean it’s so loud now with the music and all. Not knowing what to do, I lift my hand and wave.

  He lifts his hand to wave back and—I can’t believe this—Marci, the biggest flirt in the whole wide world, grabs it! She pulls him onto the dance floor, laughing and chattering away. Jamie follows. I mean what else could he do? She really is pushy.

  The dance floor is starting to fill up with kids and I’m stuck there, in the middle, all alone, looking stupid. I detour around everybody, making my way to the snack table. From that safe distance, I watch as Marci and Jamie move across the floor. He’s a really good dancer. I hadn’t known that. So is Marci. Tears of frustration and anger blur my vision.

  A loud grunt of frustration escapes me. I stand there alone, watching them, until the song ends. I’m not sure what to do next. Marci is gabbing away, not letting Jamie alone. I grunt and tap, tap, tap the snack table.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see somebody coming toward me. It’s Abbie. She grabs my hand and pulls me toward the dance floor. “Come on,” she says. “The team is dancing together for this one.”

  “I don’t know.” I try not to follow, but Abbie keeps tugging at me. “I’m not good at this group dancing stuff.”

  “Just follow me. It’s easy.”

  We join the crowd sliding across the floor. I don’t want to spoil Abbie’s mood so I concentrate on the dance. After a few tries, I get the moves. Once I do, I love it. The music and the movement help me relax and forget about Jamie—almost.

  Just about everyone is dancing, except Jamie. At least, I can’t find him. I wonder if Marci is still latched onto him. I can’t find her either.

  As I dance, I add an occasional punch in the air, but no one seems to notice. We all beg the DJ to play one more line-dance, then another. After the third request, he says it’s time for the last dance of the night. Slow and easy.

  Mike asks Abbie to dance. Hannah and I make our way back to the snack table. Marci is dancing with Tyler, and Jamie is nowhere in sight. After the music stops, Mike walks Abbie over to us. I can tell by the blush on her face that she’s had a great time.

  “Yep,” I say after he leaves. “Mike definitely likes you.”

  Abbie’s grin widens. “I think I like him, too.” Abbie reaches under the table for her shoes, which, fortunately, are still there where she stashed them earlier.

  “Oooow!” she says as she struggles to pull them on. “Boy, they hurt!”

  “Then don’t wear them,” I say.

  “My mom’s picking us up, remember? If she sees me carrying them she’ll know she was right.”

  “So what’s the big deal? They’re only shoes.”

  “Because,” Abbie grimaces as she walks, “the next time I want to buy cool shoes she’ll remind me of tonight and say no.”

  “Oh, I get it,” I say. But I really don’t. Who wants to wear shoes that hurt?

  Abbie walks between Hannah and me, holding onto our arms for support. When we get close to the car, she lets go.

  “How was the dance?” Mrs. Anderson asks once we’re settled in.

  “Fun,” Abbie says.

  “And the shoes were okay?”

  “Yep.”

  I almost blurt out about how Abbie ditched her shoes. I turn it into a grunt. Abbie looks at me, shakes her head.

  I put my hand over my mouth, my eyes opened wide. I feel bad about kind of lying to Mrs. Anderson. Mom calls it lying by omission. But Abbie is my best friend, and best friends stick together.

  Abbie pulls out her phone and texts Hannah and me.

  Don’t either of u make a big deal over this. I wasn’t really lying. My shoes WERE okay. They were safely stashed under the snack table all night. ☺

  Before I can text back, Mrs. Anderson tells Abbie to put her phone away. “It’s rude to text while your friends are sitting here in the car with you.”

  I bite my lip to stop from laughing.

  “Sorry, Mom,” she says but she finishes a text she’d started and hits send.

  Her text comes a second later.

  So do u think Mike really likes me?

  Both Hannah and I give her a thumbs up, but we can’t really say anything since Abbie’s not supposed to be texting and she didn’t ask the question out loud.

  Mrs. Anderson shakes her head. “You can talk to each other with your voices and mouths, you know.”

  None of us say anything.

  Mrs. Anderson sighs. “I swear. Cell phones have destroyed conversation.”

  If she only knew.

  When I get home, Mom greets me at the door. She lifts my chin with her fingers and stares into my eyes. “Did you have a good time?”

  I think about all that happened before I answer. I didn’t get a chance to talk to Jamie, but I had a great time with my friends. Abbie was funny with her whole shoe thing, and I am happy for her and her maybe-new boyfriend. And the last couple of dances were a blast.

  Easy decision.

  “Yeah,” I say. I tap, tap, tap her on the arm, lean over, and hug her tight. “It was a good night.”

  And in a lot of ways it was. But I still have to talk to Jamie!

  Chapter 32

  Softball practice is almost over, and Jamie and the track team still haven’t passed by the field. I keep looking, but—

  “Palmer. Heads up.” A high fly is coming my way. I turn and run, looking up, keeping my eyes on the ball. When it starts to drop, I reach out, and the ball lands just short of the glove’s sweet spot. Dad’s words echo in my head, “Cover the ball with your right hand so it doesn’t fall out.” So that’s what I do.

  I wave the ball in the air to show that I caught it. I can’t stop a big smile from spreading across my face.

  “Not bad, Palmer,” Coach says. “But it would be a lot easier if you keep your head in the practice.”

  “Sorry, Coach.” I punch, punch, punch my glove and stop myself just in time from doing a cartwheel.

  A minute later, the track team comes running by. I watch Jamie, tagging along, last as usual.

  “Palmer!” Coach shouts as the grounder she hit my way bounces by me. Darn! I. Will. Focus.

  And I do for the rest of practice, which is all of five more minutes. I’m walking toward Mom’s car when I spot Jamie. He’s walking toward a minivan parked in the lot. His little sister—Katie, that’s what he called her at dinner—is strapped into a special seat in the back. She’s looking out the window, trying to wave her hand.

  Maybe I’m crazy, but it seems like she’s looking at me. Does she remember me from the other night? I don’t
want to be rude so I wave back. Her lips turn up into a huge smile.

  Jamie gets in the front seat, turns and says something to his sister. She looks at him and nods. As the car pulls away, Katie looks my way and waves again. Jamie follows her gaze. When he sees me staring back, he quick turns away. The car pulls out, and I’m more confused than ever.

  Chapter 33

  At lunch, I find a note Mom put in my lunch bag. It says, “I love you, too!” I crumple it and put it in my jeans pocket. That particular tic has been bugging me for weeks. I can’t hold a conversation with her—especially when I’m upset—without “I love you, Mom,” pouring out of my mouth every other sentence. I think this is her way of saying she really doesn’t mind, though it’s driving me crazy. At least it’s just Mom I say it to.

  Oh my god! What if I said it to everyone?

  I love you, Abbie.

  I love you, Hannah.

  I love you, Mrs. Morgan.

  I love you, Jamie!

  I look at Abbie, the words forming on my lips. I clamp my hand over my mouth. I will not say it.

  Abbie tilts her head, her eyebrows pulled together. “What?”

  I swallow the four words and shake my head. If I talk, I know they’ll pop out. I grab my sandwich and take a bite. Now I don’t have to talk.

  Abbie nods. She gets that I’m going through something. “So,” she says, “my parents agreed to the roller skating party. I can invite 17 kids. That’s 20 with you, Hannah, and me.”

  That’s right! Abbie will be 13 in a couple of weeks. She’s two months and three days older than me, which makes me just a little jealous. Mom says in 20 years I’ll be glad that I’m younger, but right now—

  “Izzy. Did you hear me? I need your help with the invitation list.”

  I try to apologize for being distracted, but it comes out as a grunt. I grunt again in frustration. It’s been a couple of weeks since I started taking the lower dose of that one pill. It’s helped me with my anger issues, but the tics and distractions are as bad as ever. I can’t wait to see the homeo-whatever doctor Mom was talking about. I have an appointment next week. Maybe he can help.