Except now she was totally obsessed with the bill in front of her, running a shiny, dark red nail down the list of charges and frowning so hard that lines appeared between her eyes. I started down the hall to my room, but she held up her hand as if to tell me to wait, so I rolled my eyes and leaned against the front door. She needed to make up her mind: yell at Marina or call MasterCard. And let me play on the Internet while she decided. What was the problem, anyway? I had gotten in trouble for the poll, but I’d finished my detention last week.
“I can’t deal with these people,” my mother muttered, tossing the bill aside. Then her gaze landed on me. “So, Marina,” she said. “I got a call today about your vocabulary quiz.”
“What?” I asked. “What about it?” Had I failed a quiz already? I had studied!
“Ms. Avery said you had the same answers as Rachel,” my mother told me. “Is that true?”
“What?” I asked. “Oh my gosh, it’s not like there are answers. You were supposed to write sentences that showed you knew the meaning of the words. Yeah, Rachel and I came up with the sentences together, but we each remembered them on our own. Rachel’s not even in my class. Why does Ms. Avery even care, as long as the sentences are right? She just doesn’t like me.”
“Calm down, Marina.” My mother closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “You don’t need to go into hysterics about every little thing.”
“I’m not going into hysterics,” I told her. “I’m just saying, we didn’t cheat.”
“Nobody’s accusing you of cheating,” my mother said. “She just said you had the same sentences and wanted to figure out how that happened.”
“Well, tell her what I told you,” I said. “We studied.”
My mom ripped into another envelope. “She’ll probably want to hear it from you.”
“What?” I had already spent more than enough quality time with my Head of House. “Can’t you call her? She called you.”
“Marina . . .” My mother tugged the letter out of its envelope. “I don’t have time to go through ten rounds of phone tag with the teachers at your school. You see her every day. Just talk to her.”
“Fine.” I pushed myself off the door. “But if I end up in detention again because she doesn’t believe me, you’re going to have to talk to her, anyway.”
“You know, Marina.” My mother sighed. “I come home from a long day—”
Of spas and waxes, I thought.
“—and I don’t think it’s too much to ask that sometimes you’re in a good mood.”
“And I don’t think it’s too much to ask,” I shot back, “that sometimes you’re on my side.”
I didn’t want to hear what she said to that, so I stomped down the hall and slammed my door. Then I texted Rachel.
Ms. A called my mom 2 say we cheated on vocab quiz. Hate her!
I watched the phone until a text from Rachel buzzed back:
Stnx 2 b u!
U 2, I wrote back. Did Rachel think Ms. Avery wouldn’t call her parents?
The phone buzzed again with Rachel’s reply:
My parents will be like pls, we dont care.
I snapped the phone shut. How could I have forgotten? Mr. and Mrs. Winter thought Rachel was so perfect, they’d probably get mad at Ms. Avery for calling them. But why did she have to be such a raging jerk about it? Elizabeth would have been nice. Addie would have said, Poor Reener! It was just Rachel who turned it into something to show off about.
I grabbed my Little Black Book off my bedside table and started scribbling. If winning was what Rachel wanted, I could think of plenty of poll categories for her to come in numero uno.
SACHI’S VIDEO NIGHTMARE #2.0
INTERIOR. JANE JACOBS MIDDLE SCHOOL LOBBY—DAY
Students crowd around a bulletin board.
CLOSE-UP: SACHI, her face alert.
CUT TO: the bulletin board. A piece of paper reads, “After-School Activities.”
CLOSE-UP: the word “Video” and a list of names underneath it.
PAN down the list of names, resting on: SACHI PARIKH.
Sachi claps her hands in delight.
SACHI
Yes! I made it! Oh, thank you,
thank you, thank—
She knocks into someone and turns to see MR. PHILLIPS, a teacher who has appeared as if from nowhere wearing a black suit and dark glasses.
MR. PHILLIPS
Sachi Parikh?
SACHI
(gulps)
Yes?
MR. PHILLIPS
(briskly)
Come with me, please. We have some questions about your permission slip.
STUDENTS JEER and WHISPER, “Busted!”
“Excuse me,” I said, weaving through the crowd outside of school. “Sorry. Pardon me.”
“Hey, Sachi!” said a voice.
I turned to see Tessa, from my math class, disentangling herself from her friends. “Oh, hi!” I replied. I really wanted to get into the lobby, but I didn’t want to be rude, so I asked, “How are you?”
“Good. Listen.” She sighed. “I lost that pencil you lent me.”
“Oh!” I felt bad that she felt bad. “That’s okay.”
“Are you sure?” Her dark skin wrinkled with worry. “It was one of those nice mechanical ones.”
I tried to smile, but all I could think was Video, Video, Video. “It’s okay,” I told her, “really. Hey, I need to check over my homework, but I’ll see you in math, okay?”
Her face relaxed. “Okay, thanks. Yeah, see you later.”
I wove through some tiny sixth graders, careful not to shove into them but barely able to wait another second. We’d handed in the permission slips for after-school activities on Monday—they had to post the list today! When I came close enough to the door to give it a good yank, I burst into the lobby, looked toward the bulletin board and—
Oh. No list.
Not that I could read the bulletin board from all the way across the lobby, but last year, when my sister Priyanka had wanted to know whether she’d gotten the fun Test Prep teacher or the strict one, seventh and eighth graders had flocked to the board in such a mob that I’d had to wait on the edges until Priyanka had come back with the bad news. Some kids were milling around by the board today, but they looked more like people waiting than people who’d just found something out.
I walked over to my spot near the library, trying to stay hopeful. I had gotten to school pretty early. Maybe they’d put up the list before homeroom. After all, activities started next Tuesday, and today was Thursday. Surely they wouldn’t wait until next week to tell us. My stomach clenched with the thought that I’d have to spend the whole weekend worrying whether I’d gotten into Video. The teachers wouldn’t notice that the signature on my permission slip didn’t really match the one on my sister’s . . . would they?
“No way,” said a giggly voice, “you didn’t count that right.”
“That’s because I can’t do it when you’re moving!”
I looked up to see Flora and Lainey heading toward me. Lainey was clutching Flora’s collar, and the two of them were laughing.
“Hi!” I laughed too because they looked so silly. “What’s going on?”
Flora sank down next to me. “Not much.”
I inched away to give her room, since the pin collection on her bag could scratch you if weren’t careful.
“Hey.” Lainey smiled as she sat on the other side of Flora, her dirty-blond hair pulled into a messy bun. “What’s up?”
“What were you guys talking about?” I couldn’t imagine why Lainey had been holding on to Flora’s collar.
“Oh, nothing.” Flora shook her head, but she had a little smirk that made me think it was actually something.
“Flora wants me to get her some of that bicycle-chain jewelry they sell near my house,” Lainey explained, “you know, like my bracelet.” She rooted among the many bracelets on her wrist and ran her finger over a thick silvery one that I now realized was a chain from a bicycle.
“Oh, right,” I said. “I like that one.” Honestly, I thought it was sort of strange, but I knew Lainey was proud of it.
“Thanks,” said Lainey, pleased. “Anyway, you have to tell the people at the store how many links you want, so I was trying to measure with my fingers, except somebody ”—she leaned into Flora, who let out a barking laugh—“kept moving, so I couldn’t get it right.”
“Oh, funny,” I said. Although why was that such a big deal that Flora didn’t want me to know about it? “You should let her count, Flora. That bracelet would look good on you.”
“Hey,” said Lainey, “do you want me to get you one?”
Flora burst out laughing. “Oh, yeah, right.”
“What?” I asked, surprised.
Flora shook her head, chunks of dark brown hair falling from her ponytail. “No offense, Sachi, but I don’t think you’re the bicycle-chain type. I mean, the poll said you were a Nice Girl, not a Tough Girl.”
“Ugh, do not even mention that stupid poll.” Lainey scuffed her pink high-tops against the wall opposite us. “That thing was evil.”
“Yeah.” Flora snorted. “Weirdest Girl.” She kept saying it like that, but I knew she liked her title.
“You’ll be on it if they do it next year,” I assured Lainey. “For Best Singer, maybe.” She was new this year, so people didn’t know her that well yet, but she was playing Rizzo in Grease, so she must have been good.
Lainey chipped at her purple nail polish. “I guess. But you’re, like, the only nonpopular person who got something good. Not that those girls are popular with me, but you know.”
I crossed one leg over the other. “Yeah . . .” I had to admit, at first I had been flattered to have made it onto the poll. But lately I had started to wonder, what did “nice” mean? That I lent so many people pencils, I had to dip into my tiny allowance to buy more? Or that I didn’t say anything when Flora acted secretive about a necklace? “Nicest Girl” may have seemed like a compliment, but it was part of the reason I needed to get into Video.
SACHI’S VIDEO FANTASY #2.1
INTERIOR. JANE JACOBS AUDITORIUM—DAY
LAINEY
Sachi, your video was amazing! You may be Nicest Girl, but I’m going to call you Most Creative.
SACHI
(modestly)
Oh, thank you.
FLORA
Lainey, Sachi has always been creative. Don’t you ever see her stories in the hallway? She’s more than just the perfect score. Maybe it’s not obvious to you, but Sachi and I have been best friends since third grade, so I know these things.
I was so lost in my thoughts, I didn’t notice when it happened, but a teacher must have posted the list on the bulletin board, because all of a sudden there was a stampede! Seventh and eighth graders mobbed the board in layers so thick, I couldn’t even see the board itself.
“What is that?” Lainey asked.
“I think it’s the after-school activities list,” I responded, my heart thumping. I sat frozen between them, not sure if I should move. Of course I wanted to see if I’d gotten into Video, but I wasn’t sure I wanted Flora and Lainey to be there when I did. What if the teachers noticed that the signature was funny, and had written “See me” next to my name?
Well—even if that was the case, I had to know. I jumped up and said, “I’m going to check out the list.”
Flora squinted up at me. “Are you that excited about Test Prep?”
“Um . . . I also requested Video.” The crowd was gathering more people by the second.
“No way!” Flora scrambled to her feet, and Lainey did the same as my heart squeezed in protest. “That’s so cool. I thought your parents were making you take Test Prep. What did you say to them?”
“I just asked and they said yes,” I replied, heading for the board. I wished she hadn’t said that in front of Lainey. They were already getting close because of the play. What if Flora told her things about me that made me seem immature? “It wasn’t a big deal.”
Just then, a boy pushed past me and elbowed me, hard.
Ow! I rubbed my arm. Was that my punishment for lying? Because I hadn’t only lied to my friends. I’d deceived my parents as well, only far, far worse.
SACHI’S VIDEO NIGHTMARE #2.2—A TRUE STORY
INTERIOR. SACHI’S PARENTS’ BEDROOM—NIGHT
CLOSE-UP: a credit card, flipped over. A piece of scrap paper. A hand practicing a signature.
SACHI’S MOTHER (offscreen)
Sachi? Why aren’t you in bed?
PAN from Sachi’s hand to her face as she gasps.
SACHI
Coming!
Using the signature she’s been practicing, Sachi scrawls her mother’s name on the after-school activities form.
I brushed the memory from my head. I just needed to find out whether I’d gotten in—then I’d deal with the consequences.
A space opened up in front of the board, and I darted into it. I found the words “Video Lab,” scanned the end of the list for “Parikh,” and—
“Yes!” I clapped. “I’m in!”
“Awesome,” said Lainey. “What are you going to do it on? Can we guest-star?”
I laughed. “Oh, gosh, I don’t know.” I had thought about what I might do, and it didn’t involve playing a part. But it could, possibly, so I said, “I mean, of course you can.”
The first bell rang, sending a groan rippling through the lobby. “We should go,” Flora said. The laughter I’d felt a moment ago dried up, because I remembered something else I had to worry about: Priyanka.
SACHI’S VIDEO NIGHTMARE #2.3
INTERIOR. JANE JACOBS MIDDLE SCHOOL LOBBY—DAY
Sachi’s sister, PRIYANKA, enters the lobby and makes a beeline for the list. She reads it, and her eyes bulge out in shock.
PRIYANKA
(turning to Sachi)
You’re taking Video? What is your problem? I’m calling Ma!
SACHI
Priyanka—let me explain—
I had to intercept her before she saw the list.
“You guys go ahead,” I told Flora and Lainey. “I need to tell Priyanka something.”
“Priyanka? Get me outta here!” Flora bounded toward the stairs. Lainey ran after her, asking, “Why?”
Flora made no secret of finding my older sister cross and dull, and though I wished she wouldn’t be quite so obvious about it, I couldn’t blame her.
Make that cross, dull, and punctual, I thought, because, as if on cue, Priyanka strode into the lobby, her hair frizzy in the humidity, despite her braid. A crowd had gathered again around the list, and she began striding toward it, but I blocked her path. “Hey!” I said, trying on a broad smile. “How are you? Did Pallavi get to school okay? I’m sorry she was so cranky on your morning. What do you think was bothering her?”
Priyanka wrinkled her nose, adjusting her glasses. “What’s going on?”
I blinked. “With me? Nothing. Well, my backpack is kind of heavy, but—”
She rolled her eyes. “What do you want, Sachi?”
My heart sank. “What makes you think I want something?” In the old days, Priyanka and I always talked about our little sister. In fact, last year at this time, we were dropping her off at school together. But ever since the winter, Priyanka had gone from doing everything with me to criticizing everything I did. I had no idea what I had done to deserve it or how to make things right. Now, as she stood in front of me with her arms folded, her long braid flopping over her shoulder like the tail of an agitated raccoon, I thought, She probably won’t listen, but I have to try.
“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath, “you know how I wanted to be in the after-school Video class?”
She shifted her jaw to the side. “Yes?”
“So I sort of . . . got in. And—”
“What?” She spoke with such force that the koala bear hanging from her backpack jumped on the end of its key chain. “What did you do, you forged the signature?”
<
br /> I looked at the koala’s matted fur, feeling like I was dangling from a chain myself. “Maybe.”
As two girls walked by, one pointed at the koala, and the other one giggled. I felt my face grow hot.
“Ma and Papa are going to kill you,” Priyanka declared. “Do you really think they’re not going to find out? What do you think will happen when your class takes the practice test? They’ll know you haven’t been studying.”
I cringed. Priyanka had gotten to the second part of my plan sooner than I had wanted her to. “Well,” I said, “I was hoping you could lend me your books from last year.”
She stared at me. “Are you crazy? I’m not helping you with this.”
“Please?” I begged. “I’ll make sure they don’t find out.”
“I can’t even believe we’re having this conversation,” she said. “Why do you need to take Video now? Just do it next year, when you’ve already gotten into high school.”
Would she understand my reasons if I explained them? I had to try. “Do you remember the video in last year’s Arts Assembly?” I asked. “Where they talked about the different nationalities at school like we were countries on the news? You know, when the white girl asked the Muslim girl in the head scarf for the ketchup, and the voice-over said, ‘America recognized Pakistan today’?”
I thought it would make her smile—I knew she’d liked the video too—but she folded her arms. “You think because those two boys made a video and got into Stuyvesant, you will too?” she asked. “You know that it’s just based on test scores, right?”
“Yes,” I said impatiently. “I know how it works.” How could I not, with my parents quoting from the New York City Specialized High School Handbook every evening? “I just meant—that video was so cool, and I want to make one like it. Not exactly like it, though—more like a sequel. If I wait until next year, people won’t even remember the first one.”
“So?” said Priyanka. “What’s worse—people not remembering last year’s video, or being the only cousin who didn’t get into Stuyvesant? I mean, if I get in.” Her tone showed that she thought she would.
“I know it doesn’t seem like a big deal, but . . .” I didn’t think I could tell her the other reason I had to take Video now—that I didn’t want to go through Jacobs known just for my grades, or being Nicest Girl. The boys who had made the video last year—everyone was talking about them after the Arts Assembly. I wanted that to happen to me. “I really want to be in Video now.”
Nice and Mean Page 2
