Wednesday, February 11
DAVID
On Tuesday, I made a whole plan to talk to Sammie right at the beginning of math, before Luke was there, and I even spent the last fifteen minutes of lunch in the bathroom across the hall from class so I could get there early. I was carrying my binder and racing from the bathroom to math, a man with a plan, when I got knocked from behind and the binder flew out of my arm and exploded all over the hallway. It was Luke, of course, who knocked into me, so instead of being early to class I was late.
If I could just get Sammie alone for five minutes, I could explain everything, but wherever I go to try to catch up with her, Luke’s right there, ready to butt in and ruin everything. He’s not a sidekick, he’s a sidestick.
I finally catch a break when Mrs. Dougherty asks Luke to stay after in English. Sammie’s in Spanish, only two doors down, so I’m packed up before the bell starts ringing, and out the door before it stops. I spot her right away, practically running down the hall, but I manage to catch up with her in front of the doors to the stairwell.
“Hey,” I say, grabbing her arm. I’m panting and a little sweaty, and my heart’s racing. “Can we talk?”
“About what?” Sammie says, pulling her arm away from me.
“About what’s going on. About why you’re not answering my texts and avoiding me at school. Are you . . . mad at me?”
Sammie stops walking and looks at me. “I’m not mad,” she says, and I feel a whoosh of relief. But then she goes on. “What happened . . .” She looks down at the floor, then back up, but her eyes don’t meet mine. “What happened on the bus on Friday—”
What happened on the bus on Friday was awkward and embarrassing and weird. But I don’t want to say that. I want to pretend that what happened on the bus didn’t happen. And I want Sammie to pretend that too. I open my mouth to try to say something, but just then, Jefferson and Spencer come walking up.
“Hey, Sammie,” Spencer says. “David told us about you and Luke.”
“What?” Sammie says, glancing at me.
“About how you were fooling around on the bus,” Spencer says. “With Luke. Are you guys going out?”
“David told you I was what?” Sammie asks, her voice high and sharp.
“He told us what happened on the bus on Friday—”
“I did not,” I interrupt. “It wasn’t—”
“You said you were giving something to Sammie,” Jefferson tells me, “not kissing her, even though all the girls on my bus said it was kissing. You said Luke and Sammie were fooling around, and that Sammie liked it.” He turns to Sammie. “Are you guys going out?”
Sammie looks right at me, and there’s something in her eyes that I can’t read. I wait for her to tell the guys that nothing happened with Luke, that she wasn’t flirting with him, that it was all a big mistake. But she doesn’t. She doesn’t say anything.
Just then, Luke joins our little circle. “Hey,” he says, putting his arm around Sammie. “You and David making up?”
“Shut up,” I say. “We’re friends. We don’t have to make up. Sammie said she’s not mad. Right, Sammie?”
She keeps staring right at me, saying nothing. She doesn’t seem to even notice Luke’s arm around her shoulder. Or maybe she’s used to it, I think. Maybe Luke puts his arm around her all the time because she really does like him, not me, and she wants his arm around her like that.
“Cool,” Luke says. “Then maybe you want to kiss and make up with me?” He starts to leans in toward her, like he’s really going to kiss her right here in the hall, but before his lips make contact, Sammie pushes him away. She still doesn’t say anything.
Luke laughs, then lightly punches my arm. “C’mon,” he says. “We’re going to be late for drama class.” He pulls me away from Sammie and down the hall.
I can’t believe the way he moved in, so smooth, and practically kissed her right in the hallway, in front of everybody. Or the way she almost let him.
I push through the door into drama class, but before I can sit down, Carli Martin grabs my arm and whispers, “Follow me.”
She pulls me to the back corner of the room, where I’m surrounded by her friends.
“What’s going on with Luke?” Carli asks in a hoarse whisper.
“That he’s secretly a pod person?” I ask. “I’m pretty sure it’s not true—”
“No,” Sarah interrupts. “What’s going on with Luke and Sammie? We heard that something happened on the bus. Between them. And we heard that they are . . . that they might be . . .” She stops talking and looks me right in the eye, raising one eyebrow. “You know.”
“Going out?” I say, feeling a sudden, hot rush of frustration. It’s unfair, the way Luke’s so smooth, the way everything that’s hard for me is so easy for him. “Why don’t you ask him. They were practically kissing in the hall just now.”
Carli starts crying, big, fat tears rolling down her cheek. I’m kind of amazed that anyone can make tears appear that fast, but I ignore her and push right past Carli’s wet face and Sarah’s open mouth, and sit back down next to the person who’s ruining everything.
“What was that about?” Luke asks.
“Nothing,” I say.
Sammie doesn’t come to lunch, again.
SAMMIE
David Fischer is telling lies about me. My best friend is saying stuff he knows isn’t true. I don’t know what to do.
So I decide to ask two girls who are a lot more experienced with flirting and drama and boy problems than me: the Peas.
They’ve been picking me up from school every day this week, and even being nice about it.
Today, Rachel’s in the driver’s seat and Becca’s riding shotgun. I open the back door and slide in, but neither one says a word. I don’t take it personally. They can’t talk because they’re both looking in the little mirrors on the backs of their sunshades to reapply their lipsticks.
Becca flips her sunshade up and caps her lipstick. “How was your day?”
“Okay,” I say.
“That doesn’t sound very Sammie-like,” Rachel says. “There must have been at least one A-plus on a paper, or a quiz you killed.”
“Classes are fine,” I say. “I mean, they’re the same.”
“Hmm,” Becca says. “Is it personal? What’s going on? C’mon, dish.”
I take a deep breath and try. “There was this thing on the bus Friday—” I stop, not sure how to say what happened.
“Like someone threw up?” Rachel asks. “Remember when we had to ride the bus, Bec? It always smelled like barf.”
“Oh my gawd,” Becca says, making a gagging face. “That stink, I can still smell it.”
“No. No one threw up,” I say. “Friday, well, I always sit in the same seat. I sit in one seat and David and Luke sit across from me. But Friday, Luke was sitting in my seat, and David was in the other seat, so I sat with David because Luke—”
“Middle school,” Rachel says to Becca like it means something.
Becca shakes her head. “Gawd.”
“It was weird. He started touching my leg.”
“Luke was touching your leg?”
“No, David was.”
“Did you tell him to cut it out?” Rachel asks.
“No. I moved my leg away but then he moved his hand so he was touching me again. I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t even sure he was doing it on purpose.”
“Seventh-grade boys,” Becca says like she’s talking about something gross. “They have no sense of personal space. They’re like puppies, all wiggly and awkward but not nearly as cute.”
“Seventh-grade boys are the worst,” Rachel says. “They’re so handsy. Half of them haven’t figured out deodorant and they stink.” She pinches her nose with one hand and waves the other like she’s waving away a really bad smell.
“Nobody smelled,” I say, “but Luke—”
“Luke?” Becca interrupts. “That cute boy from the fro-yo place? I bet he’s figur
ed out deodorant.”
“I don’t know about the deodorant,” I say, “but a lot of girls are flirting with him, and David told everyone that I was too, and that Luke likes me—”
“You go, girl!” Rachel says, taking a hand off the wheel to air high-five me. “Flirting with the cute new boy!”
“Look,” Becca says, turning around to look at me. “Seventh grade is the worst, but you’ll get through it. Don’t let those other girls push you around about Luke. If the two of you have something going on, that’s your business, not theirs.”
“We don’t—” I protest, but the Peas aren’t listening.
“First it’s boy trouble,” Becca says to Rachel. “Next thing you know, she’ll want us to take her shopping for thongs.”
“Urban,” Rachel says. “They have the best.”
“Our little angel,” Becca says.
“She’s growing up,” Rachel says, pretending to wipe away a tear.
I turn and stare out the window, wondering if maybe there’s something wrong with me. I have boy trouble, but not the kind the Peas think I have. And no one seems to understand that.
Thursday, February 12
DAVID
Sammie’s not at lunch again, and someone else doesn’t show: Luke. I’m not even sure when my sidestick suddenly unstuck. We were in science together, and the bell rang, and I packed up my bag and walked out of class with him right there beside me. But when I got to the cafeteria, he was gone.
He shows up in math class, his nose kind of red like he has a cold.
“Where were you?” I whisper while Mrs. Knell explains the Do Now.
Amanda leans forward so I can’t see Luke at all. I lean back and whisper again, “Where were you? At lunch. You weren’t in the cafeteria.”
He shrugs, staring at his desk.
“I had to meet with someone,” he whispers, opening his math binder. “A teacher.”
Amanda leans back, blocking Luke again. I lean forward so I can see him. “Who? Why?”
“It was nothing. Mrs. Dougherty wanted to talk about the Giver essay we turned in last week. She wanted to go over it with me, I guess because I’m new.”
Mrs. Dougherty is the kind of teacher who gives you back your essay a month after you hand it in. She for sure never reads essays in a week.
At the front of the room, Mrs. Knell says, “I’ll be collecting and grading these Do Nows. You have five minutes to complete them.”
I haven’t even written the problem down, and didn’t hear Mrs. Knell’s instructions. I sigh and open my math binder, wondering why Luke would lie about where he really was at lunch. I take out my pencil and have a horrible thought: maybe he’s not telling the truth because he was with Sammie, and he doesn’t want me to know. I picture them, together, in the back stairwell, Luke’s blue eyes wide open, staring into her dark brown ones, as he moves in to kiss her right on the lips. My pencil snaps, and the vision disappears just as Mrs. Knell says, “David, what answer did you get for the problem?”
SAMMIE
When the dismissal bell rings at the end of the day, I grab my stuff and head straight for the girls’ bathroom by the front office. It’s the safest place to wait for the halls to clear. Then I can head to the library, where I wait until five for the Peas to pick me up.
Except today, someone else is in my bathroom, in one of the stalls, and I know by the sneakers who it is: Haley.
I’m standing there, trying to decide if I can squeeze out a bit of pee or if I should turn around and leave so she doesn’t think I’m a stalker, when the door pushes open and Carli, Sarah, Marissa, and Mackenzie flood into the bathroom. Carli’s eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, and there’s shiny clear snot below one of her nostrils. She hiccups.
Sarah walks right up to me, her green eyes narrowed and angry, and hisses, “Liar.”
The only lies I’ve told anyone are the little ones to Mrs. Knell about needing glasses. She can’t possibly mean those, can she? I look past her angry face, at Marissa and Mackenzie, who are in math with me.
“You said you didn’t like him,” Sarah says, her hands on her hips and her chin jutted out.
“What?”
She pokes her index finger at my chest. Her painted fingernail is dark red, the exact color of blood. “You lied to us about Luke. You said you didn’t like him.”
Luke. His name stabs me right in my gut. I wince. And somehow, what I feel as pain must look like something else, because her scowl turns to a look of triumph.
“I knew it!” she says. “Liar! Carli has had a crush on him since his first day here. But you’ve ruined everything. David told us you guys were making out in the hall.”
I open my mouth and close it. Open it again. Why would David tell them that? I can’t make any words come out. I want to say that I didn’t lie, and that I’m not going out with Luke, and that I’ve never made out with anyone, in the hall or anywhere else.
Unless . . . what if? On the bus? What if I did something to cause that? To cause all of it?
I’m standing there with my mouth hanging open, when there’s a groan from behind the stall door. Haley. I’d forgotten about her. The groan is followed by an awful retching noise and then the sound of something splashing into the toilet. Another retching sound, and more splashing. Haley’s full-on barfing. I look from Sarah to Marissa to Mackenzie, and they’re all standing, frozen, eyes wide. Even Carli has forgotten her tragic situation and is staring open-mouthed at the stall door.
“Haley?” I say, unsure.
Another moan, then more splashing sounds. In unison, Carli, Sarah, Marissa, and Mackenzie put their hands to their mouths. Sarah makes a small gagging noise and runs for the door, with Carli and Marissa right behind her. Mackenzie, with one hand over her mouth, touches my shoulder. I’m not sure whether she’s trying to comfort me or steady herself, but I try to give her a reassuring smile. From behind the stall door comes a wave of retching. Mackenzie makes a little sobbing sound, turns, and runs out of the bathroom.
I wait for a pause in the puking sounds. “Haley?” I say. “Are you okay? Do you want me to see if the nurse is around?”
“I’m okay,” Haley says weakly. “Can one of the other girls go get her?”
“Umm,” I say, “the other girls bailed. Sorry. It’s just me.”
The stall door swings open. “Cool,” Haley says. “It worked.” She’s holding her water bottle, smiling.
“What worked?”
“The fake puking.”
“You mean you weren’t just barfing up your insides?”
Haley laughs. “Nope. I learned that trick at softball camp. We used to use it to get out of dining hall duty.”
“Wow. It sounded really real,” I say. “But why?”
“I thought you could use a distraction. I don’t know what’s up with you and Luke, but those girls were freaking out.”
“Nothing’s up with me and Luke,” I say.
Haley shrugs, then pulls her phone out of her back pocket. “Whatever,” she says, looking down at the phone screen. “Do Carli and Sarah and crew take a bus?”
“I think so. Why?”
“They’ll start pulling out in a couple minutes.”
I sigh with relief. “Thanks.”
Haley grabs her backpack.
“Aren’t you going to miss yours?” I ask.
“I don’t take a bus,” she says, pushing the bathroom door open. “My mom picks me up on her way home. I’m going to hang out in the library until then.”
“Me too,” I say, following right behind. “Get some homework done.”
“We could work together,” Haley says. “At least on math and English.” She turns and grins. “Give you a chance to prove you’re not stuck-up after all.”
I laugh, half at the joke Haley’s made, and half with pleasure at the idea of doing homework with someone.
The last time I did homework with a friend was at the very beginning of sixth grade, when Sarah and I did a book report together
. We had to make a “quilt,” and Sarah was focused on gluing pink ribbons in between the quilt blocks and writing the headings in purple puffy glue, like that was the part of the assignment that really mattered.
“Cool,” I say, and we head into the library.
DAVID
In PE, we’re playing badminton golf, which is super boring and mostly involves standing around, so I start thinking about Saturday because it’s Valentine’s Day. Pop always grumbles that it’s a holiday made up by greeting card companies, but I think what really gets him is that it’s a holiday when no one buys sporting goods. Jock straps, mouth guards, and baseball bats are not Valentine’s Day gifts.
In middle school, everyone acts like they don’t care about Valentine’s Day, but they do. Last year, when it fell on a Friday, the halls were crazy all day because kids kept leaving classes to slip valentines into other kids’ lockers. Girls were coming into classes crying. One eighth-grade boy got slapped in the face during lunch. The rumor was he gave valentines to three girls. None of my crew gave cards to anyone. I wanted to give one to Sammie but I didn’t. We both pretended like it was just a regular day.
I wonder if Luke’s going to give Sammie a valentine. Maybe he’s bought a card already, and maybe he’ll give her candy too. I wonder if he knows that Sammie’s favorite candy is Sour Patch Kids. I wonder if I should buy some Sour Patch Kids and take them to her house on Saturday. It’s not fair that I know Sammie so well, and Luke barely knows her at all, and he’s maybe going out with her. It’s not fair that what happened on the bus made everything weird and awkward between us. I wish I could remind her of our history, of our friendship, before the bus. Before Luke.
Then I have a flash of inspiration. I can remind Sammie about us, through my drawings. I can draw our friendship, the story of us. Sammie loves my drawing, and always asks me what I’m working on. She’s the only friend who knows how I feel about The Northern Province. She’s the only friend who’s seen my real drawings. I decide right then: I’m going to draw my way back into Sammie’s life.
That's What Friends Do Page 9
