My Life in Smiley: I Got This! (mostly...)

by Anne Kalicky

  pretty. I thought about her all summer, about the kiss we almost shared and our (brief) meeting in Brittany.

  The first card was from Conrad, my English pen pal, and frankly he hadn’t made much progress

  in French since he stayed at my house last April. . . .

  Guess who the other card was from? Bingo. Raoul, my ex-sworn enemy! That show-off hadn’t gotten any better either. He went to Texas for vacation, and of course . . . he had to rub it in.

  By the way, it wasn’t even a real postcard—just a cheap photograph. Tom got the same card. We figured out that this big loser sent the same photo to the whole class . . . just to look cool!

  I’m crossing my fingers that Naïs didn’t get his postcard. Imagine if she fell for his charms . . . for his trap, at least.

  Anyway, tonight Tom and I are going to see the class lists posted at the school entrance. With a bit of luck, Raoul will be in a different class and, soon, nothing but a bad memory.

  Tuesday

  The world is cruel and unjust. . . . Life isn’t worth living anymore! For the first time ever, I’m

  not in the same class as Tom! I don’t think I’ll survive. Here’s what happened. Yesterday, Tom and I met at the entrance of our secret passage to go to school together.

  But, as soon as we got there, we realized everyone had had the same idea. It was a battle royale to get up to the front and see the lists. As I was looking for our names, I realized the worst.

  Tom was

  in ANOTHER CLASS! Can you believe it? What did I do to deserve this? I swear I’m cursed. . . .

  Instead (once again) I have to endure Raoul and two of his dimwits, Damien Chico and Mathis Balma!

  I’ve been in bed since yesterday, unable

  to get up. I’m barely able to write to you. I’m a shadow of my former self. . . . Can you imagine?

  I feel like an astronaut lost in deep space. All of the good my vacation did for me melted

  away with the terrible news. I didn’t even have the guts to read the fifteen texts from Tom. This is all because of that night with the falling stars, I know it!

  With all of Grandpa and Grandma’s distractions, I’d completely forgotten to make a wish to be in the same class as Tom. Now, for the first time since kindergarten, we’ll be torn apart!

  A few days ago, I read an article about a billionaire who’s working on a completely crazy project: sending one hundred humans to Mars within ten years.

  The guy explained that the first “colonists” would not come back to Earth and they needed to be “ready to die.”

  At the time I found the idea scary, but now I am totally READY to be a part of this voyage. Even right now, if I had to!

  After spending twenty-four hours straight in my room, my mom finally came to see what was wrong. I spit it out. She seemed to understand my problem right away. Well . . . at least that’s what I thought. But then

  she wanted me to do a relaxation exercise. My mom read loads of books this summer about “the art of Zen,” “nonviolent communication,”

  “full consciousness,” and all of that popular hoo-ha.

  She told me to lie down (I already was), close my eyes, and trace the outline of a castle in my mind in order to call upon all the energy inside of myself. . . . And, believe me, no matter

  how hard I tried, I couldn’t find a single ounce of energy left within me.

  Dear future human, the adults of my time are really mysterious: some do everything they can to bug you, and

  others want you to remain calm at all costs. Sometimes I don’t understand them at all.

  Finally, even with an empty stomach, I fell asleep. I have to say, Mom’s cheesy cauliflower wasn’t exactly calling me. . . .

  Thursday

  The first day back in school, the first day of seventh grade. Tom and I were totally bummed.

  He was as upset as me about the whole thing, but the difference for Tom was that he had only ONE of Raoul’s

  losers in his class—and he’s with Célia, Naïs’s friend.

  He did, however, remind me of one thing that boosted my spirits:

  NAÏS AND I ARE IN

  THE SAME CLASS!

  That’s what he was trying to text me all day long yesterday! I was so preoccupied that this wimp wasn’t in my class that I didn’t pay attention to the most important information!

  In the hallway, I spotted Raoul. He was hard to miss. Ever since he got back from Texas, he’s been a total pain: he says “yes” in English whenever he can! He’s really laying it on thick.

  Tom and I said farewell, and I went to Mrs. Joviol’s class, my new homeroom. This year I found myself

  seated next to Nico (Nicolas Frilo, the new kid). At first glance he seems cool.

  And what luck! Naïs was sitting just in front of me. I was so happy . . . until she turned around and asked:

  “Was that really you acting like a sea lion on the beach in Brittany?”

  She’d seen me!

  I became totally red and cursed

  Lisa and her stupid “Shrimp Splash” game! Fortunately, Mrs. Joviol began describing our schedule, and that diverted Naïs’s attention. Raoul was seated near the back of the room. He’d fashioned a “blowgun” out of a pen and was shooting spitballs at the back of Chloé Dubuc’s head, who—without realizing—was looking more and more like a grandma covered with foil at the hairdresser.

  Except one shot completely missed its target.

  The teacher scanned the class to find the culprit. Considering Chloé’s head, it wasn’t hard to guess that the pellet perpetrator was just behind her. The blowgun was confiscated, as well as the cowboy hat. I thought this punishment was too lenient. Personally, I would have opted for immediate and permanent expulsion.

  Friday

  My mom went to the back-to-school parents’ night organized by Mrs. Joviol. Apparently, Mrs. Joviol spent most of the time talking about our future trip to England.

  She also explained to the parents that the main goal of seventh grade was to make us more INDEPENDENT. Specifically, she said that even if we didn’t do our homework, there wouldn’t be any punishment. . . . Sounds like a great idea to me!

  But the fun didn’t last. Since my mom thought my schedule looked “light,” she signed me up for another activity:

  You see, dear future human, I thought not being in Tom’s class would AT LEAST mean everyone would leave me THE FLIP alone this year. . . . But ohhhh no! I’m not a big fan of reading, sure, but I hate the idea of joining a book club called “Reading Passion!”

  Wednesday

  Since the back-to-school meeting, I haven’t done a single page of homework. I’m perfectly happy just taking notes in my Pietro planner. And then this morning, during English class, Mr. Crazot sent me to the board to correct a paragraph that we were supposed to have gone through at home the night before.

  End result: I got a zero.

  CONCLUSION

  Teachers are first-rate

  tricksters. In front of the parents they’re shaking in their boots and don’t dare say a thing. But then they take it out on the “vulnerable”—like us students—and make our lives HARD.

  Friday

  Here I am, extra annoyed: not only do I have to do my homework but I’m also stuck in Reading Passion!

  Today was the club’s first meeting. Mrs. Toinou is the president, but luckily she enlisted some retired ladies to help give us an “appetite for reading.” That means I don’t have to deal with HER directly. On the other hand, I’m with Mrs. Raymond, Naïs’s grandma. And that puts extreme pressure on me.

  If I want any chance that ole Grandma Raymond will put in a good word with Naïs, I’ve got to look extremely smart. On the plus side,

  Raoul Kador isn’t part of the club. And that, f
uture human, is a real relief!

  All things considered, being in Reading Passion could be a REAL breath of fresh air in my life. The only other guy from my class who’s in the club is the new student: Nico.

  The first session of Reading Passion consisted of introducing ourselves and discussing THE book that “turned our existence upside down.” I, for one, found that question a bit “premature.” I’m still young, and I have PLENTY of time to find THE book that will change my life. Anyway, it took a lot of effort to search my memory. I vaguely remembered a book called Tilulu and the Flute from kindergarten, but it’s nothing to brag about.

  All of a sudden, I had a stroke of genius. I didn’t just have one book title to share, but TWO!

  When Nico gave me a thumbs-up, I thought everyone was impressed and I was going to win brownie points with Naïs’s grandma, but in fact . . . he was the only one to appreciate my literary taste. Everyone else just gave me strange looks.

  If you want my opinion, it wasn’t a success. . . .

  Friday

  I went back to Reading Passion, and Mrs. Toinou told us that we were going to participate in a “Readers’ Choice Contest.”

  How can I put this? . . . We all have to read ten books over the course of the year, write reports on them, and, at the end, vote for which one we liked the best . . . ten books!!! Do you understand? And real books, made of PAPER. If only they’d given us Nipads, I would have been way more motivated. Mrs. Raymond passed out the list, and, believe me future human,

  I was totally dismayed.

  On the way home, Nico told me his mom signed him up for the reading club so he could “make some friends.” But really, he’s just like me—reading isn’t one of his “priorities.” Conclusion: We have to find a way to get out of this whole reading report deal. And as it happens, we bumped into Tom!

  Perfect timing.

  Super Slug always has twelve billion good ideas in his pocket! We explained our ENORMOUS problem, and he immediately told us to go to the library and check out one of those Qwik Notes guides. Apparently, they summarize books so you DON’T have to read them, and they give some “analytical” blah blah so you can look really smart. Fantastic! These little books sound wicked cool. It’s exactly

  what we need! For that matter, I also thought I’d seen a few copies of them in Marion’s room.

  Saturday

  I looked in Marion’s room, but I couldn’t get my hands on any copies of Qwik Notes. Mom must have sold them at the last garage sale. This morning, Nico and I went to the library and found EVERYTHING.

  We ran through the Cannibal Burger guide at top speed in fifteen minutes, and we decided to keep the copies of Qwik Notes until our next work session.

  I have the feeling that, if everything goes as planned, Naïs’s grandma is finally going to recognize my brilliance, and soon she’ll fall into my arms. Naïs, ehh? Not her grandma!

  Tuesday

  Last night, during dinner, my mom informed us all that she’s decided to start doing YOGA.

  She signed up for a class on Tuesday nights. At first, I thought this development meant big trouble: making dinner on our own.

  Umm . . . dear future human, I should point out that my dad doesn’t know the first thing about cooking, as you’ll

  soon understand! But two minutes later, I realized the benefit of this situation:

  I thought the vote would be unanimous, but guess what? My dad totally shot down my plans. He decided that, from now on, Tuesday night would be the perfect chance to finish ALL the “leftovers” in the fridge.

  When I heard him rummaging around in the kitchen and humming, I got a bad feeling . . . and my intuition never fails me. When he proudly served us his “mixed salad,”

  I nearly passed out.

  I was really wishing we had a dog right about then. . . .

  Tuesday

  Tuesday night again . . . week two of the mixed salad . . . It’s become a joke with Marion and Lisa. We invented a food review guide called Upchuck Weekly

  and gave tonight’s dinner five stars: cauliflower base, chicken nuggets, bell peppers, lentils, and a hint of mustard. When my mom came home from yoga class, she told me that Mrs. Raymond—Naïs’s grandma—was also doing yoga. I wasn’t too sure how to take the news.

  Apparently, she told my mom that Nico and I had really impressed her with our “analysis” of Cannibal Burger and that I seemed very “mature” for my age.

  She even asked if I’d written the report all by myself. All in all, my mom seemed to find this very fishy. I ran up to my room and sent a text to Nico.

  We agreed that I’d hide all the evidence likely to get us caught. Imagine if someone discovered our trick and we ended up in prison? So I decided to stash the books in my trash can until I could sneak them back to the library.

  Wednesday

  Yesterday, I panicked too fast with the whole Qwik Notes thing. When I came home from school earlier, I discovered with horror that my trash can had been emptied!

  I told Nico right away. He didn’t want to hear a word of it, but I was worried sick!

  These books don’t belong to me. I BORROWED them from the library.

  I need

  to figure out a way to replace them.

  I’m totally broke. . . .But this isn’t my only problem.

  My dad’s concoctions are destroying my digestive tract.

  Marion hasn’t stopped wearing her leather pants now that it’s fall. This morning we left together, and they made an irritating noise with every step.

  And this wish bracelet won’t break, even when I scrub it in the shower! If this goes on much longer, I’m going to end up without a hand.

  With all of these worries, it’s impossible for me to concentrate on my paper for Poachers

  Have a Heavy Hand, which is due Friday without mistakes . . . and WITHOUT the help of Qwik Notes.

  I flipped through the book Children Soft as Pandas to see if I could find a good relaxation exercise. I opened right to a page that suggested “visualizing” your body in a room, then in a city, then in the country, then above the earth, and the galaxy. . . . It made me seriously dizzy, and the fear of being an astronaut lost in the universe came back.

  I closed the book as fast as possible.

  As for the reading report, I decided to just go by the book title. It’s a well-known fact that every respectable author puts everything into the title of the book.

  I decided to message Nico to pass on my tip, and then I got down to business.

  Now all I had to do was hope Mrs. Raymond never wanted to read the book either!

  Friday

  Guess what? Poachers Have a Heavy Hand isn’t about rhinos AT ALL—it’s about crocodiles.

  The poachers were nice “converts” who were raising baby reptiles on a farm and organizing crocodile “petting zoos.” In the end, Mylène, a young French volunteer helping them, apparently falls in love with Daniel, the toughest of the poachers. None of which has anything to do with the title of the book, so . . . I completely bombed my report.

  Nico didn’t fare much better. He’d written that the “poachers” were the name of a sports team that traveled the world to compete in weight-lifting competitions. Mrs. Raymond didn’t seem to appreciate our “vivid imaginations.” What a shame! And all of this is because someone took the liberty of touching my trash can.

  Sunday

  It’s already fall break, and believe me, future human, it isn’t a moment

  too soon! Some time off might give me the chance to find solutions to my problems.

  Objective: get off on the right foot after vacation.

  My priorities are:

  - Avoid my dad’s “mixed salad” torture.

  - Replace the Qwik Notes at the library.


  - Restore my image in Mrs. Raymond’s eyes in order to seduce Naïs.

  And for all of these,

  I can see only ONE SOLUTION:

  make some money.

  So earlier today, I offered to handle the grocery shopping and “menu development” for my parents, in exchange for a small raise in allowance.

  My parents thought this was an excellent idea: it would be the perfect occasion for me to become more “independent.” Most importantly, this will help me replace the books at the library and give me control over the leftovers.