Pumpkin Spice Secrets

by Hillary Homzie

  Mom calls up to ask me if I’ve seen Elvie, and I call down no.

  I toss Mr. Monkey into the air. He’s the stuffed monkey that my Grandma Anna in Philly sent me for my birthday when I was three, and I still love him.

  “Oh, Mr. Monkey,” I say, throwing him around. “I love you!” I kiss him and pretend to waltz with him. I throw open the blinds and gaze at the maple tree outside my window. The leaves are starting to turn bright red. “It’s a glorious day,” I tell Mr. Monkey.

  I go downstairs to get myself a snack and pet Morty. My mother paces by the kitchen table, her forehead furrowed. I’m about to tell her how I really like her dress. How I really like everything. But I don’t. I can tell my mother is upset.

  Footsteps crunch along the driveway. The door opens, and Elvie slips inside the foyer. My mother glances up; she looks both relieved and angry.

  “Where were you?” Mom glances at her watch.

  “I had a study group,” my sister says, shrugging off her backpack. “Hi, Maddie,” she says. She bends down to rub Morty’s neck.

  “Hi,” I say, but I wish I were still upstairs. Mom is not happy.

  “I don’t understand your school,” says Mom. “You had a study group yesterday too. It’s crazy! It’s just the beginning of the school year—this is too much.” She shakes her head.

  Elvie takes off her windbreaker. “Mom, it’s normal. It’s AP. It’s intense. And I did tell you about my study session.”

  “No you didn’t.”

  “I did.” Elvie hangs her coat up in the closet. “During dinner.”

  Mom glances at her phone. “With work right now, there’s a lot going on. Maybe you did mumble something. But you need to give me meetings as a calendar item.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry,” says Elvie, her voice tense. “I’ll do it next time. Most people would be happy that their daughter is staying after school to study.”

  “I am, but you just need to communicate better,” says Mom.

  I clear my throat. “Well, I had a really good day at school. I like all my teachers this year. In Social Studies, we got our debate topics.” I tell them about how my group will be debating cameras in schools.

  Mom looks thoughtful. “I’d be happy to give you some tips on finding sources. There are definitely tricks to it.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I say.

  “She’s really good at playing detective,” says Elvie. “Definitely let her help you. It’ll help your grade.” Sometimes all Elvie cares about is grades. But right now it doesn’t bother me.

  Mom heads toward the kitchen. “Okay, gang. It’s time to start some dinner. Your dad’s going to be working late tonight on that new trial, so we’ll start without him.” As Mom rummages through the fridge, I say to Elvie. “How’s the electric bass going?”

  She puts her finger to her lips. “Later,” she says. She nudges her chin toward Mom, who’s pulling out a bag of kale. And I remember how my parents don’t think that Elvie should tackle electric bass because of her tight schedule. Sounds like she has a secret. I know all about those.

  Chapter Nine:

  ONE HACKY SACK

  On Thursday during lunch, Jana, Katie, Torielle, and I walk into the cafeteria together. We’re discussing the details of Jana’s slumber party, which is happening in exactly nine days. We’re all really excited about the karaoke machine and the nail salon portion of the party.

  Katie shakes her head. “The cafeteria is so crowded today.”

  “I know,” says Torielle. “Most of the round tables have been claimed.”

  “Let’s sit over there,” says Jana, pointing to the table by the Fixings Bar. We all race to it, barely beating some band kids.

  We all plop down and stuff our backpacks under our chairs. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jacob and Lukas heading our way. “What if Jacob is only coming over here because he can’t find a seat anywhere else?” says Jana in a worried voice. She doesn’t sound like herself at all. Jana’s normally so confident.

  “No, there are other seats around,” points out Torielle, opening a canister of stew. Steam rises into the air and it smells like carrots, cabbage, and sausage.

  “It’s true,” says Katie, spreading out her cloth napkin before she eats as usual. “Look at all of the long tables.”

  But I know we’re more than just a convenient seating choice, because Jacob is smiling. I freeze, because I don’t want to be biting into my turkey sandwich while he’s looking at me. Because unless I’m hallucinating, he’s smiling right at me.

  And he’s heading for the open seat right next to me!

  Jacob is only a few feet away when Jana gets up, grabs an empty chair from the table behind us, and somehow squeezes it in between herself and Katie.

  “Jacob,” she announces. “You can sit here. And Lukas can sit by Maddie.”

  I try not to let the disappointment show in my face. I do like Lukas just fine—he asks a lot of matter-of-fact questions and is a daredevil on his skateboard. But most of the time he likes to talk about cars. He’s obsessed with them. And it’s not that I don’t like cars, but I don’t feel like talking about them for all of lunch. Plus, I really wanted to sit next to Jacob.

  As a group, we talk about a lot of things. Like how annoying raking leaves is. And how making leaf forts doesn’t seem quite as much fun as it used to when we were younger. Katie talks about how her family is going to Cape Cod this weekend. It’s definitely still going to be hot enough to swim. Then we get into this whole discussion about sharks. Whether anybody has actually seen one, how many great whites have been spotted off the coast of Massachusetts, and the likelihood that they would eat you.

  “They just take test bites,” says Lukas, who’s apparently a shark guru. “They don’t like human meat. They prefer sea lions.”

  “So they’re picky, then?” I joke. The whole time, I’m sneaking little glances at Jacob.

  Our eyes meet and he says, “Let’s do some dares.”

  “I’m not eating anything gross,” says Katie.

  “Me either,” says Torielle. “Last year some boys combined all of the ingredients on the Fixings Bar, added water, and made somebody drink it.”

  Lukas laughs. “That sounds awesome!”

  “Okay,” says Jacob. “Let’s do this thing! Everyone grab some ice.”

  “No way.” Torielle folds her arms in front of her chest. “Count me out!”

  “This is a different dare,” says Jacob. “Nothing to do with eating. I’ll be right back.”

  Jacob pops up and whips over to the beverage station and back with a cup full of ice. “Okay, this is how it’s going to work,” says Jacob. “Everyone puts ice in their bare hands, and whoever holds it the longest, wins.”

  “Wins what?” asks Lukas.

  “Just wins!” says Jacob.

  A custodian, Mr. Stinson, walks by with a mop. “Mr. Stinson doesn’t look very happy,” observes Torielle.

  “You guys,” says Katie, “whatever you do, don’t throw the ice. We shouldn’t give the custodian more work.”

  Then Mr. Gottfried, the vice principal, walks by with his walkie-talkie crackling.

  “And make sure Mr. Gottfried’s out of sight before we start,” says Katie.

  We wait until he’s safely out of view. Then Jacob tells us to put out our hands and he’ll walk around and distribute ice.

  He gives Jana a piece of ice first, and she gives me a look that says “This is very significant.” As the ice slides onto her palm, she giggles.

  “It tickles,” she happily protests.

  When it’s my turn, Jacob lowers his head, so we’re almost cheek-to-cheek. He smells like apples, and a little minty too.

  “Thanks,” I say in a normal voice. But I’m not feeling normal. This is the closest we’ve been since the day I spilled my pumpkin spice frappé on him.

  “You’re welcome,” he says in a low voice and winks at me. My heart leaps. Has he winked to anybody else? No. I don’t think so. Unless he
just had something in his eye.

  After Jacob’s done distributing ice, Lukas says, “Hey, you gave me more than Jana.”

  “That’s because he likes me more.” Jana lifts her eyebrows significantly.

  “It’s because Jana has sweaty palms so she’s already melted the ice,” Torielle says, laughing.

  Jana sticks out her tongue at Torielle.

  Jacob heaps the most ice onto his own palm. “Okay, one, two, three, go!” he says. After thirty seconds, Lukas can’t take it anymore, and he drops the ice into his drink.

  “I hope you aren’t planning on drinking that,” says Katie, shaking her head.

  “I am,” says Lukas, and he takes a big gulp and crunches the ice.

  “Lukas, you’re such a loser,” declares Jacob.

  Lukas throws a balled-up napkin at Jacob’s head, but Jacob ducks in time.

  My hand is so numb from the cold that it aches. Katie gives up. Then Torielle. My palm is starting to throb and burn.

  “I give up,” I say, and dump my ice into my empty salad bowl.

  Only Jana and Jacob remain. They stare at each other. They both are wincing, but neither gives up. They stay there, staring each other down until they finally declare a truce.

  “We tied,” says Jana happily.

  “Yeah,” says Jacob. “I thought for sure you were going to fold.” He bites into a mini Snickers bar.

  “No,” says Jana. “I never give up.”

  I bite my lip. That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

  Suddenly, Jana grabs Jacob’s hacky sack and throws it to me. I catch it and throw it to Katie. The hacky sack ends up in her salad, next to a slice of tomato. Katie makes a face.

  Then Vice Principal Gottfried comes up to us and says, “Girls,” and then looks around and sees that we are definitely not all girls. “If you want to play hacky sack, take it outside.”

  “I definitely don’t want to play hacky sack,” says Katie, pushing away what’s left of her salad.

  “I do,” says Jacob. And he jumps up to head outside.

  Lukas throws up his hands and says, “Don’t look at me. I’m still eating.”

  Jana leaps out of her chair. “I’m coming!”

  “How about you?” asks Jacob, looking at me.

  “Um, that’s okay. I’ll just finish my taco.”

  Jana gives me a grateful smile for not following her.

  And the two of them leave together, one hacky sack between them.

  During Social Studies, we go to the library and take a tour of the reference section. The librarian, Mrs. Herrick, shows us how to find sources there, and how to search for reliable sources online using databases. My mom, the academic reference librarian, would be so proud.

  Jacob and I spend twenty minutes doing a treasure hunt for information.

  It’s actually kind of fun.

  Whenever we find something good, we give each other high fives. It’s his idea. And then I get all paranoid and look around the library to makes sure that Jana doesn’t see. I mean, Jacob and I are officially debate partners. It isn’t like we shouldn’t be spending time together. But the high fives involve actually touching hands, and I don’t think she’d like that. But I do.

  But still, it wouldn’t look right if we had too much fun.

  Ms. Yoon then takes us back to the classroom for the last half of class. Everyone sits with their desk smushed next to their partner’s.

  That means my desk touches Jacob’s.

  That means whenever I look up, I stare right into his eyes.

  This is not fair.

  Especially for someone who is trying to fall out of crush with someone.

  Everyone has their three-ring binder open, and we all take notes as Ms. Yoon explains how we will do the debates.

  I can hear the scratch of Jacob’s pencil across his notebook paper. Knowing he’s so close is very distracting.

  Ms. Yoon wanted to make sure that opposing teams didn’t sit anywhere near each other. She says that we have to keep our arguments a secret. So Jana is sitting across the room with Fiona. They seem to be whispering. I wonder about what.

  “For the debate itself you will need to construct an opening statement that defines your position,” explains Ms. Yoon. “In other words, it defines what you think about your topic based on the facts that you’ve collected. This will take five minutes of the debate. One of the debate partners will take the opening and one will take the second half of the debate, the rebuttal. We’ll go over that in a minute. In the opening, you will make three points in support of your argument. Each point must include evidence to back up your claim. What do I mean? Well, facts and figures from the book or articles that you have researched. Each point can take two minutes.”

  Landon raises his hand. “That’s it?”

  Jacob smiles at me. I smile back. Right now, I don’t mind having to do more work.

  “No, there’s more,” says Ms. Yoon. “Like I said, the other partner will create a rebuttal against arguments that your opponent has made. However, a rebuttal cannot be written in advance. You need to take notes when your opponent is speaking. There will be a time limit of two minutes.”

  Now I shoot up my hand. “What if you read your rebuttal instead? Like, what if you can write it really quickly while your opponent is speaking?”

  Ms. Yoon shakes her head. “There’s no reading anything, Maddie. Not even for your opening points. You may look at note cards where you’ve jotted down some facts. But there is no reading. The idea is that you are so familiar with the topic, you can just talk.”

  I feel like sinking into a hole in the floor. Jacob and I are going to lose. There’s no way I can just talk in front of everyone. I’m going to mess it up and die of embarrassment.

  “What’s wrong, Maddie?” whispers Jacob.

  “Nothing,” I lie.

  Jacob’s the last person I’m going tell anything to right now.

  Ms. Yoon goes on to explain that we have to do a closing argument, which is like our grand finale. It sums up all of our best arguments.

  Jacob leans over to me. “Maddie, you definitely don’t want to read your talk from a piece of paper. At my brother’s school, there was a biology teacher who always just read aloud everything she said, and it was so boring. I’m serious.”

  “Wow,” I say, “Your brother must have hated it.”

  “He said it was awesome. He got to go up three levels on this game. The teacher never noticed if anyone was on their phones because she was so busy reading her lecture.”

  “That’s crazy,” I say.

  Suddenly Ms. Yoon is standing right next to me. “No talking. Thank you.”

  My face reddens. Oh boy. Literally, oh boy. Will Jana now know my secret?

  I peer across the room at her, but she just shrugs at me. She’s used to getting caught talking, so for her it’s no big deal.

  Next Ms. Yoon explains her grading system. Something about thorough research (that part I can do), clarity of presentation (probably not happening), and how well we work together as a group.

  Jacob taps me and whispers, “We can handle that.”

  “What?” I ask under my breath. I don’t want to be caught talking in class right now.

  “Working together well,” he says. I smile.

  Ms. Yoon continues on about how she will be looking at our presentation style and our enthusiasm, as well as the tone of our voice.

  My tone will be one of fear.

  “Okay, now I’m going to give you some great strategies,” she continues. “While you can’t write down your rebuttal, you can try to anticipate what your opponents will say. Imagine yourself as them, and think about what facts they might come up with. Then find ways to say why their argument isn’t effective. That way, you can be prepared, even without writing out a speech in advance. And make sure not to share your research with the opposing side. Keep it secret,” she adds.

  More secrets? These days, I have enough of those.

  “D
ecide who wants to do the opening and who wants to do the rebuttal,” says Ms. Yoon. “Go ahead and discuss it now with your partner.”

  I look over at Jacob. “I’ll do the opening,” I say, “since I’m not so hot on thinking on my feet.”

  “No problem, I’ll do the rebuttal.” He looks up at me with a lopsided grin. Then he asks, “Can I have your number?”

  “Uh, sure.” We exchange numbers. My heart is pounding.

  “We should meet up this weekend. At the library, so we can get ahead with turning in our five sources.”

  “Great idea,” I say. I hope my voice doesn’t sound too perky.

  I tell myself to calm down. He only wants to meet up with me for our Social Studies project. It’s not like a date or something.

  After school, as Jana and I walk to the bus, I notice one of the lockers that we pass is decorated with blue paper and little stars.

  “A birthday locker!” cries Jana. “I wonder whose?”

  “Probably Memito Cruz.” He’s a really cute sixth grader. All of the older girls love him. He’s got these gray eyes with long lashes, and he struts like he’s an eighth grader already. It’s a Northborough Middle School tradition that on or around your birthday someone decorates your locker. Or, I should say, it’s a tradition for girls to do it for their besties or sometimes for somebody they’re crushing on.

  Usually it’s best to come to school early to do it. Some kids do it during class when nobody is around by taking a bathroom pass, but you have to check to make sure that there are no teachers or staff in sight.

  As we continue to skip down the hall, Jana says to me, “Oh my gosh. I just got the best idea! We can decorate Jacob’s locker for his birthday. It’s this Sunday, remember?”

  How could I have forgotten? That means Jacob wants me to meet up with me during his birthday weekend. I think I’m going to faint.

  “Are you in?” she asks, adjusting her backpack.

  “Absolutely,” I agree. And I realize I might have said it a little too enthusiastically. Just hearing his name makes my heart get all thumpity. “We should do it Monday morning, early before everyone gets here,” I say. “I think it’s too nerve-racking to do it during break or during class on a bathroom pass.”