Pumpkin Spice Secrets

by Hillary Homzie

  A bunch of kids hurry to find their desks and slide into their chairs.

  “Please get a pencil out, because today we are having a quiz,” says Mr. Gibson.

  Uh oh. I had a really busy weekend, and between the mall and soccer and meeting up with Jacob, I didn’t exactly end up doing the Science homework. Mr. Gibson doesn’t usually check, so I was going to catch up on it tonight. He hadn’t said anything about a quiz.

  I scramble to get out my pencil and wave my hand into the air. “But you didn’t tell us about a quiz, right? So you mean this is a pop quiz?”

  “Exactly,” says Mr. Gibson.

  “Is something wrong?” whispers Torielle.

  “Uh, kinda,” I say.

  “Is it the pop quiz?” asks Torielle.

  “Yes,” I say. “If he just told us in advance, I’d be feeling a lot more prepared.”

  “But isn’t that the point of a pop quiz?” she says under her breath. Mr. Gibson starts to pass out the quiz.

  “The point of not telling us is to surprise us. I don’t like surprises,” I say with more intensity that I intended. “Personally, I’m against scaring people. But you studied, Torielle. You always study.”

  Torielle bites her lip. “I did,” she says. “I’m way overprepared.”

  If only that were my problem. This isn’t going to be good.

  Chapter Seventeen:

  THE PARENT PORTAL PROBLEM

  “Who do you like, Maddie?” asks Katie. It’s during lunch the next day. We’re sitting at our usual table, only the boys haven’t gotten here yet. Who do I like? Well, a boy whose name starts with a J. A boy who texted me last night about why koalas are his favorite animals—because they sleep eighteen to twenty-two hours a day.

  I shrug. “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?” says Torielle. “We’ve been back to school for a week. You must like someone.”

  “Maybe Maddie doesn’t like anyone,” says Jana, coming to my defense.

  “Oh, c’mon. Even when you say you don’t like someone, you’ve got some cutie on your radar.” Torielle bites into her taco. “Everyone does. Let’s be real.”

  Yes, let’s, I think. There is someone on my radar.

  I see Jacob across the room, heading our way.

  “Dish,” begs Torielle.

  “Later,” I say. I nod significantly as Jacob and Lukas head closer.

  “Eww, maybe she likes one of Jacob’s friends,” says Katie.

  “Shh,” I say, turning red just at the very mention of the name Jacob.

  “What do you think of Lukas?” asks Jana.

  “Be quiet,” I say.

  “We’re close, aren’t we?” says Torielle, raising her eyebrows. “Admit it.”

  “No! Shh,” I beg as Jacob sits down across from me. “The boys are here.”

  “We are here,” says Jacob. “Last time I looked.” He spins around, scanning behind him and then down the table and Jana giggles. Then he taps himself. “Yup. Definitely here.”

  Then he peers at me. “So what can’t you tell the boys?” He waggles his eyebrows.

  “It’s girl talk,” says Jana, protectively putting her arm around me. “We’ll never tell.”

  “Does it have anything to do with anyone sitting at this table?” asks Lukas.

  “Well, in a general way,” says Torielle.

  I shoot her a shut up look, and cough.

  “A general boy way,” continues Jana. “That’s all.”

  I can feel my cheeks reddening.

  “Okay, just checking. Do you want us to leave?” Jacob begins to pick up his tray.

  Jana blocks him. “No, don’t do that. Then we’d have to hear what Maddie has to say.” I know she’s just joking, but it still hurts. Especially because what I really want to say, I can’t.

  In Social Studies, our worksheets are due to Ms. Yoon. Jacob and I turn in our opening statement and rebuttal sheets. Then my stomach drops as I watch him turn in his five sources. I realize I don’t have mine—I can see the sheet sitting on my desk at home, but I was so distracted by everything this morning I forgot it.

  I wince. “What’s wrong?” asks Jacob.

  “I left mine at home.”

  “Oh, shoot.”

  Ms. Yoon goes down the aisle collecting the homework.

  I raise my hand, panicked. “I forgot my sources at home. Can I bring them tomorrow?”

  Ms Yoon shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t accept late work. I’m going to have to give you a zero.”

  “What? A zero!” I’ve never gotten a zero before.

  “Yes, unless you were sick or have a family emergency. It’s my policy.”

  “Can you just mark me down late and take off a few points?” I clasp my hands together.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Jana, who’s sitting with Fiona about fifteen feet away near the bookshelf with all of the dictionaries, gives me a sympathetic look. However, Fiona looks oddly pleased, like she thinks I deserve this. How could Jacob be so nice and his cousin so mean? I don’t get it.

  “Please,” I beg. “It won’t happen again.” I hate sounding so pathetic in front of Jacob and in earshot of half the class.

  “There are opportunities to make back some points,” says Ms. Yoon. “As I do give extra credit. But for now, I can’t give you any credit in the grade book.”

  Oh no.

  Future extra credit will help my overall grade, but it’s not what I need right now. Maybe my parents won’t see my zero before I can pull my grade up.

  I cross my fingers on that hopeful thought.

  Unfortunately, hope doesn’t get me very far. At home, things aren’t going well.

  I try to slip away from dinner, but Dad sucks in his breath and glares at me as I begin to walk upstairs to my room. “And who said you were excused from the table, Maddie? Come back and sit down right now. You’re not done eating.”

  He’s upset.

  Mom’s upset.

  Elvie’s disappointed.

  And I’m completely freaked.

  My mom happened to go on the parent portal this afternoon. She was admiring all of Elvie’s wonderful grades. And then Elvie (thank you very much) showed Mom how to get on the Northborough Middle School portal.

  That’s when she saw my two terrible, horrible, no good, very bad grades.

  My failing grade on my pop quiz, and my zero for resources in Social Studies.

  When Dad came home from his law firm, Mom conferred with him right before dinner. They were not happy. They decided I needed consequences. Big ones.

  Until I pull up my grades (everything must be a B or above), I’m grounded. That means no going to Jana’s party. That means no sleepover. That means no seeing friends. No phone, either. The only thing I can do is schoolwork.

  In front of me is ropa vieja—shredded brisket in tomato sauce, topped with slices of green olives, all over rice and peas. It’s my great-grandma’s recipe from Cuba, Mom’s abuelita. Usually I love it. But tonight I can’t eat a bite.

  “I said to sit down,” says Dad.

  “Fine,” I say. It’s not fair. Elvie might always get good grades, but she’s not perfect or anything. Sometimes when my parents think she’s studying, she’s really playing a game on the computer or group texting with her friends. Plus, recently, she’s always late getting home. And sure, Mom has gotten huffy, but they haven’t grounded her.

  I want to go up to my room so I can get some air. Down here, I feel like I’m underwater, holding my breath.

  “Maddie, we were having a discussion,” says Dad. “We were in the middle of something.”

  Elvie takes a bite of peas and rice. “Maddie, if you don’t do well in middle school, you’ll get further and further behind. You’ll never get into the right track at high school.”

  “Mom, tell her to stop,” I plead.

  “Elvie, we didn’t ask for your opinion,” says Mom.

  “I’m just offering my wisdom
,” says Elvie.

  “More like bossiness,” I say, then I explode. “How come you don’t ever notice when she does something wrong? She didn’t put away the dishes because she was late getting back from school. But you always notice if I do the smallest thing. You go crazy!”

  “Well, now you’re going to your room,” roars Dad.

  The next morning, Mom’s standing on the other side of the bathroom door. “Honey, we need to talk.”

  “I’m in the shower,” I say. The water roars out of the spigot, muffling my mother’s response. I’m pretty sure she’s telling me to turn off the water.

  “You want me to go to school with dirty hair?” My stomach tightens as I hear stomping feet coming toward the bathroom door.

  “Two minutes, and then that water turns off,” growls Dad.

  I desperately want to text Jana and let her know how crazy my parents are being. Tears well up in my eyes.

  In the shower, I think about everyone having a great time at Jana’s party without me. Creating new inside jokes that I’ll have no idea about. They’ll take tons of pictures, and everyone will see them, and I won’t be in any. My breath starts getting jerky, like I’ve been running for miles and miles.

  On the other side of the bathroom door, Mom says, “Maddie, I want to once again explain why your father and I grounded you. It’s beca—”

  “It’s because you hate me,” I shout. “You don’t want me to have any friends!” Water dribbles down my back.

  I turn off the water, wrap myself in a towel, and fling open the bathroom door.

  Mom stands there in the hallway, biting her bottom lip and shaking her head. Dad stands next to her. “We don’t hate you,” she says.

  “Oh yeah? Then why are you ruining my life?” My voice comes out in gasps. My head is freezing.

  “You have done this to yourself, Maddie,” huffs Dad. He’s huffing so much little bits of shaving cream flutter off his jaw like clumps of snow.

  As if things weren’t already stressful enough with Jana, now I have to miss her party. Why are my parents doing this to me?

  Chapter Eighteen:

  UNFAIRNESS

  “Are your parents really mad?” asks Jana the next morning.

  I twirl my locker combination furiously. “They’re not happy.” I pull some books out of my backpack. “My parents said that until I bring my grades up, I’m grounded.”

  “What?” Jana stomps her foot, indignant. “That’s crazy. In every class? What does that mean? Can you still come to my party?”

  “Well, I can if I can get my grades up by this Fri-day.” I shrug. “Ha ha. So like instantly all to A’s and B’s in three days.”

  “That’s so unfair,” says Jana. “I mean, some teachers don’t even post quizzes right away and others take forever to grade. You might be doing really well, but the parent portal won’t even reflect it.”

  Katie and Torielle meet us by the lockers and Jana fills them in on the horrible news. They both hug me and tell me they’re sorry.

  “It’s just those two classes, right?” asks Katie.

  I nod. “You can do this,” says Torielle.

  “But probably not by this weekend,” I say, swallowing hard.

  “I should speak to my mom about this,” says Katie. “Teachers should be required to post their grades immediately. Otherwise, it’s just unfair. How can you know?”

  “Well, that’s all well and fine. But right now …” I shake my head and start to sniffle. “It’s probably too late for me.”

  Jana’s eyes grow wide. “What if I move my slumber party to later this month?”

  “Don’t do that, Jana.” Leaning back against my locker, I shake my head. “Your parents already rented the karaoke machine from that company. Really. Don’t. Maybe, somehow, I can pull my grades up.”

  “Gosh, I hope so,” says Katie.

  “So harsh,” says Torielle.

  “I know,” I say. “And I would have texted but they took away my phone last night.”

  “No phone too?” Jana looks indignant. “This is crazy town.”

  “Luckily, it was just for last night. I talked to my mom this morning and convinced her that not having a phone would be dumb. Since what if they want to get in touch with me?”

  “Well, that’s good,” says Jana. “But I still can’t believe they grounded you. I’m so sorry. I wish I had reminded you to bring in that list of resources to Ms. Yoon.”

  My shoulders slump. “No, I should have remembered on my own.”

  A couple of eighth-grade girls in their lacrosse hoodies stream past us as Torielle rummages through her locker to fish out her books. “You should ask your teachers if you can do extra credit.”

  “That’s a good idea,” I say. “I’ll do that. I only need to worry about Social Studies and Science. I’m doing okay in all the rest of my classes.” I slip my backpack on my shoulder. “My parents don’t want me to go to soccer or even my ceramics class. They say I need to focus only on my academics.”

  “Wow,” says Torielle over the increasing noise in the hallway as more kids pour into school. “That’s craziness.” She slams her locker shut.

  “You can do it, Maddie.” Jana hugs me, which makes me feel better. Then she un-Velcros her lunch bag and pulls out a brownie. “For you,” she says. “A happy.” A happy is something we give each other when we are feeling down.

  I can feel a smile crawl over my face. “Really?”

  “Yeah,” she says. “Believe me, I really want to eat it, but I want you to be happy even more.”

  I might not get to go to Jana’s slumber party, but I sure know I have an awesome BFF.

  Before Social Studies starts, I ask Ms. Yoon what I can do to make up for my zero. She strolls over to my desk and explains that while I can’t completely make it up, I can earn extra credit by creating a chart mapping out the four-step process of delivering a debate. It will also help me prepare for our debate, which is coming up so soon: next Monday. That’s just five days! My stomach twists at the very thought.

  Jacob pulls out his binder. “Can I do it too?”

  “Yes, in fact, everyone can,” says Ms. Yoon. She actually announces to the entire class that this extra credit is available to anyone who wants to do it. But it must be turned in by Friday morning.

  “That’s a lot of work,” I say.

  “It’s actually quite simple,” counters Ms. Yoon.

  For her, maybe.

  But I know I’ll do it. Even if I have to stay up all night, I’ll do it.

  Before Science class starts, I also ask Mr. Gibson if I can do extra credit.

  He looks up from reading some biography about some science genius.

  “Sure,” he says, picking up his coffee cup. “Construct a poster illustrating the phases of mitosis. I’d like the four basic phases: prophase, metaphase, anaphase, and telophase.” He pauses to take a sip of coffee. “Also break up prophase to include prometaphase. I’d like it in all sequential order, of course. And everything labeled and in full color.” His mustache waggles as he grins. “And that’s all.”

  “Okay,” I say and sit back down. I know what I’ll be doing all afternoon.

  In turns out that writing the four-step debate process takes me two hours. So it’s not crazy terrible. But it’s not easy, and it makes me think about how everyone will be watching me. It won’t be like now, by myself at home. Working on the Science poster takes me three and a half hours. While I’m working, my friends text me and so does Jacob—which gives me mini breaks while I grind away.

  I learn some cool facts, like that every organism goes through cell division. While I’m coloring a centrosome yellow in my cell diagram, Dad comes up and makes some dumb jokes, like, “Want to make like an amoeba and split?” Elvie and I both giggle.

  That’s because we’re both working side by side. Actually, I understand her a little bit more now. My sister works really hard. For me, this is an insanely long time to be doing homework, but for her this is
normal. It’s exhausting. And while I don’t think it’s fair that she sometimes gets out of chores because of her AP workload, I do understand how she feels that she doesn’t have time.

  After I finish, I’m totally wiped out. I go to bed at ten-thirty, an hour after my official bedtime.

  Handing in the extra credit at Social Studies on Thursday goes well. Lots of other kids did it too, including Jacob and Fiona. Jana didn’t, though, since she already had an A. I guess Fiona wanted an A-double-plus.

  I shuffle up to Ms. Yoon’s desk and ask her if she would add the extra credit to her online grade book right away. She tells me that she’s got a very busy afternoon since she’s preparing for a teacher conference, but she’ll make a good effort to do it by early next week.

  “That will be too late. Can you do it sooner? Please?” My voice rises in panic.

  “How much sooner?”

  “Like this afternoon?”

  “I’ll try,” she says. “But no promises, Maddie.”

  “Thank you,” I say, and I give her my friendliest, most dedicated-student smile ever. It’s funny, I’ve never been the type of person who kisses up to teachers by being all cute and enthusiastic. That’s usually Jana’s department. But with my crush and my new eager attitude, I’m feeling more and more like my best friend each day. It’s kind of weird.

  The last period at school, I present Mr. Gibson with my poster. He’s writing some science-y terms on the whiteboard with a green dry-erase marker.

  “Here,” I say, leaning my poster against my knee. I did it on foam core board so it would be extra sturdy.

  His mouth drops open in surprise. “I didn’t think you’d do it. Wow, Maddie.” He leans down to examine the different phases of cell division on my poster. “I especially like that you used different colored pencils to delineate the different parts. We’ll be getting to that in a couple of units. But I have to say, this is above and beyond, especially since I was half-joking about it.”

  “So it was a joke?” I sputter.

  “Well, I wasn’t planning on teaching mitosis until after Thanksgiving break, so maybe we can use your poster when we get there.”