by Barbara Dee
My stomach twisted. What was happening? Were they ganging up on him?
No, Zachary was grinning.
Which was weird all by itself.
And then this happened: Jarret gave him a fist bump.
Jarret.
Gave Zachary.
A fist bump.
“So, Finley,” Olivia was saying. “If I don’t look hideous tomorrow, can we please take my photo? Sabrina keeps warning me about this Friday deadline thingy.”
“Sure, no problem,” I answered. But I wasn’t listening. What was Zachary grinning about? And why was he being fist-bumped—not bullied, not even teased—by Jarret Lynch? Of all people?
I watched Hanna run off to her mom’s car, and Olivia run off to join Chloe. And then I sleepwalked back into the gym for basketball practice, even though I couldn’t concentrate on layups.
Because here is what I kept thinking: While Maya had gotten into big trouble trying to protect Zachary, he’d gone off and become a Croaker hero. Or something.
Based on what?
I couldn’t imagine. The Croakers had ignored him before today in Spanish. And in Spanish, what had happened, anyhow? Zachary had basically just stood there; the whole class was Maya versus Chloe.
I didn’t get what they suddenly saw in him. Although really, the more I thought about it, I didn’t get much on the subject of Zachary. What he’d said about wanting another chance—well, you couldn’t argue with it. People deserved second chances. Except there was something about the way he kept repeating it all the time. That just seemed weird to me, almost as weird as his Froggy makeover. Or metamorphosis, or whatever you wanted to call it.
And then there was that weirdness about the LUNCH tattoo: not just writing it on his wrist, but lying about it.
And talking constantly about his hook shot; that was weird, too.
I mean, if you started thinking about it, there was a ton of weirdness about this boy. Enough for an entire chart.
CHAPTER 9
When basketball practice was over, I didn’t go straight home. I told myself that I was just taking the long way, stretching my legs, lalala, but the truth was, I was heading over to Zachary’s house.
I wasn’t sure why. I just knew that I needed some answers. Maybe, I thought, if I walked past his house, I’d notice something—even a small, random thing— that would help solve the mystery of Zachary Mattison.
From trick-or-treating routes our Green Girls troop had mapped back in the fifth grade, I remembered that his family lived somewhere on Spruce Street. But I didn’t know exactly where, and it was a long, busy block full of snowball fights and squirrels and minivans backing up out of driveways and ladies in down jackets pushing strollers. I didn’t want to peep at everyone’s mailboxes to search for the name Mattison. And I didn’t want to walk over to one of the stroller-pushing moms to ask which house was his, in case afterward she blabbed (Oh, Zachary honey, this tall, pool-noodle-shaped girl with freckles and boring brown hair was searching the entire neighborhood for you. . . .).
So I took out my camera. I pretended that I was taking street pictures for the school newspaper, which all the teachers called The Bugle and all the kids called The Bug. And I walked up the west side of Spruce Street, snapping photos of garbage cans and fire hydrants, but in reality searching for clues about Zachary’s whereabouts.
I did this for about five minutes, until I heard someone shout my name.
“Finley? What are you doing here?”
My heart stopped.
Then I realized it wasn’t Zachary; it was Wyeth Brockman, the almost-but-not-quite Croaker, the one who’d told Maya he was seeing that stupid movie, Battlescar III.
“You’re taking pictures,” he announced. “What for?”
“None of your business,” I muttered.
Wyeth smiled. His face was two-thirds braces, so when he did this smile it was basically wire. I’m pretty sure that back when I wore braces, you could see actual teeth. “This is my block.” he said. “So I think it is my business.”
“Fine.” I sighed. “I’m taking pictures for The Bug.”
“Of fire hydrants?”
“Of our town. They’re doing a . . . two-page spread about Spruce Street.”
“That would be sort of boring, wouldn’t it? Two entire pages?”
I looked at him. Not only was Wyeth tiny, he was stick skinny, and his hair was poofy on top. Really, he resembled a Q-tip. If a Q-tip had braces, and desperately needed a haircut.
On the other hand, he was talking to a girl. His voice wasn’t croaking, or anything, but this was Croaker behavior. A Tadpole mutating before my eyes.
I heard the camera turn off. “Yeah, I guess it would be boring. Although doesn’t anything interesting ever happen on this street? Like new people moving in? Or moving back? Or something?”
He thought for a second. “Nah. At least, I can’t remember anything like that. But I could give you a tour, if you want.”
“You mean of the block?”
“Yeah. You know, for the newspaper.”
Okay, I thought. Here was my chance to find out some information about Zachary Mattison. And I didn’t even have to ask for it—Wyeth was offering to help. In a very nice, polite, almost Froggy way, actually.
I made a mental note to update his status on the Life Cycle: Wyeth Brockman, Croaker. Because even if it looked funny on paper, it was true.
But I couldn’t walk with him. I didn’t want to have to chat about boy movies I’d never see. Also, I was pretty sure he had a crush on Maya.
Plus, I know this sounds stupid, but I didn’t want to risk Zachary looking out of his window, spotting me walking around with Wyeth, and getting some bizarre, warped idea about the two of us.
So I thanked Wyeth for the offer. And ran.
• • •
When I got home, Mom was in the kitchen with her laptop and a steaming mug with a picture of the Wiggles on it.
“How was your day?” she asked.
“Oh, you know,” I said. “Basketball practice. Spanish test.”
“Ah, sí, señorita. And how did that go?”
“It went.” I grabbed an apple off the counter and took a loud, juicy chomp before Mom could threaten anything about my camera. “Where is everyone?”
“Napping, thank goodness. I tried giving them a bath together after lunch, and it was a disaster. Addie was okay, but between you and me, if I had to listen any more to Max’s wild rumpus—”
I rolled my eyes. “Seriously, Mom. He’s such a Wild Thing now.”
“Because he’s a boy, Fin, honey. They’re all like that when they’re two.”
“But they grow out of it, right?”
She sipped some tea from the Wiggles cup. “Oh, definitely,” she insisted. “Look at Dad.”
What a random thing to say, I thought. Dad was like another species compared to Max. Or to the guffawing, shoving, fist-bumping Croakers at school.
I mean, Dad woke up early to make us blueberry pancakes. That wasn’t even a category of amphibian.
• • •
Inside my room I yanked off my stinky gym clothes. Then I flopped on my bed, and took out my science binder.
The Life Cycle needed an update.
Wyeth Brockman: Croaker. Still looks like teeny Tadpole, and hasn’t croaked since the word WEEKEND. But talking to girls (specifically, Finley), making eye contact, just offered a neighborhood tour . . .
Although the tour offer was definitely Froggy, so maybe it didn’t belong in a description of Croaker behavior. Wyeth was sort of a mess, I thought—all three stages at the same time, a Croaker with Tadpole and Froggy qualities, like one of those half fish/half frog mutants showing everything at once: tail, arms, legs. He wasn’t even a specific species at this point; he was just a skinny little blob of amphibian.
But at least he was making forward progress. As opposed to Zachary—who was a Frog (or a more-than-Frog) but who now was hanging with the Croakers. And not just hanging
with—fist-bumping and laughing. What did that mean? Was that like doing the Life Cycle in reverse? Unevolving?
Could you even do that? I didn’t know reverse evolving was technically possible.
“BAMPOW,” Max shouted from outside my closed door. “I’M THE COPS.”
Great, I thought. Let the wild rumpus begin.
“Max, I’m doing homework; be quiet,” I yelled.
Quick footsteps, then a few frantic knocks on my door.
“Finny.” It was Mom. “Could you get the kitchen phone, please?”
“It’s ringing? But I’m changing my clothes.”
“Okay, but Addie’s on the potty and I can’t leave her by herself. Could you please just throw on a robe and hurry?”
First I groaned uberloudly through the closed door; then I grabbed my bathrobe and ran downstairs to the kitchen. Maybe it was Maya, I told myself, sneaking a call to tell me she’d survived detention. And wasn’t mad at me for telling her to stop arguing with Hansen. And was sorry she’d been all snippy at me. In public.
“Hello?” I said hopefully.
“Finley? It’s Zachary.”
“Why?”
“Oh.” He sounded confused. “Am I interrupting? I could call back—”
“No. I mean, why aren’t you calling Maya?” I said this thinking that Maya was possibly still in detention. But even if she’d been freed, and was back home by now, her mom wouldn’t let her talk on the phone during homework time. Especially not if she’d gotten punished by the principal.
So why had I asked him that? I had absolutely no idea. Except for the fact that it made no sense he was calling me.
“You got Maya in massive trouble today,” I added.
“Yeah, I know,” Zachary said in his serious voice. “I feel really bad about the whole thing. Even though I don’t think Maya’s fight with Chloe was my fault.”
He was right; it wasn’t. But that was so not the point. “You should still thank her,” I insisted.
“I will, Finley. And I also wanted to thank you.”
“Me?” I said, surprised.
“You know. For offering that desk.”
“I only did it to help Maya. Not that it worked.” My heart was speeding up, so I took a breath. “Zachary, can I please ask you something? At dismissal you were hanging with all those guys. Jarret, Kyle, Ben—”
“Yeah. Kind of.”
“And I heard laughing. What was it about?”
“Nothing,” he said fast.
“Not about Maya?”
“No way. They wouldn’t, Finley. I think they’re all scared of her, actually.”
Well, that was certainly believable, I thought. Maya could be pretty scary. “So what was so funny, then?” I said.
“Finley, it’s stupid.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“No, I mean it’s really stupid.”
“Zachary, will you please just talk?”
“Okay.” He cleared his throat. “So. Apparently they thought it was hilarious that all these girls would be fighting over my desk. Not that you were, but.”
Oh, great, great, great. Croakers were laughing about us. About me.
But I couldn’t let Zachary know how humiliating this felt. “Well, thanks for that news flash,” I said with fake cheeriness. “I’m glad we were all so entertaining. And I’m glad you’re making friends with Jarret.”
“I wouldn’t call him a friend.”
“Whatever he is. At least you’re not fighting anymore.”
“Yeah, that’s true, I guess.” I could hear Zachary breathing. Then in a voice with just the faintest detectable crack in it, he said: “Anyhow, I just called to say thank you, Finley. For the desk. And also, you know, for giving me a second chance.”
CHAPTER 10
The next morning I got to school super early so that I could be sure to have time for a private one-on-one talk with Maya. Apparently she’d made the same plan, because when I got there, she was sitting next to her locker, trying to retape a rainbow ribbon that was dangling off my birthday decorations. As soon as she saw me, she sprang up and gave a quick, sharp hug.
“So what happened yesterday?” I said. “Are you okay?”
“Ish.” She did a wince-smile. “Fisher-Greenglass gave me a two-day in-school suspension, so I’m stuck in the computer lab today and tomorrow. And after school I have to de-gum desks, so I’m also missing gymnastics practice.”
“Two days? Oh, Maya, that’s so unfair!”
“I know, right? But Hairy Hands told her I was ‘challenging his authority.’ I said, ‘No, actually I was challenging Chloe’s authority.’ So he went, ‘See? There she goes again! This has been the behavior pattern all year!’ ”
“Irk,” I said.
“And then Fisher-Greenglass was like, ‘Maya, you’ve disappointed me, I’m sorry if this punishment seems harsh, but you need to learn respect before you go off to high school. If this happens again . . .’ ”
Her forehead puckered. My best friend was supercompetitive and superstrong, but she hated disappointing people. Especially people in charge.
“Well, it can’t happen again, let’s put it like that,” Maya said. “My parents warned me that if I’m not on totally perfect behavior, they’re pulling me out of gymnastics for the entire rest of the year. Can you believe that?”
“No, that’s awful,” I said. My first thought was: Maya’s parents are crazy. Glad my parents are so much saner! My second thought was: Yeah, but what if they take away my camera?
“Oh, right,” Maya added softly, “and while we’re on the subject of me messing up, I’m really sorry about what I said to you at the end of Spanish.”
“You said something to me? Huh, that’s funny, because I didn’t hear anything.”
Maya’s face relaxed a little. “Thanks, Finny.” She touched my arm. “So anyhow. I guess you’ll be taking care of Zachary the next two days.”
“What?” I said. “Listen, Maya, I’m really . . . not so sure about that.”
“Not sure about what?”
“The taking-care thing. And also Zachary.”
Her eyes grew wide. “Seriously? Why?”
I almost mentioned the fist bump at dismissal yesterday, but I caught myself. Hearing how the Croakers were laughing at us would probably just upset her, and she already felt bad enough. Besides, I told myself, it wasn’t Zachary’s fault the Croakers were such jerks. Or even that they’d made him a Croaker hero, apparently.
And anyhow, it wasn’t like the fist-bump thing was Zachary’s only issue.
Instead, what I said was: “I don’t know, Maya. There’s just something funny about him.”
“Really? You mean like funny weird?”
I nodded. “I can’t put my finger on it. But doesn’t it seem like he has certain expressions?”
“Oh, come on,” she said, smiling. “Everyone has certain expressions.”
“Yes, okay. But I mean, he says some things a lot. Have you noticed? All that stuff about second chances—”
“What’s wrong with second chances?”
“Nothing! They’re perfectly fine. But it’s the way he keeps repeating it all the time. And it’s not just that—he hasn’t told us anything about what happened when he left Fulton, I’m positive he lied about writing ‘lunch’ on his wrist, and also—”
“Yes?”
I took a breath. “Well, don’t you think it’s slightly strange how he turned into a Frog? Without ever being a Croaker?”
Maya laughed. “You’re still obsessed with that.”
“Not obsessed. And I don’t think he’s an imposter. But—”
“But what, Nancy Drew? You think he time-traveled to the future? Or did a body-switching thing with someone? Or wait—I know. Maybe he’s some sort of hologram!”
“Maya, stop it, I’m serious.”
Sabrina Leftwich was walking toward us, making a click-click sound with her boots. We waited for her to open her locker, hang up her j
acket, and take out a couple of textbooks. But she didn’t leave. She just stood there, flipping pages, like she suddenly had this burning urge to read about the Continental Congress.
Maya murmured, “Careful, I bet you-know-who is spying for Chloe.” Then she leaned in closer. “Oh, and on that topic, I obviously can’t go to Chloe’s party now. I mean after our big fight in Spanish.”
“That’s not so terrible,” I said. “I mean, it’s just Chloe’s Stupid Party—”
“Yes, but the thing is, I invited Zachary to come with us.”
“You did?” I stared at her. “When?”
“Yesterday. He called our house and my brother snuck me the phone.” Maya poked me in the elbow. “He said you made him call me.”
“I didn’t force him. But yeah.”
She was watching my face now. “Anyhow, he thanked me for sticking up for him. And he said he wanted to go.”
“To Chloe’s? Why?”
“Oh, come on, Finley. You remember how mean Chloe always was, how she used to kick him out. It was humiliating. And I think it’s really, really important to him to feel like he actually belongs here now.”
All at once I could see where this was going. “Listen, Maya,” I began.
She did a pleading smile. “So would you go with him, Finley? So that he doesn’t have to go alone?”
“Are you nuts?”
“Uh-huh.” She laughed. “But what does that have to do with it?”
“Okay, I’m not going to Chloe’s party with Zachary.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not going if you aren’t. I never wanted to go in the first place.”
A bunch of sixth-grade kids began streaming toward our lockers. So I said as quietly as I could, “Maya, can I ask you something? Why do you care about Zachary so much anyway?”
Sabrina Leftwich slammed her locker door and spun her combination lock. When she click-clicked over to Dahlia Ringgold and Sophie Yang, two girls from the basketball team, I calculated that Sabrina had finally left the eavesdropping zone.
Then I just let it out. “Because I know he complimented your gymnastics, which was extremely Froggy of him. And of course there’s the cuteness issue; I’m not saying it doesn’t exist. But he’s a middle school boy. And I thought you’d given up on that species.”
