“Are those fifth graders?” I asked nobody in particular.
Henry’s mouth was hanging open in terror. “They look like eighth graders to me. Maybe ninth.”
Pow-Pow had already warned us that we didn’t stand a chance against St. Anselm. Now that we saw them in person, we understood. We were silent. Our whole team. Even Webby.
During warm-up the St. Anselm players sped down the field like tigers, even though their mascot is a gorilla. They took pounding shots at the goal, one after another, boom! boom! boom! They were so big that when they ran down the field it felt like the earth was shaking. (You probably think I’m exaggerating but I swear I’m not.)
Just before the game began we lined up and the St. Anselm coach led his players past us to shake each of our puny hands with their big beefy ones. I saw the St. A.’s players saying something in a low voice to each of our players, but I couldn’t tell what it was. At first I figured they were saying something like “Nice to meet you,” or “Let’s have a good game.” But when the first St. A. player got close to me I could hear what he said to Henry.
“You’ve got a girl on your team? Maybe you’re all girls,” Gorilla 1 grunted.
Gorilla 2 snorted, then asked, “What did the Gorilla do to the Turtle?”
At first, I figured he was talking to Henry. But then I realized he was talking to me.
“Is that supposed to be a riddle?” I replied.
Gorilla 2 thought about it for a second, as if the word riddle was itself a riddle. Then he nodded his huge head.
“Think about it,” he said.
But I didn’t need to think about it. I knew what he was getting at.
What does a gorilla do to a turtle?
A gorilla crushes a turtle with one hand.
At this point, the third Gorilla in line spoke up.
“Foyes Island?” he said. “More like Girls Island.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” I told him.
“Bwa ha ha!” he replied. “You’re going down, Shorty.”
And I’m not even that short!
“We’ll crush you sissies,” Gorilla 2 proclaimed.
“We’ll see,” Webby, the last person in our line, shot back. “You know what they say—the bigger you are, the harder you fall. And I’m guessing the rocks in your head will make you fall even faster. She may be a girl, but at least she knows how to tie her shoes.”
All three Gorillas looked down at their sneakers.
“And,” Webby added, “she’s smart enough not to fall for a stupid your-shoelace-is-untied joke.”
For a second, it looked like the Gorillas wanted to peel Webby like a banana. I knew that feeling—but not this time. The other Turtles had been too surprised by the Gorillas’ trash talk to say anything back. But not Webby. He’s not intimidated by anybody.
What came next, Bess, was the most brutal soccer game I have ever been in or seen. The Gorillas scored two goals in the first ten minutes. Our team was stunned. But then we woke up. My fellow Turtles started passing the ball to me. Maybe they thought the Gorillas were afraid to attack a girl.
They thought wrong.
At first the Gorillas did kind of leave me alone. They probably assumed I wasn’t any good, so they didn’t guard me.
But then Zach M. passed the ball to Henry, who passed it to me. I took a shot and scored! We were all cheering and jumping up and down, and one of the big Gorillas stuck his foot out under me and tripped me. I collapsed in the dirt. But I didn’t let that stop me. I got up and brushed myself off. Resume play.
Now that I’d scored a goal I was fair game. The Gorillas taunted me and jeered at me, calling out, “Girl Turtles! Girl Turtles!” It made them sound like three-year-olds. But somehow it still hurt.
What’s wrong with a girl turtle anyway?
The Gorillas took another shot, but Gilbert blocked it. Yes, you heard me right—GILBERT BLOCKED IT. We were all so shocked that Yucky G. had blocked a good shot that it took us a few seconds to recover. He grinned so wide I thought his face would split in two.
Now the Gorillas were MAD. Next time I got the ball, one of them tripped me again. I looked to the ref to call a foul but he didn’t see it. Unfair!
Webby started yelling, “Ref! Are you blind? Tripping! Call the foul!”
The ref blew his whistle and threatened to throw Webby out of the game for insulting him. Pow-Pow talked the ref down and Webby stayed in the game. Next time I got the ball, Webby was in perfect position to take a shot, so I passed to him and he scored. Tie game! Webby ran over to me and slapped me five. We were all cheering again, which the Gorillas hated.
Next possession, the Gorillas dribbled downfield. One kicked a high pass, and another one headed it right into my face! I ducked, but the ball grazed the top of my head.
“Hey!” I called out to the offending Gorilla. “You did that on purpose!”
“Get off the field, girl!” he sneered.
“I belong here as much as you!” I yelled back.
“Stop picking on her!” Webby chimed in. “She’s the star of our team!”
Really. That’s what he said.
The Gorilla laughed, then said, “Is this a girls team or a boys team?”
“It’s a soccer team!” Webby answered, getting right in the Gorilla’s face.
The refs stepped in before the fight could become a real fight. Webby came over to me.
“Don’t listen to them, Claire,” he told me. “Keep doing what you’re doing. We’re going to win this thing.”
I was shocked. My feet felt glued to the ground. Then I snapped out of it and ran down the field.
I passed the ball to Henry, but the Gorillas intercepted it. They drove it down the field and took another shot at Gilbert. Missed again. Gilbert threw the ball to Webby. He dribbled all the way down the field until he was blocked by a bunch of Gorillas. He passed the ball to Henry, who passed it back to Webby, even though he was heavily guarded. Webby passed it to me, and I kicked it as hard as I could.
GOOOOAAALLLL!!!!
We jumped and screamed with happiness. We were in the lead! The boys hoisted me on their shoulders and carried me around the field, chanting, “Tur-tles! Tur-tles! Tur-tles!”
Bess, it was a great moment. For once I felt like I really belonged on that team.
The ref blew his whistle. The game wasn’t over yet. We had two minutes left to play.
Now the Gorillas were really mad. And they were relentless. They kicked shot after shot at Gilbert. He caught one, caught another … then missed one.
Tie game again. Three to three.
Twenty seconds to go. I kicked the ball to Webby, but a Gorilla intercepted it. Webby elbowed him. It might have been an accident, maybe. But the ref didn’t think so. He blew his whistle. Foul! The Gorillas got a penalty shot.
We lined up in front of Gilbert to help him block the shot. Gilbert was nervous. I could hear his teeth rattling.
The Gorilla took the shot—and it went in.
The ref blew the whistle. Game over. The Gorillas won.
The weird thing is, I still felt happy. We all did. We slapped each other’s hands and said, “Good game.”
We didn’t win, but we came close. We showed those Gorillas we can play in their league. It was a kind of victory.
I waved to my parents as I ran off the field. Gabe and Jim were there too.
Pow-Pow told us to go to our lockers and change. Everybody on the team went into the boys’ locker room except me, of course. I was all alone in the clubhouse. I could hear them laughing and cheering and towel-snapping and joking around without me. This huge party, taking place in a room that I wasn’t allowed to go into.
I felt lonely.
I looked at the drawings on my wall, thinking that if I didn’t have that room, at least I had this one. But something was different. I could tell even before I knew what it was.
I scanned the walls until I spotted the change. Someone had sneaked in and drew x’s over Starshine’
s eyes! To make it look like he was dead!!!!
I started to cry, just a little bit. Not flowing tears, but my eyes got wet. I couldn’t help it. I was sad and I was mad, and sometimes I cry when I’m mad.
The prowler had struck again.
When I got home from school today, I ran straight to the stable to check on Starshine. He was fine, munching on hay. Dad saw how worried I was and asked me what was wrong. I told him what had been done to my picture (although I didn’t tell him where the picture was), and he said not to worry about the x’s. It had to be a joke, he said. I hope he’s right. If anything ever happened to Starshine or Bruno, I would cry so hard my eyes would fall out of my skull.
Tonight, after everybody went to bed, I got up and stared out the window at the water. The moon made it shimmer. It looked pretty, but also spooky. I kept thinking that you can see the very same moon, Bess, all the way out in California. I wondered if you were looking at it too.
A light breeze was blowing, and the trees made shadows on the grass. I thought I saw something move across the yard.
Probably just the moonlight playing tricks on me, I told myself.
But then I saw it again. Something moving. A shadow.
It dashed toward Swifty, where she sits near the stable, under her tarp. I thought of poor Starshine, innocently sleeping in the stable, all alone. He sleeps standing up and he snores! He’s so sweet. What if the clubhouse prowler was coming to get him?
I slipped downstairs and ran out the back door without stopping to put shoes on. I was wearing my flannel pajamas, the ones with the red stripes. It was chilly out. The ground felt damp and cold on my bare feet. Clouds blew across the moon, making it hard to see.
I ran to the stable but nobody was there. Starshine woke up and nodded at me, like he was asking, What are you doing here at this hour?
I almost saddled him up to go for a ride, just because. I’ve never ridden him at night. It’s probably dangerous. He could trip or fall into a hole or something, and hurt his foot. Plus, my parents would kill me.
I double-checked the stable and circled all around it. No one was there. So where did the shadowy figure go?
Maybe it was a fox, or a coyote. Maybe there hadn’t been a shadowy figure at all. I was beginning to think I’d imagined it. The moon and the clouds can play tricks on your eyes.
I started back to the house. I remembered how I’d found Bruno hiding in Swifty a while back. I looked at the boat. The silhouette of the tarp looked kind of lumpy in the moonlight.
Maybe Bruno was hiding in there again.
I crept up to the boat, silent as a fox. The tarp didn’t move.
One, two, three—I ripped the tarp off the boat!
Empty. The lump had been made by a couple of life jackets I’d tossed under the tarp. I felt under the bow, just to make sure nobody was hiding there.
Then I heard a clunk coming from the boat shed. Or did I?
Maybe it was a ghost! I have ghosts on my mind a lot lately, because of the holiday play.
Maybe it was the ghost of Smuggler Joe.
I stopped to listen. The water lapped at the shore—it sounded a lot like Bruno lapping at his water dish. A breeze rustled the last leaves left on the trees. A gull called out from a nest on the buoy past our dock. I stayed very still. I heard all those night sounds, but the shed stayed quiet.
I walked over there, just to be sure. The cold dirt squished between my toes. I shivered and wished I’d thrown on my rain boots.
If someone’s in the shed, I thought, I probably shouldn’t go in there. I should run back to the house and tell Mom and Dad.
My feet were so cold I was hopping up and down on my toes. Ghost or no ghost, he must be freezing too. I remembered what Mom had said about offering him iced tea. How he’d never hurt an Islander.
I whispered, “Come sleep in our house! It’s warm!”
I thought about it a second and added: “But not in my room. I’m too scared of you!”
Then I hurried back into the house before my parents could figure out I was gone.
I tiptoed up the stairs. All was quiet. Everyone was sleeping.
I got into bed, but I was kind of shaken up. I couldn’t fall asleep. So I decided to write and tell you what happened.
I’m still looking out the window. Maybe Smuggler Joe is out there in the shed right now!
Do ghosts get cold?
I think I’ll take some food out to the shed, and a blanket, and leave them there for him. Just in case.
Still alive,
Your friend Claire
Dear Bess,
This morning when I got up for school, I threw my coat over my pajamas, stepped into my boots, and hurried out to see if anyone had been in the shed last night.
The blanket I’d left for Joe was there. But the food was gone!
A raccoon could have eaten it, I guess. But I like to think Joe had a nice supper.
I walked back to the house, shaking my head. What’s wrong with me? Leaving food out for a ghost?
A person who does that must be pretty lonely.
Bess, I miss you so much. I also miss Henry.
Why won’t he be friends with me anymore?
I don’t understand it. I was a girl before. And we were friends. I’m still a girl, but now he doesn’t want to be friends. The only thing that changed is that you moved away.
And that Henry became friends with Webby.
The play is not going well. Gilbert can never remember his lines, and Webby plays Marley’s Ghost with a big booming voice and stiff arms and legs like a zombie, or maybe Optimus Prime. Mr. Harper keeps telling him to tone it down, but he won’t.
The dress rehearsal is tomorrow afternoon. We had a costume fitting today. My costumes are all frilly dresses and dumb bonnets. Even my Ghost robe comes with a white nightcap.
Mr. Harper asked us to come in tonight for an extra rehearsal. He seems very nervous. I don’t want the play to be bad, but I’m more focused on Operation Make Henry Be My Friend Again. Now is the time. Tonight I will put my plan into action.
Wish me luck (since no one else will),
Claire
Dear Bess,
I’m home from rehearsal. It’s late, and I’m supposed to be in bed. But I can’t sleep.
I put Operation Make Henry Be My Friend Again into action tonight. Perhaps you are wondering what my great plan was. Here’s what happened.
Rehearsal was mostly over. Mr. H. let everybody go home except for me and Henry and Cal, who plays Young Scrooge. Mr. H. wanted us to practice the Ghost of Christmas Past scenes, because I have so many tricky character/costume changes. He focused on the part where I’m Young Scrooge’s girlfriend, Belle, and I tell him the engagement is off because he’s too greedy. Mr. H. said he wanted tears to spring to his eyes when he watched that scene, and right now all he gets is indigestion.
We practiced it until tears came to Mr. H.’s eyes. He said the tears were not from sentiment or sadness but from being tired and frustrated, but technically they were tears, so he kept his word and let us go.
It was after eight at night. Cal went home. The whole school was dark, except for the stage, where we were rehearsing, and the rooms backstage where we change into our costumes.
Henry has a little closet to himself to change in, since he’s the star. I was still wearing my Ghost of Christmas Past costume. I was headed for Henry’s changing room, ready to scare the daylights out of him, when I got a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
I didn’t look the least bit scary. The Ghost of Christmas Past is not a scary ghost.
I decided to borrow Webby’s Ghost of Christmas Future costume. Christmas Future is terrifying. It’s all about death, and the costume is basically just a big black robe with a hood, so it fits anybody. I threw it on over my Christmas Past costume. Then I got my laptop and hid it under the robe.
Henry’s dressing room door was ajar. I saw a beam of light spill out from the room into the dark hall. I peeked in. He was
still in his costume, wiping off his old man makeup.
I pulled the hood low over my face and moaned like a ghost. Henry didn’t look up. Didn’t pause. Just kept wiping makeup off his forehead with a paper towel.
“Heeennnnrrryyyy …” I moaned. “Oooooooh.”
Now he looked up. He saw me in the robe, my face hidden by the hood, and looked scared for a second. Then he said, “Webby, what are you doing here?”
I stepped into the little room. “I’m not Webby,” I said in a ghostly whisper. “I’m the Ghost of School Years Past. Your past.”
“Quit it, Webby.”
I pulled my computer from the folds of the robe and opened it. “Henry Long. You have been a baaaaad friend. You used to be a goooood friend. Let me show you scenes from your past, when you used to have a heart.”
“Oh, it’s you, Claire,” Henry said heartlessly.
I’d made a slide show of pictures of you, me, and Henry—pictures of fun times we’ve had over the years. Our birthday parties. Me and him sitting at the edge of the town pool with our feet in the water, splashing the other kids. Me and him sailing together. That one Halloween when the three of us dressed up as the Three Blind Mice. Me and Henry on the dock with our arms around each other’s shoulders and our life jackets on. And every year for the past four years, the picture my mother took of us on the first day of school. Me and Henry with our new lunchboxes, standing on my front steps in first grade, second grade, third grade, fourth grade …
But not fifth grade. Not this year. Because this year Henry didn’t show up.
“We walked to school together every day,” I said in my ghost voice. “For all those years. Until now. Why did it stop, Henry? Why?”
It was a great slide show, Bess. You would have gotten choked up. And I think it was working on Henry. I couldn’t tell for sure, but I saw him swallow hard a couple of times.
The Only Girl in School Page 5
