Over the Top

by Alison Hughes

  I glared at him.

  “What?” he said, glaring back.

  “Exactly,” said her mother. “Hero agrees with me. Only why not shoot for Dorothy? Why not? You know that story inside and out. Why not you?”

  The question went unanswered as Mr. Harris ushered in the librarian, who had the tight-lipped look of somebody pulled away from real work to do something useless and annoying. She marched us through the school so quickly we were practically trotting to keep up with her.

  “Cafeteria. Lockers. Gym through there. Theater.”

  I ignored Mom’s silent, excited pointing at the theater behind the librarian’s back. We sailed past the line of laminated posters of previous productions. Aladdin, Beauty and the Beast, Annie…

  “Here’s 6B. Mr. Khan’s room. This’ll be your daughter’s class.”

  Before anyone could say anything, like, for example, “Whatever you do, lady, DO NOT—REPEAT, DO NOT—open that door!” the librarian had double-knocked and thrown the door wide open.

  “Mr. Khan, sorry to interrupt. Just wanted to introduce your new student to the class. The one starting on Monday.”

  Silence.

  The teacher turned from the SmartBoard. The eyes of the whole class shifted to the doorway. Mom gave me a little push in the back, which sent me stumbling forward a few awkward steps. I slid a hand over my ponytail, tucking in a few loose strands behind my ear. My ears felt burning hot, and I really hoped they weren’t bright red. I didn’t seem to know what to do with my arms and hands. I crossed them, then uncrossed them, then held one arm with the other hand, then thought that looked stupid, then let them hang straight, then finally just shoved them into my pockets. If I’d known I’d be paraded in front of the entire class, I wouldn’t have worn my T-shirt with the apple core on the front, that’s for sure. I’d had it for years, and while it was soft and worn-in and comfy, it definitely wasn’t in any way cute or stylish. Mom said we were going to meet the principal. Just the principal. A short chat, she said. Ten minutes. A fun intro to the school.

  Not having fun here, Mom. Not the tiniest bit of fun.

  “Well, hello there,” Mr. Khan said, his face friendly. “You must be Diva. Diva Pankowski?”

  I will not be embarrassed by my silly name, I will not.

  I nodded and smiled at him. I glanced over nervously at the silent class. They were all watching me. Focus on the teacher-man, I told myself. Mr. Khan reached out and shook my cold, clammy hand, then turned to the class.

  “Can we all give Diva a big, St. George welcome?” The class clapped dutifully; I whispered “thanks,” gave a confused little wave, and backed quickly into the hall, stepping on the librarian’s foot.

  “Sorry, sorry,” I muttered.

  The librarian marched us off to repeat the performance at Hero’s class. Only ’Ro did things right. He said “Hiya folks!” and did a sweeping bow that had the whole class laughing and interested in meeting the fun new kid.

  The end-of-school bell rang just as we were leaving the building.

  “’Ro, want to go the secret way home? Along the river?” I asked, anxiously looking around at all the kids who might see us walk up the driveway to our new pink castle.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Stick together, you two,” said Mom, smiling. “I’ll open the back door for you.”

  We ran down the street to the park, turned right, and followed a little footpath we’d discovered just after we moved in. It led to the back of the park into the trees, their new leaves a bright, spring green. Once we were hidden by the trees, I relaxed.

  The feeling of peace and comfort and safety you get when you’re in the trees. Another good one for my project.

  The path led all the way along the sparkling river, separated by a bank of bushes and reeds. On our right were the fences of the huge houses of our new neighborhood. Our new neighbors. Our house was six long fences in from the path, but if you lost count you could always catch a glimpse of the pink glowing through the trees.

  “Six!” said Hero, running his hand along the last neighbor’s fence. “And here’s our gate!” He pulled a wire that Dad had hooked up. “The house really does look like some kind of weird castle from the back.”

  “And this,” I gestured to the river, “is the moat. The moat for the castle of Sir Hero the… what? Sir Hero the Kid? Sir Hero the Lame? Sir Hero the Goofball?”

  “Brave,” said Hero, squinting his eyes against the sun’s reflection on the moat, “Sir Hero the BRAVE!” He dropped the monster-truck voice and continued, “Or the Smart. ‘Smart’ might work, too. I’ll think about it.” We locked the gate and walked through the yard, winding our way around the ridiculous little purple gazebo. It was circular, open to the air, with benches curved along the walls. A little table in the middle, and that was it. It had no purpose, other than being a place to sit in the yard. It was a secret, quiet place. You could always find an empty room in the house, but the gazebo was so peaceful and looked out over the trees and the river. Perfect for reading and writing.

  “There you are!” Mom called. Her head bobbed over the top of the balcony outside the kitchen. “Kids, kids! Come quickly! We have company!”

  Hero and I looked at each other. His brown eyes looked startled. Mine must have mirrored the alarm I felt.

  My heart sank.

  “Oh, no,” I said. “Mom’s been making friends.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Enter Potential Mean Girl (Stage Left)

  A girl and her mother were standing in our kitchen when ’Ro and I came into the house. Both of them wore yoga pants and hoodies, and each had long, curly reddish hair and slightly bulging pale blue eyes.

  “Kids, meet our new neighbors!” Mom beamed at the two guests. “I nabbed them just as they were going into their house and said they just had to come and meet you both! This is Melinda—”

  “Miranda,” said the girl in a bored voice. She was picking at her nails and barely glanced at us.

  “Miranda. Sorry,” said Mom, laughing. “I’m so terrible with names. And this is her mother, uh—”

  “Julie,” the woman said. She looked at me and ’Ro, and added: “Mrs. Clay.”

  “Julie. Of course. I’ll always remember that because of jewels or jewelry! Julie.”

  There was a little silence where more polite people might have realized they should ask our names. Mom rushed to fill the gap.

  “And these are my wonderful children. That’s Hero and that’s Diva.”

  “Seriously? Those are their names?” That got Miranda’s attention. She stared at us like we were museum exhibits.

  “Miranda,” her mother said in a flat voice. If that was supposed to be a warning that she was being impolite (which she was), Miranda sure didn’t pick up on it.

  “Those aren’t nicknames?” she continued. “They’re for real their names?”

  We’re right here, Miranda. Honestly, how rude could this girl get?

  “You want to see some ID?” I said. I smiled, though, like it was a joke.

  “Interesting. Interesting names,” Miranda’s mother said, leaning back against the counter. She caught her daughter’s eye, and they both smiled slightly.

  “Thank you!” Mom said. “That’s why we chose them! You only get one name, I always say, so it may as well be unique! Now their middle na—”

  “Do you live right next door, or a few houses down?” I jumped in before Mom blabbed out our crazy middle names: Cleopatra and Augustus. Nobody outside the family needed to know those. Ever. I could imagine us going through the whole thing again, with rude Miranda saying, “Cleopatra? Is that seriously your middle name?”

  “Next door,” said Miranda, pointing a bored thumb over her shoulder in answer to my desperate question. She looked around. “We wondered if this pink house would ever sell. I mean, who would want to live in a pink house?”

  “Miranda,” said Mrs. Clay sharply. “She only means it’s been empty for a while.”

  “Oh,
I get that pink might not be for everyone, but I love it,” Mom smoothed over the awkward moment. “Goes with my name: Rosie.” She looked at Miranda kindly. “Would you like something to eat, honey?”

  “I’m not hungry. Can I see your room?” Miranda turned and looked at me with those dead, bulgy eyes.

  “I, uh, sure. It’s a bit messy, but…”

  Miranda was already running up the stairs. Hero looked at me and shrugged. His look said good luck.

  “Sorry—Miranda’s a little strong-willed,” said Miranda’s mom in a weary voice. She had a very unhappy face, I noticed.

  “No, no, Julie, it’s fine,” Mom said. “It’s fun for girls to show off their rooms! It’s fun, right, Diva?” Mom looked at me, smiling and nodding.

  Mom actually thinks that, I realized. She’s such an open book. She actually, truly thinks (even hopes!) that Miranda and I are going to sit and swap secrets and giggle and do each other’s hair and dance to music and become best friends and have sleepovers. Two minutes with Miranda and I already knew that none of that was ever going to happen.

  That feeling of frustration mixed with guilt when your parent is clued out about a situation but really loves you so you feel mean getting mad at them.

  “Sure,” I said. “Fun.”

  I climbed the pink staircase and saw Miranda reflected in the mirrors dancing down the long hallway.

  “It’s one of those castle rooms, I bet,” Miranda said, pulling open doors. “I always wanted to see inside those ones. Here?”

  “No. It’s there, up on the left.”

  I felt a mixture of resentment and admiration; I would never in a million years be as confident as this girl was, walking through a stranger’s house, yanking open doors like she owned the place.

  “Here. Here’s my room,” I said.

  I loved my room. It was simple and plain, just my style. Mom and Dad let me choose any color I wanted and had the room painted before we moved in. I chose a deep blue called “Caribbean Surf.” Soothing and calm like the ocean. I didn’t even want to put up any posters, I loved the color so much. All of my books fit on the wooden shelves, with lots of room for more. And Mom had piled cushions on the window seat, creating a perfect reading and writing nook. It was a beautiful room.

  “Oh, it’s just a boring, little regular room,” Miranda said, right on cue. She clearly had had no filter. “Blue. Looks like it should be your brother’s room,” Miranda said. “No offense.”

  “Blue’s not only for boys,” I said lightly. Every single word with this girl was awkward.

  “I love green,” Miranda said, talking right over me. “I look great in green.”

  Oookay, clearly no response required. I pulled my duvet straighter on my bed. Conversation with Miranda was like running uphill—hard and tiring.

  “Do you go to St. George School?” I asked when the silence seemed to have lasted too long.

  “Well, obviously. Everyone around here does,” Miranda said, prowling around my room, picking up things and putting them back down. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s school, but it’s okay. I like the plays. I always get the lead role. Annie, Jasmine, Anne of Green Gables. This year I’ll be playing Dorothy. We’re doing The Wizard of Oz.”

  That’s why her face looked familiar. That’s where I remembered her from. All those posters of the plays the school put on. Miranda had been in every one of them.

  “Oh, I didn’t know they’d picked the cast yet,” I said. “The principal said—”

  “They haven’t. But I’ll be Dorothy,” laughed Miranda. “The director knows I have a bright future in theater. A serious future. Like, Broadway. I dance and I’m taking voice lessons. Want to hear something?”

  Are you kidding? You’re kidding, right? Or are you seriously offering to sing a song for me after knowing me for, like, three minutes?

  “Well… sure, I guess—” I started to say.

  “Hey, Deev, they’re going.” I turned with relief to see Hero standing in the doorway. “I’m supposed to tell you you’re going,” he said to Miranda.

  “Oh, good. Musical theater claaaass,” Miranda sang. She had a surprisingly lovely voice when she dropped her flat, bored speaking voice. “So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, goodnight! That’s from The Sound of Music.” I knew that, but whatever.

  Miranda patted Hero’s head as she went past him.

  “Bye, tiny little Hero!” she said as she danced out of the room.

  “I can’t stand her,” said Hero, crossing his arms.

  “Shhh. Not so loud, ’Ro,” I whispered. “She’s barely out the door.”

  “She’s gone, hopefully. All that stupid singing. And I’m not tiny or little.”

  “I know, I know. She’s just—I don’t know—insecure.” I didn’t know if she was insecure or not (I actually thought not) but Mom always used that word to explain someone who was being a jerk.

  “She’s rude,” said Hero. Can’t argue with you there, pal.

  “You think we can just stay here?” I asked him. “Or does Mom—”

  “Diva! Diva!” Mom’s voice floated up the stairs. “Come say goodbye to your new friend!”

  My new friend. Is that what Miranda is? I bet you neither of us think that. I walked slowly down the stairs.

  “… and we’ll have to get together sometime, Julie! Have a proper visit while the kids play.” Mom was chatting away.

  “Well, I’m pretty busy…” said Miranda’s mother, her hand on the doorknob. “I’ve actually got a lot going on now. But maybe sometime. Anyways, welcome to the neighborhood and all that.”

  “Thank you!” said Mom. “And of course, Miranda’s welcome here anytime. Anytime at all. Oh, here’s Diva!”

  “Bye, Miranda. Bye, Mrs. Clay,” I said.

  Miranda was already out the door, but Mrs. Clay waved quickly as Miranda tugged her out, too.

  “Well,” said Mom brightly. “Our new neighbors! Nice. Very nice.” She rubbed her hands together and gave me a smile. She saw my face and said: “Oh, Diva, they’re fine. Maybe just a teensy bit insecure. Julie seems a little depressed, but maybe just a bad day. She said she’d mention the Pink Palace Party Planners to her friends, which was so kind of her, don’t you think? I haven’t even gotten the brochures back from the printer yet!”

  I stayed silent.

  “Not a bad thing to have a friend for when you start on Monday,” Mom continued, slipping an arm around my shoulders. “Maybe Miranda will show you around and introduce you to all the kids at school.”

  Sometimes I wondered how Mom actually lived in this world. Was she insanely big-hearted or just monumentally clued out? Or possibly both? Anyway, she’d think I was being mean if I said: “Are you kidding, Mom? Miranda won’t show me around. She would never, ever think of doing that. Introduce me to people? Don’t make me laugh. If she even remembers me at all, she might mention ‘that boring kid whose family bought that hideous pink house.’ Can’t you see that Miranda has serious mean-girl potential?”

  So I stayed silent.

  “Anyway,” Mom said briskly, “I’m doing Tandoori chicken wraps tonight. Your favorite, kiddo.”

  But I couldn’t concentrate on food. I was thinking about starting school on Monday. In three days. A school where Miranda went. Miranda and people who were actually friends with Miranda. A school where Miranda was the star of every play.

  The way I saw it, meeting Miranda had actually been a good thing.

  Okay, maybe not a good thing. Maybe just not a terrible thing.

  Because now I knew for sure who to avoid.

  CHAPTER 5

  Luxury Lunch Recess Hideaway (I’m Being Sarcastic)

  It was the third morning at my new school. My first impressions of Miranda had been confirmed. Not only did she not respond to my little wave when we were both walking to school, but she then sped up to make sure we didn’t arrive at school together. She also totally ignored me when I said “hi” to her later in the hallway. Why did I even try? Wh
o knows? I guess probably because she was the one person in a sea of strangers I’d met before. And it might have been nice not having to face them all on my own.

  I slipped into class, slung my backpack over my desk chair, grabbed a book, and pretended to read as the rest of the class arrived for the day. I shook my hair out of its ponytail so I could hide behind its thick curtain.

  That feeling of trying to be invisible in stressful situations.

  School itself—the actual school part—wasn’t so bad. Mr. Khan was really nice, and the subjects weren’t difficult at all. I was even ahead in math. But the other part—the social part—was hard. Everyone but me had been there since the start of the year, so they already belonged to friend groups. It was awkward being the only one who didn’t. I’m naturally kind of quiet, and so it’s stressful trying to be outgoing and fun and social. Are there freakishly confident people in this world who actually enjoy marching right up to a group of strangers and introducing themselves? Okay, Hero. And Mom. But other than them?

  Mercifully, Miranda wasn’t in my class. Two of her friends were, though. Kallie and Miko. I only knew their names because Mr. Khan kept having to say “Kallie and Miko, focus please.”

  Kallie and Miko ignored everyone. They sat at the back of the class, flipped their perfect hair, and whispered to each other. My first day, there was an awkward few minutes when Mr. Khan had the whole class introduce themselves, student by student. Most kids looked over at me, even smiled, when they said their name. Kallie didn’t look up from scribbling on her binder as she muttered her name, and Miko rolled her eyes at the ceiling while she said hers. Message received: new girl is totally unimportant.

  After a couple of days of watching them, I became more convinced that they were definitely mean. But not obviously mean. Their meanness showed itself in a lot of little moments. For one thing, they didn’t talk to anyone else. Ever. But they made comments to each other about everyone else. Kallie said “OMG, walk much?” to Miko when a boy tripped on his way to the sharpener. Or Miko loudly said “my eyes hurt” and actually put on sunglasses because another girl’s neon-orange hoodie was apparently so bright. They’d mimic other kids or laugh at the way they talked. I could go on. Like I said, a lot of little mean moments, but they add up.