11 Before 12

by Lisa Greenwald

  After a few more minutes of jumping and talking, our moms head upstairs.

  “That felt almost too easy,” I say to Ari, when I’m confident our moms are out of earshot. “I thought it was gonna be way harder to convince them. When it’s easy, does it count as much? I mean, I know it’s the first thing we’ve done, but . . . ya know? Do the things on the list need to be hard to accomplish?”

  We squint our eyes at each other, feeling all suspicious.

  “Yeah, and I mean, it’s helping your mom, which is great, obvs. And she is human, but do you think we should be helping more of humanity? Like beyond our immediate families?”

  I shrug. “Maybe, but what if we never think of anything else we can do that counts as helping humanity?” I ask.

  “Relax, Kay.” She puts her hands on my shoulders. “We just had a major victory. We’re gonna figure this out.”

  I need to trust her. I’m too excited about the highlights for anything to get in the way of that.

  TEN

  OUR MOMS MAKE A WHOLE plan to take us to lunch at Fleetwood before our hair appointments. It’s this old-fashioned ice cream parlor that has sandwiches, too, and it’s the best restaurant in the world. Honestly. It’s been featured on all those Food Network shows, and there’s usually a line out the door.

  But my mom grew up living next door to the owner—so we have connections.

  Take ’em where you can get ’em, ya know.

  “Girls, this is so lovely,” Ari’s mom says as soon as we’ve ordered. She folds her hands on the table and smiles at each of us. She’d probably make a good politician. I swear she’s always smiling.

  I lean over to sip my root beer and wait for someone else to say something.

  “It’s just a treat to spend time together,” my mom adds. “We’re all so busy these days, running around and everything.”

  I nod. “Well, thanks for taking us.”

  “Yeah, thank you,” Ari adds.

  After that awkward moment of appreciation, the moms start discussing some battle that took place at the PTA meeting over standardized tests.

  Ari takes the list out of her backpack and rests it on her pants leg.

  “Sometimes I just like to look at it,” she says. “To remind myself of its awesomeness.”

  “I agree,” I whisper, and look up to make sure the moms are still deep in their boring conversation. I put my arm around Ari, and we gaze at her list together like it’s a beautiful painting.

  “What should we do after highlights?” I ask Ari. “We need to figure out the next most important thing to do before middle school starts. Ya know?”

  She looks down at the list and back up at our moms, to make sure they’re not listening to us. “Shhh. They can’t hear this.”

  I put a finger to my lip. “Right.”

  “Definitely guy friend,” Ari says. “I mean, maybe it’s Jason? He’s nice, right? And he lives across the street?”

  I nod. “Yeah. And we should save first kiss for near the end, because, like, we’ll meet new people when school starts—”

  “Who’s talking about a first kiss?” my mom asks. Our heads jolt up.

  “Ummm,” I reply. “Oh, not us. . . . These girls at the pool were all talking about it. . . .”

  “And?” Ari’s mom asks. “I think my first kiss was when I was eleven. I was at camp, and it was after Israeli Dancing, Louis Goldfarb—”

  “Mom!” Ari shrieks, reaching across the table to smack her hand. “Stop!”

  “Ari,” her mom warns, laughing. “It’s okay. . . . We’re your mothers. You can talk to us. Right, Kaylan?”

  “Well.” I sip my water and try to think of something to say. “To be honest, I think we’d rather discuss something a little more intellectual, maybe the upcoming midterm election?” I pause and wait for laughter. “The rising prices at Starbucks?”

  My mom laughs and shakes her head at me. “Oh, Kaylan.” She looks at Ari’s mom. “Always with the jokes. Always with the jokes.”

  Ari and I glare at each other, silently praying this conversation is over.

  “What are you guys looking at?” Ari’s mom asks, peering under the table.

  “What?” My voice catches, heart pounding.

  “What are you two plotting? What is that list?” Ari’s mom’s eyebrows curve inward.

  Ari kicks me under the table. “Oh, just a list of things to get before middle school, like new backpack, new shoes, binders . . .” I nod like she has no choice but to believe her. “Just a to-do list.”

  “Yeah, we made it together. Just stuff we need to get ready.” I look over at my mom.

  She crinkles her eyes like she doesn’t believe us. “Okay, well, we’ll talk about what you need,” she says. “And you know we’re always here for you.”

  Ari and I look down at our feet. Why is this food taking so long?

  Ari’s mom adds, “Some girls aren’t lucky enough to be close with their mothers, and it’s very important, especially at this challenging time—”

  “Mom,” Ari groans for the millionth time. “Please.”

  “Ladies, enjoy your lunches,” the waiter says, putting down our plates.

  Finally!

  “Thank you so much!” I say to the waiter, tempted to get up and hug him. “Really, thank you! This looks amazing!”

  After sandwiches, sodas, and an ice cream sundae with four spoons, we head straight to the salon.

  “Let’s do this,” I say.

  Ari high-fives me. “Highlights, here we come!”

  We arrive a few minutes before our appointments. Our moms sit on the leather couch and read magazines while they wait for us. I decide on blond highlights and Ari decides on red.

  My hair is brown, but it has hints of blond, so I feel like the highlights will only help accentuate what’s already there.

  We sit side by side as the stylists paint our hair with the highlights and then cover them with foil.

  “Eeep,” I squeak and grab Ari’s hand. “This is really happening.”

  “Do you think we’re going to look so different?” she asks me. “Like, will people freak out at school? They’re gonna notice we have a new look, right?”

  I think about it for a second before I answer. “Ummm. I think people will notice, if that’s what you’re asking. I think Brooke and Lily will be totally jealous.”

  Ari looks down at her feet.

  I look over to make eye contact, and Gina, my hairstylist, keeps trying to push my head back.

  “Keep your head back, sweetie,” she says.

  It’s kind of hard to talk during this process. And it’s a challenge to keep my head still.

  “I mean, I don’t care what they think. But ya know, they’ll just be jealous.”

  “Right,” Ari says. “Totally.”

  “Sweetie,” Gina starts. “Every time you talk, your head moves, and I’m worried this is going to come out uneven. So maybe let’s stay quiet for a little bit.”

  I can’t argue with the woman making my whole back-to-school look perfect, so silence it is.

  It’s kind of nice to have quiet. To daydream about my new look and how awesome it’s going to be.

  Good-bye, Elementary School Kaylan.

  Hello, new and improved Middle School Kaylan.

  ELEVEN

  WE SPEND THE REST OF the evening staring at ourselves in the mirror in my room. I’m not even kidding. We just can’t tear our eyes away from the magic that is blond highlights and the power that is red highlights.

  “We look so much more grown-up,” Ari says, for the billionth time. “We do, right? I’m not just making that up, right?”

  “Oh, totally,” I say, still staring at myself. “Honestly, we’re really beautiful. I mean, we always were, but now, it’s like there’s just no denying it.”

  “Sorry to burst your bubble, ladies.” Ryan appears out of nowhere, standing in the doorway to my room. “But it’s gonna take a lot more than highlights to make you two loo
k grown-up and beautiful.”

  He bursts out laughing after that, and throws a Nerf ball at me. But he’s not so good at throwing, and instead of hitting me, it hits the glass of fruit punch on my desk, and it spills all over the new white shirt mom bought me for the first day of school and directly onto the 11 Before 12 List.

  “Shoot!” I say, grabbing gobs of tissues and trying to mop it up. Thank God it’s laminated! “That’s it,” I say. “We’re moving number eleven to the top of the list.”

  “Number eleven?” Ari asks, slightly confused. She’s still staring at herself, stroking her hair. I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t even realize what just happened with Ryan.

  I put my hands on her shoulders to reel her back in. “Ari! Why aren’t you paying attention? Fruit punch just spilled on my shirt and on the list, and you didn’t even notice!”

  “Sorry,” she says half-heartedly. “I just love these highlights.”

  “Sabotaging Ryan,” I remind her. “It needs to happen. It needs to happen now.”

  “Okay.” She smiles. “I’m game.”

  I guess not much is at stake when it comes to Ari and Ryan. But for me a lot is at stake. He cannot just, like, go on treating me this way, being the biggest jerk in the entire world, and then, nothing happens. Come on.

  Enough is enough.

  “So what’s your sabotage plan?” she asks, finally tearing herself away from the mirror.

  “Jam band tryouts are next week,” I tell her. “Ryan really wants this. Really, really wants this. He’s even growing his hair out for it.”

  “And?” Ari asks.

  “We’ll cut a guitar string when he’s asleep tonight.” I raise my eyebrows. “Hide his extra strings.”

  “Really, Kay?” Ari chews her bottom lip and looks at me sideways. “So won’t this ruin his chances of making it?”

  “Well, maybe, if he’s not smart enough to practice before. If he practices, he’ll notice the broken string, and he can use his allowance to buy more. And he’ll be fine.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” Ari asks.

  “He’ll learn an important lesson!”

  She shrugs. “I dunno, just kinda seems mean.”

  “Well, sabotage is sabotage, ya know?” I pause. “And a broken string isn’t the end of the world. Like, he could still make it work. But it will mess up his audition. Make him all flustered and stuff.”

  “I guess,” she says and goes back to the mirror.

  “Since when do you have such a guilty conscience?” I ask her. “Remember that sleepover when Gemma wouldn’t stop playing the electronic saxophone that sounded like a dying cat?”

  “Yeah . . .” Ari laughs.

  “You didn’t feel guilty about hiding that from your sister!”

  “It was the worst sound in the world,” Ari defends. “I guess you know what you’re doing.”

  Later that night, when I can’t fall asleep, I go back and forth about cutting Ryan’s guitar string.

  Ari’s sleeping soundly next to me, so I can’t even talk to her about my dilemma.

  I feel so good about my highlights that I don’t want to do anything to hurt anyone. The world feels beautiful and perfect.

  But then I remember how mean he’s been to me, the lies about middle school, how he ruined the shirt Mom paid full price to get me.

  I’m gonna do it.

  He needs to learn he can’t get everything he wants.

  Plus it’s on the list. And crossing things off a list feels really, really good.

  I can’t do this alone, though. I mean, it’s on the list—it’s required that we do it together.

  “Ari,” I whisper.

  No response.

  “Ari.” I nudge her shoulder.

  She groans, “I’m sleeeeping.”

  “I know. But it’s time. The next thing on our list,” I remind her. “We gotta do it.”

  She jolts up, and rubs her eyes. “Fine. But I’m only doing this because it’s on the list. And I am loyal to the list.” She fist-pounds me. “Got it?”

  “Loyal to the list. Got it.”

  We tiptoe out of my room, careful not to wake anyone. We walk down the stairs as quietly as possible. The tiniest tap makes the loudest creak, like the entire staircase is going to collapse.

  We make it to the bottom of the staircase without anyone waking up. I tiptoe into the den and find Ryan’s guitar leaning against the wall. He was too lazy to even put it in the case. We’re not supposed to just leave our stuff lying all around. Mom’s told us that a billion times.

  “What was that?” I gasp, looking in all directions when I feel like someone is watching us.

  “What?” Ari whispers. “I burped. Sorry. Too much soda.”

  “Eww, Ari!” I whisper-yell. “Gross. And too risky! Hand me the scissors!”

  “You sure about this?” she whispers.

  I nod, and look around again.

  “Now you have the hiccups! At a time like this.” I put a finger to my lips as if that will get her to quiet down.

  As quickly as I can, I clip a little off the edge of one of the strings. It’s so subtle I doubt he’ll notice. Not until it’s too late—when he gets to the tryouts and it won’t tune and his whole audition is messed up.

  Perfect.

  “Come on, let’s go back up, quietly!”

  She shakes her head at me as we tiptoe up the stairs. “I’m being as quiet as possible.” A little laugh bursts out of her mouth, and then a little laugh pops out of mine, and soon we’re almost full-on laughing.

  “Stop!” I roll my lips together.

  My heart is racing faster than it has ever raced before, and every second I think I hear something—my mom’s door opening, Ryan’s video games. We are totally going to get caught.

  We walk into my room and collapse on the bed. Just in time, because a second later Ryan’s door opens and he goes into the bathroom.

  We’re cracking up completely when we get back into my room. We cover our faces with pillows to tone it down.

  When we catch our breath, Ari says, “We should have some kind of ritual. I mean, for after we’ve checked something off the list.”

  “Yeah?” I look at her.

  “I know we didn’t do it with the highlights, but I was just thinking. . . . Wouldn’t that be cool?”

  I sit down on the bed and rub my eyes. I feel like I could sleep for a billion years, but this is an important thing, and I want to think of something good. “What should it be?”

  “I got it,” she says, lying down. “It’s an expanded version of what we already do. So, jump in the air, high-five, and then hug.”

  “Let’s try it,” I whisper. “But quietly.”

  We stand up and jump, softly high-five, and then quickly pull in for a hug.

  “Amazing!” I whisper.

  Ari shakes her head. “No. Beyond amazing!”

  We’re finally back in bed, all cozy under the covers. But I can’t fall asleep. I’m psyched about our new ritual. And I’m in love with my highlights. But I have an aching pit in my stomach. It’s like a combination of a stomach flu, cramps, and extreme agita. It’s terrible. So terrible that even my perfect highlights aren’t making me happy.

  What have I done?

  TWELVE

  POOL AT NOON? I TEXT Ari. She’s been gone for five days on this Hebrew School camping trip. Five whole days, and now we only have ten days before school starts.

  It wasn’t like camping in tents, she said. It was just, like, at a camp. A bonding experience, and maybe some of the kids will go there next summer.

  I prayed the whole time she was gone that she hated it, and that she’ll never go back, because these five days without her have been the longest five days of my life. The most boring, too.

  Lunch, swim, work on the list? I text again, when I don’t hear back from her.

  Deal, she finally writes back.

  I grab a clean towel out of the dryer on the way out and stuff it in my back
pack.

  “Be careful you don’t blind everyone at the pool with that hideous bathing suit,” Ryan says to me when I’m almost at the door.

  “Well, your BO could kill an entire country, so I think that’s the more important thing to focus on.” I turn around and stare at him. “No wonder you didn’t make the jam band. Your smell killed everyone!”

  I get a niggling feeling that I do my best to squelch. It’s his own fault he didn’t make it, since he didn’t even think he needed to practice. If he’d at least tried to practice, he’d have noticed the broken string. And he would have made sure he had the extras.

  “You’re evil,” he says. “And ugly!”

  I slam the door in his face.

  On the walk over, I put Ryan’s cruel behavior out of my head in order to do a little soul-searching. We have a little less than two weeks until school starts, and I focus on what’s really most important on the list. I mean, I wonder what’s going to make the biggest impact when we start school? We want to make a splash. We want to have stories to tell. Saying we hung out at the neighborhood pool all summer isn’t very exciting. Highlights are cool and everything, but we need more.

  We have a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to make this first impression at middle school. We need to figure out who we want to be, what impact we want to leave on the world.

  That’s why this Whole Me Makeover is so important.

  I look over the list again. And then right as I walk through the gate to the pool, tacked up on the bulletin board is an advertisement. It’s new—I’ve never noticed it before, and I look at this bulletin board every single day.

  TWEEN YOGA CLASS. BEGINNERS WELCOME.

  7 p.m. at the Community Center on September 4

  Clearly, the universe has an opinion here. This is the “thing we might hate” that we need to try! And it’s something that will help us—well, me—calm down at the same time.

  An essential part of the Whole Me Makeover.

  Perfect.

  And if there’s a guy there who can become my new guy friend, or maybe even my first kiss, even better.

  I think I’d call that a terrific trio—when one event fulfills three items on the list!