11 Before 12

by Lisa Greenwald

  I show Ari the sign as soon as she gets to the pool, and we discuss it over burgers at the snack bar.

  Ari thinks about it for a second and then says, “Ya know, they always say ‘beginners welcome,’ but the thing is, I bet the people in this class are going to be, like, professional yoga people, or yogis, or whatever they’re called.” Ari takes a bite and continues, “Maybe we should hire a private teacher for our first class, just to help get us started. Or watch YouTube videos or something. So we go in knowing at least a little bit about yoga.”

  “Come on, Ar.” I roll my eyes. “We’re gonna be fine. Since when are you afraid of not being as good as other people at anything? What’s the worst that happens? We leave the class and never do it again. I mean, it’s not like everyone at our new school is going to know we went to yoga and totally stunk at it.”

  “I know, but I’m scared. I’ve literally never done yoga before!” Ari deep-sighs. “And what if people laugh at us the way the boobage girls laughed at Freeze Dance?”

  I think about that for a second. “Well, I feel like yoga is generally a kind sport . . . or practice. Is it a sport?” I shrug.

  She stares at me. “See! This is going to be awful!”

  “I know, that’s why it’s the thing we think we might hate!” I put some more ketchup on my fries.

  “I don’t know, maybe.” She slumps over to the trash can to throw away the remnants from her burger.

  After lunch, we go back to the lounge chairs for some sunshine and relaxation. We’ve pretty much gotten our pool days down to perfection. It’s going to be hard to leave this amazing routine and go back to the early-rising, homework-filled, exhausting school routine.

  This yoga is essential for our survival.

  “Look at it this way: this yoga class is just for kids our age. We could make our new friends there, too. The friends we’ll invite to the birthday bash. This yoga class could be a terrific trio.”

  Ari laughs. “What?”

  “When one event fulfills three things!” I explain.

  Ari laughs at me, passing me the bottle of sunblock. “I know you’re excited, but we can’t assume yoga is going to change our entire lives. And I’m not sure it’s worth risking, like, mega-embarrassment.”

  I nod and turn onto my side. Something’s going on in Ari’s mind, and she’s not telling me what it is. She’s anxious. Nervous. This is not the Ari I know. I wonder if something happened on the Hebrew School trip?

  I want to ask her what’s up, but I feel like I should let it go for now. Maybe she’ll come around and tell me herself. Maybe she’s waiting for the right moment, when there aren’t other people around.

  I close my eyes, all set to take a perfect afternoon lounge-chair nap. Lounge-chair naps are the best kind of naps. Except for maybe hammock naps. But since there aren’t any hammocks at the pool, lounge chairs really get the job done.

  I’m drifting off to sleep, in the state of half awake/half asleep, when I feel someone standing over us. I turn to see if Ari’s awake, but her mouth is hanging open, the way it always does when she’s in a deep sleep.

  I squint one eye open to see who it is.

  Jason.

  He’s taller than I’d originally thought, or maybe it’s just because he’s standing over me. He’s wearing a bright-orange bathing suit and a Mets T-shirt.

  “Hi?”

  “Oh, um, hi.” I laugh.

  He laughs, too, and then eyes me suspiciously. I feel like we’re communicating through weird eye movements and it’s kind of fun, but also feels a little creepy.

  “You’re Keely, um, no, that’s not it. Kay—?”

  “Kaylan,” I say.

  “I haven’t seen you in a while,” he says, like we’re long-lost friends.

  “Um.” I look over at Ari, who’s still sound asleep. God, what happened on that Hebrew School trip? She may sleep forever. “Well, I haven’t been to the pool in a few days because it’s no fun without Ari, and she’s been away, and . . .” I have no idea why I’m telling Jason all of this.

  I can’t tell if he’s cute or not. He’s nerdy, but his smile shows confidence. And he has straight teeth. Like, naturally straight teeth. No need for braces.

  He’s looking at me, smiling like he knows something I don’t know. Something I should know. “The pool can be fun without Ari. I’m always here!”

  I crinkle my eyes to avoid the sun. “Yeah, you do seem really lively, joining the water volleyball game when you just moved here!”

  He sits down on the edge of my lounge chair, since all the other chairs are taken. I guess he was tired of standing. “Well, more like moved back. You probably don’t remember me, but I went to school with you in second grade.”

  I look at him out of the corner of my eye, trying to remember. Ari never mentioned he used to live here, but then again, she wasn’t here in second grade, so maybe it didn’t matter to her.

  “Oh yeah! Mr. Greenstein’s class!” I shriek and look over at Ari, almost trying to wake her up this time. “You did your country project on Italy, right?”

  He stands up and claps. “I did! How did you remember that?”

  “I remember you brought in pasta for the whole class,” I say, trying to play it cool, not freak out that a boy is talking to me and that I remembered something about him. “Are you ready for school?”

  I stare off into space, like it’s nothing, but inside I’m bursting a little bit.

  Jason is new; he’s Ari’s neighbor. He’s cuter than I first thought he was, but like, manageable cute. Not intimidating cute.

  There is no doubt about it—he is definitely the guy friend we need for the list! The guy friend we need for life!

  He can give us tips on guy stuff, tell us about what went on at his old school, and help me figure out what’s going on with my brother.

  “My old elementary school only went up to fourth grade,” Jason says, “so I technically already started middle school, but now it’s kinda sorta like I’m starting middle school again.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Well, I mean, I guess I am just starting middle school, because, like, it’s a new—”

  “I get it.” I laugh a little, as an apology for cutting him off. He talks a lot. But that’s not such a bad thing, either. I run out of things to say, so I reach into my backpack for an orange, just to have something to do.

  He moves to sit on the lounge chair next to me that a mom and baby just left. “Whoa, you are the fastest orange peeler I have ever seen!”

  I crack up. “What?”

  “No, seriously.” He looks at me. “You just peeled that in, like, ten seconds, and the peel stayed all in one piece!”

  Um. This is the strangest thing anyone has ever noticed about me. I mean, I’ve noticed it about myself because Ryan and I used to have clementine-peeling contests when I was in third grade, and he was in fourth. But for Jason to notice—wow. Kind of a big deal.

  “It’s a talent,” I say, and start laughing. “I’m awesome at it. You should see me peel clementines.” I pause. “That’s really my best skill. Guinness Book of World Records worthy.”

  “You’re probably the fastest peeler in the world.” He stares at the peel. “Like, you could enter a competition!”

  Our laughing wakes Ari up. A few seconds later, she sits up, all frantic and confused like she doesn’t know where she is.

  “Arianna!” Jason says. “Hey!”

  “Hey,” she mumbles, still sleepy-groggy.

  “How was your sister’s sleepover?” he asks.

  She looks at him, confused.

  “Remember last night, you were walking your sister to a sleepover? I was throwing lawn darts. . . .”

  “Oh yeah!” She sits up straighter and rubs her eyes.

  “You told me you’d be hanging out here today,” he says. “And, um, you are!”

  He laughs at himself, so I laugh along, too. Sometimes you have to humor your friends. It’s just the way the world works. He was trying to be f
unny.

  “Ari, um, I mean, Arianna.” I look over at her. “You didn’t tell me Jason went to school with me in second grade. We used to play four square together!”

  “Oh, um.” She looks at Jason and then back at me. “It slipped my mind, I guess. Do you guys remember each other?”

  “I kind of do,” Jason says. “I remember you brought a bagel with cream cheese every day for lunch for the whole entire year.”

  “I wasn’t so culinarily, um, sophisticated back then,” I say.

  “Back then?” Ari guffaws. “You’re not that sophisticated now.”

  “I eat sushi!” I smack her on the knee. “And you’re the one who’s afraid of doing yoga!”

  She hits me right back. “Shhh.”

  “All right, y’all,” he says, getting up. “I’m gonna grab some food.”

  “Y’all?” I laugh.

  “My mom’s from Atlanta, so sometimes I talk like a Southerner.”

  “Southerners are cool,” I say, because I can’t think of anything else to say. I don’t want him to get the feeling that I’m making fun of him.

  “Yeah, they are.” He nods. “Need anything from the snack bar?”

  We shake our heads.

  “Catch you later, then.” He walks away and Ari and I sit there, looking at each other, talking with our eyes, until Jason’s out of earshot and we’re sure he won’t be able to hear us.

  “First kiss?” Ari asks.

  “I was thinking more guy friend.”

  “He could be both,” she suggests.

  “How?”

  She hesitates for a second. “My first kiss. Your guy friend.”

  “You said he wasn’t cute enough for first kiss! Now he is? And we need to have the same guy friend,” I remind her. “For the list. And to help us figure out guy stuff. It’s part of our whole new sophisticated personas. Ya know?”

  She thinks about it for a second. “Yeah, but some people end up having crushes on their guy friends, and then they kiss them, and so . . .” She smiles. “Could be both!”

  “A dynamic duo: when one thing fulfills two items on the list,” I tell her.

  “Exactly.” Ari smiles.

  THIRTEEN

  “YOU DIDN’T NEED TO BE so rude before,” Ari says as we’re eating our ice cream later that afternoon. “In front of Jason, about the yoga . . .”

  I pause to think about it. Was I rude? “You made fun of my culinary lameness!”

  “I was joking.” She licks around the side of her chocolate cone to even it out.

  “I was, too!” I sneer. “Anyway, you still haven’t told me about the Hebrew School trip.” Something crazy must have happened. I never trusted that Tamar girl. “And we have to go over schedules! We have tons to do. We can’t waste time in a fight.”

  “We’re not in a fight, Kaylan. Sheesh!” She slurps some dripping ice cream out the bottom of her cone.

  “Well, can you just tell me about the trip, already?” I ask, picking a sprinkle off my cone.

  “Okay . . . the trip. Well, Jules, Phoebe, Tamar, Cara—those girls over there.” She nudges her head toward the lounges by the diving board. “They were all there. Plus some of the bikini boobage girls! I never realized they went to my temple. But the trip was kids going into sixth through eighth grades, so . . .”

  “And?” I take a sip of water. Ice cream always makes me thirsty.

  “It was kind of fun. Jules introduced me to all these girls who went to her elementary school but are randomly zoned for our middle school.” My stomach starts to sink thinking about it, but I force it away so I can focus on the rest of the story. “And we hung out with boys. It was, like, kind of normal.”

  “What?” I gasp. “You didn’t call me right away and tell me you hung out with boys? You don’t even need Jason as your guy friend anymore.” I flop my head onto the table. I don’t even know if I can finish this cone.

  “Kaylan.” She taps my head. “We’re not, like, BFFs. I just hung out with them, and it was fun. That’s it.”

  I glare at her; I feel like she’s lying, like she’s leaving stuff out. “So then why are you, like, freaking out about yoga? You’re acting weird!”

  Ari starts massaging her sinuses. “Ice cream headache. And I am not acting weird! I just don’t want to be the most uncoordinated one in yoga. Okay?”

  “Fine!” I yell, half-kidding, half-serious. “Let’s go back to the lounges and compare schedules.”

  “Fine!”

  We walk back to the lounges, and the bikini boobage girls are in their usual spot, in the sun, by the diving board.

  “Arianna!” one of them calls. “Your song is rising. . . .”

  “No!” Ari yells back, laughing. “Your song is rising.”

  I look back and forth from the girl to Ari and back again. “Huh?” I ask.

  “Oh, just a private joke.” Ari laughs. “From the trip. I could explain it but it’s really long.”

  “Oh. Um. That’s okay.” My throat stings.

  They think they’re so funny because they have all these jokes from the trip. I mean, who cares? It was five days. They can’t possibly have gotten that close in that short of a time.

  It takes us forever to make it back to our lounges because that girl Jules stops us for a hundred years to ask when Ari has math. She thinks her friend Sydney is gonna be in her class. “Sydney’s nice,” she says. “And she’s really smart. She can help you study!” Jules keeps talking, and Ari keeps listening, and it’s like I’m not even standing there.

  Thank God Jules is going to the other middle school.

  “So,” Ari says, when we’re back on our lounge chairs, close together, comparing schedules. “This sheet is just our first day schedule. See how it says here that it rotates by a period every other day?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Ari crinkles up her nose. “But we don’t have any of the same teachers, so I guess we don’t have any classes together.”

  My heart sinks like I just lost my favorite ring, the one my grandma gave me for my first communion. “Wait, no. That can’t be.”

  I look it over again. “Wait! We have lunch together!”

  “Oh!” Ari claps. “You’re right! That is awesome! That’s the period that matters most!”

  I reach over and hug her. I don’t care about Jules, or the private jokes from the Hebrew trip, or that she forgot to tell me Jason used to live here, or that she thinks my culinary tastes are pathetic.

  We have lunch together. That’s all that matters!

  “What’s this lovefest about?” Tyler walks over to us, twirling his whistle around his fingers. “Lovefests aren’t allowed at the pool.”

  We pull apart from the hug, and my cheeks feel like they’re on fire. “Um . . . not a lovefest, just looking over class schedules.”

  “Let me see,” he says, putting his hands out.

  “It’s okay, Tyler, you’re not in our grade,” Ari says.

  “Gimme. I’ll tell you what to expect.”

  Finally, we hand the papers to him. He looks at each one for two seconds and then says, “Yup, you’re screwed. All these classes are hard.” He hands the sheets back. “Good luck.”

  Ari looks at me and shakes her head. “What is his deal?”

  “No idea.” I lie back and try not to worry about Tyler. Ari and I have lunch together. I repeat it to myself over and over again.

  “That was kind of jerky,” Ari says, but I ignore it.

  “Jason!” Ari yells down the row of lounge chairs, zapping me out of my calming thoughts. “Who do you have for science?”

  He holds up a finger, goes to get something from his bag, and then comes over to us.

  He shows us his phone. Apparently he took a picture of his schedule and has been trying to memorize it.

  We compare classes. Jason and Ari have science together, but that’s it. And he’s in our lunch, too.

  “I think all sixth graders have lunch at the same time,” he tells us. “That�
��s what Jules said. She knows, like, tons of kids at West Brookside.”

  I throw my head back against the lounge chair.

  Jules knows everything, apparently.

  FOURTEEN

  THE THING ABOUT MAKING A guy friend is that it’s actually kind of confusing. I mean, it’s not that hard to literally meet the friend. Like the way we met Jason—he lives next door to Ari; we talked at the pool.

  But then after that, it’s hard to know what to do.

  When you first become friends with a girl, you can invite her to sleep over. It speeds up the friendship really fast. Or maybe even a manicure date. Some girls like that. Not all, but some, and it’s a good plan to have. You just sit there, and you can talk about nail polish colors, and it’s like an automatic conversation.

  And some guys like manicures, too, but you don’t really know that when you first meet them, so it’s a hard thing to suggest.

  Basically, having a guy friend is confusing at the beginning. You don’t know what plans to suggest, because you’ve never had a guy friend before.

  So for the first few days of guy friendship with Jason, I pretty much just text him random things. Like funny pictures of cats on hammocks, even though I don’t even like cats. But he does. Or pictures of the food my mom makes for dinner. He says he’s always hungry. Or funny, interesting, and fancy watches. Jason loves watches.

  But the truth is, texting is a good thing to do at the beginning of a friendship. And then when we see each other at the pool, we can talk about the texts.

  “Do you think we can consider Jason a real true friend yet?” I ask Ari after our last pool day of the season. It’s our last night before life as we know it ends and middle school begins.

  We’re in my backyard eating blueberries in our towels.

  We’re not saying it out loud, but we’re trying to stay in our towels as long as we possibly can. It’s a way to cling to summer. As soon as we get dressed, summer will really be over.

  School starts tomorrow; lingering in our towels is all we can do.

  “Um.” She pops a blueberry in her mouth. “You mean, like, can we cross it off the list and do our ritual?”