by Marty Chan
“Don’t worry, Remi. I’ll prove Mikayla’s the cyber bully and tell Principal Henday everything,” Trina explained. “He’ll know you did this for a good reason and give you the reference letter.”
“Too late.” Remi turned and walked away.
Trina folded her arms and glared at me.
“Wasn’t my fault,” I mumbled.
She turned and walked away.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The rest of the morning was a blur. Neither Trina nor Remi would talk to me over lunch hour. When afternoon classes started, I barely heard Ms. Nolan tell us to go to the gym. I just shambled down the hall with the rest of my class. Only when I stepped into the palace of pain and sweat did I suspect something was wrong. Under the basketball hoop, a cart with speakers and a stereo waited for us. It was time for dance lessons.
I joined my classmates on the side while Ms. Nolan checked on the sound system. Remi’s blonde-haired teacher, Madame Boddez, led her grade six students into the gym. She was a tank on legs, big and tough and she could run over pretty well anyone. Remi was among the French kids, but he refused to look at me. The two teachers separated us into two groups: boys and girls.
Once we were in our groups, Madame Boddez joined Ms. Nolan in the centre of the gym. Madame Boddez hitched up her sweat pants and scanned the kids. Looking at the teachers and the two lines of students, I thought of flu shot day. No one wanted to go first. Compared to Madame Boddez, my teacher was a ray of sunshine. Maybe it was because the French teacher was so cranky that Ms. Nolan decided to give us a break.
She beamed as she tied her red hair into a pony tail. “Today, you are in for a special treat. You are going to learn a lesson that will serve you well for the rest of your lives.”
Madame Boddez was not as positive. “If I catch any of you messing around, you will answer to me first, Principal Henday second, and your parents last. Am I understood?”
A few of the French kids mumbled.
“I said am I understood!” she boomed.
All the French kids shouted, “Oui, Madame Boddez.”
Even some of the English-speaking students answered in French. Remi’s teacher was a cross between a pit bull and a megaphone. She was a hundred times louder than any other teacher and about a thousand times scarier. As everyone stood ramrod straight with their eyes ahead, I knew the teachers were about to pair up the boys with the girls.
Ms. Nolan barked, “Let’s start at the far left end. Samantha, step forward.”
Madame Boddez yelled, “Far right end. Remi. Go with the girl.”
He shuffled out of line and joined Samantha.
“Move it!” the French teacher yelled. “We don’t have all day.”
As the girls were paired up with the boys, I hoped I’d get paired up with Trina. This would give me a chance to explain everything.
Ms. Nolan called out, “Trina, step forward.”
Madame Boddez yelled, “Kennedy, pair up with her.”
I felt bad for Trina getting stuck with him, but I knew our teachers’ decisions were final.
“Mikayla,” said Ms. Nolan.
“Marty,” boomed Madame Boddez.
Mikayla flashed a smug smile as I shuffled toward her. We stood side by side, but she inched closer until we were shoulder to shoulder. She smelled of lilacs.
“I’m glad we’re paired up,” she said.
What was her game? I didn’t know why she was so happy about dancing with me. I wondered if she knew we had her flash drive. Maybe she didn’t.
“I know why you were trying to take my backpack,” she said. Maybe she did.
Ms. Nolan swooped on us. “Marty, pay attention. Hold your hands out like this.” She positioned her hands so it looked like she was cradling a frozen turkey.
Madame Boddez barked, “Girls move in to your partner with your arms like so and your head like this.”
She stepped up to Ms. Nolan and the two demonstrated how we were supposed to hold our dance partners. The two women looked graceful together, while the students looked more like a cootie outbreak had hit the school and no one wanted to catch the infection.
In front of me, Mikayla smiled as she slipped into my arms. She took my clammy hand and allowed me to put my other hand on the small of her back.
“Now you’re going to hear one of the all-time best songs in the world,” Ms. Nolan said. “When I was a teenager, this was so cool.”
She pulled away from Madame Boddez and pressed play on the stereo. Through the giant speaker, I heard a whiny man sing about being out of love, like it was gasoline for a car, and being lost without his girlfriend. The boys’ groans and girls’ giggles drowned out the rest of the song. Even Madame Boddez smiled.
“No laughing,” barked Ms. Nolan as she put her hands on her hips. We had returned to No Land. “This is Air Supply’s finest song.”
Madame Boddez clapped her hand over her mouth, stifling what sounded like a laugh.
“Girls, follow the lead of the boys. Boys, slide your left foot forward. Then your right. Now step to the right. Feet together. Right foot back. Left foot back. Feet together. And repeat. Left, together, forward, together, right, together . . . ”
On the dance floor, the dancing kids looked like zombies. The jerky movements and the shambling would have been very funny if I wasn’t among the dancing dead.
Mikayla looked into my eyes. “LOL. We’re F2F at last,” she said.
“Uh . . . right.” I started to stumble through the steps.
“I thought it was sweet what you did yesterday.”
What in the world was she talking about? I decided to play along, hoping to flush out a confession. “What else could I do?”
“I thought I knew what you were up to when you gave me the teddy bear, but when you teased me in the schoolyard this morning, I got confused. Then I saw what you sent last night, and I was like, so OMG.”
I pasted on a fake smile, trying to figure out what Mikayla was talking about. Her eyes sparkled as she gazed into mine. We waltzed in silence for a few awkward steps. I stumbled on her feet a few times, but she didn’t complain. In fact, her smile was so bright her face practically glowed.
Behind us, Madame Boddez barked, “Nathan Black, this isn’t a race. Slow down.”
Around us, my zombie classmates shuffled gingerly on crumbling brick feet, barely touching each other. Was this a dance lesson or a horror movie? Mikayla leaned forward and whispered, “By the way, the answer is ‘I do’.”
The only question that could be answered by “I do” was . . . was . . . no! I shuddered to think of what she was suggesting. I pushed away from her. Ms. Nolan shoved us back together like she was closing the lid of a standing coffin.
“Marty, you have to relax when you’re dancing. She won’t bite.”
Mikayla smiled, flashing her braces at me. Our teacher moved on to another couple.
“Very graceful, Eric. You’re a regular, John Travolta,” she said as she continued walking among the dancers.
“Who’s that?” Eric asked.
“The old guy from that Disney movie,” Nathan said.
“I think he’s the guy on that dancing show with the old celebrities,” Kennedy suggested.
Eric laughed. “You watch a dance show?”
“No way. Not at all. My mom does. It’s on when I’m doing my homework.”
“That’s enough,” Ms. Nolan said. “Just keep dancing.”
Mikayla moved closer. “Why are you so nervous all of a sudden?”
I stammered, “Uh . . . um . . . uh, you have that kind of effect on me.”
She beamed.
I continued, “So, you liked what I sent you last night. I wasn’t sure it would get to you so fast.”
“Why not?” she inched closer.
“Well, it was pretty big,” I said, taking a stab in the dark.
“What?”
“I mean, it was pretty awkward to send.”
“You have trouble typing and hitting send
?”
Whatever she got must have been an email. “I meant it was hard since I don’t have a computer at home. I had to use the library computer and there’s always someone watching.”
She smiled. “That’s so adorable. I can just imagine you sneaking into the library and getting onto one of the stations.”
“I wasn’t even sure I had the right email address,” I said.
Mikayla hesitated. “Why would you need my email address?”
“To send you the . . . the . . . you know.”
She broke into a bigger smile. “You mean you sent me something else? I’ll have to check my computer after school.”
Now I was really puzzled. I had no idea what I had sent her, but it was apparently not to her email account.
“Marty, you should know, though, that I barely check email. Send everything to my friend’s account.”
“Which friend?”
She laughed and slapped my chest. “You’re so funny.”
Before I could dig any further, the song came to an end, and the partners broke apart. Ms. Nolan tried to teach us to do something called a line dance as a strange song played about Macarenas, which I thought sounded like macaroons, but the way she was getting us to move, it was more like monkeys. I never had another chance to get close to Mikayla. By the look on her face, she was more disappointed about that than I was.
During afternoon computer lab time, I found Trina huddled beside a computer station with Ida and Samantha. I hoped she had calmed down enough so I could explain myself, but she barely noticed me as I walked up.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Trina ignored me. Ida answered, “We’re checking the computer desktop to see if Mikayla might have accidentally saved a file there.”
“Listen up,” I said. “About the case, there’s something you should know.”
Trina shook her head, but didn’t turn around. Samantha spoke for her. “I don’t think Trina wants to talk to you right now.”
“But I have a lead.”
Now I had their attention. I explained the strange encounter with Mikayla during the dance lesson and hoped that something in the conversation would make sense to one of the girls.
Trina tapped the keyboard as she listened. When I finished my story, she turned to Samantha and Ida. “If Mikayla got something over the computer but it wasn’t to her email address, it could only be one thing.”
“What?” I asked.
She ignored me. Samantha nodded. Ida motioned Trina to call up the internet browser on the computer. “Load it up. We have to see.”
“What are you girls talking about?” I asked.
Trina snuffed at me and tilted her head at Samantha, who turned around to explain. “Mikayla has no real friends, so if you sent something to her friend’s account, she wasn’t talking about friends with an ‘s’ but Friendz with a ‘z.’ She’s talking about the website, School Friendz.”
I smacked my forehead. “Why didn’t I see it before? School Friendz!” This was the elementary school version of Facebook, where classmates could post things on their profile or toss virtual erasers at each other or write love notes on the virtual desks. I didn’t have a profile on the site, but I had seen Trina’s profile a couple of times.
My partner had called up the site and found Mikayla’s profile. My mouth dropped open when I saw what was on it. Someone had placed a virtual pink teddy bear on her virtual desk. The bear held a heart that read: M + M 4ever. The sender was me.
“But that’s not possible,” I protested. “I don’t have a Friendz profile. I don’t even have a computer.”
Ida smirked, “Look what’s happening now.”
The red heart broke in half to reveal a cartoon couple. The black-haired man in a suit leaned toward the cartoon blonde woman in a red dress and the two kissed.
“Gross!” I shouted.
Samantha laughed along with Ida. Even Trina cracked a smile.
“This makes no sense,” I said. “She never liked me before. How could she suddenly like me now just because she thought I gave her a teddy bear?”
Ida shrugged.
Samantha tilted her head, her silver earring dangling from her lobe, “If Marty didn’t do this, then who did?”
Trina spoke up. “Hel-lo, it’s pretty obvious from this that she isn’t the cyber bully. Whoever set up the fake profile is the real cyber bully.”
“The cyber bully insulted Samantha and me. He didn’t try to trick us.”
“Not true,” Samantha said. “The cyber bully made us think the messages were coming from each other.”
“Yes, but the notes were nasty and direct,” Ida replied. “This is more like a prank.”
“Either way, we have to follow this lead,” I said.
Trina nodded. “Someone has to talk to her about the School Friendz posting.”
“Who?” I asked.
All three girls turned to me.
For the first time, Trina smiled. “You’re going on a date.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
After much prompting, I agreed to track down Mikayla after school and pretend to like-like her so I could get to the bottom of the School Friendz posting. I felt like I was walking into a yard with an angry dog. No matter what I did, I was going to get bit. The best way to protect myself was to catch Mikayla off guard. Unfortunately, she beat me to the punch.
She waited for me by my locker. She clutched her backpack to her chest with one hand and scrubbed her braces with her other hand, taking a whiff of her finger toothbrush. She immediately lowered her hand when she spotted me coming toward her and flashed her braces.
“Just the person I was looking for,” I said, forcing a fake smile.
Mikayla giggled. “You were . . . I am . . . oh, this is so going on my blog.”
“Can I walk you home?” I asked, holding out my hand to take her backpack.
She handed it over and we walked down the hallway. My shoulder became Velcro, and her shoulder became a woollen sweater. Some of the grade six kids glanced our way and snickered. We strolled past Trina who tugged her ear, signalling that she wouldn’t be far behind. I held the door open for her. Before she could step through, Kennedy charged between us, screaming for help as Eric chased him.
“Come back here, beach ball,” Eric yelled.
“Help!” Kennedy screamed as he ran around the corner of the school.
“What was that about?” I asked.
Mikayla shrugged, “I think I saw them at recess practising some karate. Kennedy might have gotten a lucky shot just as the bell rang.”
“They’re such boys,” I said.
“Yes, you’re much more mature than they are. It’s like you’re almost a teenager.” She brushed her brown hair away from her pale face and looked me over.
“Thanks, Mikayla, but I like to think of myself as more of a . . . a . . . romantic.” It was all I could do to keep myself from upchucking from the lame comment.
But the cheesy line melted her heart. If she were chocolate, she’d be a mushy bar right now. The gooey look in her eyes reminded me of the look on the cartoon woman just before she kissed the man. This confirmed one thing for me. Mikayla was no cyber bully, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t still dangerous. We left the schoolyard and headed down the street. I glanced back. Trina was taking up the rear with Samantha and Ida.
“You know, Mikayla, I’m pretty new at this Friendz website, and I was hoping you could show me how to do some things.”
“You’re a whiz with the desk postings,” she said.
“But what about the private messages?” I asked, fishing for information. “Did they get through?”
“Messages?”
“Um, maybe they didn’t get through yet,” I said, backtracking.
“You mean there are more love notes coming?” she asked, beaming. She was practically skipping down the sidewalk.
“Maybe I could see your profile,” I suggested.
“You’d like to come over to
my house?” she asked, breaking into a wider grin.
“Um . . . sure.” I glanced back at the girls. They wouldn’t be able to help me if I was in Mikayla’s bedroom. “Oh, nuts. I can’t do it right now. I have to work in my parents’ store. Maybe we could stop at the library and you could check to see if my other messages showed up.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you wrote in the message?” she asked. “That’d be so much more heartfelt.”
“I don’t think I can remember it,” I said.
“Come on, Marty,” she said.
“You know what I wrote already.”
She stopped in the middle of the street and hefted her backpack on her shoulder. “I’m not budging until you tell me what you wrote in the note. I want to hear it straight from your lips.”
I stepped back and waved her off. “Okay, okay, give me a minute. I want to get it right.” I glanced back at the girls following us.
Mikayla noticed. “Are you embarrassed to be with me?” she asked, her eyes widening with alarm.
“No, no,” I said. “I’m just trying to remember.” I scratched at my elbow, signalling Trina that the mission was in trouble.
“I knew it,” Mikayla said and stormed away.
Trina waved at me, motioning me to go after her. I shook my head. Trina mouthed the word “now.”
Grumbling, I took off after Mikayla and grabbed her arm. She stopped but she glared at me, her mouth looking like an unhappy umbrella about to be flooded with the rainstorm of her tears.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s easier for me to express my feelings at the computer than in person.”
The rain let up and the umbrella turned upside down. “I know how you feel.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I can prove it.” She reached into her backpack and pulled out her flash drive.
“What’s on it?”
“Come to my house, and I’ll show you.”
I glanced back at Trina and the gang, and I realized I had no choice. “Sure.”
Mikayla’s bedroom was a tribute to all things computer. Over her bedroom wall was a poster of Bill and Melinda Gates. The geeky founder of Windows and his wife stared at me from behind his giant glasses, and I felt like he was judging whether or not I had the right to be in the room. Her bed was neatly made and covered with a pink bedspread. She tossed her backpack on it and grabbed her laptop from the nightstand. She sat on the edge of the bed as she fired up the computer. I wasn’t sure where to sit, so I just stood at the doorway looking at Bill Gates.
