My brother just stares at the carpet, and I’m wondering if he even heard what I said. That’s when I stare at the carpet with him and tell him what’s really hurting me.
“Mom didn’t even look at my folder. It’s full of A+ papers, Nugget. Do you know how hard I worked to get those As? Mom made me feel like it doesn’t matter. Who’s going to care about my good papers after Macey gets here?”
Suddenly he puts his arm around me without saying a word. I know what he’s trying to tell me. I lean on his shoulder.
“Thanks, Nugget. I’ll always care about the things you do, too.”
He nods and walks to my door. “I’m going to bed.”
As soon as he leaves, I get my stuffed animals out of the bottom drawer of my dresser and set them up in different places on the carpet. With a quick swoop of my hand, I grab my rodeo rope that’s hanging on a knob sticking out of my wall.
Before I get started, I put on a pair of earrings and two bracelets I made. One day I’m going to be the best calf-roping jewelry maker who ever lived in Bluebonnet.
I make a big lasso and throw it at the black bull.
Missed.
As I pull the rope back, I think about all the studying I have to do for the next seven days. That’s bad. But then I think about the chili cook-off. It will be just Mom and me. I’ll have her all to myself. That’s good!
I ka-clunk over to my computer desk, take a seat, and read over the study sheets. Look at all these questions—history, science, geography, and even sports. My knee’s jumping under the table, and I can’t make it stop. I already know the answers to some of these, but a lot of them are hard.
Mrs. Davis gave us the websites where we can find the answers. She even made answer lines on the study sheets for us to fill in. My answer lines are blank. I bet I’m the only person in my class with blank answer lines. That’s because everybody else started filling in their answers two weeks ago, when Mrs. Davis first handed out the study sheets. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if Naomi has all of the questions memorized.
I wonder what Naomi is doing right now. Is she studying? Is someone helping her memorize the answers to all these questions? That’s what I need—a study partner. I’ll ask Connie.
I pick up my rope, twirl it in the air, and look for my next victim.
The longhorn cow.
I keep my eye on him as I swirl that rope in the air. Come on. I can do this. I let the rope go and watch it soar through the air toward the longhorn.
Got ’im!
I flip that longhorn, tie up his legs, and hold up my hands to prove I’m finished. My bedroom is quiet. I look around at all the other stuffed animals on the floor. They’re in a big, wide circle, just like my classmates were tonight when Naomi challenged me. I stare at the longhorn with the rope wrapped around him. I bet all he wanted to do was stay in the drawer with his friends. Now look at him, tied up in something he can’t get out of.
He reminds me of me.
I untie the longhorn, put away my stuffed animals and my rodeo rope, and then put on my pajamas. As I lie in bed, thinking about Mom, Macey, the Wall of Fame Game, and Naomi, I get scared. I need extra time for Mom and the chili cook-off. But if I’m going to beat Naomi Jackson, it’ll take everything I’ve got, and even that may not be enough.
Chapter Six
I had a rough time sleeping last night. I kept thinking about what happened at Open House between Naomi and me. But it’s Friday morning, and that means the weekend is almost here.
I’ll have two whole days to study and figure out how I’m going to beat Naomi before the Wall of Fame Game starts on Monday. The last thing I do before I leave my room is stuff both feet inside my pink boots without sitting down. That’s how real cowgirls put on their kickers.
Downstairs in the kitchen, Mom waddles and wobbles from the bright red stove to the counter. Her feet swish-swish across the floor in the cowgirl slippers Nugget and I bought her. She used to wear real cowgirl boots just like me, but it’s hard to ka-clunk around when you’re about to download a baby.
On the counter is a peanut butter-and-onion sandwich. I smell it before I see it, and I wish Mom craved something more normal, like ice cream. But then she’d probably put onions on top instead of a cherry! As I watch her stir whatever she’s making in that pot, I get excited knowing that soon we’ll be making chili together for the cook-off next Saturday.
I give her a big hug. “Good morning, Mom. How’s Macey?”
Mom hugs me back and rubs her belly. “She’s up playing baseball again.”
I look around for Nugget. I’m so glad he didn’t hear that. I put my hand on Mom’s. “There’s something I need to tell you about the Annie Oakley marathon.”
She keeps slowly stirring whatever is in that pot. A grin wider than the Amazon River spreads across her face. “Your dad told me you signed up for the Wall of Fame Game! Oh, Mya, this is so exciting! Let me know if you need help, okay? And don’t worry about the Annie Oakley marathon—we’ll catch the next one.”
Mom gives me one of her super-duper hugs. She’s holding me so close my face is smashed against her belly. I bet Macey is eyeballing me through Mom’s belly button, pointing and laughing. For some reason, I thought Mom would be upset, like she and I got ripped off somehow, or the Wall of Fame Game stole our time together. I thought she might cry, but she doesn’t seem bothered at all about missing the movie marathon. Is Mom too busy for me already?
Nugget shuffles into the kitchen. There’s a copy of the Bluebonnet Tribune under his arm. He reads it every morning, almost as if the front page said, “Dear Nugget.”
“Greetings and salutations, my lady,” he says, bowing to Mom.
She curtsies back. “Greetings and salutations, Sir Nugget. Here’s your oatmeal.”
He takes his bowl. “Congratulations on your last doctor’s appointment today,” he says.
“Thank you! To celebrate, I’m going to the grocery store afterward to get everything for the chili cook-off,” she says.
A spark of hope rises in me. “We’re going to win again this year, right, Mom?”
Nugget holds Mom’s hand in the air. “Two-year defending Bluebonnet Chili Cook-Off champion, going for the trifecta!”
Dad strolls into the kitchen, gives Mom a smoochie, and then rubs her belly. “How’s that ballplayer?”
Nugget puts his bowl on the table, turns to Dad, and smiles until he realizes he’s talking about Macey, not him. On his way to the breakfast table, Dad tickles me until I scream, then tries to wrestle Nugget for the newspaper. Instead of keeping the paper away from dad, Nugget just hands it to him.
“Here. I’m finished with it anyway.”
Dad’s smile goes away. “Are you okay this morning?”
“I’m great,” says Nugget, but his face doesn’t match his words.
Dad gives Mom a look and then shrugs. After he blesses the food, Dad lifts his coffee cup. “I need help at the store tomorrow with a large order of supplies that came in. Plus, I’m expecting some of Macey’s furniture that was on back order to be delivered to the store. I’ve got to put that crib together, and the dresser, too.”
He rubs his eyes, yawns, and takes a sip of coffee. “Anyway, the supplies have to be stacked and shelved. Both of you can count on working at the store all morning, okay? Mya, I know you’re going to get Monday’s Wall of Fame Game questions today. Bring them with you. Tomorrow is going to be a long day, but I’m going to make time to quiz you on my break.”
Dad owns Tibbs Farm and Ranch Store. It’s filled with everything farmers and ranchers need, plus a whole lot of other stuff, like sports equipment, pet food, clothes, and shoes.
I sit up and lean over the table. “Can I ride Buttercup at the store?”
“Not tomorrow. I’m going to be really busy for the next few weeks.”
“Okay,” I say, and pick up my spoon.
I can feel Nugget looking at me and then at Dad before finishing his oatmeal.
“Let�
��s go, Mya,” he says.
We’re halfway to Young Elementary when my stomach feels like butterflies are flapping their wings and flying inside. I should never have taken that bet with Naomi. Maybe I can still get out of it. I tap my brother on the shoulder.
“I feel bad about skipping out on the Annie Oakley marathon. I know Mom didn’t show it, but I could tell she was disappointed. I could change my mind and—”
He interrupts me. “Listen, Mya, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but the Wall of Fame Game is more important than you think it is. Don’t play around, okay? Do your best. Today is practice for Monday. Make it count.”
“I know how important it is, Nugget. Mrs. Davis already said—”
He interrupts me again. “No. It’s something more than that, but I can’t tell you.”
Holy moly, Nugget’s got a secret! I move my backpack around so that I can unzip a side pouch. I reach inside and pull out an old sour apple Jolly Rancher. The candy’s a little melted, and stuck to the wrapper, but I can tell it’s still good.
“You can have this if you tell me the secret. It’s your favorite flavor, too.”
I can tell he’s getting weak because he swallows twice. Then he shakes his head.
“No, I can’t.”
“I’ll throw in my dessert at lunch.”
Nugget rolls his eyes. “It’s fruit cocktail day. You can’t make deals with fruit cocktail.”
I shove my things back into the pouch of my backpack and zip it. “Fine! Don’t tell me! And don’t worry about me playing around with the Wall of Fame Game. I’ve got my reasons for making it. And I bet my reasons are way more important than yours.”
At least I know Nugget’s got a secret about the Wall of Fame Game. He has no idea that I have one too! I grin, feeling smarter than my brother on my way to Mrs. Davis’s room.
One of the best things about my class is the Cubby Cave. We just call it the cave because fourth graders wouldn’t be caught dead using words like cubby. We have cabinets, not cubbies. They look like lockers, only more awesome.
To get to the cave, you have to walk exactly eleven steps past Mrs. Davis’s desk and turn left. There’s a big tunnel opening with rainbow colors painted above it that reads “The Cubby Cave.”
Mrs. Davis calls the cave an adjoining accommodation, whatever that means. It’s more like a superhero’s secret hideout because you can’t see it from the hallway. That makes it boo-yang cool! Each of us has our own cabinet to hang up our coats and backpacks and to store supplies. But the best part is we get to hang out in there before the bell rings and after school.
Today it’s super loud inside the cave. Everybody seems happy, not nervous.
And then Connie walks in.
All talking stops. All moving stops. She’s carrying something on a hanger, covered up with a black plastic bag. I feel as if I’m going to throw up. Everybody knows what it is. Kenyan points at the bag. “I bet that’s the lame T-shirt Connie said she’d make for Mya and Naomi’s bet.”
The crowd moves closer to Connie, and Naomi squeezes through until she’s right in front of my best friend. My heart’s beating like there’s three of them in my chest instead of one. Connie lifts the plastic from the hanger and holds the T-shirt up high for all to see. Naomi gasps. I feel dizzy. A few kids cover their mouths in horror.
Connie parades around the cave, holding the T-shirt high in the air so everyone can see. It’s a white T-shirt with Flowerhead Babies all over it, from the number one lamest show on television, The Baby Garden. There’s Tuliphead babies sucking bottles, Rosehead babies taking a nap in a garden, Sunflowerhead babies crying, and they’re all in diapers with dirt on their faces! At the top of the shirt, it reads I Am a Flowerhead Baby.
Good gravy in the navy.
Connie talks loud enough for everyone in the cave to hear. “Whoever loses the bet has to put on this T-shirt as soon as the bell rings after school on Friday. And they have to wear it all the way home.” She then turns to Naomi and me. “Hold up your right hands and swear!”
I raise my right hand. “Swear.”
“Definitely, swear,” says Naomi, with her right hand raised.
Connie hangs the T-shirt in her cabinet and continues. “At lunch, I’m taking the T-shirt to my art room to lock it up. I’ll bring it back on Friday after lunch.”
Naomi grins at me. “You’re going to look great in that shirt when I beat you.”
I frown at her. “We’ll see who’s wearing that shirt next Friday.”
Lisa sniffles and wipes her nose as she walks between Naomi and me. “Don’t you realize what you’ve done? Whoever loses doesn’t just lose the bet. One of you is going to lose your reputation and be the biggest joke in Bluebonnet. Like maybe forever.”
The expression on Naomi’s face changes to terrified. I wonder if my face is showing the same frightened look. Thanks to Lisa, Naomi and I know that we didn’t think this bet thing through before agreeing. It’s bigger than we imagined.
One of us is going to lose everything.
Chapter Seven
That T-shirt Connie made is the worst T-shirt in the history of T-shirts. Last night, when I agreed to the Wall of Fame Game bet with Naomi, it was all about who’s the smartest. Now that the loser has to wear this lame shirt, it’s about our reputations, too.
Connie puts her hand on my shoulder. “Don’t be mad at me, Mya.”
“I’m not. Naomi’s the one who should be mad. She’s going to have to wear it,” I say.
Skye and Starr walk over to me, holding hands. Skye plays with one of my braids.
“That shirt is lame, lame, lame,” says Skye.
“Super lame,” says Starr.
“I hope you’re ready for the Wall of Fame Game,” says Skye.
“You better be ready,” says Starr.
I nod, even though I’m not even close to being ready. “Don’t worry. I got this.”
“Anything fun happening this weekend?” asks Starr.
“We’re looking for something fun,” says Skye.
I keep my eyes on Naomi as she walks toward the classroom. “Nugget and I are working at the store in the morning if you want to help.”
Skye raises her hand. “I do!”
Starr raises hers, too. “Me, too! Mom and Dad are going to be testing their new extended-lens telescope for up-close planet observation. Snore.”
“A total snore,” says Skye.
“I’ll come help, too,” says Connie. “It shouldn’t take us all weekend to study, should it?”
I giggle. “I hope not. We better get to our desks so we’re not marked late.”
Soon the morning bell rings, and Mrs. Davis grabs her attendance book. I push a pencil off my desk—but gently, so it doesn’t roll too far away. As I bend over to pick it up, I turn my head to face the back of the room. I stay bent over, low to the ground, looking sideways at the Wall of Fame. From down here near the carpet, it looks like thousands and thousands of names spread across that wall, even though I know there’s not that many.
I slowly glide my eyes to the far right of the wall, to the last row. I start at the top and come down four names. There it is, the name I’ve looked at a hundred times.
Micah “Nugget” Tibbs.
He thinks he has a big secret about why I need to make the Wall of Fame. Now that I’ve seen the T-shirt, my secret just got a million times bigger than his. I can never tell Nugget about the bet. He hates Flowerhead Babies as much as I do. If he knew there was a chance that I’d have to wear a T-shirt covered in them, he’d be so mad. I grab my pencil and sit up.
After the announcements, Mrs. Davis talks. “Today is practice day for the Wall of Fame Game. Let’s begin. Raise your hand if you know the answer.”
Naomi and I exchange evil eyes. She rolls hers, I roll mine. She shakes her head, and I do the same. But now I have a chance to show her just how smart cowgirls are.
I exercise my hand and fingers to make sure they’re loose and ready to be the
first one in the air. The muscles in my arm jump like a race-car driver revving his motor. Vroom! Vroom!
Mrs. Davis walks in front of the class. “How many members are there in the United States House of Representatives?”
My hand shoots up. I’m halfway out of my seat, leaning over the front of my desk when I realize . . . I don’t know.
Mrs. Davis strolls to my desk. “Mya?”
I close my eyes, lower my head, and mumble, “Firecrackers.”
“Excuse me? What did you say?” asks Mrs. Davis.
Michael turns to face me. “She said ‘firecrackers.’”
I’d really like to tell Michael he’s the biggest tattletale on the planet, but Mrs. Davis is standing at my desk, waiting on an answer that I don’t have. “I . . . uh . . . just give me a minute to think, okay?”
“You won’t have much time during the Wall of Fame Game, Mya,” she says.
This can’t be happening. I’ve got to come up with an answer, but I don’t have one.
“Would you repeat the question, please?” I ask.
She nods. “How many members are in the U.S. House of Representatives?”
It doesn’t sound any easier the second time I hear it, so I look my teacher right in the face and tell her a taradiddle. “At night in Washington, DC, when the streetlights come on, I’m sure all those representatives have to be in the house.” I look around the classroom. “Does anybody else have to be in when the streetlights come on? I do.”
“I do,” says Mary Francis.
“I do,” says Kenyan.
Everyone’s nodding, including Naomi.
“That’s not the answer I was looking for, Mya,” says Mrs. Davis.
“But it was a good taradiddle,” says Skye.
“A very good taradiddle,” says Starr.
Lisa waves her hand like she’s drowning and needs a lifeguard. Mrs. Davis calls her name, and she answers. “There are exactly four hundred and thirty-five members of the House of Representatives, and one hundred in the Sena—ah . . . ah . . .”
All heads lower, and we cover our necks just like in a tornado drill.
“Achoooooooooo!”
The Magnificent Mya Tibbs Page 3
