Click Here (to find out how i survived seventh grade)

by Denise Vega

  “Yeah, but if I hadn’t hit her, her friends wouldn’t have put them up.” Mr. Foslowski grunted. “Maybe. Maybe not. Kids do some pretty strange things.”

  I glanced at Jilly again. She looked different somehow, now that I knew she hadn’t taken down the posters.

  “Okay, people,” shouted Mrs. Babish, climbing the side stairs and clapping her hands. “Take your places for Act One, Scene One.”

  “I’m on,” I said to Mr. Foslowski.

  “What’s your part?” he asked.

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m an ear of corn.”

  “Excellent,” he said, as if being an ear of corn was the most normal thing in the world.

  During a break, the Vegetable Medley headed for the water fountain while the rest of the cast rehearsed a scene from Act Two.

  “Hey, Swifter than an eagle.” I choked on water at the sound of Mark’s voice.

  “Sack o’ Potatoes, what are you doing here?” I stepped away from the fountain. Carla, my locker partner, raised her eyebrows at me. She played a bunch of peas in the Vegetable Medley.

  “I’m practicing some coding and I had a question.” He glanced across the gym. “Who’s that?” He was pointing at the stage. I knew without even looking that he was talking about Jilly.

  “She’s the lead in the play.” And she acted as if she took down those posters, and she didn’t.

  “She’s cute.”

  I grimaced. If you like the blemish-free, perfect hair and teeth look. I was glad the lights were dim except for the stage so he couldn’t see my face.

  “She seems familiar for some reason. Have I met her before?” “How should I know?” I snapped, then immediately regretted it. I couldn’t show I cared.

  Even in the dimness I could see his brow furrow. “Right. Well, can you stop by the lab when you’re finished so you can help me?”

  “Sure,” I said. “That’s my job. To help other people.” I couldn’t even be happy that he needed my help. I watched him go, my stomach twisting and turning.

  “He likes her,” a voice hissed in my ear. “You didn’t think he’d like someone like you.”

  “Shut up,” I said to Serena. My fists clenched beside me, and I turned around to glare at her. “We’re friends,” I said. “He won’t even talk to you.”

  She tossed her head and walked away as Jilly came over. “Who was that boy?”

  “Just a guy from the Intranet Club.” My heart was racing. Please, please don’t say you want to meet him.

  “You don’t meet on Mondays.”

  “He’s practicing some stuff.”

  “A real computer geek, huh?”

  I smiled, relief flooding through me so fast my knees wobbled. She didn’t like nerdy geeks. “You’re doing great,” I said, steering her away from the Mark topic.

  “Thanks, but I feel like I’m never going to learn all these lines.” She grabbed my arm. “You need to come over every night this week and help me.”

  “We just started, Jilly. You’ll be fine.” I glanced at her. Why did you act like you took down the posters? Why can’t I come out and ask you why you acted like you took down the posters when you didn’t?

  “Easy for you to say,” Jilly said. “You only have one line.”

  “And a fine line it is,” said Carla, who was so quiet I’d forgotten she was there.

  “Why thank you,” I said in mock exaggeration. Carla and I giggled. Us veggies had to stick together. Jilly rolled her eyes while I finished the drink Mark had interrupted.

  While I slurped, Jilly blabbed about how important her role was and how the entire cast was counting on her. I found myself saying, “Blah, blah, blah,” in my mind as she talked. I stopped drinking and took a breath, letting the water run while I watched it arch gracefully in the air before circling down the small drain. Why couldn’t I ever seem to get as much in my mouth as I wanted? I always felt like I was gulping at it like a fish in a bowl. I wondered if they could design the fountain differently so we didn’t waste so much water when we got a drink. Or —

  “Erin?” Someone tapped on my shoulder. “Erin, are you listening to me?”

  I turned to look at Jilly, who was frowning at me.

  “Yes,” I said, though I had no idea what she had just said. I glanced at Carla, who just smiled at me. I could tell she was sort of in awe of Jilly.

  “Can I get a drink now?” asked Jilly. “My throat is dry from all that talking.”

  I stepped away from the water fountain. “I’m done.”

  Jilly tossed her hair over her shoulder and held it back with one hand, turning on the fountain with the other. She was the only person I knew who could drink from a drinking fountain without slurping.

  “So, how many lines do you have?” Carla asked Jilly. “Forty-seven.” Jilly looked toward the stage. “I think they’re starting again. I’ll meet you after rehearsal.” She took off across the floor before I could respond.

  “I can’t hear you,” I said softly to the empty air.

  Carla’s eyes were on me but mine were on Jilly. She stood in the middle of the stage, so sure of herself, smiling and nodding at Mrs. Babish. Watching her, I suddenly felt like there was a whole world separating us, not just half a gymnasium.

  “Hey, Erin,” said Carla, startling me. “I think we’re on.”

  We took our places as Mr. Trubey, the music teacher, strode across the gymnasium toward the stage. He took the steps two at a time and seated himself at the piano.

  “Okay,” he said, lightly fingering the keys. “Let’s walk through the opening piece.” He looked over at us. “Corn? Lend me your ear. Squash? Let’s be careful where we sit. Peas? Thank you.”

  I rolled my eyes at Carla who rolled hers back, but we couldn’t help smiling at his puns.

  “Okay, people,” Mr. Trubey said, raising his hands. “Let’s make it organic.”

  When I got home, Chris was doing his homework in front of the television.

  “How many times do I have to tell you —” Mom said before Chris cut her off.

  “Okay, okay.” He clicked off the TV, staring at the blank screen. “Want to shoot some hoops after you finish?” I asked him as Mom headed for the kitchen. I couldn’t believe he was still mad at me about the Hitting Serena–Amanda thing.

  Chris’s eyes moved slowly from the blank TV screen to me, then back again.

  “I’ll take that as a maybe,” I said, and headed out to the driveway. Soon I was dribbling and shooting, working my way around the key, a wavy half-circle we’d painted on the cement to mark the three-second lane and foul line. As I put up a three-pointer, Chris appeared below the basket and caught the ball as it swished through.

  “And the crowd goes wild,” I said, waving my hands in the air as I made crowd noises. Chris whizzed the ball at me and if I hadn’t been so quick, the pass might have knocked me off my feet. I stifled an “umph,” feeling as if the ball had left a crater in my stomach. I recovered, planted my feet, and shot again. It bounced off the rim. He passed it again. I shot again. This time it bounced off the backboard and off to the side. He scrambled for it.

  “You’re not following through,” he said before passing me the ball.

  “Okay. Thanks.” I shot again, this time making sure my right hand continued in a forward motion after the ball. The ball hit the backboard and dropped into the basket.

  “Right,” Chris said, passing it to me.

  I passed it back. “Your turn.”

  Chris twisted from his place beneath the basket, leaped up, and sank the ball neatly.

  “Two points,” I said, smiling. He grunted. “Look, Chris. I’m sorry I hit Serena and ruined your chances with Amanda. I had no idea.” And even if I had, I’m not sure it would have stopped me from hitting Serena when she called me a puppet.

  Chris shrugged. “You know what? It’s not a big deal. I just had the most beautiful girl on the entire campus actually noticing my existence when wham! You give her sister a right hook.”


  “Actually, it was a straight-on punch,” I said. “But that doesn’t matter. I’m just sorry it happened.” I crossed my arms. “And it would have been nice if you cared a little bit about what happened to me.”

  “She called you a stupid word. Who cares? Why did you get so bent about it?” He dribbled back and swished a basket from the sidewalk. “Unless you thought it was true.”

  “It isn’t!” I shouted, stealing the ball from him and dribbling it back. “Then why’d you hit her?”

  “She deserved it,” I said, echoing Rosie. “You don’t know what she’s like.”

  Chris shrugged, raising his arm to easily block my shot.

  “Just don’t do any more stupid things that might affect my life, Erin.” He made his layup, then headed toward the porch, letting the ball bounce toward me.

  I made a face. “Like I’m going to know that in advance.”

  Thursday, October 10

  Things That Bum Me Out

  • Chris is still mad. I miss having a brother…even though he's in high school and acts like he hates me a lot of the time, sometimes we shoot hoops or watch a movie together or something…really glad he came out, but then it ended up that he just wanted to get mad at me some more. (Sigh)

  • Jilly didn’t take down the posters and she acted like she did— didn’t deny it…and she always corrects me when I call play practice “practice.” “It’s a REHEARSAL,” she says, as if a word is going to change the fact that I will get up in front of 100s of people as a singing ear of corn.

  • Jilly talks A LOT…all of it about herself…didn’t realize how much she does this. She hasn’t once asked me what I thought of playing an ear of corn…had to tell her I had 1 line and she didn’t even comment, like how could I even bring that up when her part was so much bigger and harder. Sheesh. Give me a break.

  When we finished practice—I mean rehearsal—Carla said how great Jilly was and said she wished she was like her. I wanted to tell her “No, you don’t” and I don’t know why. I always wanted to be like Jilly, 2…wanted her confidence, the way she could get boys to look at her, the way she knew how to talk to them without looking like an idiot…guess I still want those things but don’t really want to be like Jilly. I want to be like me, only more confident and with smaller feet.

  Things That Give Me Hope

  • Jilly wouldn’t come to the lab with me after rehearsal. “I might get infected with nerd-itis,” she said…told me to meet her at her locker after I talked to Mark. I was SO SO glad but I pretended to be disappointed.

  Operation Scope Out

  Close call with Jilly and Mark today…got to take action ASAP. Tomorrow I’m going to scope Mark out in secret…make sure we accidentally-on-purpose bump into each other and walk to class again. For the 2nd time since school started, I’m glad Jilly isn’t on my track cuz she’d find a way to get Mark. But she doesn’t even know he exists. He’s mine, all mine (evil laugh here).

  chapter 10

  Target Practice

  8:25 A.M. Target (aka Mark “Cute Boy” Sacks) stepped off his bus. He looked our way, and I turned sideways so he couldn’t see Jilly. I stood on tiptoe to shield her head from sight. When she asked me what I was doing, I told her I had a cramp in both feet, then quickly asked her to repeat her lines to me even though I’d heard them so many times I could play Goody Morgan. She began reciting, and I got her inside without her seeing him or him seeing her.

  8:35 A.M. Target entered the building wearing baggy jeans and a Nike T-shirt. Hair still over one eye, looking very cute. Target appeared to be heading this way so I turned quickly, stumbling over my Chucks. Real swift, Swift. I glanced back, my eyes on the clock so Target would not think I was looking at him. Target was stopped by an unidentified boy in a blue shirt. Unidentified pointed. My eyes followed his finger. It was some kind of poster. Oh, no. Tell me it wasn’t another of those posters, bigger and better than the ones that were up that first week.

  8:37 A.M. “Hey, Swift!” Mayday! Mayday! Target was talking to me. I’d blown my cover. Well, I really didn’t have a cover, but if I had one, I would have totally blown it. Was he going to say something about the poster? I wanted to run but was afraid I’d trip so I decided to stand tough. I dug around in my locker, ready to do battle if he dared make a joke about puppets.

  8:40 A.M. Target arrived at my locker with two friends. I ended all Scope Out procedures right then. I can’t scope at close range.

  “Did you see that poster?” he asked.

  I shook my head quickly. “I don’t want to hear about it.”

  “Oh, it isn’t —”

  I held up my hand.

  “Okay,” he said. “Whatever. But this Saturday, Swift. The YMCA. Be there or be a loser.” His friends looked me up and down. They probably already thought I was one.

  “What?”

  “Basketball,” he said. “Remember when the four of us played? You said you could kill me one-on-one. It’s time to prove it.”

  “Prove it?” We’d been kidding around about who was better, but I never thought he’d really want to play.

  “He’s not as good as he says,” one of the boys said.

  “Yeah,” said Mark. “I’m better.”

  I laughed. “I’ve seen you. I’ll be there. Get ready to be dominated.” The boys laughed and I felt better. No one seemed to think I was a loser.

  “Hey, there’s another one,” Mark said as we started down the hall. He was pointing at one of the walls. I swung around, ready to yank down my oversize face if I had to.

  But it wasn’t a picture of me.

  THANKSGIVING PLAY!

  Mark your calendars for the Molly Brown Middle School playA Harvest to Remember

  Tuesday, November 26, 7:30 P.M., in the gymnasium

  “Look, Corny,” said Mark. “You’re famous again.”

  Before I could respond, his eyes grew wide. “Here comes the principal.”

  I whirled around. Yikes. She was coming right at me.

  “Erin Swift! Just the girl I wanted to see.”

  I looked up at her. “I haven’t hit anyone else, Mrs. Porter. I promise.”

  “Oh, I know that, Erin. Heavens.” She smiled. “I just wanted to say I’m glad to see you’re getting involved in the school. I understand you’re in the Thanksgiving play” — she paused to point to the poster — “and Ms. Moreno tells me you’re in the Intranet Club, too. The best way to stay out of trouble is to get involved.”

  I kept my eyes on her, ignoring Mark, who was making marionette gestures behind her back, just inside my field of vision. “Yes, well, I thought so, too.”

  “Excellent,” Mrs. Porter said. “And how are your puppets?”

  I glanced at Mark, who rolled his eyes. “Uh, they’re fine, Mrs. Porter,” I said. “Just fine.”

  Mark busted out laughing when she was gone. “Good answer,” he said. “She’s so weird.”

  “Yeah,” I said, laughing along with him. I didn’t care how weird she was. She’d just helped Mark and me have a good laugh together.

  “Ready to rumble?” Mark and I stood facing each other on the basketball court at the YMCA Saturday afternoon. My suspicious mind wondered if this was all a way to find out about Jilly. He knew I knew her from the play. Maybe he wanted more information. But he wouldn’t do that. Would he? Nah.

  Okay, I felt better about that. But the minute I had convinced myself this wasn’t about Jilly, I started stressing about getting together with him. True, I got to be with the boy of my dreams. BUT, I’d be playing a sport with him. This meant I’d be sweating, breathing heavily, and very possibly farting around him. This last one had me VERY paranoid, so I’d made extra sure not to eat anything yesterday or today that might be even remotely related to a bean.

  So here I was, facing Mark, who was between me and the basket at the Y, praying I wouldn’t sweat, burp, fart, or do anything stupid. I looked down at my Chucks. Both were tied in triple knots. Mark’s eyes followed mine down.
<
br />   “They give me balance,” I said, before he could say anything about my feet. “I can out-balance anyone.”

  “Huh?”

  “My feet. You were going to say something, weren’t you?”

  “No. Actually I was going to ask you where you got your Chuck Taylors. My dad likes canvas shoes and can’t always find them.”

  I narrowed my eyes. Was he saying my feet were the same size as his dad’s? I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Foot Locker.”

  “Thanks. I’ll tell him.” Then he got a glint in his eye. “Maybe he could try yours on first.”

  Wham! I knocked the ball out of his hands and ducked around him, dribbling to the basket and making an easy layup — all before he knew he held nothing but air. He looked down, then turned around. “Hey, that was cheating!”

  “No way!” I replied. “You just weren’t ready. Two-zero.”

  “I’m supposed to pass to you first to check the ball.”

  “Is that with or without a foot insult?”

  Mark smiled. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist. Especially because you were expecting me to say something.” He cocked his head. God, he was cute. “I thought you could take it.”

  I shook off the Cute Spell. “I can take it,” I said evenly. “Can you take this?” I shoved the ball at him and he caught it in the chest. I heard an “umph” as his hands wrapped around it.

  “Nice pass,” he said, dribbling out past the top of the key before coming back. “You know you’re lucky, don’t you? Those feet mean you’re going to be tall.”

  “So I hear,” I said, blocking his shot and retrieving the ball. I drib-bled back up to the key, feinting left and going right to avoid his reaching hand. “I guess that’ll be good if I play in the WNBA.” I wondered if he liked tall girls. Some boys — the ones that were totally lame — didn’t. What if all boys were lame and no one ever wanted to go out with me? I missed my shot and Mark got the rebound.

  Between games we talked a little more. I found myself telling him about Chris.

  “Guys are weird when they like a girl,” Mark said, then blushed. “Not that I’ve liked that many, but you know.”