One Tough Chick

by Leslie Margolis

  Science was out of the way—good. But I had a book report due on Monday—bad. I’d chosen to read I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, which was interesting but not exactly uplifting.

  Now I had to write two pages on it. Our reports had to read like book reviews with three sections: (1) plot summary, (2) this is what the author did well, and (3) here’s what the author could have improved on.

  But instead of answering the questions about Maya Angelou, I found myself thinking of, and writing about, Oliver and me.

  1. Plot summary: Oliver and Annabelle are boyfriend and girlfriend. They do fun things together, like play basketball and PlayStation hockey, and they do their homework together sometimes. Before they became an official couple, he even taught her how to play cricket. They are supposed to have their first kiss, but it hasn’t yet happened. He also drew her portrait once, which sounds romantic but was also kind of awkward.

  2. The best part about this novel is that Oliver and Annabelle have fun together, and it’s fun reading about their romantic evenings out, laughing over pancakes and sharing frozen yogurt, etc.

  3. The worst part of this book is the suspense. Will they ever kiss? How will it happen? When will it happen? Where will it happen? And why hasn’t it happened yet?

  It’s a very frustrating situation.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Birchwood’s Got Talent

  I finished my actual report and the rest of my homework on Saturday. That night, Emma had all of us sleep over. We gave each other mani-pedis and rewatched the first season of Glee.

  At school the following week, Tobias ignored me for the most part and Oliver and I hung out twice after school, but we still did not kiss.

  Then suddenly, before I knew it, talent show night had arrived. Sitting in the front row with the other judges, minutes before the show was to begin, I couldn’t help but feel jittery—almost as if I myself were performing.

  Of course, in a sense I was—being a judge was a huge responsibility. That’s what Ms. Benson, Ms. Lerner, and Mr. Beller kept reminding us, anyway. And I believed them.

  Right before the show began, Ms. Benson passed out our scorecards. Each act had a card with three categories written on it: (1) Originality, (2) Skill, and (3) Overall Entertainment Value. Next to each line, we had room to write our scores. She reminded us that five was the highest grade and zero was the lowest.

  “Zero should be reserved for people who don’t show up,” said Ms. Benson. “And think carefully about fives. A five should only be awarded to acts that are absolutely flawless. And again, I’d like to remind you that you cannot give half scores because it’ll make the final process too complicated.”

  “And,” Mr. Benson added, “please make sure you are judging each act independently of your personal feelings about the performers. It doesn’t matter if you see your best friend or your girlfriend or boyfriend or worst enemy or frenemy onstage. Everyone gets a fair shot. Deal?”

  “Deal,” I said, thinking it also didn’t matter that three of the contestants had offered to take me out for frozen yogurt or that one had promised me a ride on a hot-air balloon. (Don’t ask.)

  “Deal,” said Hugo.

  “No deal,” said Jackson.

  “Excuse me?” asked Mr. Benson.

  “Kidding,” Jackson said, throwing up his hands. “Everyone gets a fair shot. I’ve got it.”

  “Good,” said Mr. Beller. “And just so you know—a few acts have been canceled, so we only have twenty-five to get through. This is great news because it means we won’t be here all night.”

  Ms. Benson walked onto the stage and welcomed everyone. Then she introduced the first act. It was Fred the baker.

  After he walked onto the stage with a large tray of cooking supplies, he said, “Hello. I am going to demonstrate how to make a key lime pie.” Then he adjusted his white chef’s hat and tightened his apron strings. “So please follow closely.”

  “First we take flour and butter and a little salt and ice water for the pie crust,” he said, adding the pre-measured ingredients into a bowl. “Then we mix it. And since I don’t have electricity onstage, I prepared the finished pie dough at home.” He showed us another bowl with a lump of dough inside. “The next step involves rolling out the dough.”

  He did just that, sprinkling flour on the table and a little bit on the floor, too.

  Then he made the filling.

  After going through some more steps and then showing us a completed and delicious-looking pie, he invited a random audience member up onstage for a taste test. She was an eighth-grade girl with curly black hair. “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Josie,” she replied. “And that pie looks delicious.”

  “Thank you, random audience member Josie,” said Fred.

  A few people in the audience laughed.

  Then Hugo leaned close and whispered, “Josie isn’t random. She’s Fred’s girlfriend.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  Josie tried the pie, proclaimed it delicious, and sat back down.

  Then Fred took a bow and thanked everyone.

  The lights dimmed and he cleaned up his act—literally. He stacked all the bowls and measuring cups and spoons and his roller and took them away.

  As I held my pen over the scorecard I thought about what to do. Fred’s act was impressive. But was it impressive enough for a perfect score? It was original—I’d give him that.

  I gave him a four for originality, a four for skill, because he seemed to know what he was doing, and a three for overall entertainment, because it actually wasn’t that much fun watching him measure and roll stuff out.

  I passed my scores forward, feeling slightly weird in my role as judge. Especially since Fred had been supplying me with great dog biscuits for Pepper every other day. But I tried to put that out of my mind during the judging process, and I think I succeeded.

  Next up was an eighth grader named Sophie, who did a gymnastics routine that involved walking on her hands, three handsprings, a backflip, and a front flip.

  I gave her a three for originality, a five for skill, and a four for entertainment value.

  Then came Didi, the girl who’d offered me a ride to school. She gift wrapped while blindfolded, which earned her a five for originality, a four for entertainment value, and a two for skill, because some of her presents actually came out pretty lumpy.

  The more I scored my classmates, the easier the process became and the less I doubted myself. That is, until Taylor’s group came on. It seems that she and her friends made up, because all four of them—Taylor, Nikki, Hannah, and Jesse—waltzed onto the stage wearing matching purple leotards, black tights, and silver sparkly leg warmers with pink ballet shoes. The lights dimmed. Someone turned on a strobe light, and then Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way” boomed over the speakers.

  Their moves were perfectly in sync.

  And not only that—Taylor sang. Her voice sounded amazing, booming, powerful, and strong. I couldn’t give her a low score simply because I didn’t like her. I wasn’t judging her personality. This was about her talent, and she had a lot. Not only Taylor, either. Her friends were talented, too. And I could tell they’d worked hard.

  I gave them a five for entertainment value, a three for originality, and a five for skill.

  Emma came up next, with four of her friends from honors English. I sat back, ready for a spelling bee, except the group surprised me. Rather than holding an actual spelling bee, they performed a song and dance from a musical called The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee.

  They earned decent marks for entertainment value, even though they sang off-key.

  Rachel pedaled onto the stage on her unicycle and managed to juggle while riding around in figure eights on stage. It was impressive! I had to give her high marks in all categories.

  The string quartet performed a very nice ballad, and I gave them high marks because their act was good, not because of any special favors. (Earlier this week the girl who’d compli
mented my hair band offered to do my homework for me, but of course, I’d declined.)

  Then came my true test. Oliver came onstage carrying his lucky sketch pad under his arm and also a small folding easel. “Hi!” he said. “I’m Oliver Banks, and I’m going to pick three random people from the audience to draw. Do I have any volunteers?” he asked.

  A few people raised their hands. Oliver chose an older man sitting near the front, a six-year-old girl who was probably someone’s little sister, and Ms. Roberts, our science teacher.

  Then he looked at his stopwatch and began drawing.

  Oliver drew and drew and drew. The audience stared. While it was cool to see him create something from nothing, it took a long time. He probably should’ve talked about what he was doing or played some music or done something else to liven things up, except he didn’t. It was simply Oliver onstage drawing.

  Ms. Benson told him his time was up before he’d finished with the third drawing.

  “Okay,” said Oliver, seemingly flustered. “Thank you.”

  I stared at my scorecard, wondering what to do.

  Oliver’s act was original. I gave him a five for that. No one else in the entire school did anything close to drawing portraits in public. And attempting to do three in five minutes? It was ambitious, too. Oliver did have tons of skill, and I wanted to give him the highest mark in that category, as well. The two portraits he had finished? They were impressive.

  But he hadn’t accomplished what he’d set out to do: three finished portraits. That was a sticking point. I wished I could give him a three and a half, but since I couldn’t, and it didn’t seem fair to give him a four, I gave him a three.

  As for the entertainment value? If I were honest with myself, and I had to be honest, his act wasn’t that, well, entertaining. It was kind of … boring. Not that I’d ever say so. There was no need. I wasn’t cruel. But I couldn’t give him a high score.

  I gave him a two, turned my card facedown, and passed it along.

  Next came another lip-synching act. Then a couple performed a scene from Romeo and Juliet, and then there was another dance number. Next came a stand-up comedy routine, and then Yumi pitching. Two kids in a row did a rap, and the lyrics had no swear words.

  Tobias’s magic act was even better the second time around. He’d added a cool trick involving linking and unlinking large silver hoops that didn’t seem to have any openings. He also brought out a smoke machine during his “sawing the stuffed lady in half” number.

  It seemed strange to give Tobias—the most annoying guy I know—a better score than Oliver, whom I adore. But Tobias’s act was awesome. He got a five for entertainment and skill and a four for originality.

  When the show ended Ms. Lerner invited all of the performers onstage to take a bow. “Birchwood has so much talent!” she said. “This judging process has been tough. You are all winners—that much is clear—but we will announce the official winners in about ten minutes.”

  Ms. Benson led all of the judges into an office backstage so we could tally up the votes.

  Hugo was sweating and his hair was messier than usual. Jackson’s eyes narrowed in concentration as he watched Ms. Lerner and Mr. Beller add up points. None of us said a word.

  After a few long minutes, Mr. Beller cleared his throat. “This is surprising,” he said. “The first place prize goes to Tobias the magician. I don’t think a sixth grader has ever won.”

  “His show was awesome,” said Jackson. “Who came in second?”

  “For second place we have a three-way tie,” said Ms. Benson. “It’s Sophie the gymnast; Ted, Gemma, Diego, and Jasper, the group who performed the scene from the Pirates of the Caribbean; and Rachel the unicycling juggler.”

  “Oh, man, my sister’s never gonna let me live this down,” said Jackson.

  “Go, Rachel!” I said.

  “And in third place we have Taylor, Jesse, Nikki, and Hannah performing ‘Born This Way.’”

  So that was it. Part of me had hoped that Oliver would somehow place. Now I felt bad. But at least it was all over.

  Of course, I still had to face everyone at the wrap party.

  As soon as I walked in I saw Didi, the blindfolded gift wrapper. “Hey,” I said. “You were awesome.”

  She looked at me, a blank expression on her face. “Do I know you?” she asked before turning her back on me.

  “Um, apparently not,” I said to her back, more amused than insulted.

  I continued on through the crowd and ran into Fred the baker next.

  “Thanks for the dog biscuits,” I said. “Pepper loved them! And I’ve been craving key lime pie ever since your act. It was so cool.”

  “Although apparently not cool enough,” said Fred before storming off.

  I noticed the girl who gave me saltwater taffy last week, but as soon as I caught her eye, she looked away.

  Oh, well. I guess I know who my real friends are. I found Emma, Claire, and Yumi huddled in a corner.

  “Hi. Congrats, everyone!” I said.

  “Hey, Annabelle. Great judging,” said Yumi.

  “So you’re not upset that you lost?”

  Yumi looked surprised. “I threw eight strikes out of ten. I did well but didn’t deserve to win.”

  “And as much as I love my fashion line,” said Claire, tossing her pink feathered boa over her shoulder, “I am not surprised that the world isn’t ready for my look.”

  “I loved your pieces,” I said. “In fact, I’d love to commission a Twister raincoat.”

  “I’ll think about it,” said Claire.

  Suddenly Rachel ran up to us. “Want to touch it?” she asked, holding up her ribbon to all of our faces.

  “Rub it in, why don’t you?” asked Yumi.

  Rather than answer her, Rachel literally rubbed the ribbon on Yumi’s arm.

  “Cut it out!” she said. “That’s my pitching arm!”

  I laughed, happy and relaxed, relieved this was all over.

  And then I felt someone tap me on the shoulder.

  I turned around and saw Oliver.

  “Hey, can we talk?” he asked.

  My whole body filled with dread. Oliver had worked so hard on his act and he cared so much about his art. If all these virtual strangers snubbed me for not helping them win the talent show, what would my very own boyfriend do?

  Chapter Nineteen

  the Grand Finale

  Could you come outside with me?” he asked. “I need to show you something.”

  “Um, I don’t really have time,” I said. “My mom needs me at home because, um …”

  Somehow I couldn’t even think of an excuse.

  “It’ll just be a minute,” said Oliver.

  He grabbed my hand. I had no choice but to follow him. I assumed he was leading me outside so he could break up with me in private. Which I guess is decent, if there’s anything decent about breaking up with your girlfriend because she didn’t rig the talent show for you.

  I wondered if I should tell him I’m sorry he didn’t win. Because I was—I knew he’d worked hard on his act, but I had to be honest. His act simply wasn’t good enough to place. And I’d worked hard to be fair and square.

  Soon we were in front of his locker. No one else was around, and I had a feeling I knew what was coming.

  “Look,” I said. “You can break up with me if you want to, but just so you know, I have no regrets about how I voted in the talent show. You are an amazing artist, and I enjoyed watching you do those portraits, but I couldn’t give you a high mark simply because you’re my boyfriend. You didn’t finish in time. I’m sorry if this makes me a bad girlfriend, but I don’t think it does. I think it makes me honest, which is something you should appreciate.”

  Oliver stared at me for a second, squinty eyed and confused. “I’m not mad,” he said.

  “Then why are we here?” I asked.

  Rather than answer me, he turned around, spun the combination on his locker, and swung open the door. Insi
de was a small easel, and on that small easel was a smaller portrait of me.

  Oliver had drawn me! And he’d done an exquisite job. It looked like he’d used the sketch from IHOP and then embellished it, adding more details and color, too.

  “I don’t know what to say …”

  “Do you hate it?” asked Oliver. His voice trembled. He was nervous.

  “Are you kidding?” I asked. “I love it!”

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him in for a spontaneous hug. He smelled sweet and spicy—like lemon soap and gingersnap cookies.

  He hugged me back tightly.

  “I’m so glad,” he said. “I made it for you a while ago but was afraid to give it to you before the competition. I didn’t want you to think I was trying to bribe you or anything.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought that,” I said, pulling back so I could look him in the eye. “I know you too well.”

  “Annabelle, you’re the best science lab partner ever.”

  I giggled. “I was just thinking the same thing about you,” I said.

  He smiled at me.

  I smiled at him.

  We were like statues, neither of us moving any closer.

  And as I waited for him to kiss me, I realized something. I was sick and tired of waiting.

  So I kissed him.

  Yes, I did.

  And guess what?

  He kissed me back.

  And it felt electric.

  “Wow!” he whispered.

  “Yeah,” I repeated. “Me, too.”

  We laughed, and I kissed him again.

  “Thank you,” said Oliver. “I thought you’d never do that.”

  “Never?” I asked.

  “Don’t you know I’ve had a huge crush on you since school started, practically?”

  “I didn’t, actually. But I’m glad I do now. Does this mean you’re not mad that you didn’t win the talent show?”

  “No,” said Oliver. “Disappointed, because of course I wanted to win, but it’s no big deal. Not when I have something better than first prize.”

  I put my hands on his shoulders, like we were slow dancing except we didn’t need music. “What’s better than first prize?” I asked, gazing into his beautiful green eyes.