“Is there any way you can make an exception?”
“Hmmmm. I suppose if you lose the guns and the paint pellets, we will reconsider. Otherwise, dear, my hands are tied.”
When the call ended, Fonda hurried for that exit. She had to get out of there before her friends started asking the kinds of questions that would make her cry in public.
It was official: Fonda couldn’t deliver anything she’d promised. The whole grade was going to turn on her. She and the nesties were going to be outcasts. Hashtags like #FakePromises and #IHateCat were going to haunt her for life. If Fonda had had any idea that winning the election would turn her into a bigger loser than she already was, she would have quit while she was behind. But all she could do now was get back into bed, pull the covers over her tear-soaked face, and pray that her mother would let her switch schools.
chapter twenty.
THE EARLY MORNING sky was a lazy shade of blue. Much like the seventh-grade students waiting to board the Catalina Island ferry, it was half-asleep and trying to wake up. Still, the briny salt air crackled with excitement. For Drew it was more of a stomach-churning, anxious kind of excitement, because not only was this her first school sleepover, it was her first school sleepover with boys. And not just regular boys—Will!
It had been two weeks since he bought Drew a fro-yo, eight days since they ran into each other at Green Gates, and then seven days of meh. A passing wave here, a polite smile there; nothing more, nothing less. Their relationship status remained in the fright zone. And Drew hoped this trip would pull them out.
She glanced over her shoulder to evaluate Will’s location. Approximately fifteen bodies stood between them. Sixteen, now that Sage had arrived with four hot chocolates and a pretty-please-with-whip-cream-on-top request to cut the line.
“What’s with all the bags?” she asked. “Principal Bell said we could only bring one.”
Fonda bit down on her thumbnail. “Yeah, well, PrinciBell doesn’t understand the struggle.”
Drew shot Sage a wide-eyed warning. Don’t say another word about Fonda’s bags, she silently urged. Change the subject. Avoid confrontation. Let. It. Go.
“Overpacking is a sign of insecurity,” Sage stated. “And, Fonda, you have no reason to be insecure. Yes, you’re a typical learner, but you’re not a dumb-dumb.” She took a sip of hot chocolate. “Clothes are easy to change, but few can change school policy the way you did. You are more than the sum of your outfits. Unlike them.” She hitched her thumb toward the parking lot, where the Avas were struggling to get their rolling suitcases to the dock. “Steppy and friends have been shopping for ‘camping casuals’ all week. Put that energy toward climate change or the fight against social injustice, not velour sweatpants and floral rompers, am I right?”
“No,” Fonda said. “You’re not right.”
Ruthie finally looked up from her phone.
“Wait.” Sage removed her glasses. “You think outfits are more important than human rights and the environment?”
Fonda rolled her tired eyes. “I meant, you’re not right about my bags. They’re not full of clothes.”
“What, then?”
Deciding the conversation was over, Fonda scooped up her bags and dragged them forward as the line began to move. “You’ll see.”
“Water guns and makeup samples,” Ruthie mumbled, mostly to her phone. “Because we can’t do paintball or makeovers.”
Sage slowly shook her head. “Tragic.”
It was unclear whether she was referring to Fonda’s failed promises or her so-so solutions. Not that it mattered. Drew had her own problems—Keelie and her skate hair, don’t care hat were joining Will in line. What was Drew supposed to do now? Fake a butt dial so she had an excuse to talk to him? Beg Doug to drive back with her trucker hat? Spill hot chocolate on Will, then drag him away to clean him up?
“The good news is,” Sage continued, “I solved the Pearl problem.”
Fonda’s expression brightened. “A daytime hologram!”
“No,” Sage scoffed. “That’s not a thing. I’m going to photoshop a picture of a sea monster into my ferry selfies, then post it.”
“That’s lying,” Fonda said.
“Technically, so are holograms,” Sage fired back. “And you were fine with those.”
“Because we can see them. Photoshopping is straight-up fraud.”
“This is politics, Fonda. Not polite-tics.”
Fonda began nibbling her lip. The idea wasn’t sitting well with her, and Drew understood why. Yes, Fonda wanted a high approval rating, but she didn’t want to lie for it. And that was what Sage was asking her to do. It was also what Drew would be doing if she faked a butt dial, wore a copycat hat, or spilled hot chocolate on Will to pull him away. She wanted to earn Will’s approval, not steal it.
“I don’t know . . .” Fonda told Sage.
Drew, however, did know. She would put pride on the line and ask Will if he wanted to sit together on the ferry. No games. No politics. No polite-tics. Just straight-up honesty. No matter how he answered, Drew would be out of the fright zone, and her bravery would inspire Fonda. So much so, that paintball and makeovers and sea monsters wouldn’t matter anymore. Courage would be the new cause, and Drew, its brave leader.
“Check out this sepia filter,” Ruthie said as she held the phone in front of Drew’s face. “It makes selfies look super old-timey.”
“Be right back,” Drew said. On the count of three, she stepped out of line. She counted to three again and took a deep breath. Then she turned toward Will and—
Keelie’s hands were on his shoulders. Their eye contact was extreme. Their close talking, intense.
Drew accidentally spilled hot chocolate all over her sweats, then stepped back into line.
Up until now, she had questioned whether Will and Keelie were just friends. But their body language left zero room for doubt. It was official. They were in like.
The line inched forward, and reality set in. Drew wasn’t the brave leader of the integrity movement. She wasn’t inspiring others to put pride on the line and speak their truth. She was boarding a ferry that would take her to an island for three days and two nights, where she would have front-row seats to the Will and Keelie Are in Like show. After which she could binge-watch Fonda Gets Taken Down by an Angry Mob of Seventh Graders, and then maybe an hour or two of Peeing in the Woods Was the Best Part of My Day. Normally, Drew would have turned to Ruthie for support, but Ruthie was hunched over her phone, mesmerized by wacky animal videos and old-timey filters.
As they settled into their seats, Drew thought about faking sick and jumping ship, but the horn blew and the ferry’s motor began to rev. There was no turning back now.
chapter twenty–one.
THE FERRY ROCKED and swayed. It tipped and tilted. Footsteps shuffled across the deck. Something was happening. Something exciting. Ruthie could feel a shift in energy; she could feel the salty breeze blow her hair. She wanted to look up. She needed to look up. She couldn’t look up. She was playing Geometry Dash and had made it to Jumper—level seven, baby! Techno music was pumping. Her square was leaping. She was sticking every landing. Diving through every hoop. Avoiding every spike. Any and all distractions would have to wait. Level eight was right around the corner.
“What’s happening?” she asked Fonda, eyes fixed on her phone.
Fonda didn’t answer.
“Are we there?” Ruthie tried again.
Still no answer.
Ruthie sniff-sniffed, hoping for a whiff of Arm Candy—Fonda’s vanilla-and-caramel-scented body oil. But the sniff did not have a whiff. Where did she go? “Drew? Are you here?” Ruthie paused for an answer that never came. “Sage . . . ? Owen . . . ?”
While her thumbs tapped wildly against the screen, Ruthie tried to recall the conversations she heard over the past twenty minutes. Had there been talk
of switching seats? Did everyone disembark and leave her? What if Ruthie missed her stop and was heading back to Dana Point Harbor?
As far as she could remember, no one had said anything about leaving. She did, however, hear a boatload of angst.
“I swear if one more person asks me about Pearl, paintball, or makeovers, I’m going to walk the plank,” Fonda had groaned. Then she added something about pretending to be asleep so no one would bother her. Ruthie hadn’t heard her speak since.
At some point, Drew said, “I can’t believe Will is sitting with Keelie.”
And Sage responded, “Stop looking at them.”
“I can’t help it. Keelie keeps looking at me. I think she’s checking to see if I’m jealous. It’s so creepy.”
“Said the creep who’s checking to see if Keelie is checking. Come on, let’s hit the snack bar. Oh, and start laughing when you stand up. Don’t let her know you’re jealous.”
Then Owen appeared. “The snack bar’s closed,” he sighed. “Water’s too choppy.” He sat down beside Ruthie and peered over her shoulder. “Geometry Dash?”
“Yep. Almost done with level seven,” she muttered. “Wanna watch me play?”
“Can’t. I get super nauseous on boats. My mom gave me this acupressure bracelet. It’s supposed to help with motion sickness—” The boat dipped suddenly. “Oh no . . .”
And that was the last she had heard from Owen. It was the last she had heard from any of them before the shift in energy. Something big was happening. But what?
Was Fonda walking the plank? Did Owen barf? Were Drew and Keelie fighting over Will? And if any of those things were happening to her friends, why was Ruthie just sitting there? Why wasn’t she helping them? Why wasn’t she taking pictures? Why wasn’t she posting? #EverythingLooksBetterInSepia. #LifeAtSea #NestiesInLifeVesties . . .
Ruthie impaled her square on a spike and forfeited the game. The music stopped and her world went silent. Sunlight pinched the backs of her eyes. The sudden return to reality was shocking, disorienting.
Once her senses reacclimatized, she was over-whelmed by her surroundings—the glinting sea, the white seabirds, the magnificent arch of the island that was coming into view, and the vacant blue seats that had once been full. The boat dipped again. Everyone screamed.
Ruthie followed the terrified shrills to find the entire seventh-grade class moaning and clutching the railings. Those who weren’t green were gray. Those who weren’t hanging their heads over the water were writhing on the deck.
Owen simpered at the sight of Ruthie’s ladybug socks. “Is that you, m’ladybug?” He was lying in fetal position, his skin the same color gray as his antinausea acupressure band. How ironic was that?
“Are you okay?” Ruthie asked.
“Seasick,” Drew said on behalf of Owen. She was clutching her stomach.
“Sea monster?” Fonda called weakly. “Where?” Then she puked.
Ruthie, an expert on reading in the car during family road trips, was immune to the ferry’s nauseating sway and decided to take a selfie. At least someone would have proof of their heroic crossing. You’re welcome, yearbook committee.
While her classmates continued to moan and writhe, Ruthie positioned herself on the deck and framed her shot—island over her right shoulder, ocean over her left, and her smiling face in the middle. With an outstretched arm and an agile thumb, she switched the filter to sepia and—
A horn sounded. The boat lurched. Ruthie pitched forward. Her arm jerked backward. The phone slipped. And SPLASH . . .
“Nooooo!” she called as it vanished into the sapphire-blue water.
The engine cut, and the boat slowed to a stop.
“What’s happening?” asked Ava G. as whitecaps slapped against the hull.
“I think we hit something,” said Kat Evans, her enthusiastic ponytail bobbing with the boat.
“Look, everyone!” Fonda shouted, her voice no longer weak. With renewed energy, the entire seventh-grade class whipped out their phones just as a white-spotted gray beast, roughly the size of a school bus, glided by. “It’s Pearl!”
“I call posting hashtag Pearl Harbor!” Keelie announced.
“We’re not in the harbor anymore,” Drew said. “This is the ocean.”
Keelie rolled her eyes. “Looks like someone’s jealous of my hashtags.”
“Looks like someone wants me to be jealous of their hashtags,” Drew fired back.
Normally, Ruthie would have high-fived Drew for defending herself. She would have applauded Fonda for spotting Pearl. And she would have asked to see everyone’s pictures. But that was the old Ruthie—the lighthearted girl who celebrated her friends’ victories. New Ruthie’s spirits sank with her phone.
Now she was just a bitter, boat-hating, wave-loathing, ocean-despising, technology-free plebeian. She couldn’t even be bothered to marvel at Pearl, the sea monster. Because she knew it was a whale shark—a harmless, plankton-eating behemoth who probably took a wrong turn near Hawaii and ended up in Orange County by mistake. It didn’t happen often, but it did happen. And the timing couldn’t have been better. Everyone believed it was Pearl, and Fonda was basking in the glory of having delivered on one of her promises.
At least someone was happy.
chapter twenty–two.
“WELCOME TO CATALINA Island. My name is Nanci, with an i, and I’m here to make the next two days the best two days you’ve ever had! Woo-hooo!” She shot her fist toward the sunny sky, then straightened her straw hat.
The seventh graders cheered with delight. They were gathered on the dock, grateful to be back on land, and thrilled to have digital proof of the elusive sea monster. But Nanci wasn’t fooling Fonda with her fun-loving welcome speech and safari-beige romper. Anyone who thought capture the flag was a reasonable substitution for paintball was fun-hating. So what if she had pink zinc on her nose? And double so what if she wore her hair in youthful side braids? Nanci was a Karen.
While she droned on about the island’s delicate ecosystem, the students secretly shared Pearl photos and flashed triumphant smiles at Fonda, smiles that seemed to say, You made this happen! You’re a miracle worker! Everything sucks!
The everything-sucks smile was from Ruthie, and it looked more like gas pain. She was upset about losing her phone and probably felt left out. But, still. Pre-phone Ruthie would have been stoked to see Pearl pics, whereas post-phone Ruthie was standing there, arms folded, gaze down, as if ladybug socks were more impressive than water beasts.
“I can’t believe we pulled this off!” Fonda whispered to Drew. Yes, she felt for Ruthie. But this was a moment for celebrating, not commiserating. She’d made good on one of her promises—the most unlikely one, at that! How could she not gloat? “I love that we didn’t have to lie about Pearl,” she said to Sage, rubbing it in a teeny bit.
Sage, not one for being wrong, held a finger to her lips. “Shhh. Nanci’s talking.”
Fonda rolled her eyes, then turned her attention back to Nanci, who was passing out itineraries. “As you’re about to see, we have some super-duper activities planned, or at least I thought we did until Captain Briggs told me you saw a whale shark on the way over here.” She knocked herself on the head with her papers and giggled. “I mean, who can compete with that?”
Fonda gasped; the sharp blast of air hit her lungs like a hatchet. Whale shark? Was that even a thing?
“Knew it,” Ruthie muttered under her breath.
“You did?” Drew asked.
“Same,” Sage interrupted. “The Rhincodon typus is my jam.”
Ruthie high-fived her friend. “I had a feeling you figured it out.”
“I had a feeling you had a feeling.” Sage beamed. “What gave it away?”
“Who cares!” Fonda hissed, her entire social life flashing before her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
�
�Why disappoint the dumb-dumbs?” Sage flicked her wrist. “Let them cling to innocence for as long as possible, am I right?”
“No, you’re not right—”
“That wasn’t a whale shark!” Leah insisted. “It was a sea monster!”
“Yeah, sharks aren’t that big,” Dune Wolsey said.
“Actually, dear, the average size of a whale shark is between eighteen and thirty-two feet. They typically live in tropical water, but now and then, one makes an appearance and—”
“You’re saying that so you don’t have to pay us!” shouted Kat Evans.
“Pay you?” Nanci snorted. “Why would I pay you?”
“For Pearl pics! It’s your policy.”
Nanci threw up her arms. “Who’s Pearl?”
“The sea monster!” several students cried.
Toni Sorkin stepped forward. “I’m vice president of the student council, and I demand transparency.”
“Kids,” Nanci huffed, “I assure you, these waters are sea monster free, and we do not offer a sea monster fee.” The parent chaperones chuckled at her corny turn of phrase. “How did this rumor get started, anyway? Surely, not your teachers.”
“Fake News Fonda!” Keelie shouted.
Fonda’s skin prickled with heat as everyone in the seventh-grade class glared at her.
“You?” Nanci asked with a hand to her heart. “Why?”
Fonda’s body began to shake, and her mind went blank. She didn’t have a good explanation, and even if she did, she’d never find words to articulate it. “Uh . . .”
“Is this because I denied your paintball request?” Nanci pressed.
“No paintball?” Henry yelled.
“Seriously?” Will called.
Ava H. scanned the itinerary. “Why doesn’t it say anything about the makeovers?”
“Or surfing at Shark Harbor?” asked Dune.
Crush Stuff. Page 11
