The bell rang. Mr. Workman quickly took attendance and then sat on the corner of his desk, reading out loud his “weird news item of the day.”
During announcements, Ms. Aiello’s voice sounded scratchy and tinny over the loudspeaker. “Good morning, Headwaters Academy! Donation boxes will be going up today in the cafeteria for our gift-card drive. We’re collecting for the Embrace Kids Foundation….Freshmen, please be sure to have your permission slips to Mrs. Stevenson by Thursday if you’d like to be included in the symphony trip on Monday….Don’t forget that the lost-and-found…”
As Ms. Aiello droned on, Hope felt a folded paper being shoved under her arm. She slid her hand around and picked it up and opened it.
doing hdwters tour for new girl. not 2b nosy, but is she staying with you?
Hope frowned and twisted in her seat. Two seats behind her, Kalista wiggled her fingers.
Hope scribbled back, Yes, staying idk how long. She hesitated. She didn’t want to be unkind, but Kalista needed to be warned about Dess….tty after? She folded the note and shoved it back under her arm toward Carey, sitting behind her, to wait until he noticed it and passed it back.
Ms. Aiello got through the Headwaters pledge—“Capable of meeting any challenge, we learners will be leaders. Headwaters Academy, it all starts today!”—just before the bell rang. Hope ignored whatever Mr. Workman was shouting over the bustle of movement and hurried toward Kalista, who was making a beeline for the door.
“Kalista—wait,” she called, trying to hurry up the sea of students going the opposite direction.
Kalista was already in the hallway, waving an arm clattering with bracelets. “Ms. Aiello? I’m here!” Heads turned, and she bounded down the hall toward Dess, who stood, shoulders hunched, outside Ms. Aiello’s office. The vice principal was beaming as Kalista came toward them.
Dess was looking over Kalista’s outfit—skinny jeans and a tan Headwaters T-shirt under a blazer—and Hope was suddenly worried. Dess was giving her the same narrow-eyed once-over she’d given Hope, and she was going to say something—no doubt, about Kalista’s wildly curly brown hair, her wide mouth, or her long, sharp nose. Hope pinched her bottom lip between her teeth unhappily. Even though Kalista drove her nuts, she wouldn’t wish Dess on her worst enemy.
“So, Kalista, right?” Dess said, and then glanced up at Ms. Aiello with a shrug. “Okay. I’m ready. Thanks, Ms. A.”
Ms. A? Hope blinked at Dess as she walked past, then looked again, more closely. Since Mom had dropped them off, Dess’s messy ponytail had been changed to two braids that just brushed her shoulders. Over her gray tank she wore one of last year’s pink button-down uniform shirts, tied at her waist, emphasizing her cleavage, which Hope was now positive was helped along with a bit of padding. Her jeans were cuffed into capris, and her black skater shoes had been replaced by the white ballerina flats she must have had stuffed into her backpack. Even her makeup looked lighter, less Goth stark and more smudged and smoky. The tiny, subtle changes made Dess look like a whole different person.
“Thanks for showing me around,” Hope heard Dess say as Kalista walked her down the hall.
“No problem!” Kalista gushed. “I love meeting new people.”
Hope shook her head as Dess smiled and gave a little wave at a group of students who were all staring at the new girl.
Okay, that was weird.
And things only got weirder.
By lunch, Kalista’s table was full of girls from the drama club. The new girl had been to New York and had seen Wicked and The Lion King and had been in the drama club at her old school.
She also was rumored to be trying out for Headwaters cheer squad with Ronica Jones, since she had an Auntie Doris who had been a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader.
Fat chance, Hope thought darkly.
Hope expected players like Rob Anguiano, Micah Sherman, and James Gilberto to be all over a new girl, lined up three deep to be the first to get her number and then tell lies about how they’d hooked up with her. But even smart boys, like Clayton Stone and Jas Singh, who were on the Headwaters TAG team (for talented and gifted students), were talking to her in the hallway before study hall.
“What’s going on?” Hope asked Rob, who was lurking in the vicinity.
“The new girl wants to try out for the chess team,” Rob said, looking impressed.
Hope rolled her eyes so hard, she gave herself a headache. Blah, blah, blah, new girl, new girl, new girl. Who cared? Savannah’s dad had tried to teach Hope to play chess last summer. Except for the queen, which moved anywhere it wanted, all across the board, she couldn’t keep track of what any of the pieces did. And Dess knew how to play chess and was good enough to be in the chess club?
She was such a liar. Hope shook her head. People were such sheep. Obviously, no one was that amazing about everything. Dess was a total fake, and everyone would soon know it.
Hope was feeling frumpy, grumpy, and envious, and had concealer slathered on the zit beside her nose. But she pepped up at the second-to-last period of the day. The mixed concert choir had rehearsal on Tuesdays and Thursdays with Mr. Mueller, who was Hope’s absolutely favorite teacher in the whole world. While everybody had to take an elective, not everyone loved their choice the way Hope did. Mr. Mueller always said he liked freshmen and sophomores best, because they still pretended to laugh at his (very bad) jokes.
Chorus was almost always fun. It helped that Mr. Mueller was insane and made them sing Broadway-style warm-ups and parodies of pop songs. There was only one thing Hope didn’t like about chorus, and that was the very first day of the term…when Mr. Mueller heard auditions.
This year it would be even worse. Students would be auditioning twice first semester—once to make the cut for the winter musical and once for Stillwaters, the advanced show choir Mr. Mueller worked with all semester. Stillwaters didn’t accept freshmen, but sophomores, juniors, and seniors could audition and sing for graduation at the end of the year. This year sixteen students from Stillwaters would get to compete at the Sunbelt Festival and, if they placed, perform at Disneyland. Mr. Mueller only took four of each part—sopranos, altos, tenors, and basses. Stillwaters members had to keep their grades high and their citizenship record perfect. Hope had always thought she’d get in if she auditioned. Mr. Mueller liked her, and she’d been taking voice lessons for three years. Mr. Mueller called her voice an “anchor” voice. It was pleasant and dependable, not too breathy and not too loud. She could sight-read a part and not get lost. Hope and Savannah had planned to audition as sophomores, the first year they were eligible….Hope sighed. She didn’t want to change the plan now. She was on her own.
She dropped her backpack on the floor and stood self-consciously at the edge of the room with her classmates as Mr. Mueller tried to make a circle of singers out of thirty-five dorks who were talking and laughing. He strode around, calming people into order and then starting them singing a warm-up. Today’s was a baroque tune with the words “Seven silver swans swam silently seaward, swiftly sideways,” which was ridiculous. But even worse, he made them sing it in a round. Half the kids were singing “silently seaward,” while the other half were singing that those same swans swam “swiftly sideways.” Even though everyone was singing together, it was hard for Hope not to feel as if she was singing a solo when Mr. Mueller abandoned the piano and walked slowly through the circle of students, listening.
When Liesl lost her place, Mr. Mueller mouthed the words until she jumped back in. He tilted his head and listened, nodding and smiling, commenting and singing along, until he passed in front of Dess, who was standing with her hands in her pockets. He took one giant step backward. And stopped.
Hope drew in a breath, straining her ears.
“Ah! Lovely! Like a young Sarah Vaughan,” Mr. Mueller said, and smiled.
Who? Dess’s wide-eyed gaze followed Mr. Mueller’s return to the piano. When she saw Hope watching, Dess looked away and started singing again.
Hope felt
a tiny spear of jealousy strike her in the heart. She looked down at the floor, her throat feeling full of rocks. Mr. Mueller had smiled at Hope when he walked by, but he hadn’t said anything. It shouldn’t matter that Mr. Mueller had said something nice to Dess. It shouldn’t make any difference at all…but it did.
Okay, Dess probably couldn’t play chess. She probably hadn’t seen The Lion King, probably didn’t have a cheerleader aunt. Dess lied about everything—anything and everything. But Dess couldn’t make Mr. Mueller lie. And Mr. Mueller—the god of choir nerds—would never lie about a voice.
It’s the end of the day, but the inside of my locker is still neat and clean. Which is just as well, since I feel like putting my whole head in there. Jeez, this place…At public school, I’m just a piece of sand in the sea. Here, at this charter place, I’m a rock in a puddle, all obvious and stuff. I hate it.
At first, my outfit was wrong. I thought all I needed was to look as little like Hopeless as I could—but that idea blew. Even with sixty kids in the entire sophomore class, this school’s still too small for me to stand out like that, so while Foster Lady was yapping at Aiello, I ducked into the bathroom and pulled my act together.
In a bathroom stall I untied the hoodie around my waist, wriggled out of the padded bra, and toed off my shoes. Five minutes later, with a paper towel to lighten my eye makeup, I was more classic than punk, my edges blending in to the prep school vibe around me.
Rena calls me a chameleon because I’ve got the skills to blend in anywhere. After homeroom, I saw Hopeless staring, with her freak face sagging, and I almost laughed. She thought she had me down, like she knew me. Nobody does.
I’m the new girl. I can be anyone I want—right?
There’re all kinds at this school. Besides regular—I mean, white—students, there are black students, a lot of Asians, some Indians and Mexicans and stuff. At lunch at Stanton, they’d all sit at their own tables, but here they mix it up a little. Maybe it’s a rule or something.
And teachers are all over the place. During the passing bell, they just hang out in the hall, smiling and talking to people like they’ve got nothing else to do. And all day long, that vice principal lady kept showing up, in the hall, in my classes, just smiling with her big horsey teeth, all up in my face. I know her gig—she’s just waiting for me to start something, like all foster kids are some kind of trouble. I hate her.
Some things about this school are lame. Between the uniform shirts and their blue and khaki dress-up day “slacks” and “earning” the right to non-uniform days and the little school pledge and all—“learners will be leaders,” seriously?—it’s completely weak. But it’s superclean—cleaner than any school I’ve ever been to. They have breakfast, if you want it, and Kalista said they have a full-on lab for biology, with equipment and stations for every student. At my old school, there wasn’t even a separate lab.
There’s a computer lab, and the library is pretty good—reference computers, periodicals, squishy cube-shaped couches, and lots of new fiction to check out. I wanted to stay all day. I’ve never been to a school like this. I wish I could stay here for a whole year. If it wasn’t for stupid Trish, I’d ask Farris—or Bradbrook or whoever my stupid social worker is now—if I could.
And I could make everybody like me—even Aiello, if I had to. I could at least try.
I mean, if I wanted to. But I don’t. So what if it’s a rich school district? That’s got nothing to do with me. I only came to check on Baby, and once Trish is done with her stupid court case, I’m out.
I wonder if they’ll take me back to North Highlands. Rena says I could come back.
I shove books into my bag—English and science—and the Algebra I take-home test we were given. I have way too much reading, and I’m already wiped. That Kalista dragged me to meet everyone in the whole school, just about, and now I’m in all the clubs and trying out for some musical thing I’m not even going to be here for, and I’m stuck with her blah, blah, blah-ing at me all day. I should’ve stayed with Hopeless. At least she knows when to shut the hell up. She doesn’t even want me at her school.
“Dessa!”
I blink and look around my locker door. Baby’s running down the hall, ducking between bigger kids like he’s indestructible.
I slam my locker and shoulder my bag, a weird, loose feeling working its way up from inside my chest. “Baby! Hey! You’re too little to be at my school.”
Foster Lady’s right behind him, of course, walking with Aiello. Well, the vice principal has nothing to complain about. Farris gave them my school records. I make good grades, and I stay out of trouble. Period. I ran away from foster care when I was eleven, yeah, but I’m not stupid.
“I already goed to school. You have to go to the doctor,” Baby announces in his baby chipmunk voice, and several kids around me go “Aw,” like everybody does. In his little jeans and red T-shirt, Baby’s cute, no question. Shorty’s got a big mouth, though, putting my business all over the street.
“I know. What else did you do all day?”
“Maira and me went shopping with Mama. And we looked at the leaves and got damatoes.”
“Yeah?” He needs to stop calling her that. Mama. I start walking toward Foster Lady, mostly to keep Baby from investigating the contents of some kid’s backpack that’s sitting practically in the middle of the hall. Baby’s nosy, but I’ve figured out if he thinks I’m listening to him, he’ll follow me pretty much anywhere.
“Yeah, and Teacher Mavis let me ring the bell.”
“Wow. Is that fun?”
“It’s loud,” Baby explained. “Mama, can we go now?”
“Bye, Dess.” Some guy—Marcus? Rob? waves as he goes by.
“Um, bye,” I say, wondering if he’s someone important.
Foster Lady is beaming like I discovered a cure for cancer. “Hey, Dess, looks like you made lots of friends. Did you have a good day?”
I’ve made “lots of friends”? What, am I Baby now? “Yeah, school was amazing. Everybody loves me. Can we go now?”
“Hey, Mrs. Carter!”
Foster Lady and I turn around at the same time, and my neck tightens. Kalista. She’s looking from me to Foster Lady and back, curiosity in her big green eyes. I don’t need Kalista’s fat mouth in my business. She told me everything she knew about everyone in the whole school. I know her type.
“Hey, Kalista, what’s up?”
“Nothing much….Hi, cutie!” Kalista’s voice goes squeaky as she reaches for Baby’s head. He scowls at her and hides behind Foster Lady’s leg, and I give him a mental high five. Smart kid. Definitely related to me.
Since she can’t bother Baby, Kalista looks over at me. “I didn’t know you knew Mrs. Carter, Dessa,” she says, and then waits, like I’m going to jump in and tell her everything I know. I stare at her and shrug a shoulder.
“I’m a friend of the family,” Foster Lady says, smiling so big that Kalista smiles back. “We’ve got an appointment, though, so Dess will have to see you tomorrow or we’ll be late.”
Friend of the family, huh? Right. Foster Lady’s as big a liar as I am.
But Kalista swallows it, and just like that, we’re out. Kalista’s waving, Foster Lady’s got her hand on Baby’s head, and I’m free to escape into the warm September afternoon.
Well, mostly free. Aiello appears and goes on and on about new uniform orders, and assessment tests, and blah, blah, blah. I walk faster when I see the van, and before I get there, the side door slides open. I love automatic doors.
I shrug off my bag and pause. Hope’s already riding shotgun. I’m either going to have to crawl into the bench seat in the very back, which is half filled with a foldable playpen or something and bags of groceries, or sit between Jamaira and Baby in their car seats. I look at Jamaira from the corner of my eye. Right now she’s still—probably asleep, but all I can think is, If she wakes up: uh-oh.
“Hey. Trade seats.”
Hope pulls an earbud out of her ear and tw
ists to face me. “What?”
I lick my lips. “I need to trade seats. Please.”
Hope narrows her eyes. “Why?”
Stupid freak. I scowl. “Never mind.”
Hope glances at the baby, then abruptly undoes her seat belt. I can’t figure out the expression on her face. “Fine.”
Everybody’s out of the van when Baby climbs up to his seat, and it takes a minute to get going. Hope works him through snapping into his car seat, counting out loud, “One, two, three!” for the buckles, and Foster Lady throws her hippie bag—a small denim backpack with flowers on it—down between the seats.
“Everybody in? Hope, I don’t have time to drop you off. We’re going to have to go straight to Dr. Perlman’s office,” she says, sliding a pair of oversized glasses down from the top of her head. “You can stay in the van with Maira, or you can come in with Austin and me. It shouldn’t be more than about a half hour.”
“I’ll stay in the van and read,” Hope mumbles, and yawns.
“I’ll stay in the van and read,” Baby parrots, and Hope snorts.
“No, you won’t. Austin, you’d be bored and crying for Mom in five minutes. All I’m going to do is read big, long books with no pictures.”
“Mommy, do you have my truck book?” Baby leans forward and digs in the pocket behind the driver’s seat.
“Nope. It’s at home. Sorry, Charlie.”
Baby sighs. “I want a Popsicle.”
Foster Lady rolls her eyes and glances at me. “Dr. Perlman gave him one of those pediatric pops once when I brought him in with a stomach bug, and he’s been trying for another one ever since. Do you remember if you had a lot of fevers or ear infections when you were his age?”
Oh, right. Like I remember how often I had a runny nose or something. “How should I know?”
Foster Lady’s smile is brief. “Hope remembers sitting on Henry’s motorcycle when she was just two years old.”
Peas and Carrots Page 7
