by Ronni Arno
I shuffle along the hallway, keeping my head down the entire way. A weird smell wafts through the air, and the closer I get, the worse it is. The stink makes my eyes tear, and when I reach my locker, my stomach lurches.
My locker door is open.
And it’s filled, top to bottom, with cow manure.
CHAPTER
12
HALF OF THE MIDDLE SCHOOL is huddled around my locker. The boys are cracking up, and the girls look like they’re going to hurl.
“Whose locker is that, anyway?” somebody asks.
And at that minute, Kathryn comes running up to me. “Oh my goodness, Poppy!” She puts her arm around my shoulder. “Isn’t that your locker?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath. I have to keep it together. I can’t let her know she got to me.
I nod.
“Why would somebody do that to your locker?” Kathryn purses her lips as if she’s actually pondering the question.
“I have no idea,” I whisper.
“Does anyone know who pooped Poppy’s locker?” She says it so everybody in the entire school can hear. I know she did it on purpose. So everyone would know that it’s my locker.
A group of boys laugh. “Poopy Poppy,” they say.
Great. Now I will forever be known as Poopy Poppy.
“What the—” Brody squeezes into the crowd. “What happened?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” Kathryn makes a pouty face. “Who could have done this to Poppy’s locker?”
“Holy—” Brody begins, but he’s interrupted by Mr. Russo.
“Okay, everybody, back to class.” He waves his arms and scurries the onlookers away. “Go, go, go. The bell is going to ring any minute now, and I won’t be issuing late passes.”
Kids scurry away, excitedly whispering to each other all the way to homeroom.
“Poppy, why don’t you come with me.” Mr. Russo gives me a halfhearted smile, and I follow him down the hallway.
“Mr. Russo,” Kathryn calls after him. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Mr. Russo stops and turns around. “I don’t know, Kathryn. Did you see anything?”
“Well.” Kathryn tilts her head, and her ponytail falls to one side. “I think I might have.”
“Then by all means, come with us to my office.”
Kathryn and I follow Mr. Russo into his office, and he closes the door behind him. He motions for us to sit down.
“Poppy, do you have any idea why anyone might have done this to your locker?”
I glance at Kathryn, who’s looking at me with eyes the size of volleyballs. I quickly calculate the consequences of telling Mr. Russo that the only person who might have done this to my locker is Kathryn.
1) He won’t believe me. Kathryn goes out of her way to act sweet and caring in front of all teachers. 2) Her mom is on the school board, which makes her Mr. Russo’s boss. 3) My dad. He seems so happy, and I know he wants to ask Kathryn’s mom out to dinner. And who knows, maybe Kathryn’s mom is actually a nice person? Maybe her jerkiness isn’t genetic. Doesn’t my dad at least deserve a glimmer of hope at a love life, even if the thought of it makes me feel a little queasy?
Both Mr. Russo and Kathryn are staring at me, waiting for an answer.
“I can’t think of anybody,” I mumble.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a smirk come over Kathryn’s face. I quickly look down at my shoes.
“And what did you see, Kathryn?” Mr. Russo asks.
“Well, I can’t tell for sure, but I could have sworn I saw someone hanging around Poppy’s locker at dismissal yesterday. It looked like they were, you know, scoping it out.”
“And do you know who that person was?” Mr. Russo raises an eyebrow at Kathryn.
Kathryn squirms in her chair and folds her hands in her lap. “I’d rather not say, Mr. Russo. I really don’t want to get anyone in trouble.”
Mr. Russo gives Kathryn a compassionate nod. “I understand. Nobody wants to tell on their classmates. But this is very important.”
“I know,” Kathryn says, looking up at Mr. Russo. “I want to do the right thing. . . .”
“The right thing is to let me know who you saw.” Mr. Russo takes off his glasses. “The person who did this may be troubled, and if we find out who it is, we can help.”
“Well, as long as I know it’s going to help someone . . .” Kathryn bites her lip. I look at Mr. Russo, and he’s nodding. I can’t believe he’s falling for this act.
Kathryn sighs. Loudly. “It was Britt Fuller. She was lurking by Poppy’s locker yesterday.”
“What?” I stand up. “That’s impossible. Britt wasn’t even in school yesterday.”
“I know,” Kathryn says. “That’s why I even noticed it. It seemed really weird.”
“Thank you for telling me, Kathryn,” Mr. Russo says. “You did the right thing.”
“But it wasn’t her!” I say. “I’m sure of it.”
“I’m not saying she did it,” Kathryn says. “I’m only saying I saw her by your locker.”
“I know for a fact she was home yesterday. She wasn’t feeling well.” I look at Mr. Russo.
“We’ll talk to her,” he says.
“It wasn’t her,” I say again. “She wouldn’t do that.”
“I’m glad you are supporting Ms. Fuller,” Mr. Russo says. “But I think it’s fair to say that you only just met her. You really don’t know what she would or wouldn’t do. We need to investigate all the leads we can.”
Hot tears sting my eyes. I can’t let Britt get in trouble for this. I know it was Kathryn. I absolutely know it.
But I can’t prove it.
“I’m sure this is upsetting, Poppy.” Mr. Russo hands me a tissue, and I realize tears are streaming down my face. “This is not what you want during your first week at a new school. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”
I dab the corners of my eyes with the tissue. I refuse to look at Kathryn. She’s probably getting way too much pleasure out of this.
“Kathryn, why don’t you head to class?” Mr. Russo says. “Poppy, you can stay here for a few more minutes.”
Panic crosses Kathryn’s face. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay and wait with her?”
“No, go on. She may need some more time, and there’s no reason for you to miss any more class.”
I get a glimmer of satisfaction at knowing that Kathryn’s worried that I might tell Mr. Russo that I think it’s her. And if I had some proof, even a sliver of evidence, I would.
“Is there anything you want to tell me, Poppy?” Mr. Russo sits in the chair Kathryn was just in. “Privately?”
I look up at him for a split second. He looks kind, like he might even understand . . .
But what if he doesn’t? That’s not a risk I can take.
“No,” I finally say. “There’s nothing.”
“Okay.” He leans back in his chair. “Stay here for as long as you’d like. I’ll write you a late pass whenever you’re ready to go to class.”
“Thank you,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
“One more thing.” Mr. Russo leans forward again. “I know you didn’t do anything wrong, but we’re going to have to call your father. We have rules about bullying, and by law, I need to tell him.”
“Do you have to?” I ask. “It’s just that . . . he’s really excited about living here and he seems to be trying for a fresh start. I don’t want to ruin that.”
“I’m afraid we do,” Mr. Russo says. “But, Poppy, you didn’t ruin anything. This isn’t your fault.”
Even though he’s being so nice, Mr. Russo’s words make me cry even harder.
“I’ll tell you what,” he says. “How about if we give it a week or so before I call your dad. To see if we can make some headway into who might have done this.”
“That would be good, thank you.”
Mr. Russo’s phone buzzes. He picks it up, listens, and then says, “
Send her in.”
The door opens, and Britt comes shooting through it.
“Hello, Ms. Fuller,” Mr. Russo says. “I understand you have something to tell me.”
CHAPTER
13
“I DIDN’T DO IT.” BRITT’S eyes are angry slits that dart back and forth between Mr. Russo and me.
“Nobody said you did.” Mr. Russo stands up and points to the chair next to mine. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
“I don’t feel like sitting.” Britt looks at me. “You know I didn’t do it, right, Poppy?”
I nod.
“Everyone out there is saying I did.” She puts her hands on her hips.
“Why don’t you take a seat?” Mr. Russo asks again, but it doesn’t sound like a question this time.
Britt slumps into the chair, but she doesn’t take her eyes off Mr. Russo.
“So.” Mr. Russo starts pacing. “I know you were absent yesterday—”
“I wasn’t feeling good,” Britt interrupts.
“I know that. Your mother called. It was an excused absence.” Mr. Russo sits on the edge of his desk. “But someone said they saw you near Poppy’s locker yesterday afternoon, around dismissal.”
“What?” Britt stands up. “That’s impossible. I wasn’t at school at all yesterday.”
“Yes,” Mr. Russo says. “We’re just trying to sort all this out.”
I close my eyes and lean back in my chair. Of course Britt couldn’t have done it. She wasn’t here all day, and she was home when I got off the bus with Brody. She was riding her bike. . . .
I snap my eyes open. She was riding her bike. I never asked her where she was coming from.
“Are you sure that you didn’t stop by, Britt, to pick up homework?” Mr. Russo crosses his arms.
“I think I’d remember that,” Britt says. “I told you. I wasn’t feeling good.”
If she was sick, why was Britt riding her bike? I try to remember what she said yesterday. Had she been sick, but then felt better? She seemed perfectly fine to me.
“Do you have any idea why someone would say they saw you if they didn’t?” Mr. Russo asks.
“Of course.” Britt is playing with the buckles on her leather jacket. “They’re trying to frame me.”
Mr. Russo purses his lips. “Why would they do that?”
Britt rolls her eyes. “Because they hate me.”
“I’m sure nobody hates you—” Mr. Russo says.
“Do you actually remember being in middle school, Mr. Russo?”
A flash of understanding crosses Mr. Russo’s face, and his gaze softens.
“Britt, you know I have to take anything anybody says very seriously. We’re going to have to verify where you were yesterday.”
“I told you,” Britt says. “I was home. My mom knows that.”
“Was she home with you?” Mr. Russo asks.
“She had to go to work.”
Mr. Russo sighs. “Okay, Britt. Why don’t you go back to class now?”
“Maybe you should be investigating whoever accused me of this.” Britt stands up. “Maybe they’re the person hiding something.”
And with that, she storms out of the office.
Mr. Russo rubs his eyes. “So you don’t think Britt had anything to do with this, Poppy?”
“I don’t think so,” I mumble. But then my mind goes back to yesterday afternoon. Why was she riding her bike if she was sick? And where was she coming from? If she did go to school at dismissal, the timing would have been perfect. She would have come home right around the time the bus got there.
I shake my head. It doesn’t make sense. Britt wouldn’t do that.
Would she?
“Why don’t you let Mrs. Simmons know what textbooks need to be replaced from your locker, okay? We’ll get those to you by the end of the day.”
I nod.
“Think you’re ready to head back to class?”
I nod again, even though I’m pretty sure I’ll never be ready to head back to class. At least, not any class in this school. My eyes tear up again as I think about how much I miss Mandy.
As I walk down the unfamiliar hallway, I have to remind myself that I don’t really know anyone here. Not Britt. Not Brody. Not even Kathryn.
I pass by my locker to find the janitorial staff still there, cleaning it up. The burning feeling I’ve had in my stomach all morning now moves up to my face. I feel so bad for them, having to clean up that disgusting mess.
It’s the middle of first period by the time I get done with Mr. Russo, and everyone in science chuckles when I walk in the room. Kathryn gives me a frowny face until Mr. Walker looks away. Then she and Emily start their whisperfest. Brody smiles when he sees me, but I don’t have the energy to smile back. I just want this day to be over with. I want it to be tomorrow already, so I don’t have to step foot in this school.
The janitorial crew is done cleaning my locker by the time class ends, but I just can’t bring myself to use it. Instead, I carry my backpack with me from class to class, careful to tuck it underneath my desk so nobody trips on it again.
I definitely can’t bring myself to go to the cafeteria for lunch. Instead, I tuck myself into a corner of the library. I find some books on roses, and I spend the next forty-five minutes learning everything I can on tea roses and miniature roses and climbing roses. When the bell rings, my brain is so filled with flowers that I’m not sure I have any room left to learn anything else today.
I check the books out, shove them into my ever-expanding backpack, and make my way to my next class. The halls are crowded, and a couple of the eighth-grade boys are throwing a Nerf football back and forth. The ball comes this close to whacking me in the head, but I duck just as it swooshes past.
“Nice save, Poopy Poppy,” one of them says, and the other one doubles over laughing.
I stare straight ahead and keep walking. When I get to language arts, I take my seat, pull Tuck Everlasting out of my backpack, and pretend to read until class starts.
I keep a low profile for the rest of the day. I stay in the classroom for as long as possible, then sprint to my next class, and do the same thing. The less time I spend in the hallway, the better.
The last bell rings, and I bolt out of class so I can snag the front seat on the bus. I’m so determined to get out of school that I barely notice the circle of kids yelling and jumping up to see what’s going on.
Right in front of my locker.
Keep walking, I tell myself.
And as much as I want to, I just can’t. I’m going to have to see sooner or later. I’m sure it has something to do with me.
I push through the excited students, until I’m close enough to see what everyone’s so enthusiastic about. It’s Britt.
She’s got Kathryn pinned to the locker.
My locker.
I’m about to say something when Brody squeezes through the other side of the circle, which is now fifteen kids deep. He’s out of breath and his hair is sticking straight up by the time he reaches his sister.
“What’s going on?” Brody demands.
Kathryn’s got tears streaming down her cheeks. “Brody, help me!”
“Britt, let her go,” Brody says between clenched teeth.
“Stay out of this, Brody,” Britt says. “This isn’t any of your business.”
“If it’s your business, it’s my business.” I can barely hear Brody because he’s trying to keep his voice down. “Mom would—”
“I’m sick of not doing the right thing because you think we have to protect Mom,” Britt says.
“How is beating someone up the right thing?” Brody hisses.
“She’s trying to frame me for what she did to Poppy’s locker!” Britt’s voice is getting louder.
“You don’t know that,” Brody whispers.
“Yeah, I do.” Brit is yelling now.
I know I should say something. Do something. But my feet are paralyzed. This is happening too fast.
&
nbsp; “Brody, please,” Kathryn says. The smirk is gone from Kathryn’s face, and it’s replaced with a quivering lip and watery eyes. Even her ponytail is drooping.
Brody touches Britt’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Britt shakes him off with one hand and holds on to Kathryn with the other.
“Go get a teacher,” someone yells from the crowd.
“Britt, let’s go.” Brody stares straight at her. She looks at him for a few seconds, and I wonder if this is one of those psychic twin conversations I’ve read about.
Britt drops Kathryn, pushes through the crowd, and disappears.
Kathryn takes a deep breath, tightens her ponytail, and smiles at Brody. “Thanks for calling your dog off.”
Brody winces but says nothing.
“You know I didn’t do anything wrong, right, Brody?” Kathryn blinks her eyes a few times, and for the first time since meeting her I notice that her eyes are such a light shade of brown, they are almost yellow. Like a snake’s.
“I don’t know what’s going on.” Brody shakes his head.
“She just has something against me. You know that, right?” Blink. Blink.
“Yeah, she always has. But why?” Brody scratches his chin.
“I wish I knew. I’ve tried to be friends with her. But for some reason she hates me.” Kathryn sticks her lower lip out, making her look like a five-year-old.
I don’t realize that most of the other kids have left, and I’m one of the only other people still standing there. Apparently, Brody and Kathryn don’t notice either, because neither of them even looks my way.
I shake my head so that my hair is covering my face, and I slowly turn around. I keep my head down and walk as fast as I can to the bus, my overly stuffed backpack whacking me in the shoulder blades with every step I take.
I’m the first one on the bus, and I slide into my favorite seat, just behind the bus driver. This time, I’ll make sure he stops at my house. I pull out Tuck Everlasting and stick my nose in it so nobody will talk to me. My plan doesn’t work. A bunch of kids still greet me with “Hey, Poopy Poppy” as they make their way to their seats in the back.
I sink farther down into my seat and close my eyes. Just a few more minutes. A few more minutes until the weekend, and I won’t have to deal with this insanity again for a while.
