A boy she didn’t recognize held the front door open for her.
“Wow, I heard about what happened, but I didn’t know you’d have to be on crutches!” he said, waiting until Alex had fully made it through the door before following behind her toward the lockers.
“Yeah, it’s just for a couple of weeks, so I don’t strain it,” Alex said. She couldn’t believe the boy—who she thought was probably an eighth-grader—knew who she was.
“Man, I was talking to Cindy this morning. She feels so bad about what happened,” the boy went on. “She was like, ‘Peter, I totally didn’t mean to do it!’ ”
“Well, I would hope she didn’t mean to do it,” Alex said, glad to learn the boy’s name. “Why would anyone do that on purpose?”
Peter shrugged. “Cindy can be a little snotty sometimes, but she’d never hurt someone like that. Do you need help with your backpack or anything?” He stopped with Alex in front of her locker.
Alex smiled. “No, I’m okay,” she said. “Thanks, though!”
“No problem. Maybe I’ll see you at lunch or something. Are you going to the football game on Friday?” Peter asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe!” Alex said. “See you later!”
“Bye,” Peter said, smiling.
Alex opened her locker and gingerly set her crutches to one side. She placed her backpack inside, and took out her book for first period. As she was reaching onto the top shelf for a notebook and a pen, Bridgette came up next to her.
“Hey, Al!” she said. “Oh my gosh, you didn’t tell me you had to get crutches!”
Alex swung her locker door shut. “Yeah, just for a couple of weeks,” she said. “They aren’t so bad . . . it’s kind of fun, actually.”
Bridgette leaned in closer. In a conspiratorial tone, she whispered, “So . . . I saw you talking to Peter!”
Alex laughed and shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t know you knew him—but yeah, he held the door for me and then walked me to my locker. Are you friends with him?”
“No, but I know who he is. He’s like one of the cutest boys in the eighth grade!” Bridgette exclaimed. “What did he say to you?” She reached for Alex’s book. “Let me help you,” she added.
Alex swung herself onto her crutches. “Thanks,” she said. “Well, he told me he heard about what happened, and then he asked if I was going to the football game on Friday.”
“What did you say?” Bridgette responded excitedly as they made their way toward Alex’s homeroom.
“I told him I didn’t know,” Alex said, laughing. “Do you want to go?”
“Absolutely!” Bridgette said. “It’ll be really fun!”
They reached Alex’s classroom, and Bridgette followed her in, placing Alex’s books on an empty desk for her. “See you at lunch,” she said.
“See you!” Alex replied. She settled herself into the chair and opened her book.
Lucy walked into the classroom and slid into a chair next to Alex. “Alex, I heard about what happened!” she said. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Alex said, placing her finger into the book so she wouldn’t lose her page. “I just have to use these crutches for a while.”
“Oh, wow,” Lucy said. “Gosh, I heard last night, and I wanted to call you, but I didn’t have your phone number!”
“I should give it to you,” Alex said. “Then we could hang out over the weekend.”
“Definitely!” Lucy replied happily. “So, are you going to be able to play soccer anymore?”
“Oh, yeah,” Alex said. “I can’t play for a couple of weeks, but I’m still going to go to practice. I’ll be able to learn some stuff from watching.”
“That’s good,” Lucy replied just as their teacher walked into the room. She went on in a whisper, “We’ll talk more later, okay?” Alex nodded and opened her book again.
By the time lunch rolled around, a dozen people—mostly strangers, or kids she barely knew from class—had come up to talk to Alex about what had happened. One girl told her that Cindy had cried about it after the game, which made Alex feel better. She hadn’t wanted to believe that Cindy would have hurt her on purpose, but the mean comments Cindy had made about her made it difficult to think that the injury had been an accident. So it was good to know that she hadn’t meant to hurt Alex. Not that Alex really wanted anyone to cry, but still.
At lunch, as soon as Alex entered the cafeteria, she heard Bridgette calling to her. As she hobbled across the room, careful not to slide on the hard linoleum floor, she passed Peter, who was sitting at a table with his friends. “Hey, Alex,” he said casually. “How’s it going?”
Alex beamed at him. “Great! The crutches aren’t so bad.” She stopped walking. “Once you get used to them, I mean.”
“Man, I was on crutches one time,” one of Peter’s friends said. “I broke my leg. The worst part was, it was summer, so I couldn’t go swimming.”
Peter laughed. “Dude, you can’t swim anyway,” he said.
The other boy shrugged. “That’s true, but maybe if I could’ve that summer, I would’ve learned!”
“So did you decide if you’re coming to the football game?” Peter asked Alex.
“I think my friend Bridgette and I are going,” Alex replied.
“Cool!” Peter said. “See you tomorrow night then.”
“See you,” Alex said, beginning to walk toward Bridgette’s table.
She set the crutches at an angle against the table and sat down before realizing she hadn’t gotten any food. “You want me to grab you some lunch?” Bridgette asked.
“That would be amazing,” Alex replied with a smile. “Thanks, Bridgette.” She handed Bridgette a few crumpled dollar bills she’d had clenched in her hand, and Bridgette hopped up and went to the hot lunch line.
The two girls gossiped and laughed while they ate, and when the bell rang to signal the end of lunch, Bridgette cleared Alex’s plate for her, and helped her get to her locker.
“See you in math!” Bridgette said before leaving to get her own books.
“Bye!” Alex said. It was funny—she knew that hurting her ankle had made her kind of a celebrity, but she didn’t mind, because it gave her the opportunity to talk to people she might have been too shy to approach. Talk about finding a silver lining!
Posted by: Alex
Subject: My hurt ankle!
Hi, guys—
I’ve started reading The Pinballs! It’s so good. I hope you all like it so far!
Also, I sprained my ankle yesterday during my soccer game—and because of it, I didn’t make the goal I would’ve scored! It’s okay, though. It isn’t a bad sprain, and I only have to be on crutches for a couple of weeks. And for some reason, being on crutches makes me a semi-celebrity in school! Lots of people I don’t even know are coming up to me to talk to me about my injury. Isn’t that crazy? Who would have thought it would take something like this to help me meet new friends?
Anyway, no one has posted in a couple of days, so I thought I would write. What’s everyone up to?
Love, Al
grace> THURSDAY
After drama club, Grace let the front door slam behind her as she placed her backpack on the floor and began taking off her sneakers. She didn’t expect anyone to be at home, so she jumped when her mother called from the kitchen, “Grace? Can you please come in here?”
“Uh . . . okay, Mom, I’m just taking my shoes off,” she called. She placed her sneakers side by side under the coat rack and walked slowly to the kitchen.
Her parents sat beside each other at the kitchen table. “Hey, guys,” she said nervously. “What’s up? Why are you home so early?”
“We need to talk, Grace,” her father said. He motioned to the chair across the table from them. “Sit down, please.”
Grace gingerly slid the chair out and sat down. She bit her nails. “Um . . . is everything okay?”
Grace’s parents looked at each other. “No, everything is not okay,” Grace
’s mother said. “We talked to Mr. Roslyn today.”
“Oh!” Grace said. “Did he tell you that he lent me Peter Pan to read? For fun, not for schoolwork. And I told him that I was in the play, and—”
“He called to tell us how proud he was of the progress you’ve been making,” Grace’s dad said. “And we were really proud too. We heard you got a B on your pop quiz, and he told us about you coming to him for help, which must have been hard for you to do.”
Grace nodded. “He was really nice,” she said.
“Right. He’s a nice man,” Grace’s dad went on. “We also told him how you were spending afternoons at the library.”
Grace’s heart sunk. “You did?” she asked quietly.
“Funny, Grace, you never told us he was the after-school library monitor,” Grace’s mom interjected.
“He is?” Grace said, for lack of anything better to say. She thought about making one of her patented dramatic gestures, but then thought better of it.
“He is. Which is why he sounded surprised when we mentioned your after-school studying,” Grace’s father said. He crossed his arms and looked at Grace’s mother. “He asked if perhaps we meant the public library.”
Grace looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. “Oh,” she said quietly.
“Grace, what have you been doing after school?” her mother asked.
Grace looked at her. “I . . .” She paused. She knew that she was about to get grounded—she could tell by the look on her parents’ faces. She sighed. “I joined the drama club. It meets every day after school. I’ve been having a great time—”
“Grace, I can’t believe you’d join the drama club after we specifically told you that you needed to work on your grades this year!” her father said angrily. Grace’s heart sank. There went any chance she had to convince them that she could handle drama club. Now even straight A’s wouldn’t matter.
“And I can’t believe,” her mother put in, “that I’ve been so proud of you, for how hard you’re working, and for the effort I thought you were making.”
Grace felt tears build up in her eyes. “I have been working hard, Mom,” she said. “I have been making an effort. I read all of Hatchet and I got a B on the quiz, and my friends from camp are going to do the book club with me again for our next book, which is The Pinballs, and I started reading it early, and I talked to Mr. Roslyn . . . ”
She stopped, closing her eyes against the sting of the tears. She could tell her hard work wasn’t going to make a difference in the face of the lies she’d told. “I’m really sorry,” she finished quietly, opening her eyes again. “I thought I could do both, be a good student and be in the drama club. I really love drama club. I made a bunch of new friends, and . . .” She trailed off as a single tear spilled out of her eye.
“Grace,” her mother said softly, “you are grounded. For one week. And I’m going to call the drama club leader and tell her that you are not allowed to participate any longer. You will come home immediately from school and do your homework.”
“But Mom, all of my friends are in drama club,” Grace begged. “Please don’t make me quit. I’m doing so well in it, and I’m doing my homework, and . . . please don’t make me quit drama club. Please.”
Grace’s father shook his head. “No, Grace. We told you from the beginning you wouldn’t be allowed to be in drama club. We thought you’d appreciate being allowed to join after the semester, if you maintained a B average. You’ve really disappointed us, and so that offer is gone. You will quit drama club.”
“But—” Grace began.
Her father held up his hand. “Stop, Grace,” he said. “Our answer is final.”
“Okay,” Grace said sadly. She looked at her parents. “May I please be excused?” she asked.
“Don’t you want dinner?” her mom asked. “I made spaghetti.”
“No,” Grace said. “I’ll eat some later.”
Grace’s mom sighed. “Then yes, you can be excused, Grace. I’m sorry about all this.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Grace said. Tears began streaming ever faster down her face, and she turned and ran to the staircase, pausing only slightly to grab her backpack. In her room, she threw herself onto her bed and sobbed.
After her tears had subsided slightly, she sat up, wiped her face with her sleeve, and walked to the computer desk. She immediately went to the Camp Lakeview blog. There was a new message from Alex, which she read and responded to quickly. After she’d read Alex’s message, she checked her e-mail. There was one new e-mail, from their camp counselor, Julie. The subject was “URGENT ACTION NEEDED!” so Grace clicked on it right away. After reading it, her problems didn’t seem so big anymore.
From: CounselorJulie
Subject: URGENT ACTION NEEDED!
Hi, girls—
I got some terrible news today. Chelsea’s mom e-mailed me, saying that Chelsea’s dad is sick.
She didn’t tell me what was wrong, but I got the impression it’s not good. Her parents told her the news right when she returned home from camp. That’s why we haven’t heard from her at all on the blog.
Anyway, it would be really nice if we could do something to let her know that we’re thinking of her. I know it would make her feel better.
Hope you guys are all okay.
Love,
Julie
Grace immediately sent an e-mail to all the camp girls.
From: Grrrrace
Re: URGENT ACTION NEEDED!
You guys . . . we have to do something.
XO
Grace
chapter TEN
Jenna> FRIDAY
Lying in her bed, Jenna coughed loudly. She checked the clock: seven forty-five. She should have been downstairs ready to leave for school five minutes earlier.
She heard footsteps on the stairs, and there was a knock on her door. “Jenna?” her mom called. “You in there? It’s about time to leave for school,” she said.
“Uhhh . . . ” Jenna groaned.
The door to her bedroom creaked open. “Oh, Jenna . . . ” her mom said sympathetically. “That cold you’ve been fighting all week seems to have caught up with you, huh?”
“I guess so,” Jenna answered in her best sick voice.
Her mom put her hand on Jenna’s forehead. “You do feel a little warm. . . . Okay, honey. You should stay home today to rest. I have to go to work, but I’ll bring up some juice for you, and I’ll send a note to school with Adam.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Jenna croaked. “I think I’m just going to stay in bed all day.”
“I’ll bring home some soup for you on my lunch break, sweetheart.”
“Okay,” Jenna said, rolling over onto her stomach. “Bye, Mom.”
“Bye, sweetheart,” her mom said. “Feel better.”
She left, and Jenna waited until she heard the front door slam and her mom’s car pull out of the driveway before she got up and headed into the family room to watch TV.
At about nine thirty, just as second period was ending, she got a call from Nicole. “I can’t talk long,” her friend said. “I have to run to class. But are you really sick, or are you faking?”
“What do you think?” Jenna asked.
“Wow, your mom believed you?” Nicole asked.
“Yeah, she totally bought it,” Jenna said. “I coughed a lot, and used the ol’ warm-washcloth-on-the-forehead trick. You know, where you put it on your forehead, and then dry off your face, so it’s still warm? It was perfect timing, too—she came in like three seconds after I got back into bed.”
“Nice,” Nicole replied. “Well, you’d better have a miracle recovery. The party’s going to be tonight, instead of tomorrow.”
Jenna’s heart sank. “What? Why?” she asked.
“My parents are having a party tomorrow night,” Nicole said. “So they told me I couldn’t have my friends over at the same time.”
“Oh no!” Jenna responded. “Mom’ll never let me go!”
“W
ell, start working on it,” Nicole said. “You’ll work it out. Maybe when she gets home from work you could act like you feel better, or something.”
“No, that won’t work, because then I’ll have to go to my dad’s!” Jenna replied.
“Oh. Right. I forgot,” Nicole said. She paused. “Man. I wish I could think of something. I’ll let you know if I do. But now I’d better go—the bell’s about to ring. See you later!”
“Bye,” Jenna said weakly. She hung up the phone and stared blankly at the receiver for a moment. What was she going to do? She had to come up with a plan . . . and fast. No way would her mom let her go to Nicole’s party if she was sick . . . and no way could she stay home from her dad’s house if she wasn’t sick. She had a real problem.
When her mom came home at lunch, she’d decided what to do. Instead of watching talk shows, game shows, and soap operas all day, Jenna had been lying in her bed and thinking about the problem at hand. Once she remembered that her mom had planned on driving all four kids to their dad’s house, she had it all figured out.
Jenna’s mom walked into the house carrying a take-out container of soup. After setting it down on the kitchen table, she climbed the stairs to Jenna’s room and opened the door.
“Hey, Jen,” she said, sitting down on Jenna’s bed. “Are you feeling any better?”
“No,” Jenna replied, rolling over to face her mom. “You’re going to stay with me tonight, right?”
Jenna’s mom looked worried. “Well, I promised your dad I’d drive you guys to his house,” she said. “And I have to run some errands, too. You’ll obviously stay home, but you’ll be alone for a few hours.”
Jenna bit her lip. “Oh,” she said. “Okay. What time are you going to leave?”
“Matt has science club after school, so we’ll probably leave after dinner,” Jenna’s mom said. “At about seven or so. But I’ll be home before ten for sure, honey,” she added quickly.
Camp Confidential 05 - TTYL Page 10
