by Nancy Rue
“That’s not true! She’s doing her part. She just doesn’t want to meet with us. Her mom won’t even let her!”
I stopped before I could say, “Why is that my fault?”
Mom rubbed her lips. I wished Nestlé was there. It would have been good to have somebody to hang onto so I didn’t blurt out things that were going to get me grounded until eighth grade.
“All right,” Mom said. “Ophelia and her mother both have a strong sense of the dramatic, I’ll give you that. And I’m not one to interfere with your friendships. You girls have to learn to work out your own drama. But it’s not very nice to treat your friends like that.”
Drama? Why did that not sound like the right word?
“I just want to make sure that you’re not excluding Ophelia. I like that you’re making new friends, but you and she have been together a long time. It’s not okay to cut her out just because other people want to be around you too.”
I could feel my eyes glazing over. I had to let them, or I really was going to say something punishment-producing. Prickles stood up on the back of my neck. Mom hadn’t been there since exactly January 26 when this all started. Suddenly she was home and telling me what to do, when she didn’t even know anything about it—
She reached over and drummed her fingers on the top of my hand. “I have to get back to Granna. We can talk about this later.”
Whatever.
“Okay?”
“Okay,” I said.
“I’m going to trust you on this,” she said. But as those words hung in the air after she left, I didn’t hear trust coming out of them. I heard, “I really don’t have time for this.”
I waited until the car started and then I headed for the kitchen. Mom might not have time, but Lydia always did.
When I got there, though, she was gone, and so were Winnie, Ginger, and Mitch.
Even with Nestlé nosing at my hand, I’d never felt so alone.
Chapter Nineteen
The next day, Tuesday, our tribelet stayed with our new routine, and it worked without a hitch. Ginger was practically doing the Happy Dance by the end of the day, and Winnie was smiling like she was her own little sunshine. Mitch had apparently been saving up her high fives all day because she did them with each of us until my hands were stinging. We were going to have to think up a different celebration ritual for Mitch or nobody was going to have any palms left.
But I couldn’t help being suspicious. The Pack got out of our way when we “Walked It Girl” down the hall. They didn’t figure out our alternate routes. And even though they “guarded” the restrooms in twos now, we caught onto that before third period and we went in pairs too. Still, they weren’t stepping things up the way I thought they would.
From the way they had their heads touching every chance they got, I deduced they were planning. During science and in the lunchroom and in English class when Mrs. Fickus took us all to the library and they got the table behind the biography section, they all leaned together and once in a while a head would pop up and swivel around and go back down. It was like watching a bunch of meerkats.
I did watch them. Think Sharp. That was my job.
So how did I miss what they were planning until it was too late?
During science class Tuesday, Mr. V told us to start bringing in our work on our projects so he could check our progress. After school at my house, Lydia wasn’t there—Dad said she had another appointment—so we made our charts showing the statistics, the child development line, and the differences between girl-mean and boy-mean and the reasons people bully, each one in a different color. That last one was Ginger’s idea. Winnie already had the written part in a binder, and while we made charts, she punched holes in the pages Ophelia had given her.
It really did feel like a tribelet and I was liking that, when all of a sudden Winnie said in a jittery voice, “Um, guys? Look what Ophelia wrote.”
Winnie passed the paper to me and everybody leaned on the table.
“Some psychologists,” I read out loud, “say that it’s normal for children to exhibit aggressive social behavior starting as early as age six. Usually it peaks at age eleven or twelve and fades out completely in the middle of high school.”
“That is not in her own words,” Winnie said.
“Not only that, it’s not even true,” Mitch said.
“It says some psychologists,” I said. “We’re supposed to give all sides.”
Winnie pointed at the paper. “Look what else it says.”
“After interviewing teachers,” Ophelia had written, “I can conclude that students blow drama out of proportion, because teachers rarely see it and when they do, they ignore it and it almost always disappears in time.”
“When did she interview teachers?” I said.
We all looked at each other, except Ginger, who was staring a hole into the table.
“What, Ginger?” I said. “C’mon, we have to be honest with each other.”
“I saw her talking to Mrs. Fickus in the library today. And Mr. Jett at lunch.”
Why hadn’t I seen her? I felt a pang. It used to be I saw everything Phee did. Phee, who I wasn’t allowed to call that anymore.
“What are we gonna do, Tori?” Winnie said.
“Okay,” I said. “We have to include both sides, but we have more stuff on the other side, so we can still come to the same conclusion.”
Winnie flipped through her own pages. “ ‘Bullying is learned behavior, and it can and should be unlearned,’ ” she read.
“So we’re gonna stand up and say Mrs. Fickus and Mr. Jett are wrong?” Ginger’s face was going blotchy.
“Don’t use their names,” Mitch said.
“And talk to some other teachers who do get it.”
I stared at Winnie. “And who would that be?”
“Mr. V. Right?”
“No!” I wanted to scream. “He’s in on it with them!”
I must have shaken my head pretty hard because Mitch said, “Why not?”
“Because he’s our teacher for the project,” Ginger said. “That wouldn’t be right.”
I looked at her in surprise. When she looked back at me with her blueberry eyes, I knew she knew about Mr. V too. Why not? He was the one who set her up for the moldy gingerbread prank.
“We should just leave it like it is,” I said. “Scientists include all the information they gather.”
We got busy spreading everything out in the kitchen and stepped back to look at all of it.
The rest of the group decided that Mr. V would be impressed. I wasn’t so sure—not after the gingerbread incident. But we couldn’t let him bluff us into silence either. And since I was the leader, I was going to make sure of that.
Winnie was in charge of bringing everything Wednesday morning, rolled up into wrapping paper tubes, because her mom always dropped her off at school on her way to work. Besides, Winnie was the best at keeping things neat. We excused her from locker duty before school so she could take it directly to Mr. V’s room.
My imaginary antennae should have gone up when the Pack didn’t leave their den before school and come up to the lockers to harass Ginger.
And when they all came in almost late to Mrs. Zabriski’s class.
And when Shelby didn’t guard the bathroom door before fourth period because she and Izzy and Heidi were in there scrubbing marker off their hands like they were preparing for surgery.
Even though Kylie hardly stopped staring at me all morning, looking like she’d already won the war and I didn’t know it, I still didn’t find out what was going on until the tribelet followed Mr. V into the lab to give him our progress report.
My first clue was when the whole classroom, the room that always buzzed like a hive of bees, got totally quiet when Mr. V told us it was our turn. Of course, Kylie would want to hear what we were saying. She’d already told me I was dead if we did our presentation.
Don’t let them bluff you into silence.
I kept repeat
ing that to myself as we lined up in front of Mr. V with our backs to the class. I didn’t like that arrangement, but there was nothing I could do about it.
Just as we’d planned, each of us held a chart or list that we’d done on big paper and when it was our turn to speak, we would step forward. Ophelia didn’t have a chart, so we asked her to hold the binder and tell Mr. V what she found out. That was only fair. She pouted like she didn’t think so, but I was starting not to care what she thought.
I was first. I stepped forward and unrolled my chart on bullying statistics, to first show that meanness/bullying was a problem to begin with. I stepped to the side of it so I could see it at the same time Mr. V did.
The quiet-as-a-bank classroom erupted into a unanimous snicker. I tried to ignore it and continued down the graph of what I thought were pretty impressive statistics. I sure didn’t see anything funny about them. Mr. V didn’t seem to see anything about them. He kept looking up at the class, because as I stood there the noise evolved from snickers to guffaws to a full-out roar.
Finally Mr. V put his hand up for me to stop and then moved around us toward the classroom.
Mitch poked me in the back. When I turned around to look, all I saw was Ginger with her hand smothering her mouth. She was not “Saving the Tears.” They ran down her face like two little rivers.
“What is going on?” Ophelia said between her teeth.
Nobody answered. Winnie just pointed to the back of the graph I was still holding.
I looked. And then all I could think was, “No! Nonononono! No!”
On the back of the graph I’d worked so hard on, someone had reproduced the I Hate Gingerbread Club sign-up sheet in thick marker—about six times the size of the original. The lines were all filled up this time, but I didn’t read them. I was feeling throw-up sick enough already.
“Tori, look!” Winnie whispered.
The back of her chart had more “I Hate Gingerbread” comments on it. So did Mitch’s. Ginger’s was different. Hers had a drawing that looked almost exactly like her, only the cheeks were all puffed up like someone had pumped them with a bicycle pump. Something brown was drawn coming out of the mouth.
“I have to get out of here,” Ginger said.
“No,” I said. “You can’t let them win.”
“They already have,” she said.
The foghorn was dead. And I couldn’t blame it.
But Mitch held onto Ginger’s arm and Winnie whispered in her ear. I moved so I could hear what Mr. V was saying to the class.
Actually he wasn’t talking. Kylie was.
“I’m sorry we laughed, Mr. V,” she said, eyes all round and serious. “It really isn’t funny. Why would they do that to a member of their own group?”
Big throw-ups. Big.
“I don’t know, Kylie,” Mr. V said. “Why would they?”
Heidi raised her hand. “Because some people are just immaCHUR?”
“Let me at her just one time,” Mitch muttered behind me.
Mr. V turned to us. I’d never seen him look so . . . old. “Did you ladies do this?” he said.
“No,” I said. “We. Did. Not.”
“Of course they’re going to say that,” Riannon said.
Mr. V whipped his head toward her. “How about if you let me be the teacher?”
The whole Pack looked like they’d been slapped.
“All right, everybody take a seat.”
We started to roll up our charts, but Mr. V said, “Leave that. Sit down.”
We did. Mitch was still holding on to Ginger’s arm so she wouldn’t fly out of the room. And I handed Winnie a wad of Kleenex out of my backpack. I didn’t even look at Ophelia. I didn’t want to see I-told-you on her face.
“I have had enough of this Gingerbread deal, people,” Mr. V said. His elastic mouth was like a drawstring pulled really tight. “I don’t know who started it or why or who’s still involved, but it ends right here, right now. Am I clear?”
“Yeah, I can see right through you,” Andrew said.
“I’m not joking, Andrew.”
I never saw a kid wipe a grin off his face so fast. Meanwhile, the Pack all had Miss Innocence expressions on theirs. Kylie was doing everything but saying, “This so does not apply to me.”
“I should have put a stop to it sooner,” Mr. V said. “And, Ginger, I apologize to you. That’s my share of the responsibility.” He leaned on his high stool with both straight arms. Jeepers. He was almost scary. “And I will get to the bottom of this and make sure whoever else is responsible is brought to justice.”
Heidi had the nerve to giggle. “It’s not like . . . somebody broke the law or something.”
“Something doesn’t have to be illegal to be wrong,” he said. “And in my class, this is wrong.”
The bell rang, and the class erupted like a mini-volcano to get out of there. We were going to have to wait if we didn’t want to get trampled.
“Kylie, stay,” Mr. V said. “Heidi, Riannon, you too. I want to talk to you.”
“We’ll get in trouble with Mr. Jett!” Heidi said.
“You’re about to be in trouble with me if you don’t stop arguing and do what I ask you to do.”
I knew I was the only one in our tribelet except Ginger who was confused. We were the only ones who knew he was in on this whole thing. No wonder he felt “responsible.”
I didn’t share any of that with the tribelet. I just let them quietly celebrate through lunch, especially since the three Pack members never did show up and Izzy and Shelby sat at their table looking like they didn’t even know how to eat without Kylie to show them how to do it the cool way.
They did come to English class. I couldn’t read anything on their faces, but when Izzy whispered something to Kylie, she shut her up with a “Leave me alone!” that actually got her name on the board. I thought Mitch was going to do a somersault.
Me? I knew all of this was just making Kylie angrier. This war was about to get ugly.
I found out I was right, from the last person I ever expected.
Chapter Twenty
That night I had dinner with Mom and Dad, and they told me I could see Granna on Sunday, and I’d gotten to talk to Lydia long enough to tell her what happened, so I was feeling a little better. I was even starting to hope that Mr. V was going to take over and fix this whole thing, maybe because he felt guilty.
And then the phone rang when I was getting ready for bed and Mom hollered for me to answer it because it was the Smiths’ number. I took the phone in my room before I said hello.
Ophelia just said, “I need to talk to you, Tori.”
I closed my door. “I’m alone, except for Nestlé, and he won’t tell anybody anything.”
“I’m not alone. Meet me by the library before school.”
I started to say I had to be at the lockers before school, but I changed my mind. Ophelia’s voice sounded like a thread. One wrong thing out of me and it would probably break, and I’d never have a chance to hear what she wanted to tell me.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll try to get there early.”
Phee was there before me, pulling her braid out of the coil thing. A couple of her fingers had Band-Aids on them. The places under her eyes looked like dark crescent moons.
“You don’t look so good,” I said.
“Thank you so much!”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” I said. As far as good starts went, this one was about a minus one. “You just look like you’re sick.”
“I am. I’m going to ask the nurse to send me home when first period starts. I just wanted to tell you something.”
I nodded.
Ophelia looked over her shoulder and pulled me into the corner by the trash can. She really didn’t have to do that. Nobody else was in the halls. The library wasn’t even open yet.
“You have to find a way to do the presentation of our project without the whole class seeing it.”
My heart took a total nosedive. “Jeep
ers, we already went through this a hundred times.”
“No! Listen to me! I heard Kylie and them talking. I’m invisible to them again, like we used to be, because I’m not . . . with you anymore.”
I bit into my lip and waited while she blinked back a bunch of tears.
“They don’t even realize I’m around when they’re talking and that’s why I know they’re planning a big plot.”
“What kind of plot?”
“Against you. Because you’re the leader like Kylie’s the leader and she hates that, and she doesn’t want you getting bigger than her and more popular.”
“That is the stupidest thing!”
“I know that. They’re going to do something right after the presentation . . . I don’t know what it is. If I find out, I’ll tell you.”
“How are you going to find out if you’re not at school?”
“I will be after this,” she said. “I have to go home today because I didn’t go to sleep the whole night because I was so scared about this.”
“You don’t have to do the presentation with us,” I said. “I promise we’ll say what you found out, even though—”
“I don’t even care about that!” Ophelia was digging her fingers-without-nails into my arm. “I’m scared for you. It’s you they’re after.”
Keys jingled from someplace down the hall. That meant the librarian was on her way. Ophelia gave me one last look with her big eyes that had grown to twice their size.
“Find a way, Tori,” she said. “They can’t hear that presentation.”
“We can’t let them bluff us into silence. Besides, what are we supposed to do, take an F?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it would be better—”
“You’re not serious!”
No. Nonononono. She was not asking me to fail. If I did that, I’d be failing the tribelet too.
Ophelia shook her head. “Then I don’t know what to do anymore,” she said.
I counted the minutes until I could get home and talk to Lydia. The tribelet wasn’t coming that day because we had to see what Mr. V gave us on our progress report before we could go any further. Mom said she was going to be at the shop. Dad was with Granna today. It would just be Lydia and me.
