9. The waiting is the worst part. I’d feel substantially better if there was no waiting at all. I’d even feel substantially better if I had anyone to talk to, but I think that, even if I did, they wouldn’t understand.
10. So I guess the reason I’m still doing these sentences, even though I’m not very zealous about them, is because I have no one to talk to but myself. And that’s better than nothing.
Detention shifted to Thursday this week so that no one would have to stay after school on Halloween. How nice.
Just kidding. It was terrible. But not because something horrible happened. I was just ready to get the heck out of there and check the mail. I knew it had only been three days since I’d sent that letter to Dad, but maybe that had been enough time for the letter to have gotten there and for a letter to come back.
So I was focusing on the letter and not on detention, because detention is always the same anyway. That’s why it took me so long to notice that Eddie wasn’t there. Which was odd. I’d always thought he was kind of a permanent fixture. After detention, I asked Miss Fergusson if he was sick that day.
“No, no,” Miss Fergusson told me. “He turned in all his overdue work, so he doesn’t have detention anymore. Ever since he joined your club, he’s been doing a lot better in class.”
Great. Miss Fergusson looked so happy, I didn’t know how to tell her that Eddie hated me now, and the club was over. If only he was in detention, I could have apologized. “Do you think Eddie’s better at running the club than me?” I asked Miss Fergusson.
“I think, Miss Star Mackie, that without you, Eddie would be failing the fifth grade, as smart as he is. That’s what I think.” She smiled at me and gave me a butterscotch candy from her desk.
It’s so unfair that I’m stuck with Mr. Savage all year.
I thanked Miss Fergusson and left. And instead of having Eddie next to me, all I had was stupid loneliness, perching and laughing. I even missed Eddie’s stupid poems.
As I headed past Mrs. Feinstein’s room, a big crowd of fourth-grade detention junkies flooded out, and among them were some very familiar tattooed arms.
“Hi!” Genny said, dragging two girls over with her. One was tall and the other short, and they both stared at the fringes of my hair. “This is Maggie and Chelsea. They said they’d join the Emily Dickinson Club.”
“Oh.” I was too surprised to say anything else.
“We said we’d check it out,” said Maggie or Chelsea. I didn’t know who was who.
“Who’s Emily Dickinson?” the other one said. “An actress or something?”
“We meet on Mondays,” Genny told them, pushing them along on their way. They walked down the hallway without a backward glance. “See?” Genny told me. “I told you Denny was wrong.”
“What are you doing in detention?” I asked.
“Well, I don’t have lunch at the same time as the other fourth-graders,” she said. “And I had to talk to them to see if they’d join the club. Plus, I wanted to see Mrs. Feinstein’s pinkie. She really does keep it in her desk!” Her eyes grew wide. “It’s so gross-looking. It looks like a dried-up pickle.”
I still didn’t understand. “How did you even get detention?”
Turns out it was a two-day ordeal. The day before, she’d kicked a ball over the fence, thrown a bunch of wet paper towels on the ceiling in the girls’ bathroom, and then, for good measure, she hadn’t turned in her sentences today.
“Detention’s kind of fun,” she finished.
Detention was not fun. “You just sit there, and you can’t talk to anyone,” I said. “And everyone’s extra mean, because they’re all delinquents-in-training.”
“Well, then, why are you in detention?” she asked. “Anyway, this is great! Now we can be detention buddies. Hi, Langston.”
She said the last two words to Langston, who had been standing right behind me for I didn’t want to know how long.
“Hi, Genny,” he said. “Mullet.” That was to me, obviously. “Here, I have something for you. Proof that I am the superior Langston.” And from his pocket he pulled out a tiny, folded-up piece of paper and practically shoved it into my hands. The folds were so small and tight, it took a long time to open it all the way, and when I finally did, I saw only four lines:
Roses are red
Mullets are blue
Poems are stupid
Admit it, it’s true.
“Wow,” I said. “This is a terrible poem.”
“Are you joking? I spent all day on that!”
“Let me see!” Genny insisted, but Langston shook his head so hard, just watching it made my neck hurt.
“It’s for Star,” he told her, and then to me, he said, “I thought girls liked poems.”
I wouldn’t exactly consider it a poem, but sure, girls like poems. For a moment I wondered why we didn’t have more girls in the club. Genny and I were outnumbered by boys. The moment ended when I noticed Langston staring at me. Just sunken-eyed staring.
And right when I was on the verge of telling him how creepy that was, he said, “Well, see ya, Mullet.” And he jogged away.
I kind of forgot that Genny was still there, so when she tapped me on the shoulder, my body jerked like a stalling truck. We walked out to the front entrance together, where Denny was apparently waiting for us. Well, for Genny. Like he’d ever wait for me.
He did glare at me, though, even while he told Genny it was time to go. Genny smiled at me and said she couldn’t wait for detention next Friday.
“You won’t be in detention next Friday,” Denny told her.
“Sure, I will,” she said. “I hardly got to talk to anyone. Did you know I got us two new club members today? I bet I’ll get more next—”
“Genny.” That was all he had to say, and Genny stopped talking.
But I didn’t want Genny thinking that she’d done something wrong, just because her jerk of a brother didn’t like it. “Thanks, Genny. You really did prove him wrong.” Although it wasn’t true. I’m sure Chelly and Mags, or whatever their names were, didn’t actually like me and therefore wouldn’t like the club.
Denny didn’t like that one bit, though. “You shut up,” he snapped. “If it weren’t for you, she wouldn’t even be in detention.” And he left, pulling his sister behind him.
I stood there for a while before remembering that Langston and Eddie were gone, so I didn’t have anybody waiting with me, and I could just go. So I trudged home to Treasure Trailers. And checked the mailbox. And trudged to the trailer, empty-handed.
Not counting that terrible poem, of course.
I probably would have dressed up for Halloween if Mom hadn’t said anything. But when I woke up Friday morning and Mom cheerfully asked if I was going to wear my lawyer costume from last year, I couldn’t say anything other than “No.” I wanted to see her face fall in disappointment, the way mine had when Robert told me he wasn’t my father.
“Well, we never got a chance to go costume shopping this year,” Mom said. “Sorry about that.”
Sorry about a dumb costume? That’s what she was sorry about? I put on the most ordinary clothes I owned. Then I changed, just in case people thought I was dressing up as Normal Girl or something.
Winter was already gone when I left. She was always leaving early and coming back late, and then she’d spend all her trailer time in her bed, reading or doing homework or just lying there and staring at the ceiling. Gloria said Winter was in one of her moods again, but I knew the real reason she wouldn’t talk to us.
I wanted her to talk to me about being pregnant. And I wanted to talk to her about my letter to Dad and the club and everything else. It was nice knowing that Dad would send a letter back soon, but problems were starting to pop up all over the place, and even though Winter had told me to solve them on my own, it’d be great if she could give me a couple of hints.
On the way to school I checked the mail, even though I knew it wouldn’t get there until afternoon. And, just as I though
t, there wasn’t anything in there but a dead earwig.
Since it was Halloween, we didn’t do any actual work at school, and the whole day was kind of like a party, even for the two people who didn’t dress up—Denny and me. Genny, in a sweaterdress with feathers glued all over it, told me that Denny was too old to dress up.
“What about Allie?” I asked.
“He’s a troll,” Genny said.
I didn’t know if she meant that was his costume, but I didn’t ask.
“What’s Winter?” she asked.
Luckily we had to sit down then, and I didn’t have to admit that I had no idea if Winter had even dressed up.
Mr. Savage kept me in during recess, as always. I thought he’d cut me some slack, since it was Halloween, but I guess not. Once everyone was gone, I headed over to the sink to fill the bucket so I could wash desks, since that was my usual job. But Mr. Savage called me up to his desk before I could turn on the water.
“So,” he said.
I waited, watching in disgust as his hand went straight for his beard.
“I heard you started a new club in Miss Fergusson’s room.” He leaned back in his chair. “The Emily Dickinson Club. What a great idea for a club.”
Mr. Savage hates me and would never give me a compliment. I knew this had to be a trick, so I didn’t say a thing.
“Unfortunately, I haven’t received your sentences yet,” he continued. “So you’re going to have to cancel your club.”
I remembered having arguments ready in case Mr. Savage discovered the club, but I couldn’t remember exactly what they were. So again, I didn’t say anything. I just let the hollow feeling in my stomach creep its way into my chest.
“When you bring me your sentences, we can talk about whether or not to reinstate your club,” Mr. Savage said, along with some other things I didn’t listen to. I was too busy thinking that I should have just handed the club over to Eddie while I had the chance.
I shuddered, remembering how mad Eddie had been on Tuesday. Mad enough … to tell Mr. Savage that I had illegally moved and renamed my club? Mad enough to get it taken away forever?
I felt sick. And I had to stand there and pretend to listen to Mr. Savage’s rotten speech for the whole recess and not cry and not grab the glass apple off his desk and pitch it through the window, and it was maybe the hardest thing I’d ever had to do, but I got through it. I got through it, and during the Halloween Parade after lunch, which was just everyone walking on the painted track that looped around the playground, I found Eddie.
He hadn’t dressed up either.
“The club got canceled,” I told him, and he said, “I know.” Which just confirmed what I already suspected.
“I know you know!” I said, as we passed a couple of slow-walking fourth-graders. “Because you told Mr. Savage so he’d take my club away and so you could get back at me for not letting you turn it into a Poetry Club!”
“No, I know because Miss Fergusson told me, after Mr. Savage told her, after somebody told him,” he said. “Besides, I would’ve just socked you if I wanted to get you back for something. I’m not a coward.”
Yes, now that I thought about it, getting the club canceled was not something Eddie would have done. “Oh,” I said. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay,” Eddie said. “People are always accusing me of things. I’m kind of used to it.”
“Well,” I said, “Mr. Savage only canceled my club. I’m sure you could start your own club. It could even be a Poetry Club.”
“Yeah, but then you couldn’t join.”
“So what? You can run it,” I told him, but he shook his brown curls at me.
“Then it’d just be me and Langston,” he said. “And Langston would quit once he found out you weren’t gonna be there.”
I spotted Langston’s mohawk up ahead, in a big group of sixth-graders. I couldn’t tell if he had a costume on, but he was laughing and shouting with everyone else. “Why? He’s your friend.”
“Yeah, but he likes you.” Eddie laughed. “You didn’t think he actually liked Emily Dickinson, did you?”
Langston looked back then and saw me and waved, and I focused on my shoes so he wouldn’t see how red my face was. I didn’t think a boy had ever actually liked me before. And a sixth-grader! Maybe the girls in class would be jealous if I told them. But then they still wouldn’t want to be my friends, would they?
“Anyway, I’m not smart enough to run that club,” Eddie said. And the weird thing was, he was completely serious.
“What are you talking about? You’re the smartest one in the club!” It was maddening, but he was.
“If I was smart, I wouldn’t have gotten held back,” he said, and he reminded me that he couldn’t even read when he was in first grade—both times he was in first grade.
“You can read now,” I pointed out, but Eddie just grumbled about how everyone can read now, Star.
Yeah, I thought, everyone reads thousand-page books and has fifty different poems memorized. “You really don’t think you’re smart?”
“I know I’m not smart, and everyone else knows it, too. That’s why everyone’s afraid of me. Because I had to beat people up so much for calling me stupid all the time.” As if to prove it, he jerked at a passing sixth-grader, who jumped and started walking the other way. “I can tell they’re still thinking it, though. Teachers included.”
“I don’t think anyone from the club thinks you’re stupid,” I told him. “Miss Fergusson included.”
“Hmph” was all he had to say to that. And then he shoved me, just a little bit, sending me off the track. We didn’t say much to each other for the rest of the parade, but I could tell that Eddie didn’t hate me anymore, and that was nice.
Of course, I still didn’t know how Mr. Savage had found out about the club.
“Hey,” Eddie said before we went to line back up. “Genny told me you were upset because there are only five of us in the club.”
“Genny talked to you?” I asked. Genny was doing all kinds of weird things lately. First detention, and now this.
“Well, I like having only five people,” he told me. “You’re new this year, so you don’t know that everyone else pretty much sucks.”
That made me smile. It was nice to know that even though Eddie didn’t like anyone else, he liked me.
Maybe the club had actually worked. Not completely, but a little bit. “You don’t think that having only five people makes it a bad club?” I asked.
“We could have four people,” Eddie said. “You can kick that Denny kid out, since he just sits there.” I pointed out that Langston also just sat there, mostly, and Eddie said, “Yeah, but I like Langston.”
“Denny has to stay,” I told him. “I think he and Genny have to be together.” What was I talking about? “It doesn’t matter anyway. I can’t get the club back.”
Eddie walked away, shaking his head. “So stubborn,” I heard him say.
“So are you,” I told him, but he was too far away to hear.
I didn’t go trick-or-treating. I did stop by the tinfoil man’s trailer with Gloria, because he’d told her he had something he wanted to give me.
It was a toffee bar wrapped in tinfoil.
“Thanks,” I told his hand, which was the only thing I saw. It nodded at me and then disappeared back inside his trailer.
Mom made pumpkin soup for dinner, which was awful, and not only because everything Mom cooked lately seemed to taste like ash. It was actually awful, and I never wanted to eat it again. Gloria ended up pouring hers in the toilet. But when Winter came home, she ate the rest of the pot and then asked if there was any more.
“Ha! It wasn’t that bad!” Mom said.
But it was. And it seemed like that awful soup sloshed around in my stomach all weekend. Or maybe it was just because I was so anxious about that letter. It didn’t come Saturday, and I checked the mail twice on Sunday before remembering that there wasn’t any mail on Sundays. I should have remembered t
hat, considering Mom’s yearlong stint working at the post office back in Brookings.
There still wasn’t a letter on Monday morning either. I got to school early and used the library computer to type in How long does it take for a letter to get from California to Oregon? But I guess it depended on the cities, because California is a million miles long, and Oregon has all those long stretches full of trees and empty of houses. One website said between two and seven days.
So that was a bust.
I asked the librarian if she had any books about pregnancy or being pregnant. “Is your mother pregnant, dear?” she asked.
“I’m just curious,” I said. She gave me a big hardcover, which I took to the bench to read and then promptly wished I hadn’t.
Being pregnant sucks.
Pregnant women get sick and throw up, they have crazy mood swings and food cravings, and also, because of carrying a baby around along with a bunch of pregnancy weight, they get horrible back problems.
But the very worst part of the book was the end, where there was a picture of a mother and her newborn baby. The mother looked like she had just run a twenty-mile marathon without drinking any water, and the baby was covered in … I didn’t even know what.
I returned that book immediately.
No wonder Winter wanted me to solve my own problems, when her problem was so, so huge. And if Mom found out? It’d be even huger.
Even though I went out of my way to choose a spot that was out of everyone else’s way, Genny managed to find me in the cafeteria, setting her brown paper bag next to my tray.
“I think Chelsea and Maggie changed their minds,” Genny said.
“Really?” I wasn’t actually that surprised. “Why do you think that?”
“Well, Chelsea came up to me and said that she and Maggie didn’t want to be in the club after all.”
Before I could tell Genny that I was thinking maybe the club had been fine the way it was, Denny set his lunch bag down across from us. And when I say set, I really mean slammed. He dug a dollar bill out of his pocket and slid it over to Genny, saying, “Go buy us some milk.”
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