The 11

by Kim Tomsic

  “Thanks.” I turned toward the window so Dad wouldn’t notice the makeup.

  “Dad,” Piper said, concern in her voice. “You didn’t eat one of those, did you? Your doctor says you have to eat healthy.”

  “No, Pipes.” Dad sounded tired. “I had egg whites cooked in olive oil.” He smiled at her in the rearview mirror and then flipped on the radio, messing with the controls. “I hope I can find NPR out here in the desert. They’re broadcasting an interview with a leading researcher of quantum physics.”

  “Nice.” I shifted to face Piper in the backseat. “Better?”

  “Wow,” Piper said in a breathy voice. “You look beautiful. How’d you manage that so fast?”

  I shrugged and smiled.

  She picked a piece of lint off her shorts and softly said, “Thanks for everything last night.”

  “Anytime.”

  Dad placed his hands at ten and two. “Second day of school,” he said, pulling out of our driveway. “Every day you’re less and less the new kid and more like everyone else.”

  Like everyone else? That would have been a step up from my last school, where, at best, I was the girl who could help with hard math homework. Nope. No more quiet girl and no more dork-motoring. This year I was going to be impressive.

  CHAPTER

  12

  When we got to school, Piper headed toward the lower-division doorways and I went through the school’s main entrance. Students wearing campaign buttons shoved flyers into the hands of anyone passing by.

  “Get Spirited! Vote Rhena!”

  “Ally for seventh-grade Captain!”

  Loud chatter echoed through the hallways. T minus four days and counting until election Friday.

  Mrs. Sinoway, my assigned counselor, walked out of her office. She tucked her cropped hair behind an ear. “Hello, Megan.” She smelled like Banana Boat sunblock, the same coconut-mango scent Hannah would use when we’d hang out at the pool in Colorado. It always made my eyes itch.

  “How was your first day yesterday?”

  The itching started immediately. I rubbed at my face and a lash or something landed in my eye. I blinked, trying to squeeze it out.

  “It was good.” I stuck a finger in the corner of my eye and rubbed, which only added to the itch and made my eyes water.

  “I’m sorry your student ambassador wasn’t available to show you around yesterday,” she said. “And unfortunately, I just got off the phone with her mother, and she’s out sick again.”

  “That’s okay.” I scratched some more and wiped, expecting a watery line of mascara to appear on my knuckle. My finger came back wet but clean.

  “We’ll fix this. Don’t fret.” Mrs. Sinoway seemed overly worried.

  I swiped under my eye a second time, and pity washed over her face. She thought I was crying!

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Really. I just have something in my eye.”

  “Uh-huh.” She scanned the hallway, seeming flustered and desperate.

  Just then her eyes locked on a target. “Jackson, come here for a moment.”

  A boy turned toward us, and my knees buckled. It was mystery guy. The one I’d seen at the Humane Society. Here. At my new school! Everything went slow motion. He walked toward us, moving his head so his surfer-blond hair flicked across his eyebrows. And that dimple, the one that had made my legs wobble, appeared in his right cheek. Then he was standing next to me, a boy who Hannah would describe as H-A-W-T hot. He smoothed a hand over the Fueled by Ramen logo on his T-shirt, and his light brown eyes connected with mine, intense and piercing, like he could see inside my soul. My stomach fluttered.

  I used to laugh when Hannah acted ridiculous around boys, giggling at jokes that weren’t even funny, and twirling her hair over and over (and OVER) again. When I’d asked her why she acted like that, she’d shrug, or say she couldn’t help it. Now I knew she really couldn’t help it. Jackson hadn’t even made a joke, and already a giggle leaked from my throat to my mouth.

  I pressed my lips together. Hello, I said to myself, you’re smarter than this. Rein it in. But my arm obeyed the laws of crush mode. It bent at the elbow, and my hand grabbed to twirl some strands of hair.

  “Hi?” He smiled at me. I was already beaming back.

  “Hey, Aunt Celia,” he said to Mrs. Sinoway.

  “Megan Meyers, I’d like you to meet my nephew, Jackson Litner,” Mrs. Sinoway said. “Jackson, meet Megan.”

  Mmmm, he smelled like a stack of pancakes, and his voice was smooth, like soft-serve vanilla.

  “Hi.” My finger twirled away like I was on some kind of windup mission.

  “My fellow cat wrangler, right?”

  I giggled, holding in the snort. He remembered me! “Right.” I dropped my gaze to my sandals.

  “I expected to see you at first aid after the battle. No war wounds?”

  I shook my head and swallowed. “Um, how’s your arm?”

  Mrs. Sinoway glanced between us. “Oh, you’ve met?”

  “Yeah. Remember the cat chaos I mentioned?” Jackson pointed to his scratched arm, which gave me a chance to check out the cut of muscle right below his sleeve.

  “Fantastic,” Mrs. Sinoway said, smiling at Jackson. “Megan just moved from Colorado and needs a student ambassador. Her first class is science with Mr. Provost. Would you mind showing her the way?”

  I didn’t need a guide anymore—a fact I would keep to myself.

  “Sure,” he said. “I didn’t realize you were an out-of-stater. How’s it going so far?”

  “Great. Other than the fact that moving is hard. I mean seriously, it’s no Pythagorean Theorem, I can tell you that.” Ugh, dorkjob alert. I cringed, but Jackson laughed.

  “Nice one,” he said, adjusting the black and green braided yarn bracelet on his wrist.

  “That’s pretty,” I said. Pretty? Who tells a guy something he’s wearing is pretty?

  “Thanks.” He looked down. “My little sister made it. It kind of itches since I’ve had it on for weeks now, but she made me swear not to take it off and so . . .” He shrugged, his words trailing off.

  I should’ve said, “That’s so sweet,” or “What grade is she in?” or I could’ve even nodded, but my twirled hair now coiled tightly around my finger, cutting off circulation and pulling at my roots. I worked at casually untangling my self-inflicted knot and held down another awkward sound that lingered in my throat. My finger came free with a yank and I felt my face blaze.

  Mrs. Sinoway cleared her throat and clasped her hands together. “Well, thank you for volunteering, Jackson.”

  “You bet.” He grazed my arm. “You ready?”

  “Right. Yes. Of course.” I took a breath.

  We walked down the hall, Jackson talking and me barely able to concentrate on anything he said. I did hear him mention that he did not volunteer at the Humane Society—he had been there Saturday to check into adopting a dog, but that was good, too. The cutest boy I’d ever seen in real life was a dog lover! Were my feet even touching the ground? I started to take a right, and Jackson placed a hand on my back. Electricity sang through my body.

  “That way leads to the lower-division classrooms. This way’s quicker.” He redirected me, and I wondered how his hands would feel in mine, or what it’d be like if he walked me down every single hallway.

  “So what were you listening to?” He pointed to my dangling earbuds.

  “Oh, ah”—throat clear—“Meowklemore.”

  “Macklemore? Cool,” he said. “Old-school.”

  I nodded.

  “Do you like that new band, the Perceptions? Wait . . . that’s not it. What are they called?”

  “The Purrrfections.”

  “What?” Jackson asked. He tipped his head to look at me as we walked.

  My face flushed. I hated how my nerves made me sound so goofy. “Perfections. The Perfections.”

  “Yeah. That’s it.” I kept nodding, not trusting myself to talk.

  “So, nice shirt yo
u wore yesterday. Woofstock. That’s funny.”

  He’d noticed me yesterday?

  My face must’ve looked shocked, because Jackson smiled and said, “I saw you in the halls and tried to catch up, but you disappeared too quickly.”

  “Uh, thanks,” I said all breathy, and then I hurried with, “I mean for liking my shirt. Not for trying to catch me in the halls. Or. Umm.” Swallow. “That was nice, too.” Heat flooded my face. “You know.”

  “Yeah.” He laughed. “So here we are.” He gestured to the classroom door. “I zipped through the tour. So, ah, if you have any questions, let me know or we can talk later.”

  “Later would be great.”

  We said good-bye, and I entered the room. The teacher was filing books on a shelf, so I quickly texted Hannah on my way to a desk.

  Me: I just met Mystery Guy!!! The one from Saturday!!!

  Hannah: Did you get his name this time?

  Me: Yep. Jackson Litner.

  Hannah: Can’t wait to Insta-stalk him ☺

  I took a seat and the girl in front of me turned around. “Haleigh,” she said, pointing a hand to herself. “And Zoe.” She indicated the girl on my right. “We met yesterday.”

  I smiled. “Yeah. Hi.”

  “We like your look,” Haleigh said.

  “We do,” Zoe said.

  My look? Oh, right, the makeover. Then I remembered rubbing my eyes when I’d talked to Mrs. Sinoway. “Is my mascara smeared?”

  “No. You look great,” Haleigh said. “And your hair! It’s amazing.”

  “Yeah.” Zoe nodded. “What color do you call it?”

  “Umm.” Really? I ran my hand down a fistful of hair and looked between them. “Brown?”

  “Come on,” Haleigh said. “I’d say it’s more caramel kissed. Am I right?”

  Zoe shifted closer, like she needed to share a secret. “So, listen. We saw the whole zap lowdown in the cafeteria yesterday. You looked major stressed, but the snow was awesome. I’ll bet you clinched the election for Ally, and Rhena is so mad!”

  Haleigh scooted close and whispered, “Everyone’s saying Rhena’s super-worried you’re going to help Ally win. And don’t tell Rhena I’m talking to you, but that was bold. Nobody ever goes against her.”

  A shiver ran down my neck, but I was determined to keep things positive. “Thanks,” I said. “I really wasn’t trying to do anything against Rhena. And I don’t think she’s mad. She invited me to her house tonight.”

  Both girls blinked before Haleigh said, “For reals? Oh my God, you’re so lucky!”

  They bubbled on about how excited they were for me, and would I please report back on what the inside of Rhena’s house looked like.

  Things were working out. I had an invitation to meet friends, a cute boy had walked me to class, and I could have a no-fuss magical makeover anytime I wanted one.

  “So, what are you planning next?” Zoe asked.

  “Next?”

  They both nodded. “Yeah. We heard you were doing something for the Spirit Week elections on Friday.”

  “Oh, that.” My mouth went dry. “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “You don’t?” Haleigh put a hand to her lips.

  “Something good,” I quickly added. A tremble shook from deep in my gut, but I stopped it. I didn’t have anything to stress about. I had the clock.

  “Awesome! Tell us first, okay?” Zoe said. “And by the way, here’s an insider tip on the hottie who just walked you to class. Jackson Litner. If you like him, you better stay on Rhena’s good side.”

  “Oh?”

  “Jackson and Rhena have grown up their whole lives together,” Haleigh said. “They’re really, really tight.”

  Got it. Another solid reason to avoid messing with the Rhena-plus-Ally equation—combustibles should be handled with caution. This meant a change of plans. I needed to do something fun on Friday without it affecting the election, so I could stay Switzerland with those two.

  When the period ended, I ducked into the bathroom and leaned toward the mirror to check my magical makeover again. Was I being paranoid or was my eyeliner different? It seemed more angular than I remembered. And had the shadows gotten darker?

  Stop, I told myself. Nervous Newton was the old me. Overanalyzing not allowed. I stepped back and took a breath.

  Second period came and went. When the bell rang, I raced to Mrs. Matthews’s classroom and grabbed a second-row seat, anxious to talk to Ally about backing out of doing an election event.

  A mixture of smells hung in the air—fresh paint and eau de taco chips wafting from an opened bag of Doritos sitting on the edge of the teacher’s desk. Now dressed in lime-green pants, Mrs. Matthews smiled with orange-stained teeth. “Hello, Megan.” She handed a paper to me. “This is an application to our math team. Your transcript says you competed in Math Olympiads at your last school. I’d love for you to consider joining our team. We have a meeting at lunchtime today.”

  “Thanks.” I took the paper and set it on my notebook, smiling. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Please do. You haven’t missed anything. We were supposed to have our first official meeting two weeks ago, but I was called away for jury duty, so we’re just getting started now.”

  “Hello, Ally,” Mrs. Matthews said, stepping out toward the hallway.

  Ally greeted her and came to the desk beside me. She tossed her backpack on the ground. “Cute shirt.”

  “Thanks!”

  She sat and looked around. “Is it just me or does it always smell in here?”

  According to the magazine, ridiculous is better than boring, so I cleared my throat and said, “Yeah. Here’s some math: orange teeth plus spicy smells equals Mrs. Matthews’s favorite breakfast.”

  Ally laughed. “Doritos!”

  “Oh. But I like her and all.” I squirmed.

  “Yeah,” Ally said. “Me too. She’s a good teacher. I mean, she takes her math too seriously, but she’s nice.”

  “Right.” I folded the paper from Mrs. Matthews and slipped it under my notebook. Note to self: math club was the old me.

  “Listen, I didn’t think it through when I zapped you yesterday,” she said softly. “I was a jerk not to warn you about Rhena. I’m sorry.”

  I looked at her and knew she meant it. “It’s okay. It all worked out.”

  “Right. That snow party was the best thing ever.”

  “Thanks.” I cleared my throat. “Umm, about the election—”

  “Yeah. Thank you so much for helping me with it. So many people here get bullied into taking Rhena’s side, but not you.” Ally smiled a big, honest smile, all gratitude and cheer. “I can’t wait to see what you come up with for Friday. Let me know how I can help.”

  “Okay, haha.” I couldn’t bring myself to say that I really wanted out. I’d be making a Spirit Week election wish after all.

  But that wish would have to wait for another day. Today, I had a plan to test magic with science.

  CHAPTER

  13

  I rushed to fourth period—toward the wishing clock, magic, and the 11:11 plan I’d devised. It’s all good, I told myself, not sure if my breath wobbled because I was excited or nervous. But the closer I got, the bolder I grew and the more I was sure this clock was a gift—the biggest break of middle school. My life was officially charmed!

  I rounded the doorway into Mr. Kersey’s room, where every single desktop was decked out with a pack of Juicy Fruit gum and a yellow flyer that read, “Chews Rhena for Spirit Captain!”

  “Hey, granola,” Rhena said.

  Did she mean me?

  Rhena sat at her desk, looking me up and down. “Hmm.” She tapped a manicured figure to her chin. “Maybe I should find another nickname for you if that’s the look you’re going with.”

  Her friends giggled, and suddenly I felt like one of those “what not to wear” features, or like I was back to wearing yesterday’s frizzed hair and fisherman shorts. I ran a hand over the back of my head. Hai
r still smooth. I glanced down. Green shirt and blue jean shorts. Okay? Everything seemed in place, so what was wrong?

  Turner entered. “Hey, Megan.” He stopped in the doorway beside me. “What’s that about?” He leaned close and pressed his glasses up his nose.

  “What?”

  “Your makeup. You’re a cat, right?” he said. “You have theater third period?”

  “No?” A sinking feeling pressed on my chest.

  “Ohhhh. It’s a style. I get it. I never know these things. Like I felt sorry for Brandon with all the rips in his jeans. I thought he couldn’t afford new clothes. But he told me distressed was in.” Turner shrugged on the way to his desk.

  Rhena’s friends giggled again, the kind of giggles that reminded me of the judgy looks at my last school.

  What was Turner talking about? A weird noise—an attempt at a laugh, I think, maybe—escaped from my throat. I rushed toward a desk in the back, forcing a grin onto my face, acting like I was in on some joke, and trying to send vibes of “I’m chill, no worries.”

  I sat, fumbled out my phone, and turned the camera app to reverse.

  Ahhhk!

  My eyes were made up like some elaborate Halloween cat wannabe—thick eyeliner at exaggerated angles, and if that wasn’t bad enough, I had spider-sized clumps of mascara on the ends of my lashes, like the makeup was piling on, heavier and darker by the minute.

  Grams’s warnings played in my head—those clockmakers are tricksters, and I was experiencing it firsthand with a makeover going off the rails. “Thanks a lot,” I said under my breath, kicking my backpack where the magazine sat snug inside.

  According to the How to Survive Middle School blog, I was supposed to act certain and secure no matter what, but who was I kidding? My confidence had fizzled, and I wanted the makeup off fast. I rubbed with my hands, swiping around my eyes. Heavy layers of color coated my fingertips. What a mess.

  And to make matters worse, Rhena stood up, grabbed her backpack and purse, and walked toward me. Was she moving in for a close-up of my embarrassment?

  “Maybe a little less liner and mascara next time,” she said, sitting in the empty desk in front of me, her expression full of concern.