by Kim Tomsic
“Perfect.” Mrs. Matthews wrote it on the board and called on the next student.
She completed the list and said, “Next up, I’ve prepared an exercise so I can analyze your problem-solving skills. We are going to break up into five stations and test your strengths in statistics and probabilities, geometry, algebra, expressions and equations, and number theory. You’ll receive one math problem at each station and then rotate to the next. Your job is to complete the problem in the most elegant yet simple manner possible.” She smiled at us. “Bonus points for creativity. Okay, let’s get a cluster of desks moved to each corner of the room to represent a station, and we can set the final station in the middle.”
We moved desks, and Mrs. Matthews taped a preprinted sign at each cluster to label the stations. Then she dropped a stack of papers with a single math problem on the center desktop.
“Find a seat and let’s begin. I’ll be the timer.” She held up her phone. “You’ll spend no more than two minutes per section, and when my phone dings, please rotate. The limited time is so you’ll push yourself to trust your instincts, and of course that’ll save you enough time to make it to the cafeteria before lunch ends.” She smiled again. “Remember to look at the problem and understand it first, then devise a plan to carry it out.”
We began.
When our testing was over, Jackson leaned close to me and said, “Your mom sounded like a nice person.”
I smiled at him and noticed three adorable freckles under his left eye. Then an odd rumble and a soft vibration started to build in my throat.
CHAPTER
16
After school, Piper sent me a text.
Piper: Sorry to ditch you. I reaaaaallly want to stay for yearbook club. Okay?
I typed back:
Me: Whatever.
Piper: Megan?
Me: It’s fine.
I stuffed my phone into my backpack and headed to the orientation meeting at the Humane Society alone. The dogs in the outdoor play zone barked and wagged their tails. I smiled and swung open the glass front door. Mavis greeted me from behind her desk. “Hi, honey. Good to see you again.”
“Thanks.” I beamed. “Who is this?” I bent down and scratched the head of the sweet dog next to her.
“This is Marble,” she said. “Wow. He doesn’t warm up to just anyone. He only likes a select few people. And cats. Everyone else he ignores.”
“Cats?”
“Don’t ask me. The last owner must’ve had them.”
Marble nuzzled me like we were old friends. “I’m guessing he’s a retriever-collie-spaniel mix?”
“Yes!” Mavis said. “At least that’s what the blood test showed. I adopted him from here.”
I scratched under his chin and then petted the soft fur on his head.
“Wow. That’s fantastic,” Mavis said. “The way you can make that purring sound like a cat.”
Huh?
“It’s so real.” She smiled.
Was I doing that?
“Now, Marble thanks you, but time for you to scoot. Orientation is through the blue doors on your left. There are a couple dozen new volunteers in there. Water bottles and cookies are set up on a table, so help yourself to a snack.”
I shook off Mavis’s odd comment and headed inside, practically skipping until my bounce turned into a thud.
What was Yoona doing here? As in Yoona who hung out with Rhena and Shelby. This was supposed to be my drama-free zone, yet there she stood, leaning against the cookie table.
“Heeeey, Yoona?” I said.
“Hi!” Her greeting came out enthusiastic, louder than I’d ever heard her speak at school. Had I heard her speak at school?
She grabbed me in a hug.
My arms hung at my side.
“It’s so awesome that you’re doing this, too,” she said. “Were you a volunteer in Colorado?”
“Uh-huh.” I grabbed a few sugar cookies. She grabbed a handful, too, and in no time I learned that Yoona had four sisters and one turtle (no dog, but she was working on her parents). We liked the same music, and we both loved our grandmothers—she said hers lived with her family and baked chapssal donuts and hotteok every Saturday.
“Hotteok are Korean sweet pancakes and best hot off the griddle, even if they do burn your fingers a little. My grandma fills them with brown sugar and cinnamon. Mmmm, they’re so good. You’ll have to come over one weekend.”
“Definitely.” I wanted to ask if she was going to Rhena’s for the study party, but then that would’ve brought school into the conversation, and I really didn’t want to talk about the Rhena-and-Ally drama or the election.
The director arrived and passed out our name badge lanyards and began the information session. She told us about the weekly Wednesday Night Walks, saying it was a volunteer opportunity to walk dogs late in the evening when the temperatures had cooled. Then she discussed special events, the foster program, walking paths, how we could help with the bath brigade, and safety and etiquette for introducing people to the animals. Afterward, she led the group of new volunteers on a tour. It ended near the front doors. “Everyone, find a volunteer partner. I’d like you to work in pairs.”
Yoona grabbed my hand, and I smiled.
“Please see Mavis for your first assignment. She’ll be your go-to person. Thank you all for caring.”
We lined up beside Mavis’s desk and waited our turn to sign up for a position, me hoping we’d get dog walking or bath brigade.
“I keep telling my dad these dogs need homes,” Yoona said. “And I’d be the best owner ever. I’d feed and water and love. And I’d never get tired of the newness and forget about my dog. It sucks when people adopt puppies and then return them when they realize they’re work. Or I hate when people want a dog, but then never play with them.”
“Yeah. And you know what’s worse?” I said as we inched forward. “Owners who leave their dog in the car, especially in the summer.”
“I know, right. I mean, five minutes isn’t bad, but people shouldn’t go off and do their grocery shopping.”
“Five minutes is bad. I’ve done the calculations,” I said. “The temperature in a shut car rises by seven degrees in five minutes. And thirteen degrees in ten minutes. Around here, a hundred and ten in a car can turn into a hundred and forty degrees in half an hour.”
“You did the calculations?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Geez. I guess you’re a genius.” Yoona smiled for a moment, and then concern took over her face. “Listen, genius. I wish you’d be smarter about Rhena.” She lowered her voice. “Seriously, Megan. You shouldn’t go against her. She’s freaking out about you helping Ally. And trust me. It’s not worth it to cross Rhena.” She paused before adding, “She’ll do anything to be in charge of Spirit Week.”
“Me?” I snort-laughed. “I’m not trying to go against her.”
Yoona was sincerely trying to help me, but what more could I say—that I wanted out of the middle of the Ally-Rhena spirit-storm? That I barely knew anyone and didn’t have the juice to help Ally win? I mean, sure I had magic, but I didn’t have votes.
“Please, Megan,” Yoona said. “If you keep challenging Rhena, she’s going to make sure you regret it.”
“Hello, girls,” Mavis said.
I snapped my attention Mavis’s way, wanting to hug her for saving me from this conversation.
Mavis shuffled a pile of papers. “Don’t be disappointed, but we need some volunteers on pooper-scooper duty, and then to spray down the outside play zone and refill water bowls.”
“Great,” I said, relieved to be headed off to our duties. Except Yoona had one more thing to say.
“Listen,” she said in a low voice, like Rhena had spies at the Humane Society. “She’s already salty about you. You don’t want to see what happens when she’s really ticked.”
CHAPTER
17
At home, I cleaned up shredded bits of Dad’s Scientific American. Archi
e had a tendency to tear things apart when he was left home alone all day. He lifted his eyebrows and tilted his head. It was all the apology I needed.
“It’s okay, boy.” I petted him. “This move is probably tough on you, too.”
I found a shaded spot in the yard and tossed Archie’s favorite red ball. He chased it and brought it back over and over until we were both dripping with sweat. I put ice in his water dish and then flopped onto the faded leather couch in the living room, snacking on blue corn tortilla chips and drinking a cold, orange Izze.
My backpack, laptop, and homework were scattered in a mess around me. I couldn’t concentrate on any of it, because my phone kept dinging and dinging in that group text, everyone talking about tonight’s study party at Rhena’s house.
Ding! Homewrk + Pizza. I can deal.
Ding! Want me 2 bring D.P. or root beer?
Ding! Cookies and diet coke?
Ding! Yassss! Please!!
Ding! See you guys 2nite!
I didn’t know who all was texting, but in a few hours, I hoped to have a bunch of new friends.
Piper burst into the living room and hit me over the head with a pillow. “Did you know that April third is International Pillow Fight Day?”
“Piper! You could’ve knocked over my laptop.” I wasn’t actually annoyed. Pillow fights were our thing—her way of saying, “I love you. We’re sisters, even though I didn’t want to volunteer at the Humane Society with you.”
I grabbed a couch pillow and swung. Piper ducked, but I doubled back and hit her square in the head, making her hair fly in her face. She hit me, and I hit her, and she hit me again, and we battled for a few minutes until we fell to the floor laughing and catching our breath.
“Barett and I are going to have a pillow-fight party in April for the big holiday,” Piper said. “But only if you’ll be a part of it, since pillow fights are our thing.”
“International Pillow Fighting Day? Did you make that up?”
“Oh no, it’s real. It even says so on the internet.”
“Like on Wikipedia?”
“Megan, it’s real, and it’s in April.”
“Let’s see.” We scrambled up to the couch. I grabbed my laptop and typed in “International Pillow Fight Day.” Sure enough, a website popped up, and it featured an article about a flashmob pillow fight held in Times Square last April. The website also had the next date for the event and listed hundreds of participating cities from all around the world: Barcelona, Spain; Budapest, Hungary; Melbourne, Australia; Phoenix, Arizona. There it was.
“See!” Piper said. She was always in the know.
“Okay, April. That’s eight months away. I’ll be there.”
“And you’ll help?”
“Sure. Of course—the Meyers sisters own pillow fights. We’ll show everyone how to do it!” I’m not sure if it was from talking to Jackson about Mom, but I broke form and added, “And you know what else would be good—music. You could play your guitar at the pillow fight.”
Piper looked as if I’d dropped a Saint Bernard in her lap. Her mouth hung open for a second, but she closed it and went somewhere deep in her thoughts. “That’d be fun,” she said softly, staring at her hands, fingers moving like she was remembering some tune. She stayed like that for a moment longer, and I crossed my fingers under my lap.
“But you know I’m done with that, Megan.” She fluttered her hand, waving away the idea like it was no big deal, but I saw the flash of missing in her eyes. “Plus, I need two hands to win a pillow fight.” She hit me again.
“Hold up,” I said, reading the headline on the computer screen. “Flashmob: Foundation of First Feathery Fight.” I paused. “That’s it!”
“What’s it?”
“The pillow fight. It’s perfect! I promised everyone at school I’d do something big on Friday. An all-school pillow fight would be . . .” Piper’s face didn’t seem nearly as excited as I’d expected. “Sorry. What am I thinking? That’s your idea.”
“Wait. That’s okay,” Piper said sweetly. “If you promised everyone, you can have it.”
“No.” I shook my head. “No. That’s your deal.” I paused. “But I could have a flashmob!”
“Awesome,” Piper said. “What’ll we do?”
“Not sure yet.” I put my hand to my chin. “I’ll pick one to copy off YouTube and let you know.”
“Fun!” Piper got up and headed to the kitchen, texting on her way. “I’m telling Barett right now.”
I leaned back on a couch cushion, smiling. Flashmob Friday. That plus the snow would seal my reputation at school. Impressive would be officially checked off my list. Pressure as the new girl would end. I’d actually have a cool reputation. The rest of middle school would be a cakewalk. I’d even have my own page in the yearbook—“Awkward Girl Miraculously Transforms from Meek to Chic.”
My phone lit up with a text from Yoona:
Yoona: Great seeing you today.
I replied with a smiley-face dog emoji.
Dad walked in and looked at my mess of papers. “I’m glad to see you’re getting a jump on your studies.” He laid down his briefcase and removed a box from a plastic bag stuffed with Chinese takeout.
I closed my laptop. “You’re home early.”
“I have to go back to work later for a department meeting. But we can have a quick meal together.” He wagged the box. “Look. Your favorite—lemon pepper chicken.”
“Thanks,” I said.
Dad took the bag into the dining room and laid out the boxes while Piper and I set the table with mismatched plates, chopsticks, and paper napkins. Yummy scents floated from the opened containers—lemon pepper chicken, fried rice, and beef with garlic black bean sauce. Then Dad dropped a pile of fortune cookies in the center of the table.
“You got low-sodium, right?” Piper asked. “No MSG?”
“That’s right.” Dad gave her a tired smile and shook his head.
We piled our plates with food. As we ate, Piper entertained us with talk about Barett, her three ambassadors, and her gazillion new friends. “And then I got zapped by my class rep and had to do a dare.”
“What do you mean?” Dad set down his chopsticks. “I don’t want you participating in dares. Dares are an invitation to break rules and get into precarious situations.”
“Precarious situations? Oh, really, Dad. You’re funny,” she said in that à la Mom, bubbly way. “You have to lighten up.”
He raised his eyebrows, but his face softened. “I’m serious.”
“It’s over anyhow. I just had to ask this boy, Tommy, for his phone number. He’s so cute and it was super-embarrassing, but fun.”
I dropped my chopsticks. “That’s all you had to do?”
“Yeah.” She shrugged. “Oh, and everyone keeps saying you brought in the snow for your zap dare, like just ’cause you’re from Colorado, you’re the snow fairy. That cracks me up. Anyhow, what did you really do?”
I looked at my rice. “The snow, of course, haha.”
Piper seemed ready to press for an answer that didn’t sound sarcastic, so I said, “Tell me about yearbook club.” That got her talking nonstop about the scheduled meetings and plans.
“Sounds like you have a full calendar.” Dad leaned back in his chair and smiled like he suddenly considered filling a social calendar equal to winning the Nobel Prize.
I cracked open a fortune cookie and crumbs scattered.
“Read it to us, Megan,” Piper said.
I removed the thin slip of paper. “It says, ‘Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.’” I laughed. “That sounds just like something Grams would say. It’s by Theodor Geisel.” I looked to Dad to see if he knew that name.
“That’s Dr. Seuss,” Dad said.
“Well, thanks, Cat in the Hat.” I stuffed the paper into my pocket. “But that’s totally not a fortune.”
Piper laughed. “Oh my gosh, Barett’s goin
g to love that quote!”
“You and Barett are becoming fast friends,” Dad said. Then he focused on me. “I’m sure you’ll have a bunch of friends in no time, too.” He didn’t sound sure, just uncomfortable.
I was actually doing all right, even if it was because I’d used a wish-granting clock to impress a bunch of people with the snow. I now had a lunch group, and math club was all me, no magic. After Flashmob Friday, I’d be set.
“Come on, Dad. Megan already has friends.”
“I joined the math team,” I said. “Our first competition is next month.”
“That’s terrific, Megan,” Dad said.
“Is the girl who zapped you on your math team?” Piper asked.
“Ally? No. But she introduced me to a bunch of people at lunch.”
Dad lifted his eyebrows. Relieved? Impressed?
I wanted to reassure him, so I added, “Everyone is super-nice. Erin is hysterical, and Noelle is so sweet and does amazing hennas, and Mia loves to read, I think she reads a book a day, and I’m getting to know this girl Yoona from my history class. She volunteers at the Humane Society, too, and . . .” I went on listing people, name-dropping as if I were talking about A-list celebs. It did the trick. Dad relaxed, seemingly satisfied that I was making my way. And I was—I did have friends. “I even have an invitation to a party tonight.”
Dad’s face turned to professor mode. “Whoa. We don’t do parties on school nights.”
“Come on, Pops,” I said, trying to copy Piper’s playful tone. “I know that. It’s a study party for history. We have a big test coming up, and it’s pretty awesome that this group from my class wants to help me out. Or I guess we’ll help each other out. Anyhow, like I said, people are really nice here.”
I sat up. Making a bunch of friends tonight was a big possibility. Right? That ironclad bond people make over greasy pizza and hard work.
Piper stood. “Oh, I think . . .” She leaned an ear toward the stairs. “Yup. My phone’s ringing up in my room. May I be excused? Pleeease?”
Dad nodded, and she took off toward her bedroom.
“Something major might be unfolding right this very minute in the oh-so-important world of fifth grade.” I forced a chuckle. “Or it could be a yearbook emergency.”
