“Don’t know,” I mumbled as I stared at the cafeteria doors. Even though I was still mad at Andy, I should have been the one with the guts to get up and follow him. Instead, I sat glued to my seat, unable to move.
“Andy must have been really upset to leave the cafeteria,” Madison said.
“Yeah,” Emma said. “I’ve never seen you two argue before.”
I shrugged. Then I folded my arms on the table, put my head down, and shut my eyes tight. Even though the girls kept shooting questions at me, I didn’t say a word to anyone for the rest of lunch period.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Four Days
When Andy was sent home early, I wondered if it had anything to do with Anna’s surgery. I walked alone that afternoon. I was trying to figure out how to make things right between us again, not paying attention to where I was walking, when I landed in something squashy. I stopped and looked down at my feet.
Great. Just great. This was all I needed on top of my perfectly awful day. I’d landed smack in a pile of fresh dog poop. I picked up my foot and scraped it on the grass, but the poop had already smeared on the sides of my pink shoe.
Now what? I always carried the other blue shoe with me so I could change before I got home. But what was I supposed to do with the dirty one? I couldn’t stick it in my backpack. I scraped it in the grass again, but the poop had seeped into the treads on the bottom of my sole and had smushed around the sides, too.
A block from my house, I changed so I’d walk inside the house wearing a matching pair like always. But this time I had to carry a dog-pooped pink shoe between two fingers the rest of the way home. Luckily, there was a note on the kitchen table when I walked inside, saying that Mom had an emergency meeting and would be home in twenty minutes. So I used a wet paper towel to scrape off whatever I could before throwing my shoes in the washing machine.
Then I tossed in the blue shoe, to get it extra clean as well. I looked over at the pile of clothes in the laundry basket. Mom was always saying it would be nice if I helped out around the house once in a while. But for a second, I hesitated, wondering if it was okay to wash a poopy shoe with regular clothes.
Then I saw the words on the detergent bottle: GUARANTEED TO ZAP TOUGH STAINS! On TV commercials, they always threw in clothes that looked totally gross just to prove how good the detergent was. Well, here was the perfect test. I poured out the detergent, threw in the clothes, and shut the lid on the washer, pressing the ON button before leaving the room.
I went up to my room. I did not want to think about what had happened between me and Andy, so I decided to focus on my reading instead. I was frowning at the covers of books I’d chosen for their high Independent Reader points, trying to decide between A Slow Season and The Long Road Ahead when I heard a loud noise coming from the basement. BAM-BAM-KALUNK-BAM-BAM!
I leaped off my bed and raced toward the laundry room. The noise got louder and louder with every step. I took a deep breath and threw open the laundry room door. The washing machine rocked back and forth like it had come to life, and purple suds bubbled and frothed out from the top. I wanted to turn and race back upstairs, slamming the door behind me. But the washing machine looked like it might take off across the floor after me or explode. Or maybe both.
If I left it locked up in the basement and waited until my mom came home, there’s no telling what might happen. One thing I knew for sure: Mom wasn’t going to be happy about it.
So there was only one thing I could do. I closed my eyes tight and counted slowly to three. Then I flipped back the machine’s lid.
Soapy foam blasted out and covered me in wet suds. It was like being sprayed by a soda bottle someone shook up and down. I scraped off the suds as the loud vibrations came to a stop and the machine grew quiet. Only then did I reach inside the bubble-filled machine.
All of a sudden my dad’s voice popped into my head: “When all else fails, read the directions.”
It was one of those sayings that usually made me roll my eyes. Dad always took such a long time reading through the directions to any new machine or gadget he bought, even when anyone could figure it out on their own. But now . . . I looked into the machine, which had turned into an overflowing bubble bath. How much soap had I put in there anyway?
I just hoped I hadn’t broken the thing. If I had, I’d be in super big trouble. I tried not to think about it as I reached in and pulled out my shoes.
I gasped. My shoes were no longer pink and blue. They were pink and blue and covered in purple splotches. I had to do something, quick. I ran upstairs and dropped them in the sink. First I tried cold water. Still splotchy. Then I tried hot water. Still splotchy. Then I soaked them in warm water with some dish soap. I pulled them out ten minutes later. Still splotchy.
I stared at my shoes in shock. This purple wasn’t going anywhere. Wearing mismatched shoes was cool. Wearing mismatched shoes that looked like I had spilled paint on them was definitely not.
I was in my room, looking for the other pair of mismatched shoes when the phone rang. It was Mom.
“I’m sorry, Pansy, but the meeting’s running a little late. Is everything okay?”
“Fine,” I lied.
“How was school?”
“Great,” I lied again.
“All right, honey, I’ll see you in about fifteen minutes, okay?”
As soon as I hung up the phone, I raced back to the laundry room with a handful of towels. There was soap everywhere. Well, there was nothing else for me to do but clean up the mess. After a while, I peered into the washing machine. It was still full of suds and water. I looked in a little closer and pulled out Mom’s new white shirt, which was now covered in purple streaks.
Mom was going to kill me.
The only good thing about my washing experiment was that my lucky shoes were now poop-free. But they were totally ruined, and as I searched my room, I couldn’t find the other pink one. I’d been so busy skating and reading and doing research that my room was a total wreck, and my extra pink shoe had disappeared underneath the mess.
As I scooped the suds into a bucket, trying to figure out how to fix the washing machine mess, the events of my day flashed into my head. I heard Andy’s angry words and saw the look of hurt on his face. In my mind, I watched as he pushed back his chair and stormed out of the cafeteria, the doors swinging shut behind him.
Suddenly, the messed-up washing machine, Mom’s purple-streaked shirt, and my purple-splotched mismatched shoes didn’t seem like such a big deal after all.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Three Days
I got a big lecture when Mom came home. Just like I expected. The good news was I hadn’t broken the washing machine. After Mom inspected it carefully, she said, “You put in too much soap, you mixed darks and lights, and you used hot water instead of cold. And what were you thinking adding bleach?”
I shrugged. “I thought it would make everything extra clean.”
Mom shook her head, then reset the wash cycle to get rid of the water. “You know what I think, Pansy? I think it’s time for you to have more responsibility around here.”
“Responsibility?” I didn’t like the sounds of that.
“You’re almost eleven. I should have already taught you to use the washing machine.”
“No, that’s okay. I don’t mind—”
“From now on, you’ll do your own laundry once a week,” Mom declared. So much for responsibility. It definitely sounded like a punishment to me.
After Mom explained how to do the laundry in great detail, I headed up to my room. I tried starting both of the boring books that I’d brought home with me, gave up, and spent the rest of the evening cleaning my room. I searched and searched, but I still couldn’t find the other pink shoe.
The next morning, as I packed my purple-splotched shoes in my backpack, the phone rang. Mom told me it was Mrs. Liddell calling to say she’d be driving Andy to school for the rest of the week.
“Why?” I asked after sh
e hung up the phone. Had Andy told his mom to call because he didn’t want to walk with me anymore? “Will she be picking him up in the afternoon, too?”
“I don’t know. Things are hectic at the Liddells’ house right now with Anna’s surgery in a few days.”
“I know Anna’s surgery’s on Friday,” I said. “I just don’t get what that has to do with walking to school.”
“I’m not sure, either,” Mom said. “But I guess things could come up over the next few days, and it’s probably easier to drive Andy.”
“It still doesn’t make sense to me,” I mumbled.
My mother gave me a hug. “There are a lot of things in life that don’t make sense, Pansy,” she said.
As I walked to school by myself, I tried not to think about what Mom said. It was much easier to think about those shoes in my backpack, so that’s what I did. Since I didn’t have a matching pair of sneakers, I’d left the house in my hiking boots that morning. Luckily, Mom was too busy to ask any questions. As I changed into my purple-splotched mismatched shoes, I decided that the only way to pull the whole thing off was to act like it wasn’t an accident, the way I had on the first day of school.
I walked into the classroom with a smile on my face and my head held high. Other kids smiled back at me. Miss Quetzel said, “Good morning, Pansy.”
I said, “Good morning,” and hung up my backpack.
Then I noticed the crowd gathered at the bulletin board. I held my breath as I walked up to the Independent Reader list. Before I could take a look, a rude voice behind me said, “Knew you couldn’t hold on to first place for long.” Zach bumped me with his shoulder. “What happened to you? Did someone puke grape juice all over your feet?”
That got a few laughs from Zach’s buddies. I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Really, what could I tell him? That I’d stepped in dog poop and tried to wash my shoes by myself?
While I was thinking up a good answer, Zach leaned in close to me and said, “You are so weird, Pansy. Just like that Anna, the retard.”
I gritted my teeth. “Anna is not a retard,” I said. I glared at him as I clenched my fists.
But Zach just sneered at me, then laughed. “Yeah, right,” he said, turning away from me as he walked to his seat.
I shot daggers with my eyes at his back. He made me so mad! I didn’t even care anymore if he made fun of me. But what gave him the right to talk about Anna that way?
“Hey Pansy,” Hannah called to me. “Come look.”
I unclenched my fists and walked up to the list.
“Daniel took a BIG test today,” Hannah said.
I stepped up to take a closer look. I’d fallen to second place, ten points behind Daniel.
“At least you’re in second,” Hannah said.
I looked at Hannah to see if she was being sarcastic. But she smiled. “That’s a lot better than me,” she said.
“Thanks,” I said. I had no idea why Hannah was actually being nice for once. Not that it mattered. How would I ever catch up with Daniel now?
I slipped into my seat, ignoring another crack from Zach and the laughter of kids around him. I looked over at Andy, who was already seated. “Hi,” I said. Andy looked up quickly and waved, then turned back to his morning work without even a hint of a smile.
The day went downhill from there. The bell rang, and Miss Quetzel announced it was time for speed drills. We only took them once a week now since a lot of people had passed all of them. I turned over my quiz and tried to focus. But the seven times tables blurred on the paper and in my mind. How could I get Andy to forgive me when he’d barely look in my direction?
DING. “Time’s up!” Miss Quetzel said in her usual cheerful voice. I glanced down at my half-finished paper. I would never survive speed drills. On the last day of fifth grade, there would be one person still taking speed drills. Me. And I’d probably still be on the sevens.
Next, Miss Quetzel passed back our social studies tests. I chewed on the inside of my cheek before I turned it over. I hadn’t studied like I should have because I was too busy reading. I definitely had to guess on some of the questions. I glanced over at Andy. He turned his paper over and shoved it in his binder so quickly I knew the grade couldn’t be high. I flipped over my test to see an F staring straight at me.
Madison nudged me from behind. “I got a 98! I can’t believe it! I was sure I did a terrible job! What’d you get, Pansy?”
I shook my head, folded my paper, and shoved it in my desk.
At recess, I spotted a few more pairs of mismatched shoes. Including Hannah’s. I hadn’t noticed her feet when we were standing by the Independent Reader scores earlier. She was wearing one brown cowboy boot and one black one. She turned on her toes for everyone to admire her.
“Hey, what happened to your shoes?” Emma asked me after Hannah stopped spinning.
“Oh, nothing really,” I said, trying to get everyone to stop looking at my feet.
Madison giggled. “Well, something happened to them, Pansy. Yesterday you didn’t have purple splotches all over your feet.”
“I threw them in the laundry,” I said as we walked toward the playground. They were not going to leave me alone until they got an answer. “With my purple T-shirt.”
Now the other girls were giggling, too.
“Why didn’t you wear the other pink and blue pair?” Hannah asked.
“I happen to like purple,” I said, and everyone laughed.
I didn’t join in. It was the worst day ever. I walked right past them, even though Madison called after me, saying she liked my shoes. I ignored her, heading to the tree at the top of the hill. I dropped to the ground and leaned against the tree trunk where I sat all by myself until recess was over.
***
When I got home that afternoon, I ran up to my room and immediately pulled on my Rollerblades. Just because I had a bad day did not mean it was time to give up on everything I had been working toward. If I wanted to beat Zach in the skating race, I needed to get in some extra practice.
I started down the sidewalk, pushing off with one foot the way Trina had showed us on our ice skates. One foot, then the other. Arms out. Head up. And I couldn’t believe it, but I started to glide. I picked up speed and made it around the block twice without falling!
“Mom! Mom, guess what!” I yelled as I pushed open the front door to the house. “I learned how to glide!”
As soon as I said the words, my Rollerblade caught on the step. My foot turned, and I pitched forward into the entryway.
Mom rushed in from the kitchen to find me sprawled across the floor. “What in the world?” She reached out a hand to help me up. “Why are you wearing your skates in the house?”
I rolled over and dragged my feet inside. “I guess I forgot. I learned to glide on one foot! You have to learn to glide if you want to go fast—”
“So you decided to wait until you were inside to fall?” Mom joked.
I didn’t feel like laughing, though. I sucked in my breath as I unlaced the boot that had gotten caught on the top step. “Ouch.”
“Here, let me take a look.” Mom kneeled down next to me and pulled the boot off. I groaned. She took off my sock. I howled. Mom frowned. “Hmm . . . looks like you might have sprained your ankle.”
“Sprained my ankle? How? OUCH!” I howled again when Mom touched my ankle.
“You must have turned it when you fell. Let me get some ice.”
“My ankle’s not sprained!” I called after her. But it sure did hurt. Mom helped me over to a chair and stuck my foot in a bowl of ice. Half an hour later, my ankle had swollen to the size of a tangerine. I couldn’t really tell if I had an ankle bone anymore.
I pulled my foot out of the icy bowl and hobbled around the room.
“I’m taking you to the doctor, just to be sure you didn’t break it,” Mom said.
“I’m fine!” I protested.
Mom ignored me, picking up her car keys and purse.
&nbs
p; After sitting in the waiting room for over an hour, the doctor said I had a twisted ankle and told me to stay off it for a few days or longer depending on how fast it was healing.
“You never can tell with these things,” the doctor said.
“What do you mean?” I asked him. I couldn’t miss my skating lesson that weekend. We were going to work on one-foot glides and practice racing. “I’ll be better by Saturday, won’t I?”
The doctor shook his head. “I doubt you’ll be completely healed by Saturday. You can rent crutches in rehab downstairs,” he told my mom. “Just make sure she stays off that foot.”
“Crutches?” This was starting to sound serious. “But I thought you said it was just a twisted ankle!”
“It is,” the doctor said. “You won’t need a cast. But you’ll need to keep the weight off your ankle. It could take a couple of weeks, maybe longer, to be completely healed.”
“A COUPLE OF WEEKS!” I’d worked so hard, survived endless crashes and skinned knees—had it all been a complete waste of time? Instead of skating with Anna at the Good Citizens party, I’d be standing on the sidelines, leaning on a pair of crutches.
“Come on, honey,” Mom said. “You’ll have fun swinging around on crutches.”
I was not going to have fun swinging around on crutches. Zach would have another excuse to make fun of me, I was missing the most important weeks of skating practice, and I might even have to sit out at the Good Citizens party.
I thought about how I’d fallen to second place in Independent Reader, how I’d flunked a social studies quiz, how I couldn’t get past the sevens in speed drills, and how Andy was barely speaking to me. It was like I was letting Anna down all over again, the same way I had when I chickened out of Locks of Love and backed out of Girl Scout camp. I stared down at my swollen ankle, and all I could see was my quest for extraordinary crumbling before my eyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
One Day
I spent the rest of the afternoon in my room. I didn’t open a book to read, I didn’t study for my social studies test, and I sure didn’t go outside and practice roller-blading. Instead, I flopped down on my bed the best I could with a hurt ankle and tried to wipe my mind clean, like a brand new whiteboard.
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