by Dyan Sheldon
“She could be a model,” said my mother. “With those cheekbones.” She gave me a look. “It’s nice to see you eating again,” she said.
On Saturday Chris showed up, carrying the telescope. I was in the kitchen having breakfast when my mother looked out the window over the sink and said, “Jenny, do you know a very good-looking boy who wears his hair in a pony-tail?”
I almost said no. I’d never heard anyone describe Chris as good-looking before. Weird, strange, brainy, crazy … but not good-looking. I thought about it. He was sort of good-looking. “Maybe,” I said.
“He’s carrying a telescope,” said my mother.
I concentrated on wiping the syrup off the neck of the bottle. “It’s Chris County, Marva’s brother.”
My Father invited him to join us. My mother asked if he was the boy with the owl. My father, immediately deciding that he’d found another bird fanatic, started talking about eagles. Chris knew as much about eagles as my father. The two of them were over the moon. My mother suggested that we set up the telescope in the attic, where there weren’t any trees to block the way. My father asked Chris if he’d give him a hand with the storm windows. My mother asked Chris to stay to lunch. My father asked him if he’d seen the show on hoatzins a few weeks ago. They talked about hoatzins through the entire meal.
After Chris left, my father said, “Now that’s what I call a nice young man.”
I said, “You do? You don’t think he’s weird?”
“Weird how?” asked my mother.
Saturday afternoon, my mother ran into Amy in town. “She didn’t realize you’d been sick,” said my mother.
I didn’t move my eyes from the book I was reading. I’d been home for four days, and Amy Ford hadn’t noticed. I wasn’t surprised, and I wasn’t even disappointed. I was almost relieved. “What else did she say?” I asked.
“She said she was shopping for her Hallowe’en costume,” said my mother. “She’s going to be a mermaid.”
I bit into my apple.
“You didn’t tell me you were going to a Hallowe’en party,” said my mother.
I bit into my apple again. “I’m not.”
And suddenly I understood that the reason I’d been feeling so good the past few days wasn’t really because I was avoiding my problems. It was because I was relaxing and being myself, without worrying what Amy and her friends were going to think. I was never going to be blonde, or tall or thin. So who cared? Amy didn’t care. Amy hadn’t given me a thought all week. But Marva had. And Tanya had. And Joan, Sue and Maria had. And so had Chris. And they definitely didn’t care how tall I was, or how thin – or even if my hair was green.
“Jenny,” said my mother, “have you and Amy had some sort of fight?”
“No,” I said, “not really. We’ve just sort of drifted apart.”
In a crazy way, I guess my problems really had sorted themselves.
Public as a frog
“I can’t go through with it,” I said to Chris. It was Tuesday afternoon. We were playing cards in the living-room, pretending that tomorrow was just another day. “I just can’t.”
Marva, who was lying on the couch, pretending to be dead, said, “Rititnitit.”
“Shut up, Marva,” said Chris. Then he turned back to me. “Why not?”
“Why not?” I gave a hollow laugh. “Christopher, a recent survey of American teenagers has shown that nine out of ten would prefer not to make a public spectacle of themselves if they can possibly help it. Especially in front of everyone they know.”
“Fair enough,” said Chris. “Your turn.”
We’d put a lot of time and effort into making my sign and my costume. These, and my formal letter of protest to Mr Herrera, were already in my locker, waiting for tomorrow. But Chris didn’t point out any of that.
“Dressing up as a frog definitely counts as making a public spectacle of yourself,” I went on.
“Right,” said Chris. “So don’t do it.”
I knew what he was up to. By being reasonable, he was trying to make me feel so guilty that I’d insist on going through with the plan. “I’d like to do it,” I continued, “I really would. I know it’s the right thing to do, it’s not that. But I just can’t face it.” I threw out a queen. “I’m very shy and insecure.”
“I know you’re shy,” said Chris. “That’s why I think you should forget the whole thing.” He picked up my queen.
“Really?”
“Rummy,” said Chris.
“What have you got to eat?” asked Marva.
I felt much better once I’d made my decision. Well, I would, wouldn’t I? I did the supper dishes in a good mood. I did my homework with a smile on my face. I sat down happily to watch a documentary about parrots with my father. “This is going to be good,” said my father.
The documentary about parrots was awful. I mean, it was good, but it was awful. It started out by showing how beautiful and intelligent parrots are. Then it showed how wild parrots are captured, badly treated, and how a lot of them die gruesome deaths before they get to the pet store. It reminded me of frogs, not that frogs are as cute as parrots, or as intelligent, or as rare, or can be taught to talk. I mean, you wouldn’t want some frog sitting on your shoulder, taking a peanut out of your mouth. But it reminded me of frogs anyway.
“You see how much we take for granted without really thinking about it?” said my father.
“I have to go to bed,” I said. “I have a big day tomorrow looking for the internal organs of pond life.”
I dreamt about frogs. Frogs with wings and pointy beaks. Or maybe I dreamt about parrots. Parrots with bulgy eyes and white bellies.
I was in the jungle with Mr Herrera and my biology class. We were all wearing pith helmets and carrying what looked like butterfly nets. “Now remember, class,” Mr Herrera kept saying, “don’t be squeamish. This is for science.”
We ran through the jungle, shouting and yelling and scooping up frogs with our nets. Amy appeared in a clearing with Kim and Amber. They were in their Red Bay cheerleader’s uniforms: red shorts, white blouses and red and white pompoms. They were jumping up and down and chanting. “If you’re not with us, you miss the bus!” they boomed.
Amy started shaking her pompoms at me. “Jenny!” she called. “Jenny, watch! This one’s for you!” She turned to Amber and Kim. “Ready, girls?” she smiled. They nodded. They spun to the left. They spun to the right. They did a split. “Do what you’re told!” they all screamed. “Or end up in the cold!”
“Jenny!” Mr Herrera started shouting. “Jenny! Pay attention! You’re letting the frogs get away!”
I looked around. I was up in a tree. Frogs were flying past me by the dozen.
“Get them!” screamed Mr Herrera. “Get them!”
“I’m getting them!” I screamed back. “Don’t worry, Mr Herrera, I’m getting them!”
The cheerleaders’ pompoms rustled. “Do what you’re told! Do what you’re told!” they yelled. “Do what you’re told, or be out in the cold!”
“I’m getting them!” I screamed again. “I’m getting them!” I swung my net with all my might.
I fell out of the tree.
I walked to school by myself on Wednesday. Slowly. I don’t know if everyone is wishy-washy when it comes to making decisions, or if once they made up their minds that’s it. But not me. I make up my mind, and then I change it. Then I make it up again and then I change it again. Make up; change. Make up; change. Here it was, D-Day, only a few hours before biology, and all the way to school I kept thinking, maybe I shouldn’t dissect the frog after all. Maybe I should go through with the plan.
As I got to school, I saw Amy, Kim and Amber getting out of Kim’s mother’s car. They were talking and laughing. I got ready to smile, in case they turned round and saw me. Amy turned round. I smiled. She didn’t see me. I stopped smiling and went back to being indecisive.
All through English and Spanish I wondered what I should do. Yes or no? ¿Sí o quiz�
�s? I decided to just walk by my locker on my way from Spanish to biology.
I walked past my locker. I stopped in front of my locker. I opened it. I took out the bag with the costume, the sign and the letter in it. I put it back again. I took it out. I pictured making that first incision in the frog’s white belly. I imagined its tiny stomach and pancreas and heart. I smelled the formaldehyde. I raced into the girls’ room and put my costume on.
Call me lucky, but even though I’d dithered, I got to the science building in plenty of time. There were only a few people in our classroom, and Mr Herrera was nowhere in sight. He was probably getting the bodies out of the vault. Other kids were looking at me as you would look at someone wearing a lot of green papier-mâché, but I ignored them. I stood in front of Mr Herrera’s room for a few seconds, listening to my heart pound and wondering if I was going to stop breathing or not. I thought I might be paralysed, I was so scared. What are you doing? I was screaming to myself. You are really out of your mind. A few people laughed as they passed by.
“Who is that?” I heard someone ask.
“It’s Jenny Kaliski,” someone answered.
And that’s when I thought, Well, it’s too late now. You’re in the water now, you might as well swim.
I hefted the sign against my shoulder. I took a deep breath. And I began to walk back and forth in front of the biology room. One, two, three, turn, I counted to myself. One, two, three, turn. There were unmistakable sounds of chairs being pushed back in a hurry and high school students rushing to see a fellow classmate make a complete fool of herself. There was more laughter. A crowd began to gather. If ever a person wanted to be astrally projected outside of her body, I was that person and the time was now. The only reason I kept going was because I couldn’t stop.
And then I saw her. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Amy standing on the other side of the hall with Kim and Rosie Henley. This time Amy saw me. I could tell from the look on her face that she saw me. It was the look of someone who’s just discovered a bug swimming around in her cereal. She was shocked. She was disgusted. She was embarrassed. Boy, was she embarrassed! But more than that, I could tell she was mad. Mad at me. She’d dumped me, humiliated me, ignored me and hurt me – and now she was mad. Do as you’re told, or be out in the cold. And suddenly I realized that the difference between me and Amy wasn’t that she was taller and thinner and blonder than I would ever be. The difference was that she cared what people like Rosie Henley thought and I didn’t. Why should I? In three years, we’d all be out of high school. Who would notice then if I’d hung out with the popular crowd or with the Martians? No one. Not Amy. Not Rosie Henley. Not me. And who would care if I’d stood up for the frogs of the world or not? I would.
“Miss Kaliski!” Mr Herrera was shouting. “Miss Kaliski, what is the meaning of this?”
I hadn’t seen him sneaking up on me. I shook my sign. I gave him my biggest smile. “I’m peacefully protesting the meaningless dissection of frogs in your biology class,” I said. My voice wasn’t even shaking; it sounded strong and calm. I handed him my letter. “Here,” I said, “this will explain everything.”
As Mr Herrera reached for the envelope, there was a sudden explosion of light. We both turned.
“Mr County!” roared Mr Herrera. “I should have known you’d have a hand in this.”
I blinked. There was Chris, grinning, with a camera in his hand. And right beside him were the Martians. They were grinning, too, and holding a banner that said SAVE THE FROGS!
“You didn’t really think we’d let you do this by yourself, did you?” asked Chris.
He stayed with me all during third period while I was boycotting biology.
“You know,” he whispered as we stood side by side against the wall, the sign resting between us, “Marva’s thinking of having a Hallowe’en party this year.”
“Well, I’ve already got my costume,” I whispered back.
“And how about a date?” asked Chris.
I looked at him. “What?”
“A date,” he repeated. “You don’t already have that, do you?”
Kissing in the hallways of Red Bay High is against the rules. I think we might have done it anyway, but we were already in so much trouble.
AWAY FOR THE WEEKEND
The only thing Gabriela and Beth have in common is that they are in LA for the weekend. Gabriela is there for FRIVOLITY, FASHION and FUN; Beth for LECTURES, LEARNING and LITERATURE. But what neither girl knows is that they are not alone. Two ANGELS are in LA with them.
AND THE ANGELS HAVE
OTHER IDEAS…
CONFESSIONS OF A TEENAGE DRAMA QUEEN
Everything I’m about to tell you occurred exactly as I say — even the things that seem so incredible, so totally out of the solar system that you think I must have made them up. And nothing’s been exaggerated, not the teensiest, tiniest, most subatomic bit. It all happened exactly as I’m telling it.
And it starts with the end of the world…
THE CRAZY THINGS GIRLS DO FOR LOVE
THREE very different girls with one thing in common.
They all have a CRUSH on the GORGEOUS NEW BOY in school.
But which of them will get him? And how on earth is she going to do it?
ALL IS FAIR IN LOVE AND WAR —
AND THIS IS LOVE!
MY WORST BEST FRIEND
“Promise me you’ll always be my
best friend, Gracie,” said Savanna.
“No matter what happens. PROMISE.
PROMISE. PROMISE.” I laughed.
“Of course I will,” I promised.
It was a no-brainer. There was
nothing that could ever end our
friendship. We were SOUL SISTERS.
We were COSMIC TWINS and we
would be FOREVER.
AT LEAST THAT’S WHAT
I THOUGHT THEN…
Dyan Sheldon is the author of many books for young people, including Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen; And Baby Makes Two; The Crazy Things Girls Do for Love; and My Worst Best Friend, as well as a number of stories for younger readers. American by birth, Dyan lives in North London.
Other books by Dyan Sheldon
And Baby Makes Two
Away for the Weekend
Confessions of a Hollywood Star
Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen
The Crazy Things Girls Do for Love
I Conquer Britain
My Perfect Life
My Worst Best Friend
Planet Janet
Planet Janet In Orbit
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. All statements, activities, stunts, descriptions, information and material of any other kind contained herein are included for entertainment purposes only and should not be relied on for accuracy or replicated as they may result in injury.
First published 1993 by Walker Books Ltd
87 Vauxhall Walk, London SE11 5HJ
This edition published 2013
Text © 1993 Dyan Sheldon
Cover photograph © Image source/Getty Images
The right of Dyan Sheldon to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, taping and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data: a catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978-1-4063-4874-3 (ePub)
www.walker.co.uk
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