“I can see you’re going to be whispering for a while,” said Mr. Van. “I had you down to lead the pledge, but we’ll just ask someone else.”
Nobody really wants to talk at student assembly, except kids like Beth Morgan, who wants to be an actress, and Harrison Ballard, who just likes to hear the sound of his voice. But Mr. Van is the nicest teacher I’ve ever had, and I like him. Plus, he marks participation points toward our citizenship grade, which is the real reason I wouldn’t let him bench me.
“I can do it, Mr. Van. I’m okay,” I said. My voice was rough and croaky.
“You sound terrible,” Mr. Van said. “Rest your voice, Serena. Leilani can lead the pledge.”
Oh no she couldn’t. I waved my hands. “But I’m fine!” I said, way too loudly. My voice cracked but came through okay. “I promise you, Mr. Van, I’m getting better. I’ll be ready.”
By Friday, when the rain came, I wasn’t so sure. First of all, wet weather makes thick, short hair curl up, and mine was so bad, I wanted to wear a hat. I pulled my hair into double buns instead and put on the widest headband I could find. I didn’t feel very ready, but at least I looked cute.
My coughing is always worse in the morning, so by the time I got to school I was not only crackly, my voice now sounded lower than Mr. Arsdale’s, who drove the bus. When it was time, we lined up and went into the auditorium, sitting in the same order as we lined up—alphabetically. I was near the back of the line, between Liz Simms and Corina Talkington. The 6B class filled the rest of the chairs in our section, mostly quietly. The room grew louder as the seventh and eighth graders filed in. Finally, Mrs. Henry, her yellow suit contrasting brightly against her deep brown skin, walked out onto the platform. It was time to begin with the pledge.
Unfortunately, there was a tickle in my throat.
Walking up the aisle to the front of the auditorium seemed like a long, long way. “Please rise for the pledge,” I tried to say when I got there.
First, my voice came out a dry, scratchy hiss, deepening into a barking cough.
I sucked in a breath . . . and coughed. And then I coughed some more.
Oh no.
I could imagine the visual: Shiny face. Snotty nose. Streaming eyes. So not a good look.
I tried to speak. Each time I tried, I coughed. Each time I coughed, Mr. Van winced.
Then—oh, the worst, most embarrassing thing of all: Ms. Aagaard, our school nurse, came up and escorted me off the stage, putting her arm around me.
“Let’s get you some water,” she said in a comforting voice.
I tried to tell her I was okay, but I. Could. Not. Stop. Coughing.
Right when I walked past him, Luis Archega made a stupid-sounding seal bark.
Arf! Arf!
A wave of giggles spread as somebody from the back of the room started barking too. As kids from sixth and seventh joined in, Luis barked again, but this time Mr. Van stood in the aisle right next to him. Across the room, Fallon, who usually acted like I didn’t exist at school, gave Luis her famous Death Glare while Luis’s older brother, Roberto, glared at her. Luis didn’t even notice all that going on, though, because Mr. Van was standing right next to him, giving Luis his Death Glare, and his meant business.
“Ladies and gentlemen, where are your manners?” Mrs. Henry leaned toward the microphone, looking over her glasses.
I was coughing too hard to say anything, but even though my eyes were watering, I gave Luis a Death Glare too.
Gah! This was so embarrassing.
The doors of the auditorium swung shut on Mrs. Henry announcing that once everyone else was excused, the sixth grade would be sitting in silence for five minutes to think about respecting others. Then she announced that she would lead the pledge.
At least it wasn’t Leilani.
SERENA|SAYS
What’s up, World? It’s Saturday. It’s your girl Serena St. John, and this is Serena Says.
[sneeze]
Shout out to Brigid Ogan Middle School, which is getting ready for WinterFest! WinterFest is our first all-school show of the school year. It has all the things—music by the Brigid Ogan orchestra and jazz choir, arts and crafts, face painting and carnival games and amazing food. There’s a big raffle, and each class raises money for a charity, so people buy holiday gifts like candy and wrapping paper and stuff that supports the school.
Class ambassadors like me usually help with WinterFest fundraising. I missed our first bake sale, but our class treasurer, Eliana, told me Temporary Ambassador Leilani was amazing. She didn’t just buy poster board and make a few signs for brownie prices, she put prices on an LED board in lights. JC told me Leilani said she assigned people food, too—like vegan and gluten-free treats—and put them all on their own table. Five minutes later? Sold out.
Great, right? I mean, awesome, the bake sale raised tons of money. It’s just . . . could Leilani not be perfect, for just, like, five minutes? She makes me feel like a dork. Can you imagine her coughing to death in front of the whole school? Uh, NO. Some people are—
“What, Mom?”
“No, I’m filming my vlog! And I’m SICK!”
[sigh]
This is Serena Says, and our WinterFest segment will be back in just a bit . . . because apparently even if you’re DYING around here, you have to clean your room.
5
One-Woman Show
“SERENA, OH MY GOSH!” JC whisper-shrieked from my speaker phone.
“What?” I said, parting a section of my hair to make a twist. This was the second time I’d spoken to JC this cloudy Sunday afternoon, but that was normal for us. Our all-time record is seventeen calls and fifty-five texts in one day.
JC was speaking in exclamation points, her voice rising with excitement. “You would not believe what just happened! To me! At my house! Just now!”
I coiled the hair and twisted the end. “Yeah? What happened? Did your dad bring you something cool?”
“No! Kai Camacho just came over. To my house. Just now, Serena! Like, two minutes ago!”
My jaw dropped. I let my twist spin apart as my fingers went slack. “By himself?”
“No, he was with his mom. Mrs. Camacho’s book club brought Mom some books and a scarf. Wasn’t that sweet of them?”
It was pretty nice. As far as I knew, my mom wouldn’t ever do something like that. For one thing, she didn’t have a book club. She always said she didn’t have time to read, much less breathe, since Fallon and I took up all the air. “So Kai came with his mom to see you?”
“Well, actually, he stayed in the car,” JC admitted. “But he waved through the window. Mrs. Camacho says he thinks he’s getting a cough.”
“JC!” I laughed so hard my giggles turned to a cough. I caught my breath, then groped through my hair to begin my twist again. “Kai Camacho came to visit your front yard, you dork. I was all excited thinking seventh-grade boys were visiting you.”
“Well he would have,” JC rushed on defensively. “He’s got a tickle. Oh, and guess what else?” she added. “Lani and I found a project for WinterFest!”
I rolled my eyes and parted another section of hair. JC can be a tiny bit competitive when it comes to our class. “Another project?” I asked. “You know we only have to do one.”
“What do you mean another project?” JC sounded confused. “I haven’t been at school to pick even one, remember?”
I twisted the hair and clipped it down, so my style would stay. “Yeah, I know, but a way long time ago, we decided we were going to make a birdbath with your dad. Remember?”
“Oh, that,” JC said dismissively. “I had a better idea. Lani went on Artistly and found these super-cute felt owls with beaded feathers. We’re going to make fridge magnets out of them.”
“Wait, what?” I blurted. “JC, that’ll take, like, five minutes. What about the birdbath?”
“You can still come over and make a birdbath with my dad if you want,” JC said generously. She always shared her father, since mi
ne left Mom and Fallon before I was even born. “He could probably do it next week or something, only I don’t think you can make stuff with cement if it’s raining.”
“I don’t want to do a project with your dad,” I protested. I didn’t like how small and hurt my voice sounded. “How could you have spaced on this? We planned out everything!” We’d talked about it for days. First, we’d tint the cement with powdered paint, and then put marbles around the edges in a wave pattern. It would have been gorgeous, and it also would have made serious money at the raffle.
“Serena.” JC sighed. “I’m sorry, okay? I totally forgot about the bath thingy we were going to do, because Lani was talking about magnets and I got excited. Those owls are adorbs!”
I sighed back, disappointment lowering my voice. “Fine. I can make magnets, I guess.”
JC didn’t say anything for a long moment.
I stifled the urge to cough and cleared my throat instead. “JC? Hey, are you still there?”
“Yeah. Um, Serena,” JC began, her voice a little odd, “you can make magnets if you want to, but, maybe just flamingos or something, all right? ’Cause . . . Lani and I have dibs on owls, all right? And Kai’s probably going to be helping us, so you’ll have to make something else or we’ll have too many of one thing.”
“Oh,” I said, my stomach shrinking. At WinterFest, parent volunteers sell the extra donations that don’t fit into the raffle baskets to raise money for individual classes. That wasn’t what JC meant by “too many,” though. She meant that any owl magnets I made would be too many, even if it was just one.
I didn’t know what to say. It hurt too much that she was choosing Leilani over me. And Kai—why did she have to be so weird about Kai? It wasn’t like they were actually going out or anything. Was he really going to hang out with them and glue little magnets onto felt owls?
“You’ll find tons of other magnet projects if you look on Artistly,” JC told me. “Lani says that’s where you get the best ideas for everything.”
Oh, right, Lani says it, so it must be true.
“Fine. Whatever,” I said, and pressed my lips together so I couldn’t let out one more word.
It used to be that the best ideas JC and I had came from putting our heads together in a brainstorm. Since that’s not what Lani says, though, I guess that’s just not true anymore.
6
Punctured
MY MOTHER SAID THAT sixth-grade friendships change, and change was beyond our control, and we shouldn’t take it personally. She said that the best thing that could happen to me was that I find out how to pick a project and stand on my own. I don’t even know what she meant by that. I do stand on my own. And I had a perfectly good birdbath project.
And now I don’t.
Fallon got online and found some bird feeders made out of paper towel rolls and wooden spoons, which were totally lame—and I said thank you, but no thank you. Mom got online and found bird nests made from chocolate-coated cornflakes with little chocolate-covered almonds in them for eggs. Which, hello? Also lame. People do those for Easter, not Christmas.
“Thanks, Mom, but no,” I said, turning away from the picture on her phone.
“Well, that’s all I’ve got, kid,” Mom said, pulling on a white lab coat over her purple nursing scrubs, “so I’m going to finish getting ready for work. You’ll find something, Serena. I have faith in you.”
Oh, goody, Mom had faith in me. I didn’t need faith; I needed A WINTERFEST PROJECT. Like, right now. WinterFest was only eight weeks away. It was hopeless! I was never going to find anything.
At least I had a new book bag. My bibi, which is what I call my grandmother, sent it to me as a little present, since she’d heard I’d been sick so early in the school year. My bag was black with fat pink roses on it, and two little outside pockets—so, so cute—and a little tiny mini-backpack that fit inside! It was so cute it almost made me a little less grumpy. Almost.
After announcements Tuesday morning, Mr. Van reminded the class officers that there was going to be a meeting during lunch. At the 11:50 bell, the six of us—our president, VP, treasurer, secretary, social secretary, and me, class ambassador, wandered out to grab extra snacks from the vending machine or lunch from the cafeteria. Instead of finding a table with the rest of the mob of sixth graders, we trooped back into Mr. Van’s room.
I was already opening my zip bag of sliced apples as Eliana wheeled along next to me in her chair, telling me about the new graphic novel she’d just read. Then Eliana stopped. She pushed up her glasses and frowned.
“Uh-oh.”
“What?” I asked, looking up.
Leilani was already sitting at the table in the corner of the classroom, her mouth full of sandwich. Her eyes widened, and she flushed as I stared at her. I crumpled my bag of apples in my fist.
Well, this wasn’t at all super awkward.
I shifted my lunch bag and crossed my arms. “Um, Leilani . . . ? What are you doing here?”
Leilani chewed as fast as she could, holding up a hand for me to wait until she could speak. Finally, she choked down her bite and stood, pushing back her straight black hair. “Serena! You’re here!”
Eliana and I looked at each other. I’d been back at school now for four days. “Uh . . .”
Leilani waved her hand again. “No, I mean, I thought you were sick again after all that coughing at assembly. I told Mr. Van an idea I had for a Harvest Party, and he called this meeting so I could tell everyone, and, um . . .” Leilani trailed off and shrugged, running her hand over her hair like she was flustered.
“Don’t worry about that,” Mr. Van said, rescuing her. “Serena, come on in and sit down. Lani’s got an exciting idea, and we’ve got room for both of our ambassadors in this meeting.”
BOTH of our ambassadors? BOTH, as in two?
I looked at Eliana, but this time she was looking at her fingernails.
“Mr. Van . . . there’s only one class ambassador,” I reminded him.
“We can have two, can’t we?” Mr. Van asked. He raised his eyebrows, sending me silent messages as the light above his head glinted off of his bald spot. Mr. Van’s eyebrows said, Say yes, Serena. Come sit down, Serena. Be a good sport, Serena.
I wanted to. I wanted to be a good sport and do what Mr. Van wanted . . . but Leilani Camacho had already taken my spot as class ambassador once. Then she took my birdbath partner. She wasn’t getting anything else—Not. One. Thing.
“No,” I said. The word dropped out of my mouth and plopped on the floor.
Beside me, Eliana sucked in a breath.
My face felt hot and tight. I felt too many feelings, and they all wanted to come out at once.
“No?” Mr. Van repeated, a worried little line between his eyebrows. “We can’t have two ambassadors . . . ? Are you sure?”
I looked at Leilani, who was looking at the floor, twisting a hank of her hair into a rope. I looked at Mr. Van, who was leaning against his desk, his expression unhappy.
Wait. This wasn’t my fault. We didn’t have two ambassadors! The class only voted for one! Wasn’t Leilani going to say something? Wasn’t Mr. Van going to do something? Why was everybody looking at me?
I smelled hot food and our class president, Erik Peterson, came up behind me carrying a cafeteria lunch of lasagna and french bread. He already had his baby carrots in his mouth, like walrus tusks. “I’m here! Let’s get this party started,” he said like he always did.
But this time, nobody laughed. The moment stretched too tight, like an overinflated balloon.
“What did I miss?” Erik asked, his blue eyes wide. “What’s going on?”
“Well . . . ,” Mr. Van began.
“I quit,” I tried to say. But the balloon popped, and instead of words, I got tears ready to explode all over the place. I put my head down and got out of there.
SERENA|SAYS
What’s up, World? It’s your girl Serena! Welcome back to my vlog. Today, let’s check out WHAT’S IN MY BA
G!
[holds up bag]
So this is my bag, which is technically a teensy backpack that fits into the big backpack that I take to school. It’s actually a crossbody bag, but if you go like THIS—
[clips the straps to the back]
Ta-DAH! New backpack. I know, cute, right? This sea turtle charm I got from when we went to Florida. I LOVE it, because sea turtles are my favorite thing after owls. Wait, no, actually, after hedgehogs. And tiny frogs. Um, anyway, moving on—
When you open my bag, the first thing you see is my PLANNER, which my mother gave me this year for the first day of school. I had to, um, rip out pages, so there’s nothing much written in it yet, except on the first page, where Mom wrote my name and all my classes. I think she thought I would write homework assignments in there, but assignments are on Pegasus—our school message board—so . . . The pages I tore out just had some stuff I’d planned to do with JC, which is kind of not happening now because she’s maybe too busy with OTHER people, so . . .
Anyway! The next thing in my purse is my glasses case that holds my sunnies, which are super cute and very helpful to wear when I don’t want people to look at me. Sunnies are very important if your eyes are red for any reason, like crying through most of lunch because someone just thought they could roll up and take your class ambassador job, and everyone acted like that was JUST FINE. Um . . . okay, so, here in my first right zipper pocket is the space for my phone. I keep an extra flexipod in there to hold my phone, just in case I need to make a vlog real quick.
Oh, and the SECOND zipper pocket on the right side has this little stripy bag, which is stuff for Lady Days. And before you say anything, FACT: Lady Days happen to, like, half of the population. SECOND FACT: Even if you’re gender identified to be NOT in that half of the population? You still need to respect the Lady Days. There’s nothing embarrassing about bodies and how they work, and everybody has blood, right? So today’s Serena Says PSA: Lady Days are a Thing. No shame, no shade—deal with it.
Serena Says Page 2
