So, on this visit, my bibi wanted to go out to Mt. Veeder, because it’s one of those antiquing towns, and they had, like, a quilt show or something. But the real reason we were going was because Poppy, my grandfather, wanted to go to this one brewing company out in the vineyards, because they had some kind of craft root beer, and my poppy is kind of obsessed with root beer.
So, we’re ready to go, and Poppy’s talking about how he heard they have a vanilla head on the root beer at PJ’s. And he’s all about how they have notes of cinnamon and maple, and maybe we kids could get some root beer buttons, and he could get himself a barrel? All I heard was “beer.”
And I just. Freaked. Out.
One of the things Fallon had told me about her party with the sheriff’s department was how NO one should say yes to beer. She’d come home and told us that kids were supposed to “keep it REAL” and Refuse, Explain, Avoid, and Leave when there was beer, and that even going along with the crowd one time could mean that you wouldn’t have a good life anymore.
And I was SO sad, because I just loved him so much, but Poppy wasn’t going to have a good life because he was going to drink beer—and he was taking Bibi and Fallon and me with him! All the people Mom loved the most! What would happen to us? What should I do?
So we drive to the quilt show, and some antique stores, and finally, it’s time for lunch, and Poppy is just READY, you know? He’s practically dragging us through the door. And PJ’s—it’s called a brewing company, but it’s a restaurant with wood-fired pizzas and hamburgers and normal stuff, so Fallon, at least, is pretty excited to sit down and order, but I . . . just like BURST out crying, like LOUDLY. Because I see a server coming, and I’m telling Poppy, “You can’t drink beer! You can’t drink beer!”
And he’s like, “What? Bibi? What is the matter with this child?”
DRAMA, okay? It was not cute.
Eventually, Bibi gets us straightened out, and I understood that there’s a difference between an ADULT beverage and a root beer, and that root beer buttons are just little candies, and Poppy loves us, and is having a good life, and isn’t going to drunk-drive us home or anything. But for a minute there, I was standing up to one of the people I loved the most in the world—scared spitless—but raising my voice and making my stand.
SO! Have you ever felt like you had to stand up for yourself like that? Do you sometimes feel like you SHOULD stand up for yourself, but you can’t figure out what to say? Do your grandparents tell embarrassing stories about you and laugh HARD at you to this day, like mine do??? Do you love craft root beer like my poppy? Serena says you have a voice—so speak out and use it. Even if you’re scared to DEATH.
It’s kind of dumb—I’m still scared of sharing these vlogs, but I can’t call this Serena Says if Serena never actually says boo to anyone in real life. So . . . time to start uploading these. Soon.
That’s my story, and I’m out.
11
Code Red Ribbons
I STOOD IN THE hallway, book and lunch bag in hand, and blinked.
“What?”
“Student Senate?” Harrison’s bristly brows climbed. “We had an assignment? For Red Ribbon Week? Our substance-free awareness thing? Hello?” He reached out with a fist to knock on my forehead, but I twisted out of reach.
“Crud, crud, cruddy, crud,” I muttered, and bent to slide my book down the side pocket of my rolling backpack. Other than my imaginary theme, after seeing JC’s picture during morning announcements Tuesday, I’d pretty much forgotten all about the stupid senate thing. A subcommittee. I was on a subcommittee with Boy Mutant. Whee.
“Fine, I’m coming,” I said tiredly. “What are we supposed to do?”
“Make sure you have your notebook,” Harrison said, still breathing down my neck. “Mrs. Henry likes us to take notes.”
“Of course she does,” I muttered, zipping my bag and dragging it down the hall behind me.
Harrison followed as I stomped down the hall. “Do you have any great ideas?”
Great ideas? Please. I scowled down at the tiles. “What’s the point?”
“What’s the point of what?” Harrison demanded. “Ideas? Red Ribbon Week? Keeping people off drugs?”
When I didn’t answer, Harrison made a frustrated noise. “Are you going to be a lame partner?”
I was grinding my teeth. “I’m not lame. I know people shouldn’t do drugs,” I grumped, digging in my bag for my lunchtime snacks. “Some drugs are legal, though.”
“Not all of them. And anyway, what’s legal is not the point,” Harrison lectured. “The point is that drugs destroy lives. The point is that kids are just starting their lives. The point is—”
“I know what the point is, Harrison. Jeez Louise.”
“Whatever.” Harrison’s shoulders slumped on a big sigh. “When Mrs. Henry asks for our ideas, I’ll start. If you think of anything, you can add it at the end. Okay?”
I stiffened. If I thought of anything? “Why are you first? How do you know I don’t have a whole list of things I thought of already?”
Harrison rolled his eyes. “Because you didn’t even remember you were on senate, that’s how.” Shaking his head, Harrison lengthened his stride, leaving me behind. “Keep up, Hobbit.”
“Shut it, Mutant.”
Mrs. Bowers smiled as we walked through the administration office; me, glowering and out of breath, Harrison, just beyond reach of my kick. Harrison continued straight through to Mrs. Henry’s open door. I took a moment to open my notebook and scrawl furiously before shoving my pen in my pocket and following. I did too have ideas.
There was an upholstered loveseat in Mrs. Henry’s office where Sunita and Ally were already sitting, with Eliana, who was our class treasurer as well as our Student Senate representative, parked beside them in her chair. The rest of the seats were folding chairs, organized into a half circle around the front of Mrs. Henry’s desk. She sat behind it, her gold-rimmed half glasses sliding down her nose, while she typed something into her notepad. Ignoring the seat next to Harrison, I dragged a chair next to Eliana. In a few minutes, Sunita called the meeting to order and we got started.
Eliana gave us a report on the amended WinterFest budget, which we voted to accept. I scowled. The word “WinterFest” was in all caps on top of Eliana’s paper, and with the countdown at six weeks, I wasn’t ready. Six weeks! I didn’t want to think about it. I hadn’t even picked a project, much less bought the supplies or started work. How was I ever going to pull all this together?
Cameron droned on about turnouts for basketball, announcing that they were organizing a canned food drive for Thanksgiving. Hyung reported on plans for a service project for winter quarter. Through most of the unexciting meeting, Mrs. Henry looked like she was working on something else. She wasn’t even eating. I wasn’t paying attention really either—I was rolling my tangerine peels, wishing that instead of waiting for JC to call, that I’d called her about the Twin Day thing. I wondered if it was too late.
Suddenly, Sunita looked from me to Harrison. “If the Red Ribbon subcommittee is ready with their report . . . ,” she began.
I choked on the piece of tangerine in my mouth as Mrs. Henry looked up from her computer and smiled—evilly, probably. No, I was not ready, but Harrison jumped to his feet. He swung his briefcase onto the seat behind him and popped open the clasps.
“We’re ready,” he said, pulling out a thick sheaf of papers.
I rolled my eyes, but privately, I was a teeny-tiny bit impressed. Harrison had a whole pile of notes. He looked like a teacher, getting ready to hand out worksheets. To my horror, he handed the stack of paper to Sunita and said, “Take one and pass it on, please,” just like Mr. Van always said. I stifled a groan as I looked down at the title on the top sheet. THE HISTORY OF RED RIBBON WEEK was in all caps and centered.
I wasn’t the only one slumping. Mrs. Henry cleared her throat. “Remember, Harrison,” she said, “we only have forty-five minutes for lunch.”
&n
bsp; “I know,” Harrison muttered, the tips of his ears turning pink where they stuck out from his shaggy brown curls. “It’s just my research. I’m not going to read it or anything.”
Eliana gave a choked cough that sounded a lot like a belly laugh stuffed down. I was caught between feeling embarrassed for Harrison and feeling annoyed. This was supposed to be our subcommittee, not Harrison’s personal committee of one. If he’d told me he was going to do this, I would have told him no. Then everyone wouldn’t be laughing at him.
“I thought some of you might like to know the history of Red Ribbon Week,” Harrison said determinedly, waving to the paper, “and why we even do this every year. I, um”—Harrison ducked his head awkwardly—“well, I hope you read it. I hope it helps you understand why I—I mean, our subcommittee—decided to do Red Ribbon Week with some Career Day stuff.”
Career Day? He couldn’t have given me a hint about this on the way to the meeting?
Looking through the handout was actually interesting—Harrison found the story of Red Ribbon Week and put in all this stuff about when it became an official week in schools, a long time ago. But it didn’t have anything to do with Brigid Ogan . . . at all.
“We can have people wear red, and all the rest of that, like we usually do, but I just thought this would be better.” Harrison gestured to the paper again. “I mean, just read it, and you’ll know what I mean.”
Having Career Day stuff for the last day was kind of good, though. I could feel ideas sparking through my head. We could do some fun things with this. I know JC’s mom—
I stopped that thought cold. JC wasn’t going to be someone I would be talking to about this. Not anymore.
Right?
“Well, Harrison, this is good,” Sunita was saying cautiously. “But you don’t have, like, activities lined up?”
The silence that followed was excruciating. Harrison shifted from foot to foot, the pink from the tips of his ears migrating across his cheeks and neck. He cleared his throat. “Um. Uh, well, I, I mean—”
We could have had fun with this—JC and me—but now, I’d have to do this myself.
“He means no, he doesn’t,” I blurted. “I mean, Harrison doesn’t. Yet. That’s my part. The activities, I mean.”
Eliana, who’d been watching me scribble in my notebook, turned wide eyes toward me. And Harrison, who had absolutely no chill, gave me a horrified look.
“Serena?” His loud whisper was completely audible in the quiet room, “What are you doing?”
Mrs. Henry took off her glasses, the smile broad across her sharp-chinned face. “Now this sounds like the kind of teamwork that I like. Serena St. John, let’s hear from you.”
Uh-oh.
I stood up slowly, stopping to pull up my socks so I could stall. The pressure of so many eyes on me felt like tiny weights against my body. I cleared my throat and looked at the big flower pin on Mrs. Henry’s shoulder instead of directly at her face, so I could avoid her sharp eyes.
“Harrison, um, had a lot of good ideas about Career Day, and since Red Ribbon Week is so close to Halloween, I thought we could, um, decorate? Like, have a Deck the Doors contest on Monday, you know, to decorate our homeroom doors with an anti-drug theme?”
I could hear my voice rising at the end of every line, as if I were asking a question. Mom always asked me if I was asking her or telling her something when I did that. I cleared my throat again, trying to sound sure of what I was saying. “And then on Tuesday, we can have a College Day maybe? So people can wear logo clothes from schools and colleges and stuff? And Wednesday,” I looked down at the scribbles in my notebook, “is Dreams Before Drugs, which is basically pajama day, which will be really easy.”
I snuck a glance at Ally, who gave me a thumbs-up. My mouth curved into a tiny grin.
“Um, Thursday, it’s Free to Plan a Future, and people can dress up like their future jobs. And Friday at assembly, we can have a Red Ribbon Rally and hand out awards for the door contest, and um, I was thinking, parents came to our class for a career fair when we were in elementary, and—”
“Oh! A career fair!” Sunita interrupted. “Good idea! We could have tables and booths in the cafeteria at lunch on Friday!”
“Uh, we need a fundraiser if we’re going to have prizes,” Eliana pointed out. “I mean, we have money in the budget, but we should do something . . . or sell something.”
“Can we sell candy?” Hyung wanted to know. “I don’t think basketball is doing candy bars this year, are they, Cam?”
Little conversations popped up around the room, as the whole senate started brainstorming. Sunita called for an official vote to accept our ideas, and when it passed, I dropped back into my seat, breathing a sigh of relief.
I leaned over to look at Harrison, who still looked a little rattled, and gave him a smug smile. “Who knew? I had more than one great idea!”
Harrison rolled his eyes. He leaned forward, voice low. “Hobbit, you do realize that we have to do all the stuff you just came up with, right?”
“What? No, we’re just idea people,” I argued, feeling my stomach sink. He couldn’t be serious, could he? The dress-up days wouldn’t be a big deal, but the prizes and the judging and the Career Day would be a lot of work.
“Idea people? Wanna bet?” Harrison laughed.
In a few minutes, Sunita tapped her gavel and wrapped up the meeting. “Thanks to our subcommittee, we have a ton of ideas and a lot of directions to go. Hyung and Cameron, if you could follow up on the candy sales, that would be great. Ally, if you could get something to the morning announcements team, that would help. Serena and Harrison, let us know what you need to get that career fair going.”
“I’m excited to work with you both,” Mrs. Henry chimed in, beaming at us.
Great, I thought, giving her a weak smile. Just great.
12
Nosy St. John
“SOOO, THERE’S A BOY downstairs?” Fallon, brows raised, stood sock-footed in my doorway late Saturday afternoon, staring while she wound her box braids into a knot on the top of her head.
“Yeah?” I dumped my backpack on my bed and rooted around for my gel pens. Navy, bronze, red, green, and . . . aha, the black one. I surveyed the mess of wadded paper napkins, gum wrappers, hair bands, torn pieces of binder paper, and bent notebooks and decided I’d reload my bag later. I had plenty of time before Monday morning.
“And he’s . . . a friend of yours?”
“He is?” I frowned over at my sister. “Is that what he said?”
She nodded, brows raised.
“Dang it, Mutant,” I mumbled, and dug through the mess on my bed for my Red Ribbon binder. Harrison was the good kind of organized, once he got started, but he didn’t seem to understand that working together didn’t mean talking every day. He’d called me twice since Wednesday to nitpick things, and it was totally just like him to show up at my house to nitpick some more.
“Well?” Fallon demanded as I moved toward the door, binder in hand. “Do you know who it is? Do you like him? Aren’t you going to try to do”—she gestured vaguely at my hair, which was in relaxed weekend mode—“something with that?”
I closed my door halfway to assess myself in the mirror behind it. Gray sweatpants and navy hoodie, check. Fleece beanie with curls sticking out around back and sides, check. Red Ribbon stuff, check. “Yep, nope, and heck no,” I told my sister, deciding I looked fine. “It’s just Harrison.”
“That’s not Harrison,” Fallon insisted, trailing me down the stairs. “I remember that guy from your fifth-grade class. This guy isn’t just big, he’s really, really tall.”
“He grew,” I said, ducking through the hallway into the kitchen. By now I recognized Harrison’s voice. Come to think of it, he had been bigger around before he’d gotten bigger up-and-down last summer. Huh.
In the kitchen, I raided Mom’s stash of salted caramel and chocolate lollipops. Since Harrison was company, I was sure I’d be allowed to have them in the fr
ont room. I pulled out a few extra for Harrison to choose between, then headed back.
Fallon was still in the hallway, peeking around the corner into the front room. As I passed her, she snatched off my beanie and picked at my hair with nimble fingers. “Fallon,” I whined, exasperated as she fluffed and tucked, this time leaving a pouf of curls exposed in the front half of my head, while the rest was covered.
“It feels weird like that,” I complained, reaching to adjust my hat again, but my sister swatted my hands away.
“It looks cute like that. Leave it,” she instructed.
Fallon was bossy most of the time, but not usually about my style. I decided to take her advice this time. “Thanks. Can I go now, Mommy?”
Fallon rolled her eyes and waved me on.
I walked around the corner, making a course correction when I saw my mother was in the papasan chair across from where Harrison was seated on the couch. I headed toward the corner of the sectional opposite him and plopped down, tossing the lollipops on the couch cushion between us. “Hey. Want one?”
“Hey. Um, sorry to barge in.” Harrison, for once, wasn’t wearing plaid, but a pale-blue button-up shirt and a cardigan sweater, like one of Mr. Van’s. He looked weirdly old dressed up, his big fingers gripping that stupid briefcase. I could see that he’d bitten his thumbnail down to where it was pink and gross. “Mom and Dad had, um, something to do, so I had them drop me off. If you have a second, we need to look at a few more things—”
I sighed loudly. Harrison was obsessed—and stubborn, and he had a tack in his tushie about anything to do with this Red Ribbon Week. “Couldn’t we do this tomorrow?” I groaned.
My mother drew breath, but I didn’t wait for her to correct my attitude. “I didn’t mean that, I apologize,” I mumbled ungraciously. “What is it now?”
Serena Says Page 5
