As Harrison opened up his briefcase and wrestled out a fat folder, Mom got up, saying something about making us some sandwiches, and bustled into the kitchen.
I watched her go, turning suspicious eyes on Harrison. “Dude, what did you do?”
Harrison looked confused. “What, to your mom? Nothing.”
“Well, you must have done something. First off, we never get to eat stuff with crumbs in the front room. Ever. Second, she always says if our friends want something to eat, we know where the kitchen is. She does not make sandwiches.” I tilted my head and studied him. “Whatever you did, it worked. You’re like the Parent Whisperer. Gold star, Mutant.” I grinned.
Harrison opened his mouth, closed it, and frowned. His nostrils flared as he exhaled.
I spoke around the lollipop shoved in between my back teeth. “What?”
“I didn’t do anything. She probably just feels sorry for me,” Harrison said, opening his notebook. “Okay. I thought if we had them set up the tables across the back—”
“Wait, what?” I interrupted. “Feels sorry for you why? What’s wrong with you?”
Harrison sighed. “Nothing. I just told her my parents are at New Vista.”
I gasped, leaning back in my seat in shock, then gulped and hastily smoothed my expression. I tried to play it off like I’d just sneezed, but I wasn’t fooling anyone.
Mom worked as an advanced practice psychiatric nurse at New Vista, so I knew it was a hospital for people with serious mental problems. I also knew that making the face I’d just made or asking any of the nosy questions I wanted to would be rude enough for Mom to do more than suck in a breath to correct me.
“Um,” I flailed, searching for words. “Your parents—? You—I—Never mind. Sorry.”
Harrison gave me a sickly smile. “And now you feel sorry for me too.”
“No! No, I don’t, Mutant,” I said quickly. “For all I know, your parents are doctors.”
Harrison heaved a sigh and picked his cuticle. “Well, Mom is a doctor. But she’s an endocrinologist.” Harrison shrugged. “They’re just visiting my brother today, like they always do after church.”
I sank my teeth into my bottom lip, hoping the pinch of pain would remind me not to be too curious. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”
“Well . . . he’s a lot older,” Harrison explained, watching me carefully. “Six years.”
“Oh. My sister’s older too.” I opened my mouth again, but then bit down on my lip, hard—no more questions, Serena—and opened my binder. I will not be nosy. I will not be nosy. I will not . . . “Okay, so what’s this about tables in the back?”
Harrison closed his binder with a heavy sigh. “You want to know about my brother, don’t you? Just ask.”
Duh, was he serious? Of course I did! I opened my mouth . . . then chickened out.
“Nope, it’s fine, Harrison, I don’t want to know.” The lie shoved its way out of my mouth. “Now—are you rearranging where you’re putting the parent volunteers? What’s the new plan now?”
It’s probably better that I didn’t ask. I mean, I didn’t know what to say, so I did the right thing to stop talking about it, right? Even though I maybe hurt Harrison’s feelings . . .
Why doesn’t doing the right thing feel right?
13
A Word Is Dead (When It Is Said)
“HEY, REE.” JC’S VOICE was distracted. I’d tried to 2Face her like I always did after school, but she said I should call so I knew she was doing something else, probably painting her nails.
“So, hey,” I said, trying to sound bright and interesting. Since I’d waited for her call, we hadn’t talked since our Monopoly date. “So, I made another couple of vlogs. I’m getting better at it—kind of. I haven’t uploaded any of them yet, but think I’m going to try for reporter again next semester, definitely. Maybe.”
“Uh-huh,” JC said.
I cleared my throat. “Yeah, so that’s what I’m doing. What’s going on with you?”
“Just hanging out,” JC said. “I’m watching something.”
Oh. JC was probably watching that stupid Modern Divas again. I would have asked Mom if we could have subscription TV so I could watch it, too, but Fallon said Mom had already told her no. Fallon just goes to Sharyn’s house to watch it.
“So tomorrow is Red Ribbon Week,” I blurted.
“Yep,” JC yawned. “Same as last year.”
“No, better than last year. It’s going to be good. I’m organizing it,” I argued. “Student Senate is working hard.”
“Huh,” JC said. I couldn’t tell if her voice was thoughtful or if she was being sarcastic. “I thought you said senate was stupid.”
I fidgeted. I should have known JC would remember how I’d gone on about senate when Fallon was on it. “It kind of is, but it’s kind of not,” I said finally. “I mean, Harrison is way too into it, and everyone knows Mrs. Henry’s the one deciding things, but she’s letting us do new stuff for Red Ribbon Week.”
I cleared my throat. JC didn’t say anything.
“And, um, Thursday, it’s Free to Plan a Future, and we’re dressing up like our future jobs. And Friday at the Red Ribbon Rally, we’re handing out awards for a door contest, and there’s a career fair at lunch, and parent volunteers are coming. . . . At the next senate meeting, Eliana’s collecting money from the classes selling red candy in the cafeteria. We’re donating it to this place called Liberation Library. It’s books for kids in juvenile detention centers.”
I paused again. I couldn’t hear . . . anything. Had JC put down the phone? She did that sometimes, when her mom called her after school.
“JC?”
“Uh-huh, cool,” JC said a moment later.
My face burned. Couldn’t she put her show on pause for five minutes? She hadn’t even texted me for days. “So should I call you later, JC, or what?”
“No! No, I’m listening,” JC said, but she wasn’t. I knew she wasn’t. She was watching her divas, and all I was doing was interrupting.
Why was I still trying?
“Hey, JC, did you know Harrison Ballard’s brother is at New Vista?” I said the words in a whispered rush, my stomach swooping sickeningly as I blurted the words. I wanted to take them back immediately.
There was a pause, and I hoped, I prayed that she hadn’t heard me. Then a second later, JC gasped.
“Wait, what? Did you say that Harrison Ballard’s brother is a psycho? Really?”
I winced. At our house, the word “crazy” is worse than a swear. Mom says it’s a term people use when they’re too lazy to do the hard work of understanding and empathy. She gets angry when people call New Vista a “loony bin” too. “Don’t say that. And don’t tell anyone, either, okay?” I begged. “He’s sick, but he’s getting better.” I had no idea if that was true, but it sounded like it could be.
“OMG,” JC whispered back. “Did you find out from your mom?”
“What? No!” I exclaimed in my normal voice. “JC, you know Mom would never, ever tell me about her patients’ private business. She wouldn’t even tell me if you were at New Vista.”
She wouldn’t either. And if she found out that I’d been the one telling . . . I winced again.
“Whatever, just asking,” JC said. Her face was so close to the phone now, I could hear her crunching on something—probably dry ramen noodles, which JC always ate when she was watching TV. “You know, I didn’t even remember Harrison had a brother. He ran away or something a long time ago. . . . Wow, he must have been at New Vista forever. How’d you find out?”
“Uh, I just heard it around,” I said, suddenly reluctant to tell JC that Harrison had told me. I didn’t want to think about Harrison at all right then.
“Well, if it’s true . . . that is really sad,” JC said, her voice serious. “I wonder if that’s why Harrison’s into Red Ribbon Week. Maybe his brother did drugs, and that’s how he got put at New Vista.”
I swallowed, queasy. What if tha
t were true? “I don’t know anything more. Harrison probably doesn’t want us to feel sorry for him. Anyway, his brother’s, like, eighteen, so he’s way older.”
“Way, way older than you,” JC said, reminding me that I was the youngest in our class. “You should do something for him,” JC continued. “Something nice.”
“For Harrison’s brother?” I blurted.
“For Harrison,” JC said, as if this were obvious. “You know he likes you.”
“Would you stop? He does not! And, anyway, I’m already nice,” I said, my voice sharp. “Don’t make this weird, JC.”
“It’s not that big a deal to do something nice for someone, Serena,” JC said, sounding snippy. “You should try it sometime.”
“JC, I’m nice!” Now I sounded angry. “I do nice things all the time.”
JC gusted out a sigh. “Serena, you know what I mean. Look, I’ll just ask Lani if she can think of something for our class to do for him. She’s good at that.”
It felt like the floor dropped out from underneath me. “What? NO! Don’t tell Leilani!” I gasped. “JC, you promised!”
“No, I didn’t. Anyway, you said, ‘Don’t tell anyone.’ Leilani is not just anyone,” JC pointed out with a debater’s logic. “She’s the class ambassador. This is the kind of thing ambassadors should know, Ree, so they can do outreach and stuff. What if no one knew that I was going to the hospital, huh? No one would have visited me.”
“But—”
“Jeez, Serena, I’m not going to tell the whole world. I just think our class should do something for his family—like, anonymously. Don’t you remember the Brigid Ogan motto? We’re supposed to be kinder than necessary.”
“I know, but—”
“We’ll think of something super good—maybe make it a class project. I’ll talk to Lani and see what she says.” JC’s voice warmed. “You know Lani always has the best ideas. No offense, Ree. You were an okay ambassador, but Leilani is amazing.”
I flinched. Amazing? Leilani was amazing, and I was only okay?
“And she’ll come up with something everyone will be into. This is going to be great—it’s going to be epic, Serena. Trust me.”
The word “trust” made me flinch again. I couldn’t trust myself right now—I didn’t know what I was doing anymore. Trust seemed like something fragile and good, something I couldn’t be allowed to hold on to anymore.
All I could think of was the way Harrison had looked at me when he’d said, “Just ask,” as if he’d been kind of . . . challenging me? Maybe asking me because he wanted to talk about his brother? Something about the hunch of his shoulders and the way his chin tipped down had made me a little afraid. He said he’d tell me anything I wanted to know, but suddenly it had all felt like too much—and too weird. I lied—and Harrison hadn’t looked at me again. Just pulled out his big stupid binder, and our subcommittee of two had gone on with more of his Boy Mutant nitpicking.
How could I trust JC after she’d said she was going to tell Leilani everything? No way. I’d messed up big-time, and all I could trust now was that this was going to be a total disaster.
SERENA|SAYS
What’s up, World? It’s Wednesday, and Serena says . . . it’s STORYTIME.
Welcome back to my vlog!
So this story is about a girl that we’ll call . . . um, Leah, to protect the not-so-innocent. This is about the first time I met her at my middle school.
[deep breath]
So our cafeteria at school is actually amazing. I know, I know, school cafeteria food is supposed to be super nasty, but ours isn’t, right? So anyway, it was Taco Thursday, and I saw this girl in line in front of me, telling the cafeteria lady not to put cheese on her taco, right? And I didn’t think much about it—people eat whatever, right? But the reason why I noticed her was that she was wearing this really cute sweatshirt and skirt—kind of a ruffled prairie thing or whatever, and I remember thinking her boots went with it really well.
SO ANYWAY. She’d asked for no cheese, and then we ended up at the drink fridge together, and she was getting one of these drinks that’s some kind of fruit flavor, and either yogurt or some sports drink stuff in it. And I look at her tray, and she’s taken one of the yogurt drink ones. So I said, “You know that has milk in it, right?” Because she’d just said she didn’t want cheese, right? So I was—I mean, I don’t know, maybe she just didn’t like cheese, but I just thought she should know there was milk in something, like if she was vegan, right? Or what if she was lactose intolerant? Wouldn’t she want to help a girl out, if she was in my shoes? But no.
She gives me this “duh” face, and she’s like, “Yeah, I know it has milk in it, it’s A YOGURT DRINK.” And she stares at me like I just spit on her tray or something.
And I felt so stupid I didn’t even explain. I was like, “Um, yeah, okay, bye.”
Gah, awkward, right? I hate even remembering this whole conversation.
Ugh, not that I’m going to upload this, but if it was YOUR first day at a school, would you come for people like that? Or would you maybe try and be really chill and make friends? Is it more important to tell people you know something to look smart? Or is it more important that people think you’re nice?
The thing is, not everyone always makes a good first impression . . . I DEFINITELY didn’t with Leilani . . . I mean, Leah. And, okay, so she made a REALLY bad first impression on me, and I didn’t even try to like her after that, which . . . okay, so that’s not really fair, even though she was RUDE. I know, I know—I should’ve given her a chance. People change, all the time. Just look at JC . . . and me . . .
[pause]
Um . . . okay, so Serena says being chill with new people is where it’s at and giving people a chance is a superpower. It’s important to be a friend—a REAL friend—whenever you can.
That’s my story, and I’m out.
14
Sixth Grade Is Not Forever
FOR DINNER, WE HAD Goop Over Rice, a “fast food” Mom invented for when she’d run out of time to do more than run the rice steamer and add leftovers. It was Fallon’s turn to help, so I was still deep in my thoughts by the time Mom called me to eat.
I’d wanted a nap and a chance to figure things out, just in case I talked to Harrison, but one look at my backpack convinced me there wasn’t time. Sixth graders in Mr. Howard’s language arts class at Brigid Ogan have more homework projects than anyone. Language arts worksheets were the worst, filled with words no one ever used to describe things so obvious they made me want to scream.
I rested my chin on my hand and moodily stirred the mixture of rice, corn, beans, peppers, cheese, and chopped sausage on my plate, almost too tired to eat . . . and cranky with Mr. Howard, Harrison, JC—everyone.
“Serena?”
I mean, seriously. Why had Leilani decided to take over my job as class ambassador? Why did she always have to show everyone that she was better than me at everything?
“SERENA.”
And what if Harrison listened to JC and Leilani? We didn’t have room to add any new awards at Brigid Ogan—not even if JC and Leilani did all the work themselves, which Leilani might, since that’s kind of how she rolled. And what about all the work Harrison and I—
“Serena St. John. Earth to Serena, come in, please.”
“Huh?” I blinked at my mother’s skeptical expression. “What?”
My mother gave me a mommish look, the kind that examines faces and body language for secrets that only mothers can interpret. I met her eyes, looking as normal as I could, but still she studied me, a frown rumpling the smooth brown expanse of her forehead.
“Where’s your head tonight, Rena-Beana-Belle? What’s going on with you?”
I ducked away from the all-seeing eyes. “Nowhere. Nothing.”
Mom pinched the bridge of her nose and looked up, addressing the ceiling. “First ‘nowhere,’ now ‘nothing.’ How did I know that’s what she was going to try to tell me, God?”
The
phone rang, and I jumped. My mother gave me another look, frowning again. I felt silly when I realized it was her cell phone, with the special ring that meant New Vista.
She paused a moment before swiping the screen, coming around the table, and laying her hand on my forehead. “Serena mine, are you coming down with something again?”
“No,” I said, ducking away from her touch. “Answer your phone.”
Mom answered it, giving me a narrow-eyed look. “Nova St. John. Yes, Kathy, hello.”
No one at our house—or even at Bibi and Poppy’s house—is allowed on the phone at the table, but when Mom’s on call at the hospital, the rules are different for her. After a moment, as Mom moved away from the table and into the hallway for privacy, Fallon took advantage of Mom’s absence to pull out her phone. Her thumbs moved busily.
“She’s going to take your phone again,” I predicted as a muted chime indicated an incoming text.
“Mind your own biscuits,” Fallon said, reading greedily.
I shrugged. Both of us listened with half an ear to Mom’s work voice, which sounded professional and calm. She was frowning when she came back to the table, though, which meant she probably had to go back to the hospital to fix something. Her frown deepened on seeing my sister’s phone.
“Fallon Celeste—” She pointed an accusing finger at the offending object.
Fallon shoved her phone out of sight while radiating an expression of intense innocence.
Sighing, my mother turned to me. “Here’s the thing, Rena-Beana. I don’t have time to wait for you to decide to talk. It’s been a long day, I’ve got to go back in tonight, and you’ve probably still got homework. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on, so speak now, kiddo.” She picked up her fork. “The clock is ticking.”
I slumped. Sometimes, I wish I had a movie mom, one who came to my room for long, private talks and brought cupcakes. I licked my lips, trying to think of how to begin.
Across the table, Fallon suddenly straightened. “Is this about Har-ri-son?” she asked, drawing out his name in syrupy tones.
Serena Says Page 6
