At lunch, Duke came over to my table to talk about our punishments from the principal. He said it was all worth it—that we put on “the sickest halftime show in South Fork history.” Ha! It’s like he thought we planned the whole thing together. Apparently he forgot how much he used to hate me for tripping him with the potato. That guy has either a super-forgiving heart or a super-bad memory.
Duke said he, Paris, and Cole got suspensions too. Paris tried to plead innocent, but Duke outed her as the mastermind behind the whole operation. They broke up, which lasted for a record forty-eight hours before they were back together again. In addition to their suspensions, the three received a weeklong sentence of peeling potatoes for the cafeteria. As bad as that sounds, word is that Paris is more upset she can’t run for student council again. Personally, I think we’re much better off without someone like her in power.
Tonight, my grounding sentence is finally over—just in time for the dance. I’m meeting up with Hunter, Ellie, and Mitch. It’s funny how we all wound up dateless. Ellie canceled on Cole. She wasn’t impressed with his dunk-the-Spud routine. Hunter found out Lucy hated peanut butter and was so appalled that he told her he’d rather just be friends. And Jayla has wanted nothing to do with me since finding out I was the Spud, which I guess I deserve. I really didn’t treat her the way I should have. I texted her an apology after the game, and she responded with: Just so you know, I’ll go out with you again when pigs fly. This time there were no pink balloons.
I dig my South Fork Spuds game-day shirt out of my dresser and pull it over my head. Ellie will get a kick out of it. Besides, the muscly potato dude is growing on me.
Mom knocks on the door. “Can I come in?”
“Yeah.”
Mom enters and looks me up and down. “Isn’t this a formal dance?”
“Semiformal.” I point to my slacks. “Half formal.” I point to my shirt. “Half not.”
She sighs. “You know that’s not what ‘semiformal’ means, right?”
“Yeah.” I put on my shoes. “It’s like an inside joke with Ellie.”
“Speaking of Ellie…” Mom pulls a wrist corsage from behind her back. “I thought she would love this.” She grins down at the flower bracelet. There are four mini pink rosebuds surrounded by those white ball-looking things. Angel’s breath? Baby’s breath? Someone’s breath.
I shake my head. “A corsage? No way. That’s so over the top. We’re going with a group.”
Mom tries to put it in my hand. “Oh, come on, she’s going to love it! Just give it to her. Please.”
“Fine,” I grumble. This will be so embarrassing. Maybe I’ll hide it behind my back and chuck it in the trash before anyone sees.
Mom cheers softly to herself. “Are you ready to go?”
I look over the corsage. Actually, I might be able to make this work. “Give me a second.”
I go downstairs to the kitchen windowsill and pluck a leaf off Mom’s new basil plant. I tear the leaf into pieces and shove them in between the roses of the corsage. Ellie’s going to love it.
Mom walks up behind me. She grimaces at my creation and tries to sound encouraging. “That’s lovely.”
Five minutes later, Mom drops me off in front of the gym. I walk inside and breathe in the warm air. The gym looks so different all dressed up. White, twinkly lights hang from the ceiling. Tables are grouped into one corner, decorated with blue tablecloths and paper snowflakes. Silver balloons are tethered to the tables, and six giant foam snowmen stand around the sidelines, doubling as backup chaperones.
Coach stands in one corner of the gym looking pretty fancy with his dark jeans and a black button-down shirt. I’ve only ever seen him in T-shirts before. He folds his arms and taps his feet to the music.
I join Ellie and Hunter at one of the tables. Ellie has on black leggings and a flowy red dress. Of course she’s wearing South Fork colors. But for once, I get to one-up her in the school-spirit category.
I take off my jacket and set it in my lap. Ellie does a double take at my game-day shirt and beams at me. I have to admit, I finally have Spud pride.
Hunter smirks a little when I slip the corsage onto Ellie’s wrist, but at least she appreciates it. She keeps sniffing it and telling me how good it smells and how I definitely have a future in corsage design.
“So, how does it feel to finally be ungrounded?” Hunter asks, twirling one of the paper snowflakes around his finger.
“Amazing,” I say. “I hate being stuck in my room.”
“It’s too bad you couldn’t get off the hook one day early,” Ellie says. “You would’ve loved the game last night. The crowd was going wild! First Spud championship win in like twenty years!”
“I wish I could’ve seen it.” I catch Coach’s eye in the corner of the gym, and we wave to each other. I wonder if he’ll retire now that his team took state. I’ll miss him if he does.
“It was awesome!” Hunter slams the snowflake down. “We obliterated those stupid Jackrabbits! Wyatt even bumped their mascot and made him fall down. I think he was trying to get revenge for you.”
“Ha! Please tell me Mitch recorded it.”
“Yep,” Ellie says. “He was determined to capture everything.”
“Where is he, anyway?” I ask.
As if on cue, the gym door opens and Mitch comes in with his puffy orange jacket.
“We’re up to four thousand two hundred and nineteen views!” He heads to our table, holding his phone above his head. I told him he could upload the skateboarding video to his YouTube channel, and he’s been updating me on the view count like twice a day.
Mitch sits next to Hunter. “Check out some of these comments.” He reads off his phone. “MASCOTMAFIA244 says, ‘Best mascot ever! This guy wins at life.’ ”
I scoff. “Yeah, right.”
“Come on, you were a great mascot,” Ellie says. “In fact, I think you should take over next year when Wyatt goes to high school.”
I shake my head. “No, thank you. Never again.”
She whispers in my ear. “I thought it was really cool how you came out on your skateboard.” My stomach does a somersault.
“What are you saying to him?” Hunter asks. “You guys can’t act gushy around me! We agreed!”
Ellie backs away a little, and I cringe at the awkwardness of Hunter’s comment.
“You know,” I say to everyone, “I’ve been thinking about my potato curse.”
“Not this again.” Ellie grabs some chips from the bowl on our table.
“I believe you,” Mitch says. “You have some solid evidence.”
“I believe you too!” Hunter says. “I mean, he broke his arm by tripping over a bag of potatoes. That doesn’t just happen, Ellie.”
“Actually,” I say, “I don’t think I’m cursed anymore.”
Ellie looks impressed. “Is that so?”
“Yeah. I’ve been going over things in my mind, and I haven’t suffered a single potato-related disaster since the Mashed Potato Incident.”
I have yet another reason to believe the curse is broken, but I don’t say it out loud since it falls into the “gushy” category. You know how in fairy tales, curses are always broken by a kiss? Well, kissing Ellie while covered in potatoes seems to have done the trick. We must have appeased the Potato God’s wrath, causing the curse to lift off me and fly out the gym door.
“I don’t buy it,” Hunter says. “The curse is just taking a break.” He bites into a potato chip and yelps, his hand shooting up to cover his mouth. “I bith mah tongue!” he says through a mouthful of chips. “Owww.”
Out on the dance floor, a slow song starts to play. I don’t know the title, but I know all the words because my mom always belts it out dramatically when it comes on the radio.
“Let’s dance,” Ellie says, pulling me out onto t
he floor. We pass Jayla dancing with Cole. I nod at Jayla. I’m glad she found someone else to go with. Surprisingly, she nods back.
Ellie puts her hands on my shoulders, and I completely blank on what I’m supposed to do next. I sneak a peek at some of the other dancing couples and remember I’m supposed to put my hands on her waist. I do, and start swaying back and forth.
“You’re a pretty good dancer,” Ellie says.
“Obviously,” I say. “You saw my mascot moves. I’m a natural.”
“It’s true,” she says. “I’ve never seen someone so naturally crash into a cheer pyramid.”
“Not everyone’s born with the gift.” Just then, I step on her toes. “Oops,” I say. But she doesn’t seem to mind.
Over at our table, Mitch is tossing potato chips and Hunter’s running around to catch them in his mouth. Mitch tosses a chip up high, and Hunter leans his head back to catch it. He runs backward, mouth open, and bumps into one of the foam snowmen. The potato chip lands in Hunter’s mouth.
“Yeah! Who’s good?” Hunter brags. “I never miss!”
At that moment, the snowman falls over, and its head detaches.
“Speaking of that potato curse,” says Ellie, “you don’t think Hunter caught it, do you?”
“Nah,” I say. But then I watch as Hunter scrambles across the gym to catch the snowman’s rolling head. “Actually, you might be onto something.”
The song’s coming to an end, so I whip out the move from one of my daydreams. I twirl Ellie three times and then lower her in a dip. I’d say my execution is a seven out of ten. At least I don’t drop her.
After that, a fast song begins to play. Hunter and Mitch join us.
“Let’s do all the cheesy dance moves Ben did as the mascot,” Ellie says.
Mitch does the Sprinkler. “This was my favorite.”
“What about this one?” Ellie walks like an Egyptian.
“My favorite was that Mashed Potato dance,” Hunter says. “Didn’t it go like this?”
I stop moonwalking. “Hunter, I wouldn’t do that if I were—”
But it’s too late. He’s doing the Mashed Potato, shuffling backward as he twists his legs out from side to side. Before I know it, he rams into a parent chaperone who’s carrying a giant bowl of potato chips to one of the tables.
The bowl flies into the air, and chips rain down like confetti. The metal bowl clangs and skids across the gym, chips scattering everywhere. Several people squeal and jump out of the bowl’s path, and then everyone turns to stare at Hunter.
I hate to say it, but the evidence is clear.
“Hunter.” I put on my most serious expression. “It appears the curse has chosen its next victim.”
He tosses his head back and yells at the ceiling, “Noooooooo!”
Poor Hunter. But if I got through the curse, so will he. At least he’s got me, Ellie, and Mitch to help him out.
I help Hunter to his feet. “Rule number one: Be on red alert whenever potatoes are around.”
He whimpers.
“Rule number two: You can still eat fries, but chew carefully.”
“Why me?”
“Rule number three: Leave the Mashed Potato dancing to me.”
Then I break it down. A circle forms around me as I Mashed Potato like my life depends on it. One by one, people start to join in until eventually even Duke, Paris, Jayla, and Cole are Mashed Potatoing it up.
I look around and let the moment soak in—dorky dance moves, no more secrets, and the feeling of only wanting to be exactly where I am.
I’ve experienced a lot of ups and downs this past month. But the most unexpected thing of all?
This potato-obsessed town is starting to feel like home.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I feel overwhelmed by the support I’ve received throughout this publishing process.
A huge thank-you to Amber Caravéo, my brilliant and tireless agent. After a seemingly endless string of rejections, you were my first “yes.” You believed in me and my funny little story, and that completely changed my life.
To my editor, Chelsea Eberly: I am so thrilled my book found a home with you. Thank you for your kindness, helpfulness, and overall awesomeness. Your enthusiasm for this project has meant everything!
I’m beyond grateful to the whole Sales, Marketing, and Publicity team at Random House Children’s Books for working to get this book into the hands of readers. To the talented designer, Bob Bianchini; the amazing cover and interior artist, James Lancett; my brilliant copyeditors, Karen Sherman and Barbara Bakowski; and wonderful production manager, Shameiza Ally. Thanks also to Kelly Delaney for the early love.
I was blessed to be chosen for Pitch Wars in 2017. Shari Schwarz, my mentor, worked tirelessly with me on this manuscript, and I’m so lucky to have her as a friend. The Pitch Wars class of 2017 has been the best support system. I’ve loved chatting, venting, and celebrating together. Particular thanks to Colleen Bennett and Shelly Steig for being my best buds. You both are hilarious, and the world needs your words.
Where would I be without my family? Mom, you read through this manuscript after every major revision—and there were a lot! I’m grateful for your feedback and faith. You always believed I could do anything I set my mind to, and it started to rub off on me. Dad, you’ve always been my most vocal cheerleader, and I appreciate your support. Kevin, the sweetest of husbands, without you, I don’t know if I could have worked my way out of all those plot holes. Thank you for your stubborn insistence that I would get published, despite my focus on the seemingly impossible odds. You are my better two-thirds, and I love you.
I cherish the members of our short-lived but very fun Ridgecrest writers group: Ronelle, Christina, Beth, Anne, Holly, Kelsey, and especially Amy. (Without your encouragement, I never would have entered Pitch Wars and might never have learned how to properly revise. I miss talking about writing with you.)
This book would not have turned out how it did without the generous feedback I received from dozens of friends. There are more of you than I can even name, but please know that your opinions were invaluable. I’m especially grateful to those who read the whole manuscript, even in its ugly early stages: Kristen Cook, Lizzie and Scott McClellan, Molly Zucknick, Sarah Kapit, Peggy Sheridan, Cori Vella, Karah Sutton, my sisters Alysha and Makynzi, Colleen, and Shelly. And special thanks to Derek Hale for reading the manuscript to his students. They drew some of the coolest book covers!
To all my seventh graders from Payson Junior High, I originally wrote this book with you in mind. You were fun and spirited and full of light, and you inspired this book more than you realize.
I can’t forget all my past English teachers for helping me develop a passion for reading and writing.
Finally, I could not accomplish anything without God, who gives me inspiration, direction, and the strength to persevere past self-doubt. I aim to always use my talents in ways that are pleasing to Him.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ARIANNE COSTNER is a former English teacher who firmly believes that writers should crack up at their own jokes. Born and raised in Mesa, Arizona, as the oldest of five, she lives outside Los Angeles with her husband and children. Her favorite kind of potato is Tater Tots, with mashed potatoes coming in a close second—as long as they’re not gluey.
ariannecostner.com
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My Life as a Potato Page 16
