Luv Ya Bunches

by Lauren Myracle

  “I wondered if it was you who planted Tally in the sofa cushions,” Modessa says, examining one of her pearly nails. She lifts her head and flashes Violet a brilliant smile. “Thanks.”

  Panic mounts in Violet’s chest. Milla’s stride has a bounce in it as she approaches.

  “Why’d you wait so long, though?” Modessa says. “I mean, if you had that stupid turtle all along . . .?”

  “V had Tally?” Quin says. She turns to Violet. “You had Tally? I didn’t know that. All along you were the one who stole her?”

  Violet is sunk. She doesn’t even bother to correct her.

  “It’s an it, Quin,” Modessa says, her pleasant tone falling away. “Not a ‘her.’ It’s a stupid, cheap, ugly toy turtle.”

  Quin’s eyes dart back and forth between Modessa and V. It’s clear she doesn’t know what she’s walked into.

  “Hey, guys,” Milla says. She seems lighter than she did this morning, when she arrived at school a wet, miserable rat. “What’s up?”

  Nobody speaks. Violet should speak, she should jump in and take charge, but her heart’s thumping so hard she feels woozy.

  Milla smiles, confused. “Guys?”

  “Violet?” Modessa says pointedly. She lifts her brows and looks hard at Milla’s scarf.

  Violet sets her jaw. She shakes her head, no.

  Modessa stops playing. She lets her meanness blaze from her eyes, and she would turn Violet to stone if she had the power. Instead, she does the next best thing.

  “Camilla, V isn’t doing very well with her training,” she says coldly.

  Milla wrinkles her forehead.

  Quin takes her cell phone from her back pocket and snaps pictures of both of them.

  “Quin, would you please take over for V, since V is being stubborn?” Modessa says.

  “Huh?” Quin says.

  “Stop it, Modessa,” Violet says. She’s more trembly than she’d like. “Stop being so awful.”

  Modessa ignores her. “What we talked about. Concerning Camilla.”

  “Ohhh,” Quin says. She glances at Milla, then at Milla’s scarf. “Why me?”

  “Milla, you shouldn’t be here,” Violet says. She goes to her and tries to lead her away.

  “Violet, what’s going on?” Milla says.

  “Do it, Quin,” Modessa commands. “Now.”

  Quin snaps into action, stepping forward and yanking Milla’s green scarf. The silky fabric tightens against Milla’s neck as Quin jerks it free, and Milla stumbles. If Violet wasn’t holding on to her, she’d fall.

  “Ow!” she cries.

  Violet stops, turns, and faces off with Quin. “Give it back,” she demands.

  Instead, Quin flings Milla’s scarf as far as she can. It lands in a mud puddle by a plastic dump truck.

  “Quin!” Milla says. She’s on the verge of tears, which is just what Violet didn’t want, and it fills Violet with shame. “Why . . . why did you do that?”

  “I don’t know, ‘cause I felt like it,” Quin says. She snaps a picture of the now-drenched scarf.

  Violet is so pissed. She marches over to retrieve the scarf. The fringy bits, when she picks it up, look like seaweed. She hears Milla saying, “But my mom gave it to me. It’s special.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have brought it to school,” Modessa says. “Why did you?”

  “Because I wasn’t expecting anyone to take it and throw it on the ground!”

  “Well, expect the worst,” Modessa says. “Come on, Quin.”

  The two of them strut away from the preschool area, and Violet feels a massive inward collapse of relief, because though it wasn’t nice what Modessa did, or what Quin did, things could have gone worse.

  But then Modessa pauses, tossing words over her shoulder like poisoned breadcrumbs. “Oh, and Milla?”

  Crud, Violet thinks.

  “A little bird told me Katie-Rose didn’t steal Tally the Turtle after all.”

  Milla is dazed. “Huh?”

  Violet has an urgent and painful need to get to the bathroom.

  “That same little bird told me something else, too,” Modessa continues in a singsong. “She said she’s the one who stole it. The little bird stole it herself—isn’t that so sad?”

  “What little bird?” Milla says.

  “Don’t,” Violet begs.

  “I’ll give you a hint,” Modessa says. “The little birdy’s name rhymes with . . . hmm. Her name rhymes with A, B, C, D . . . wannabe.”

  Modessa laughs. Quin does, too, and snaps one last picture. As for Milla, she’s baffled and fragile and reminds Violet far too much of her mom during the horrible months before she was put in California’s finest mental hospital.

  “She means me,” Violet confesses miserably. “The little bird was me.”

  Yasaman said everything would be better today, once Milla knew the truth. But Milla won’t listen to the truth! She won’t listen to Katie-Rose, period. Won’t even look at her. It’s like Milla’s pretending Katie-Rose doesn’t even exist.

  It makes Katie-Rose understand the power of the silent treatment.

  It’s torture. It cannot go on.

  Mr. Emerson blows the whistle to signify that it’s time for everyone to come in, and kids from both fifth-grade classes meander toward the building. Katie-Rose sees Milla off by the preschool play area with Modessa, Quin, and the new girl, and decides she’ll stand right here by the door and force Milla to acknowledge her existence.

  Except if Milla spots her, she’ll find a way to avoid her. So maybe she’ll scoot to the side of the door and hide behind the handicapped access ramp? Yes, good idea. That way Milla won’t see her until it’s too late. And if Milla thinks she’s a stalker, well, let her. Anything’s better than being invisible.

  FADE IN TO KATIE-ROSE’S FANTASY SEQUENCE:

  ESTABLISHING SHOT—PLAYGROUND—END OF MORNING BREAK

  Katie-Rose waits nervously behind the handicap access ramp. Anyone can see she’s a good person, a nice person, and definitely not someone who would steal a bobble-head turtle.

  From the playground, Milla approaches. Katie-Rose pops out from her hiding place, and Milla draws up short, her face muscles doing that skittery thing that signifies imminent shut-down mode. Katie-Rose knows she has to act NOW.

  KATIE-ROSE

  Milla! Please listen. Please please please please please!

  Milla tries to brush past her, but Katie-Rose doesn’t let her.

  KATIE-ROSE (CONT’D)

  I didn’t steal Tally the Turtle. I was framed!

  Emotions move across Milla’s face: first confusion, then gladness, then terrible, terrible remorse for assuming the worst about Katie-Rose.

  MILLA

  Oh, Katie-Rose! You mean it wasn’t you?!

  KATIE-ROSE

  It wasn’t me. Please say you believe me.

  Katie-Rose tries to be brave. She tries not to show how much she has suffered.

  KATIE-ROSE (CONT’D)

  (in a trembling voice)

  Do you believe me?

  Tears shine in Milla’s eyes. Tears of joy.

  MILLA

  Of course, Katie-Rose! I never thought you were a thief, not really!

  The two girls embrace.

  MILLA (CONT’D)

  I’m so sorry for what I put you through!

  KATIE-ROSE

  No, I’m sorry! Are we . . . are we friends again?

  MILLA

  Forever. We’ll be friends forever.

  FADE TO BLACK.

  Only, it doesn’t play out quite that way, because real life never does. What actually happens is this:

  “Milla?” Katie-Rose says when Milla is five feet away. She steps out from behind the handicapped access ramp.

  “Katie-Rose!” Milla says. “Omigosh—I’m so glad to see you!”

  “Uh . . . you are?” Katie-Rose takes in Milla’s mudsplattered scarf, which is balled up in Milla’s hand. Then she takes in Milla’s expression, which is alert
and present and not glazed over at all. It’s even somewhat . . . burning, Milla’s expression.

  Finally, Katie-Rose takes in the new girl’s presence. V is standing anxiously by Milla and gnawing her lip. Her own, not Milla’s.

  Katie-Rose turns back to Milla. “You aren’t mad at me anymore?”

  “No!” Milla says. But she sure sounds mad.

  “Um . . . well . . .” Katie-Rose glances up at V, who’s at least half a foot taller than Katie-Rose. “Are you mad at me, V?”

  “Violet,” V says.

  “Violent?!”

  “Violet,” Milla says. “She goes by Violet, not V, and no, she’s not mad at you.”

  Katie-Rose glances from Milla to Violet and back again. “I’m confused.”

  Milla nods, like yes, confusion is something she’s familiar with. “I’ll explain during access time.”

  “You will?” Katie-Rose says. Access time is when the fifth graders do their small-group math, or get together with their novel study groups, or just basically tackle whatever needs to be tackled on their road to academic glory.

  “Tell Ms. Perez you have to go to the media center to research something on the internet,” Milla says.

  “Why?” Katie-Rose says.

  Mr. Emerson appears beside them. “Let’s go, girls,” he says. “Time to head in.” He’s handsome in his white button-down, even with the left sleeve sewn up below the elbow.

  “Sorry, Mr. Emerson,” Milla says. She pulls Katie-Rose into the building, and V follows along. No, not V, Katie-Rose self-corrects. Violet.

  “Just claim a computer,” Milla says. “Any computer. And tell Yasaman to do the same thing.”

  “Yasaman?” Katie-Rose says.

  “She’s part of this, too,” Violet says.

  “Part of what?”

  “We need to all get on that site she made,” Milla says. “So we can chat, and it’ll be private, and no one can listen in.”

  “BlahBlahSomethingSomething.com,” Katie-Rose says in a daze. “It . . . it needs a better name.”

  Violet makes a face, like Boy, does it.

  “Once the four of us are online, we’ll figure out a plan,” Milla says. They reach Ms. Perez’s room.

  “I’m still confused,” Katie-Rose says. “In fact, I’m even more confused.”

  Milla glances around, then speaks quickly and secretively. “Listen. I know you didn’t steal Tally the Turtle. I know you were set up, and I know who did it.”

  “You do?” Katie-Rose says.

  “It was Modessa,” Violet says. “But . . . I played a role in it, too.” She blinks. “Um. My bad.”

  Is this really happening? Katie-Rose wonders. Her stomach is flipping around so much that she farts—but it’s a silent one, and she doesn’t think anyone notices.

  “And then Quin threw my scarf in the mud for no good reason,” Milla says. “And it’s just . . .” She throws her hands up. “It’s got to end, that’s all.”

  “Hence the plan,” Violet says. “The top-secret, totally private, time-sensitive plan.”

  Katie-Rose nods excitedly. She’s twisty, but it’s a good twisty. A fabulous twisty, even if not much of what they’ve told her has truly sunk in.

  “Okay, then,” Milla says. “Talk to you soon.”

  Wow, Katie-Rose thinks as Camilla and Violet hurry to Mr. Emerson’s room. Sometimes life is even better than a movie.

  back door of the room to go to the ice cream social, the door that leads straight out to the playground. Milla should be with her class in Mr. Emerson’s room, but she wants to see the first part of the plan put into action with her very own eyes. So she’s peeking sneakily in from the hall.

  And eeee, it’s happening!!! Katie-Rose goes up to Ms. Perez and says, “Ms. Perez, Quin has her cell phone in her pocket.”

  Ms. Perez makes a pained face and strides to where Quin stands. “Cell phone, Quin,” she says. “Hand it over.”

  Quin’s jaw drops. “I’m not doing anything! Ms. Perez!”

  “You know the rules. Cell phones stay in your cubby.”

  Pouting, Quin pulls her celly out of her back pocket and hands it over. Milla bets Quin wants to say, “Modessa has hers, too,” but amazingly, she doesn’t.

  Ms. Perez puts Quin’s phone in Quin’s cubby. “Next time I’m keeping it and calling your parents. Now. Are we ready to go outside?”

  “Yes ma’am,” Katie-Rose and Yasaman chorus with the rest of the students. Milla grins and dashes back to her own class, squeezing in near the front of the line.

  • • • •

  2:00: Milla, Katie-Rose, Yasaman, and Violet are among the first to reach the playground. There is much hyper giggling, especially by Katie-Rose. Milla doesn’t mind. She decides it’s more important to have fun and be silly than to worry about looking dumb by having fun and being silly. She also knots Max’s shirt at belly button level and fantasizes briefly about starting a geektastic fashion trend. Then she laughs at herself, realizing that she still cares about appearances despite herself. She probably always will.

  • • • •

  2:01: Yasaman grabs Milla’s arm. “Here they come,” she says. Milla’s heart flops as Modessa and Quin stroll from the building.

  “Hi, girls,” Milla calls.

  “Er . . . hi, Milla,” Quin says, looking confused that Milla’s speaking to them.

  Modessa snorts, and Quin changes her expression. She snorts, too.

  • • • •

  2:02: Katie-Rose says fakily, “Let’s go get some ice cream!”

  “Yes, let’s!” Violet replies, equally chirpy. The “chirpy” is to tease Katie-Rose, but in a nice way, not a mean one.

  The four flowers walk in flanked formation to the ice cream tables set up by parent volunteers. If they were in a movie, theme-song music would swell majestically.

  • • • •

  2:03: Violet drizzles Hershey’s Syrup into a Styrofoam bowl. No ice cream, just Hershey’s Syrup.

  “Oh, doll, you’re not eating just that, are you?” asks one of the mothers who’s helping out. She raises her eyebrows in a mom-scolding way, and Milla wonders if Violet feels a pang for her own mom, who isn’t around to scold Violet even if all Violet did eat was Hershey’s Syrup.

  “Yep,” Violet says smoothly to the woman.

  That Violet, she’s one cool customer, Milla thinks.

  • • • •

  2:04: On the other side of the table, Modessa dumps the entire container of mini M&M’s onto her ice cream. It’s so typical of her not to leave any for anyone else. Yasaman moves into position as Modessa continues down the serving table. As Modessa sticks her spoon into the jar of cherries, Yasaman stumbles into her.

  “Watch it, Spazaman!” Modessa says sharply, even though it was just a little bump, not even big enough to make Modessa drop the cherry.

  “Sorry, sorry,” Yasaman says, and Modessa exhales loudly.

  • • • •

  Also at 2:04: While Yasaman distracts Modessa, Katie-Rose says (again, fakily), “Oh no! Some preschoolers have Quin’s cell phone!”

  But even though her delivery is wooden, and even though Quin should know her cell phone is safe in her cubby, Quin falls for it. Just the thought of harm coming to her precious celly throws her into a tizzy.

  “What’d you say?” she cries, whipping her head around. “Who? Where?”

  “There!” Katie-Rose, gesturing at the two boys who, according to Yasaman, were mean to Yasaman’s sister, Nigar. The preschoolers aren’t normally outside with the older kids, but today they are because of the ice cream social.

  “Oh, nuh-uh,” Quin says, striding angrily toward the boys.

  • • • •

  2:05–2:07: Milla approaches Modessa and says, “You shouldn’t be mean to people. If you keep being mean to people, you won’t have any friends.”

  “Excuse me?” Modessa says. When she turns to Milla in disbelief, Yasaman is in a perfect position to swipe Modessa’s sunda
e, which she does. She fast-walks off with it, Katie-Rose joining her and giggling madly.

  “Like how you were mean to Yasaman just now,” Milla says, staying focused. “And how you told Quin to throw my scarf in the mud.”

  Modessa makes a scornful chhh sound. “Whatever.”

  “Some day Quin is going to get sick of taking your orders,” Milla continues. “Some day she’s going to be done with you, just like I am.”

  “Oh, please. You’re ‘done’ with me? For today, maybe. You’ll come running back on Monday.”

  Milla shakes her head. This time she won’t.

  Modessa must see something of this in Milla’s expression, because her arrogance wavers.

  “Well . . . well . . . you might be stupid enough to think you can make it through fifth grade without me, but Quin isn’t,” Modessa says. “Right, Quin?” She glances around. “Quin?!”

  • • • •

  2:08: Katie-Rose and Yasaman reach the opposite side of the playground, where Ms. Perez is standing with some of the other teachers. As Katie-Rose approaches Ms. Perez, Yasaman continues to the bench the teachers use for time-outs. There, she furtively deposits Modessa’s sundae. She keeps moving, circling back toward the grassy area. She gives Violet a quick nod.

  • • • •

  2:09: “Excuse me, Ms. Perez?” Katie-Rose says. She taps Ms. Perez’s arm.

  Ms. Perez turns. “Yes?”

  “Quin is bullying some preschoolers,” Katie-Rose says. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Violet sauntering toward Modessa’s kidnapped sundae with her bowl of Hershey’s syrup.

  Ms. Perez glances toward the preschool area, and her eyebrows shoot up. Quin is with two little kids, all right, but from the looks of it, Quin is barely holding her own.

  “Poopy-head!” one of them yells, stomping on Quin’s foot.

  The other sticks out his tongue and taunts, “Ta-duh, taduh, ta-duh!” Which makes no sense, but he’s a preschooler.

  But Quin is a fifth grader, and much bigger, and anyway should know the rules about intimidation. So when she puts her hands on her hips and steps within inches of the ta-duh, ta-duh boy, Ms. Perez presses her lips together and makes a beeline for her.