Eleven

by Lauren Myracle

  “I know,” Gail said. She’d glanced at Bo when he first came in, and she’d gotten a funny look on her face. But now she was smooth as could be. “He probably got stuck behind some dumbbell who doesn’t know how to brake on ice.”

  I narrowed my eyes, because I knew who she was referring to. Still, Amanda and I were going home, and she wasn’t. For maybe the first time in her life, Gail would be the one left behind.

  Bo strode across the gym and swung me up in a hug. “Have you been outside yet, Winnie? Have you seen how crazy it is?”

  I breathed in the cold smell of him. “Are you kidding? The teachers wouldn’t let us.”

  “It’s absolutely nuts. And all those Saabs and Hondas and dinky little VWs? They’re nothing compared to the Jeep. The Jeep rules.”

  “Where’s Sandra?”

  “She’s at your house, making fudge for when we get back.”

  I clapped my hands. “Amanda, did you hear that? Sandra’s making fudge!”

  “My mom makes the best fudge in the world,” Gail said.

  I’d almost forgotten she was there.

  “Once she won a year’s supply of Marshmallow Fluff,” she continued. “That’s how good her recipe is.”

  I wanted to say something in return, like “Yeah? Well, Sandra won a lifetime supply of Marshmallow Fluff. Our pantry is stuffed with Marshmallow Fluff.”

  Bo hit his palm with his fist. “Come on, let’s do it,” he said. “I left the motor running.”

  Amanda’s hands fell to her sides. “Well,” she said to Gail. “Bye.”

  “See you,” Gail said, like it was all pretty boring.

  At the door, I stopped and looked back. Over by the basketball net, Mr. Hutchinson was playing a game of Horse with the remaining sixth-grade boys. The circles under his eyes had grown more pronounced, but his smile seemed real. A few feet away, Louise and Karen practiced their Holiday Pageant roles with a couple of fifth-grade girls. And in the far corner, all by herself, sat Gail. Leaning back on her palms, she pointed and flexed her feet.

  I bit my lip. Deep down, I knew Gail wasn’t all bad. Sometimes I watched her paint Amanda’s fingernails, and I’d seen how carefully she brushed on the polish, like she really wanted to do a good job. And once Amanda told me how the two of them danced around like rock stars when they hung out at Gail’s condominium. At the time I rolled my eyes, but I guess I could see how it might be fun.

  If I wanted, I could still call Mom. It would only take a second.

  But I didn’t.

  Outside, everything was blue-white and sparkling. Bo’s Jeep sat by the curb, and from the front seat, Amanda waved for me to hurry. I closed the door to the gym and crunched through the crystally snow.

  January

  I DON’T KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE in other places, but in Atlanta, we have outdoor recess all year long—even in shivery-cold January. And actually, it isn’t always shivery cold. If the sun was out and the sky was clear, kids would shrug out of their coats and push up the sleeves of their new sweaters, eager for the feel of skin against air. And even when frost whitened the basketball court, well, it hardly mattered. We raced to the playground just the same, and for thirty spectacular minutes we played with Louise’s Chinese jump rope.

  The girls, anyway. The boys wanted nothing to do with it. Tyrone tried it once on a dare, but he messed up on the first round and stalked away. “Sheez,” he said, shaking his head. “Chinese jump rope? That’s no jump rope, it’s a giant rubber band. Chinese rubber band, they should call it!”

  Except it wasn’t a rubber band. It was more like a giant ponytail holder, the kind with thread covering the elastic so it doesn’t pull at your hair. Louise had gotten it in her Christmas stocking. This is how it worked: Two girls faced each other, not too close, and stood with their feet shoulder length apart. They looped the Chinese jump rope around their ankles, making a big, elastic rectangle about four inches off the ground. Then the girl whose turn it was moved into place. She had to jump the same pattern every time: in, out, side to side, in, on, scoop. Her feet couldn’t touch the rope at all, except for the “on” part, when she had to land on top of the rope so that each foot smushed one side to the ground. Then came “scoop,” which was the hardest part of all. For “scoop,” she lifted one foot, hooked the rope with her toe, and pulled it over to the part held down by her other foot. Then she had to leap free of the whole caboodle and land back at the beginning, all without falling on her face.

  “Scoop” was the bane of my existence. If by some miracle I got all the way to “on” without messing up, and if at that point I didn’t start giggling and lose my balance, I always, always managed to snarl myself in the rope when it came to the actual scooping. Not even Louise got “scoop” right every time. In fact, to everyone’s surprise, the best scooper in the grade was Dinah Devine. With her wide, flat feet and sensible white Keds, she hooked the rope as if she were born to it, and when she leapt free, it was like watching a knot unravel with a single pull. No tangle, no mess—just one happy Dinah with flushed, excited cheeks.

  “I could do it, too, if it weren’t for these shoes,” Gail said. She scowled at her black Doc Martens with the clunky heels, as if she weren’t the one who put them on that morning to match her embroidered jeans and turtleneck. “Stupid boots.”

  Dinah sailed her way through another perfect round, and everyone shook their heads. “Wow!” they said, and “Did you see that?” and “How do you do it?”

  I was a teeny bit jealous, but mainly I felt proud. I clapped and said, “Go, Dinah!”

  “It’s time to move to the next level,” Louise said. She slid her feet together so that her ankles touched, and motioned for Maxine to do the same. Now the rectangle was long and skinny instead of long and fat. “Okay, Dinah. You have to do the exact same pattern, only your feet still can’t touch the rope.”

  Dinah glanced around the circle, pleased and embarrassed. She stepped up next to the rope. In, out, side to side, in, on, scoop.

  “You did it!” I cried. I turned to Amanda. “She did it!”

  “She did it,” Gail mimicked. “Big whup. If it weren’t for these boots ...”

  “Now up high,” Louise said. She and Maxine tugged the jump rope over their shins and anchored it at their knees. Louise replanted her feet about six inches apart, and Maxine followed suit. “First you do it while our feet are spread, and then with them close together, just like down low. Then comes doubles down low and doubles up high, where you have to do everything twice, and then comes spins, where every time you jump you have to spin from front to back. And then comes double spins, which not even my cousin from California can do.”

  I tried to imagine jumping into the air, spinning around, and landing with one foot on either length of the rope, all with the rope twelve inches off the ground. And then jumping up and doing it again, only this time landing so that you faced the opposite direction. Just thinking about it made my head hurt.

  “Are you ready?” Louise said.

  “Yeah,” Gail said. “We’re waiting.”

  Dinah studied the rope, squinting her eyes as if memorizing its height from the ground. She wiped her hands on her jeans and stepped into place. In, out, side to side, in, on—

  Everyone breathed out in a whoosh.

  “Oh, no,” Louise said.

  “Too bad,” said Gail.

  Dinah stared at the left side of the rope, which had popped free from her sneaker before she made it to “scoop.”

  “So close,” I said. “You’ll get it next time.”

  “Yeah, but now it’s Sheila’s turn,” Gail said. She nudged Sheila forward. “Go.”

  Dinah left the center of the circle and took her place by my side.

  “You were amazing,” I told her.

  She tugged a piece of hair to her mouth, then glanced at me in a sideways kind of way. She grinned.

  The next day Gail showed up in a new pair of red-and-white Nikes, which she wore with white jeans and a soft w
hite sweater. A bright red headband held back her hair.

  “Me first,” she said as Louise handed one end of the rope to Karen. She tapped her foot.

  “Okay,” Louise said. “We’re ready.”

  Gail strode to her place. In, out, side to side, in, on, scoop.

  “Yay!” Amanda said, along with several others. “Way to go!”

  Louise and Karen shifted to the second position, the rope down low but their feet touching.

  In, out, side to side, in, on, scoop.

  “Yes!” said Chantelle.

  “Now comes the hard one,” Louise said. She and Karen hiked the rope over their knees and widened their stance.

  Gail lifted her chin. In, out, side to side, in, on, scoop.

  A cheer erupted from the circle of girls. Dinah’s eyes found mine.

  “My cousin said it took her forever to get that one,” Louise said.

  “Today I’m wearing the right shoes,” Gail said. “Anyone can do it in the right shoes.”

  Louise scooted her knees together. “Are you ready for level four?”

  “Of course.”

  Gail made it all the way to doubles up high before catching her foot in one of the side-to-sides. Her mouth tightened, and for a second she looked really upset. Then she smoothed her features and freed herself from the rope.

  “You’re next,” she said, arching her eyebrows at Dinah.

  Dinah blinked.

  Louise and Karen put the rope back in position, and Dinah moved to the center of the circle. Down low wide, down low skinny. Up high wide, up high skinny. Then doubles down low, which looked impossible to me, but which Dinah cruised through without missing a step. Then doubles up high, the round Gail stumbled on. If Dinah made it through doubles up high, she would once more be the champ.

  Gail gnawed on her knuckle.

  Chantelle shifted from foot to foot.

  And Amanda watched Dinah with a troubled expression. Not like she wanted Dinah to mess up, but like she knew how Gail would react if Dinah didn’t.

  “Come on, Dinah,” I said. “You can do it.”

  Amanda looked at me, and my face grew hot. Somehow, even though officially we were still friends, Amanda and I had never talked about all the stuff she did with Gail, or the stuff I did with Dinah. Or the stuff we no longer did with each other. But the way she gazed at me made me understand how different things were between us, even if we didn’t admit it.

  Would Amanda say Gail was her new best friend, if someone asked?

  Would I say Dinah was mine?

  Dinah concentrated on her jumps, her forehead lined with worry. She poked her tongue in the space between her teeth and her lower lip, and each time she got a jump right, she let out a huff of air. On “double on” she almost lost her balance, but she thrust out her arms and stayed in place. She breathed in deep. Then scoop once, scoop twice, and everyone went crazy, clapping and cheering and calling her name.

  Well, not everyone. Not Gail, and not Chantelle. And Amanda’s claps were out of politeness. I could see it in the stiffness of her spine.

  And me? I clapped until my palms stung, but it no longer felt the same.

  I stayed in my room all evening, and when Dinah called, I told her I was doing my homework and couldn’t talk. I thought about calling Amanda, but I didn’t. Because what I’d realized was that there was no way things could go back to the way they were. Too much had changed. But it hadn’t sunk in until today at recess, when I looked at the circle of sixth-grade girls and no longer knew my place.

  If only Dinah were more ... I don’t know. If only she were more like Amanda, without actually being Amanda. Like maybe she could be the one everyone wanted to sit next to, instead of the one who smushed her sandwich under the lid of the heavy metal milk cooler, spurting herself with mayonnaise. And maybe she could stop doing that thing with her tongue and lower lip, because I’m sure she didn’t know it, but it looked pretty dumb. She shouldn’t giggle so much, either. Or chew her hair.

  I knew I was horrible for thinking these things, but I couldn’t stop. Because sure, everyone liked Dinah now, because right now she was queen of Chinese jump rope. But everyone liked Amanda just because she was Amanda. And when I was Amanda’s best friend, they liked me that same way, too.

  But if Dinah was my best friend, and I was hers ...

  That was the part that scared me. It was like last year at my birthday party, when no one wanted Dinah in her group. I wanted to be Dinah’s friend, but I wanted to be part of the group as well.

  I wanted both.

  “Winnie!” Dinah said Wednesday morning. She ran down the hall to greet me, even though I would have reached the room in less than ten seconds. “You didn’t get here and you didn’t get here, and I thought maybe you were sick, which would be awful. You’re not sick, are you?”

  I hugged my books and veered slightly to the left. I could smell her breath. Strawberry Pop-Tart.

  “Are you? Oh, no. Do you have a fever?” She placed her hand on my forehead, and I twisted away.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Sheez, Dinah. The warning bell hasn’t even rung yet.”

  “But usually you’re here by seven forty-five. I got worried.”

  I walked into Mr. Hutchinson’s room, and she followed me to my desk.

  “I can’t wait for recess,” she said. “I really want to make it to spins this time. Do you think I will? I mean, if I don’t mess up?”

  I glanced at her, then pulled out my Wordly Wise workbook. “You shouldn’t have worn a dress.”

  “Yeah, but look.” She grabbed the hem of her dress and lifted it up, revealing a pair of white cotton shorts.

  I yanked her hands away from her dress. “Dinah!”

  Two rows back, Alex brayed his horsey laugh. “Did you see that?” he said to David May. He slapped his desk. “Man. I was really scared there for a second!”

  “I’ve got to study my vocab,” I told Dinah.

  “But don’t you want to help me practice? I know we don’t have an actual rope, but we could—”

  “I said I’ve got to study!”

  She stared at me, wide-eyed, then twisted a piece of hair around her finger. I looked away, not wanting to see her pull it to her mouth.

  “Are you mad at me?” she whispered.

  I didn’t answer.

  “Because whatever I did, I’m really sorry.” She hesitated. “Did I do something?”

  Mr. Hutchinson strode into the room. “All right,” he said. “Everyone to your seats.”

  “I’m not ... mad,” I said. “I just don’t think we should do every single thing together all the time.”

  “Oh.” She sucked on her hair. “I mean, you’re right. It’s dumb to practice during homeroom. I’ll let you study, I promise.”

  “It’s not that.” I felt a tightening in my chest, and I couldn’t meet her eyes. “I just mean in general. We shouldn’t spend so much time together in general.”

  Dinah stood there.

  “Peter?” Mr. Hutchinson said. “Dinah? We’re waiting.”

  Finally, she turned and went to her seat.

  “Who’s first?” Louise said when we gathered on the playground. She pulled the Chinese jump rope from her backpack. “Should we do one potato, two potato?”

  “I’m bored of Chinese jump rope,” Gail said. She was wearing her Doc Martens again. “No offense, but aren’t you guys getting a little sick of it?”

  Louise paused.

  Dinah glanced around the circle. She’d made a point of standing by Maxine and Lacey instead of with me, but I could see her alarm in the way she tugged at her dress. “Um, I’m not getting sick of it,” she said. “I think we should play.”

  “And I think we shouldn’t,” Gail said with an edge. It was clear she was making this a battle, with everyone required to pick sides.

  No one spoke. Silently, Louise put away the rope. I felt bad for Dinah, but what was I supposed to do? Louise had always been the bossiest girl in the grad
e, and even she couldn’t stand up to Gail.

  “Let’s go watch the boys play basketball,” Gail said. “We can do cheers.”

  “Sis boom bah,” Chantelle chanted. “Rah, rah, rah!”

  Amanda laughed—a little as if she were forcing it, but who was I to say?—and linked arms with both Chantelle and Gail. “Come on,” she said to the rest of us. “It’ll be fun.”

  We filed after her, everyone but Dinah. When I looked back from the basketball court, she was staring after us with her hands by her sides.

  Gail taught us a cheer that involved clapping and kneeslapping in a complicated pattern. I tried to pay attention, but it was hard. My heart felt all scrunched up. Why did Gail have to win at everything? Even when she didn’t win, she won. Why did she get to make the rules?

  Amanda broke formation and came over to me. Her eyes flew to Dinah, and she lost her animated smile. “I know,” she said awkwardly, even though I hadn’t spoken.

  I nodded.

  She rubbed her thumb against one finger. “I feel sorry for her. I really do.”

  “Me, too,” I whispered. But as I said it, I heard how horrible it sounded, and my heart scrunched another notch. Because yes, I did feel sorry for Dinah this very second, but that was only part of it. The rest was much, much bigger.

  “Girls!” Gail said. She clapped twice to get everyone’s attention. “Let’s try it again, and this time let’s give it our all.” She put her hands on her hips like a squad captain. “Ready? O-kay!”

  I took a shaky breath. Gail might have won over the others, but she wasn’t in charge of me. No one was. And if I gave her that power anyway—her or Amanda or anyone—then I was the big loser. Not Dinah, but me.

  Beside me, Amanda picked up the beat of the routine. “R-O-W-D-I-E! That’s the way you spell rowdy! Rowdy! Let’s get rowdy!”

  Pulse thudding, I left the group. I walked toward Dinah and tried my best to act natural. But as I stood in front of her, my palms got all sweaty.

  “Dinah ...”

  She looked as nervous as I was. When I didn’t say anything, she licked her lips and said, “Do you, um, want to go swing?”