The Retake

by Jen Calonita

  “Hey!” I said, feeling relieved. “You lost your schedule too?”

  “No.” Clare shook her head. “I wanted to tell you there’s something on your jeans.”

  My stomach did a back flip. I guess my shirt wasn’t covering the stain. “Is it that bad?”

  Clare cocked her head to one side. “Kind of? But don’t panic. I could walk behind you to first period if you want. We both have math.”

  That was so nice of her. Wait. “We have class together? How do you know that?”

  Clare looked at me strangely. “You posted your schedule to your Instagram story. I think we have the same schedule all morning, except for sixth period.”

  I completely forgot I did that! That meant I had a picture of my schedule on my phone! I fished it out of my bag and fired up Instagram. Just as the app sprang to life, someone yanked the phone out of my hand. “Hey—oh. Good morning, Principal Higgins.” I stared with trepidation at the short, heavyset woman in a blue dress.

  “Sweetie, there is no social media use in school,” my principal reminded me. “There is no phone use at all unless specified by class, as you should know if you consulted your student handbook. I’m going to need to hold on to this for the day.”

  “But you don’t understand. I forgot my schedule at home, and the printer here is out of ink. I have it on my phone. I just want to write it down.” She continued to stare at me, and I felt my face grow hot. Everyone on line was looking at me. “That’s the only reason I had it out.”

  Principal Higgins nodded. “That may be, but rules are rules.” Her tone was friendly, but I got the impression she was not going to negotiate. “You can have it back after school.” I watched her place my phone in a basket with other phones. It looked sad, probably like I did now. “The secretary will print you your schedule.”

  “But she just said the printer is out of ink,” Clare tried, but Principal Higgins was already confiscating the next phone she saw.

  “Now what?” I moaned. “If you pull out your phone, she’ll take yours too.”

  “I know.” Clare made a face. “But don’t worry. “Don’t worry,” she assured me when she saw my reaction. “I’ve got our schedule memorized. Let’s ditch this line and stop at the bathroom first so you can clean that spot on your pants.” Clare opened the door. “You coming?”

  I hesitated. The heat of the hallway and the sound of a thousand students filled the air.

  To me, it was the sound of doom.

  There was no time for the bathroom. By the time we got out of the main office, we had less than three minutes to get from one end of the school to the other for first-period announcements. And second-period science was back near the main office, but on the second floor. I wonder if they’d consider letting me drop gym. I was getting enough of a workout running from class to class.

  Science, though, was a pick-me-up. Our teacher said we were going to learn about fossils, coral reefs, and the human heart this year, all of which I couldn’t wait to study. But after that period, I was back to being stressed again.

  Clare stood behind me as we walked to each class, which was nice, but also made it look like I was walking alone, and she had to keep yelling out directions over the music they pumped in the hallways between periods. I didn’t see Laura, Reagan, or Jada anywhere. People moved so fast, it was hard to see anyone. It felt like all my classes were filled with kids from other elementary schools instead of my old one, so I didn’t recognize anyone. By fourth-period Spanish, I had completely stretched out my shirt trying to hide the stain on my jeans.

  “Cómo te llama?” the teacher greeted me as I walked into the classroom.

  I froze. Laura and Sarah were seated side by side in the front row. Laura and I made eye contact. She smiled. For a split second, I felt hopeful again, but then she turned back to Sarah as if I were just a random student.

  “Me llamo es Clare Stelton.” Clare sounded fluent. The teacher looked at me next.

  “Uh…see llamas Zoe Mitchell.” Clearly I hadn’t practiced over the summer.

  The teacher checked her clipboard and shook her head. “You’re in my sixth-period class, not fourth.”

  Wait, what? If I wasn’t supposed to be in Spanish, what class was I supposed to be in? We’d had math, science, and English already. What else was there? Clare mouthed, “Sorry.” Laura and Sarah looked at me curiously. I exhaled slowly. I was not going to get upset, even if the entire class was staring at me. “Sorry. I lost my schedule,” I lied.

  The teacher gave me a look and went to her desk. “I’ll call down to the main office to find out where you should be. Hang on.”

  The rest of the class took the two-second break as an excuse to start talking. Clare took a seat. I stood by awkwardly, staring at the clock on the wall as if it were the most fascinating clock in the world.

  “Zoe!”

  I heard my name and looked up. Laura was waving me over. I glanced quickly at the teacher on the phone, then rushed over to Laura’s desk. Laura wanted to talk to me! Maybe she was going to ask me to sit with them at lunch. “Hey,” I said, trying not to sound too excited.

  “I just wanted to tell you you’ve got a stain on the back of your jeans,” Laura whispered.

  I prayed my face wasn’t turning purple. That’s why she’d called me over? “Oh. Yeah,” I said quickly. “I know.”

  “You know?” Laura’s eyes bulged out. There was nothing she hated more than a ruined outfit.

  “Zoe Mitchell?” the teacher called out to me. “You’re supposed to be in health in room 205. Since you’re late, stop down at the main office to get a late pass first.”

  This had to be some sort of joke. Why couldn’t she just give me a late pass? “Thanks,” I said, backing out of the room so that my black hole of a stain wasn’t seen by everyone.

  “You’ve got something on your jeans,” said an eighth grader as I backed out of the classroom.

  I was growing more mortified by the second.

  The main office was at the other end of the building, of course. By the time I got through another long line of lost students waiting for schedule changes or answers to questions like What do I do if my locker won’t open?, health was almost over.

  “Here,” a weary secretary said when I finally made it to the front. (The printer had ink again. Yay.) “And here’s a late pass for— Oh.” The bell rang. “Fourth period is over. You have lunch fifth. No pass needed, but I’d get going if I were you. The line to buy gets long.”

  Long was right. By the time I made it to Cafeteria A, the line to buy was wrapped around the room. I joined the queue and scanned the crowd for anyone I knew. Sixth graders had their own cafeteria, but in seventh and eighth grades, students were mixed together, and the room was jammed and very loud. I was thankful the noise drowned out my stomach growling as we inched closer to the head of the long line. Why had I thought it was a good idea to buy on the first day? It took twenty minutes to get to the front.

  “You’ve got five minutes till the end of the period,” said one of the lunch aides as she dumped a very burnt-looking hamburger onto my plate. “You better eat fast.”

  I quickly paid and went back into the cafeteria to find somewhere to sit, but I was too late. On my left Laura was sitting with Sarah and the other drama queens, and there wasn’t a seat to spare at their table. I shifted the weight of my tray and turned to my right to look around for Jada and Reagan, but I didn’t see them. All I saw was Jake Graser’s crew tossing chips into one another’s mouths. I couldn’t keep standing there looking lame. What was I going to do? I looked at Laura again and hesitated. Should I walk over and attempt to talk to her again? Look up, Laura. Look up so I can ask you!

  “Dougie, catch!” a guy shouted.

  I turned around in time to see an apple fly past my head. My body flew forward as someone bumped into me from behind,
sending my tray flying. It landed with a spectacularly loud crash. The cafeteria went completely silent.

  “Score!” yelled a boy from the back of the room, and a group of guys cheered. I felt my face burn. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

  Dougie slid to the ground and grabbed my burger, which was now bunless. My fries had spilled all over the floor. “You okay? I’m sorry about that.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said, not making eye contact as I quickly grabbed my dropped water bottle and chips and placed them back onto the tray. I hurried to the garbage can and dumped the tray to destroy the evidence. I did not want to think about all the eyes on me. Laura had always been the first one to come to my aid if I screwed up, or at the very least say something silly to make me laugh. She’d always say, Do you know how many views you would have had if we recorded that? We’d be millionaires! Despite my better judgment, I felt myself search for her now. I was surprised to find her looking right at me. For just a moment, I thought she was going to get up and help me. Instead, she gave me the smallest of sad smiles and went back to her conversation.

  My best friend was officially gone.

  The bell rang, and my humiliation was quickly forgotten as people streamed past me to get to their next class. I joined the crowds again and made it to my next class—technology—on time, but died a little when I realized the class was with Laura and Sarah again.

  “Pick a partner,” the tech teacher said. “You’ll have the same one all quarter.”

  “Sarah!” Laura said before the teacher even finished the sentence. The two of them hugged. I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience.

  “You want to work together?” asked a girl I didn’t know.

  “Sure,” I said, but inside, it felt like another blow. I just wanted this day to be over already. After eighth-period social studies, I practically ran to the main office to get my phone back. There was no line this time. In fact, the place was deserted. “Hello?”

  Someone popped up from behind the counter. “Hi there! How can I help you?”

  The cranky woman from this morning had been replaced by a smiling redhead wearing purple glasses and thick gold pearls. Her cropped blue sweater and skirt screamed 1950s costume party. I knew that only because we’d had a 1950s party in sixth grade. Laura and I had decided to wear matching poodle skirts. At the last minute Laura showed up in hot pink satin pants like some of the other drama queens had. I should have known then that things were headed south.

  “Principal Higgins took my phone this morning and said I could have it back after school. My name is Zoe Mitchell. My phone has a gold case with glitter.”

  “Cute! Okay. She took a lot of phones. Hang on while I find the basket.” She practically skipped away from the counter, humming a tune I didn’t recognize, and headed into another room.

  I wasn’t anywhere near that upbeat. I just wanted to go home. As soon as the woman turned away, I leaned my elbows on the counter and placed my head in my hands, trying hard not to cry. “Hang in there a half hour more, Zoe,” I told myself. “Do not cry. Who am I kidding?” I laughed as tears started to stream down my cheeks. “You already are crying! And why shouldn’t you? This was the worst first day ever.” I wiped my eyes. “I wish I could just go back and do it all over.”

  “Your first day was that bad, huh?”

  I looked up, startled. How much had this woman heard? Wasn’t she just in the other room? I noticed her eyes were almost yellow in the bad fluorescent light. She was frowning ever so slightly.

  “Be honest: Was it that bad?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. It felt good to say it out loud. “And now I just want to go home.” She nodded sympathetically.

  Who cared about volleyball tryouts? There was no way I’d perform well after the day I’d had. I’d probably set the ball and accidentally break someone’s nose. As soon as I got my phone, I’d be out of there. But that meant I needed my bus pass because I wouldn’t be getting a ride. “Can you print me a bus pass while I’m here too?” I asked.

  “Umm…I’m not sure. I’m just a temp!” The woman laughed. “Anyway, here are the phones.” She placed a basket on the counter, and we fished through it. There had to be a dozen phones in there. “Huh. That’s funny,” she said. “There’s no phone with a sparkly case.”

  “It has to be here,” I said, looking through the basket a second time. But she was right. My phone was MIA. That’s when I started to panic. “I saw Principal Higgins put it in here! Is there another place she keeps people’s phones?” I looked around the empty office, half-hoping to see a tower of confiscated phones somewhere, but there was none.

  “No need to panic!” the woman yelled from under the table she was currently checking. “Let me just radio Principal Higgins.” I heard a walkie-talkie in her hand crackle to life. “Ms. Higgins? Marge Simpkins temping in the main office. A phone has gone rogue. Do you copy?” All I heard was static from the other end. “Huh. She’s probably on bus duty!” She popped back up from under the table and smiled brightly. “They’re getting ready to leave.”

  I glanced at the clock on the wall. I now had exactly two minutes to make it to Bus Eight. I groaned. “I know. I’m supposed to be on one.”

  “Oh boy!” she chuckled. “Let me look faster! Maybe there are more phones hidden in the assistant principal’s office. Hang tight.” She ran off again.

  I heard her moving around the room as the clock ticked down to the bus’s departure. Going, going, gone. Great. Now what?

  “Found it!” She rushed out of the office holding a phone with a glittered case. “I knew it was somewhere! You’re all set for tomorrow, if you’re still here.”

  “Still here?” I repeated. Of course I’d be here. It was the second day of school. I still had 178 to suffer through. “I don’t really think I have a choice.”

  She patted my arm and smiled. “Don’t you worry, sweetie. I have a feeling it will be a whole new world when you wake up tomorrow morning. You’ll see!”

  She was still smiling at me as I exited the office. How could someone be that perky and work in a middle school? And how did she know day two would be better than day one? Today had been a disaster, and now I had to walk home in ninety-degree weather. The bus was gone, Mom and Dad were still at work, and Grandma was on a cruise to Bermuda, so there was zero chance of getting a ride. I went to text Mom and realized my phone was off. Ms. Higgins must have done that. I pressed power, and my phone sprang to life with text messages.

  Jada: Were you at lunch? R and I didn’t see you! U OK?

  Reagan: Where are you??? Tryouts are starting!

  Unknown: Sry. Thought we had the same sched.

  Unknown: This is Clare btw.

  I felt bad when I read their texts, but I had no energy to respond. Besides, I was allowed to change my mind about joining the volleyball team, wasn’t I? Laura had. Maybe I could convince my parents to homeschool me. They were teachers. Couldn’t they make that happen?

  My phone locked, returning to the lock screen’s photo of Laura and me. It was one we took on the sixth-grade boat trip around Manhattan. We had our arms wrapped around each other on the dance floor. I loved this picture, but it didn’t tell the whole story. We actually spent most of the boat ride apart. She had hung out inside at a table with the drama queens, and I had sat outside with Reagan and Jada on the outdoor deck, taking in the view. I think I knew something was changing, even back then. But then suddenly our favorite Ariana Grande song came on, and Laura appeared, grabbed my hand, and swung me onto the dance floor. We sang and danced our hearts out for three minutes, and at the end, she pulled me into this selfie. She posted it with the hashtag #bestiesforlife.

  How had we gone from best friends to total strangers in just a couple of months? Laura had completely ghosted me. She’d dropped me to hang with Sarah and the drama queens so she could have t
he #bestpizzaever every day of the week. My finger hovered over the Instagram app to check on what she was up to.

  Don’t look at Laura’s posts, Zoe, a voice inside my head pleaded, but I ignored it.

  Laura had posted a picture eight minutes earlier. She and the drama queens weren’t having pizza. They were in someone’s pool, and she and Sarah were sitting on people’s shoulders and wearing similar black bikinis. Bikinis! Laura always said she hated showing her stomach, and now she was wearing a bikini? The photo had several hashtags: #BestFirstDay #Nohomework #SummerIsntOverYet.

  They’d just gotten home. How were they already in the pool and posting photos?

  Don’t look at her old posts again! the voice screamed at me.

  I ignored it.

  I’d examined her last two weeks of summer posts a thousand times. Laura at the mall with Sarah, meeting a YouTuber! Laura zip-lining at an adventure park with the drama queens! Laura and Sarah learning how to surf (surf?)! Laura and the drama queens at sunset on the beach! Their posts were perfectly angled and filtered. They each had more than two hundred likes, and dozens of comments. Even their outfits were coordinated—how else could you explain how every one of them always seemed to have something pink on, or the same blue scrunchie? I didn’t see in any of her pictures the sneakers Laura and I spent weeks glittering or any of the shirts we’d gotten at boutique shops at the shore that said things like “Sea la Vie.” She certainly wasn’t wearing her Future City club tee like I had all summer. Even Laura’s hair looked different, like she’d had it professionally highlighted. Mom still wouldn’t let me use that sort of dye on my head.

  When I looked back at my feed and our pictures, the posts were snoozefests and infrequent. Before the boat picture our last one together had been taken in my tree house, and we had been playing Jenga. The one before that was taken in front of our Future City development model. Our shots seemed babyish, while her new posts (two or three a day) screamed middle school cool.