“I don’t get it. Are friend groups a thing at Poplar? They weren’t at Forest Day. Probably because ‘social hierarchies’ were against the rules, but still—”
“Friend groups were allowed at St. Catherine’s, but I wasn’t in one. I was more of a floater.”
“A floater?” Ruthie giggled. “That sounds like something you flush.”
Drew cracked up.
Fonda closed her eyes and took three cleansing breaths because crying never solved anything and, with the bell about to ring, there was no time to explain what she thought they already knew. Which was that Fonda was over being overlooked. She wanted to be admired like her sisters, envied like the Avas, and appreciated for helping others live their best lives. When she appeared on campus flanked by two amazing girls who saw in Fonda what no one else had, she assumed others would see it too.
But those two amazing girls weren’t seeing Fonda anymore, they were looking in other directions, preoccupied with decoding Will’s cryptic behavior and learning through lunch with the Titans. Fonda was finally at school with her besties—but she had never felt more alone.
“The point is,” Fonda said, “if people know we exist, we matter, and I want us to matter, okay?”
“Don’t we already matter?” Ruthie asked.
“We matter to each other, but we don’t matter to anyone else.”
“Why does it matter if we matter to anyone else?” Ruthie said. “The only thing that should matter is mattering to each other.”
Drew smacked the sides of her helmet where her ears would be and shouted, “Stop saying matter! It doesn’t sound like a real word anymore.”
Ruthie laughed. “That happens to me with the word pickle. If I say it too much, the back of my throat locks up, and my lips get all spitty. Wanna see?”
“Who says pickle too much?” Drew asked.
“Peter Piper,” Ruthie said.
While the two of them laughed, Fonda silently apologized to the gift-wrapped period purses in her backpack. She made them for the girls—a surprise to celebrate the end of their first week at Poplar—but she wasn’t about to hand them out when there was nothing to celebrate. Fonda’s vision board turned out to be nothing more than a kindergarten collage, her LIKES felt more like HATE, and their official COD was colorblind.
The five-minute bell rang, and the girls headed inside.
“Sleepover at my house tonight,” Fonda reminded them.
“Then a movie tomorrow, right?” Drew said. “I mean, it’s not like I’ll be playing Zombie or anything.”
Fonda’s chest tightened. Did Drew only want to go to the movies because Will wasn’t interested? She felt like a backup plan.
“No movie for me,” Ruthie sighed. “I have to hang out with the Titans tomorrow.”
“On a Saturday?”
“Who are the Titans?” Drew asked.
“That’s what our teacher calls us,” Ruthie said as they parted ways. “Don’t get me started.”
“Don’t get me stah-ted,” Drew said mournfully.
Fonda wanted to put an arm around her and squeeze. She wanted to say, for the thousandth time that week, Forget Will. You deserve a five-star guy with a ten-star heart. Let’s find one. But her spirit was too weak to lift anyone up, too dark to shed light. Unlike Drew, Fonda hadn’t been rejected by a boy she’d spoken to once; Fonda had been rejected by two girls she’d known forever.
Cleansing breaths were no match for this kind of surge. This was bigger than that. Much, much bigger.
“Running to pee,” she managed. “Meet you in class.”
Inside the bathroom, Fonda hotfooted to the last stall and slammed the door behind her. Why didn’t Drew and Ruthie understand? Fonda knew they thought she was just being shallow, but maybe that was because she had been forced to wade in the kiddie pool her whole life while her sisters surfed the Pacific—literally and metaphorically. This was supposed to be Fonda’s year. The year she got noticed, the year she was going to be someone. She’d made such a good plan, but no one would follow it. Was it because they thought it was silly? Or were they just so busy with their new lives, they couldn’t be bothered? Fonda didn’t know which was worse—knowing that Drew and Ruthie rejected her ideas or the possibility of them moving on without her. The tears came fast after that last thought, dribbling down her cheeks and colliding with the sides of her nose. Even they were discombobulated.
Finally, when Fonda was drained and tired, she dabbed her eyes with coarse toilet paper and steadied her breath. But the crying sounds continued . . .
Was there someone in the stall next to her?
Fonda peeked under the gap and found a pair of tanned legs, gold sandals, and a girl with problems of her own.
“Are you okay?”
“Not really,” she sniffled.
Fonda stepped out of the stall. “What is it?”
“Trust me, you don’t want to know.”
“I do!” Fonda said. The best way to forget her own problems was to meddle in someone else’s. “Really.”
The final bell rang.
“No! I can’t go out there,” said the trembling voice.
“I get it,” Fonda said. “Out there sucks.”
The girl offered a thin laugh and the stall door clicked open. It was Ava R. The shirt that had previously been tucked into her white shorts now hung loose around her hips.
“What happened?” Fonda asked, as if they bathroom-chatted on the daily.
Ava R. turned to reveal blood on the back of her shorts.
Fonda widened her eyes. “Did you just—”
A fresh batch of tears arrived on the scene.
“First time?”
Ava R. nodded.
Fonda pulled her in for a hug. Yes, to offer comfort, but also because she heard periods were contagious and she desperately wanted to catch one. “The first time is really scary,” she said, leaving out the fact that her statement was hearsay, not personal experience.
“Was yours like this?” Ava R. pointed to the stain on her shorts.
“Worse.” Fonda bit her lip. She didn’t typically like to lie, but desperate times . . . “It was a crime scene.”
“What did you do?”
Hmmmm . . . Fonda glanced down at the beige tiles. What did I do? She quickly put herself in Ava R.’s situation, and . . . Bam! She knew exactly what she’d do. “I used my period purse.”
“Your what?”
Fonda unzipped her backpack and removed one of the tissue-wrapped bags with a flourish. “Open it.”
Ava R. peeled off the gold paper and grinned. “It matches my shorts,” she said of the white-and-red polka-dotted cosmetics bag.
“I picked that pattern on purpose.”
“Makes sense.” Ava R. smiled that toothy selfie smile of hers. Unlike Fonda, who probably had soggy Chihuahua face, Ava R. wore emotional breakdowns well. Her ducts didn’t puff; they glistened. And her wide, photogenic face wasn’t the least bit splotchy. She was every bit the blond-haired, brown-eyed beauty she always was. But vulnerable. Which made her even more annoyingly attractive. “So, what does a period purse do?”
“It holds everything a girl needs when she’s caught off guard.”
“Actually?”
“Actually.” Fonda beamed.
“Oh my g-haud, thank you! I’ll return it tomorrow, I promise.”
“Keep it,” Fonda said. “I have a bunch.”
Before she knew it, Ava R. wrapped her in a vanilla-scented hug and squeezed. “Fonda, you are the absolute best.”
Just like that, the boulder of emotions pressing down on her chest disintegrated. Ava R. knew her name. Ava R. said she was the absolute best. Ava R. thought she, and her period purse, mattered. It may have taken seven years for Fonda to get noticed, but the wait suddenly seemed worth it.
&
nbsp; As Fonda dashed off to class, she thought of the fortune glued to the top of her vision board and giggled with delight. Her golden opportunity had finally arrived, and it was red.
chapter eight.
“SWEETHEART, YOUR FRIENDS are here!” Ruthie’s mom called from the kitchen.
The carrot-orange TAG van was parked in front of her house, and while it was full of kids her age, they most certainly were not her friends. Ruthie’s friends were going to a movie because it was Saturday and that’s what nesties did. But Ruthie didn’t feel like a nestie anymore. She was a lestie now—a left-out nestie—who had to fake laugh when Fonda and Drew made fun of their science teacher’s turtle ties. Not that Ruthie didn’t think turtle ties were eyesores, she did! It was that their stories about classes and teachers and lunch gardens were hard to relate to because most of their jokes were had-to-be-theres, and Ruthie was always somewhere else. Not only did the Titans learn through lunch, they learned through weekends too, and who wanted to talk about that? Suddenly, being gifted had become the kind of gift Ruthie wanted to return.
“Over here!” Sage waved, indicating the open seat beside her. She was dressed in her usual garb, all black with gold sneakers, because she, like Steve Jobs, didn’t want to waste brain cells choosing clothes.
The van turned onto the 405 freeway and headed north. Apparently, every time they went on a field trip, someone new got to make the playlist. Today it was Favian’s turn, and he had chosen Hamilton. He knew every word of the musical, and so did everyone else by now because he was either playing it, rapping it, or talking about it. All week, Ruthie thought his obsession was annoying, but now, with everyone singing along, it felt kind of festive.
Just then, Rhea shut off the stereo and grabbed the intercom above the driver. She was wearing a Titans T-shirt, which she promised they would all have by their next field trip. It was a promise Ruthie hoped she would break. What was it with Poplar? Why was everyone trying to dress the same?
“Today we’re going to learn how to think under pressure and work as a team,” she announced.
The Titans cheered.
“See if you can figure out where we’re going from the following riddle.”
“She always does this.” Sage pulled a notebook from her backpack and click-clicked her pen. “It’s super cool, am I right?”
“You’re trapped in a forest with four exits,” Rhea began. “One to the north, south, east, and west. There’s a swarm of poisonous insects guarding the north exit. There’s a massive hole by the west exit that’s too wide to cross, even by rope. Lions who haven’t eaten in three months are at the south exit. And the east exit is blocked by an enormous stone slab that’s impossible to climb. Which exit do you choose?”
“South,” Ruthie blurted.
“Seriously?” Sage whispered. “Have you heard this before?”
“No.”
“Then how did you—”
“Explain yourself,” Rhea said, giving nothing away.
“The lions haven’t eaten in three months, correct?”
Rhea nodded.
“Then they’re dead.”
“Precisely!” Rhea said. “Your reasoning is sound, and your speed was impressive.” She began to applaud, and much to Ruthie’s surprise, the Titans applauded with her. Not in the slow, measured way of jealous types. These claps were hearty, robust, supportive. In other words, confusing. It wasn’t that they had been mean all week, but with the exception of Sage, they hadn’t been exactly friendly.
“Based on that riddle, who can guess where we’re going?” Rhea asked.
“Zoo!”
“Insect farm?”
“Ropes course!”
“Camping.”
“In-N-Out Burger.”
“No.” Rhea smiled. “We’re going to an escape room.”
Everyone cheered, but no one louder than Ruthie. Mission Xpossible was a local attraction where a “team” got locked in a room, usually with some kind of theme, and they had to find clues and solve puzzles in order to get out. Ruthie, being an escape room record holder, was just fifteen X-cape points shy of winning a rice cooker. But more importantly, if she could lead the Titans to freedom in under forty minutes, she’d get back in time to meet Drew and Fonda for the movie. Win-win, fit-it-all-in!
As the bus pulled into the Mission Xpossible parking lot, Ruthie humbly let Sage know that she was a record holder and asked if she wanted any tips. To which Sage replied, “Everyone, quiet! Ruthie has an announcement to make!”
Ruthie slid down the back of her seat. “What are you doing?” she hissed, cheeks burning from the heat of too much attention.
“I’m trying to help you help us,” Sage whispered back. Then to the group, “Hey, everyone, Ruthie is fifteen points away from the rice cooker. She knows how to—”
“Save it for the room,” Rhea said, flashing her palm. “The goal here is to work together under pressure. No planning or strategizing before you get in there. Got it?”
“Got it.” Ruthie nodded. Then she turned to Sage and whispered, “Thanks a lot.”
“You’re welcome.” Sage beamed.
“I was being sarcastic.”
“I wasn’t.”
Ruthie cocked her head. “Huh?”
“Everyone knows this is about breaking records. And when we do, Rhea will know it’s because of you. So, yeah, you’re welcome.” Sage shrugged like it was no big deal. “You’d do the same for me, am I right?”
Ruthie’s insides flushed with the kind of warmth one feels when they realize they’ve made a new friend, because that was X-actly the kind of thing real friends did . . .
“I would,” she said, meaning it.
“Good!” Sage said, grabbing Ruthie by the sleeve of her ice cream cone sweatshirt. “Now let’s go crack some codes!”
The Titans were greeted by a heavily pierced college-aged boy who, after blindfolding them, led the group into a room that smelled like cleaning products.
“The objective is simple,” he said. “Locate the golden challis and escape with it in under an hour. Ready . . . ?”
When the buzzer sounded, they whipped off their blindfolds to find they were in a messy janitor’s closet. Bottles of bleach had been turned over, mops were on the ground, and the shelves were crooked.
“Gross,” said Tomoyo.
“I think they forgot to clean up after the last group,” offered Alberta.
“It’s not a hotel room,” said Conrad.
“Meaning?”
“There’s no maid service.”
“It’s supposed to look this way,” Ruthie said. “The clock is ticking. Fan out and look for clues.” More than teamwork and escape times, she wanted to get back before Fonda and Drew left for the movie.
Sage cleaned her glasses and rolled up her sleeves. She was ready to work. “What kind of clues?”
“A code, a key, a lock. Look under tables and shelves—” Ruthie paused when she spotted Quinn, who was on his knees unscrewing one of the socket plates from the wall. “That’s a dead end. Try something else.” Ruthie knew she was being a little short, but every minute wasted was a minute apart from her nesties.
“How do you know?”
“Light switches, socket plates, smoke detectors . . . they’re part of the room, not the set. Try straightening those shelves and see if it triggers anything. Sometimes the clues are on paper,” Ruthie added. “Favian, check the stack of employee punch cards. Everest, you’re on broom handles and detergent jugs. Quinn, see if there’s a black-light flashlight. Conrad, open the books.”
“Why?”
“To see if any are hollowed out,” Sage said, getting it. “There might be a clue inside.”
“I found a clipboard with a photograph on it!” Alberta called. “It’s a shot of this room, only clean.”
“Lemme
see,” Ruthie said, swiping it. Photographs often held valuable clues. “Everyone, make this place look exactly like it does in the picture.”
They hurried about, banging into one another while Ruthie barked orders.
“Would it kill her to say please?” Conrad huffed.
Ruthie ignored the dig, determined to stay the course.
“Now what?” asked Tomoyo once the room was clean.
Ruthie surveyed their work, shocked that they still didn’t have a lead. Then she noticed the crooked punch clock behind Conrad and said, “Straighten that.”
With an indignant sigh, he nudged it into place. One of the walls slid open to reveal a warehouse filled with packing crates.
“Yes!” Ruthie shouted. If they kept up this pace, she, Fonda, and Drew would be dipping their popcorn in nacho cheese sauce in time to see the trailers. “Follow me,” she told Sage. “I’ve got this.”
Together they zipped around their classmates, cracking codes, turning keys, and busting locks. At minute thirty-four, they found the challis in crate #27 and managed to set a new record that earned the Titans free pizza in the party room and Ruthie a brand-new Zojirushi rice cooker.
“Congratulations, TAG’ers,” Rhea enthused. “You hold the record for fastest escape at Mission Xpossible! Titans Are . . .” She paused, clearly hoping for a suitable G-word, but no one responded.
“Titans Are . . .” Rhea called, trying again.
Zandra broke the silence. “Greedy. Titans Are Greedy.”
“Grabby,” Alberta said. “Titans Are Grabby.”
“Garrulous,” Tomoyo said.
Sage tapped a quick note on her phone and showed it to Ruthie. How about Gealous?
Ruthie looked back at the building, confused. What was happening here? They’d just busted out of an escape room in record time. Now everyone was free to get on with their weekend plans. Wasn’t that something to celebrate? Shouldn’t their G-word have been Grateful?
“Am I missing something here?” Rhea asked.
Quinn raised his hand. “Ruthie and Sage took over and iced everyone out.”
“And it’s a good thing we did,” Sage said. “Or we never would have won.”
girl stuff. Page 5