Schoolwork is easy for me, except maybe for English. I often tic while I’m reading, which makes me lose my place and I have to start all over again. So I don’t always finish, which means a lower grade, which really annoys me because I know the work! Mom says I should ask for extra time, but that’s embarrassing. At least the teacher lets me do extra work to bring up my grade. But math is my best subject, and I know I can ace this quiz.
My mind slips back to the scene of Jamie’s eyes staring at mine through Mrs. Morgan’s window. I wish I could talk to him. Ask him why. Fat chance that will ever happen. He probably wishes I would just disappear.
A finger taps on my paper, and Mrs. Morgan says, “Isabella. Focus!”
I grab my pencil. “Yes, ma’am.”
Before I begin, I throw the pencil in the air and catch it. Three times. Mrs. Morgan stands there, watching me. Totally mortified, I lower my head until my nose is just inches from the paper. She puts her hand on my shoulder, squeezes gently, and moves on. My body relaxes and I smile, relieved that she understands.
Just like I thought, the quiz is easy—for me, anyway—and I finish early. I peek at Jamie. He’s still writing. I must have been staring for a while because now he’s glaring at me with those dark brown eyes. I look away. A few minutes later, the bell rings.
Jamie stops me in the hallway. His usually perfect brown hair is messy like he’s been raking his hands through it. He moves his face close to mine and whispers, “Stop staring at me in class, okay? Just—stop it!”
I swallow hard and back away. This is not how I imagined it would be when I finally got Jamie to notice me. I reach out to touch his shoulder. I don’t want to do it, but I can’t stop myself. Jamie swats my hand away.
“You’re really strange, you know that?” He shakes his head and turns to leave.
“At least I’m not a thief!” I wasn’t going to say anything, but he has no right to call me strange.
He spins around and glares.
Embarrassed by the whole scene, I look down at my feet. “Don’t worry,” I mumble. “I won’t tell.”
“You won’t tell what? You don’t know anything.” The late bell rings. “Just mind your own business, okay?” Jamie turns and races down the hall.
Chapter 3
At lunch, Abbie and I take our usual seats across from each other at the long table. She pushes her dark black hair behind her ears, unwraps her sandwich, and sniffs it.
“Ugh. Baloney again.” She takes a bite and wrinkles her nose. “I saw you and Jamie talking after Mrs. Morgan’s class. What was that all about?” she asks between bites.
I look around. It’s crowded and noisy. Nobody is paying attention to us. I lean forward and tell Abbie about seeing Jamie in Mrs. Morgan’s room last Friday.
“I think he stole her circus poster.”
Abbie’s blue eyes squint at me. “Did you actually see him take it?”
“No, but it makes sense, doesn’t it?”
She shrugs. “I guess. But—”
“Don’t worry,” I interrupt. “I’m not going to say anything. But I’d sure like to know why Jamie would want an old circus poster.”
“So what are you going to do? Ask him?”
I poke, poke, poke Abbie’s sandwich with my finger. She waits until I finish, then takes another bite.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I say.
Abbie looks up. She smiles and waves to someone behind me. I turn and see a girl with long, blonde hair waving back. I’ve never seen her before. She walks over to Abbie and sits beside her. Abbie is all smiles, and suddenly I’m finding it hard to swallow my bite of ham and cheese sandwich.
“Hey, Hannah,” Abbie says. “Glad you found us.” Abbie turns to me. “This is my friend, Izzy Palmer. Izzy, this is Hannah Wells.”
Hannah smiles at me. “Nice to meet you.”
I nod back, still chewing on that one bite of sandwich. Who is this person, and why did Abbie have to go and include her in lunch? She knows meeting new people makes me nervous.
Abbie stares across the table at me, her eyes wide, telling me to be nice. “So”—she swivels her head back to Hannah—“how’s it going?”
“Okay. I guess. Thanks for inviting me to lunch. First days are the toughest.”
“Have you had a lot of them? First days, I mean?”
Hannah shrugs. “Enough to know I’d like this one to be my last.”
I force myself to swallow. It’s that or spit the mess out, and that would be totally gross. I can’t stop myself from grunting really loudly, though, or poke, poke, poking Abbie in the shoulder. Hannah stares at me, her eyebrows scrunched together, her eyes narrowed. My face feels like it’s on fire.
“Those’re just Izzy’s tics,” Abbie says.
Hannah looks at Abbie like she’s speaking some kind of weird language.
“It’s something she does. It’s no big deal.” Abbie pulls out chips from her lunch bag and changes the subject. “So how do you like Florida so far?”
That’s it? All these years we’ve known each other and Abbie thinks it’s no big deal? Well, it’s a huge deal to me.
I stuff the rest of my food in my paper bag and wad it up. “I’m not hungry anymore.” I stand up, look across the table. “Nice meeting you, Hannah.” I leave without even saying goodbye to Abbie.
As I walk away, I hear Hannah ask, “Did I do something to make her mad?”
Not wanting to hear Abbie’s answer, I run to the trash bin. Just as I toss in my garbage Abbie catches up with me.
“What is wrong with you, Izzy? You were so rude to Hannah.”
“What’s wrong with me? You’re the one who dissed me. Like my tics are nothing. Like they haven’t been a problem for me my whole life. Well, now you have a new friend. At least she won’t embarrass you with her tics.”
“Izzy, you know I didn’t mean anything. I know how much they bother you. I also know you hate to talk about them. That’s why I said they were no big deal.”
What’s gotten into me? I’m being a real jerk, but I can’t stop myself. I’m jealous. And afraid. What if someday Abbie gets tired of me, and my problems?
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Count to 10 like the doctors say to do when I’m upset. When I open them, Abbie is still standing there. Waiting. Being nice to Hannah is just Abbie being Abbie. The do-gooder girl who takes in strays. I should know. I’m one of them.
Tears gather in my eyes, threatening to leak out. I wipe them away with my sleeve. “I’m sorry, Abbie. I guess that stuff with Jamie upset me more than I thought. Then this Hannah person comes along and”—I shrug—“I’m sorry.”
Abbie shakes her head. “You’ve been really touchy lately.”
“I know. I got some different meds to take from the doctor on Friday. It’s some new stuff she wants me to try.”
“I thought you hated taking medicine.”
“I do.”
Abbie sighs. “Well, I hope they help.” She looks back at Hannah. “I better go back. I’ll tell her you aren’t feeling well.”
“Sure.” I bite my lip, fighting back the jealousy. “I think I’ll go outside and get some sun.”
When I step outside, black clouds are edging out the blue sky. I love Florida storms. The crack of lightning and the rumblings of thunder make a great cover for my grunts and outbursts. And right now, I need some relief.
I lean against the wall, watch, and wait. A streak of lightning lights up the sky. I count the seconds that pass before the thunder comes. Eight. Nine. Ten. When it finally arrives, I let out a howl that turns into a laugh.
That’s how, a few minutes later, the cafeteria monitor finds me. Laughing at the sky. She rolls her eyes. “Isabella Palmer. How many times do I have to tell you it’s dangerous to be outside during a storm?”
Without looking away, I say, “I’ll be in in a minute, Mrs. Torres.”
More lightning strikes, the thunder almost immediate. This time, my scream is a startled o
ne. Loud thunder shakes the ground. I hustle after Mrs. Torres, laughing all the way.
Chapter 4
I freeze as I step up onto the bus. There’s only one seat left. And it’s next to Hannah Wells.
I clasp my lips tight and move forward, slip in beside her, and stuff my backpack under my legs.
Hannah looks at me. “You’re Izzy, right? Abbie’s friend.”
Like she could forget the girl who grunts. I nod and stop myself just in time from tapping her shoulder. We sit there, not talking, for what seems like forever.
Finally, Hannah says, “Abbie’s really nice.”
I swallow a flash of jealousy. “Yeah, she is.” I search my brain to fill in the awkward silence between us and remember Hannah saying something about first days being tough. “So sounds like you move around a lot.”
Hannah nods. “Army brat. The longest we stayed anywhere was one year. You learn to make friends quickly. Dad says this is his last posting. If we like it here, we might actually stay.”
“That’s great.” It comes out as a whisper.
I wish I meant it because Hannah’s turning out to be pretty nice. It’s hard not to like her. I know Abbie will want to help her. She’ll want to include her in everything. She’ll be someone new I’ll have to get used to. The real question is will she get used to me? My tics annoy most people.
“—stolen from Mr. McKendrick’s class.”
Hannah’s last words burst through my thoughts. “Sorry, I was distracted. What did you say?”
“I said Abbie told me about the stolen poster at lunch today. Turns out, one went missing from one of my teachers, too. A Mr. McKendrick.”
Mr. McKendrick teaches English. Could Jamie be in Hannah’s English class? Did he steal that poster, too?
Before I can figure out a way to ask Hannah about Jamie, she grabs her backpack and stands. “This is my stop. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow at lunch with Abbie?”
“Sure.” Why not? People can be friends with more than one person, right? At least, I hope so.
After Hannah leaves, I slide over, breathe out hot air on the window, and print Jamie’s name in the mist that forms: JAMIE. I’ve been wanting him to notice me for months, and now he has, but in the worst way possible. I’m pretty sure he stole that circus poster. Probably the one from Mr. McKendrick’s class, too. But stealing posters makes no sense.
Ugh. I have to stop this. Get him and the stealing out of my head before I start obsessing about it.
Jamie. Stealing.
Jamie. Stealing.
Too late!
Jamie. Stealing.
“Isabella! Are you getting off or what?”
Startled, I look up. We’re at my stop. The driver is staring at me—along with pretty much every other kid still on the bus. I rub out Jamie’s name with my sleeve and grab my stuff.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
Humiliated that the driver once again had to remind me to get off the bus, I walk down the never-ending aisle with my head down, working to hold in the grunt that’s tickling my throat, begging to get out. After the bus pulls away, I let loose all the frustrations that have built up that day. Jamie angry with me. Billy bullying me. Hannah coming between Abbie and me.
Grunting I punch, punch, punch the air. Touch the ground. Punch the air again, and again. When I’m finished, I’m out of breath. Exhausted. Emotionally spent.
I glance back. Look all around. No one’s there. I allow myself a moment of relief, then hitch my backpack over my shoulder and walk toward my house.
Chapter 5
Mom is in the laundry room folding clothes when I get home. I put my bag down and start fussing with a pile of jeans. Mom sighs and waits while I make the pile neat again. I grunt and tap, tap, tap her shoulder.
“Something on your mind, Izzy?”
“Somebody stole some posters from a couple of classrooms,” I blurt out. “Mrs. Morgan was seriously angry.” I grunt again, annoyed with myself. I wasn’t going to tell her.
Mom raises her eyebrows.
“I think it was Jamie Barnes. I saw him in her empty classroom the other day.” Man, this is even worse. I shouldn’t have mentioned Jamie’s name. Why can’t I just keep my big mouth shut? “I didn’t say anything to Mrs. Morgan. Can you please not tell anybody?”
“It’s not up to me to tell, Izzy, but I think you should. Stealing is wrong, even if it’s just a poster.”
I don’t tell her how important that poster is to Mrs. Morgan. Instead, I say, “Rat out Jamie? I couldn’t do that. Besides, everybody already thinks I’m weird. I don’t need to be known as ‘Izzy the snitch.’”
Mom’s quiet for a minute. She bites her lip and finally says, “I guess I can see your point. I’m sorry school’s so tough on you, sweetheart. Hopefully, the new meds will help.”
Meds! Mom is always looking for the next great cure. I know she means well, but she’s not the one who has to take them. I grit my teeth and start messing with the clothes again. Mom gives me a look, so I tap, tap, tap her arm instead.
“Something else bothering you?”
Grunt. Tap, tap, tap. “There’s a new girl in school. Her name is Hannah, and Abbie invited her to eat lunch with us today.”
Mom starts folding the clothes again. “And?”
I blow out a breath of air. “I sat with Hannah on the bus ride home. She thinks Abbie is cool.”
Mom hesitates, then says, “Abbie is cool.”
“I know! But ...” Fighting back tears, I ask Mom the question that’s been making my stomach churn since lunch. “Do you think Abbie will like Hannah better than me?”
“Ah. That’s what’s really bothering you.” Mom takes my hands in hers. “Abbie has been your best friend since you started grade school. Why would she change now?”
I shrug and grunt at the same time.
“I wish I could make all your hurt go away, Izzy. I wish ...” Mom sighs, pushes my hair behind my ears. “How about we both take a break. You grab the basketball while I change into sneakers?”
When I hesitate, Mom bumps hips with me. “Come on. I need the exercise.”
“Okay. But only because you need the exercise.”
We spend the next half hour on the driveway shooting hoops. I’m terrible at it, but, like Mom knew it would, the physical distraction helps me relax and forget about Hannah. By the time we’re done, my hair is wet with sweat. It might be afternoon in late January, but the sun is still blazing hot in Florida.
“Thanks, Mom.” I give her a hug.
“Are you kidding? This is how I keep my girlish figure.” She squeezes me extra hard. “Go wash up, and do your homework. I’ll let you know when dinner is ready.”
I head toward the door but stop after a few steps. “I love you, Mom.”
She half-smiles. “I love you, too, sweetheart.”
The way she says it doesn’t sound right. So I say it again. “I love you, Mom.”
Mom stops. Bites her lip. Then she says, real slow, “I love you, too, Izzy.”
“No. No. Just say ‘I love you, too.’ Nothing else on the end.”
She sighs, not always knowing what I need but knowing I’ll make her keep saying it until it feels right to me. “I love you, too.”
Satisfied, I give her a hug and head inside. Mom doesn’t follow me. “Aren’t you coming?”
“In a minute.” Mom bounces the ball and tosses it in the hoop.
After I shut the door, I peek out the front window to see what she’s doing. She’s just standing there, the ball on the ground in front of her. She has a tissue in her hand, and she’s wiping her eyes and blowing her nose.
I let the water that’s welled up in my eyes slip down my cheeks. I hate that I make her cry.
I head up the stairs to my room and promise myself I won’t make her cry again. It’s a lie. Home is safe. It’s the only place I can really be me. I grunt out my unhappiness and pound, pound, pound my fist on the wall.
Did Mom hear me? I stop an
d listen. The front door opens and closes. Footsteps echo off the floor, moving toward the kitchen. Relieved, I head down the hall. First a shower, then my homework. In that order.
I walk into the bathroom, flick the light switch on. Flick it off. Flick it on again. Off. Standing there in the semi-dark, I grit my teeth and flick it on one more time.
Chapter 6
Nothing much changes during the rest of the week at school. Hannah keeps showing up every day, uninvited, at our lunch table. Okay. Uninvited by me. Abbie sure doesn’t seem to mind.
Our mid-term scores are posted on the school’s website over the weekend. I get two A’s, two B’s, and one C. That’s pretty good news, but I hate that I can’t seem to pull up that gym score. Nothing I do seems to help.
On Monday morning, when I get off the school bus, I see a flyer posted on the wallboard at the front entrance:
PLAYER NEEDED FOR THE MARJORIE KINNAN RAWLINGS MIDDLE SCHOOL GIRLS SOFTBALL TEAM. DROP INTO COACH GRANT’S OFFICE TODAY AFTER SCHOOL TO APPLY. NO EXPERIENCE NECESSARY.
I know a lot about baseball. I’ve grown up watching the game with my dad. It’s one of the things we share together, although he’s a Yankee fanatic and I like the Tampa Bay Rays. We always go to the Rays’ home games when the Yankees come to town. Mom usually comes, even though she’s not much of a baseball fan. She says somebody has to sit between us so we won’t spend the whole night arguing over calls.
How different can softball be from baseball?
Maybe, if I make the team, it will help me bring up my gym grade. Okay, I’ve never played the game. And maybe I’m not the most coordinated person in the world. But it did say “no experience needed.” And Abbie’s already on the team. Maybe she can help me.
“Hey, daydreamer. Come on. We’re going to be late.” Abbie comes up to me, grabs my arm.
I grunt and tap, tap, tap Abbie on the shoulder. “Did you see that flyer?”
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