Lola Levine Is Not Mean!

by Monica Brown

  My disaster day turns into a disaster week. Juan is limping, and everyone is mad at me. No one (but Josh) is speaking to me. Not only am I not allowed to play sports at recess, but I have a new nickname at school. Everyone is calling me Mean Lola Levine. Alyssa started it. I dislike it very much.

  I write Juan a note and sneak it into his lunch box.

  Dear Juan,

  I’m sorry I used a slide tackle on you at recess, and I’m sorry I made you cry. You are a good soccer player.

  Shalom,

  Lola Levine

  Juan writes me back right away:

  Dear Mean Lola Levine,

  You didn’t make me cry. I had something in my eye. And that wasn’t a slide tackle. That was a foul.

  Juan

  The next few days are pretty lonely. I sit on the bench and walk around the playground by myself most of the time. Josh comes and walks with me a little every day, but not for long. Someone always comes and invites him to be captain of the kickball team, or runs up and tags him and says, “You’re it!” like Alyssa did today. At least no one calls me Mean Lola Levine in Ms. Garcia’s class. They wouldn’t dare.

  During class, Ms. Garcia tells us we will have a big surprise during science next week.

  “Can you give us a hint?” asks Makayla.

  “Well…,” says Ms. Garcia, “I can tell you that it’s a wriggly surprise.”

  “Are we getting a class kitty?” I ask hopefully, but Ms. Garcia just shakes her head and laughs.

  “No, Lola, not a kitten, but something really cool and special. I’ll give you all one more hint. The surprise has to do with garbage.” Some kids groan, because they don’t think garbage is very exciting, but not me. Other than art, science is my favorite subject, and I know that if Ms. Garcia says that garbage is exciting, it will be. Besides, with everyone mad at me, I need something to look forward to. I leave a sticky note on Josh’s pencil case.

  Dear Josh,

  Soccer? After school? Today?

  Shalom,

  Lola Levine

  At recess, Josh comes up to me and says, “I can’t play after school today because we have to take Milo to the vet. He has a runny nose.”

  “That’s awful!” I say. I love Josh’s cat, Milo, though I don’t get to see him very often. Josh’s mom hardly ever lets him have friends over. Maybe she gets tired of seeing kids all day because she’s the principal.

  As the week goes by, I notice things are a little weird at home. At first, I can’t figure out what it is, but then I realize. It’s quiet! Ben is too quiet. There aren’t any thwumps or “Doloreses” or even any soccer jokes. Ben doesn’t even comment when I wear my Peruvian hat, the one he says makes me look like a dog, with the flaps around the ears.

  “Can you make my hair look cool?” Ben asks at breakfast on Thursday. He hands me Mom’s hair spray. Now I know something is wrong.

  “Ben,” I ask, “since when do you want cool hair?”

  “Can you keep a secret?” asks Ben.

  “Depends on the secret,” I say.

  “I like a girl.”

  “Really?” I say, and try not to laugh, since it seems like Ben is pretty serious. “Who?”

  “Her name is Mira.”

  “Mira who?” I ask.

  “Mira Goldstein,” he says. “Her sister’s in your class.”

  Ugh. My brother likes Alyssa Goldstein’s little sister. I didn’t even know she had a little sister.

  “She’s the coolest girl in the whole class,” Ben says.

  I try not to laugh.

  “Um, Ben,” I ask, “what do you mean by ‘like’?”

  “It means I want to share paints with her in art and for us to choose each other for teams,” Ben says.

  “And do you and Mira share paints in art and choose each other for teams?” I ask.

  “Well, I’m so good at sports, everyone chooses me for teams,” he says with a smile. That’s my brother! But then he frowns.

  “But ever since my mouth guard fell into the blue paint, no one wants to share paints with me.”

  “Oh, I see,” I say, and I do. Poor Ben. I do my best to flatten his wild, curly hair. It’s not really working, and I’m starting to choke on the hair spray.

  “All done,” I say.

  “Thanks, Dolores,” Ben says, and I know he’s feeling a little better.

  “Want to help me make a quick get-well card for Josh’s cat?” I ask.

  “Sure!” he says, and we get to work. I write and Ben draws.

  Dear Milo,

  You are so cute and fluffy.

  We are sorry your nose is stuffy!

  Get better, okay?

  Shalom,

  Lola Levine +

  Ben Levine

  “I’m going to tape this to Josh’s backpack!” says Ben.

  “Great idea,” I agree.

  Chapter Five

  Pencil Power

  On Friday, I’m still Mean Lola Levine. I’m so glad when the final bell rings and it’s the weekend and I can just be with my family. I need a break from school. At least Ben’s in a better mood, I think, as he runs up to me with a big smile.

  “Guess what, Lola?” Ben asks.

  “Mira shared paints with you today?” I ask.

  “No, something even better. It’s my turn to bring George home this weekend!” George is Ben’s class pet—a furry, cuddly guinea pig.

  “Don’t tell Mira you like George better than her,” I say, laughing.

  Ben grabs my hand. “Dad’s loading George into the car right now. Let’s go!” It’s hard to miss Dad across the parking lot loading a guinea pig into his orange car, what he calls his people mover.

  “Hello, favorite humans!” Dad says as we climb into the car. I lean sideways and look into George’s cage, but he’s hiding in his little house and I can’t see him.

  “I’ll help you take care of George,” I tell Ben. “I’m great with animals.”

  “No way, Dolores!” says Ben. “He’s my class pet. He’s sleeping in my room, and I’m in charge!”

  “Okay, okay,” I say, “but be careful. This is our chance to show Mom and Dad that we can handle a pet! A furry one.”

  Ben snorts and puts in his mouth guard, so that’s the end of that conversation.

  Friday night dinner at our house is always fun. My mom and my dad are both good cooks, and they always make something special to welcome the weekend. Tonight we have matzo ball soup, Peruvian chicken, and flan, three of my favorite things to eat. I almost forget about my bad week.

  “How are things at school, Lola?” Mom asks. I don’t really want to answer her, but I do anyway.

  “Not that great. I’m not having any fun at recess,” I say.

  “But you love recess, Lola! It’s your chance to run around and play soccer,” Mom says.

  “Well, I haven’t exactly been running around lately. I have been walking, though. Sometimes I walk with Josh, and sometimes I walk around all by myself.”

  “What about your other friends?” Mom asks. I explain to her and Dad that Alyssa and her group don’t like me.

  “But that’s only a few people,” Dad says. “What about the rest of the children in your class?” Finally I have to tell them.

  “Well, the other kids play tag, or soccer, or kickball, which is fun, but Principal Blot told me that I am not allowed to play group sports at recess anymore because I’m too competitive.”

  “You are competitive, and there’s nothing wrong with that! Why does Ms. Blot think you are too competitive?” Mom asks.

  “Well,” I say, “on Monday, I slide tackled Juan Gomez a little too hard, and he fell and hurt his ankle.”

  “I know you would never hurt anyone on purpose, Lola, and accidents happen,” my mom says.

  “I’m not sure slide tackling is a good idea at school, though,” Dad adds.

  “I know it isn’t,” I say. It’s weird. Once I tell Mom and Dad about Principal Blot and Juan, I feel better, so I keep going
. I tell them about Alyssa making fun of my hair and name and about everyone calling me Mean Lola Levine. I even tell them what Makayla said—that a girl can’t have a best friend that’s a boy.

  “That’s ridiculous!” Dad says.

  “I’m going to have a talk with Ms. Blot on Monday,” Mom says with a frown. I feel sorry for Ms. Blot already. But then I think about it.

  “Mom, let me try writing Principal Blot a letter before you talk to her.”

  “Okay, my little writer,” Mom says with a smile.

  “Pencil power,” I say, and Mom and I fist-bump.

  “Group hug!” says my goofy dad, and he and Mom hold me tight. Even Ben joins in.

  “Just remember, Lola,” Mom says, “no one has the right to treat you badly.”

  “That’s right,” says Dad, and finally I feel all the way better.

  “Hey,” I say with only a little sniffle, “how about a game of tag?”

  “Yes!” says Ben, and Mom and Dad agree, so after dinner we go out into the backyard. It’s Mom and me against Dad and Ben. Guess who wins? We do, of course, but only because it’s so easy to tag Dad with his long ponytail flying out behind him.

  On Saturday morning, I knock on Ben’s door. I really want to pet George the guinea pig. “What’s the password?” Ben asks. Hmmm, I can’t remember. It used to be “Bend it like Beckham,” after David Beckham, a soccer player with a great kick, but he changed it.

  “Give me a hint,” I say.

  “Okay,” Ben says, “think Brazil.”

  Well, that’s easy.

  “Pelé,” I say.

  “Pelé what?” Ben asks.

  “Pelé el rey!” I yell, which means “Pelé the king!” Pelé was a Brazilian soccer player who was the best the world had ever seen. Ben got a picture book called Pelé, King of Soccer when he was four, and he has loved Pelé ever since. The book is worn and the pages are torn, but when Ben is sad or tired, he still reads it.

  “Come in,” Ben says. He’s sitting crisscross applesauce with George the guinea pig in his lap. He’s feeding him a carrot. I pet George, and he chirps like a little bird.

  All of a sudden, Ben’s eyes bug out.

  “Something’s happening!” he yells.

  “George is chirping,” I say calmly. “That’s what guinea pigs do.”

  “No, no!” Ben says, and he practically throws George off his lap.

  “Be careful!” I say as George scurries under the bed. At least that’s where I think he goes. I’m looking at Ben. I see the problem. George has pooped on Ben’s leg. Ben is starting to gag. He has what Dad calls a weak stomach, which just means he throws up easily, like in cars, on airplanes, and once on a ride at the fair.

  “Mom!” I yell. “Dad!” I am afraid that Ben is going to throw up. “It’s just a little poop. Everyone poops,” I say to Ben, thinking of a book I once read. I don’t understand my brother—he wears a gross mouth guard every day, but a little guinea pig poop makes him sick? I grab some tissues and clean Ben up. Then I grab a washcloth and clean him up some more, which is what I’m doing when Mom and Dad finally make it to the crisis. They figure things out right away.

  “Come on, buddy,” Dad says, “let’s go outside.” He picks up Ben and heads to the backyard. I’m glad, because if Ben is going to throw up, I sure don’t want to see it.

  “Lola,” Mom says, “I have a question for you…. WHERE is George?!”

  “Well, Ben sort of threw him under the bed.” I crawl under the bed to look, but there is no George. I do see some LEGOs and my old shin guard—so that’s where it went! “No guinea pig in here,” I say, and Mom gets on her knees to start looking, too.

  “Let me think,” I say to Mom. “If I were George the guinea pig, where would I go? Guinea pigs like to burrow, so… the closet!” Ben’s closet is a scary place. It is a mixture of dirty clothes, shoes, and old worn-out stuffed animals that he doesn’t let Mom throw away. About once a month, Dad makes Ben clean out his closet, but judging by the mess, I think Dad’s slipping. Sure enough, there’s George the guinea pig in the corner under a pile of dirty soccer socks.

  “I found him!” I yell to Mom, who claps.

  “Good job, Lola!” she says, but I’m not quick enough, and George runs between my legs and into the hall. Next thing I know, George is in my room and under my bed.

  “Wait,” I say, thinking of doorway soccer. “Let me get my keeper gloves on. Can you bring me a carrot?” I ask Mom.

  “Smart thinking,” she says, and a few seconds later, she’s back with the carrot. I put it near the door and wait.

  “He’s got to get hungry sometime,” I say. When George comes out, I’m ready. I catch him and don’t let go until he’s safe in his cage. Mom and I let him keep the carrot.

  “Yeah!” says Mom.

  “Teamwork!” I say, and we do a little victory dance. It’s almost like saving a goal.

  Chapter Six

  Meow! ¡Miau!

  On Monday morning, I go to Principal Blot’s office with my note. She’s at her desk sipping a cup of coffee and looking at something on her computer.

  “Hello, Lola,” she says. “How can I help you?”

  “I wrote you a letter,” I say, and start to hand it to her.

  “Since you are here, why don’t you just read it to me?” she says.

  Talking is harder than writing, but I do what Ms. Blot asks.

  Dear Principal Blot,

  I wish I didn’t hurt Juan Gomez while playing soccer. It was an accident, and I said sorry to Juan. But people get hurt playing sports, and it isn’t always someone’s fault. If you let me play at recess, I will try to be much more careful, because I know I am very strong and competitive.

  Shalom,

  Lola Levine

  When I’m finished, Principal Blot looks at me and says, “That was a very well-written note, Lola. You may resume playing sports at recess.”

  “Thank you, Principal Blot,” I say with a smile. Principal Blot almost smiles back. I get to play tag and soccer and kickball again! Of course, it would be more fun if everyone weren’t still mad at me, but I know Josh will pick me for his team.

  He does, and at recess, I get to play soccer! Alyssa and Makayla are on the opposite team. Every time they dribble near the goal, they yell things like “Watch out for Mean Lola Levine” or “Don’t foul me, Dolores.” I try not to let it bother me, but I guess it bothers Josh.

  “Lola Levine is NOT mean!” Josh says, picking up the soccer ball and stopping the game. “She’s just a good soccer player.”

  “Oh, yeah?” says Alyssa. “Well, I think she is mean. I think she’s mean, mean, MEAN Lola Levine!”

  “She’s not!” Josh says. “In fact, Lola Levine is a…”

  “Lola Levine is a… what?” Alyssa says with her hands on her hips.

  “Lola Levine is a… soccer queen!” Josh yells, and for a minute no one says anything. Josh’s face is turning redder by the second. I’m so happy, I want to hug him, which is weird because even though Josh is my best friend, I’ve never wanted to hug him before. I remind myself never to ask him to share paints.

  Alyssa starts to say something else, but all of a sudden, Juan Gomez steps in front of her.

  “Lola IS a pretty awesome soccer player,” Juan says. “Can we stop talking and just play?”

  We do. My team loses, and for the first time ever, I don’t even mind. After the game, I walk over to Juan.

  “I really am sorry about the slide tackle, and you were right, it was a foul,” I say.

  “That’s okay,” Juan says, smiling, “but from now on let’s try to be on the same team… soccer queen.”

  That night I write a note to my mom and leave it wrapped around her toothbrush.

  Dear Mom,

  My note worked! I played soccer at recess today, and things are much better. My friends are still mostly boys, but that’s just fine with me.

  Shalom,

  Lola Levine,

  Soccer Que
en

  P.S. You are the best mom in the whole wide world.

  P.P.S. Meow! Meow!

  When I wake up, I have a note taped to the wall by my bed. Mom’s so sneaky.

  Here’s what it says:

  My sweet Lola Levine,

  Being your mom makes me happy every day.

  Te quiero mucho,

  Mom

  P.S. ¡Miau! ¡Miau!

  What? ¡Miau! Did my mom just meow me back in Spanish? Could this mean I might actually get a kitty? I smile big. Today I don’t cross my fingers, touch Briana Scurry’s picture, or turn around for luck. I just don’t think I’ll need it. I can’t wait for school. Today we find out about Ms. Garcia’s science surprise!

  But first I run down the hall to Mom and Dad’s room. Mom is still getting ready for work.

  “I got your note, Mom!” I say, and give her a giant hug. “Meow?” I ask.

  “Well,” Mom says, “we wanted to surprise you, but you know I can’t keep a happy secret. Your dad and I think you have shown us enough responsibility to have a pet—a furry one, that is.…”

  “Thank you! ¡Gracias!” I say, jumping up and down.

  “We thought this summer might be a good time to go to the Humane Society and pick out a kitty. ¿Bueno?” Mom asks.

  “Super bueno!” I say, and run down the hall to tell Ben.

  Chapter Seven

  Wriggly Science

  “Boys and girls,” Ms. Garcia says after lunch, “it’s time to talk about our new science project.”

  Finally! I am very excited. At the front of the classroom are shallow plastic containers, a pile of shredded newspapers, a bag of sand, and a big red mystery bucket. There is also a bunch of what can only be described as garbage. There is a box of orange peels and eggshells and what looks like carrots and maybe some coffee grounds. There are also lots of extra chairs in our classroom.