Secret Keeper Girl Fiction Series

by Dannah K. Gresh

  “… meanie?” I said it more as a question.

  Mrs. Hefty’s smiling face dropped. Her big, rosy cheeks sagged into puffy wrinkles. Uh, oh, I thought.

  “Ms. McAllister, your lunch period is over,” she announced as happily as ever. “Let’s go! You and I have an appointment with Principal Butter. Up you go. This way. Follow me.”

  Fine! I thought. I’ll go, but I’m taking my mom’s Purple Flurp with me!

  I grabbed the little brown sack and marched off. “Hold it!” I heard Mrs. Hefty say from behind me. “What’s in that bag, Ms. McAllister?”

  I turned to look at her. Her chubby finger was aimed right at my prized sack of Purple Flurp.

  “Is that food?” she prodded. “Ms. McAllister, what does that sign say?” She used her finger to emphasize the big sign above the red doors. I looked up to read it: Positively No Food Outside the Cafeteria!

  Suddenly, a surge of anger flashed through every inch of me, turning my normally dainty, girlish twelve-year-old self into a hulk of fury. I placed my precious brown bag into my right hand. I wound my arm up like I’d seen softball pitchers do and aimed for the garbage can two feet to the left of Mrs. Hefty. I threw the bag like a slow-pitch softball with a long rainbow arc.

  My Purple Flurp never made it to the garbage can.

  It managed to find its way out of the brown bag. As it spiraled through the air in what seemed like slow-mo, the lid of the container disconnected like the launching sequence of a space rocket. In that moment, its purple-gooey contents were unleashed into space.

  Then my Purple Flurp-pitch nailed Mrs. Hefty in the left temple.

  Apparently, I’ll never be a softball player.

  CHAPTER 2

  Danika’s Detention Disorder

  As I stood in Principal Butter’s office, a big blob of purple goo dripped from Mrs. Hefty’s face. She’d already used her chubby little fingers to squeegee the Purple Flurp from her eyes, but the rest stayed right where it had landed as she told the sad tale of what had happened. Principal Butter looked at her in disbelief while the big clock on the wall seemed to tick its disapproval.

  “Danika,” asked a dazed Principal Butter, “what on earth were you thinking?”

  I wanted to tell them both about the number one rule for survival in middle school: you’re not defined by who you are, but by who you sit by at lunchtime.

  I wanted to tell them how lonely Katie Harding looked at lunch.

  I wanted to tell them that Laney Douglas embarrassed me when she accused me of liking Ferner.

  I wanted to tell them that the other girls were laughing at me for dancing with him, but they didn’t understand it was just second grade square dancing and we hated it.

  Most important, I wanted to tell them that I was aiming for the garbage can, not Mrs. Hefty’s left temple.

  Instead, I just bit my lip to fight off tears.

  “Well,” said Principal Butter in a quiet voice, “we don’t actually have a policy for …” He paused and cleared his throat. “Well, for … throwing a sack at lunch aides. Let me take a moment to think.”

  The clock ticked even more loudly.

  Mrs. Hefty’s face dropped another glob of Purple Flurp onto the floor.

  Principal Butter sat down in his big wooden chair. He folded his hands together and just stared at a leaky spot in the ceiling for like five minutes.

  “Danika,” he finally said with an air of disappointment. “I’m afraid I have some bad news. First, I think I have no choice but to give you a three-day after-school detention.”

  He pulled a pad of pink slips from his drawer, scribbled on the top one, ripped it off, and handed it to me.

  “You’ll report Wednesday,” he said.

  I nodded softly and put my head down.

  “Second,” he said, “I’m sure you are aware that Mrs. Butter is the chairwoman of the Teeny Pop Pageant. This city has a long history of upstanding young women winning that pageant.”

  Upstanding? I thought. What on earth does that mean? I don’t think Principal Butter is that old, but sometimes it seems like he might be a ninety-year-old man who’s been locked in a box for the past sixty years. Most of his vocabulary is made up of words only dead people, like Abraham Lincoln, would have used.

  “Danika,” he said, “I’m afraid I’ll have to report this unusual occurrence to my wife so she and the committee can make a decision about your participation.”

  My head jerked up. My long black hair shook loose from my headband.

  “But …” I pleaded. “You can’t … I …”

  I couldn’t hold the tears back anymore. Without even asking, I darted for the bathroom.

  Changing classes was miserable for the rest of the afternoon. I was suddenly the most talked about girl in school, a fact that I was pretty sure Laney Douglas would not like one little bit. Everyone looked my way and whispered when I walked by. Usually they were smiling. Often they’d give me two thumbs-up. A few even gave me a shout out.

  “Way to go, McAllister!” hooted Trevor Kenworth, the school’s biggest loudmouth.

  I felt like my head might explode. Was it actually possible that doing something bad was actually … well, uh … good?

  When I got to my locker between sixth and seventh periods, I ran into Ferner talking to some new girl with a hairdo I can only describe as a mini-’fro.

  “… the Popcorn Capital,” Ferner said to the new girl as he plopped his books into his locker. “Ask Miss Teeny Pop to tell you about it,” he said in his mock-tone, slamming his locker shut. He tugged on my hair when he walked past me.

  “Nice pitch, Teeny Pop!” he taunted.

  Ugh!

  “Walk with me, ” I pleaded to the girl, closing my locker door. I wanted to get out of the hall as fast as I could and into my classroom. “OK. Basically, we live and breathe popcorn here. It all revolves around the Popcorn Festival, which is this weekend.”

  “Cool!” said the girl, whose beautiful chocolate skin seemed to shimmer.

  “This weekend, the air in Marion will smell like fresh buttery popcorn,” I said. “When I say we breathe it, I mean it!”

  I told her everything I could squeeze in between my locker and my Honors Math classroom. “Since as long as I can remember, my mom has been entering the Popcorn Cooking Contest and winning.” I began quickening my pace to get it all in. “Two years ago she took first place for her Purple Flurp.”

  “Purple Flurp? Isn’t that the stuff the girl at lunch …” I quickly interrupted her. “You should totally come out to the Festival this weekend!” I told her about Sky Pop, the fireworks finale that my dad always donated each year.

  “He does fireworks all over the world,” I said proudly.

  I never even got to tell her about the Teeny Pop pageant, but we’d arrived at my class.

  “Well, umm … what’s your name?” I asked.

  “You-zee.” She pronounced her name carefully.

  “Right,” I said, wondering what kind of name that was. “Well, welcome to Rutherford B. Hayes.”

  “Thanks! Well, I guess I’ll see you later,” said Yuzi, and she walked off. I thought to myself that she was kind of cool.

  “Yoo-hoo, Danika!” I heard Laney’s voice calling. “Gotta go, Mom!” I looked back to see her snapping her cell phone closed, even though we’re not allowed to use them in school.

  She walked toward me with her messenger bag on one arm and my lunch bag in her other hand. Of course Riley was with her.

  “You’re not actually talking to that African girl,” whispered Riley. Riley and Laney had a bad habit of saying even the most factual things in the meanest way!

  “She’s from Africa?” I asked, looking toward Yuzi, who was thankfully well on her way down the hall.

  “Yes, and she smells like it,” added Laney, wrinkling her nose. She handed me my lunch sack.

  She didn’t smell bad! I thought, but didn’t have the nerve to say it. In fact, I think she was wearing some sort
of berry body splash. She smelled great, actually! It would be a week before I learned that Yuzi wasn’t even actually from Africa. She was born in Texas.

  “Good luck at the pageant tonight,” said Laney with a strange tone in her voice.

  “But,” protested Riley, “I thought you just said …”

  Whatever Riley had wanted to say, Laney’s icy glare stopped her in mid-sentence.

  The two turned and walked away. Their little miniskirts swayed back and forth with major attitude.

  The big yellow school bus bounced me the whole way home. I hoped that the shaking would help my little brainiac head find a creative way to tell my mom and dad about detention. When I finally arrived, I still didn’t know what to say, and the ginormous mansion that everyone in town called McAllister Manor seemed big and frightening rather than warm and welcoming like usual. I reluctantly stepped toward the tall white marble columns that framed the two massive oak doors.

  Fear evaporated completely when I pushed into the parlor, and my furry chocolate Labradoodle, Puddles, greeted me with a thumping tail. I patted him on the head and buried my face in his fluffy fur, squeezing his ears.

  Feeling totally forgiven, if only by a four-legged creature, I headed straight for the kitchen. I was starved!

  My mom was at the kitchen counter chopping up a tomato, but her eyes were red and puffy like they would be if she was carving up an onion. I could tell she’d been crying.

  Nai Nai, my grandmother, was also there. She’s not my real grandmother. She had been my foster mom when I was in the orphanage system in China eight years ago. Mom and Dad practically adopted her when they came to adopt me on my fourth birthday. They insisted she come with me. Since my dad buys lots of fireworks from companies in China, he had no trouble getting her a visa to come live with us.

  Nai Nai was stirring a pot of chicken broth and was about to crack an egg into a bowl.

  Oh no, I thought. Egg drop soup! This can’t be good.

  My grandmother thinks all of life’s problems can be solved by a bowl of egg drop soup. She and Mom must have already heard about the Purple Flurp thing and detention.

  “What’s wrong, Mom?” I dared to ask.

  “Oh, Danika,” she said with a tenderness in her eyes. “Come here, baby.”

  She got up from the table and wrapped her arms around me for the longest time. That was certainly not the reaction I expected.

  “I just spoke to Mrs. Butter,” said Mom. “The Miss Teeny Pop committee heard about what happened at school. They think it would be better if you didn’t compete tonight.”

  Dropping my bag full of books, I plopped down at the kitchen table and burst into tears.

  “Eat soup,” said Nai Nai suddenly, shoving a bowl in front of me and one in front of my mom. We just kept crying.

  “Eat soup,” insisted Nai Nai. “Soup make better.” Nai Nai took my chin in her hands and made me look into her eyes. “I plllomise!”

  Suddenly my tears turned into giggles. Nai Nai knew she could always make me laugh when she tried to say “promise.”

  Grabbing the spoon, I began to process the worst news ever.

  “Mom,” I said as she reached for her spoon to join me, “none of the routines we worked out will work with an odd number of contestants. They need ten of us.”

  Mom took my hand and looked me right in the eyes. “Danika, there’s something else. The judges have asked Laney Douglas to take your place.”

  I guess who you sit with at lunch doesn’t really mean that much after all.

  CHAPTER 3

  Pinky Promises

  “Danika!”

  Mom’s voice floated up the spiral staircase into my bedroom suite and smacked me awake. I pulled the fluffy lime-green comforter up over my head and grumbled to myself, wishing the canopy on my bed was made out of soundproof glass rather than light pink tulle and bright green ribbons.

  “Hurry out of bed, sweetheart.” Her voice was muffled now since my ears were buried under four inches of fluff, but I could still hear her. “Your alarm went off fifteen minutes ago. I have leftover monkey bread from the Festival for breakfast.”

  Unpleasant memories of the past weekend flooded my barely awake cranium. Mom’s Purple Flurp was more of a legend than ever. It was now responsible for making Popcorn Festival history twice! Once, just because it was delicious enough to win a popcorn cooking contest without having popcorn in it. Twice, because the judges of the Teeny Pop Pageant had disqualified me for throwing it at Mrs. Hefty. I had spent the entire weekend in my room with a box of tissues and my iPod. I had played every sad song Alayna Rayne had ever recorded at least two times an hour.

  Ring-a-ling!

  My white rhinestone-covered cell phone chirped to life. I reached for it, flipped it open, and pressed it to my ear without bothering to look at caller ID.

  “Hello,” I croaked and then cleared my throat.

  “Danika!” The voice was familiar. Laney Douglas! Was she calling to rub in the fact that she’d replaced me?! I hadn’t even bothered to check the paper to see if she had won Friday night, and Mom and Dad had been great about not bringing it up. “Did you hear?”

  “Hear what?” I didn’t hide how much this call annoyed me.

  “We might both get to be in the Teeny Pop Pageant!” She sounded aflutter with happiness, and it was as genuine as the rhinestones on my cell phone.

  “Huh?”

  “We were all dressed for our first routine and waiting backstage, when Mrs. Butter came out and announced that the recent disqualification and addition of contestants was being protested! Protested, Danika! They postponed the contest until the judges can get together and decide what to do. No one knows who started it all, but it must be someone really important for it to go down like that!”

  “Snap!” I quipped.

  “Massive snap!” said Laney.

  Who could have possibly protested? I wondered to myself. I had a pretty good idea.

  “Yeah, Laney. That’s great news. I’ll, uh, catch ya later!” I flipped my phone closed before she could respond.

  Hopping from bed, I grabbed my grey minidress with orange flowers and a pair of black leggings. Mom always insists that I wear leggings with my miniskirts and short dresses. I ran a brush through my hair as fast as possible and plopped a bright orange headband over my black hair before slipping into my patent leather flats. I zoomed down the stairs.

  “Dad!” I bellowed.

  “Yes, my Beauty Queen?” He responded calmly, pulling his nose out of the newspaper. The headline on the front cover read: Pageant Postponed!

  “Did you do that?” I asked, pointing to the black letters. It was just the kind of thing my dad would do. And he has power.

  “I didn’t say a word,” he said calmly. “You must have a friend in high places.”

  I didn’t know if I believed him.

  After dinner that night, Mom loaded me into the BMW and insisted that we go visit the Hardings. Katie’s dad is our pastor and Mom is super-good friends with Mrs. Harding, but Katie and I haven’t been friends since fifth grade. I wasn’t really excited about this.

  Sitting awkwardly in the Hardings’ living room and making small talk with Katie’s mom was no fun at all. Finally, Katie showed up with her dad.

  “Hey, Danika. Hi, Mrs. McAllister,” she said when she walked in the front door.

  Mrs. Harding looked at her and said, “Sweetie, why don’t you and Danika go in your room and hang out for a bit while we talk?”

  “Sure. Come on,” invited Katie.

  In her bedroom, I sat on Katie’s blue fuzzy beanbag chairs. This was the exact spot where we’d traded stickers and dressed our Barbies countless times.

  Since random thoughts were swirling through my head like a tornado, I couldn’t really help it when one blurted out. “The Teeny Pop Pageant was postponed because of me.”

  “I heard,” she answered sweetly. “I bet they’ll let you back in.”

  “Did you hear why I w
as disqualified to begin with?” I asked.

  “Danika, I was there,” she said. “The entire sixth grade class was there.” It didn’t make me feel bad. She was just shooting straight with me. It made me miss our friendship.

  “Everyone is saying that you stained Mrs. Hefty’s face blue and that’s why she’s getting a week off. Is that true?” she asked.

  “No! Of course not.” I defended myself. “That’s ridiculous! It was just my mom’s totally awesome Purple Flurp. I’ve never even gotten a purple tongue from it!”

  We both started giggling.

  “So, I got a pink slip for it,” I said quietly. “I have detention for three days this week with Mrs. V.”

  “No way!”

  “Yes, way!”

  “Me, too!”

  Katie told me that she’d decided to declare her true love for Zachary Donaldson on the bathroom walls. My eyes must have been wide with how absolutely unthinkable it was that my childhood Barbie-doll buddy was now a graffiti artist.

  “In pencil,” she clarified. “So it could be erased. Technically, that’s not graffiti, is it?”

  We laughed again.

  “I got a pink eraser with my pink slip,” she reported. “Principal Butter had me totally erasing it today.”

  We both leaned back on the beanbags and stared up at the glow-in-the-dark planet stickers on Katie’s ceiling, wondering what we should do. I said maybe there should be a club for girls where they could tell all their secrets and they could help each other not make stupid decisions.

  I was kind of thinking out loud, but that sounded like the seed of a great idea to Katie. Club names started flooding my head, but they sounded really corny.

  Suddenly, it hit me. I had a great idea. I knew exactly what we needed. I jumped up and said, “We’ll call it the Secret Keeper Girl Club!”

  “Like that really cool show our moms took us to a couple of years ago?” asked Katie.

  “Yeah!” I said, jumping up and down. “That was the best night ever. Remember the helium saucer contest against our moms?”