The Sister Solution

by Trudi Trueit

  I have nothing else to do. I might as well look for the photos Banana wants. Tapping on Sammi’s photo gallery, I start scrolling through her pictures. I see a series of shots Sammi took of me at the beach last fall. The wind is blowing my hair straight up and I am laughing as I skip from rock to rock. These are followed by a set of pics at the aquarium. No surprise there. Sammi loves the Point Defiance Aquarium. I slide through pictures of sea horses, otters, dolphins, various fish tanks—ooh! A giant Pacific octopus. I tap it so it comes up full screen. A little girl in a pink coat is clamped to the exhibit window as she watches an octopus watching her. I’ve seen this photo before. It’s Patrice’s entry in the art show. Sammi must have taken a picture of it when she went to the gallery with Banana last week.

  “Got one!” Charlie points to a kid patting his head, jutting out his neck, twisting his hips, and doing some kind of soccer kick with his feet.

  Is he dancing or having a seizure? Dancing. Definitely dancing.

  Charlie’s got me. I hold up two fingers.

  Charlie pumps his fist. “Two down, one to go.”

  I look at the photo on my sister’s phone again. Something isn't right. There’s no black mat around the picture or white wall behind it. This isn’t a photo of a photo. Plus, from all the pictures that come before and after this one, it’s obvious my sister is at the aquarium. There’s no doubt this is Sammi’s photo. The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. If that’s true, then—

  Charlie is tapping on my shin. “There!”

  “Where? I don’t see anybody.”

  “The lady by the door.”

  “You mean Mrs. Vanderslice?”

  Mrs. V is flapping her plump arms while doing some sort of toe-heel, toe-heel step out to each side. She looks like a yellow hen about to lay an egg.

  “Disqualified,” I say. “She’s an adult.”

  “We didn’t say anything about age. She only has to be worse than you.”

  He’s right. Watching the Leaning Tower of Vanderslice do her pendulum thrash, I cannot deny it. Mrs. V is worse than me. I have no choice. I must give Charlie three fingers. And I must dance.

  Putting both phones in my purse, I sling the strap over my head. The moment I climb off the table, the music ends. I’m saved! I am about to sit down again when the DJ announces, “All right, kids, we’re going slow things down for this next one, and it’s ladies choice. So choose your lads wisely, lovely ladies, or the toes you lose could be your own.”

  Charlie is standing. He is waiting for me to choose him.

  I shake my head vigorously as the speakers crackle with the first few notes of Elton John’s “Can You Feel the Love Tonight.” “I . . . I can’t slow dance.”

  “For a girl who has the guts to skip a couple of grades, you sure say ‘can’t’ a lot.”

  Charlie knows who I am! He also has a point.

  “Can you rock back and forth?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “Then you can slow dance.” He takes my hand and pulls me onto the dance floor before I can come up with a decent argument.

  Facing Charlie, I regret not putting on a second layer of deodorant. I have never even held a boy’s hand before, and now I am going to dance with one! I feel like I am about to take a test I didn’t study for. I haven’t had that feeling since kindergarten.

  Charlie puts his hands on my waist. I hope he can’t feel the butterflies in my stomach, because there’s a whole monarch migration going on in there. I watch the couple behind Charlie and place my frozen hands at the top of his shoulder the way I see the girl do with her partner. Charlie’s neck is warm. Turning my head, I watch the feet of another girl next to me. She’s swaying back and forth, hardly moving at all. I copy her. I try not to lock my knees. I don’t want to tip over. I try not to breathe too much. Or too little. Charlie leads us, and we make a path in the shape of a small trapezoid. As the music plays, the monarch stomach butterflies start to land. I dare to close my eyes. But not for long—not for more than thirteen seconds at a time. I don’t want to crush his feet.

  “You’re doing fine,” Charlie says into my ear.

  The music has stopped. Is the song over? Already?

  Charlie lets me go. He steps back. “Not so bad, huh?”

  “Not so bad.”

  He gives a small salute, and we go in opposite directions. I try not to skip back to my table, but there may be a slight springiness in my feet. Yippee! I did it. My first dance at my first dance. I can’t wait to tell Sammi.

  Sammi!

  I was having so much fun I almost forgot. Yanking the zipper of my purse, I grab Sammi’s phone and tap the screen. I go to the gallery and find the photo of the little girl at the aquarium. I start scanning the dance floor for my sister, but then remember I can’t talk to her. We’re on school grounds. And we still have a contract. Dang! There is one other option. I could ask someone else—someone who used to be my friend. But will she even talk to me? And will she tell the truth? There is only one way to find out.

  Patrice and her friends are camped in the opposite corner of the cafeteria. I’ve been trying not to look their way all night. Now I lift myself to my full height, fill my lungs, and march over to them. Their seating order on the table is pretty much the same as it is at lunch, with Tanith perched on one side of Patrice, and Mercy and Cara on the other side. India sits next to Tanith. She stares at her brown T-strap sandals with the turquoise beads and curls her ombré pink toes under.

  “Look who’s here,” snickers Tanith, inspecting me from pearls to boots. “Selling jewelry, Jo? You’ve got enough on tonight.”

  “Hey, Jo!” Patrice welcomes me with a big smile.

  I didn’t expect her to be so friendly. “I don’t mean to bother you,” I say, my fingers tightly gripping Sammi’s phone. “I need to ask you something, then I’ll go—”

  “Don’t be silly. You’re not bothering us. Come and hang. Tanith, shove over and make room for Jo.”

  “That’s okay,” I say, taking a step back.

  Patrice scoots to the edge of the table. She crooks her finger at me. I inch forward. Patrice puts a hand on my shoulder. “Sit. Down.”

  “Okay.” I’m not sure it’s a good idea to sit next to her.

  “BTW, great outfit,” she says, moving her black sweater to clear space beside her on the table. “Love the pearls, Quirky Chic, but don’t they get in your way when you’re dancing?”

  “Uh . . . no. I haven’t been dancing that much.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad. I’m glad you came over. I’ve been wanting to talk to you. I wanted to say I was sorry for—you know, everything. I’ve decided I want us to be friends again.”

  “You are? You do?” I stare at her. This is a complete switch. I should be happy, right? This is what I wanted, right?

  Patrice leans back against the wall. “So what did you want to ask?”

  I hold Sammi’s phone, tilting the screen toward Patrice. “I was . . . well, I was wondering, why is your photo on my sister’s phone?”

  “What are you talking about? What have you got there?” Tanith tries to lean over me. “What is that?”

  I give her a sharp elbow to the ribs. “You really should stop asking so many questions, Tanith,” I say, never taking my eyes off Patrice. “It’s soooo annoying.”

  India snickers. She puts a hand up to muffle her laugh.

  Patrice looks at the photo for a long time. She taps one of her front teeth thoughtfully, then finally glances at me and says, “I don’t know.”

  I can feel my cheeks getting warm. “That’s your answer? You don’t know.”

  “It doesn’t really seem fair to attack someone who isn’t here to defend herself.”

  “Defend herself?” My pulse quickens. “Who are you talking about?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Patrice throws out a hand, nearly knocking the phone from my grip. “You sister is sure good at stealing things, Jo. First Noah, and then my photo!”

  SEV
ENTEEN

  Last Dance

  “WANNA DANCE?”

  “Okay,” I croak.

  I do my best to keep my trembling fingers steady as I put my hand in Noah’s. I try to look happy, but inside I’m crumbling. It’s a slow dance, but I can hardly hear the music. My heart is banging so hard against my chest I am sure it’s going to break a couple of ribs. Patrice’s words keep bombarding my brain.

  Stay away from Noah. Stay away from Noah.

  I couldn’t believe what Patrice was asking—demanding. I stood in the girls’ bathroom facing her for what seemed like hours, unable to speak. I kept waiting for her to say it was all a joke, but she didn’t. Her satisfied expression told me she had carefully thought through every detail. She knew, and I knew, I was in a corner. Say no to Patrice and watch my sister live out her middle school days on the outer edge of the universe and hate me for it. Say yes and reunite Jorgianna with the only friend she’d ever had and desperately missed, even if that friend happens to be a slimy snake.

  “Well?”

  “Okay, Patrice. You win. I’ll do it,” I said. I didn’t want to stay to see her gloat, so I bolted from the bathroom and ran smack into Eden on the other side of the door. I knocked her flat.

  She’s okay. Mrs. Vanderslice and I got her some ice for her bruised elbow, and she’s resting near the snack bar. Eden wanted to know what happened with Patrice, of course. I said Patrice asked me for a small favor. It is the last lie I will ever tell my best friend. Soon I will explain everything. I will tell her the truth about Patrice and my photograph and the deal I made with her, but not tonight. Tonight I have to say good-bye to Noah. It is not helping that Bob Dylan is singing “Make You Feel My Love.”

  Noah puts his arms around me. I rest my head on his shoulder. It is our first dance. And our last. Once the song is over, I will have to start ignoring him. I close my eyes, my mind absorbing everything—the rhythm of his breathing, the slow swish of his feet, the warmth of his hands on my waist, the way his knee sometimes bumps mine. I need to remember every single thing that happens in the next two minutes so I can knit together a memory that will last for the rest of my life.

  “Sammi?”

  “Yes.”

  “Something wrong?”

  My eyes fly open. He can sense something is upsetting me.

  Not yet, Noah. One more minute. Please let me have one more verse.

  I lift my head. The longer I wait, the harder this is going to be.

  Do it. Do it now.

  What do I say to him? That I don’t melt when he says my name or walks me to class or shares his french fries in the park. What lie am I supposed to come up with to hurt the nicest boy in the world?

  I pull back to look at him, my eyes filling with water. “Noah, I’m sorry but I have to . . . I need to . . .”

  Looking past Noah’s head, I see Jorgianna. She is shoulder to shoulder with Patrice on the table in the corner. They are huddled over her phone. Seeing them together chills me to the core.

  What am I doing?

  I can take my sister’s anger and I can take the silent treatment, but I couldn’t take it if she turned into a lying, cheating reptile like Patrice Houston. Jorgianna may never forgive me for damaging her friendship with Patrice, but I could never forgive myself for repairing it.

  No. I won’t do it. This ends now. Patrice has taken too much from me already. I will not let her take one thing more.

  I look straight into those nice, nice green eyes. “I need . . . to go save my sister.”

  EIGHTEEN

  The Genius Learns a Thing or Two

  “I’M SUCH AN IDIOT.” IN one motion, I jump off the table.

  How could I be so blind?

  “Jo, don’t be hard on Sammi,” says Patrice. “She’s jealous of our friendship—”

  “You are really something, Patrice.”

  “Thanks,” she says, missing my sarcasm.

  “For someone who is usually right about everything, I don’t know how I could have been so wrong about you.”

  She starts to speak, but I don’t give her the chance.

  “When I met you,” I say, “I thought you were so strong and independent. You weren’t afraid to tell the world ‘This is who I am.’ I admired you for that. But I was so busy looking at you, Patrice, I never stopped to look behind you.” I take a good, hard look at Cara, Mercy, Desiree, India, and even Tanith—obnoxious, irritating Tanith. “If I had, I would have seen all the people you trample on every day. You’re not a friend, you’re a bully.”

  Patrice glares at me. Her icy stares will not work on me. Not anymore.

  “I don’t know how you got Sammi’s photo,” I say, “but I’ll bet she does.”

  Tipping her head back against the wall, Patrice waves me away as if I am a mere peasant.

  “I’ll bet Mrs. Vanderslice would love to know too.”

  Patrice jerks up. “Wait a minute, Jo. Can’t we talk about this?”

  “And another thing.” My whole body feels like it’s on fire. “My name is not Jo. It’s not Jo Jo or Jorgi either. My name is Jorgianna.”

  “Jorgianna!”

  Is there an echo in here?

  My sister is flying toward me. Sammi is weaving her way through kids like a basketball player on a fast break. Noah is one step behind her. Eden is hurrying behind him, a hand clamped to her temple to keep the silk flower in her hair.

  “Patrice, no!” Sammi puts on the brakes, and I throw out an arm to catch her before she crashes into the table. “I won’t do it. The deal is off. It’s off.”

  “What deal?” I ask.

  “Yes, what deal?” asks Patrice sweetly, easily stretching out her legs.

  “I . . . I . . .” My sister’s freckles are glowing. Frightened blue eyes probe mine. “Patrice said she would take you back as a friend if I . . . if I . . . didn’t tell anyone that she stole my photo . . . and I had to promise to stay away from Noah.”

  Everyone gasps.

  “Puh-lease,” says Patrice. “That’s a lie.”

  “No, it isn’t,” says another voice. India slides off the table and turns to face us. “Sammi is telling the truth. I was in the bathroom tonight. I overheard everything.”

  Patrice snorts. “No one believes you, India.”

  “I do.” I plant my feet firmly next to India’s brown sandals. “I believe her.”

  India smiles at me. “Ačiū.”

  I look into my sister’s glistening eyes. “You were really going to do that? You were going to give up your blue ribbon and Noah for me?”

  A single nod sends a tear down her cheek.

  I hold my sister’s phone out to her. “You forgot something in the car.”

  She looks down, sees her photograph of the little girl at the aquarium, and the waterworks really begin. I put my arms around her and let her cry into my shoulder. Sammi has to bend way down and I have to go up on tiptoe, but she does and I do, and neither of us thinks a thing about it, because sisters do whatever they have to do to hold on to one another.

  Sammi taught me that.

  NINETEEN

  A New World

  “GIRLS, LET’S GET GOING! THE traffic reporter just gave the commute into the city an eight on the jam-factor scale.”

  “Coming, Mom,” calls Jorgianna.

  Down on one knee, I glance up at my sister. “Shouldn’t we have some kind of ceremony or something?”

  My sister and the four white angel clips in her hair flutter in agreement. “Short and sweet.”

  I hold up all the copies of our contract. “We promise never to have anything in writing between us ever again. Farewell, middle school contract. Good-bye and good riddance. Hit it, Jorgianna.”

  My sister presses the start button and I feed both copies of our contract into the shredder. I feel a sense of relief, watching the big metal teeth slice the pages into confetti. When the machine stops whirring, I stand up and dust off the knees of my black yoga pants.

  Jorgianna unpl
ugs the shredder, we grab our backpacks, then head out to the car. Mom backs out of the garage, and, for the first time since Jorgianna started middle school with me, I relax—really and truly relax. On the way to school Jorgianna and I look out our own windows, as we have always done, and still get lost in our own thoughts of the day ahead, as we have always done, but that mysterious force that once pushed us apart . . . is gone.

  Jorgianna scoots toward me as far as her seatbelt will allow. “It would never have worked, you know.”

  “What?”

  “Ignoring Noah.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “Nope. You can’t make somebody not like you, especially someone who likes you as much as he does.”

  I smile.

  Mom pulls up to the drop-off curb next to the school. Jorgianna and I open our car doors together. We get out, say good-bye to Mom, and head into the building side by side. As we split apart to go to our own lockers, I say, “See you at lunch.”

  “Sammi, you don’t have to—”

  “It’s all set. You’re eating with Eden and me. Third table next to the windows. See you at noon.”

  She gives me a grin, but doesn’t argue. Jorgianna bounces away in my once-beloved hunter-green Daisy Chain boots. Four sets of lacy angel’s wings wave to me. I wave back. I watch until her emerald-green jumper and red tights turn the corner. Sheesh. All that’s missing are the reindeer.

  I head for first period.

  Ding-dee-ding. Ding-dee-ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Dong.

  Today’s instrument is a row of juice glasses, each filled with a different amount of water. Miss Fleischmann is rapping on them with a couple of small metal curtain rods. She is so into her performance she doesn’t greet me. I melt into my seat. Eden and Charlie both have the same “get me out of here” look I am sure is on my own face.

  After taking attendance, Miss Fleischmann says, “We’ll be going to the library so you can research your poet biographies today. Before we go, I have your fairy tales to hand back.”