My stomach lurches. I don’t like him being even more perfect.
Then another girl, Risa Cappeto, raises her hand and comes to the front of the class. She has short black hair and really fun-looking purple glasses. “Last year I was afraid to debate and do public speaking. I thought maybe I wasn’t good enough. But I am good enough. Now I want to be a lawyer when I grow up. So if any of you are afraid, that’s normal.”
Being afraid is definitely normal for me. What are all the things I would do if I wasn’t afraid? I don’t really like to think about it. Maybe quit soccer.
Ms. Yoon says the first thing we will do is form teams of four, and then break into partners. Each partner group will work together to research and prepare for our first debate. She explains how important it will be for everyone to contribute and work cooperatively. To get used to debating, she will give us current event topics for the first debate. But in the future, we will be debating historical stuff like the fall of Rome.
I glance at Jana, who looks back and says under her breath, “I hope we get to work together.”
“Me too,” I say, crossing my fingers.
“Or I get to work with Jacob.” Jana winks and nudges her chin toward the back of the classroom, where Jacob is sitting.
As if she can read our minds, Maya Kusuma raises her hand. “Can we pick who we work with?” she asks, and glances knowingly at Keisha, who already looks like she is a lawyer ready to speak in front of a judge. “I really want to work with someone I know.”
Ms. Yoon says, “If there’s someone you’d really like to work with, please write it down and I’ll take it into consideration. It doesn’t guarantee you’ll work together, though.”
I write down my name and then Jana. Ms. Yoon comes around and collects our preferences.
“Okay, moving on to creating our classroom contract,” says Ms. Yoon enthusiastically, and we dive into that. We agree that it’s okay to make mistakes because that is how you figure stuff out. We also pledge to work together and respect one another. Then Ms. Yoon has all of the class members sign the contract.
“Sure, it’s a little cheesy,” says Ms. Yoon. Some kids laugh. “But it’s useful. Sometimes getting things in writing helps.”
I feel a small pang. If only this class were just writing, I’d be okay with that. But I have a feeling I’m about to make a big fool out of myself in Social Studies this year.
The bell rings and I overhear Fiona say in an obnoxiously loud voice, “This class is going to be so much fun!”
“Really?” I say under my breath to Jana. “Getting your braces tightened would be fun compared to being forced to do a debate.”
As we’re leaving, Jacob walks by and says hi. After he’s a safe distance away, Jana puts her hand over her heart. “My heart is racing. He’s a public health risk.”
He sure is, I think. It’s going to be hard not liking him.
Somehow, throughout the rest of the day, I’m able to push away any Jacob thoughts. In my other classes, I focus on taking very neat notes and creating elaborate doodles of my classmates. I notice all kinds of things, like how the linoleum floor has yellow and gray flecks in it—which are not our school colors, but our rival middle school’s colors. And how nobody stuffs their oversized backpacks in the metal baskets under the desks because they’re too small, and thus pointless. My plan seems to be working. I’m very busy noticing my Jacob-free surroundings.
When school ends, Jana and I make our way to the bus pick-up area. Kids crowd the hallway, especially the sixth graders, who bunch together in groups and jostle us. Still, I’m feeling calm and happy to be with my best friend now that classes are over. We’re not walking, exactly, but doing this bump-skip thing. And giggling. It’s more fun to be with Jana than anyone I know.
She slows down in front of the birthday bulletin board by the office. “I want to see my name.”
“And you should,” I point out. The birthday bulletin board is a giant board that lists the names of students who have a birthday each month, and the date of their birthday. Every month there are at least fifty names.
We both scan the board. “There you are,” I say. “See. Jana Patel, September sixteenth.”
Jana claps her hands over her mouth. “Oh. My. Gosh.”
“What?” I ask, alarmed. A bunch of sixth graders streak past us, yelling.
Jana shakes her head.
“Seriously, Jana. Tell me.”
“Look who’s almost right next to me,” she says.
My eyes scan and stop on a familiar name. Jacob Matthews. My heart starts pattering. Shoot! I thought I had purged myself of any Jacob feelings. Ha, ha.
“Jacob and I are September birthday buddies!” she shrieks. “Look, his is on September tenth!”
“Wow,” I say, trying to sound excited for her.
She jumps up and down, hanging onto my sleeve. “Can you believe it?”
No. Just another thing that unites them. “That’s awesome,” I say, with a sinking feeling. We make our way outside to the drive-in circle where the buses wait. There are mobs of kids looking for buses or waving at parents. I feel like the world is conspiring to bring my crush and my best friend together. And for me to keep on thinking about it.
“Maybe Jacob and I could have double parties,” says Jana, grinning.
“Ha, ha.”
“I know. It’s not like we’ve spoken that much yet. Speaking of parties, did I tell you that my mom said we can rent a karaoke machine for my sleepover? And do the nail salon in the family room, as long as I put a cloth down first over the carpet? Mom’s worried I’m going to drip polish over her new Berber rug. She said she’d give me money to go to the store to pick out colors.”
“Wow. And the karaoke machine!” That’s going to be cool. I’m back to being excited. First of all, Jana loves to sing duets with me, even though she’s usually out of key. I can’t sing either, except in the shower. My voice is kind of warbly. So together, we’re so bad it’s awesome.
“Plus, my dad will make homemade pizzas in our brick oven. And we can all choose our toppings.”
“That sounds like so much fun!”
“I know. My mom even said that since I’m turning thirteen, she’ll let us stay up past midnight.” That was a big deal for Mrs. Patel. She’s a sleep fanatic. Everyone has sleep shades, and she doesn’t let Jana get exposed to any blue light from her computer or phone after eight o’clock. Like I said, strict.
“I can’t wait!” I say.
Jana grins as we part ways. “See you at practice!”
“Yes,” I said. “See you.”
Somehow Jana had actually convinced me to join the soccer team last year. Even though I don’t really like how you have to scream on the field sometimes, and how when you’re a defender you basically have to use your body as a human shield. At least being a defender is better than being a midfielder, like Jana. She loves it, but they have to run around. A lot. As a defender, I do have to run and even steal the ball, but not as much as a midfielder.
Anyway, I had done youth soccer when I was little. But I just wasn’t one of those soccer girls, so I had quit. But then Jana said it was so much fun doing traveling soccer—you got to go to tournaments like the Boo Fest and wear Halloween costumes.
I remember exactly when I gave in last spring. As we had hurried down the hallway before first period that day, she had begged, “C’mon, Maddie. Please. Just do it. At least try out. It’ll be fun.”
“I won’t know anyone,” I had insisted.
“You know me. Isn’t that enough?” She smiled.
“I’ll think about it,” I said. Which was a mistake, because it gave her a wide opening.
She kept up her pestering all day, and, finally, I just gave up resisting. Plus, if I’m being honest, I’ll admit that I wanted something more to do after school, since my ceramics class was only once a week.
My best friend could convince anyone of anything. She had once pleaded with our math teacher, Mrs. Pe
arson, not to give her a zero for missing homework. Jana told her that red sauce had splattered on her homework and that her poodle, Gus, had eaten the assignment. Mrs. Pearson smiled at her and said not to worry. If I had told that story, Mrs. Pearson would have definitely marked down a zero. But instead, Mrs. Pearson actually put down a check plus in her online grade book for Jana, and asked if she did any dog sitting. It was unbelievable.
Sometimes I wish I could talk like Jana—to say whatever I wanted, and have everyone listen.
Once I get back home, I think about how today was a very surprising first day of school. But even with everything that happened, I’m still really looking forward to Jana’s birthday.
While Morty jumps up and licks me, my mom peppers me with a thousand questions about how the day went. She’s never satisfied with “fine.” She wants details.
Elvie always gives her details, so I try. I tell her a little bit about my Science teacher, Mr. Gibson, who was wearing purple socks and has red frizzy hair and a big bushy beard. I tell her how this year I didn’t forget my locker combination and knew exactly where to go. I tell her that Social Studies will be very interesting, but I don’t tell her about Jana’s crush. And I don’t tell her about mine. I mean, my not-crush.
I’m feeling pretty confused about the crush problem. I even flip through a few of Mom’s self-help books, but I can’t say that they have answers. One of them says “Be your own best friend.” I’m not really sure how that would help. Because if I were being my own best friend, I’d tell myself all about Jacob.
Later, when Elvie gets home from high school, she excitedly shows me a list of books she’s going to be reading in AP Literature. We’re upstairs in the atrium office and we’re both about to start our schoolwork. “The teacher is incredible,” she says. “We’re going to be doing in-class timed writing prompts all year.”
“Really? That doesn’t sound like fun.”
Elvie plops down on a chair in front of her computer. “Mrs. King is going to show us all of these techniques. Apparently, almost everyone who takes her class gets fours and fives on the AP exam. She’s really hard, but it’s going to be worth it.”
She immediately goes to YouTube and brings up a video showing a lesson on how to play the electric bass. Confused, I stare at the video. “But you don’t even have an electric bass.” Elvie’s upright bass sits downstairs in the living room, in the corner behind the piano. She usually practices it after dinner or sometimes even before school.
“I’m going to get an electric bass,” she declares, moving her fingers like she’s playing air guitar. I mean, air bass. “And start my own band.”
“How are you going to have time for that and playing upright bass, with all your clubs and AP classes?”
“You sound just like Mom and Dad,” says Elvie, sighing.
I pop my hand over my mouth. “I do. Wow. I did not mean that.”
“It’s okay,” she says, looking at me proudly. “You’re growing up.”
Chapter Seven:
THE REMINDER
The next day I tuck my phone into my pocket and enter through the double doors into the cafeteria. It’s already jam-packed, and the hot lunch line is practically all the way to the taco bar. Jana and Torielle find me, and we make our way to the middle of the cafeteria, where Katie is at a table by the Fixings Bar. (That’s the place where you can get packets of ketchup, mustard, salt, pepper, and extra napkins.)
I turn my head and catch Jacob’s eye. He’s sitting with a couple of soccer boys in the back of the cafeteria next to the Quik Cart. He waves over at us. I nod and smile. Torielle taps Jana on the shoulder.
“Jacob’s saying something to you,” says Torielle to Jana. Actually, I think he was waving at me, but I don’t say anything.
“Oh, hey,” mouths Jana breezily as she turns to wave enthusiastically. I wave, too, since I don’t want to be rude.
“It’s a good sign, right?” Jana asks.
“Very,” I say, and stop waving.
“Maddie, I didn’t know you knew him,” Jana says.
“Um, he’s in Social Studies with us,” I point out.
“Right.” Jana takes a bite out of her turkey sandwich. “I guess he’s just friendly.”
“Exactly.”
“Don’t you think he waved longer than necessary at me?” she asks.
“I guess so.”
Katie opens her lime-green lunch bag and pulls out a matching lime-green napkin, which she lays out on the table after blowing all the crumbs away. “FYI. Whether you guys like it or not, I’ve signed you up to work at the Halloween Haunted House fundraiser that the PTA is sponsoring in October.”
“Yes please,” says Torielle. “That was so fun last year.”
“Agreed,” I say.
“There’s nothing like scaring people.” Jana curls her hands like claws and bares her teeth, making a crazy face. We all giggle.
“Just give me some ideas for the back-to-school faculty luncheon,” says Katie. “My mom, Miss PTA president, has been bugging me about what the teachers will like.”
“Pizza?” suggests Torielle.
“No.” Katie shakes her head. “That’s a kid thing.”
“Then lasagna,” says Jana.
“Okay, that could work.” Katie places some sushi rolls, pumpkin seeds, and a pear onto her cloth napkin. “Or maybe not. What if we did something unexpected? Like maybe pizza rolls, but gourmet. With wedges of fresh mozzarella?”
I set down my thermos of soup and fold my arms. “Why unexpected?”
“Because it’s a fun surprise,” says Jana. “Every-one loves surprises.”
Really? Personally, I’m tired of surprises. This week has been too unexpected already.
Then something funny happens to Katie’s eyes; they grow strangely big. “Yes, pizza rolls,” she says, slowing down her speech. “They. Are. Very. Delicious.”
“I agree,” says Torielle, in an equally strained and slow voice. “And very cute.” She’s acting oddly, leaning back in her chair and sort of nodding backwards. “And nearby.”
“What’s up with you guys?” says Jana.
“I know,” I say with a laugh. “You two are acting so weird.”
“Behind you and approaching,” hisses Torielle, “At six o’clock.” She’s into detective movies and loves to sound like one sometimes.
“Jacob,” Katie breathes. “He’s walking over here with Lukas Wu.”
Jana’s mouth drops open.
My mouth drops open.
We turn around, and the boys are right there.
“Oh, hi again!” I say a little too loudly, and Jana does the same.
“How’s it going over here?” asks Jacob.
“Great!” says Jana.
“Awesome,” says Jacob.
Am I crazy, or do his eyes linger on mine? He gives his signature Jacob lopsided grin. But I decide to be immune to it.
Jana introduces him to Torielle and Katie. We already know Lukas, but it feels like we’re meeting him for the first time. He’s popular with the boys but somewhat quiet around girls.
Jacob eyes the two empty seats at our table. He’s wearing a bright blue shirt, the same color as his eyes. “Are these seats taken?” he asks, all casual.
“No!” says Jana, probably too enthusiastically.
Lukas sits down in the empty chair next to me. Jacob sits down right next to Jana. Lukas is nice—a little short, but cute, and he has spiky, short dark brown hair. He always wears these FC Barcelona t-shirts and he’s famous for his ability to juggle. I mean in soccer, where you bounce the ball from knee to knee, or to your head—or to anywhere but your hands. He’s as good as Jana.
“I love creamy spinach,” says Lukas. He points to a pool of something green in his tray.
“Seriously?” I’m not sure what to say to that. This is the first time—ever—that boys have eaten with us. This makes us the first table to officially eat with boys. Last year, some guys would stop by our table. O
kay, more like throw napkins at the back of our heads or jog past and swipe cookies. But this feels different because they’re not here to prank us. I feel like the eyes of the entire seventh grade are on us right now, especially Fiona’s. She can’t like Jacob because, eww, he’s her cousin, so I think she’s staring at Lukas. And because he’s next to me, she’s staring at me so hard, I feel like she’s going to burn a hole into my forehead.
“So …” Jacob raises his eyebrows and looks at me innocently. “Do they have any coffee machines in the caf?”
“No,” I blurt. “Only in the teacher’s lounge.” I try to think of something to redirect the conversation. I haven’t told Jana about our Friendly Bean encounter, and it would be so awkward for it to come up now! In desperation, I reach for a spork behind me at the Fixings Bar.
“Too bad,” says Jacob. “Because I—”
“Can you believe someone thought this was a good idea?” I say, holding up the spork.
“No,” says Lukas, rolling his eyes. “That’d never work for creamy spinach!”
“Neither fork nor spoon,” says Katie.
“I forgot about their existence.” Jacob pulls a mini Snickers bar out of his lunch bag. Apparently, he eats dessert first. “We didn’t have sporks in my old school.” And suddenly I’m smiling because Jacob is talking about sporks and not coffee. He’s nowhere near talking about pumpkin spice frappé. Phew!
Katie takes a bite of her pear. “Don’t you think one day they could purchase an actual utensil? I might ask the PTA about that.”
“What, like a fork?” says Torielle. Soon the awkwardness evaporates when we start arguing about other sorts of utensils we could invent. “Cupknife” was axed, as was the “spray,” a giant spoon that’s also a tray.
“Lunch got better with Jacob and Lukas there,” says Katie, which surprises me, since I thought she would mind having boys at our table. We’re heading down the hall to our fifth-period class.
“Seriously better,” adds Torielle, as we brush past a knot of sixth graders who are still looking a bit lost, even though it’s no longer the first day.
“Yes!” Jana and I say at the same time. “Jinx!” we both cry out. “You can’t speak until someone says your name!” And we both laugh but then close our mouths and make hand signals instead of talking the rest of the way down the hall.
Pumpkin Spice Secrets Page 4