Ripple Effect

by Sylvia Taekema

  At school, Dana would hang the poncho on the door of her half-open locker, and it would drip water all over the floor. Mr. Parker, the janitor, started leaving a mop and bucket for her so she could wipe up the puddle. She would shake the water out of her crazy, curly hair and Mickey would sing, “Dana, Dana, has come in from the rain-a.”

  After school, her cross-country team would run. It was muddy, but they were doing well in the Friday races. Amber, who knew most of the runners on all of the teams and how they usually placed, thought they might even have a shot at the city championship. It was less than three weeks away, and Miss Marchand was so excited that she had them running every day. It didn’t take any persuading. The girls were excited too.

  When Mrs. Murphy came to pick up Janelle in the afternoons, she would wave to the girls and cheer them on as they ran. Then Janelle would come out on her crutches. She would watch, but she didn’t seem all that interested. Instead, she’d be talking to Julia, who was usually carrying Janelle’s backpack and a big umbrella.

  Dana had tried to talk to Nelly a few times at lunch, but she didn’t know what to talk about. Julia was always sending her looks that told her she was saying the wrong things. Gradually, she stopped talking at all and just sat quietly while the other girls chatted. Julia had lots to say anyway, and Janelle didn’t seem to notice. A couple of times a week, Dana noticed that Janelle and Julia weren’t even around at lunch. Amber said they were working on something together in the library. Still catching up on homework maybe? Why hadn’t Janelle asked Dana for help? When Miss Marchand asked for someone to work with the runners in grades three and four at lunch every other day, Dana saw no reason not to volunteer.

  Today, though, Dana knew exactly what to talk to Janelle about. She decided to walk over to Janelle’s house right after supper so she could talk to her without Julia being around to give her one of her looks. Mr. B. had assigned a big geography project about biomes. Dana and Janelle had always worked together on things like this. During their last week in grade five, their teacher had told them about some of the things they could look forward to doing in grade six. She’d mentioned the biomes project. Janelle and Dana had looked at each other and given each other a nod and a thumbs-up. They made the best partners.

  Dana had already done a bit of research and written down a few ideas. She’d taken an umbrella along in case it started raining again. When Janelle asked which topic Dana had in mind, she would hand her the umbrella as a hint. The tropical rainforest. Janelle would love it. Working on this assignment together was just what they needed to make things normal again.

  She ran up the steps to Janelle’s house, leaned her umbrella against the wall and rang the bell. The door swung open. Julia.

  “Hi, Dana.”

  Dana took a step backward. “Is…is Janelle here?”

  “Of course. We’re working on our project,” she said.

  “You mean the geography project?” Dana asked.

  “We’re doing the tropical rainforest. What about you? Who’s your partner?”

  “I, umm…” said Dana, recovering slowly. “I’m going to do it by myself. I work better by myself anyway.”

  Janelle appeared in the hallway. “Dana! Come in. Do you need something?”

  “No.” Dana shook her head. “I was just running by and thought I’d stop and say hi. So, umm, hi.”

  “Hi,” said Janelle. She shifted uncomfortably. “Did you—”

  “Well,” Dana interrupted, “I’d better keep running. Got to get lots of practice. Bye!” She turned quickly and ran back down the steps.

  “Dana, wait!” Janelle called from the door.

  Dana skidded to a halt, sucked in her breath and turned back hopefully. “Yes?”

  “You forgot your umbrella.”

  A week later, Dana tucked the shoebox containing her diorama of the tundra under her poncho and headed for school. She’d meant to ask Dale to help her carry everything, but he was already gone. She should have walked and kept everything nice and dry under her umbrella, as her mother had suggested, but it was too late for that now. The poncho would have to do.

  Dana was a little unsteady, riding one-handed. She just needed to take it slowly and carefully. When she was halfway down the driveway, the front of the poncho suddenly flew up in the wind, completely blinding her. She careened down the drive and, before she could stop herself, crashed headlong into a row of recycling bins. She flew off her bike, landing on a stack of soggy newspapers. The shoebox shot out of her hand and went skidding down the sidewalk.

  Dana jumped to her feet, yanked off the poncho, balled it up and threw it into one of the boxes. Breathing heavily, she surveyed the mess. Everyone else put one blue box out. The Davis family always had three or four. Her mom was a recycling fanatic and didn’t let a single piece end up in the trash. Grumbling, Dana righted the boxes and gathered up all the cans and bottles that had spilled out over the sidewalk and onto the road. She chased after the cardboard pieces that had escaped and were cartwheeling in the wind.

  With her shoebox once again stuffed under one arm, Dana got back on her bike. She could feel water spraying up behind her the whole ride in. She squished into class just ahead of the bell and plunked her dripping diorama on the shelf. The iceberg she’d made so carefully out of sugar cubes was melting. The gelatin river was running. Everything she’d made was completely biodegradable, and that’s what it was doing now. She pulled down a sheet of paper towel and tried to dry things a little.

  Mickey came in, took one look and started to laugh. “Dana, Dana,” he sang, “has a skunk stripe stain-a.”

  Dana was angry. She wheeled around. “Mickey!”

  Just then Jason appeared. His timing was perfect again. He really was her knight in shining armor.

  “Maybe you’d better give it a rest with the jingles, Mick,” he said. He glanced over at the shoebox and winced. “Global warming?”

  Dana sighed and then smiled. “It’s a big problem.”

  “So I see. Still biking in?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Cool. I just wanted to tell you…”

  Dana held her breath. What did he want to tell her? That he didn’t care if she was a muddy mess? That he thought she was the cutest girl in grade six anyway?

  “You forgot to take the elastic band off your ankle.”

  Dana let her breath out again like a leaky balloon. “Oh,” she said. “Thanks.” She reached down and slipped off the elastic band. She looked at the puddle that had formed at her feet. She looked at her soggy shoebox. She looked at Jason walking away with Mickey and then at Janelle chatting with Julia, all the while playing with the elastic band in her hand. Suddenly, it snapped. Ouch! It was supposed to have been a really strong one. But she guessed things could only stretch so far before they broke. Water dripped out of Dana’s hair. Her eyes stung as she busied herself with her diorama.

  “Okay, everyone,” called Mr. B. “Time to find your seats. Dana, are you okay back there? Do you need any help?”

  Dana shook her head. She cleared her throat and wiped her face. It had just been a really bad morning. That’s all. Things couldn’t possibly get any worse. She took a deep breath and tried to smile. Like her mother always said, if crying wasn’t going to do any good, she might as well laugh. Besides, there was no time for tears. Dana had noticed something when she’d confronted Mickey. She was taller than he was. That meant she was almost taller than Jason. She’d have to do something. Fast.

  It rained all day. When Dana ran up the steps and into the house that afternoon, she almost crashed into her mother taking off her boots just inside the door. Dana was surprised to see the blue poncho hanging on one of the hooks in the hallway.

  “Oh, Dana, you’re home. I just got in too. It’s a soaker, isn’t it? Why in the world aren’t you wearing your poncho? I found it in the recycling.”

  Dana described her encounter with the blue boxes. She didn’t say anything about how the rest of the morning ha
d gone.

  “Oh no.” Her mom laughed and gave her a hug. “Are you hurt?”

  Dana paused, then shook her head.

  “Why don’t you go and get dried off. I’ll make some tea.” Her mother disappeared into the kitchen.

  Dana looked over at the poncho hanging on the hook and wrinkled her nose. Maybe her problems were not going to go away as easily as she thought.

  Eight

  IT WAS OFFICIAL. The cross-country team had had its wettest but most successful season in the school’s history. In last Friday’s city championship, Dana had placed third in the race for grade-six girls. Neta was seventh.

  “Dana, that was amazing!” gushed a soggy Miss Marchand when all the girls had crossed the finish line. “And Neta, you came out of nowhere. I didn’t even know you could run like that! Amber, Gina, well done!”

  Mrs. Murphy had planned to come out to the race with Janelle, but it was too wet. She’d left a message saying she was sorry, but she was afraid Janelle might slip with her crutches and hurt herself again. Go Eagles! she had shouted into the phone.

  The team had come in fourth place overall! Each member received a beautiful, gleaming yellow ribbon. Even Amber had to smile. Miss Marchand had told the girls she was going to wear her coach’s jersey to school Monday morning and encouraged them to wear their ribbons. Let’s celebrate! she’d said. Remembering what had happened last time, Dana left her ribbon at home. Biking in, however, she did share her big news with the little dog. Almost every day since she’d first seen him, Dana had stopped to look for him, and often she found him hiding under the same bush. “Hey, Buddy,” she called out to him this morning. “We did it! We won fourth at the cross-country championship.” He wagged his tail in response.

  At lunch, Beverley Tran met Dana at her locker and asked to interview her about the race. Beverley was an eighth-grader and in charge of the school newspaper. She had the most beautiful shiny black hair, which swung over her shoulder as she pulled out her notebook. Dana tried to flatten her own wild hair while Beverley uncapped her pen. “So Diana,” said Beverley, “tell me about the season and your recent success.”

  “Well,” Dana began, “it’s Dana, actually, and—”

  “Cross-country, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “You were on the grade-six team?”

  “Yes, and—”

  “Girls, right?”

  “Well, yeah—”

  “Just checking the facts. A fourth-place finish, I understand.”

  “Yes, it’s the best the school’s ever—”

  “And what about you? You finished…?”

  “Well, I—”

  Julia picked that very moment to jump in. Dana hadn’t even known she’d come up beside her. “Beverley,” she said, “that kind of article is so cliché. Humdrum. Who cares? They ran, they got sweaty, end of story. Make an announcement, of course, put a picture in the paper, but if you want a real human-interest piece, why don’t you come and talk to Janelle Murphy about her accident and brave recovery? It’s inspirational. Don’t you think so, Dana?”

  “Sure I do, but—”

  Julia pulled Beverley into the classroom and over to Janelle’s desk. Beverley eyed the cast and cocked her head. “What happened?”

  “An accident,” answered Julia. “She was in the hospital for weeks. It was a life-and-death situation.”

  Beverley tapped her notebook. She looked from Janelle to Dana and back again. “Okay. What do you say? Will you do an interview with me?”

  Janelle looked unsure. “Well, I don’t know. I wouldn’t know what to say.”

  Julia jumped in again. “I’ll help,” she said.

  The bell rang. “I’ll be back tomorrow at lunch,” Beverley said to Janelle and Julia. “Oh, and Diana,” she called over her shoulder on her way out, “get your team together then too. We’ll get a picture.”

  Nine

  MID-OCTOBER, AND it hadn’t rained for an entire week. Everything seemed better when the sun was shining. Dana stuck her tongue out at the blue poncho hanging on its hook in the hallway and went to get her bike out of the garage. The sun was warm on her shoulders. The leaves on the trees flashed red, yellow and orange.

  Dana tried to hang on to her happy feeling, but she found herself pedaling more and more slowly. It was becoming harder and harder for her to go to school. Janelle and Julia were always together now, and Dana noticed that more of the girls were going to the library at lunch. She didn’t know what they were doing, and she was afraid of Julia’s reaction if she asked.

  Dana kept an eye out for Jason, especially when she reached the spot where he’d helped her with her bike chain. But there was no Jason in sight. At least she still had one friend she could count on. She coasted along the curb and looked for the little dog. Maybe she could coax him out this time. She didn’t see him at first. Then, without warning, he shot out from under the bush, barking furiously.

  “Whoa, Buddy, what’s up?”

  He growled and showed his sharp little teeth.

  “Okay, okay.” Dana thought he might bite and immediately took off again on her bike. When she looked back, the dog had disappeared from the sidewalk. What had she done to deserve that?

  When she got to the school, she saw Jason’s bike was already in the rack. The boys were out playing in the field. Janelle’s parents’ car pulled up to the sidewalk. Before Dana could even take a step toward it, Julia ran up from the opposite direction and opened the door. She grabbed Janelle’s backpack, and the two of them walked into the school. Dana rolled her eyes. Janelle had gotten her cast off last week. Couldn’t she open the car door herself now and carry her own stuff? Dana bit her lip. That was mean. She busied herself with her bike lock until the bell rang and she could go inside.

  Mr. Bartholomew assigned a whole page of math problems first thing. Dana had a hard time concentrating. Then he gave them half an hour for silent reading. Dana spent most of it staring at the same three words. “Okay, class,” Mr. B. said at last, rubbing his hands together excitedly. “What do you say we shift gears now? Today we start a unit on poetry.”

  His announcement was met with groans. Mr. B. laughed. “Come on now. Give it a chance. You just might like it! We’ll read some poems by different authors over the next few days, but I want to begin by having you write your own poem. Poetry is a great way to express your feelings. Don’t search too hard for a topic, and don’t worry too much about technique. Just write about what’s on your mind. Write from the heart. I’ll give you five minutes.”

  Dana tried to clear her head. She took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders to loosen them up. She tried to think of poetry-like things—waves, clouds, sunshine—but nothing came to her. Write what’s on your mind, Mr. B. had said. She did have a lot on her mind. Anger and confusion churned around inside her like an overloaded washing machine. She felt like she might burst. She was too hurt to write about Janelle, too angry to write about Julia and too embarrassed to write about Jason. But she had to write something. The minutes ticked away. She started to breathe more quickly, and her hands got sweaty.

  “Two more minutes,” said Mr. B.

  Don’t search too hard for a topic, he had said. Suddenly Dana had an idea. She wrote quickly, but her pen could barely keep up to her thoughts. She had just finished when Mr. B. said time was up, and she didn’t have a chance to read it over.

  “Okay, everyone,” said Mr. B. “It’s almost recess. We have just enough time to have three of you read your poems to the class. Let’s have Tyler, Charlotte and…Dana, how about you?”

  Read it? In front of everyone?

  Tyler’s finished product was a four-line poem about baseball that made everyone, especially Trey and Greg, cheer loudly. Charlotte had written a lovely free-verse poem about a sunny day at the lake. The whole class clapped when she finished reading it.

  “Very nice,” said Mr. B. “Dana? Your turn.”

  Dana looked down at her page and then up at her teacher.


  “Is it from the heart?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Then let us have it,” encouraged Mr. B.

  Dana stood up. She took a deep breath. “Dogs,” she began. She looked around at her classmates. They were all watching her, waiting to hear what she had to say. She cleared her throat and began again.

  DOGS

  Dogs, dogs, dogs, dogs,

  they hide under bushes, they hide behind logs.

  Their teeth are sharp, they’re full of drool,

  they chase you on your way to school.

  They’re small and quiet and have long hair,

  they listen and you think they care.

  They look so cute with their round little eyes,

  they look like pals, but it’s all lies.

  We were friends, or so I thought.

  Shows the kind of friend I’ve got.

  There was total silence for a few seconds as everyone puzzled over the poem. Dana glanced over at Janelle, who had a strange look on her face. Then the bell rang for recess, and the students bolted.

  “Kickball!” yelled Trey. “Jay, bring the ball!”

  “Well,” said Mr. B. He looked at Dana, still standing beside her desk with her paper in her hand. “That was different, Dana. Lots of, umm, emotion. Is everything okay?”

  “I think so.” I hope so.

  Dana quickly made her way to the back of the room where the girls had gathered, pulling on jackets and snacking on celery, crackers and chocolate-chip cookies. If she could just get Janelle alone for one minute, she could explain everything. She could still fix this.

  “Our dog would never bite anyone,” Avery was saying.