by Carol Gorman
“You’ll love it,” Mom said. She always pretends she doesn’t hear the complaints about her meals.
I took the milk back to the refrigerator, then hurried to the cupboard and grabbed a small dish, which I shoved under my shirt.
I walked back into the dining room and sat down.
“Dig in, guys!” Mom said, cutting her cakes with a fork.
She turned to Sam. “How did football practice go today?”
“Tough,” he said. “Coach Barnhart’s into torture and cruelty.”
“I could take the physical torture,” I said. “It’s the mental cruelty I can do without. He’s such a jerk.”
“He wants everyone to work hard,” Sam said.
“He doesn’t have to yell and scream and call kids names.”
“He gets results,” Sam said. “We’ve got the best middle-school football team in this part of the state.”
“I still say Barnhart’s a jerk,” I said. “You couldn’t get me on his team if you gave me a million dollars.”
“Nobody’d give you a million dollars to play football,” Sam said, grinning. “Besides, Barnhart wouldn’t let a girl on the team, anyway.”
“Even if she was the best player to try out?”
“Yeah, but you wouldn’t be, because I’d be the best player to try out!”
“You wish.”
“Okay, enough,” Mom said, holding up her hands.
“What position will you play?” Dad asked.
“Maybe wide receiver,” Sam said. “Coach watches me a lot when we practice passing and receiving.”
“Who’ll quarterback for your first game?” I asked.
“Maybe Al Pickering,” he said. “Or Tom Luther.”
“When is it?” Mom asked. “We want to come.”
Sam pulled a piece of folded paper out of his pocket. “Here’s the schedule.”
He handed it to Mom, who leaned over and studied the dates with Dad.
Now was my chance.
I pulled the dish out of my shirt, cut a huge piece out of my buckwheat cakes and scooped it into the dish.
I pushed the dish under the table. Bob was sitting in the corner of the dining room. I drummed my fingers on the side of my chair to get his attention.
Then I looked up. Sam was staring right at me. Uh-oh, I thought.
Sam started to speak, then closed his mouth. He got a funny look in his eye and gave me a tiny smile.
Bob trotted over to me and sniffed the cakes. In a minute, he had devoured all of them. He slobbered a little on my bare leg, but that was okay. Better to have prune whip on my leg than in my mouth. Bob trotted back into his corner, licking his chops.
Sam continued to watch me. “Who’s your locker partner, Lizard?” His voice was super-casual.
“A girl named Ginger Flush,” I said. “She’s a nincompoop.”
Mom and Dad were still looking over the schedule and murmuring about the dates.
“Other than that,” Sam said, “what’s she like?”
“She’s stupid,” I said. “Why do you want to know?”
“Just wondered. She talked to me in the hall. She said you two were locker partners.”
“So why’d you ask?” I said. “By the way, she has a crush on you. She says you’re a hottie.”
Sam shifted in his chair and looked away for a minute.
It was fun watching him squirm.
“She wanted me to put in a good word for her.”
“Yeah?” Sam said. He grinned. “Cool.”
“What?”
“That’s cool, she thinks I’m a hottie.”
“Are you nuts?” I said. “Ginger Flush is a grade-A, blue-ribbon airhead!”
Sam shrugged. “She seems okay to me.”
Mom turned to us. “Who’s an airhead?”
Sam glared at me.
I ignored him. “Sam wants to know about this girl—”
“What girl?” Mom asked.
“Here, Bob!” Sam called out. He whistled. “Lizard has a treat for you!”
Bob came running right to me under the table.
“What girl?” Mom asked again. “What are you giving Bob, Lizard?”
At the same time Sam said, “Never mind,” and I said, “Nothing.”
Sam and I glowered at each other.
Truce. We didn’t have to say it out loud, but we both knew it. I wouldn’t tell about Ginger; he wouldn’t tell that I gave my dinner to Bob.
“Oh, Lizard,” Mom said, smiling. “You’ve nearly finished your pancakes already! Would you like some more?”
“No, thank you,” I said politely.
“Sam,” she said, looking at his plate, “you’ve got a ways to go.”
Sam hadn’t even touched his plate.
He scowled at me, and I smiled back very sweetly.
“Your mom makes the best chocolate cake on the planet,” I said.
“She sure does,” Zach said.
We sat on the top step of his back porch in the fading light, devouring humongous slabs of cake and piles of ice cream. My mom would’ve had plenty to say about the cholesterol and saturated fat we were shoving in our faces. I say, if it tastes good, who cares?
Bob and Klondike sat at our feet, gazing up at us. Occasionally, one of them would whimper.
“I could swear Bob practices that pitiful look when I’m not around,” I said.
“He does,” Zach said. “As soon as you leave for school, he runs up to your room, sits on your bed, and practices in front of the mirror.”
I grinned. “And how would you know that?”
“He told Klondike, and Klondike can’t keep a secret.”
I laughed and took the last bite of chocolate cake. Then I put the plate down for Bob and Klondike to lick clean. Zach did, too.
We leaned against the porch railing and looked up at the sky. “A blanket of stars,” Zach said.
“Do you think there’s intelligent life on other planets?” I asked.
“I know there’s life, but I wouldn’t call it intelligent.”
I grinned. “How come?”
“I’ve seen the aliens.”
“When was that?”
“It was about ten days ago,” he said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “Klondike and I woke up about two in the morning, and my room was as bright as day. I went to my window, and hovering over the treetops was a huge, round ship with bright lights running around the edge.”
“What did you do?” I asked.
“I pulled on my jeans, and Klondike and I went outside.” Zach pointed to a large maple tree next to the garage. “Standing under the tree were two aliens. One of them came over and looked Klondike in the eyes and started making noises.
“I realized that the alien thought Klondike was the master and I was the pet. He touched Klondike’s head, and before you could blink, we were all transported to the spaceship. He fed Klondike and me some blue food that tasted like cheese enchiladas.
“‘Zach, when do we get to go home?’ a voice said. I didn’t hear it with my ears; it came from inside my head. I looked at Klondike and realized he was talking to me!
“I figured the food made us able to communicate with each other, mind-to-mind. The alien came over and mentally said to Klondike, ‘Is this your only human or do you have a herd?’
“This had to be the dumbest alien in the universe,” Zach said. “So I decided to show him that I was Klondike’s boss. I said, ‘Sit, Klondike. Speak. Roll over.’”
“Did he do his tricks?” I asked.
“No,” Zach said. “Klondike said to the alien, ‘Get a load of this pet, telling me what to do.’ Then he laughed.”
“Klondike laughed?” I said.
“His laugh sounds like Elmer Fudd in the cartoons, sort of like this: huh-huh-huh-huh-huh.”
“How did you get away from the aliens?” I asked.
“Simple. I promised them Klondike’s firstborn son.”
“I thought Klondike w
as fixed,” I said.
“He is.”
I laughed. Zach sat back, grinning, and relaxed against the rail. “Maybe I’ll be a writer when I grow up. Either that or a professional baseball player.”
Klondike ran up the porch steps, wagging his tail, and licked Zach’s face. Bob watched, wagging his own tail.
“That’s a great story,” I said. “You should tell the kids at school.”
“Yeah, maybe.” He paused. “You see the posters for the dance next week?”
I sighed. I’d heard more about that stupid dance in the past few days than I ever wanted to hear in a lifetime.
“Yeah. I’m not wasting my time with it.”
“Mmm.”
“You don’t want to go, do you?”
“Well,” Zach said, “I s’pose it’s a way to get to know the new people better.”
“What new people?”
“The kids from other elementary schools.”
“I think the friends I have now are the best,” I said. “I don’t need to have more friends.”
Zach scratched behind Klondike’s ear. “It’s good to have lots of friends.”
My stomach was turning sour again. “You never needed more friends before now,” I said. My voice was starting to sound whiney. I cleared my throat and lowered it as much as I could. “I don’t get it.”
Zach shrugged. “It might be fun.”
“Dancing?”
“Or not dancing. Just talking.”
“You can talk to people at school between classes,” I said.
Zach didn’t say any more about it. He got up and grabbed a stick on the ground. “Come on, Klondike. Come on, Bob,” he said. “Let’s play fetch.”
I watched Zach and the dogs run around the yard. I didn’t feel like joining them. What had gotten into my old pal? First, he didn’t seem to mind Lisa and Ginger practically drooling all over him. And now he said he might like to go to that stupid school dance! This was not the Zach I thought I knew.
I got up to go home. My stomach was killing me.
I lay on my bed and stared up at the ceiling. I’d been thinking about Zach, but there was something else bothering me. I hadn’t wanted to think about it, but it kept nudging me from a corner of my mind. It was what Ms. Puff had said in gym class.
If you’re having your period, you don’t have to shower.
Why was that?
I knew what menstruation was. We’d had a film about it in fourth grade.
The film went into a lot of technical stuff about the ovaries, eggs, and uterus and explained why menstruation happens. But it didn’t answer a lot of important questions, like: When would I get my period for the first time? Where would it happen? At school? When I’m sleeping? When I’m playing ball with the guys?
Guys are so lucky, I thought. They never have to deal with anything like this. It was so unfair.
I put my hands behind my head and thought about the commercials I’d seen on TV. Somehow I couldn’t see myself walking on the beach with my mother discussing cramping and bloating.
The last time we’d talked about it, I was sort of embarrassed, and I could tell she was, too. She asked me if I had questions, and when I said I didn’t, she seemed relieved.
But I did have questions. Lots of them.
I got up and walked out of my room, down the hallway, and into the bathroom. I closed the door behind me.
A large closet stands just inside the door. I opened it and looked around. Maybe I’d find whatever Mom uses. Maybe there would be directions on the box.
I pushed aside some junk—a jar of Vaseline, a collection of hairbrushes, bottles of aspirin and cough syrup. Behind that, at the back of the closet, sat a cup that Sam had won at the Washington Elementary fair. Inside the cup was a razor; next to the cup was a can of shaving foam.
“Why would Sam—” Then it hit me. Sam’s shaving?
Sam, with the baby-soft skin, thinks he needs to shave? What a ridiculous thought!
I kept looking for what I’d come here to find. On the second shelf, I found something that looked promising. It was a blue box with little white flowers on it. Inside were long, thin, paper-wrapped things.
I unwrapped one of them and stared at it. “What the heck is this?” I said.
“What?”
I jumped. The voice was coming from the hall.
I crammed everything back into the closet and opened the door. Sam stood there in the hall.
“What are you doing?” he said. “Who are you talking to?”
“No one,” I said. I could feel my face getting hot and prickly.
“You looking for something?”
“None of your business!” Then I remembered why he wanted to know. “If you’re worried about your shaving equipment, I left it where I found it. I’m sure you’ll want to shave off that duckling fuzz on your face!”
“You got into my stuff!” he yelled. “You leave my stuff alone!”
“You can have your stupid shaving stuff,” I said. “I’m sure you want to look nice for Ginger the Airhead!”
I stalked into my room and slammed the door. I leaned against it till my heart calmed down.
Sam, shaving? I couldn’t believe how stupid he was sometimes.
And what was that thing I’d found in the blue box?
I’m going to have to ask Mary Ann, I thought. She has an older sister, so she must know all about this stuff.
Actually, I really didn’t want to know all about it. But it was a lot scarier not knowing.
7
I had my questions for Mary Ann all ready the next morning. I’d written them out the night before and memorized them. Then I tore the paper into a thousand pieces and threw the pieces into the wastebasket.
As I rode my bike, I mentally went over my questions for the millionth time:
1.
When do girls get their periods?
2.
How much does it hurt?
3.
Does a period start suddenly and gush out, making a red splotch on your clothes?
I thought I’d act very casual and sort of ease into the subject by talking about my P.E. class.
Mary Ann had called me last night to ask if we could ride by ourselves today without the guys. She didn’t say why, but I was glad. There was no way I could find out what I needed to know with them around.
Mary Ann had told me she’d meet me at the bridge. I slowed down a little and looked around for her, but I couldn’t see her. Another girl was standing there next to her bike. She was probably waiting for someone.
The girl on the bridge waved. I squinted.
It was Mary Ann!
“You really did it!” I called out. I sped up to the bridge and then stopped right in front of her. “You got scalped!”
Her face fell, and she touched her short hair. “Don’t you like it?”
I looked at it more carefully.
“It’s so different.”
“Different good or different bad?” she asked.
“Maybe you’re not even the real Mary Ann. Maybe you’re an imposter. You kidnapped Mary Ann again, didn’t you? What have you done with her?” I looked down at her legs. “At least you’re not still trying the panty hose disguise.”
“Tights.” Mary Ann looked anxious. “I thought it looked kind of nice.” She looked back at me. “You don’t like it, do you?”
“I don’t care how it looks. Just give me my friend back.”
“It’s really easy to take care of,” she said. “I can just blow it dry in a couple of minutes.” She glanced sideways at me. “Do you think I look older with my hair like this?”
“Older?” I said. “Why would you want to look older?”
“I don’t know. But do you think I do?”
“Maybe a couple of months. But I still think you’re a fake.”
She huffed loudly so I’d know she was ticked off. “Nice, Lizard,” she said. “Really nice!” She turned her bike toward school and we head
ed off.
While we were riding, I sneaked peeks at her. It was weird seeing Mary Ann look so different. Why would she want to look older?
I hadn’t forgotten about the questions I wanted to ask her. It’s just that I wasn’t in the mood anymore to ask her about them.
Boy, Mary Ann’s hair was the hot topic of the day. I don’t know what all the fuss was about. You’d think she had won a gold medal at the Olympics or something instead of just getting her hair cut.
It started as soon as we arrived at school. We were locking our bikes to the rack, and I heard this loud squeal.
“Oh, look at Mary Ann! Oooooo! Her hair’s wonderful!”
I looked up as a group of girls hurried over. They weren’t Ginger’s squealer friends, but they were just like them.
“Oh, Mary Ann! It’s totally fabulous!” gushed a girl with long blond hair.
“Who did it?” cooed another girl who fingered Mary Ann’s short locks. “I’ve got to get an appointment.”
“Her name is Tracy,” Mary Ann said, beaming. “She’s at Hair Unlimited.”
“The boys will really go after you now,” said a third girl.
“And that blush is wonderful!” the blonde said. “What’s the shade?”
Mary Ann giggled. “Coy Pink.”
Blush? Mary Ann was wearing blush?
The bell rang then and the squealers hurried off.
“You’re wearing blush?” I said. I peered at her cheeks. “Why would you want to do that?”
“I don’t have much on. Tracy put it on me, and I kind of liked it. Do you?”
“I didn’t even know you had it on,” I said.
“That’s how it’s supposed to look—like it’s not even there.”
“If it’s not supposed to show, why bother?” I said.
“Are you mad or something?”
“Why should I be mad?” My voice sounded loud.
“I don’t know,” she said. “You’re just acting funny.”
“No, I’m not mad,” I said.
Maybe I was mad, just a little. I guess it was because Mary Ann was doing the things that those dumb girly-girls do. And we hate girly-girls.
At least I thought we did.
I did.
When I got to my locker, I found two pink envelopes stuck to it with tape. One was labeled “Ginger” and the other was for me. I tore mine off the locker and opened it.