Just Like Jackie

by Lindsey Stoddard

  “You OK?” she asks. “I saw the whole thing, how Alex was making fun of you yesterday even after you told him to stop.”

  “I’m fine,” I say.

  She starts kicking the snow out of her Bogs, which are the same boots I wear sugaring except hers are pink and mine are black. Then she says, “I think Alex is a huge jerk. I just wanted to tell you that. And no one ever stands up to him and I’m glad you did.”

  Candace looks up from her boots and is smiling really big and holding her hand up for a high five like Derek does sometimes. I give it to her and it feels pretty OK.

  “Are you grounded or anything?” she asks. “My mom would have died if she knew I hit someone.”

  The words stick in me sharp, a fastball in the gut, and I can tell she feels bad the second she says it because she looks down at her Bogs again.

  Derek grabs my wrist. But I shake him off. I’m not a touching kind of person like that.

  I imagine shoving Candace. Just a little maybe so she remembers not to complain about her mom around me because at least her mom isn’t actually dead, but I shake the image out of my head and start counting to ten instead.

  “I’m not in trouble,” I mutter.

  “I’m glad,” Candace says to her Bogs.

  Then I turn around fast and hope the line starts moving down the hall to Ms. Meg’s room.

  “You wanted to punch her, didn’t you?” Derek whispers.

  “Shut up or I’ll punch you,” I whisper back, but Derek knows I’m not serious because I wouldn’t ever have to punch him.

  “She was trying to be nice, you know,” he says.

  And I do know. That’s why I didn’t shove her. That’s why I counted to ten like Ms. Gloria taught me and remembered some baseball stats. Career saves: Mariano Rivera, 652.

  Finally Ms. Meg shows up and we start walking to homeroom. Derek nudges me. “Remember. What would Jackie do?” and that gets him cracking up right away. He always laughs when he says that, like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever come up with. It is kind of funny, I guess, but not too funny because I actually have to ask myself that sometimes.

  Today, Jackie would just stand in line and get through the day. So that’s what I’m going to do.

  chapter 6

  Ms. Gloria’s been pulling me out of class for counseling once a week on Wednesdays almost the whole year. It started as soon as Ms. Meg and Mr. Danny noticed that I boil over easier than a pot of sap. But today’s not Wednesday, it’s Friday, and she’s knocking on Ms. Meg’s door and I know even before she pokes her head in that I’m going to have to go with her right now anyway.

  “Robinson?” She waves me over.

  Ms. Gloria’s hair is wavy with curls and already turning white. She pulls it back in a loose small bun at the back of her head, but the curls creep out and spill down the sides of her face. Her eyes are blue. Not baby-blanket wussy blue like Alex Carter’s, they’re windshield-washer-fluid blue. Like they could scrub-the-streaks-and-smudges-and-bird-crap-right-out-of-you blue. And when she looks straight into your eyes and uses her no-nonsense voice, there’s nothing anybody can really do but what she says.

  “Bring your stuff,” Ms. Gloria tells me. When she turns away, I roll my eyes and try to take three deep breaths because when I bring my stuff that means it’s not going to be quick, and next period we have recess and that’s the best period of the day and I’m going to have to spend it reading with Ms. Gloria. Or talking about my feelings. Which is about the opposite of a game of snow baseball.

  I drag my book bag behind me along the classroom floor and walk as slowly as I can because more time walking means less time talking about my feelings. I look back at Derek and he gives me a goofy grin. Candace’s head is down on the desk and I wonder if she still feels bad about telling me her mom would die if she hit someone, or if there’s something else making her head heavy. But she picks it up and half smiles too and sends me a little secret thumbs-up. I half smile back. Maybe quarter smile.

  “You’re going to have recess with me today,” Ms. Gloria says as we walk down the hall, like it’s some prize. “And we’re going to chat about taking some responsibility for your actions.”

  “Are you going to have recess with Alex when he comes back, to tell him to stop being a huge jerk?”

  “Alex will have consequences for his own behavior.”

  “Yeah, like a broken face.”

  “Robinson.” Ms. Gloria’s using her no-nonsense voice, and she stops me right there in the hall and makes me turn my Dodgers hat around backward so I have to look straight into her washer-fluid-blue eyes. “I’m not saying Alex was right. But I am saying you were wrong.” Then she starts walking again and calls over her shoulder, “And keep that hat out of your eyes. I don’t want to suggest to Principal Wheeler that we revisit our hat policy.”

  What would Jackie do? I ask real quiet in my head, and it’s kind of hard because I think he might run down the hall to join his class lining up outside Ms. Meg’s room to go to recess. I think he might tell Ms. Gloria that she couldn’t stop him because he had third base to protect and a batting average to raise up.

  “Can’t we do this after—”

  “Nope,” she answers and opens the door to her small room. It has space for one long table, six chairs, Ms. Gloria’s desk in the corner, and lots of posters on the walls about feelings and “accountable talk” and “I statements” and other warm fuzzy stupid stuff, and a couple of bookshelves with bins full of books. I sometimes take books from the bin that says sports. Ms. Meg says I should read all different kinds of books, but Ms. Gloria says I can read whatever I want in her room.

  I sit down where I always sit, staring out the only window into the yard and I can tell Ms. Gloria is looking right at me because my hat is still turned backward and I know if I try to pull it back over my face she’ll make me turn it right back around, or take it until the end of the day, or even tattle to Principal Wheeler. So I just forget it. But that doesn’t mean I have to look at her.

  “Tell me about what happened yesterday.”

  At first I stay shut, but I know that doesn’t work with Ms. Gloria because once she waited me out all the way through lunch and recess. I had to eat this gross brown bag lunch brought up by the cafeteria lady with an icy milk and smushed jelly sandwich that didn’t even have peanut butter because Alex Carter is allergic so no one can have peanut butter in our school ever. He ruins everything.

  So I grumble, “Yesterday was fine.”

  She just keeps waiting, which means that my answer isn’t good enough, so she’ll wait until I say something that she calls “real.”

  “Robin isn’t my name,” I say, and even thinking about Alex Carter jumping around me and flapping his arms is getting me all mad again and my fists clench up. “I told him to stop. I told him to call me my real name and that I’m not any feathery little Robin bird. I’m Robinson, and my grandpa gave me that name on purpose, so he better shut up.”

  “Do you want to tell me about your name, or about your grandpa?”

  I cross my arms over my chest and sit back in my chair, staring down at my rolled-up jeans and Nike Air Griffeys. “No.”

  “Then let’s look at this.” Ms. Gloria pulls out a piece of paper with my name at the top and Behavior Plan typed out in big letters, a list of directions, and a picture of a baseball diamond with all the bases.

  “Ms. Meg, Mr. Danny, and I put this together so you can track your own behavior and start joining your classmates again for recess.”

  “Is Alex getting one of these?”

  “His business is not your business,” Ms. Gloria says. “You can only change your own behavior.”

  She taps her finger on the behavior plan. Each base of the baseball diamond is supposed to be a part of the school day. Morning is first base, lunch and recess are second base, and afternoon is third base. Ms. Gloria explains how Ms. Meg and Mr. Danny will give me a score for each and my goal is to make it to home base every day.


  Stupid.

  Through the window I can see the other kids in my class roll the bodies of snowmen across the yard. Mr. Danny is handing out baseballs and bats, and a couple of guys throw down their black book bags to make visible bases for snow baseball. It’s not fair that they’re playing when no one in this school would have even had the idea to play baseball in the winter if it weren’t for me, and I’m stuck in here because I showed a bully what happens when you’re mean to Robinson Hart.

  “Robinson.” Ms. Gloria snaps her fingers and points at the behavior plan again. “On the top of the page is a reminder list of all the things you’re working on.” Then she makes me read my goals out loud.

  “One: use appropriate language for school. Two: count to ten, take three deep breaths, or recite baseball stats in my head to calm down when I’m feeling angry. Three: socialize with others by asking them questions about themselves,” I mumble.

  “What do you think?” Ms. Gloria asks. And I want to tell her that this piece of paper isn’t going to make any bit of difference at all and that I belong at recess hitting real home runs out in the snow and not fake home runs on this dumb baseball diamond drawing.

  But because I hate missing recess and I don’t want Grandpa to ever have to go to the principal’s office again or Harold to have to give me another practice dad speech, I say, “It’s fine.” And for a second I think maybe from now on I can just make up my mind to be good.

  “You had a big strike yesterday,” Ms. Gloria reminds me. “I expect a home run from you today.”

  Then I see Alex through the window. He’s running across the yard toward the snow baseball game. I lean forward trying to see what his nose looks like. I can’t tell from this tiny room, but he’s high-fiving Ronald in left field and hustling to take his place in center.

  “What the—Alex is here?” I blurt.

  “OK, let’s think of a strategy for reentering your class this afternoon,” Ms. Gloria says. “Especially since your favorite person has arrived.”

  She’s trying to be funny, and I’m trying to come up with a plan, but all I can think about is Alex in the outfield and how no one is making him stay in from recess even though he started everything, and how it really isn’t Candace’s fault that she mentioned her mom like that and how I should be nicer to her.

  And I’m trying to listen to Ms. Gloria, but really I’m thinking about how Derek is just sitting off to the side of the baseball game outside, blowing on a snowball he made, watching it melt between his mittens like he always does, and I have to be inside and he isn’t even playing. We shouldn’t just switch names, we should switch lives, because he’d probably love to stay inside and talk about his feelings with Ms. Gloria instead of going to recess, and then I could beam a line drive right in the hole between Alex and Ronald in the outfield.

  Ms. Gloria raps her knuckles on the table in front of me. “Robbie, can you tell me what I just said?” The words didn’t stick at all. I was trying, I swear, but my mind was running the bases somewhere else.

  And then Alex catches an inning-ender fly ball and is pumping his fist and trotting toward home. He nudges Ronald, who’s running next to him, and points toward Derek, who is still sitting on the sidelines, not paying attention to the game because I’m not playing, and there’s no one else for him to hang with. Then Alex nudges Ronald again and points and jogs up close to Derek, and lobs the ball right at Derek’s head. It glances his cheek and shocks him half to death because he grabs his face and rolls backward like the stick-skinny little kid he is and I’m pretty sure he’s crying because he hates sports and scares easy. And Alex and Ronald are laughing and pointing at him and making it worse, so other kids laugh too.

  And Mr. Danny is blowing his whistle, not because he saw what Alex did and is calling a foul, but because recess is over and it’s time for everyone to run through the doors to the lunchroom.

  And before I know it my fists are clenched and my jaw is locked and I’m sprinting away from Ms. Gloria and her little room and the baseball diamond behavior plan and flying through the big double doors, down the hallway, and into the lunchroom. And I’m trying to count to ten or take three deep breaths, but it feels like jumper cables are clamping down hard, positive is attaching to negative, and sparks are about to fly.

  And before I know it, I’m locked up arm in arm with Alex Carter and pulling his stupid soft feather hair hard and pushing him down to the lunchroom floor. He’s trying to get away and swinging punches toward my face but he’s not strong enough and I’ve got him pinned, staring at his ugly bruised-up nose, and I’m thinking that I’m glad Ms. Gloria made me pull my hat around backward because now I can get even more up in his face like when the coach springs from the dugout and argues with the ump. And I want to punch him again hard for what he did to Derek at recess because Derek is small and never did anything to hurt anyone, but I don’t want Grandpa coming back here. So just as I’m trying to think of baseball stats—Hit by pitch, Alex Rodriguez, 175 times—and realizing that Alex Carter is just like Alex Rodriguez, acting all tough and perfect but really such a sissy-boy cheater, Mr. Danny is blowing his whistle and pulling me off Alex.

  Chelsea and Brittany are standing with their lunch trays pressed against their stupid pink sweaters and their mouths are hanging open, staring.

  Kids are circling around and Mr. Danny’s trying to keep me separate from Alex and get me to walk toward the lunchroom doors. “What do you think you’re doing?” he’s shouting.

  And Derek is running up and yelling, “She was helping me! See what he did?” and showing off the red mark on his cold skin where Alex lobbed the ball at his cheek. “Alex is a bully! No one ever sees it!”

  And Alex Carter is crying on the floor and holding his head and acting all innocent.

  I try to shake out of Mr. Danny’s grip because his voice has gotten softer and serious and he’s talking right to me. “Why did you do that? Robinson, why did you do that?” He’s all up in my face. And I don’t like him all up in my face like that, and I don’t like that Ms. Gloria rushed to the lunchroom too but is kneeling down by Alex and helping him up when she’s supposed to be on my team. So I stomp hard on Mr. Danny’s foot and tell him to back off and that he doesn’t know crap about me. But he doesn’t loosen his grip. He drags me off to the principal’s office and points to the same chair I was in yesterday and says to Ms. Burg, “Bring in her grandpa again.”

  Derek’s outside the office door and I can see him through the window and he’s trying to explain to Ms. Gloria what happened and he’s pointing to his cheek. She pats him on the shoulder, sends him to the nurse, comes in the office, and looks straight at me with her stern, disappointed face. And before I can tell her that I remembered a baseball stat instead of punching Alex Carter in the face again even though he deserved it, she says, “Strike two, Robbie.”

  chapter 7

  This time when Grandpa hobbles his side-to-side walk into the office Harold is with him, which means Grandpa is going to shake his head and I’m going to get a practice dad talk. And I wish Harold would just save it for his own kid because I didn’t do anything wrong.

  Grandpa’s mad. He grabs my arm hard and squeezes until I can feel my heart beat in his hand. “What were you thinking?”

  I’m not used to seeing Grandpa mad, and it looks all wrong on him.

  “Let go,” I say and yank my arm away. I’ve never been mad at Grandpa before either, and that feels all wrong too, but he was squeezing my arm and glaring at me like I was in big trouble and he never even asked me what happened.

  “You have some explaining to do,” he says.

  “Whatever,” I mumble.

  That makes him glare harder, so I pull the brim of my hat down and he says, “Not whatever.”

  Harold is shaking hands with Ms. Gloria and Mr. Danny and if they didn’t already know better, everyone would think he’s my dad because my family’s so messed up and I don’t look like anyone or act like anyone I know and everyone j
ust shakes their heads and wishes I belonged to someone else.

  Principal Wheeler opens her office door. “Please come in,” she says. “We only have a few minutes before the teachers need to get back to their classrooms.”

  Then everyone’s walking past me and into her office. Ms. Gloria, Ms. Meg, Mr. Danny, Grandpa, and Harold. They’ll all say how frustrated they are with me and come up with some plan as brilliant as a baseball diamond drawn out on a piece of paper. This time I scoot to the chair closest to Principal Wheeler’s door so I can press my ear up and try to hear what crap they’re saying about me, and if Grandpa’s finishing his sentences, because it’s afternoon and I’m making him stressed and his memory might get tired. And I can’t have anyone looking at him long and wondering if he’s unfit to raise a girl like me. Because he’s not.

  “Robinson,” Ms. Burg huffs and motions for me to move away from the door, but I stare at her like no way am I moving just because she told me to, and she looks the other way and shakes her head too.

  It’s hard to catch everything, but I can hear Grandpa saying he’s sorry over and over. And I don’t know if it’s because he’s really that sorry or if he forgets he already said it. And it’s not even him who should be sorry. Alex Carter should be in there saying sorry over and over for being so mean to kids half his size. And calling me Robin and motherless, then acting all innocent.

  I can hear Mr. Danny’s tone through the door, which is mad and annoyed, probably because both times I fought Alex Carter have been when he was in charge of the yard, so it makes him look pretty bad. But no one could’ve stopped me, so he shouldn’t even really feel that bad either.

  And I hear Ms. Gloria saying, “We need to hold on to her. I’m worried. It has to be a group effort.”

  And I hear Ms. Meg saying, “A suspension site would be horrible for Robinson right now.” And all this other stuff about hearings and legal representation. And it’s starting to seem pretty serious. I want to be suspended, but suspended to Grandpa’s garage to figure out what’s wrong with all the cars, and suspended to our backyard to help Grandpa split wood and boil sap. I don’t know what a suspension site is, but it sounds bad.