Pack of Dorks

by Beth Vrabel

  “Hey,” I said. I folded my legs and sat crisscross-applesauce beside her.

  “Hey,” she murmured.

  “Is he okay?” I asked, pointing to her brother, whose drool was forming a little puddle beside his head.

  “Still trying allergy medicine,” she said. “We’re allergic to grass!”

  I took it as a good sign that she was back to yelling everything. Maybe she forgave me. April sneezed, and I quickly handed her a tissue from the box on the blanket. She smiled and wiped. Then April shifted a little to the side and moved the coloring book so the blank page was in front of me. She plopped a huge plastic bag of crayons between us. I lay beside her and picked up a crayon. “Thanks,” I said.

  April shrugged. “Scrappy’s up! He’s—”

  “Awesome?” I interrupted. “Yeah, he told me.”

  April giggled as Scrappy swung at the ball and twisted entirely around, missing it. He did the same thing three more times before finally knocking the ball a few feet in front of him. He ran full force and slid into first, even though no one was even trying to get him out. The other team’s players tackled each other to grab the ball. Soon I was giggling, too.

  It was a happy day.

  Until Becky showed up.

  Chapter Nine

  “I’ve got to go,” I told April.

  I didn’t wait for her to answer, but just took off toward Mom and Dad, who were still talking with Mrs. Chester. I glanced back at April, feeling a little guilty about leaving like that, and caught her just in time in a whole-body sneeze. Becky was walking behind April’s blanket toward the baseball diamond next to where Scrappy was playing. Her pretty face puckered with disgust when April used a tissue to wipe whatever flew from her nose off the blanket.

  My eyes tracked Becky as she sauntered over to the other field. I shuddered—honestly shuddered—when I saw where she was headed. Tom was standing to the side of the diamond, watching a different game. I remembered then: he had an older brother who played Little League. Well, great. Maybe, if I was lucky, he hadn’t seen me. Maybe Becky hadn’t either.

  But then Becky’s horrid giggle trickled across the field and both she and Tom turned toward April’s blanket. Then Becky jerked her thumb toward me! And they both laughed. I felt my face burn.

  “Lucy?” Dad asked as I approached. “Isn’t that Becky? Why don’t you go say hi?” He waved with big windshield wiper arms to Becky and Tom. I guess Operation Be Happy was back in effect for him and Mom. Becky’s mouth fell open and Tom quickly turned his back. Becky gave a pathetic little half wave and collapsed into more giggling, falling into Tom. Now my eyes were burning, too.

  “Can we go home now? Please?” I mumbled.

  Mrs. Chester squeezed Mom’s arm and told her she’d give her a call soon, then headed off toward April’s blanket.

  “Why, sweetie?” Mom asked after saying goodbye to Mrs. Chester. “Your friends are here. Why don’t you go play while we take Molly for a walk?”

  I shook my head. Mom’s fingers, gentle but firm, grasped my chin and tilted my head toward her. “Oh man,” she whispered. “We forgot to put on sunscreen, didn’t we? Your face is flaming!”

  “Her arms look all right, though,” said Dad, poking my still milky white arms, while Mom rooted through her enormous diaper bag for sunscreen. Dad held his hands over my head like a visor, and Mom blew air across my face while her hands searched the bag. Seriously. Now, of all times, Mom and Dad had to pay attention to me. Even though I didn’t want to, I glanced back toward Becky and Tom, who were openly staring at me and laughing. I accidentally-on-purpose bumped Molly’s stroller. Her arms flew out like the sky was about to fall on her.

  Never was I happier to hear her shrieking!

  “Lucy!” Dad admonished.

  “Sorry,” I chirped. “We should go, though. I mean, she sounds hungry or something.”

  Mom sighed, her smile wobbling for a second, and she gave up searching for sunscreen. “Yeah, it’s been a long morning. I’m ready for a nap.”

  We walked back home, Molly screaming the whole way and Dad still trying to keep the sun off my face.

  For the rest of the day, I waited for the phone to ring, for Becky to call and tell me how ridiculous I looked with Mom and Dad and to call me out for sitting with April. I was ready for the call. I was going to scream at her about how she wasn’t just pretending not to be my friend; she was going out of her way to be mean. I was going to tell her she didn’t have to pretend any more. We weren’t friends.

  I would say that, unlike her, I wasn’t willing to do anything it took to be popular. I wasn’t going to be mean to people who were nice to me and be friendly to people who were mean. I was through with her and was going to make my own pack. I mean, friends.

  But she never called. And, truth is, I wouldn’t have said any of that, even if she had.

  “You’re really quiet today,” Sam said. He sat across from me on top of the monkey bars. I don’t know when it happened, but we were spending recess together now, too. Both of us seemed to migrate to the same part of the playground. It was the old section, which just had one set of metal monkey bars and a metal sliding board tucked off in a corner of the playground. Everyone else swarmed on the new bright red playscape, with its tunnels, twisty slide, and rings that you could pedal with your arms to get from one side to the other. Sam and I perched on the monkey bars. The only people nearby were Sheldon and April, who hung out on the slide, and Amanda, who hammered the tetherball by herself.

  I looked at Sam. “That’s funny, coming from you.”

  Sam rolled his eyes. I noticed that while he didn’t talk much, he said a lot with his face. When he was frustrated, he rolled his eyes. When he was mad, he squeezed his eyes shut and his mouth made a straight white line. When he was happy, his cheeks got a little pink and a dimple popped in his left cheek. When I first came into Ms. Drake’s classroom in the morning, he had this little half-smile and his eyes followed me from the door to my seat. I wasn’t sure what that meant he was feeling, but I liked when it happened.

  Maybe I was spending too much time looking at his face.

  Right now his eyes were circles and his cheeks bright red. I guess that’s his why-are-you-staring-at-me face. And then he asked, “Why are you staring at me?”

  I shrugged, fighting off the blush I knew was creeping onto my cheeks. “Just trying to think of a new bet.”

  Sam smiled. “Make it a good one. The last one was lame.”

  Right before lunch, I had bet him that he couldn’t go an hour without using his thumbs. Watching him try to eat fish sticks using his pointer and middle finger was hilarious. They crumbled into disgusting, smelly flakes.

  “Well, technically, it’s your turn for a bet,” I said.

  Sam bit his lip for a second. “Got it! You have to get from one side of the monkey bars to the other and back without falling.”

  I jumped off the bars. “No prob.” I was a bit of a monkey bar expert, to tell the truth. I whipped across the bars and twisted at the last rung to head back. At the last grab, the skin at the base of my fingers started to sting, but it wasn’t too bad. I saw Amanda edging closer from the corner of my eye, probably ready to point and laugh if I fell.

  “Your turn,” I said as I landed. “But I bet you can’t go back and forth twice.”

  “No prob.” And holy moly! Sam whipped from one side to the other in seconds, twisted with this awesome jumpy action and grasped the inside rung with his fingertips. Then he whipped to the end and did it again. Being an absolute show off, he even went an extra run.

  “That was amazing!” I yelled. Sheldon and April had stopped going down the slide to watch, April with her mouth hanging open and Sheldon doing a slow clap.

  Sam gave me his your-turn look, but I ignored it. No way could I follow up that performance. Instead, I pointed to the grassy stretch beside the monkey bars. “Do a cartwheel!” I dared.

  Sam rolled his eyes. “I don’t do cartwheels.”
>
  Something in the way he said it made it sound like he could do something cooler than cartwheels. “All right,” I said. “Then show me what you can do.”

  Sam smiled and looked around. No one seemed to be paying attention to us. And then, he was flipping. Seriously! It was a cartwheel, but his legs were together. From that, without even hesitating, he did a back flip. For real! And then another one. All of this was in about two seconds flat.

  Amanda, her arms crossed, snapped, “Bet you can’t do it with one hand.”

  Sam smiled, his cheeks pinker than normal, and did the same routine—cartwheel thingy into two back flips. But with only one hand touching the ground. I clapped so hard my hands felt sunburned.

  When he landed, I saw that more kids were watching, even Becky.

  Amanda tried not to smile, but the corner of her mouth was twitching. “No hands,” she challenged.

  He looked so, well, talented. And strong. I noticed that his arms had muscles that I didn’t have. I was pretty sure even sporty guys like Tom and Henry didn’t have strong arms like that. From on top of the new playscape, Tom and Henry glared over at us. I fought the urge to stick out my tongue at them.

  Sam grinned and did a backflip again. Without any hands!

  “Awesome!” I cheered. Everyone clapped and April whistled. This time, Tom and Henry’s mouths hung open.

  “That was so cool,” Amanda whispered as everyone lined up to go back inside after recess.

  “Yeah,” came Henry’s snort. “Hey, Righter, my animal report’s on monkeys. Can I interview you?” Henry rushed to the front of the line as Ms. Drake opened the door, bumping Sam on purpose and making him fall onto his knees. Of course almost everyone laughed.

  I took a long breath from my nose. I was so angry I probably could’ve farted a lollipop. I could hear Sam’s teeth grind, but he was too busy staring at his sneakers for me to see what his face was saying.

  “I thought it was amazing,” I whispered when he sat down at his desk in front of me. Sam didn’t even turn around. Only the smallest tilt of his head my way let me know that he even heard me. “How did you learn how to do that?”

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  Tom asked to use the pencil sharpener, which was on the wall beside our row. “Ooo-oo, ah-ah!” he hissed like a monkey as he walked by. I glared at him as hard as I could.

  “Ignore him,” I whispered to Sam. But this time he didn’t act like he heard me at all. He slouched as low as he could in his desk and didn’t speak, smile, or move until Ms. Drake dismissed us at the end of the day. And then he wouldn’t get up from the desk until everyone—including me—left the room.

  I was really beginning to wonder what I had ever seen in Tom.

  During gym class the next day, the boys got to play kickball while the girls had to go into another classroom and listen to the nurse talk about all the “exciting changes” about to happen as we “embrace our womanhood.” I will never speak of what I learned and refuse to believe it.

  So the girls were already lined up for lunch in the cafeteria when the boys entered, sweaty and happy and loud. Tom and Henry made it to the line behind the girls first, and out of loyalty to Sam (and, let’s be honest, a general annoyance with boys), I turned on my heel and would not look back.

  Hoping for a chance to distract Sam from being called a monkey so much today, I loaded my tray with dare-worthy foods—the plastic-y pink moist stuff the lunch ladies called “turkey ham,” creamed corn, and refried beans. (Sidetrack here, but the beans only look gross. They taste divine. I usually gobble them down in three quick spoonfuls when the bell rings and no one’s looking.) But when I got to our table, Sam wasn’t there.

  A few tables away, Becky was holding her stomach, forcing out a laugh that was too loud and stinging to be real. Tom sat back in his chair, his elbows hooked on the sides and his legs spread out straight in front of him. It was like he was taking up as much room as he could; just the opposite of Sam trying to disappear during class. Henry was bragging about something to Becky, his face red and his grin huge.

  I stared at my tray, letting the sloshy something’s-wrong feeling in my stomach churn.

  “Oh no! Really?” April’s undeniable screech pulled my attention away from the tray. She and Sheldon were sitting at the table just behind me. I half-turned toward them so they would know I was listening.

  “Yeah,” Sheldon said. “First, Tom hit Sam right in the you-know-what during kickball. Coach was so steamed, Tom had to sit out the rest of the game. But you could see Tom smiling the whole time. I mean, he looked like a Dimetroden, his smile was so big.”

  “Wow!” April said politely.

  “Forget the dinosaur!” I broke in. “Then what happened?”

  Sheldon and April both stared at me. Then, very slowly, Sheldon said, “The Dimetroden isn’t a dinosaur. It was warm-blooded and therefore obviously not a dinosaur.”

  I stared back. “Fine. Not a dinosaur. What happened to Sam?” I hissed.

  “Finding out about your monkey boy?” Henry’s stupid snorty voice came from just behind me. “Don’t worry; he’s just hung up at the moment.” Tom and Becky bellowed from across the room.

  “You’re such a jerk!” I snapped. But I didn’t use the word jerk. I used the word Grandma had used that I’m not supposed to say but find myself thinking a lot recently.

  Henry’s already red face flared. “Whoops,” he muttered and then tipped my tray right onto my lap. How dare he touch my beans! The turkey ham landed with a plop on the floor beside me, but the beans and creamed corn splattered my jeans from my waist to my ankle.

  “Ugh!”

  “Jerk!” April shouted. But she didn’t use the word jerk, either. And she said it a lot louder than I did.

  Ms. Drake was at our table in three seconds flat. “You!” she pointed to April. “Principal’s office! Now!” April’s manner of speaking was pretty effective, I guess. And maybe a little contagious. “You!” Ms. Drake pointed to Henry. “Apologize!”

  “Sorry,” Henry smirked.

  “Not forgiven,” I answered.

  Ms. Drake rolled her eyes and then jabbed her finger my way. “You! Go to the girls’ locker room and see if you can clean yourself up.” Her voice dipped a little quieter, which was pointless since the entire cafeteria was staring at us. “If you can’t, there’s a lost-and-found box with clothes that might fit. Just make sure you don’t try on any hats. That’s how the Great Lice Infestation of 1994 began.”

  I ran to the locker room, dripping pieces of mushy corn all the way. I wanted to clean up fast and get back to class where I could hopefully find out what happened to Sam. That swirly sick feeling in my stomach was only growing worse. I didn’t even bother trying to clean up my jeans. They were so tight at the waist anyway, taking them off felt like a relief. I dumped out the lost and found box and found a black skirt that, while looking ridiculous with my brown T-shirt, at least wasn’t crusted with creamed corn. The waist band was elastic, so it fit better than my jeans did, but it felt like a tube across my thighs and backside. The center seam in front and across the back was so stretched it looked like a gray line down the middle of the skirt. I caught a glimpse of myself in the locker room mirror and realized I looked like a stuffed sausage. But my other option was a pair of pink shorts with purple unicorns. So I stuck with the sausage skirt.

  I was shaking so hard and my heart was pattering so fast with worry and anger as I left the locker room. My fingertip hold on my slimy jeans slipped, and I caught them by the leg. All the change I’ve been carrying around in my pockets for months now (in case I caved to Henry’s demands for payment of Tom’s lost ring) scattered across the floor. I mean, we’re talking about five bucks worth of nickels, dimes, and quarters.

  Well, actually, just one quarter. And the big money, of course, slipped right under the boys’ locker room door. Darn it! I pressed my ear against the door; the locker room was silent. I had passed Coach heading to the cafeteria as I was g
oing to the locker room—he yelled at me not to run (which is a little ironic, if you think about it, given how he usually screams at me to move faster). So I knew there shouldn’t be anyone in the locker room. But still. It was the boys’ locker room.

  I took a deep steadying breath and thought of the quarter. I pushed the door open. The coin had slid just to the edge of the tiled partition that opened up to the locker room. I had to admit, I was surprised that this locker room looked just like ours. I thought it would be bluer. And maybe it would stink more. Not that it smelled great, but it wasn’t any worse than the girls’ locker room.

  “Hmm,” I murmured and pocketed my coin.

  I was just about to scoot out of there when I heard a sob. It was soft, like whoever it was didn’t want anyone to hear, but also desperate.

  And I thought I knew who was making that sound.

  Biting my lip, I crept forward and peeked past the partition. I gasped.

  Hanging from the hooks lining the wall was Sam. He was suspended there by the waistband of his jeans and underwear. His feet were off the floor. He tried to scoot his feet along the wall to boost himself up enough to get off the hook, but I could see it was useless. He was trapped.

  Sam’s eyes were red and his face slick with tears. I could see the angry red tracks where they had streamed down his cheeks. He looked, well, he looked pathetic.

  “Go away, Lucy,” he sobbed.

  And I wanted to. But I didn’t.

  I helped my friend.

  After that stupid moment of just taking this in, I rushed forward. With my shoulder, I hoisted Sam up enough to get his pants’ band off the hook. He slumped forward, and we both sort of fell to the locker room floor. Instantly, his hands shot out and shoved me back. I landed with a thump on my backside.

  “Get away, Lucy!” he snapped, tears still pouring out of his swollen eyes.