Do-Over

by Christine Hurley Deriso

  The girls’ jaws dropped. I felt their eyes bore into my back. Martin was so involved in his book that he didn’t notice me until I was standing right in front of him. Social suicide, here I come. “Hi, Martin,” I said. “Can I eat with you?”

  FOUR

  “Tell me everything!”

  Lani’s timing was terrible. She called the moment I walked in after my first day at Harbin Springs Middle School. I didn’t particularly feel like chatting about my experience as Darcy’s Dumpster.

  “C’mon, Elsa! Tell me all about your new school! Is it great?”

  I sighed. “Great” wasn’t the word that sprang to mind. “It’s okay,” I said. No use reliving every hideous little detail, right?

  Try telling that to Lani.

  “Details, details!” she squealed. “Are the girls nice?”

  I sank into Grandma’s sofa. “Sure, in a claw-your-eyes-out kind of way,” I said. “Let’s put it this way: The Slice Girls are alive and well at Horror Springs Middle School.”

  Lani gasped. “Really? Maybe every school has a Snotty Girl quota to fill. Wasn’t anyone even halfway cool?”

  I thought a second. “Yeah. My language arts teacher. He’s really smart. And I ate lunch with a nice guy named Martin. He’s on the baseball team, but only because his mother makes him play. He said the coach took pity on him and lets him warm the bench. In other words, he’s the school geek, which means he’s the only one I have anything in common with.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “Oh, I don’t know…. We have a field trip on Wednesday; my language arts class is going to some printing plant to see how books are made, and he asked if I wanted to be his partner…you know, ride together on the bus, eat lunch together, that kind of thing. I told him sure. Then he got me up to speed about the school pecking order. This too-cool, ultra-snotty girl named Darcy is, like, the queen of seventh grade. Jade is her lady-in-waiting, and Carter and Jen are stupid servant girls who orbit around her.”

  “Shut up!” Lani squealed. “Just like the Slice Girls!”

  “Right. Martin says sometimes when he looks like he’s reading, he’s actually watching how people act and making mental notes. He’s thinking there’s a book waiting to be written.”

  “He likes to write?” Lani asked, sounding suspicious.

  “Yeah.”

  “Uh-oh. He really is a geek,” she concluded grimly.

  “I thought we already covered that, Lani.”

  “Okay, Elsa, here’s the thing: You need to cut Martin loose.”

  I rolled my eyes. “He’s the only one at school who was nice to me today,” I said.

  “Elsa! Seventh grade is every girl for herself.” Lani sounded like a commander giving orders before sending troops into battle. “If you let yourself get labeled as Madame Geekstress right off the bat, you’re doomed for the rest of the year. Maybe this could affect your entire life!”

  Triple-L. Larger-than-Life Lani was in classic drama-queen form. “Well, what do you suggest I do?”

  She shot off her answer like a bullet. “Suck up to Darcy,” she said firmly. “Just for a few days, to get her off your back. Be nice to her until she gets bored and moves on to some other poor girl to sink her poison fangs into. By that time, you’ll have a feel for the scene, and you can start to make some real friends.”

  I frowned. “What if Martin is a real friend?”

  “Oh, Elsa.” The tone of Lani’s voice was exactly like when she tried to teach me how to dive off the high dive. (I didn’t do it.) “You’ve got the rest of your life to have real friends. For now, you have to make nice with popular girls who can get you through seventh grade without your ego getting sliced and diced.”

  “I don’t know, Lani….”

  “Trust me, Elsa. Otherwise, you’re dead meat.” She paused for effect. “Martin,” she said gravely, “is social suicide.”

  I walked into the kitchen and was getting my homework books out of my backpack when I heard a light jangling sound. I must have knocked something off the table. I bent down to scoop it up from the floor.

  Weird….

  It was that necklace again, the gold locket with the heart.

  “You again?” I said to the necklace. “Where did you come from?”

  I shrugged. I put it back on the table, in case Grandma looked for it later. I’d have to remember to tell her I’d seen it. But right now, I had other things on my mind.

  I know it sounds whacked, but I was desperate enough to try to follow Lani’s advice.

  The next morning, I picked out my most Darceyesque outfit and attempted to brush my hair into the flowing locks that the clique had perfected…a major effort for me. I made a conscious effort to look friendly but cool as I walked to school. Then doom struck. Martin was the first person I saw.

  “Hi, Elsa!” He was bounding toward me with his arms swinging by his sides and his eyes buried under his hair. “Want to walk to Mr. Wright’s class with me?”

  “Uh…” Social suicide. Social suicide. He’d said it himself! “I’d love to, Martin, but I have to stop by my locker. See you in class, okay?”

  “I don’t mind waiting.”

  Groan. “It’ll take me a while. I’m still getting the knack of the lock, and then I have to drop off some new-student forms at the office.”

  “New-student forms?” He looked suspicious. My heart thudded. If this was the price of fitting in, I was starting to feel seriously bankrupt. “Okay,” Martin finally said. “I thought we could meet before the field trip tomorrow.”

  “Right…about that…” I gazed down at the floor. “I’ll probably get to school late, so you don’t have to wait for me. Just sit with whoever is already there.”

  “No problem,” he muttered as a mixture of hurt and resignation flashed in his dark eyes. He brushed back a lock of hair and walked away.

  Mission accomplished, I thought. So why do I feel so lousy?

  “Hi, Elsa!”

  I turned toward the sound of the sunny, friendly voice. It was the redhead from Darcy’s clique. I couldn’t remember her name. “Hi…,” I said nervously.

  “Carter,” she said. “My name’s Carter.” She blushed. “Kind of a boy’s name, I know. We met yesterday in the lunchroom.”

  “Right. I remember. Hope I didn’t seem unfriendly by changing seats.” I smiled and blushed slightly.

  “Not at all.” She leaned in close and whispered, “Darcy was being such a witch!”

  I sighed, feeling a little more relaxed, and we started walking together toward my locker.

  “True, Darcy and I are good enough friends,” Carter said, “but she is totally stuck up.”

  I giggled. “Totally,” I agreed.

  “Ever since she made the cheerleading squad, she thinks she’s all that,” Carter said. “Plus, her dad is this big Hollywood producer.” She twirled a finger in the air, a mock “Whoopee!” “She has, like, this total attitude,” Carter continued. “She is so fake. Everything about her.”

  I nodded. “Yeah…the highlights are a little Miss America,” I said, warming to the subject. “And those nails? I bet she spends more on her nails than my dad spent on my braces.”

  Carter nodded vigorously, holding her hand against her mouth as she giggled. “And that whole French manicure is so ten minutes ago. She’s just trying to impress Eric. He’s the pitcher on the baseball team. Like Eric cares about her. He’s in eighth grade! Plus, he so thinks she’s fake, but she’s all in his face during break. ‘Oh, Eric! You pitched so good last night at the game!’” Her Darcy imitation was high and breathy.

  “Guys hate that,” I said, turning the corner toward my locker with Carter by my side. “My mom always said guys like it best when you play it cool and let them come to you.”

  “So,” Carter asked as I opened my locker and pulled out my books, “did you have a boyfriend at your old school?”

  I smiled and shook my head. “Nope,” I said. “Once, in the lunchroom, I
spilled chocolate milk all over a cute guy named Brent, and he nicknamed me Sludge. The name kinda stuck.”

  Carter laughed. “Well,” she said, “I hope you don’t think I’m a snob just because I hang around with Darcy sometimes.”

  “No,” I said with a smile. “I think you’re pretty cool.”

  Carter tossed her red hair over her shoulder. “I think,” she said, “we’re going to be really good friends.”

  The rest of the school day went pretty smoothly; I even sat with Darcy and her clique during lunch, and although Carter acted nice to her, she sneaked smiles to remind me that we were on the same side. I noticed Martin glancing up at me from his book a couple of times as we ate. I looked away before making eye contact.

  Later, Carter asked me if I wanted to be her partner during the field trip.

  “Sure.”

  Carter smiled. It looked like a sweet enough smile….

  Mr. Wright was checking attendance as I stepped onto the bus the next morning.

  “Find your partner and have a seat.” Mr. Wright already sounded weary.

  I walked slowly through the bus, looking for Carter’s trademark red hair. I saw her sitting behind Darcy, Jade and Jen, who were all squeezed into a two-person seat. “Hi!” I said, scooting into the seat beside Carter.

  Darcy suddenly spun around.

  “Hi, Sludge,” she hissed. Carter giggled with her hand over her mouth. Oh no….

  I tried to shake it off. “So,” I said cheerfully, “you heard my old nickname?”

  “Yes, Elsie…I mean Sludge. I heard a few other things, too.”

  I cringed. “What do you mean?”

  “I heard you’ve got, like, a major prob with my…oh, what did you call them? My Miss America highlights.”

  I looked at Carter, who turned her head and looked out the window, still stifling giggles.

  “I think your hair’s really pretty,” I lied. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Sure.” Darcy rolled her eyes dramatically. “Well, Sludge, since my hair is such a problem for you, why don’t you sit far, far away from it? Looks like some seats are available in the back. Way back.”

  Carter looked smug and patted Darcy on the back. “I’m sure Elsa didn’t really mean it,” she said, tossing me an icy stare as Jade and Jen giggled.

  I had no choice. I started walking toward the back of the bus, away from their snickers and stares. I paused as I passed Martin, who was sitting alone, but he looked out the window when he saw me. I kept walking to the back. Way back.

  FIVE

  Three days down. Three zillion to go. It was ten p.m. Wednesday night and I already felt like I’d endured a lifetime of torture at Horror Springs Middle School. I’d followed Lani’s advice, and where had it gotten me? I slogged through the field trip, ignored by one and all. If my eeeewww factor had been any higher, the janitor would have tossed me out with the leftover mystery meat.

  I’d put up a brave front for Dad and Grandma so far, but now it felt like the whole “everything’s fine” charade was crashing down on my head. I was miserable and exhausted.

  I fell onto my bed and looked at my dolphin posters. Stupid, babyish dolphins. What a loser I was. Those posters were coming down tomorrow.

  I glanced at Mom’s smiling face in the pictures on my bedside table. Everything had been so easy for her when she was my age. I felt like her trophies and neatly framed certificates were mocking me.

  I started sobbing into my pillow. It’s all your fault, Mom! How could you do this to me?

  I wiped my tearstained eyes with my sheet, then clenched it with my fist and rolled around until I was swaddled so tightly, I could barely move.

  “It’s not fair!” I cried out loud, the words rumbling up my throat and spilling out like lava. “Your life was perfect. You didn’t have any problems.”

  I sobbed into my pillow for a minute or two and then, still wrapped in my sheet, I turned to face my ceiling. Which is when I heard the tinkling of metal on the floor. The sound came from right beside my bed, as if I’d knocked something from the sheets.

  I leaned over and squinted at the floor. That’s when I saw a necklace lying in a small heap. I reached down and scooped it up.

  Even through my tears, I could tell it was that weird necklace. Why did it keep turning up?

  I snuggled into my bed and held the necklace close to my face, peering at the little etched heart. Overhead, my plastic stars were glowing softly, casting golden light into the shadows of the room. I touched the picture on my bedside table…. Mom holding me from behind, both of us laughing, me safe in her arms…

  My tears started flowing again. “Why can’t I have my mom?” I whimpered softly. “And what’s up with this dumb necklace?”

  “Dumb necklace, huh? A lot you know.”

  I gasped. The female voice was coming from beside me in the bed. Beside me…in the bed… I squeezed my eyes shut, too terrified to look. Someone was beside me in the bed!

  As scared as I was, I had to know who was with me. And how she had gotten into my room—into my bed!—without my knowing.

  My eyes flew open and I saw her. My mom.

  I know what you’re thinking. Here I was, crying in bed and moaning to my dead mother, missing her so badly that I suddenly sensed she was there, sitting beside me on the bed.

  Wrong.

  She really was there, smiling at me, with her light brown hair falling softly against my neck as her arms gently enfolded me. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t been there myself, and for a minute, I almost didn’t. “If this is a dream,” I murmured, “please don’t let me wake up.”

  “It’s not a dream, honey,” Mom said, squeezing me closer to her.

  I didn’t want the moment to end, but I was too freaked out to just lie there. I flung off the covers and sat up. I stared at her. I even poked her a little.

  Mom was still there. She smiled and held the palm of her hand against my cheek.

  “It’s me, babe,” she said. “It’s Mom.”

  I blinked again and again. Still there.

  “Mom…Mom! How can you be here? Oh, Mom!”

  I fell into her arms, pressing salty tears into her nightgown. “Is it really you? Are you really here?”

  “I’m really here, sweetie. Actually, I always am. I’m like the stars on your ceiling. When you’re sleeping, I’m plain to see, but when you’re awake, I just blend in.”

  “Am I sleeping now?”

  “No. Usually that’s the only time I can talk to you and remind you I’m still watching over you. But I got special permission for this visit.”

  I shook my head slowly from side to side, still trying to take it all in. “Special permission? From who?”

  “You know,” Mom said casually, pointing her index finger skyward. “The Big Guy.”

  “Is he blending in, too?” I asked, looking up.

  “Yup. Always remember: Just because you can’t see us doesn’t mean we aren’t there.”

  I frowned. “But what good does blending in do if I can’t touch you and talk to you?” I asked. “Oh, Mom, I miss you so much! You just don’t know how much I miss you!”

  “I do know, honey,” Mom said. “I really do. And you’re right: From my perspective, we’re still together. But from your perspective, I just dropped off the face of the earth. Total bummer, right?”

  I nodded. “Totally. I know it sounds warped to be mad at you for dying, but Mom, sometimes that’s how I feel. And then I feel bad for feeling mad.” I dabbed tears from my eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry you died, and I’m sorry I’m mad, and I’m tired of being sad, and nothing’s right or fair anymore and…”

  “I know, baby, I know. And you know me: When I think something is unfair, I won’t pipe down until I try to make it fair.” She gave me the smile she used to reserve for when she was sharing a secret. “My stubbornness is causing a bit of a stir. Apparently, I’ve set a new standard up there for being a world-class pest.” She
leaned closer, whispering now: “That’s why I got special permission to visit.”

  “For how long?” I asked, terrified at the thought of her evaporating before my eyes.

  “Just for a bit,” she said. “But it’s okay. Remember, even when you can’t see me, I’m still here, just blending in.”

  “Not good enough,” I groused, then smiled in spite of myself. “I guess you’re not the only stubborn one in the family.”

  Mom winked. “That’s my girl. But as long as I’m here…in the flesh, so to speak…let’s make the most of my visit. I want to help you stop being so unhappy at school.”

  I sighed. “That’s a pretty tall order, Mom, even from you…or the Big Guy…or whoever. I’m not like you, all pretty and popular and perfect. I’m a mess.”

  Mom laughed, her eyes sparkling.

  “Pretty? Popular? Perfect? You’re describing Lisa Tilden, honey, not me.”

  “Who’s Lisa Tilden?”

  Mom scrunched her nose. “My Lisa was your Darcy. The snooty cheerleader who always managed to make me feel like a loser. Every school has a Lisa or a Darcy. And I’ll tell you a secret: From my new perspective, I’m seeing that their lives aren’t so perfect, either. They aren’t evil, they’re just confused and insecure. They think if they knock you off balance, they’ll stand a little taller.”

  “But everybody loved you,” I protested. “How could anyone have made your life miserable?”

  “Let’s see: nose too long, legs too skinny, hair too thin, mouth too loud…” I giggled as she reeled off her list.

  “None of those things are true,” I insisted. “And even if they were true, those are the things that make you…you.”

  Mom tousled my hair. “Exactly, sweetie. At your age, you can’t win. I think the trick is to be a loser on your own terms. Find one or two really good friends—people who care about you for all the right reasons—and stay true to yourself. Forget Darcy’s rules and stick to your own plan. Then even if you don’t win in the short run, you’ve got it nailed over the long haul.”