by Nancy Rue
But if I pretended it didn’t happen, Those Girls would do something worse. When grown-ups said, “Just ignore it when someone picks on you,” they obviously had never been bullied in their life.
I patted the pocket with the cards in it. I didn’t pull any out because they’d get wet, and besides, I knew what they all said anyway.
• SAVE THE TEARS. Don’t let the bully see that she’s getting to you.
• BABY STEPS. Do one small thing to end bullying because you can’t do everything at once.
• SAFE IN A GROUP. Don’t make a victim face a bunch of bullies by herself.
• WALK IT, GIRL. Help each other go where you want to go without being harassed.
• REPORT ALERT. Tell a grown-up if the bullying gets out of control.
• GOLD THUMB. Do for other people what you want them to do for you.
That was the hardest one in the whole stack to follow. I didn’t really want to do anything for Those Girls. But Lydia had taught us that was the whole point. It wasn’t about what we wanted to do. It was about what was right to do. And the only thing right I could think of was to give Kylie’s makeup kit back to her.
The rain was coming down like bullets by the time I got to school. Instead of going to the top of the stairs by the sixth-grade lockers to hang out with my Tribelet, like I always did before first period, I went straight to the locker room. I’d rather change into my P.E. clothes by myself anyway. Nobody else’s body was as smushy as mine.
I was in my sweatpants and T-shirt when Tori got there.
“Ginge!” she said. “Where were you?”
“Here,” I said.
She blinked her little brown eyes at me. It was like they belonged to a very smart bird. “Did you ask your dad?”
“About what?”
“About coming to my house after school?”
“Oh. Yeah. He said yes.”
“Cool,” she said, but she kept looking at me. I was never glad to hear Mrs. Zabriski before that moment when she yelled into the locker room.
“Meet in the gym, not outside. And let’s get a move on.”
Tori gave me one more bird look and, as the rest of the Tribelet trailed in, she turned to change her clothes. My mind was already on to the next thing. If we were meeting in the gym for roll call, that was my perfect chance. I got the pink zipper case out of my locker and once again tucked it under my sweatshirt.
Kylie and Those Girls were in their usual knot, four rows up in the bleachers. I started to climb up there, but Mitch grabbed my sweatshirt sleeve and tugged me back.
“You mad at me?” she said into my ear.
“No!” I said.
“You’re acting like it.” She stuck her nose near her armpit. “Do I smell?”
“No. I just gotta do something. I’ll be right back.”
I wasn’t going to be right back, of course. The words in the e-mail were shouting in my other ear.
I was pretty sure Kylie and Those Girls didn’t see me talking to Mitch because they were still facing each other and whispering and copying everything Kylie did. If she tilted her head, they tilted theirs. If she fluffed out her hair, they fluffed out theirs. I bet if she’d picked her nose, they would have poked their fingers in their nostrils too.
Mrs. Zabriski was just coming into the gym, so I still had time before she started attendance and announcements. Besides that, Coach came in from the other direction and they stopped to talk. More time.
I climbed over the first three levels of bleachers and then headed sideways down the row they were all crowded onto. It was hard going with the makeup kit under my shirt, so I was probably making a spectacle of myself. You know, tripping once, almost losing my balance twice. By the time I got to their spot, all four of them were looking at me. I knew the blotches were all over my face and neck like splashes of fuchsia paint, but that was okay. This was all about the Gold Thumb.
Kylie nudged Riannon, who poked Heidi, who said in her stuffy-nosed voice, “We’re not doing makeovers today.”
Could that have been more perfect? For once in my life, I knew exactly what should come out of my mouth.
“I know,” I said, “because you don’t have this.” I pulled the makeup kit from under my shirt.
Kylie’s eyes bulged. “Give me that!” she said and tried to grab it from me.
My twelve years being Jackson’s sister weren’t wasted on me. I pulled it out of her reach and said, “I think you dropped it when you were doing your thing—”
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” Kylie’s voice went up, and then she lowered it. She splashed her hair. “And even if I did, anything that happens off the school grounds isn’t the school’s business.”
Was that just my lucky day or what? I tried not to smile too goofy. “How did you know I was talking about something that happened off school grounds?”
I thought Kylie’s blue and gold eyes were going to pop out of her head. All of Those Girls turned to statues, except Kylie herself who quickly pulled her eyeballs back in and folded her arms and said, “Isn’t making a false accusation against your little Code?”
I started to say, “I’m not accusing you—”
But the moment I opened my mouth, she snapped out her hand, quick as a frog’s tongue, and tried to snatch the makeup kit again. I didn’t know why I hung on to it. Maybe because I felt my luck running out. Or maybe because my whole plan was to hand it over to her myself.
Whatever the reason, I snatched it back. Kylie made another grab for it and caught the big pink zipper pull. I yanked the kit toward me. She pulled it toward her, and in the process of all that, the bag opened and something flew out like it had been stuffed in there so long it couldn’t wait to escape.
It was something pink, and it sailed over the heads of the kids in the next row down and came to rest in the middle of the BBAs. There was a shocked silence, like everybody was waiting for a bomb to explode, and then Patrick waved it over his head and shouted, “Hey, this isn’t mine!”
Of course it wasn’t. It was a bright pink bra. Tiny and lacy. And padded.
The silence erupted into chaos. I sat down hard on the bleacher bench. Kylie pushed Izzy, who fell all over herself to get to Patrick to grab the bra from him—well, from Douglas, who now had it—oh, wait, from Andrew, who was about to shoot it out across the gym floor like a slingshot when Coach Zabriski blew his whistle and brought the whole thing to a hold-your-breath stop.
Coach held out his palm for the bra, but the moment Andrew started to give it to him, Coach retracted his hand and Mrs. Zabriski took the thing. She stuck it in the pocket of her workout jacket and waved a yellow piece of paper over her head.
“Do you know what this is?” she shouted at us.
Like anybody was even going to try to answer that question. I couldn’t have if she’d called on me. I was considering dropping under the bleachers.
“This is an announcement we just got this morning. It says any sixth-grader who violates the Code for”—she looked closer at the paper—“disrespecting the whatever is to be sent to a special class—during lunch—every Monday and Thursday until . . .” She studied the paper again. “Until Ms. Ki-ri-a-kos is satisfied with how you treat people.”
I knew that was Lydia she was talking about, even though Mrs. Zabriski pronounced her name wrong. Relief started to flood over me.
“It’s also for anybody who didn’t sign the Code.” Mrs. Zabriski swept her hard little gaze over the class, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. Everybody knew that meant Kylie.
I was still confused, though, because, until that moment, Mrs. Zabriski never acted like she cared anything about our anti-bullying campaign, and now she was upholding it. Yikes, this meant all of Those Girls might end up in Lydia’s class with Kylie. Did I finally do something right?
“Hollingberry!”
I jerked and looked down at her.
“Did you get that? You. Monday at lunch. Report to the conf
erence room in the library.”
Me? Me?
“You deliberately embarrassed somebody, and I’m not having it. Especially from someone who supposedly helped write this ‘Code.’ ”
Coach stuck his whistle in his mouth and blew until you could see his scalp turning red. “In your teams for timed sprints! Let’s move it!”
I moved, and so did my mind. I had no problem spending lunch with Lydia. I wanted to talk to her. But with Kylie there? And not only that, but why was I the one being accused of being a bully? I was the victim. Again.
But as I lined up with Tori down on the gym floor and Winnie whimpered and Ophelia chewed her braid and Mitch looked over at me from Kylie’s line like What were you THINKING? I decided the worst part was that I made the Code look bad.
Like always, when I tried to do something good, it turned out so stupid.
So it didn’t even matter that Kylie was going to do something to me during these timed sprints, whatever they were, to get back at me for what just happened. She couldn’t make things any worse.
Coach tooted that whistle again, so shrill it went through my fillings, and yelled, “Hollingberry!”
“She’s not even doing anything,” Ophelia muttered between clenched teeth.
“Save the Tears, Ginger,” Tori whispered.
I pretended not to hear them because Kylie was standing next to Coach and Mrs. Zabriski, watching me and talking to them (with her hair) at the same time. All I could do was try not to cry, just like Tori said. Later I could. But not in front of the bully.
“Steppe’s trying to be the bigger person,” Mrs. Z was saying to her husband when I got to them.
“That’s exactly right,” Kylie said.
Better person than what? A gorilla?
“Okay,” Coach said, “but then I’m done with the girl drama.” He barely looked at me. “You’re on Steppe’s team now.”
I almost said no to a teacher for the first time in my life. Tears blurred my eyes as I looked back at the line behind Riannon.
Izzy. Heidi. All looking at me like I was an insect. The only thing that made me blink the tears away was Mitch. She nodded her spiky head just enough to keep me from having a meltdown right there in front of everyone.
Coach put his whistle to his lips, and I covered my ears, but I still heard Kylie whisper to Mrs. Zabriski, “Ginger only acts that way because Tori Taylor intimidates her.”
I didn’t look to see if Mrs. Zabriski nodded. I just knew she did.
Chapter Four
Coach Zabriski didn’t pay any more attention to me during P.E. because he was all over Tori the whole period. She wasn’t running fast enough. She wasn’t encouraging her team enough. She was showing a ’tude.
It was all my fault—again—and I had to do something about it.
I stayed away from my Tribelet second, third, and fourth periods because Kylie watched me like she had lasers for eyes. But I knew that right after fourth, Those Girls always went to the bathroom to fluff and gloss before lunch—why, I could never figure out—and I would have a chance to at least apologize to Tori. I had it all rehearsed in my head.
ME: I should have just given the kit back to Kylie without saying anything. I made things awful, and I hope you forgive me.
TORI: Of course I do! Come on! Let’s eat lunch!
Yeah, well, I hadn’t decided what I was going to do about that part yet. Baby Steps. That was the card to use. Maybe I couldn’t do everything, but I could do something.
I started talking the minute we left Mr. V’s room and Those Girls went into the restroom.
“I should have just given the kit back to Kylie without saying anything. I made things awful, and I hope you forgive me.”
It came out like all one word and Tori blinked at me and Winnie gave a nervous giggle and Mitch scrunched up her face and Ophelia said, “What are you even talking about?”
I started to repeat it, but Tori shook her head at me. “Where did you get Kylie’s kit thingy in the first place?”
“I found it,” I said, which was the truth.
“Where?” Ophelia said, twisting the end of her braid.
“Outside,” I said.
Mitch got all scowly. “That’s weird.”
“I know, huh?”
She didn’t grunt. I was not okay right now.
“I didn’t know the bra was in there and I didn’t know the zipper thing was gonna come open and I didn’t plan for it to go flying through the air and land . . . where it did.”
Ophelia passed her hand over her mouth like she was erasing a smile.
“It’s probably okay,” Tori said. “We can talk to Lydia about it. You’re still coming after school, right?”
“Coming where?”
Kylie. Right behind me.
“Are you having a party after school?” she said, all smiley and innocent. “Can I come?”
I wanted to climb into the garbage can. Tori looked right at her. “We’re having a meeting about the Code. You can come if you want. Anybody can.”
“Maybe I will.” Kylie scattered her hair over the side of her face and tossed it back. All three of Those Girls did the same thing behind her. “Is it at your house, Tori?”
I could almost hear Ophelia’s teeth crunching together. I absolutely heard Mitch grunt and Winnie whimper.
Only Tori’s voice stayed calm. “Actually, yes. You know where I live.”
“Okay then!”
Kylie motioned for her friends to follow her, and they continued on down the hall, but as she passed me, Kylie pinched the side of my hand. She might as well have just shouted, “You can’t hang out with them anywhere, so don’t even think about it.”
“You don’t think she’ll come, do you?” Winnie whispered when they were gone.
“No,” Ophelia said. “I mean, she won’t, right?”
“Right,” Tori said as they disappeared around the corner toward the cafeteria. “But I wonder what that was all about. I mean, (a) you know she still can’t stand us and (b) she definitely doesn’t care about the Code because she won’t even sign it. So why even ask?”
“So she can come sabotage the meeting?” Ophelia said.
Mitch grunted louder. “She isn’t that stupid.”
“You know what?” I said.
They all looked at me as if they’d forgotten I was there.
“I don’t feel good. I’m gonna go lie down in the nurse’s office.”
“Are you okay?” Winnie said.
No. I wasn’t. I shook my head and went in the direction of the nurse’s office. As soon as I knew the Tribelet was out of the hall, I doubled back and slipped into the restroom, where I closed myself into a stall and took out my sandwich. But after I looked at it for a minute, I put it back in the bag and waited for the bell to ring for fifth period. On the way there, I dumped it into the trash can.
Now I had to figure out how to avoid the Tribelet for the rest of the day. As I made my way to my seat, I realized that was going to be hard because, in one lunch period, I’d gone so far backward that I didn’t even know which way I was facing. When I heard Mrs. Fickus call my name from the classroom doorway, I knew from the way her eyebrows were pointing up that she’d called me at least twice.
I got up to go to her, but she said, “Bring your books, Miss Hollingberry.”
One of the BBAs whispered, “Busted,” but she didn’t hear it or that kid would have gone right past go and into lunch detention. Even before the Code, people behaved in Mrs. Fickus’s class.
She waited for me in the hall. By that time, my palms were already so sweaty I could hardly hold on to the strap of my backpack. Even when she smiled at me, spreading out her always rosy-colored lips, I didn’t feel any less dread. I mean, why would I?
“Ginger, honey,” she said.
Wait. Did she just call me by my first name? And did she say honey? She was from the South, Louisiana or someplace, but she never used honey with us. And how come her head with its hair lik
e yellow cotton candy was leaning in a sad way? Did something happen to Dad? Was she about to tell me something terrible? Did Those Girls tell her something?
I wanted to run. Instead I flattened myself against the wall.
“I owe you an apology,” she said.
I shook my head for no reason.
“I do. I have completely underestimated you, and I haven’t challenged you.”
I didn’t get it.
“Let me show you something.” She opened the vanilla-colored folder she’d been pressing against her, which I probably hadn’t noticed because it was the same color as her sweater. “These are your scores on the standardized tests you took at your last school, right before you came here.”
“In Fresno,” I said, because I felt like I should say something.
“Right. I just got these yesterday. Have you seen them?”
“No.” I wasn’t even sure what she was talking about.
She nodded for me to look at the numbers on the page, and I tried to act like I knew what they meant. Which I didn’t. All I could think was, Is she going to take me out of the smart classes? We weren’t supposed to know we were in them, but we all did.
“What this says, honey, is that you are reading on a twelfth-grade level.” Mrs. Fickus looked at me like she was seeing me for the first time. “And your language skills aren’t far behind that. Do you read a lot?”
Did I breathe?
“Yes,” I said. “All the time.”
I didn’t add that the characters in my books were usually my only friends. She might think I was crazy instead of smart.
“All this time I’ve been teaching you like you’re a sixth-grader, but I think it’s time I changed that.” She closed the folder and pressed it against her again. “Here’s what I think we’ll do. See if this sounds good to you.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Instead of doing this poetry unit with the rest of the class, how would you like to go to the library every day during this period and work on a special project with the librarian?”
“Just me?” I said.
“You and a student from one of my other sections. But you’ll each be working independently.”