by Erin Dionne
“Where’s yours?” Nev pulls hers from a pocket in her jeans.
“Home.” I brush off the question and take her phone.
She hands it over and I dial in her password (0927, her birthday) and open the YouChannel app. The stupid tiny keyboard makes logging her out and me in tough. I enter my password twice, afraid it will lock me out if I get it wrong again.
“Come on come on come on,” I say to hurry it up. I’m tingly and jumpy.
The bell rings.
“I gotta get my stuff from lunch,” Nev says, hand open.
“In a sec.” The wheel of access spins. Lemme in lemme in …
“Hess!”
“I’ll bring it to you. In science.” My eyes never leave the screen.
Nev sighs. “Put it in my locker,” she says, and races out of the bathroom.
My YouChannel appears on the top of the screen. I tap on My Videos and the MK Nightshade piece is at the top. Stupid phone screen is so small I have to scroll to see—
OUTGOING: 1
Wha … ??
I tap the box and see: I never clicked SEND. It feels like my blood drains from my body. This whole time, it was just sitting in my account. I click SEND even though it probably won’t do any good.
I am glad I’m in the bathroom, because I’m pretty sure I’m going to yurk.
I get my act together and make it to science before the late bell, but didn’t eat lunch. Again. Max thinks skipping meals is pretty much the worst thing ever, and begs me to give him my chips during our lab—“so they don’t go to waste.”
I hand them over, and he tries to open the bag quietly so Mr. O’Malley won’t catch him. I swear, not only can the man hear a crinkling bag from the other side of the lab, he can smell sour cream ’n’ onion flavoring from the moon.
“What? No jingle?” Nev says. “You’re slipping, bro.”
“Nah. I’m saving them now. There’s a big contest sponsored by Happy Sprouts frozen vegetables—you know, the ones in the blue-and-orange bag?—and the winner gets free vegetables for a year and a thousand bucks. I’m focusing.” Max shoves a full handful of chips into his mouth and chews.
“Free vegetables for a year? I’m not sure I’d want that.” I pick at a blue cuticle. “I mean, I like corn and stuff, but doesn’t Happy Sprouts only do weird veggies that no one likes? Like beets? And okra.”
“I don’t care about the vegetables. My dads and Avó can do whatever they want with them.”
“Happy Sprout, you’ve got about three … two … one … ” Nev whispers. Max stuffs nearly the rest of the small bag into his mouth.
“Who has the food?” Mr. O’Malley calls. His small blue eyes scan the class. “You know the drill.” He shakes the metal garbage can next to his desk.
Max pours the bits into his mouth and trudges to the front of the room.
I take the opportunity to return Nev’s phone. She glares at me. I should’ve put it in her locker, but I didn’t have time. The only thing Mr. O’Malley likes more than ruining snacks is holding on to a kid’s phone for the whole day. To get it back he makes you label the organs of a worm—correctly. It’s a good thing I’m always leaving my phone at home. He’d have it forever.
“Did you figure out what happened?”
I tell her. Max comes back and we check our liquids and identify if they’re an acid or a base with strips of litmus paper. Well, they do most of the checking. I’m passing them the strips.
Nev’s eyebrows drop and her nose bunches.
“So, this is awkward, but … ” she begins.
“What?” My hands are clammy. Max pulls the litmus strips out of them, so I won’t trigger a reaction.
“Wellll … ” Nev draws the word out, like she’s trying to figure out how to put the next sentence together. She looks at Max, who slides his eyes to the lab table. He grabs the vinegar and pours some in a petri dish.
“I’m kind of worried. Academic permission forms are due for the Hoot on Monday. Do you think she’ll sign yours?”
I scratch at the edge of my lab sheet, picking at the corner. Suddenly, this paper is super fascinating. I lean closer to the tabletop, trying to loosen the tightness in my body.
“Maybe,” I mumble. “Probably.” The tightness has condensed into a hot, heavy ball in my guts. I am ragged, like the shredded corner of my paper.
I hope so.
<< FAST-FORWARD >>
Drag through the rest of the school day
Mom works with me on math. I still can’t do it. She gives up.
Watch Ghostbusters instead of doing anything else
Bed, morning, school. Again.
<< RESUME PLAY >>
“TGIF!” Nev twitters at my locker like a happy bird. I want to shoo her away. My mood is dark, and Ms. Walker stands between me and my weekend.
“Are you around to work on The Spy Who Bugged Me?” I ask. Nev has her duffel bag, which means she’s swapping houses. I’ve lost track of where she’s staying this week, because her mom had a business trip and that bounces her schedule around.
“Maybe? I’m with Dad this weekend, but I don’t know what his plans are.”
If I can keep her talking about the movie, maybe we can both forget that my bad grades might cause a problem with the project.
She says she’ll text me, and then Max joins us.
“How’s the contest coming?” I ask.
“Okra! Okra! Add it to soup. Let Happy Sprouts vegetables level up your food.” He grins wide.
“No,” Nev and I say together. He sighs and turns to me.
“Are you ready for the test?”
“Test?” My mouth goes dry. “Which one?” I say, trying to sound like I totally prepared. Nev doesn’t buy it.
“Language arts. The Giver test,” Max answers.
I say a lot of very bad words in my head, but what comes out of my mouth is “Oh, yeah. That one. Totally.”
That one that I kept meaning to ask you about. That one that I need to pass. That one. Sure. Yeah, no problem.
“Cool. Good luck!” Nev flits off to leave her duffel in the front office, and I drag down the hall to homeroom like I’m wearing anchors instead of sneakers.
If this were a movie, language arts would be a bad dream sequence. I’m so anxious and worked up by the time I get in there that colors are extra bright and voices extra loud.
My arch-nemesis, Ms. Walker, stands at the front of the room, talking about the test.
Her voice goes from being too loud to suddenly absent. I focus on her mouth moving—her teeth big and chompy, a dab of spit sits at the corner of her lips. Behind her glasses, her eyebrows move like furry caterpillars. She is no longer a teacher, she’s a monster.
And I am so not a hero.
Panic threatens to overwhelm me. I drop my head to my desk, squeeze my eyes closed tight.
Calm down calm down calm down …
Be Sir Oakheart. Be Black Widow. Be Wonder Woman. Heck, be Miss Piggy. Get it together, Hess!
A bony finger taps on my shoulder, and I jump. She’s next to me!
“Your test,” she says. She places it on my desk. My heart pounds.
“Can I take it in Mr. Sinclair’s office?” The words come out in a whisper. Wonder Woman doesn’t whisper. Miss Piggy definitely doesn’t whisper. Today, I’m a loser.
Walker’s mouth tightens into a line.
“You’re supposed to set that up in advance,” she says.
I stare at the back of the test sheet. Shrug a little. Around me, kids shift, anxious to get going. If she doesn’t let me leave, I’m sunk. I’ll have another freak-out. I know this.
She sighs. She may know it, too.
“Fine. Go. Leave your bag here. Be back by the bell.”
I don’t waste a second. I grab my stubby, teeth-mark-covered pencil and the test, and bolt for the door.
I hope Mr. Sinclair is in his office.
His door is open a crack. Relieved, I knock.
“Come in.”
I open it wider, stick my head in. Mr. S. is at his desk, papers spread all over it. Sun shining through the light catcher in his window beams blue on his bald spot.
“I have a test from Ms. Walker. Can I take it … ?” I trail off. He frowns.
“You’re supposed to set that up in advance, Hess.” He beckons me to come in. I squeeze through the small opening I’ve made between the door and the frame.
“I forgot when it was. She wants me back at the end of the period.” I glance at the clock. I have less than thirty-five minutes to take the test, which I haven’t even looked at.
Mr. Sinclair rubs his eyes. “Fine. Go to Conference Room A down the hall. And you come and see me on Monday. We need to talk.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, feeling awful.
Get to the conference room.
I sit down and finally look at the test.
1. Describe the trials that Jonas undergoes as he learns about his gift. Be specific.
2. What danger does Sameness pose to the community? Give two examples.
3. What qualities does Jonas develop during his work with The Giver? Name at least two, be specific.
Forget being a hero, right now I need a hero: Sir Oakheart with his sword, Black Widow and her mad skills … someone. Anyone.
I try. Honest, I do.
But no one comes to save me. I am officially doomed.
For the first time in a while, I am at our table before Nev and Max. I open my lunchbox and pick at the container of cut-up cucumbers my dad stuck in there.
Nev plops her stuff across from me.
“How was it?” she asks.
Did it have to be the first thing out of her mouth?
I shrug.
Max joins us. “Was the test bad?”
Did they plan this? I choke down a suddenly slimy, metallic-tasting cucumber and gulp from my water bottle. My whole body is heavy with shame and anxiety.
“It sucked,” I say, eyes on Iron Man and the Hulk. I try to call on my heroic idols, but Miss Piggy and friends have turned their backs on me. I slump in my chair.
Max and Nev exchange glances. Max takes one of my cukes. He looks like he’s about to go off on another jingle idea, but thinks better of it and just eats.
“Um, but you passed, right?” Nev says the words slowly, with hope, like she doesn’t already know the answer. She keeps her gaze on the table.
If this were a movie, I’d fake them out and totally have nailed it. Or maybe there would be a massive earthquake and a crack would open in the floor and swallow me whole.
But this is not a movie.
“I took it in Sinclair’s office. I didn’t finish.” My words squeeze out of tiny accordion lungs. I count the seeds in a cucumber slice. I’m at five before either of them speak.
“That sucks.” Max sprays Pringles crumbs on the table with each s sound. I pry my eyes off the cukes and to his face. The corners of his mouth are turned down. There are Pringle bits on his lips.
Wait—there were Pringles in my lunch. Not anymore.
Nev folds her arms on the table and drops her head into them. She peers up at me, just two dark eyes filled with sadness. My stomach shrinks into a tight knot.
“Hess, I don’t want to say this.… ” Her words are muffled by her arms. She tilts her head down again, so I’m looking at the bright part line that zigzags across her hair.
I know what’s coming, even though I pretend to myself that I don’t.
“We”—mumble mumble muffle—“Hoot with you.”
“What?” I say, hoping the middle part is something like “can’t wait to do the” or “will stand by doing the.”
She lifts her head up and props her chin on her stacked arms. “We can’t do the Hoot with you,” she says. I’ll give her credit—she looks at me while she says it.
It’s like I’ve been hit with an arrow in the guts, and I even glance around the caf to see where the bowman must be hiding. I wrap my arms around my stomach. Max has stopped scarfing my lunch and stares at me with a worried expression.
I try to breathe, but nothing moves in or out. How could they bail on me? I don’t know that I failed—only that I didn’t finish question two … and I never started question three. But still! Ms. W. hasn’t corrected it yet. She might totally sign my slip on Monday!
“We don’t know that I’m out.” I manage to choke out the words. Max and Nev exchange a glance. It’s like they planned this.
Had they planned this?!?
“It’s not personal, Hess,” Max says. “We just … ” He shrugs. “We really want to do it, and the rules say you can only be in one act. We can talk about it at Nev’s dad’s house tomorrow.”
My lips are numb. I wish my heart was, too.
“We can’t take the chance,” Nev says.
It’s her words—those words, We can’t take the chance, like I’m some messed-up failure—that snap me out of Pain City and into Hulk Mode: The caf noises get a whole lot louder, colors get brighter, and suddenly I. Just. Don’t. Care.
“Fine,” I say. “Then I can’t take the chance on working on The Spy Who Bugged Me this weekend. Or ever again!” I regret the words as I’m saying them, but who cares?
Nev leans back, eyes wide and surprised. Max’s mouth is open. There are Pringles in it.
“C’mon, Hess,” Max says, recovering first. “I get it—it sucks. But don’t do this.”
“Do what?” I say, forcing my words to sound light and fluffy, not like the rocks clacking in my guts. I stuff what’s left of my lunch back into my lunchbox so I don’t have to look at him. “You guys did it, by telling me I’m out of the Hoot. It’s my project.”
“Seriously, Hess? Is that what you think?” Nev sits straight and stares at me with laser eyes. “You think we did this? You’re the one who’s failing everything. You’re the one who can’t pass one test and get a permission slip signed. This will bring us down with you. This is your fault. Not mine. Not Max’s.”
That “your” smacks me in the heart. I want to hide, or run, or turn them into toads. Instead, I Ultra Hulk Out: brain off, mouth on.
“Don’t act so perfect,” I snap back without thinking. “Like you’re doing me a favor by being my friend. Like I’m not the only person who talked to you when you joined our class in fourth grade”—kids like Sarah made fun of her name and how smart she is—“and has been your friend ever since. Remember that?!”
The hurt look crosses her face and all I can do is push back from the table and get as far away from the caf as possible.
I end up in an empty corner outside of the gym, where I lean my forehead against the wall and hope that the vice principal is done doing rounds and won’t find me here.
This is not all my fault. It’s not. I’ve tried to get stuff done—I mean, I did the extra credit project and it came out awesome—it’s not my fault that I can’t take stupid tests. Nev knows that my brain is broken, that I can’t be as good at stuff as she is. I’m not trying to take anyone down with me.
Right?
<< FAST-FORWARD >>
No lab in science; Nev & Max don’t even look at me
Walk home alone
Text from Nev: Let’s forget about lunch … but don’t forget about tomorrow.
Watch Indiana Jones movies until I can’t stay awake anymore
<< RESUME PLAY >>
“Can you take me to the library?” I ask my mom over breakfast.
Dad drops his bagel onto the counter, crosses the room, and puts his good hand across my forehead, like he’s checking to see if I am getting a fever.
“Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?” he mocks.
“Dad!” I swat his hand away. “Come on. I have to do some stuff for school.”
If I fix up my vocabulary tests and do my reading logs, maybe Ms. Walker will sign that permission slip on Monday.
“Sure,” Mom says. “No problem. We can go after lunch.”
It’s nice out, so to kill ti
me I grab my camera and a hoodie and go to the T station at the end of our street and shoot footage of the trains, then over to the park, where I get some kids playing soccer.
Miss Vogel, the drama teacher, told me a long time ago not to zoom in or get anyone’s faces if I didn’t have a waiver form for them to sign. Kids, especially—parents get freaked out if there’s a stranger shooting their little angel.
When the SD card is full, I go home. Mom’s waiting in the kitchen.
She drives and I fiddle with the satellite radio. Mom really loves pop and lite rock, but that’s not my scene. We agree on the ’80s rock station, though, so I turn it up.
Def Leppard pounds through the car speakers, and we sing along.
“Want to stop at Dunks first?” It’s her favorite coffee spot. Most of the time, she gets a latte and I get some frothy chocolate drink that pretends it’s a coffee.
No mocha-choca-latta-ya-ya for me today, though. “I don’t think so,” I say. “I really should get to work.”
She pulls into the library parking lot. Turns the car off. Turns to me.
“What’s going on, Hess?”
I keep my eyes on my ragged bluish cuticles. I shrug.
“I have work to do.”
“I can’t remember you ever asking to come to the library.” She leans her head against the headrest and puts her hand on the console between the seats, palm up. I want to reach out for it, but I don’t. I can’t bring myself to, because if I hold her hand, I’m going to feel like a little kid again and start bawling.
“I’m trying to do better in my classes,” I say. I don’t go any further than that.
“Oh. Of course,” she says. “That’s great to hear.” But I know, and she knows I know, that there’s more to it. She waits and I don’t say anything else.
“When do you want me to come back for you?”
Suddenly, even though I don’t want to tell her everything that’s going on, I want her nearby. “Don’t you want to pick out a book?”
I catch the slightest hint of a sigh, and then she says, “Of course.”
We get out of the car and walk in together.
On the way back to the parking lot, Mom’s telling me about some commercial that she saw that made her crack up: