“She is such a bully,” says Naomi.
Students clear the middle of the hall as the four of us walk to class. Just as we get to our classroom door, we stop and stare at Mrs. Davis’s desk, where two tall black hats and a stack of papers have all of our attention.
“There they are, the partner-picking hats,” I say.
“And I bet that stack of papers next to the hats is the Spirit Week schedules,” says Skye.
Starr nods. “Got to be the schedules.”
We each grab a copy of the schedule as we pass Mrs. Davis’s desk.
SPIRIT WEEK SCHEDULE
MONDAY: Dress like a king or queen!
TUESDAY: Mother Goose is on the loose!
WEDNESDAY: Share a glove and a shoe with your partner!
THURSDAY: Create a new superhero and sidekick!
FRIDAY: Partners decorate cubbies or cabinets to match. (Posters, drawings, fabric, or washable paints only.) Partners dress like twins, plus awards day!
When the bell rings, Mrs. Davis closes the door.
“Good morning, class! Let’s be quiet and wait for the announcements.”
The intercom squeaks and we all wait for Mr. Winky’s voice.
“Good morning and happy Friday! Before we get started, let’s stand for the Pledge of Allegiance.”
I try to look at the flag, but my eyes stay fixed on all the Spirit Week partner stuff on Mrs. Davis’s desk. “I pledge allegiance to the hats—I mean the flag . . .” Good gravy. Did I say that out loud? Big-eared Michael Silsbee looks over his shoulder and frowns. I pretend I don’t see him. “. . . of the United States of America. And to the Republic for which it stands . . .” As I hold my right hand over my heart, I make another promise to do everything I can to win those VIP tickets. “. . . with liberty and justice for all.”
“Students, please be seated,” says Mr. Winky. “It’s partner-picking day here at Young Elementary School! Yes, yes, yes, it is! Today’s cafeteria menu includes pepperoni pizzas and cheese pizzas, fruit salad, and carrot sticks. Okay, that’s all for now! Have fun picking partners! Yes, yes, yes! This concludes the announcements.”
Mrs. Davis stands at the front of the room. “Okay, it’s time to get started! Good luck!”
“Me and my partner are going to win those VIP tickets!” says David Abrahms.
“No way! Me and my partner are going to win them,” I say.
We have a stare-down. Suddenly he smiles. I smile back. I guess that means good luck.
Mrs. Davis holds up two fingers again. “We’re going to split into two groups. There will be a group of ‘ones’ and a group of ‘twos.’” She points at David, who sits in the first seat by the door. “Starting with David, he will be a one. Susan, behind him, is a two, the next student is a one, and so on, understand?”
“Yes, Mrs. Davis.”
Our room is full of excitement as we count off down the rows. “One! Two! One!” It’s time for my row. Michael Silsbee is a one. “Two,” I say.
Once we’re finished, Mrs. Davis gives more instructions. “I want all the ‘twos’ to stand in front of my desk. Ones stay seated and write your name on the piece of paper I put on your desk. Then, fold your paper twice, and place it inside a hat when I walk down your aisle; boys in the boy hat, girls in the girl hat.”
Once Mrs. Davis collects the names, she walks to the front and stands in front of Susan Acorn. “The girls will pick first.”
Susan reaches inside the hat and pulls out a piece of paper. “I pulled Starr Falling.”
Starr smiles, but I know she’s going to ask for a trade so she can partner with her sister.
Lisa “Lotta-Germs” McKinley is next. She reaches inside the hat. “Yay! My partner is Naomi Jackson!” Lisa hurries to Naomi’s desk. “We’re partners, Naomi—achoo—sorry!”
Naomi wipes Lisa’s germs off her. “Yuck! She didn’t cover her mouth!”
Mrs. Davis hands Naomi a wet wipe. “Lisa, try to be faster with the tissue.”
“Sorry, Naomi,” says Lisa.
“Your turn, Mya,” says Mrs. Davis.
I pick a piece of paper out of the hat. I’m so excited that I can barely unfold it.
Good gravy in the navy.
The longer I stare at the letters written in green ink on that little piece of paper, the bigger her name gets. My voice flat-out refuses to say what my eyes already know.
“Mya, who is your Spirit Week partner?” asks Mrs. Davis.
I try to tell her. “It’s . . . I pulled . . .”
Skye grabs my arm and reads the paper, then bursts out laughing.
“Mya got Mean Connie Tate!”
Some of my classmates cover their mouths in horror. Others laugh. Whispers are everywhere. Mrs. Davis holds up two fingers and everything stops. She grabs the office pad from her desk. “Skye, go to Principal Winky’s office right now!”
Skye’s crying, “What did I do? I just said Mya pulled Mean Connie Tate.”
Starr’s crying, too. “That’s all she said, Mrs. Davis.”
Mrs. Davis rips the paper from her pad. “Tell that to Mr. Winky.”
We watch in silence as Skye leaves the room, and Starr puts her head down on her desk.
Naomi raises her hand. “My partner, Lisa McKinley, wants to trade.”
“No I don’t,” says Lisa.
There is something goose-bumpy about Naomi’s voice as she tells Lotta-Germs, “Yes, you do want to trade. I really, really, want you to trade, Lisa.”
Lisa takes a tissue from her backpack and blows her nose. “Okay.”
I have never asked for a Spirit Week partner trade. I’ve always kept the person I picked or stayed with the person who picked me. But today, I’m trying something new. I raise my hand and wave it with excitement. “I’d like to trade, too, Mrs. Davis.”
Three words come out of Mean Connie’s mouth and splat across my face worse than the blue paint she spilled on my vest.
“I’m not trading.”
Chapter Six
My knees wobble, the room’s spinning, and my brain’s asleep. I’m going to faint. My best friend locks her two pinkie fingers together. I know what she’s telling me, so I give Mean Connie my best stink eye and tell her the same thing Naomi told Lisa Lotta-Germs.
“Yes, you do want to trade. I really, really want you to trade, Connie.”
Connie frowns and steps toward me. “Don’t tell me what to do, Tibbs.”
I step back. “Okay, I’m sorry. You win.”
Naomi yells at me. “What are you doing? Don’t punk out! Make her trade, Mya!”
Mean Connie’s face is hot-sauce red. “She can’t make me do anything.”
Mrs. Davis lifts her office pad from her desk and slowly walks toward my best friend. “Naomi, we don’t talk to each other like that in this class. This is your only warning.”
I wipe sweat from my forehead. My jaws won’t unlock for me to talk. My words must be afraid of Connie, too. Naomi’s frowning. Connie’s frowning. I don’t know what to do.
“Connie, Mya, in the hall, right now,” says Mrs. Davis.
Ka-clunk, ka-clunk, ka-clunk.
When we step into the hall, Mean Connie’s right beside me, huffing and puffing like Buttercup. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’m going to pee on myself. She gets close enough for me to smell bacon on her breath. I stare at the Spirit Week poster on the wall. There’s a question at the top of the poster: What do M&Ms and Spirit Week have in common? They both make friends!
The red and green M&Ms hold hands in the front of the poster with lots of other M&Ms holding hands behind them. I cut my eyes to Mean Connie. We’re definitely not M&Ms.
She faces me. “I’m not trading, and you better not double-cross me, Tibbs.”
I haven’t forgotten about this morning. She could still rip my lips off and stick them on the wall. The door opens and Mrs. Davis joins us with her hands on her hips.
“Would one of you like to explain what’s going on? Is there somethi
ng I need to know?”
Silence.
Mrs. Davis sighs. “Well, since neither one of you can give me a good reason why I should pair you with someone else, your Spirit Week partnership stands.”
“No, wait! I’ve got a reason. It’s . . . she . . .” I’m squeezing my eyes closed, hoping my brain wakes up and helps me out. I open my eyes and point at my vest.
“Take a good look at this, Mrs. Davis! Connie Tate got paint on my vest, and I’m scared she’s going to pull my lips off.”
Mean Connie turns to Mrs. Davis. “It was an accident. And I never said I’d pull her lips off, even though that’s not a bad idea right now.”
“Automatic suspension if you put one hand on Mya, understand? Spirit Week is about making friends, not enemies,” says Mrs. Davis.
Mean Connie slaps the wall. “I told you I didn’t say that! Why won’t anybody believe me! I hate this school! It’s worse than private school!”
“One more outburst like that and I’ll write you a pass to Mr. Winky’s office.”
Mean Connie folds her arms over her chest and stares at the floor. Mrs. Davis wipes at the spot on my vest as if her fingers have detergent on them.
“Mya, this stain should come out in the washing machine. Now, listen very closely to what I’m about to say. Both of you are wonderful girls. Spirit Week is the perfect opportunity for you to get to know each other. Sometimes friendship is like two people lost in the woods. You have to work your way through it together. Success depends on how much time and effort you put into it. Lucky for you, you’ve got a whole Spirit Week to become friends.”
I nod, even though Mean Connie and I would need a Spirit Year to figure this out.
Mrs. Davis continues. “I’m going to allow the two of you to stay in the hall, calm down, and face the fact that you are Spirit Week partners. If I look out here and see you arguing, or worse, hear you arguing, our next walk will be to Mr. Winky’s office. Connie, you have promises to keep to me and Mr. Winky, remember? If you lose your partner, then you will have broken your promise. I see this as an opportunity for you and Mya.”
I don’t want to hear about opportunities. I need a good plan to get rid of Mean Connie. Skye strolls down the hall with a pass in her hand. She gives it to Mrs. Davis as she stares at Mean Connie, then me.
“I’ll be back in just a minute. Have a seat, Skye,” says Mrs. Davis.
Once Skye closes the door, Mrs. Davis looks back to us. “Girls, I’m waiting on an answer. Are you working together or not?”
Mean Connie stomps her foot and mumbles something only Micheal Silsbee could hear. With both hands she covers her face, but when she removes them, she looks calmer. “Okay, Mrs. Davis, we’ll make it work, won’t we, Tibbs?”
I’m wondering how Mean Connie changed so quickly from hot-sauce mad to ice-cream happy. I frown at her. “What kind of Spirit Week promise did you make? To stay out of jail?”
Great. My brain finally wakes up and that’s what it gives me? Mrs. Davis pats her pockets. I think she’s looking for her office pad. I immediately try to make things right.
“I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t mean it, Connie. Sorry.”
Mrs. Davis puts her hands on our shoulders. “Work it out, ladies, and then come back into the classroom and join the rest of us. See you in a few minutes.”
I’m alone again with the biggest bully in school, and no witnesses. I’m wondering if I’ll make it back to class or if Mean Connie will pull off my lips and stick them to the wall.
She points her finger at me. “I only want to be your partner because I don’t want Lisa Lotta-Germs sneezing all over me, and I hate Naomi Jackson.”
What the what? Is she telling me that she didn’t even want to be my partner? Am I standing out here with someone who doesn’t even care about winning the VIP tickets? At first I was scared, but now I’m ready to buck Connie like Buttercup on level ten turbo.
“Well, I didn’t want to be your partner at all! You’re not only a bully, you ruin people’s clothes! What about that paint on my vest? Who do you think you are? Picasso? And what are you doing with paint at school anyway? We don’t have art class,” I say.
I’ve never seen this look on Mean Connie’s face. I close my eyes and tuck my lips inside my mouth again. It’s quiet. I open one eye to make sure Connie’s still there.
“What do you know about Picasso?” she asks.
“I’m not stupid, Connie. Who’s never heard of Picasso?”
“I thought you were this dorky cowgirl, running off at the mouth like Annie Oakley.”
My eyelids flip open. “What do you know about Annie Oakley?”
She mocks me. “I’m not stupid, Tibbs. Ever been to the Cowgirl Hall of Fame?”
Holy ravioli.
We’re eyeball to eyeball, tight-lipped and frozen, in the biggest standoff ever because I’m thinking we both just surprised each other in a very strange way.
She points her long skinny finger at me. “I want those VIP tickets.”
I point my short skinny finger back at her. “So do I.”
“Pinkie swear,” says Connie.
“No way. I already pinkie-swore with Naomi and—”
Connie interrupts me. “I don’t care. Naomi Jackson is phony and full of baloney. Listen up, Tibbs. Spirit Week partners are supposed to be friends for the whole week. We need to fool Mrs. Davis into believing we are or she might not give us the points we need to win those tickets. So, next week, we’re fake friends. And you better not double-cross me, got it?”
“Got it. We’re fake friends. No double-crossing,” I say.
Inside Mrs. Davis’s classroom, I ka-clunk as fast as I can across the room. Mrs. Davis wrote the names of the partners on the board, but I’m only concerned about four of them:
Naomi Jackson—Lisa McKinley
Skye Falling—Susan Acorn
Starr Falling—Mary Frances Whitaker
Mya Tibbs—Connie Tate
I guess since Skye had to go to the principal’s office, she didn’t get the chance to ask for a trade or even pick her own partner. This is the worst partner picking in the history of Spirit Week. There’s a note on my desk. I wait until Mrs. Davis is on the other side of the room before reading it:
Mya
Meet me in the restroom before lunch.
Naomi
I look over my shoulder at my best friend and give her a thumbs-up. We have to fix this problem right away. Hopefully Naomi has a good plan, because we’re going to need it.
Chapter Seven
Every day, Mrs. Davis gives us five minutes before lunch to go to the restroom and wash our hands, or we can use the hand sanitizer she has on her desk. I stuff the Spirit Week schedule inside my boot and then rush to the restroom. It’s crowded with girls talking and washing hands, and all five stall doors are closed. Skye and Starr stand with Naomi, handing her tissues while she cries.
I step between the twins and hug her. “Of all the names in the black hat, I pulled Mean Connie Tate’s. Talk about bad luck. I didn’t know what to do, because—”
Naomi pushes me away. She sniffles, but there are no more tears falling down her face as she frowns at me. “Did you forget your promise?”
“Of course I didn’t,” I say. “Why did you push my hand away?”
Starr frowns at Naomi and then takes my hand. “What happened when you were in the hall with Mean Connie? Are you okay? I was worried about you.”
“So worried. And I’m sorry for laughing at you, Mya,” says Skye.
“Very sorry,” says Starr.
Naomi frowns at the twins. “Why do you care if she’s okay or not? She broke a pinkie promise that all four of us made. She didn’t just go back on a promise to me. She went back on a promise to you, too! And now our plan is completely ruined. Is this the first time that you haven’t been Spirit Week partners with each other?”
They both nod.
“You can thank Mya for that,” says Naomi, frowning.
Starr lets go of my hand. The twins face each other. With no talking, their facial expressions change from plain to pouty. Then they cross their arms at the same time and frown.
“Now what are we going to do?” asks Skye.
“Yeah, Mya, you ruined everything!” says Starr.
Talking in the restroom dies. Stall doors open, faucets stop running. Everyone’s staring at me. Chewing my bottom lip isn’t helping, but maybe a taradiddle might get everyone laughing, and then everything will be okay.
“I guess I was a little wimpy, but what did you expect me to do—jump on Mean Connie’s back and beat her down until she changed her mind? You know, one time when I was riding down the Ohio River on the back of a crocodile—”
Naomi lets out a loud sigh and then interrupts me. “Mya Tibbs broke a pinkie promise.”
Mouths open, eyes widen, heads shake. The crowd moves closer to me like bad guys circling the wagons in an old Western movie. This isn’t a game.
This is an ambush.
My heart thumps harder. “She’s so much bigger than I am. I got scared.” I look around the restroom. “Who in here—besides Naomi—is not afraid of Mean Connie Tate?”
Before anyone can answer, Naomi blurts out, “It doesn’t matter, Mya. You ruined everything. I thought you were my best friend.”
“I am your best friend, but I was scared, Naomi!”
She interrupts me again. “I should have known you couldn’t keep a pinkie promise. You lie all the time with those taragiggle stories you’re always telling.”
“They’re called taradiddles, and they’re made-up stories, you know, just for fun.”
A tear falls from Naomi’s eye. “You knew how important this was to me, Mya. I can’t believe you didn’t even try.”
Skye gets another tissue. Starr puts an arm around Naomi as she speaks loud enough for everyone to hear. “Does breaking a promise to your best friend sound like fun to anybody in here? Not just a plain old promise. Mya Tibbs broke a very important pinkie promise to me and the twins. Would you stay best friends with someone who did that to you?”
Spirit Week Showdown Page 3