A bunch of people are lined up along the zone, handing out fliers to all the drivers.
“Now what is this foolishness?” Mama mutters, and pushes the button to lower her window. A tall woman with a face full of freckles smiles and hands Mama the bright blue piece of paper.
I see SAY NO TO NAME CHANGE! written big and bold on the top.
“Ain’t people got better things to do?” Mama says once the woman steps away from our car.
“What’s it about?” I ask, trying to read the paper that’s getting all crumpled in Mama’s hand.
We’re waiting for our turn to move up in the drop-off line, so Mama glances at the flier.
“Mm,” she says, and shakes her head. “Looks like folks are talking about changing the name of the school.”
A driver behind us toots their horn, and Mama turns and glares at them and then she moves up.
“Gee’s not going to like that,” I say. My school’s name is John Wayne Junior High. It’s named after a movie star who lived a long time ago. He made a whole bunch of Western movies, so of course my grandpa loves him. John Wayne movies are probably his favorite. Gee calls him the Duke.
“Shoot, it probably won’t happen. Not with all these people having a conniption over it,” Mama says. We’ve reached the drop-off area, so Mama leans over, putting her cheek close to me. “Go ahead and get going before you’re late.”
I give her a kiss goodbye, making sure I don’t smudge her makeup, take a deep breath, and climb out of the car.
There’s so much buzzy energy around me, I feel like I’m about to get stung. All sorts of people laughing and calling out to each other and doing coordinated clapping dance moves. It is not at all hard to imagine that I have landed on an alien planet.
Girls hug and act like they haven’t seen each other in years. No one rushes up to me to give me a hug. No one even sees me. And I’m totally fine with that.
5
Not a Danish
I walk so slowly to my first period, I get to class just before the tardy bell.
“Take your seat, please,” our history teacher, Mrs. Crawford, says, sighing at me, like she’s already convinced I’m going to be a problem. She points to a desk in the very back.
That’s exactly where I want to sit. Just because I’m quiet, people think I’m going to be one of those teacher’s-pet-type kids, sitting in the front row, raising my hand all the time, and having my homework all ready to turn in. Mama gets mad when she sees a bunch of Satisfactories on my report cards instead of Excellents, as if “satisfactory” is a bad thing.
I shuffle to the back and take the seat next to Geoffrey Mingus. He doesn’t look up. Geoffrey and I have gone to school together since kindergarten, but I think I’m the only one of us who knows that.
On the other side of me is a boy I don’t know. He has red hair that is so bright it practically burns my eyes. Red hair isn’t all that unusual, but this shade is. What’s even more unusual is even though the boy is light-skinned, he’s definitely Black, and I’ve never known anyone Black to have hair that color. I mean, it’s the princess-in-Brave red.
He also has a yellow messenger bag with little clocks on it.
I swallow so hard, I almost choke. I set my bag on the floor on Geoffrey’s side, not wanting red-hair boy to see it. It feels awkward, like we know each other somehow.
He’s smiling at me so big it freaks me out, so I ignore him and pull out my notebook and pencil.
Red Hair taps my desk. “What’s your name?”
I look over at Geoffrey. Maybe he told Red Hair to bother me, but Geoffrey doesn’t seem like he’s paying attention to me or anything else. He is slouched in his seat, rubbing one of his ears and making little ch-ch-ch sounds to whatever music must be rolling around in his head.
“Jenae,” I say as softly as I can, but Mrs. Crawford still glares at me. It’s as if Red Hair turned a big spotlight on me.
I adjust my ponytail, and sweat sprouts in my underarms. Darn. I’m a big-time sweater. Like seriously. And Mama was nice enough to tell me I have stinky stress sweat, and not even Mitchum deodorant for men kills it.
I have to get to the bathroom quick and use the wipes Mama pushed into my bag, before the stink latches onto me and has me labeled with some awful nickname. It’s hard to stay invisible if funk is following you everywhere you go.
I’m certain it’s too early in the period for me to get excused to the bathroom. I slow my breathing and try to calm myself in the hope that if I stop stressing, I’ll stop stinking.
Red Hair is drawing instead of taking notes, and I can’t help glancing at his paper, and am shocked and a little amazed that not only is he drawing a picture of Astrid Dane, but it’s also actually good. He’s got her massive explosion of hair and wide eyes, and sneaky smile.
Whoa. I wish I could draw her like that. He catches me looking, and my face gets boiling hot, like I was caught cheating or something.
When the bell rings, I pack up fast and get out of there. Since there’s only a few minutes between classes, and I have to make a quick trip to the bathroom to freshen up, I need to hustle.
Red Hair follows me, and he’s way too close.
“Jenae,” he says, and I’m so shocked I forget to keep moving.
“Oof,” he says when he smacks right into me. “You’re fast.”
I wait for him to say something else.
His grin is so big it covers his whole freckled face. And his light brown eyes are shining at me like maybe we know something about each other.
“I saw your bag! Astrid Dane, right? I didn’t know there’d be another Danish here!”
I don’t like the name for people who like Astrid Dane. Danish is a dumb thing to be called. Astrid does like her pastries, but she eats doughnuts. I have never once seen her eat a Danish. So really the only thing I can say is “I’m not a Danish.” And then I hightail it away from him and do the thing I promised myself a million times I wouldn’t do again, after I hurt Malcolm; I blast Red Hair as hard as I can with my thoughts. GO AWAY! GO AWAY!
Right before I push the bathroom door open, I glance over my shoulder, and he is gone. I feel relieved and sick at the same time. I did it again.
6
Mind Control
I know it sounds ridiculous to say I can control people with my mind, and I wouldn’t believe it either if I hadn’t seen it happen. Twice. The first time, I was only five years old, so I couldn’t be sure, but the second time—when I hurt Malcolm—I knew for certain what I could do.
When Malcolm first went away to college, I was so busy being proud of him that it took me a while to realize I missed him. When he first left, he’d Skype with us, but then he got too busy.
Mama would get so excited if one of his games was televised, but after the first few games, I didn’t want to watch anymore. I didn’t want to see how happy he was without me. Then, one night, while we were watching him on TV, all the sadness and anger and worry and everything just blasted out of me and right at Malcolm. But I never wanted him to get hurt. It seemed like it took forever for the coach and one of his teammates to get him up off the floor.
Bad things happen when I beam a thought out like that, and I should’ve known better.
When Malcolm had to come home to have surgery, I felt so guilty, I could barely look at him.
And now I’ve done it again.
Still, when I leave the bathroom, I’m relieved Red Hair hasn’t rematerialized. I slink to second period, keeping my head down and staying out of people’s way.
I get through second, third, and fourth period without getting called on, or picked on, and no red-haired pest tries to shine a spotlight on me. Being invisible isn’t as hard as you might think. People don’t see what they don’t want to.
Lunch is after fourth period. I didn’t explain to Malcolm, but the quad—with all its eighth graders and noise—was not where I wanted to be. I scoped out the perfect place while he was taking me around. Way across the field, be
hind a huge metal storage container. It has a first aid symbol on it, so I’m sure it’s where they keep all the emergency supplies. Sitting behind the container is the perfect lunch spot. I’m not hiding. Hiding is actually dumb when you’re going for invisible. People notice hiding. No one notices me.
7
Spectacularly Weird
I sit down on the small strip of concrete by the container and shift to try to get comfortable. My new cell phone is denting my butt. I should put it in my bag, but I wondered what it would feel like to walk around with a phone in my back pocket like I see people do. It feels uncomfortable. I don’t know how everybody does it.
I’m going to have to figure out something to tell Mama about lunch, because she won’t like hearing I ate alone just like I did in elementary school.
When Mama handed me the cell phone the other day, she acted like she was giving me a golden TAP card—a ticket to hundreds of friends. (An actual TAP card gets you on buses and the Metro.)
My phone really is gold, and I guess if I had wanted one, I’d think it was cool. But here’s the thing. When you have no one to text or call, a phone is sort of a mean gift in my opinion. But that’s not how my mother thinks.
“You can connect with people,” she said. Her voice was serious even though she was smiling. I don’t know why she thinks I have some secret horde of friends just waiting to text me.
My phone must’ve heard me thinking about it, because it starts vibrating. At school, the rule is, if a teacher sees your phone out, they’ll take it away, but the odds seem pretty low that a teacher will see my phone way over on the far side of the field, so I risk pulling it out.
I have a message. It’s from Malcolm.
Kick major booty
My brother is quite the motivational speaker.
“I thought we couldn’t use our phones at school.”
I jump, and my phone pops right out of my hand and onto the ground. Now it’s all dirty. I wipe it off and stare up at hair so red it’s like a plate of ripe strawberries. I don’t know how Red Hair saw me way over here, or why he came over, so I don’t say anything.
“I’ve been looking for you.” He plops down next to me and takes out a sandwich.
“Why?” I shove my phone into my bag and pull out my own lunch. Today I went with Gruyère cheese, crackers, and a sliced Fuji apple. I’m very particular about what I eat for lunch. Mama says it seems more like I’m going wine tasting than to school, but at least she goes ahead and buys what I put on the grocery list.
“Why what?”
“Why were you looking for me?” People trying to find me isn’t something I’m used to.
“I wanted to ask you about the Danish thing! I thought for sure you were into Astrid Dane because of your bag.”
“I am, but I’m not a Danish.”
It takes a second for him to process that. “Oh, I get it. It is sort of quack, I guess.”
“Quack?”
“Yeah, you guys don’t say that here? It’s like . . . um, dumb?” The way Red Hair says it, it’s like he’s not sure what the word means himself.
“I’ve never heard anybody say that,” I say. I don’t add that maybe lots of people do and I just don’t know. “Anyway, I don’t know if it’s, um, quack, but it’s weird, since Astrid likes doughnuts. Have you ever seen her eat a Danish?”
“But her last name is Dane.”
Yeah, thanks. “I know, but still.”
Red Hair shrugs. “Whatever. It’s just cool you like her too. In Chicago it was like no one had even heard of her! I was hoping when we moved here it would be different. And then wham! In my very first class, sitting right next to me! There you were with your bag!”
I can’t help notice Red Hair uses a lot of exclamation marks when he talks. And he’s loud. Too loud.
“Hey! You haven’t asked me what my name is,” he says.
I stare at him with my mouth full of the perfect blend of apple, cheese, and cracker, and wait.
“Aubrey,” he says. He holds out his hand for me to shake, which is a spectacularly weird thing to do, but I go ahead and shake his hand.
“Pleased to meet you,” I lie.
“So, what’s the deal here? Like, are people sway? Do they hassle you? Are they big into sports or like doing plays or something? Is there a debate team?” Aubrey’s voice gets louder with each question.
I don’t want to admit I haven’t heard anyone use the word sway before, and besides, I’m pretty sure I know what it means. I shrug. “People are sway, I guess. But I don’t know. I mean, it’s my first day too.”
“Yeah, but you’re from here, right? I’m from Chicago! It’s nothing like Los Angeles. It gets a whole lot colder there, first off, and it’s way louder! When I found out we were moving here, I thought we’d be near the beach.” He looks around as if waves might start crashing over our heads.
I see a way out. “You know, if you want to know all about Los Angeles and what people are like, you should probably find someone else. I’m not the best person to be, um, a tour guide.”
“Why not? Hey, why are you eating way over here anyway?”
I swallow a sigh down with a chunk of cheese. If there is a good, acceptable answer to either of those questions, I don’t have a clue what it could be. For the first time ever, I feel like maybe instead of being different, I’m strange. And I don’t like this Aubrey person at all for making me feel like this.
8
The Opposite of Me
Aubrey is still waiting for me to answer him, and so finally I just say, “I like to be left alone.” I especially like to be left alone by people who make me feel bad.
Aubrey nods. “Yeah, I get it.”
He clearly doesn’t get it or he would leave.
In elementary school, we could eat only in the multipurpose room, or at the tables right outside it, but in junior high, I guess they trust us a little more and you can eat wherever you want as long as you stay on campus. I wish Aubrey wanted to eat somewhere else, because the behind-the-container spot is mine.
But at least he doesn’t ask me any more questions, and we eat our lunches in silence. Aubrey keeps looking like he wants to say something, but then he just takes another bite of sandwich.
When lunch is over, there’s no way to avoid walking with him back toward the classrooms. The grass crunches under our feet, and I want to run and feel the sunshiny air press against my cheeks and make my ponytail fly out behind me, but I don’t want to look like a freak.
I wonder if Red Hair, I mean Aubrey, toured the campus before the first day too, because he seems to know exactly where he’s going, and where he’s going seems to be where I’m going.
Figures we’d have another class together. Gee tells me how God likes to make your life more interesting by throwing the unexpected at you. Thanks, God.
I start concentrating hard as soon as we walk into English, without even thinking about what I’m doing. I focus so hard, I’m not sure if I blasted Cleo McNamara or Aubrey, but Cleo takes the desk next to mine before Aubrey can, looking a little confused at herself. I hide my smile, glad that since there’s no empty seats next to me now, Aubrey has to take a seat farther back. I can’t keep blasting thoughts like an out-of-control geyser, but I really couldn’t have Aubrey next to me in another class.
He’s too bright and loud. Basically, the opposite of me.
I’m so relieved not to be sitting next to him that I miss most of what our teacher, Mr. Humphries, says, but I do catch one scary word.
“All right, let’s go!” Mr. Humphries claps his hands. “Introductory speeches.”
A speech? As in, stand in front of the class and talk right out loud? Nope. That is not happening.
9
One Interesting Fact
My stress sweat goes into overdrive. There’s something wrong with my lungs, because I can’t breathe. And it’s affecting my heart because it’s beating way too fast. I don’t do speeches. I have done alternate projects; I have sh
own up unprepared as if I forgot; I have simply refused. I’ve never faked being sick like other kids might have, because Mama has always said if I tried that she would “tan my hide,” and although I’m not sure if she really would give me a walloping, I’ve never wanted to find out.
“Try to share at least one interesting fact about yourself. Maybe something no one knows or would guess about you. Like maybe you have breakfast for dinner every night, or sleep with a night-light, or write fantastic adventure stories.” Mr. Humphries smiles like he’s presenting us with a nice gift. He picks up a foam ball off his desk. “I’ll toss this ball to someone and they’ll start. Then they get to toss the ball to someone else.”
I think I’m going to throw up. Actually, that’s probably a great idea. If I puke all over my desk, I will not have to stand in front of the class and talk about myself. Mr. Humphries’s lips are still moving, but with all the pressure building up in my ears, I can’t hear a word. My head is a balloon that someone keeps blowing into even though it’s already too big and about to burst.
Mr. Humphries tosses the ball to Cleo, which is way too close to tossing it to me. “You’re up!” he shouts, and laughs. “You have two minutes and then toss the ball to someone else. And don’t mumble. I want you to project.” He steps to the side and checks his watch.
Cleo heads to the front of the room and starts talking. She doesn’t look nervous at all. She pulls her curly blond hair over her shoulder and tells us about her sick cat, Chester, and how he probably won’t live too much longer but that he’s already lived longer than her and how if she’s not at school one day soon we should know that she is probably at the vet with him, because it’s his time to go.
The only reason her voice gets through the pounding in my ears is because she is projecting like nobody’s business. Chester is her best friend, but she is sure he will be okay with her getting a new kitten once he is gone. I decide I don’t like Cleo very much.
Something to Say Page 2