“There will be no name-calling,” Miss Moorehouse announced over the laughter.
There were about a dozen people who were wet. Including Zoe (ugh) and her friend Ava. Mr. Roddel handed each of us a long section of paper towels as we walked out the door. “The office is expecting you,” he told us. “Be quiet in the halls.”
Because I’d been right under the broken pipe, I got the worst of it. My tennis shoes squish squish squished down the hall. I stopped and yanked them off. But then I had to move more slowly to avoid slipping. Peach pits! Even my socks were soaked.
“Want me to hang back with you?” Annie asked. She still had her arms crossed, but now she had her notebook in front of her, too.
“That’s okay,” I said.
“I don’t mind.”
“I’ll meet you there,” I told her.
“Are you sure?”
I nodded. I figured Annie would wait anyway, but she turned around and kept going down the hall. I didn’t blame her. All I wanted to do was get out of my cold, wet clothes as quickly as possible, too.
Right outside the front office was the Citizens of the Month board. One person from each grade was nominated by teachers. Annie had been picked for September, so her picture and a list of her favorite things were hanging up. Favorite food: cupcakes. Favorite color: green. Favorite subject: language arts.
After this, I bet I could go the entire three years of middle school and never be chosen as a Citizen of the Month.
When I got to the office, the rest of the kids from class were crammed around the secretary’s desk. I stood next to Annie. “So,” I said. “What are we supposed to do?”
“We’re still trying to figure that out,” she said.
“I’m sorry you got wet,” I told her.
“It’s okay. It’s not like you did it on purpose.”
Man. I hoped the principal knew it was just an accident, too. And I hoped the school had insurance for broken pipes and stuff like that. Mom said that we’d used a lot of our savings to pay for Dad’s tuition.
Even though I was the soggiest, I decided to go last. (It was my fault everyone was there, after all.) We had to leave our cell phones in our lockers during the day, so we took turns sharing the two office phones.
The dampest kids called home. The less damp kids were sent to the restrooms to see if they could dry off using the hand dryers. Others went through the Lost and Found box to see if there was something they could borrow.
I turned to Annie. “Did your homework get wet?” I asked her. “You can use the last bit of my paper towel.”
Annie hugged her notebook closer to her chest. “No. I’ll wipe it off later.”
“Okay.”
When one of the secretary’s phones opened up, Annie called home. “I’m going to run to my locker before the bell rings,” Annie told the secretary. “My mom’s on her way.”
“She’ll have to sign you out,” the secretary reminded her. “So come back. Don’t just leave.”
Annie ducked out of the office without so much as a glance my way. Was she mad at me? She’d told me she knew breaking the pipe was just an accident. I was in the middle of thinking of what to say to her when a commotion squashed my thoughts.
“I’m not wearing somebody else’s old clothes.” It was Zoe.
“Me neither,” Ava said.
The secretary tried to tell them that it was better than being wet, but they kept complaining. The secretary ended up opening the Pioneer Post (the fancy name of our school supplies store) just so Zoe and Ava could buy some spirit wear.
“You can pay for them tomorrow,” the secretary told Zoe.
But Zoe said, “Oh, no. I got it,” and pulled out her wallet. She counted out three twenty-dollar bills to pay for the two pairs of sweatpants and matching tie-dye T-shirts. Smoked salmon! The only things I had in my wallet were my student ID and a card with emergency numbers.
Zoe and Ava got permission to change into their new clothes in the nurse’s clinic.
That left just me.
The secretary pushed the phone in my direction. “Here.
You can call someone about bringing you a new outfit.” I tried Mom first.
“How on earth did you get all wet?” she asked.
I gave her the mini version of what had happened. She sighed. “Eliza, I’m sorry but I just can’t leave work. We’re swamped.” Mom’s a nurse and I could hear the usual beeps and bustle of the ER in the background. “Can you ask Dad?” she said.
I tried, but Dad was no help, either. “Sorry, kiddo. I’m literally walking into my exam. You’ll figure this out. I have faith in you.”
“I have faith in you” was Dad Code for “You’re on your own!” Since Mom went back to work full-time and he went back to college to become a teacher, Dad loved saying this almost as much as Mr. Roddel loved saying “Let’s do and understand.” I wondered if Dad would put posters up in his future classroom.
“Any luck?” the secretary asked me when I handed back the phone. I shook my head and tried to ignore the fact that doing so made my hair drip.
The secretary frowned and then started going through the Lost and Found box. “What about these?” she asked, holding up an itchy-looking sweater and a pair of purple leggings.
Nope on a rope. I didn’t care how wet I was, I was not wearing those. It’s not that I’m stuck-up like Zoe and Ava. But I am very particular about my clothes. I hate tight things. And itchy things. After Master Kim first gave me my dobok over the summer, I made Dad wash it a billion times because it felt like paper.
“I don’t suppose you have a change of clothes in your locker?” the secretary asked me. I didn’t.
“Well. What are we going to do with you? It’s not like you can stand there and drip dry.”
The “good” news was I realized I did have a change of clothes. The bad news was they were my gym clothes. I had to go the locker room and put on my navy-blue tee and baggy black shorts. Thankfully they didn’t smell too bad. (I checked.)
I dried my socks under the hand dryer in the bathroom, and afterward I put my wet clothes in the plastic bag the secretary gave me.
When I got back to the office, there was no sign of Annie. I’d text her later. I just got a new cell phone. (I lost my old one.) It was the cheapest Dad could find and I wasn’t supposed to text unless it was an emergency because texting cost extra. But your best friend maybe being mad at you was an emergency.
“Well now!” the secretary declared cheerfully as she handed me a late pass for my next class. “Crisis averted!”
I wasn’t sure what her definition of “averted” was, but I bet it wasn’t the same as mine.
Since Mom was still working and Sam was at marching-band practice, it was only me and Dad for dinner. This wasn’t surprising but it did make me a little sad. Not the being-with-my-dad part. I liked that. It just seemed my family was rarely all in the same place at the same time anymore. And if we were, it wasn’t for long.
Dad brought home a pizza. He said the principal called and said what happened was just an unfortunate accident, and she was just glad everyone was okay. That was a relief. But Annie hadn’t answered the text I’d sent after school. So maybe it was too early to say everything was okay.
Dad and I chomped down a couple of slices of pepperoni, and we made it to the community center with a few minutes to spare.
Taekwondo was practically the only place I was on time for. Which is kind of funny because the class wasn’t even my idea. At first, I really wanted to take Sweet Caroline’s cake-decorating class with Tony. Tony’s family owned a bakery and Tony and I planned to open up our own shop someday. But Mom and Dad said no because money was tight. So when Sam dropped out of the taekwondo class that was already paid for, I struck a deal with them. If I took the class and stuck with it for the whole summer, they’d let me take the ca
ke class in the fall. They thought I’d quit. But that’s another story.
At exactly seven o’clock, Master Kim walked in and strode to the front of the room. If you saw him on the street, he probably wouldn’t seem scary. But in class, Master Kim commanded your attention. His shoulders were wide and his hands looked like they could chop down a tree.
“Class, jong yul!” Master Kim called. “Line up!”
At my very first class, I was clueless. There were so many Korean words! And I had no idea where I was even supposed to stand. But I figured out that the highest-ranked belts lined up in the front row. The order went from right to left. (Which took some getting used to.) The black-belt helpers stood in the very back of the room, by themselves. My class was a beginner class, so the highest rank was an orange belt. I was a yellow belt, one step up from beginner, which meant I was in the last row. Sophia, the younger white belt next to me, looked nervous, so I gave her a quick smile.
At the start of every class, we did a meditation. We were supposed to sit with our legs crossed, close our eyes, and focus on our breathing. I couldn’t concentrate. I kept thinking about having to walk around in my gym clothes. (An eighth grader in my last period said, “Hey, stupid. You’re supposed to change after gym!”) And I kept thinking about the mess I’d made, and all the people who got wet and had to go to the office. Including Annie. And how Michael had called me Nimbus.
There was no name-calling at taekwondo. The number one rule was to respect each other at all times. There were other rules, too. Like saying “Yes, sir” and “Yes, ma’am.” And bowing when you walked into the room. And before you walked out. Or bowing when you saw a black belt. Or bowing when you started working with your partner. Or when someone handed you a kicking paddle. (There was lots of bowing!)
“You may open your eyes,” Master Kim called out. “Yursit!” The class stood. I always thought it was cool that a word with “sit” in it actually meant “stand up.”
An orange belt bowed us in to begin training. “Class, charyut, attention. Sabumnim kyoonyae.” (This last part meant “Bow to the instructor.”)
After warm-ups, Master Kim announced we were going to practice our self-defense requirements. I was working toward my gold belt, and the test was the second week of November. At my yellow-belt test, I got a Spirit Award patch for sticking with it even though I was hurt. Master Kim didn’t give away awards often, so I didn’t expect one for the coming test. But I still wanted to do well.
We worked on our defenses against a shove. I partnered up with Sophia. I remembered what it felt like to be a new, confused white belt, so I was kinda looking out for her. She was a couple of years younger, but we were around the same height.
“Ready?” she asked, standing about six feet away.
I gave a quick kihap, or spirit yell, to signal that I was. (“Huuup!”) And then she charged at me with her hands out in front of her. I was supposed to put my own hands up in front of my body and then pivot and turn, like I was a door being opened. But she was moving too fast, and—
Pow-za!
I only sort of managed to get out of her way. Thankfully, neither of us was hurt. Not like the time I didn’t get out of the way and a boy named Mark accidentally punched me in the mouth. That was the first time Madison said something nice to me, though. Madison was in my summer class. I thought she was mean and the person who started the Every Day Eliza nickname. But it turned out she wasn’t. She was actually really nice. (FYI: Your brain doesn’t always tell you the truth.) Madison moved to a different class after our test.
Now Sophia looked worried she’d done something wrong. “Don’t worry. It’s my fault,” I told her. “When someone’s about to plow into me, I should move!” We both laughed.
Master Kim walked over. “Do the technique again,” he said to me. “But this time move with her.”
I stared at him. Master Kim had a habit of saying Yoda-ish things like this. I guess he could tell I wasn’t getting it. He called, “Koomahn,” which means “stop,” to the rest of the class and turned my confusion into a whole class lesson. He did this a lot. But to everyone, not just me. So I didn’t feel too bad.
“There is a natural balance to everything in the universe,” he said. “An action and a reaction, a push and a pull. See that flag?” Master Kim pointed to the wall. On the South Korean flag, there was a circle divided in half by a line that looked kind of like an S. Half of the circle was red and the other half was blue.
“That is the symbol for yin-yang,” Master Kim explained. “It represents how opposite forces exist together. Good and bad. Heaven and earth. Fire and water. Now, when someone is attacking you, you can use your opponent’s momentum to your advantage. Watch.”
Master Kim asked an orange belt to run at him as fast as he could. At the last second, Master Kim simply turned his body out of the way and the orange belt ran past him. “Flow with your opponent’s energy. Be like the water, not the rock in the stream.”
Master Kim had everyone take turns being the shover and the shov-ee for a few more minutes. Sophia and I plowed into each other again a couple of times.
I should be better at being water, I thought. I had plenty of practice being all wet this afternoon.
The first thing I did when I got out of class was check my phone.
No messages from Annie.
“Hey, kiddo. Mind if we stop at the store?” Dad asked when we were a few minutes from home. “We need eggs.” What he really meant was he’d forgotten to buy them on Saturday. Dad was like me in the attention department.
I shook my head. And then peeked at my phone again. Sixty-three percent battery, three service bars. And zero texts.
Was Annie embarrassed by what happened? Maybe she didn’t want to be friends anymore because she thought I really was some nimbus cloud that would follow her around and ruin everything. I tried to shove the thought aside, but just like Sophia, it kept plowing into me. I needed a distraction.
“Can I check out the nail polish?” I asked Dad when we walked into the store. Mom usually made me stay with her because she’s always in and out super fast when she goes shopping. Dad takes forever.
“Sure,” he said. We agreed on a meeting place and time and headed in opposite directions.
There were rows and rows of nail polish. In all kinds of colors. I liked reading their names: Are You Grape Jelly?, Scaredy Cat Black, Espresso Yourself, Little Blue Peep, Lime Time, Roses and Toes are Red. And my favorite, Sweet Mermaid Tales (which was a pretty teal).
I opened the bottle of Sweet Mermaid Tales and tried it out on my thumb. I had money at home to buy it, but I was sure Dad would say no if I asked for a loan. I’d only recently been allowed to start using nail polish again. (Over the summer, there was a nail polish incident that involved an unfortunate spill, paper towels, and a clogged toilet.)
I checked my phone for the billionth time and headed over to meet Dad. Annie still hadn’t responded to my text.
I didn’t know what I’d do if Annie stopped being my friend. I really liked hanging out with her. She was thoughtful. For example, she carried extra pens in case I needed one. And when we both had bad days, she’d let me complain first. She was funny and smart, too. Plus, we had tons of stuff in common. To begin with, we both liked peanut butter toast and hated the feeling of dry sand. And we both had dogs whose names started with B, Bingo (hers) and Bear (mine).
Everyone at school had a best friend or a group to hang out with. Everyone had their spot in the cafeteria. Annie would be fine without me. People liked her. But if she ditched me, I’d probably never find another friend. Or at least a new best friend. And then seventh grade and eighth grade would come, and I’d still be friendless. I’d probably have to beg my parents to let me go to a different high school to start over. Maybe I could change my name….
“Eliza,” Dad said, coming up alongside me and interrupting my thoughts. “Yo
u ready?” I noticed he had the eggs—along with a basketful of other stuff.
The two of us got in line. I couldn’t stand looking at my blank phone anymore, so I read the magazine covers while we waited.
The ones in our lane were either gossip or news or what Mom called “DHW’s.” Those were magazines, Mom once explained, that always had stories about desserts, hair styles, or weight-loss fads.
I checked out one (it had a picture of chocolate cake). On the cover was a headline: HOW GOOD A FRIEND ARE YOU? TAKE OUR QUIZ.
I thought I was a pretty good friend. After all, when Tony went off to the cake class without me, I tried to be understanding. But then he didn’t invite me to his birthday party. And I always tried to make Annie laugh. We were writing a Rules to Surviving Sixth Grade list together. But I’d also gotten her wet and possibly ruined her reputation because she was friends with the girl who flooded the chem lab.
My chest hurt.
At our first middle-school assembly, the counselor had talked about how to make friends. She said, “To make a friend, you have to be a friend.” It made sense.
I bet best friends worked the same way. If I wanted Annie to stay my best friend, I had to be her best friend, too.
Dad started unloading the basket onto the belt. “Shoot. Can you get that?” he asked, pointing to the box he dropped.
I leaned down to retrieve the cookies. At the same time, someone knocked into the candy rack from the other side and a pack of bubble gum fell right on my head. It wasn’t Newton’s apple, but I suddenly had an idea.
I wasn’t just going to be a good best friend, I was going to the best best friend ever. If I did that, Annie would want to stick around.
Sweet Mermaid Tales, I had a plan.
Operation BBF was on!
Eliza Bing Is (Not) a Star Page 2