Isabella raises her eyebrows at me. “I want to dance some more before it’s over.”
“I’m not the boss of you.” My voice comes out louder than I want.
“Fine, Shay,” Isabella says, and now she sounds annoyed with me, which is all kinds of ironic.
My friends leave me with my salty attitude and join a big group of girls dancing together.
After a while, the lights start flashing, and parents come in to take their kids home. I’m so through with this dance. I stand up and head for the door. Momma is right on time, and I’m glad to see her. That’s because I forgot about my makeup experimentation.
I remember quick when I see how Momma is looking at me.
I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. I look down at my shoes and wish I could disappear.
“I’m sorry,” I finally say.
“Let’s go” is all she says.
Probably because she is mad at me, she doesn’t notice how upset I am. I stay next to her as we walk to the car, neither of us saying anything, while the setter-upper and the boyfriend stealer walk behind us. I’m not sure if the sleepover idea is such a good one anymore.
Climbing into the car, Julia whispers, “Are you in trouble?”
I’m so upset, I can’t say anything.
“I should take you two girls straight home,” Momma says. “Shayla does not deserve company tonight.” Her hands are super tight on the steering wheel, and my stomach feels like hot rocks are rolling around inside. “But your mothers are expecting you to be with us, and I don’t want to mess up any plans they might have.”
I swallow hard, trying not to cry. I wish I could tell her that I don’t even want them to stay over anymore.
As soon as we get home, Momma says, “Shayla, go wash your face.”
Getting ready for bed, Isabella and Julia act like the only thing that’s bothering me is getting caught wearing makeup. It makes me feel even worse, because shouldn’t my friends know why I’m upset?
I try and pretend everything is okay because I don’t want to ruin our slumber party. Julia takes a few selfies of all of us and I fake-smile. Maybe this is how Isabella feels a lot of the time. Not letting herself get mad. It’s not a good feeling, and I can’t keep all my hurt feelings from bubbling right out. Maybe if Jace hadn’t seen me kissing Tyler, he would’ve wanted to dance with me.
As we line up our sleeping bags, my smile slides off my face. It feels like finally taking off a pair of too-tight shoes. “How could you have done it, Jules?”
“What?” Julia asks, pretending she doesn’t know what I’m talking about, and acting all innocent. Then she looks down at her phone instead of answering me.
“Done what?” Isabella asks.
“Julia and her squad were the ones who set up that whole command.” Julia plotting with her other friends makes me feel like she is picking them over us. Over me. She probably wishes she was sleeping over at Stacy’s.
“Seriously?” Isabella asks. “Jules, that is so not cool. No wonder you were mad at the dance, Shay.” She turns back to Julia. “You know how Shayla feels about Tyler.”
“It was supposed to be funny, Is!” Julia says, instead of denying it. “Can’t you two chill?”
“I would never have done that to you,” I tell Julia.
“Chill out, bruh.” Julia taps something into her phone and grins at it. I’m sure she’s being super funny with her friends. “You didn’t have to go along with it.”
“I’m not a bruh, Jay.”
“But Tyler is,” Julia says, and snorts like she’s hilarious. She still isn’t looking at me. Instead she’s focused on her phone, and I almost snatch it away from her.
“Not funny,” I say.
“For real,” Isabella says.
“Okay!” Julia says. “Sor-ry.”
Anybody can tell you that’s no way to apologize. And she sure doesn’t seem all that sorry, the way she’s just clicking away.
“Is, check out all the snaps,” Julia says to Isabella. “They’re hilarious.” I know she’s just trying to change the subject, but it still makes me mad, especially when Is picks up her phone and starts looking at pictures too.
I wonder if it is too late to ask Momma to take them home. “Are you two seriously going to be on your phones all night?”
“I was just looking at the pictures. You want to see them?” Isabella holds her phone out.
I do, but for some reason I say, “No, thanks.”
Isabella nudges me with her toes. “That was messed up that Julia did that,” she says. “But you kind of seemed mad at me.” Her voice is quiet, and I can tell she wants to ask me something, but I pretend not to hear her.
I yawn extra wide. “I’m exhausted,” I say, and flop down on my pillow.
The room is quiet except for the sound of Isabella’s and Julia’s tap-tap-tapping. Obviously they aren’t texting me. I turn on my side, away from them.
36
Nothing Good
In the morning, I wake up before they do. Julia’s phone is next to her head.
I bite my lip, considering. Momma says nothing good ever comes from peeking where you’re not supposed to, but I can’t help myself. I pick up Julia’s phone. She has it password protected, and for a second I worry that with all the other changes, maybe she changed her password too, but it’s the same 0213 it’s always been. (That’s her birthday.)
There’s a bunch of group chats with her and her friends, but the first message is one from Isabella. It’s just two sad-face emojis. So, of course I click on the thread to see what Isabella is sad about.
Julia: You got to dance with Jace!
Isabella: Shayla said I should’ve danced with him, like she didn’t care.
Julia: Do you like him too? He’s SO cute!!!!!
Isabella: He IS cute.
Julia: You should go for it. Yolo, bruh.
Isabella: Shayla would probably get mad.
I don’t know what to think, and I want to stop reading, but I can’t. Isabella is right that I would be mad, so I don’t get why they kept talking about it.
Julia: She doesn’t have dibs or anything. It’s not your fault if he likes you.
Isabella:
I stare at the faces. Is she sad because she is being a horrible friend or sad because she cares about my feelings?
I set Julia’s phone down. I climb back into my sleeping bag and pull it way over my head.
When we all get up later, Momma makes banana pancakes, which is what she always makes for the three of us. This morning, they taste like sand. Momma asks Julia and Isabella what they’re doing for winter break. It’s like she’s trying to fill up the kitchen with noise since I’m being so quiet. Julia says she has a basketball tournament, and Isabella talks about an art camp she’s doing. I don’t say anything.
Momma keeps giving me side glances, trying to tell me with her narrowed eyes that I’m being rude, but I can’t force a smile onto my face. Julia and Isabella go pack their stuff up, and I’m super glad when Julia’s mom comes and picks them up. As soon as they’re gone, I give Momma a hug.
I need a hug bad. I swallow hard, trying to push the stinging tears down.
Momma lets me hug her for a minute, and then she untangles my arms from around her waist.
“Shayla, we have talked about makeup before, so I know you know better.”
I nod without looking up.
“Do you want to explain why you thought you could break the rules?”
I fiddle with my fingers. There’s no excuse that is going to save me. “I just wanted to look special,” I admit.
“Well, you didn’t look special. You looked like a girl trying too hard. And I know there’s a boy mixed up in here somewhere.”
“I—” I stop myself from saying anything that will get me in more trouble.
“I’ve done told you, Shayla, you don’t need to be messing around with any boys. See how it already got you into trouble?”
I
feel horrible because I got into trouble for no good reason. Jace didn’t even notice that my eyes were bigger. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too. Yes, indeed. You don’t get to decide the rules. Your daddy and I do.” Her voice is like tiny knives piercing me.
“I know!” It comes out angry even though how I really feel is like a used-up tissue.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m—I’m sorry, Momma. I won’t do it again.” It is hard talking over all those salty tears stuck in my throat.
“No, you won’t.” She stares out the window for a few minutes, and I know she’s trying to figure out my punishment. “Okay, Shayla. We don’t need to talk about this anymore. But don’t think you’re getting your phone back anytime soon.” She pauses, and then she adds, “And don’t make plans with your friends over winter break. I have some extra chores for you to do.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say.
When I go back to my room, I sit on my bed thinking about the dance and the kiss and my friends and just how horrible everything is.
Used to be that people would ask if it was hard having two best friends. Now I know that what’s really hard is feeling like you don’t have any friends at all.
37
BD/AD
Mr. Powell explained that world history is divided into two sections: BC (before Christ)—or some people say BCE (before the Common Era)—and AD, which stands for anno Domini. That’s Latin for “in the year of the Lord.” Well, now my history is divided into two sections: BD and AD. Before Dance and After Dance.
BD, I was excited. I was stupid enough to believe that if Jace really saw me, he’d see I was his soul mate.
AD, I’m pretty sure I don’t want to see Jace or hear his name ever again, especially if his name is anywhere near Isabella’s.
BD, Momma was smiling at me and acting like I was growing up.
AD, she throws away the makeup I used (even though it was Hana’s), grounds me, and looks at me like she is thoroughly disappointed. (My parents know disappointment hurts a lot more than anything.)
BD, I was looking forward to winter vacation. I figured it would be relaxing and fun.
AD, I realize there is nothing relaxing about thinking of all the fun you are supposed to be having.
At least I’m filling up my eyeball journal. Since the dance, I have pages and pages of “observations.” I have to make sure Julia and Isabella never read it.
Usually when our house phone rings, it is someone trying to sell something. But since I don’t have a cell phone, Isabella and Julia have been calling the house phone. I don’t talk to either one of them. Momma will come into my room with the phone, and I’ll just shake my head. She thinks I’m trying to punish myself, but I figure it’s still just someone trying to sell something, and I’m not buying.
Yesterday, Momma asked me what is on my Christmas list. What I actually want is a smaller forehead and friends I can trust. I don’t think Santa will be bringing me either of those.
Sometimes when I’m in a bad mood, all I want to do is stay there, and maybe live in pj’s and eat gummy worms. Unfortunately, Momma gets in the way of those types of plans. That’s why I find myself at the mall, trailing behind her as she finishes her Christmas shopping. She says she refuses to let me mope, like moping is such a bad thing.
I sigh through Macy’s while she looks for a sweater for Daddy, grumble through Forever 21 as she searches for earrings and jeans for Hana, and drag my feet through the lingerie section of Sears the whole time Momma tries to find a nightgown for Mama Dear.
“Shayla! That is it! Here’s five dollars. Take it and your sorry attitude to Starbucks and wait for me there.”
“Fine.”
BD, Isabella, Julia, and I would’ve had lots of fun hanging at the mall, listening to Christmas carols blare from loudspeakers, and skating on the fake ice rink—it’s really for little kids, but we love flying around on it, crashing into each other. We do it every year. Did it. Used to.
AD, I watch tight groups of friends giggle past me, and moms with strollers and huge shopping bags order up caffè americanos and skinny vanilla lattes.
I sip my decaf caramel macchiato, feeling absolutely lousy.
38
Spoonful of Sugar
“Hey, Shayla! How’s it going?”
Coach West grins down at me. Her arms are loaded with colorful bags, and she has on this really pretty red sweater and a long, black swooshy skirt. She looks like a magazine ad.
It is so weird seeing Coach West in regular clothes, shopping at the mall like a normal person. I guess even teachers need to do holiday shopping. “Hi, Coach,” I say. Even seeing my favorite teacher isn’t going to get me out of a bad mood.
“Mind if I join you for a minute?” she asks. “I’ve been shopping all day, and I think I’m at the dropping part now.” She doesn’t wait for an answer; she just collapses into the seat across from mine. “Whoo. What a relief.” She stashes her bags around her. “Enjoying your break so far?”
“Yeah, it’s okay,” I lie. What am I supposed to say?
“Really? Because you sure don’t look like everything’s hunky-dory.”
Hunky-dory? “Oh, well, I . . .” Coach West sets her elbows on the table and leans forward like she actually cares. “I sort of have some friend issues right now,” I say.
She nods like she totally gets it. “Yeah, friendships can be tricky. Especially when you change schools. And you all are getting older, so that can be hard too.”
“But it’s not even about that! No matter how old we get or where we go to school, our friends should still want to be with us, and they shouldn’t backstab us, or try to steal boyfriends.”
“Boyfriend, huh? That guy I saw you getting up close and personal with at the dance?”
“No!” I hate that stupid, stupid Command game! “That was just a stupid . . . uh, dare.” I don’t care if the Command game is ended forever, but I’m not going to be the one to tell on anybody.
“Dare? I know kids are going to do all sorts of silly things, but don’t ever kiss anybody you don’t want to, okay?” Coach West sounds super serious, and I hope she’s not mad at me.
“I won’t,” I say, and boy, do I mean that!
“Good. But, so if not him . . . ?” Coach West lets the question stretch out in the air between us. I can almost see it.
My face feels too warm, and it isn’t from my hot drink. “Well, he’s not really my boyfriend.” Now, that’s an understatement. “But I like him. And he likes my friend instead. And it’s like she doesn’t even care. She probably likes him back and they’ll just . . .” Now I am the one letting my words just sit there in the space between us.
Coach West nods. “When I was in junior high, my best friend was so gorgeous, and I was just this tall, homely girl with pimples and braces.” She takes one look at my disbelieving face and adds, “Really. How many guys want to go out with a five-foot-eleven beanpole? With bad skin?”
I know Coach West just wants me to feel better. I bet she’s always been beautiful.
“It was some wild twist of fate that Monique and I were best friends. She was so beautiful. She still is, actually. And all the boys liked her. At least that’s what it felt like. But then there was this guy.” Coach West gets a goofy little grin. “Albert. He wasn’t all that cute, but he was smart like me and funny. He was short but I didn’t care. I liked him. And he was nice to me, so I thought . . .” Her grin goes away and she gives a little shrug. “Of course he liked Monique. And I couldn’t really blame him. I would’ve liked her too. She was also nice, if you can believe that!” Coach West gives her pretty laugh.
“That’s awful!” I say.
“But I did blame Monique. Like she had been pretty on purpose. Just to hurt me, you know?”
Boy, do I know.
“I stopped talking to her. I acted like a real butt, if you want to know the truth.”
“Did they start talking? Her and Albert? Or . . . um, go ou
t?”
Coach West laughs. “I know what talking means, Shayla.” She laughs again, but then her smile gets a little bit sad. “No, she wasn’t interested in him at all.”
“Exactly! That’s what a good friend—”
“Oh, I don’t think it had a thing to do with me. Maybe it did. But it was more likely the fact that Albert was sweet, but sort of . . . nerdy? He would’ve been perfect for me if he had only realized it.” She chuckles. “But the point is, Monique never did anything wrong except look the way she did. And what did I want? For her to put a bag over her head?”
I have no answer. Would I be happier if Isabella got her braces back on and let her eyebrows grow together? A tiny bit of me would be happier, but I know it’s a stinky green jealous part.
“I don’t like giving advice, mainly because people so rarely take it, but you know crushes can be like . . . fairy dust. Special and sparkly and sort of magical, but then most times, they sort of blow away. And if you’ve gotten rid of friends just to chase the dust, well then, you don’t have anything.” She opens one of her bags, and I’m certain she is going to pull out that bottle of sugar Mary Poppins carried around to help the medicine go down, but instead she pulls out a bright purple scarf. “Do you think Mr. Powell will like this? It’s a little electric, but purple is his favorite color.”
“I guess so,” I say. Some kids make jokes about Mr. Powell’s scarves, saying they’re girly. I hate when people talk bad about him. And who cares if he likes to wear bright colorful scarves? He’s an awesome teacher. “Yeah, for sure, he’ll like it,” I say.
“Great. He can be so hard to shop for. Well, thanks for letting me sit a spell,” Coach West says, gathering her bags together. She gets up from the table and pats my shoulder. “Merry Christmas, Shayla. Try to have some fun. We’ll be practicing hard for track once school’s back in.”
“Merry Christmas,” I say, my voice coming out in a tiny croak. I want to call Isabella right then and apologize, but I don’t have a cell phone.
A Good Kind of Trouble Page 11