But unbelievably, Momma’s frown isn’t for me.
“I want you to show me right now where in the dress code it says anything about armbands,” she tells Principal Trask, slapping the Ralph Waldo Emerson Junior High Handbook hard on the desk.
I wipe my tears away.
“That’s hardly the point,” Principal Trask says.
“That is absolutely the point,” Momma says. “You told me my daughter was breaking the dress code. Show me that in this here book. Go ahead, show me.”
Momma’s voice is loud. Really loud. I know Principal Trask would never believe how sweet Momma can be and how much she hates to use her angry voice.
“We can’t have children disrespecting—”
“Excuse me? Disrespecting whom? Because as far as I can see, they are showing a huge amount of respect for the victims who have lost their lives. Don’t you think that’s important?”
I want to cheer for Momma, but I stay quiet.
“The armbands have become a distraction,” Principal Trask says.
I can’t keep quiet anymore. “But Principal Trask, that’s the point.” I stop rubbing my hands on my pants. “To make people take notice. It could change things.”
Principal Trask stares out the window for a moment. Then she looks at me. She looks at Momma. “If we can agree that the bands shouldn’t be worn during school hours—”
“No, ma’am,” Momma says. “We cannot agree on that. There isn’t one thing wrong with these students showing that they understand the value of life. That’s just what this school should be teaching. Have you ever read any of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s works?”
I didn’t realize that Principal Trask could get that pale. “I think this maybe just got a little out of hand.” She rearranges the files on her desk, lining them up perfectly.
Momma nods. And then she does something I sure don’t like. She turns to me and says, “Now, Shayla, I want you to apologize to your principal for not bringing this issue to her in the correct way.”
Momma can’t possibly want me to say I’m sorry! But I can tell by her frown that that’s exactly what she wants. And I remember something Daddy told me. Don’t ever leave your enemies empty-handed. Give them a bone to gnaw on or they will keep on trying to bite you.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble. I just know Momma is going to make me repeat it louder, but instead, she nods. Satisfied.
Principal Trask looks like she has put too many olives in her mouth and has no idea what to do with the pits. Finally, she says to Momma, “I do appreciate you coming in.”
Momma signs me out of school for the rest of the day, and I wait all the way until we’re at the car before I raise my hands above my head like I’m a champion.
“Yes!” I shout. “We did it!” I can hardly believe I get to keep wearing my armband and stay on the track team.
Momma laughs at me, and then we go get ice cream. “Proud of you, baby,” she says as we find seats outside. “You did good.”
I look down at my ice cream and feel the I know look I wanted steal over my face. I bet feeling good about yourself for being brave feels tons better than something silly like having a boyfriend.
When we get home, Momma gives me back my phone.
The first thing I do is post a selfie of me wearing my armband.
Julia sends me a picture of her, me, and Isabella from our last day at elementary school. She only has two words in her text message: United Nations.
As Momma would say, getting that message has me all up in my feelings.
I never knew walking right into trouble would make me feel strong. Maybe it has to be the right type of trouble.
66
Fumbling & Stumbling
Today is our last track meet, and I’m a little nervous.
It’s not about wearing my armband, because after Momma’s visit, Principal Trask hasn’t said one word on the PA about dress-code violations.
And it’s not the whole face-plant-on-the-track thing. I’ve actually been jumping the hurdles okay at our meets and have established a good rhythm. I still clip a hurdle sometimes, but I haven’t fallen again—at least not at a meet. I’m steady coming out of the blocks now too, so it’s all starting to come together. Figures I’d start getting good with hurdles right when the season is about over.
Momma and Daddy are sitting right there in the stands ready to watch me run, after promising they’d stay away, but that’s not what’s making me so anxious either.
It must be who we’re facing today, because our whole team is bursting with nervous energy. Everyone is hyped. We’re racing against John Wayne Junior High—they’re our main competition.
If we beat John Wayne, we’ll end the season first place in our district.
Runners for the 200 are called to the track, and I stop doing my high-kick warm-ups to watch. Carmetta passes by me on her way to line up, and I give her a high five. I know how fast she is. I figure she should win easy.
The gun pops and the girls take off. Carmetta stumbles but catches herself and keeps running. After the first fifty meters I can tell something is wrong with her. She is in last place. I start whispering, “Come on, Carmetta, come on,” but she runs even slower. By the time she gets to the finish line, she is limping and crying. There is a hush on our side of the bleachers as everyone watches Coach West go over to her. Coach West talks to Carmetta for a while, feeling her leg and her ankle. I hold my breath, because I know Coach West has a way of fixing things. I’m sure she’ll blow that whistle of hers and Carmetta will pop up and do fist pumps. But that doesn’t happen.
Coach West has to help Carmetta up. Then Carmetta uses Coach West as a crutch and hobbles over to the sidelines.
They announce it’s time for the hurdles. I’m so caught up in thinking about Carmetta, I forget to be worried and just run my race.
Wait. I do not just run my race. I run my best race ever. I probably have my best start, getting out of the blocks fast and clean, and I don’t clip a single hurdle. I don’t beat Angie, but I hold on to second place, which for me is completely awesome. After the race, Coach West comes over to talk to me.
“You did great out there, Shayla,” she starts.
I figure she wants to tell me how proud she is of me, but she wants to talk to me about Carmetta.
Coach West says Carmetta has sprained her ankle really bad. Which means she isn’t going to be able to compete in the girls’ relay. Which means someone is going to have to take her spot. My palms start to itch.
“So, Shayla, do you think you could help us out?” Coach West asks, like it is no big deal. Like I can say yes or no, and it will be fine either way.
But if I say no, it means we’ll have to scratch the race. How can I say no? But if I say yes, it means I’ll have to survive receiving and handing off the baton. And I’ll also have to run a hundred meters, really, really fast. Maybe I should’ve let Principal Trask kick me off the track team.
As if she’s reading my mind, Coach West says, “We’ll have you run the second leg. Angie is going to take anchor, and Maya will stay in third.” She pauses. “Natalie will lead off.” I wonder if she is thinking about all the times Natalie dropped the baton at practice. But Natalie is fast. Almost as fast as Angie, who usually runs the lead leg because she always gives our team a good head start. I hope Natalie can do the same.
Coach West looks at me encouragingly. “This is why I make all you girls practice passing the baton,” she says.
I hated those practices. All the fumbling, and stumbling, and batons slipping and dropping to the ground. Did Coach West remember how much I struggled with that stupid aluminum tube? Track batons are slippery, especially if your palms are itchy when you’re trying to grab one.
But either she doesn’t remember or she’s desperate, because she says, “You know how, Shayla. You can do it. You’re doing great with your events, and you know I always tell you you’re faster than you realize.”
My head says no, but for some reason, my
mouth says, “Okay.”
67
Stick
When they hear I’m going to run, Angie and Maya both give me hugs, but Natalie just nods at me.
I follow them to the grass to stretch. As scared as I am to run, it feels good to sit with them and stretch together.
When the announcer calls the two-minute warning for our race, the other girls pull me into a four-way huddle. I have watched them do it before every race.
“Y’all know we got this thing, right?” Natalie says, looking directly at me.
“We sure do!” Maya and Angie say. I just nod.
“We didn’t hear you, Willows! Do we got this thing?” Natalie shouts at me.
Is she mad at me, or just mad that Carmetta can’t run? “Yeah,” I croak, but then I swallow hard and say, “Yeah, we got this!”
We put our hands together and say, “Team!”
I line up at my spot, and it feels odd to be just standing there, not in blocks and not facing down hurdles. I hear the gun and then I shut everything out. Waiting for Natalie. She is coming fast. Maybe too fast.
When she starts to get close, I start running with my itchy hand stuck out behind me, hoping and praying we’ll connect.
We have to make the transfer before I’m out of the handoff zone. If I get it late, we’ll be disqualified.
“Stick, stick!” Natalie screams at me.
I’m nearing the end of the zone. I feel the baton in my hand, but Natalie’s not letting go and the baton is bobbling. I feel it slip. I’m losing it! But then my hand closes around it tight, and then I’m running as fast as I can. I don’t even want to think about passing it to Maya. I just run, and I see Maya standing there, ready. And then she starts running, with her hand out behind her, ready for me to pass the baton.
“Stick,” I say, passing the baton cleanly into her hand. I run a few more meters and then stop, my hands on my knees, breathing hard. It seems like we are way behind. I lost us some ground. I’m scared to watch the rest of the race, but I have to. Natalie runs up behind me and squeezes me in a hug.
“You saved my butt, girl!” she says.
I shake my head. We are a team. We watch together as Maya gains on the girl ahead of her, and we both hold our breath when Maya hands off to Angie. The pass is perfect. Angie runs faster than I’ve ever seen her go. Carmetta is suddenly next to us, and we all are screaming, “Go, Angie, go!” And then Maya joins us too.
Angie is still in second, and the Wayne girl seems like she is going to be too fast to catch. But Angie is gaining on her, and I feel a scream get caught in my throat. Then they’re neck and neck, and the finish line is right in front of them.
When Angie crosses the finish line first, we scream like we are on fire. Angie keeps running until she joins us, and we all jump up and down and shout and pat each other on the back and give high fives. (Of course, Carmetta doesn’t jump up and down with her hurt ankle and all, but her spirit is jumping. I can tell.)
And then I get this idea, and I stick my fist high up in the sky. Angie smiles and put hers up too. Then Natalie and Maya and Carmetta. And for just a second we are Olympic athletes saying we matter as much as anybody.
Coach West comes over and gives us a group hug. She always tells us she doesn’t care if we win or lose, but I’ve noticed she’s much happier when we win. She pats me on the shoulder. “Thanks for helping us out,” she says. It seems weird that she is thanking me, because it really feels like I should be thanking her for something.
Winning felt awesome, but being part of the team? That was even better.
68
Almost Over
It’s hard to believe that my first year of junior high is almost over. Maybe because we still have Easter decorations up at home. I tell you, Momma being a student has not improved our home life. I have to do my own laundry now, and once a week, Hana and I have to cook dinner. Sometimes I want to remind Momma that I’m only twelve, but I know she would just think that is too funny.
Isabella came over after school today so we could pretend to study vocabulary words. What we are really doing is eating chips and gossiping in my room.
I grab some chips, and with my mouth full I say, “I’ve been thinking.”
“About?”
“We have loads of time before we start dealing with the whole boy thing, right?” I can’t believe I risked a friendship over a boy.
Isabella looks around the room like there might be a hidden camera or something. “Uh, where did Shayla go?” she asks.
I grin at her and wiggle my eyebrows. “Seriously,” I say. “I acted stupid over Jace. I’m not going to do that again. And I’m going to try to not be so jealous about how pretty you are.”
Isabella drops her head, letting her hair fall into her face. “You’re so weird.” But then she looks at me and I can see trouble twinkling in her eyes. “Next time you go crazy over a boy, you know who it should be?”
“Who?”
“Alex!”
“What?” I ask, and start laughing at how ridiculous that is, and then Isabella is laughing too, and we both can’t stop, and I almost feel like I’m going to pee my pants.
There’s a knock on my door, and I choke out, “Come in,” between giggles and snorts.
The door slowly opens, and Julia is standing there looking a little . . . scared.
69
Hard Laughter
Isabella and I immediately stop laughing like we’ve been caught doing something bad.
“Come in! Jeez, you don’t have to knock,” I say.
Julia nods. “Yeah, I know.” She walks in and stands in the middle of my room, as if it is the first time she has ever been there. “So, what’s so funny?”
“Oh, nothing,” I say, which is sort of worse than explaining.
Julia plops down on my beanbag chair and starts playing with the rough seam that always scratches you whenever you move. “I saw on Instagram that you were both here.”
I feel guilty right away. Momma is always telling me it’s not nice to post a picture when it might hurt someone’s feelings. But honestly, it didn’t even occur to me that Julia would care that Isabella and I are hanging out without her. “I would’ve texted you to come over, but . . .”
“Yeah, I know.” She rubs at the seam and keeps her head down. And then she looks right at me. “I miss you guys.”
I’m totally shocked. I’ve missed Julia so much this year, but it never seemed like she was missing us. “I miss you too.”
“We both do,” Isabella says.
Julia gets up and starts messing with stuff on my desk. I see her look at the cover of my eyeball journal, and I hope she won’t start paging through it. Some of the things in there about her aren’t all that nice. She stares up at the poster of Tommie Smith and John Carlos with their fists raised at the Olympics—the same one Hana has in her room. She glances at my bulletin board with all our pictures, and then she turns around and faces us. “When I said it wasn’t a big deal me not being around, I knew it wasn’t true,” she says. “It was a big deal, but I didn’t want to admit it. And I didn’t know what to do. It was fun being with a group who gets that Japanese and Chinese and Korean and everything aren’t the same thing. And that being Asian doesn’t mean being a certain way. Like being sweet, or quiet.”
“I get that,” Isabella says. “People think Latinx is what they see in movies. Illegals and gang members. And they act like Puerto Rico isn’t part of this country. Like with the hurricane? We still haven’t gotten the help to rebuild like we should’ve. And we’re as American as anybody.”
Julia sighs. “Yeah.”
It feels like things are finally getting back to normal, and I don’t want to ruin it, but I need to say something. “We all know what it’s like to be treated wrong, just because of the way we look, but . . .” I pause, trying to get the words to come out right. “But when people make assumptions about you, no one dies.”
Both of my friends look at me with wide eyes, and i
t takes a second but then I can tell they both get it. Maybe that was the thing I needed most, for my friends to understand.
We’re quiet for a minute and Julia seems really sad now.
“Hey,” I say to her, my voice serious. She looks at me, and I can tell she’s nervous. “Just so you know, we never would’ve been best friends if you were quiet.”
That makes Julia smile. “I know, bruh,” she says. Then she rubs her bottom lip hard and looks at my carpet. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay, bruh,” I say, grinning at her.
Julia comes over and sits on the bed next to me and Isabella. She pulls her hair back tight, like she is trying to pull it out or something, but then she lets it fall around her shoulders in a thick black curtain. There’s no trace of highlights. She touches my armband. “You were really brave.”
I shake off her words. Maybe if I really had been brave, I would’ve told Julia a long time ago how her ditching us made me feel.
“I really missed you,” I say. “A lot.” I look at our pictures on my bulletin board. It’s like three different girls. “But what you said is true,” I say. “Things change. People change.”
Julia nods and gives my shoulder a nudge with hers. “The command thing with Tyler was mean,” she says low, and starts blinking fast.
“Yeah, it was,” I can’t help saying.
“For a minute it was”—Julia lets her hair fall in her face—“sort of fun to be mean?” She peeks at me through her hair. “I know that sounds awful,” she adds really fast.
“I don’t know how being mean could be fun,” Isabella says.
“Seriously,” I say.
“I guess what I meant was . . .” Julia pauses to figure it out. “Stacy has a ton of friends, so it was nice feeling popular too.”
“So you have to be mean to be popular?” Isabella asks incredulously.
“No, you don’t,” I say.
“Sort of,” Julia says. But then she adds, “It didn’t feel like being mean as much as it felt like being funny. And I swear I didn’t think you and Tyler would really end up kissing.”
A Good Kind of Trouble Page 19