If I were half British like Oliver, I’d say “brilliant.”
My whole body buzzed and zinged with excitement. I have a boyfriend. I have a boyfriend. I have a boyfriend. The words raced through my mind and I could not stop smiling. It seriously felt like the best day of school, ever.
I knew I had to savor the moment. And it’s a good thing I did. Because before I knew it, life got pretty complicated.
Chapter Eleven
Romeo and Juliet and the PTA
What’s going on with you?” asked Rachel when we walked home from school that day.
“She’s in love,” Yumi said before I could answer.
I shoved her playfully. “I am not in love. I am in serious like.”
“No, you love Oliver,” Yumi said.
“I’m too young to be in love,” I insisted.
“Juliet was only fourteen,” said Rachel.
“Who?” I asked.
“Juliet of Romeo and Juliet. You know—Shakespeare,” said Rachel.
“Oh yeah, I’ve heard of him,” I joked. “But things were different back then. With all the wars and disease and food shortages going on, people only lived to be, like, fifty. So being fourteen was more like being twenty-four or even thirty in today’s world. A totally different reality.”
My mom teaches a Shakespeare class, so I felt pretty confident with this analysis.
“Are you saying your feelings are less real because you’re eleven?” asked Yumi.
“Considering that people got married in their teens, I’d have to say yes,” I said. “The whole world is different and I live in the world, so my feelings are different, too. Not less real. Simply less, well, intense. And I’m eleven and three-quarters. Practically twelve, thank you very much.”
“What would you do if you were forbidden from seeing Oliver?” asked Rachel. “Like what if your parents were mortal enemies?”
“I don’t think that’ll happen,” I said. “Our moms are on the PTA together.”
“But he lives in Canyon Ranch,” said Rachel. “That’s where all the mega-mansions are. Maybe his family won’t approve of you because you’re from the wrong side of the tracks.”
I worried about this for half a second because it’s true—Oliver’s family is way richer than mine. Their house is huge and ours is normal. His mom drives a fancy, new-smelling car. My mom’s Honda is almost as old as me. His family goes to Europe every year. I’ve never been off the North American continent. Was Rachel right?
Suddenly Rachel and Yumi burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“I was only teasing,” said Rachel. “But you should’ve seen your face. You’re, like, totally worried.”
“Because you love him!” Yumi said in a singsongy voice.
“Who knew getting my first boyfriend would turn my friends into freaks?” I asked.
“When are you seeing lover boy again?” asked Rachel.
“I don’t know, and please don’t call him that!”
“Maybe you should go to a movie this weekend,” said Rachel. “And Yumi and I can go, too, and spy on you.”
“I’m sure you can find something better to do with your time,” I said to them.
By now we were at the corner of Oak and Pacific. Yumi waved good-bye, and Rachel and I continued to our street in silence.
When I walked into my house I noticed something weird. My mom and Ted were both home. I checked my watch. It was only four o’clock. Usually both of them get home after five. I was going to ask them what was up, but as soon as they realized I was home they stopped talking abruptly, like they had something to hide.
The two of them sat at the kitchen table with serious expressions on their faces. Also? My mom looked tired and stressed. She had heavy black circles under her puffy eyes, as if she hadn’t slept all night.
Obviously they didn’t want me to hear what they were saying. Were they fighting? And did it have anything to do with Patricia? What did she want with Ted?
I wanted to ask, but a large part of me didn’t want to know.
Also, maybe I was looking for something to be wrong. If I hadn’t picked up the phone, if I hadn’t seen Ted and Patricia having cake last week, would I even be thinking these thoughts? Was my mother really upset, or was it all in my head?
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Nothing,” my mom and Ted said at the same time.
I didn’t believe them, but I didn’t feel like saying so at the moment. “What’s for dinner?” I asked instead.
“Dinner.” My mom frowned. “I just ate, actually. Sorry, honey. I’m not feeling great. I have a headache. I think I need to lie down.”
I checked my watch again. It was still only four. Who ate dinner before four? Was it even possible to eat dinner before four? Wouldn’t that actually be called lunch or a very large snack?
I would’ve asked, but my mom had already left the room.
I looked at Ted, who smiled at me guiltily. Like he was hiding something.
“I’ll fix you something,” he said, standing up. “How about pasta?”
I still felt suspicious around Ted, but the thing is, he’s a great cook and I was hungry.
“Okay.”
“Do you want spaghetti sauce or butter and herbs?”
I sighed before I answered, as if it were a huge chore deciding. “Butter and herbs. And how come my mom is acting so weird?”
Whoops. So much for acting normal!
“How is she acting weird?” he asked me, as if he had no idea what I was referring to, but I knew that was impossible.
“Forgetful, tired, hungry,” I said.
As I suspected, he didn’t deny it. “You should ask your mother,” was all he’d say. His voice sounded mysterious, like he had a secret. But what could it be?
Something in the back of my brain began to whirr. Something didn’t make sense. I didn’t know what was going on, but I couldn’t come out and ask. Problem was, I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.
Chapter Twelve
Paper, Scissors, Rock Stars
Usually Rachel picks me up before school. I don’t like to go to her house because her older brother, Jackson, is kind of annoying. He loves teasing me and will pull my ponytail, call me Spaz, and ask me if I looked in the mirror before I stepped outside, or if I bought my clothes at the ninety-nine-cent store. Meanwhile, they don’t even sell clothes at the ninety-nine-cent store—I know because I’ve been. But that’s not the kind of thing I want to get into at 7:30 in the morning.
And today I couldn’t wait to get out of my house. My mom was cleaning out the den, and not only that—she was cleaning the den cheerfully. My mom hates to clean, and the fact that she seemed excited about it … well, it made me nervous. She should’ve been getting ready for work, except she told me she wasn’t going today because she had a doctor’s appointment later on.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I’m fine,” she replied. “It’s just a checkup.”
So I went over to Rachel’s house early. Luckily, Jackson didn’t even seem to be home. Rachel answered the door, and she had a fresh-looking Band-Aid on her forehead.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Just another unicycle-related injury,” she said, raising her fingertips to her head.
I cringed. “You do wear a helmet, right?”
“Well, now I do,” she replied. “Don’t worry. It’s all going to be worth it. Those judges are going to be blown away.”
“Hey, speaking of judges. I forgot to tell you—I’m one of them.”
“What?” asked Rachel. “No way!”
“Way! Mr. Beller asked me last week.”
Rachel shoved me playfully, but hard enough to make me stumble. “You’ve known for days and you’re only telling me now?”
“Sorry. I guess I forgot.”
“You forgot? I think you have an acute case of Oliver-on-the-brain. Wait until Yumi finds out.”
As soon as we got to th
e corner Rachel blurted out my big news. “Annabelle is one of the judges for the talent show.”
“Awesome with cheese and bacon bits!” said Yumi, giving me a high five.
“I know—it’ll be fun,” I said. “I’m glad I’ll still be a part of it, anyway.”
“More important than that—you can make sure one of us wins,” said Rachel.
“And that the other one comes in second place,” Yumi added.
“Huh?” I asked.
“Oh, come on. You know your friends are the most talented kids in school,” said Rachel. “But how are you going to pick? I suppose it’s only fair to let Emma and Claire in on this, too. Maybe we should draw straws.”
“Do people really do that?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen it,” Rachel said with a shrug. “We could flip a coin instead.”
“Or we could do rock-paper-scissors,” said Yumi.
“You guys are kidding, right?” I asked.
Except apparently they weren’t because they went ahead and counted to three, and Rachel made a rock and Yumi made paper.
“I win!” Yumi cheered.
“We’re doing best out of three,” said Rachel.
“Too late. You need to call that before we start,” said Yumi.
“This is just practice,” said Rachel. “We have to give Claire and Emma a chance, too.”
“Don’t you think it’ll be highly suspicious if I vote for my best friends?” I asked.
“Not at all. Everyone expects it,” said Rachel.
“She’s right. It’s like running for school president. You don’t nominate the kid you think will do the best job. You nominate your friends,” said Yumi.
“I do?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Yumi and Rachel at the same time.
“I can’t believe you didn’t know that,” Rachel said.
“And I’m insanely jealous that you get to be the boss. That’s so much better than performing!”
“There are other judges,” I reminded her.
“I know, but you’re one of six. One of three student judges and the only sixth-grade student judge. You are so lucky!” Rachel said.
I couldn’t deny what she was saying. I was lucky. I was the sixth-grade judge. I had a boyfriend, and not just that: I had the sweetest and most wonderful boyfriend in the world. Life was pretty perfect. Of course, there was one factor I forgot about. And that factor’s name is Tobias.
As soon as I walked into science that afternoon the trouble began. Tobias said to me, “Why are you so dressed up, Annabelle?”
“What do you mean?” I asked innocently. Okay, I had maybe spent a little more time than usual on my hair, and I was wearing my favorite jeans and I’d borrowed one of Claire’s new tops. I felt spiffy, although I’d never say so. Spiffy is kind of a nerdy term even though it’s a good and accurate one, too.
Maybe I decided to spend more time on my appearance because of the whole boyfriend situation. But it’s not like I decided to wear a prom dress. Or any dress, for that matter. And it’s not like I was about to admit that to Tobias, but it turns out I didn’t have to. He kind of guessed it. And when I say “kind of,” what I really mean is “completely.” The dude nailed it.
“Did you dress up for your BOYFRIEND?” asked Tobias, with a heavy emphasis on the word boyfriend. His voice carried so loudly everyone in the entire room heard. Except he said it like having a boyfriend was something I should be ashamed of, and that doesn’t make any sense because there’s nothing shameful about me and Oliver.
I rolled my eyes and told Tobias to give it a rest. Then I sat down and buried my head in my book.
When Oliver showed up, he said hi, and before I could say hi in response, Tobias said, “Hi, LOVER BOY,” in a singsongy and super-annoying tone of voice.
Oliver punched him in the arm. And while it was good that he’d defended me and himself and us as a couple, it wasn’t cool how he avoided looking at me all through class. Like he was ashamed of me!
Once when I looked over at Oliver, Tobias began making smooching noises and pretended to make out with the back of his hand.
It was hard not to feel self-conscious and weird.
Embarrassed, too.
No, make that humiliated.
As soon as class got out, Oliver gave me a quick wave and then bolted like the room was on fire or they were giving away free marshmallows to the first ten kids out the door.
Is that what having a boyfriend is going to be like?
A small part of me feared that Tobias was going to ruin our entire relationship. Meanwhile, we’ve been together for less than a week. We’ve hardly even had a relationship.
Chapter Thirteen
Judgment Day
After school the next day I found Taylor and Nikki waiting for me at my locker. Both of them had huge smiles plastered on their faces. I guess they’d made up. I wondered if their dance routine was still going to happen. It’s not like I could ask. Not them, anyway. Although I’m sure Rachel knew the answer … possibly before Taylor and her friends.
“Hey, Annabelle!” they both yelled, their voices high-pitched and super-enthusiastic.
“Hi,” I replied cautiously. The thing is, I don’t totally trust Taylor and Nikki.
Actually, I don’t trust them at all.
Taylor’s favorite hobby is making other girls squirm. And she’s good at it, too.
She’s pretty on the outside—with shiny dark hair, green eyes, and perfect clothes—and kind of catty on the inside. And when I say “kind of” I actually mean very.
Nikki isn’t as bad one-on-one, but something about being with Taylor makes her vicious.
I’d never go out of my way to be cruel to Taylor and Nikki—I know that’s a big fat waste of time. But I’m not going to go out of my way to be nice to them, either.
Except that’s exactly what they were doing to me. I didn’t know why they were acting that way, but I did know to proceed with caution. Middle school is like a minefield. One misstep and bam! Your whole world can explode.
“Hey, guys,” I said, since I couldn’t exactly ignore them: (a) that’s not my style, and (b) they were blocking my locker.
“Annabelle, you’re just the girl I wanted to see,” Taylor said, putting her arm around my shoulder. She smelled like fancy shampoo or maybe it was perfume or maybe—probably—it was both.
“Oh my gosh, I love those shoes!” Nikki said, pointing down at my yellow high-tops.
Yellow high-tops that just a few months ago she called clown shoes. Something I couldn’t help but remind her of as I shrugged out of Taylor’s grasp. “You like them?” I asked. “I got them at the circus.”
“The circus?” Nikki blinked at me without a clue. Could she have not remembered how she’d insulted me? Or was she pretending not to remember? She flipped her hair over her shoulder and said, “I haven’t been there. Is that some new store at the mall?”
I couldn’t tell if she was kidding or not. Somehow she didn’t seem to be. I didn’t bother to clarify, though, because I was too curious about her odd behavior. And Taylor’s, too. “What’s up?” I asked.
“Nothing,” said Taylor. “We just wanted to say hi. Catch up. We should hang out sometime.”
Suddenly Rachel and Yumi approached. Taylor backed off as if she were a vampire and my friends wore necklaces made of garlic.
Or like Taylor was her regular self and my friends wore necklaces from last season!
“What was that about?” asked Rachel, once Taylor and Nikki were gone.
“No idea,” I said.
“Are you ready to go home?” asked Yumi.
“I can’t. I have my first official meeting with the talent show judges.”
“Cool! Call me later and tell me all about it,” said Rachel.
“And me, too,” said Yumi.
“Will do,” I promised them before heading to the gym.
By the time I arrived, most of the judges were already there. So
meone had arranged six folding chairs into a circle. I took the one next to the seventh-grade judge—a boy named Hugo Ross.
Hugo wears large, chunky glasses with tortoiseshell frames. He has one blue eye and one green eye. He’s cute and quiet, which makes him seem mysterious. Oh, and he’s also the photographer for the yearbook, so he often wears a clunky old camera around his neck.
And now that I was close to him, I realized I had the same exact camera.
“Hey, I have one of those,” I said, pointing.
“Really?” he asked.
I nodded. “My stepdad got a new one, so he gave me his. I have some cool lenses, too. A wide-angle one and a fish-eye.”
“You’re lucky. I’m saving up for the fish eye,” said Hugo.
“Oh, you should borrow mine sometime,” I said.
“That would be awesome. Thanks.”
“Sure. It’s no biggie.”
“It is,” said Hugo. “So who are your favorite photographers?”
“Huh?” I asked.
“I like Ansel Adams. You know—he did those great nature shots of Yosemite—everything is black and white and so dramatic and severe.”
“Riiight,” I replied slowly, stretching out the word. I don’t know why I said that because, honestly, I didn’t know any photographers. I decided to come clean. “I haven’t heard of him. I actually just started taking pictures. It’s all pretty new to me.”
Rather than laugh at me or look at me like I was some super-dork, Hugo said, “I have an Ansel Adams wall calendar. I’ll bring it in tomorrow and show you some of his work.”
Just then Mr. Beller called the meeting to order. “I assume everyone knows each other, but just in case, we’ll go around and introduce ourselves,” he said. “I’m Mr. Beller and I teach sixth-grade English.”
“I’m Annabelle,” I said. “And I’m the sixth-grade judge.”
“Hugo, seventh-grade representative,” said Hugo, giving a salute to the rest of us.
After Ms. Lerner and Ms. Benson gave us their names, I raised my hand. “Isn’t there supposed to be an eighth-grade judge, too?” I asked.
“Wait, don’t start without me,” Rachel’s brother, Jackson, yelled as he jogged into the seat next to me. “Sorry I’m late,” he said to the teachers. “I had to talk my way out of detention.”
One Tough Chick Page 9