“I’m sure you did,” said Mr. Beller.
“We’re happy you can join us,” Ms. Benson added. “I think you’ll have fun with this.”
“Judging my fellow students?” Jackson asked, rubbing his hands together and grinning a sly grin. “It’s gonna be amazing.”
“And it’s wonderful that you’re all mature enough to handle the responsibility,” said Ms. Lerner. “You should be honored that you’ve been chosen—all three of you—and act accordingly.”
I stifled a laugh. Jackson didn’t. He laughed out loud, but he also managed to sit up straighter and pay attention.
“Now that we’re all here we can go over the rules and the format,” said Ms. Benson. “We have thirty acts in the show. If everyone has five minutes, that means there will be one hundred and eighty minutes of performing. Who can tell me how many hours that is?”
When no one answered he called on me. “Annabelle?”
“Three hours,” I answered after doing some quick math in my head. “But I didn’t realize there’d be a pop quiz.”
The rest of the judges laughed.
“Three hours—plus, we’ll need time to clear people off the stage,” said Ms. Lerner. “And there’s an intermission when we’ll sell beverages and snacks. That’ll take twenty minutes, which means …”
“Which means we’re looking at a very long night,” said Mr. Beller.
“And a fun night,” I said. “Birchwood Middle School’s got so much talent! Simon Cowell should come visit.”
“Oh, he’s my role model,” said Jackson with a snicker. He and Hugo gave each other a high five.
“I’m glad you brought up the judging process, Jackson,” said Mr. Beller. “This should go without saying, but we’re trusting you all to leave your personal feelings at the door. This is about talent. This is not about voting for your best friend or your boyfriend or your girlfriend. You have all been chosen because we trust you.”
“Now let’s talk about the specifics,” Ms. Lerner said. “The six of us will sit in the front row, and it’s important that you pay close attention for the entire show. There are three categories we’re interested in: skill, originality, and overall entertainment value. Each category will get a number on a scale of zero to five. Add those up and you get your number—something between zero and fifteen. Then we’ll combine all six scores to get something between zero and ninety. The act with the most points wins the competition.”
“What if there’s a tie?” I asked.
“If there’s a tie, we’ll have more than one winner,” said Ms. Benson.
“What’s the prize?” asked Jackson.
“The prize is the glory and pride that goes along with being declared the winner of the talent show,” Ms. Lerner explained.
“No, really. What is it?” asked Jackson.
No one answered him, and Mr. Beller decided to end our meeting early.
Chapter Fourteen
Miss Popular
A few days later, I ran into Fred the baker. I’d been avoiding him since the Pepper pie-eating incident, and if I’d seen him coming I would’ve taken off in the other direction. Now I was filled with dread. Except rather than yell at me, he handed me a small silver gift bag with a silky red ribbon tied into a bow.
“What’s this?” I asked, looking at the bag nervously.
“Homemade dog treats,” he said. “For Pepper.”
Was this guy joking? I opened the bag and pulled out a bone-shaped cookie. It smelled like peanut butter. “Is it poisoned?” I wondered aloud, only half-kidding.
Fred looked shocked. The kid actually turned pale—which was quite a feat because he was already pretty pasty. “No, of course not. I would never do that.”
“I’m joking,” I said. “You know, because my dog messed up your act.”
“I know, but I still qualified for the talent show,” said Fred. “So what happened at the audition doesn’t even matter. And this is so you know there’s no hard feelings.”
“Okay,” I said, staring at the biscuits. “Thank you.”
“They’re fine for people to eat, too. Really, they’re just made out of peanut butter, flour, and oil. My mom breeds Goldendoodles, and she has an entire cookbook for dogs. That’s where this recipe is from.”
“You really made these for my dog?” I asked.
“Yup,” Fred said with a nod.
I opened up my locker and placed the dog-biscuit bag inside. “That’s sweet.”
“Hopefully Pepper will think so, too.”
Fred took off before I had a chance to ask him why he was being so nice to my dog.
As I headed to homeroom, a popular seventh grader named Heather Willamette waved hello. Figuring her friend must be behind me, I ignored her. But then she called after me.
“You’re Annabelle Stevens, right?” she asked.
I turned around. “Yup. That’s me.”
“Hi, I’m Heather.” She stuck out her hand.
“Hi,” I said, shaking. “Did you want something?”
“Yes, I want to meet you,” said Heather.
Her comment seemed like the elaborate setup to a cruel practical joke. Except it wasn’t. And somehow my day only got weirder. The sneeziest member of the string quartet—the guy Pepper had tortured at the audition—offered to let me cut in front of him in the lunch line.
Another one said she liked my hair band. Yes, my hair band. Let me describe my hair band to you: it’s thin and beige and it blends into my hair.
I pointed this plainness out to her and she sort of stumbled and said, “I know. That’s why I like it.”
Huh? I really didn’t know how to respond to her, so I smiled and said, “Thanks.”
Then, after I got my pizza, it was hard to make my way back to my regular table because everyone wanted to talk to me.
“Hi, Annabelle.”
“How’s it going, Annabelle?”
“Yo, Annabelle!”
“Hey there, Anna.”
“Does anyone ever call you Bella?”
“ANNABELLA!” (Screamed from the other end of the hallway with an Italian accent.)
“Annabelle, I love your hair.”
“Annabelle, you are so funny.”
“Where’d you get that jacket, Annabelle? It’s super-cute.”
“Annabelle, everyone tells me you’re so cool. How come we’ve never hung out?”
“Arrabelle, wait, what’s that? Your name is Annabelle? Right—I knew that … I totally did. Please don’t hold it against me.”
By the time lunch ended my cheeks hurt from smiling so much.
It’s like suddenly I was the most popular girl in school, but that didn’t make any sense. Popular girls at Birchwood Middle School are usually more outgoing. Not to put myself down or anything. I’m friendly enough but kind of shy.
Nice but not bubbly. In other words, my personality doesn’t overflow like a shaken-up can of orange soda. Or any kind of soda, not even plain seltzer.
I love my friends, but we are not the coolest of the cool. We’re simply regular, middle of the road—kind of cool and kind of not—which is fine by me.
Oliver Banks, however, is extremely popular.
It’s probably his cuteness and sweetness combined with his half British–half Jamaican-ness and also his awesomeness at sports. Oliver has lots of nesses.
I wondered if all this new attention had anything to do with Oliver. Word must’ve gotten out that we were a couple. And people must’ve suddenly realized that if he liked me enough to be my boyfriend, then maybe there was something more to me.
That’s what I thought until I ran into Hugo after school.
He had his calendar for me.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll bring you the fish-eye lens tomorrow. Sorry I forgot it.”
“No worries,” said Hugo. “I’d love to borrow it, but that’s not the only reason I’m lending you my calendar.”
“Oh, I know,” I said.
“I feel lik
e I’m the only person in school without an ulterior motive,” said Hugo.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
He smiled. “Haven’t you noticed kids being extra nice to you as of late?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I just figured it was because, well …” I didn’t want to share my theory because it seemed too embarrassing. But wait a second. “Are you saying kids have been nice to you, too?”
“Of course,” said Hugo. “We’re in the same boat, right?”
Did Hugo have a more popular girlfriend or boyfriend I didn’t know about? Or, wait a second … As the truth slowly dawned on me, I turned red. “You mean people are kissing up to us because we’re judges?” I asked.
“Yes, of course. Why else?” Hugo asked, grinning at me.
“No reason!” I said quickly. “I’ve got to go.”
I took off, fast, before I could embarrass myself further.
When I got home, the house was empty except for Pepper. We curled up on my bed and I rubbed his tummy, thinking about school and friends and all the weirdness. It was nice being super-popular, but knowing it wasn’t genuine made me feel weird.
“I can’t let all these people get to me,” I told Pepper. “I have to stay tough, vote for the best act, don’t you think?”
Pepper raised his head and looked me in the eye. Obviously he couldn’t understand what I was saying. Yet something told me if he could, he’d agree.
Chapter Fifteen
Surprise! No, Make that a Double
Later that week, I heard a horrible retching noise coming from my mom’s bathroom. I peeked inside and saw her on her knees, hanging over the toilet bowl. “Are you okay?” I asked.
“Fine,” she said. “Could you please get me a glass of water?”
“Sure,” I said. “But do you need anything else? You seem pretty sick. Maybe I should call your doctor.”
“No, don’t. I’m fine,” my mom said. “All I need is some water.”
I ran downstairs and got her water with ice.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked, when I found her again, sitting on her bed, propped up against some fluffy pillows.
“I’m fine, Annabelle. But we need to talk.”
Those words were hardly ever followed by positive news. I sat down on my mom’s bed, crossed my legs, and rested my chin on my fists. “What is it? Are you sick? Is it bad?”
In the back of my mind I figured that maybe she was so sick with worry about Ted and Patricia’s relationship (assuming that she knew) that she’d made herself physically ill.
I once saw this show about how some ailments can be caused or at least exacerbated by psychological stress. Some doctors believe that even serious diseases can be treated with a healthy attitude and a positive outlook on life. Of course, other doctors think all of that’s crazy. But I was willing to be open-minded.
“Nothing’s wrong, sweetie. I have good news. I’m pregnant!”
“What?” I yelled.
“We’re having a baby.”
“No way!” Fear. Excitement. Shock. And a gazillion other emotions I couldn’t even identify pulsed through my body so that all I could think to do was scream.
My mom screamed, too, laughing.
I bounced up and down on the bed. My mom bounced up and down on the bed. Then we hugged. “This is amazing!” I said.
She cracked up and I started laughing and soon we were both crying.
“How did this happen?” I asked.
My mom burst out laughing again.
I felt my cheeks heat up and I giggled. “Never mind.”
“Phew—I’m glad we don’t have to have that conversation again,” my mom said.
“Yeah, I know enough—I don’t need details,” I said.
“But if you want to—we can. You must always come to me with any questions.”
I covered my ears with my hands. “Let’s not get into this now. I meant, when did this happen? No, I don’t need to know that, either. I just don’t know what to say first. This is crazy news. I didn’t even know you and Ted wanted a baby. You did plan this, right?” I asked.
“Yes, of course,” my mom said.
“Wow!” I said. “I’m speechless. I mean, other than telling you I’m shocked speechless, I don’t know what to say.”
“How about I tell you when I’m due?” said my mom.
“Okay, when are you due?”
“October thirty-first.”
“That’s awesome,” I said. “Wait a minute. That’s Halloween.”
“I know!” my mom said.
“The baby can’t come on Halloween,” I said, frowning. “It’s my favorite holiday.”
My mom stared at me, tilting her head, her smile fading ever so slightly. “Well, the baby may come before or after, but I’m certainly not going to stop him or her from arriving on Halloween.”
Him or her—that sounded so strange. “So you don’t know if you’re having a boy or a girl?” I asked.
“Not yet. It’s too early to tell. We can find out next month if we want to, but we haven’t decided yet if we want to know.”
“This is crazy,” I said. “We have to find out!”
“Well, I’ll take your opinion into consideration, but there are other people involved.”
I hardly heard what she said. “I can’t believe I’m going to have a brother or sister.”
“You already have a stepbrother,” my mom reminded me.
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “But Jason doesn’t really count.”
“He doesn’t?” asked my mom. “Don’t tell him that.”
“You know what I mean,” I said. “He’s old and he doesn’t live here.”
“I know—I get it,” said my mom.
“A baby is a whole different story,” I said.
“I agree.”
Thinking about Jason made me think about Patricia. I’d been debating whether or not to tell my mom what I saw in the kitchen the other day, and now I realized I had no choice.
I took a deep breath and tried to figure out how to break it to her gently.
“What’s wrong, Annabelle?” she asked. “You don’t seem so excited.”
“I am,” I said. “But I need to tell you something about Ted. I saw him last week in the kitchen, and he was eating cake with … with Patricia. You know—Jason’s mom. His ex-wife. And she called last week, too. I don’t know why, but …”
My mom sucked in her lips. I thought she was going to cry, but instead she burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“No, I’m sorry. It’s just—I know that Patricia and Ted have been spending time together.”
“You do?” I asked.
“Yes, because Patricia is a real estate broker,” my mom explained.
“Ted’s moving?” I asked, more confused than ever.
“Not only Ted,” my mom said, holding out her hands. “Surprise! We all are.”
Chapter Sixteen
One Tough Chick
We can’t move!” I yelled. “We just got here, practically, and I’m not going to become one of those girls who’s always the new kid. Do you know how hard it was starting over back in September? Or how long it took me to fit in? Or to finally understand how things work here? And I love it here. There’s no way you can make me leave.”
“Wait a second. Annabelle, sweetie—please relax. We’re not moving out of Westlake. We’re looking for a bigger house in this neighborhood.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well, that changes things. But are you sure?”
“I am absolutely positive. We are not going to uproot you again. Not when you’ve adjusted so well. We’re thrilled for you. Your friends, and Pepper, your new boyfriend—”
“Mom!” I yelled.
“What?” she asked, grinning at me. “Do you think I didn’t notice that you have a boyfriend? I know I’ve been a little spacey as of late, but I’m not completely clueless.”
“Okay, okay,” I said. “But please do
n’t talk about my boyfriend. It’s weird.”
“My lips are sealed,” she said. “But just so you know, Ted and I love Oliver. He’s a very sweet boy, and we couldn’t be more excited for you.”
I felt squirmy with embarrassment, but also happy that my mom liked my boyfriend. Oh, and embarrassed to be happy about that. It shouldn’t matter what my mom thinks. I’m old enough to make my own decisions, right? Romeo and Juliet didn’t care what their parents thought. Of course, they ended up dead, so they’re probably not the best example.
“And if you have any questions—anything you want to talk about …”
“Mom!” I yelled.
“I’m only saying—”
“Okay, fine. I’ll let you know. But more important—I can’t believe we’re having a baby,” I said.
“I know. I can’t believe it, either.”
“What are we going to name it?”
“You mean him or her,” my mom said.
“Him or her. Whatever you say. Do you want a boy or a girl?” I asked.
“Either way—as long as he or she is as wonderful as you.”
“That’s sweet,” I said.
“Sweet and true,” my mom replied. She kissed me on the forehead and then suggested that I get started on my homework. As if I could concentrate!
At dinner that night, the three of us talked about the new house. And Pepper danced around our feet with his tail wagging, hoping for table scraps.
“We’re looking at some places in Canyon Ranch,” Ted told me.
“That’s where Oliver and Emma live,” I said.
“Good, so you’ll have friends there,” my mom said. “It’s not that big of an area. I’m sure you’ll be able to walk to their places.”
“It’ll be weird not to be across the street from Rachel,” I said.
“I know, honey,” said my mom.
“We won’t get to walk to school together anymore.”
“Maybe you’ll get to walk with Emma and Oliver,” said Ted.
What if I moved next door to Oliver? How great would that be? But what if Oliver thought I convinced my family to move just so I could be closer to him? Like our whole family was stalking his whole family. I hope he realized this is simply a lucky coincidence. And I hoped we would still be together by the time the move happened.
One Tough Chick Page 10