“What can I do to help?” I asked.
“Hmm … I’m not sure,” he said, straightening up and shutting the fridge. “I think everything is pretty much set. All I need to do is grill the meat. But you know what you could do? You could unpack a box or two in the living room. There’s one with your fall clothes in it. Should be marked.”
“Okeydokey,” I said, saluting him. He saluted me back. Soon the whistling started up again and I could hear him chopping something.
I found our clothes in a box marked DDD DUDS. It was crammed full of jeans and tops and even some old costumes. As I pulled out each piece, one by one, some of them triggered a memory. There was the black T-shirt with a cat in an astronaut helmet, floating in space, that I’d worn to Lucas’s tenth birthday party. There was the pair of Delaney’s jeans that ripped in the knee when she tried to pet Old Mr. Maroney’s rooster and ended up running for her life. At the bottom of the box were the bathrobes we got on a trip to Oolie’s Water Kingdom two summers ago. They’re made out of the same plushy white material as towels. On the front is the castle logo, and the words on the back read “No P in Our Poolies!” with Xs over the letter Ps. It made me smile to see them, and I remembered how much fun we’d had on that trip.
Suddenly I realized the clothes looked smaller than I remembered. As I held a pair of pants up against me, my smile wilted. The bottoms came up above the ankles. I tried pulling some tops over my head, but my head was too big. Some T-shirts were so old, they featured pictures from cartoons we didn’t even watch anymore.
I walked back into the kitchen to tell Dad. To demonstrate how bad it was, I wore an Oolie’s bathrobe. The sleeves came down to just past my elbow, and the belt tied around my chest instead of my belly.
He cracked up when he saw me. “I guess you girls will be needing some new clothes for over here. I probably should have thought of that. Need to borrow some of mine for the weekend?”
I smiled and rolled my eyes. “No, we brought enough with us.”
Next we measured how tall I was next to him. I was finally up to his shoulders! We even compared feet, but his shoes were still way bigger than mine. Dad said he wasn’t going to grill the burgers until Dawn and Delaney returned from the store, so we went back into the living room together to unload more boxes.
“Ah, here’s a good one. Let’s unpack this,” he said, lifting a box onto the coffee table. MEMENTOS was written on all sides in black marker.
We stood side by side as he sliced through the packing tape with his pocketknife and opened the flaps. Looking into the box, I saw a face staring back at me. I laughed and lifted out a framed picture.
“Oh my. I’d forgotten about that one,” Dad said, grinning and shaking his head.
It was a work of art that Dawn had done in second grade. I remember we were supposed to paint our heroes and do a presentation. Dawn, of course, did a portrait of George Washington. She worked really hard on it, wanting to get the white hair, broad face, and long nose just right. When it came time to present, she held it up proudly and said to our class, “I’m sure you all know who this is.” There was a long silence, and then a boy named Aiden said, “Your grandma?”
Dawn had gotten so frustrated, she insisted on going back to the craft table and painting the name at the bottom of the picture — only people probably shouldn’t paint while mad, because she accidentally spelled it George Washigton. When she realized her mistake, she got even madder. In fact, she’s still embarrassed about it. But Dad loved the picture and insisted on framing it.
Also in the box were some framed photos of us, three plaster handprints, some baby clothes, a poster tube of Delaney’s long butcher paper drawing showing how a bill becomes a law, and a big tin containing all the finger puppets I made of the nine U.S. Supreme Court justices.
Even though Dad and I were both smiling and laughing, another feeling was coming over me, one I couldn’t quite identify. My eyes went warm and wet, and my insides felt crumpled, as if all those memories were jabbing me in the stomach.
I stared down at the sculpture I’d just pulled from the box. I remembered I’d made it long ago, but I couldn’t remember what it was. It looked like a big poodle with a squashed face. As I studied it, the image went blurry and my throat went tight.
Suddenly I couldn’t do any more. I set the mushed-up dog-blob on the table and plopped down on the sofa.
“Darby, sweetie. You okay?” My vision was too clouded with tears to see Dad’s face clearly, but his voice sounded concerned.
“I’m fine,” I said, wiping my eyes. “It’s only …” I stopped, unsure what to say. It wasn’t just seeing all the relics from my past that got me all misty-eyed; it was also Dad’s having a new place, my clothes not fitting anymore, and no Vespa. Only I didn’t know how to explain all that. It wasn’t like I loved those old clothes better than all the clothes in the world. And I understood that he had to sell the Vespa to help pay for the house. Plus, it was a really nice house. My emotions were all out of whack.
“Dad? Why does remembering happy stuff also make me feel a little sad at the same time?”
“Ah.” Dad sat down beside me and put a hand on my shoulder. “That’s nostalgia.”
“Nostalgia,” I repeated. “I’ve heard of that. What does it mean?”
“It’s a complicated emotion, where you feel joy and sadness together. See, even though the memories are happy, you’re all wistful because they’re over and you can’t ever go back to that time.”
More tears filled my eyes. That was it exactly. I loved all those moments, but I also sort of missed them. “Do you ever feel nostalgia?”
“Every day,” he said, patting my back. “Time can be a real rascal.”
I nodded. “Yeah, time is weird. Sometimes, like when I’m at school waiting for the bell to ring, or waiting for Christmas, or waiting for Aunt Jane to show up for a visit, time is super slow. But other times it goes fast. Too fast.”
“Tell me about it,” he said. “The reason I never unpacked this box of mementos was because I thought I’d only be in that apartment for a few months. Next thing I knew, two years had gone by.”
“Yeah.”
We sat there, side by side, surrounded by keepsakes and not saying anything. After a while, I felt better. It’s as if the sad feelings were leaves that dried up and dropped, and my happy feelings were the tree that was left standing — rough and spindly, but strong.
“Buffalo!” I shouted.
Dad looked confused.
I pointed to the sculpture I’d set on the coffee table. The memory had finally come to me. “It’s a buffalo,” I explained. “I made it in third grade. Her name is Buffy.”
He picked up the sculpture and grinned at it. “Well, hello there, Buffy,” he said. Then he got to his feet, strode across the room, and carefully set her on a bookshelf. “Welcome home.”
On Monday at school, I’d already finished my homework in fifth period and was tapping out a nice rhythm with Dancing Feet when Mr. Cervantes asked, “Can I get a volunteer to run these papers to the office for me?” I leaped out of my seat and ran up to him before he’d said the e part of me.
After I ran the errand lickety-split, I decided to take the long way back to class, just to use up more time. On the way, I passed Dawn in her math class. I only had a view of the back of her head, though, so she didn’t see me. Then I passed Darby in her science class. I could see her face, but she was staring out the nearby window, chin in hand. She was so busy daydreaming, she didn’t notice me, even when I waved both my arms.
It was strange seeing my sisters when they didn’t know I was there. I guess it was kind of like spying, but not in a mean way. I just missed them. Going through a school day without them beside me felt weird and wrong — like I’d forgotten to wear pants.
At least my sisters and I had Cheer Squad together. Remembering that made me feel a little better.
A big shape was loping toward me from the far end of the hallway. Thinking it w
as a teacher, I stopped watching Darby and started walking toward class again. Then the big shape waved at me and I realized it was Rowdy Buchanan — an eighth-grade boy. Rowdy has had his nickname so long, I forgot what his real name was. I did remember that I didn’t like him very much, though. In elementary school, he was always pushing people. He seems to have stopped that, but he’s still not very nice.
“Hey, Insaney,” he said to me. His voice was nice, but Insaney was his mean nickname for me. I scowled back at him.
“Hey yourself,” I grumbled.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked, still not noticing that I was mad at him.
“Doing a favor for my teacher. What are you doing?”
“I had to see Plunkett for a schedule change.” He waved a yellow sheet of paper in his hand. “I’m tall enough for basketball now, so I’m getting out of Color Guard.”
My face exploded a little. My eyes got big, my mouth opened wide, and my whole head jutted forward as far as it would go. It was just the news we were waiting to hear!
I thanked Rowdy for the information and headed to see Mr. Plunkett. More specifically I said, “Aaaaah! Ohmigosh! Yay! Thanks, Rowdy, gotta go!” and boinged toward the counselor’s office.
The door was open when I got there. I poked my head around the corner to take a peek, but Mr. Plunkett glanced up and saw me.
“Hi, Dawn. Need anything?”
I walked over to his desk. “I’m Delaney. And yes, I need you to put us into Color Guard, please. I just saw Rowdy and he said he was getting out.”
“I see.” Mr. Plunkett took off his glasses and started cleaning them with a tissue. “But I’m afraid there’s a problem.”
Suddenly I worried that I’d messed up. Usually Dawn talks to the adults as our official spokesperson. Darby’s too shy and I talk fast and don’t always think about my words. All through fifth grade, Dawn and Darby banned me from speaking to grown-ups on behalf of us triplets after I tried to high-five Ms. Mendoza, the school clerk, and ended up knocking her cell phone into the fish tank. I’m allowed to talk on our behalf now, but only if Dawn isn’t available.
“Wait, I’m sorry. I meant to say please. Please could you put us in Color Guard?”
His mouth made a little bend, which I figured was a smile. “Actually that’s not the problem,” he said. “The problem is that there are three of you but only one opening.”
“Ohhh, right. Sorry. I guess sometimes I think of me and my sisters as all one person.”
“But you’re not.”
“I know we’re not. I know it. I just sometimes forget and don’t think. Especially when I get overexcited. Like this time.” I was babbling, and I knew it. “The thing is, my sisters and I are all for one and one for all. But I know that one isn’t the same as three. Math is my best subject. English is the one I have to work hardest at.”
“I understand. Where are you supposed to be right now, Delaney?”
“Um … English.”
“Perhaps you should go back to class. If you or another of your sisters would like to sign up for Color Guard, come back after school or sometime tomorrow. Okay?”
“Okay. But Mr. Plunkett?”
“Yes?”
“If you get two more openings, you’ll let us know, right?”
“I promise.”
“Then let’s shake on it.” I started to put out my hand and then stopped. “Actually … can we high-five on it?”
His mouth went bendy again. “Sure.”
I glanced all around, making sure nothing breakable or spillable was in my path. Then I reached up and whacked his hand with mine.
It felt good. Because even though we still couldn’t get into Color Guard, I at least managed to high-five him without causing any damage.
Delaney told us about the open spot in Color Guard class as soon as she got to Cheer Squad. Well, actually, she first told us all about her Dancing Feet and did a little demonstration. Then she got distracted trying to remember Rowdy’s real name. After some rambling, she eventually got to the part where she talked to Mr. Plunkett.
“Dang,” I said. “I should have been there.”
“It wouldn’t have made a difference. There would still be just one opening in the class,” Delaney said.
I wasn’t so sure. I knew I could have done a better job talking with Mr. Plunkett. In fact, I’m still not convinced Darby and I should ever have lifted that ban on Delaney talking to adults.
“Why don’t you take the open spot, Delaney?” Darby said. “It’s only fair since you’re the one who heard about it first.”
I didn’t think that sounded fair at all. I started to grouch about it, but then Delaney said, “No way. If anything, Dawn should take it. She’s put in the most work toward getting us a schedule change.” That sounded fair to me.
But when they both looked at me and waited for my response, I shook my head. “Nope. It’s all for one and one for all,” I said. “Either we all get into the class or none of us do. Besides, we’re already separated enough as it is.”
“That’s the truth,” Darby mumbled.
“And in the meantime, we’re going to make the best of Cheer Squad and change it for the better,” I added.
At that moment, Coach Manbeck blew her whistle and told us all to listen up. “Attention, class. Today, for added fun, we’re going to break into small groups!” For some reason, she said everything as if it should be followed by applause. “Each of our eighth-grade cheerleaders will lead a group and teach you a new cheer. When I blow my whistle, grab a couple of friends nearby and go and find yourself a station. I want to see which group learns it the fastest!”
She blew her whistle again and there was a mad scramble.
“Delaney, come work with me!” Lynette Barstow came out of nowhere, grabbed Delaney’s hand, and pulled her to another section of the gym.
“Can you believe the nerve?” I said to Darby after they’d run off. “Stealing our sister right out from under us.”
Darby made an oh, well expression. “Lynette just wants to have the best group, and she knows Delaney is really good.”
“And you’re saying we aren’t really good?” I asked. Darby’s mouth started opening and closing, as if she were testing out words. “Never mind,” I added. “Don’t answer that.”
Darby and I ended up with Cherry Luedecke’s group. Only Cherry spent most of her time paying attention to Lynette and her group, who were standing nearby. After a while, Cherry and Lynette just sort of combined groups, with Cherry and Lynette leading and all the older students, plus Delaney, up front by them. Darby and I hung back with the other seventh graders, like Riley Cook and Aurelia Chavez.
“Will you two try out for cheerleader?” Aurelia asked.
“Probably not,” I said.
“You’d rather stay in Pom Squad?” Riley asked.
I shook my head. “Nope. Hopefully we won’t stay in that.”
They looked a little confused and like they didn’t know what else to say, so they turned their attention back toward Cherry. I didn’t mind, since it spared me telling them the long, tragic story of how we ended up in Cheer Squad all because of Delaney’s hankering for a corn dog.
While Cherry started showing us the arm movements for the “Attack That Quarterback” chant, I leaned toward Darby and whispered, “I’m going to stretch my legs and try to gather info for Operation Cheer-for-All.”
She gave me a worried look.
“It’ll just take a second,” I reassured her.
I wandered over to a bulletin board on the wall by the double doors. It had all kinds of things pinned to it — lots of first aid tips and warnings about the importance of staying hydrated. There was also a copy of the lyrics to “Patriots Fight,” which is our school song, a photo of last year’s winning basketball team, and a calendar of sporting events for the month — which was exactly what I was hoping to find. Now all I had to do was find a sorry, overlooked team who could use some cheering.
“Hi, Dawn.” Coach Manbeck’s voice startled me. I hadn’t heard her walk up. “Did you happen to bring that megaphone back?” she asked.
“Whoops. Sorry.” I smiled sheepishly. “Did you need that?”
“Well … we had enough for today. But we will need it by the next pep rally, when we’ve chosen our additional cheerleaders.”
“Okeydokey. No worries. You’ll have it back by then.”
As she turned to continue her rounds of the small groups, I stopped her. “Coach Manbeck? I was thinking, what if we added a few more events to the cheer schedule.”
She frowned. “More events?”
“Yeah. To, you know, allow for more practice for new people like me.” I tried to emphasize the benefit I thought she would appreciate most of all.
Coach Manbeck laughed. “I like your attitude. But I’m afraid our calendar is already full. At this point it wouldn’t be fair for me to add more required events that take place outside the school day.”
“What about bonus cheering?”
“Bonus cheering?”
“You know, cheering that isn’t required but that happens out of a sense of duty. I mean, wouldn’t you say that the job of a dedicated Cheer Squad member is to spread school spirit wherever she or he goes — to boost morale for all school competitors?”
She nodded. “I would say that’s the ultimate goal — yes. Very insightful of you.”
“So whenever we’re at a school event, we should do our best to boost morale, right?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks, Coach Manbeck. This talk has been very enlightening.”
“Glad I could help.”
After she walked off, I continued to scan the big calendar. This being a small town, there weren’t a whole lot of sports in our middle school, and out of what we did have, much of it hadn’t gotten going yet. In fact, it looked to be all football — football practices, football boosters, football games. I was about to give up when I noticed an entry on this coming Saturday — a cross-country meet at a nearby park.
Revenge of the Teacher's Pets Page 6