Dear Poppy

by Ronni Arno

  “Omigod!” the Crony cries, covering her mouth with her hand. “I’m so sorry.” Then she looks back at Kathryn and crew, and they’re all cracking up.

  By now, the entire seventh grade is watching.

  Britt jumps up, eyes blazing. “You did that on purpose, Emily!”

  “You can’t prove anything,” Emily hisses. “And anyway, you’re not supposed to tilt your chair back like that. Don’t all the teachers tell you that?”

  “You little . . .” Britt’s hand clenches into a fist, and she pulls her arm back as if she’s going to punch Emily square in the nose, which she totally deserves. Emily screams, and just as Britt’s about to let her arm fly, Brody runs up behind her and grabs her hand.

  “Don’t do it,” he whispers.

  Britt turns around to face him, her cheeks bright red. “Did you see what that little brat did to me?”

  Brody looks up at Emily, who’s still got her hand up to her mouth, and is cowering behind a chair.

  “It was an accident, Brody,” Emily cries. “I swear. And now she’s going to kill me!”

  “You’re right I’m going to—” Britt says through clenched teeth.

  “Nobody’s going to kill anyone.” Brody stares at Britt and raises his eyebrows. “All right?”

  Britt pulls her hand out of Brody’s and picks up her chair. “Just get out of my sight,” she snaps at Emily.

  Emily runs back to her table, her ponytail bopping up and down. Kathryn and the Cronies are laughing so hard they’re crying, but I think Emily may actually be crying. I’m not sure what would have happened to her if Brody didn’t step in.

  Once everyone realizes the fight isn’t going to happen, they go back to their food and lunchtime chatter. Brody pulls up a chair next to Britt, and sits on it backward.

  “Are you okay?” Brody whispers.

  “Did you see what happened? She did that on purpose!” Britt’s hand is shaking.

  “You don’t know that.” Brody shakes his head.

  Britt turns to look at me, and I nod. “She did, Brody. I saw the whole thing.”

  Brody takes a deep breath and holds it. “Well, it doesn’t matter. You’ve got to stay in control.”

  “That’s easy for you to say.” Britt is speaking very slowly, like she’s carefully choosing every word. “They don’t go after you.”

  “I’ll talk to them,” Brody says.

  “Sure you will,” Britt mutters.

  “Just . . .” Brody leans in closer to Britt. “Just think of Mom, okay? You getting kicked out of school would destroy her.”

  Britt closes her eyes, and leans back in her chair. Like before, the front two legs are off the ground. Brody pushes the chair back down. “And don’t do that. It’s dangerous.”

  He then stands up, shakes his head, and goes back to his own table.

  Within seconds, Kathryn is at Brody’s side, whispering in his ear. He’s nodding, and she’s smiling.

  “She makes me sick.” Britt is staring at them too.

  “Maybe he’s talking to her about it,” I say.

  Britt shakes her head. “He’s not. This might be your first day here, but this stuff happens day after day, and has ever since we were little kids. Nothing’s ever going to change. My popular brother hates conflict.”

  “He seems really nice,” I say, more to myself than to her.

  “Oh, he’s a peach.” She crumples up her paper bag and squeezes it until it’s the size of a Ping-Pong ball. “As long as you’re happy and popular. If you’re not, you may as well not exist.”

  I look over to Kathryn’s table, where the Cronies are all laughing and pointing—at Britt and me.

  “So enjoy him while you can.” Britt follows my gaze. “Because once they get through with destroying your reputation, you’ll disappear off Brody’s radar.”

  Even though she didn’t say it to be mean, her words sting. Brody is one of the few people at this school who is actually nice to me. I mean, yeah, he’s really cute, too, but I don’t even care about that.

  Much.

  I glance at the clock on the wall. Twelve twenty. Only two hours and ten minutes until dismissal, eight and a half hours until bed, and then it will be tomorrow. Then, only five more days until a new letter.

  I really hope Mom starts explaining things soon.

  CHAPTER

  7

  LIKE CLOCKWORK, KATHRYN REAPPEARS AT my side to walk me into Spanish, and then does the same thing when it’s time for language arts and music.

  When the final bell rings, I go to my locker to gather the books I need for homework. I put in the combination, but the locker doesn’t open. I turn the dial again—twenty-seven, thirty-two, five—and pull on the handle.

  Nothing.

  Brody looks over from his locker. “Having trouble?”

  I’m sure my face is bright red, either from straining so hard to open my locker or from utter embarrassment that Brody noticed.

  I step back. “It’s stuck.”

  “Let me try.” Brody closes his own locker, and I step aside. He starts turning the dial. “What’s the combination?”

  I look around. Should I be giving strangers the combination to my locker? Even though Brody is my neighbor and he has very nice eyes, he still sort of counts as a stranger. I mean, I’ve only known him for one day.

  Then again, if I don’t give him my combination, I’ll never get my locker open. I take a deep breath and say the combination as quietly as I can.

  He spins the dial—twenty-seven, thirty-two, five—and gets the same result I got. He tries again, but the locker still doesn’t open.

  Kathryn saunters over with Emily. She sticks her lower lip out. “Oh no. Locker problems?”

  “Poppy’s locker is stuck.” Brody spins the dial again.

  “That’s too bad, Brody, but you’re going to miss the bus if you don’t get moving.” Kathryn and Emily glare at me in unison.

  “Go on, Brody,” I say. “I’ll figure it out.”

  “But what if you miss the bus?”

  “I can always call my dad for a ride.”

  “Are you sure?” Brody looks at me and my stomach does a little flip-flop. Kathryn and Emily are tapping their feet, their arms crossed. I notice they have matching silver nail polish. Of course.

  “I’m sure. Thanks anyway.” I manage to give him a smile after Kathryn and Emily decide it’s safe to head out to the bus.

  Brody puts his gray hat on and waves at me. “Good luck! Hopefully I’ll see you on the bus.”

  I wave back, then try my locker one more time.

  Once again, it doesn’t open.

  I make my way back through the crowd of students headed for the exit. After a few wrong turns, I find the main office and step inside.

  “Can I help you?” The secretary doesn’t look up from her computer.

  “Yes, my locker isn’t working.”

  “Your locker number and name?” She continues to stare at her computer screen, typing a million words a minute.

  “Two fifty-six. Poppy Pickler.” I shove my hands in the pockets of my pants.

  The secretary snaps her head up. “Oh, Poppy. It’s still not working, hon?”

  “Still?” I’m not sure what she means by that.

  “Kathryn was in here earlier and told us that you were having a problem, so we changed the combination.” She pushes her glasses up onto her nose. “But no luck?”

  I’m about to tell her that I wasn’t having problems and didn’t need the combination changed, when I remember what Britt said about Kathryn’s mom being part of the school board. I figure it isn’t worth it, and I’m still hoping to catch the bus so I don’t have to get my dad involved.

  “I guess not,” I say, then go along with the lie. “But maybe I have the new combination wrong. Can you give it to me again?”

  “Sure, hon.” She pulls a binder off a shelf and leafs through it. I glance out into the hallway. Kids are still walking out, so the buses must not ha
ve left yet.

  “Two fifty-six, two fifty-six,” she says as she turns the pages.

  I’m rocking back and forth on my feet, my heart rate increasing by ten beats every time she has to turn another page. I glance out at the hallway again. It’s getting quieter.

  “Ah! Here it is,” she finally says, and scribbles the combination down on a Post-it.

  “Thank you,” I yell, as I sprint down the hallway toward my locker, weaving in and out of a few stragglers.

  The hallway is empty when I get to my locker, and I quickly try the new combination. It works, and my locker springs open. I grab my jacket, throw my books in my backpack, slam the locker shut, and run for the exit.

  I get there as soon as the last bus pulls away.

  I can hear Kathryn and her Cronies giggling in my head. The tears that I refused to let loose all day finally escape and make their way down my cheeks.

  “Hey.” I hear a voice from behind me. I wipe my face with the back of my hand, and turn around to see Britt unlocking her bike from the bicycle rack.

  “You okay?” She squints and lifts a hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

  “Oh yeah, I’m fine,” I say. “I—I just got lost coming out of school and missed my bus.”

  I can’t tell her the truth. Then she’d want me to tell Mr. Russo that Kathryn’s been messing with my locker too, and then maybe Mr. Russo would finally believe her. But if I do that, then the retribution would be worse than doing nothing. The way Kathryn treats me is bad, but it’s nowhere near as bad as how she treats Britt.

  “Do you need a ride home?” Britt asks, and then looks at her bike. “I mean, is there someone you can call?”

  “I can call my dad,” I say.

  “Want me to wait for you?” She leans her bike up against the rack.

  “No, thanks,” I say, even though I do. “I’m sure you want to get out of here.”

  Britt stares at me for a second, then locks her bike back up. “Come on, let’s go call your dad.”

  We get to the door of the main office, and Britt decides to wait in the hallway.

  “You really don’t want them to see you hanging out with me. It won’t do anything good for your image.”

  I use the school phone to call my dad. I tell him the same story I told Britt—that I got lost and missed my bus. He tells me he’s on his way.

  Britt and I walk outside to wait.

  “My dad could give you a ride,” I tell her. “We could probably fit the bike in the car.”

  “No, thanks,” Britt says. “I like riding home. Helps to clear my head.”

  I totally understand why she’d need stress relief after a day like this.

  “You can go,” I tell her. “My dad will be here any minute.”

  Britt unlocks her bike. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

  I nod. “Positive. Anyway, we have tons of homework tonight. You might as well get started.”

  “Oh, joy,” Britt says. “And that reminds me, we’ve got to work on that family tree thing.”

  “Yeah,” I say. I’m kind of looking forward to working on it, now that I know Britt isn’t as scary as she seems. “Maybe we can get together this weekend?”

  “Maybe,” Britt says, and she hops on her bike. “See you tomorrow.”

  About ten minutes later, Dad’s car pulls into the school parking lot. He stops at the main entrance, and I open the door and climb into the passenger seat.

  “Sorry to make you come out here.” I put my backpack on the floor by my feet.

  “That’s okay. How was your day?” Dad’s still wearing Grandad’s overalls.

  “It was fine.” I smile. It’s a totally fake smile, but luckily Dad doesn’t notice.

  “Are the kids nice?”

  “Some are. Some aren’t. You know. Same as everywhere else.”

  Dad nods. “I hear there’s a PTA meeting tonight. I think I’m going to go.”

  “Why?” My voice comes out screechier than I mean it to.

  “I’ve never had the chance to be involved in your schools. I thought it would be nice to learn more, now that I have some free time.”

  “I really don’t think you’re missing much, Dad.” I stare out the window. I wonder if we pass Brody and Britt’s house on our ride home. I don’t see Britt on her bike, but maybe she made it home already.

  “I want to,” Dad says. “I think it will be good for all of us.”

  I purse my lips together. I can’t imagine how Dad getting involved in my life will help me one single bit.

  Dad comes home from the PTA meeting just as I’m finishing up my math homework. He looks different. Weird. I stare at him until I can figure it out.

  He looks happy.

  He sits next to me at the kitchen table. I finish the last of my worksheet, then put my books in my backpack for tomorrow.

  “Want some tea before bed? Maybe a nice chamomile?” Dad gets up and fills the teakettle with water.

  “Uhhhh, okay.” I look at him closely to be sure he really is my dad and not some robot replacement.

  Dad brings two steaming mugs over to the table. He sits down next to me and we sip our tea.

  “You added honey and lemon?”

  “I did. What do you think?”

  “It’s nice.” I take another sip. “So how was the PTA meeting?”

  “It was good.” He takes a sip of tea and smiles. “Really good.”

  “What was so good about it?”

  He purses his lips and sets his mug down. “Well, for one, it was nice to be able to learn more about your school and the curriculum. I hear you’re learning Shakespeare?”

  “Yeah, but we did that last semester at my old school.”

  “And there are all kinds of after-school clubs you might be interested in,” Dad says.

  “Maybe.” I haven’t even thought about after-school clubs. I have a feeling just making it through the regular day will be hard enough.

  “And I got the chance to meet some of your classmates’ parents.”

  “Mmmm-hmmm.” I sip my tea. “That’s nice.”

  “In fact, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.” Dad plays with the tag on his tea bag.

  “Yeah?” I wrap my hands around the warm mug.

  “Well,” Dad begins. He’s staring into his tea. “I haven’t really dated at all since your mom died.”

  Oh. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. Not this conversation. Is my Dad going to talk to me about his love life?

  Now I stare into my teacup. I wonder if it’s possible to dive in and swim away.

  “I met someone tonight, and I’d like to ask her out to dinner.”

  I cringe and pull my mug in closer. “Ugh, Dad. Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I want to be sure it’s okay with you.”

  “I don’t want to know anything about your love life,” I say, shaking my head. “Gross.”

  “It’s not gross, Poppy. It’s been a really long time since I’ve put myself out there.”

  I put my hands over my ears. “Oh please, Dad. I really don’t want to hear about it.”

  “Don’t worry.” Dad smiles. “It’s not like I’m going to give you any details.”

  “Uggggghhhhhh,” I scream. “Please. Just stop.”

  “Okay, okay.” Dad chuckles. “So I have your permission?”

  “Yes, you have my permission to date anyone you want. As long as you don’t tell me about it.” I shudder.

  Dad leans back in the chair and puts his arms behind his head. “It’s a deal.”

  I give him a half smile.

  “I’m really glad to hear you feel that way,” he says. “I’m looking forward to getting to know her. I’m glad you’re not weirded out because it’s one of your classmates’ mothers.”

  What?

  I look up. “Whose mother is it?”

  A huge grin spreads across his face. “Kathryn Woodruff’s.”

  CHAPTER

  8

  DON’T R
EACT. DON’T REACT. DON’T react.

  I say the words over and over again in my head. If I react, Dad will wonder why. And I can’t tell him why because this Dad, this New Dad, is trying way too hard to be part of my life. If he knew the truth—that Kathryn was the devil in a dress—he’d want to talk about it. And talk to the principal. And maybe even—yikes—talk to her mother.

  I purse my lips together and keep my face looking as normal as possible. I take a sip of tea.

  “Do you know her?” Dad asks.

  I nod. “Yeah. She showed me around today.”

  “That’s terrific. Her mom tells me she’s quite the student.”

  I shrug. “I don’t know her that well.”

  “Hopefully, she’s as wonderful as her mother says she is.”

  Don’t react.

  “Hopefully.”

  “Well, kiddo.” Dad stands up. “I’m going to get ready for bed. Farmers get up early, you know!”

  “Uhhhhh, sure, Dad.” I hope my dad knows that dressing in overalls does not make him a farmer. “I’ll be up soon.”

  “Good night, Poppy.” Dad kisses the top of my head. Which is weird, since he hasn’t kissed me good night since I was seven. But this is New Dad. New Dad kisses his daughter good night.

  After I wash my tea mug, I get ready for bed myself. I bring my phone, and text Amanda under the covers.

  Mandy: How was the 1st day?

  Me: :(

  Mandy: ????

  Me: The kids.

  Mandy: Oh no! Hillbillies?!

  Me: Worse. Mean girls.

  Mandy: Ouch.

  Me: Yep.

  Mandy: Cute boys?

  Me: One.

  Mandy: Come home.

  Me: Not yet. Luv u.

  Mandy: Luv u too. Good luck tmro.

  Me: Gnite

  I set my alarm, but I can’t sleep. I feel like the metal box in my underwear drawer is burning a hole in my dresser. Would it be so bad to ignore Mom’s request, just this once?

  Yes. Yes, it would be so bad. My mother hasn’t asked anything from me in five years.

  Get a grip, Poppy.

  I flip over so I’m facing the wall. I hope this week goes by fast.

  I spend the next few days ignoring everyone. I stay far away from Kathryn, I eat lunch in the library, and I’m sure to be the first one on the bus so I can sit right behind the bus driver. Although my life is pretty boring, my plan seems to be working.