How to Outfox Your Friends When You Don't Have a Clue

by Jess Keating

  I thought eighth grade was supposed to be all cool parties, bigger lockers, and getting to feel like a superstar because we were finally at the top of the junior high food chain. Nobody mentioned ol’ Bill and his bag of jumbly word tricks would be marching in to ruin my day with a test. It was the last day of our Shakespeare unit, and Mr. Nicholson loves his tests. Of course, it’s also the one test I completely forgot to study for.

  I tapped my pen on my paper and started to circle an answer. Hamlet was definitely a king. No, wait. A prince.

  King.

  Prince.

  My hand wavered back and forth over the answers as I darted a look at Ashley. She was sitting across from me, and I could tell by the way her eyebrows weren’t scrunched up that she wasn’t having any problems with the quiz. In fact, it looked like she was now happily doodling on the margins of the page. A few seats down, Bella was fiddling with the tips of her short hair while her other hand moved swiftly down the page marking off answers. Was I the only person in this entire room who didn’t get this Hamlet guy?

  Hrmph.

  “Eyes on your own paper, please.” Mr. Nicholson’s low warning jolted me back to my test. Did he say that because of me? I wasn’t cheating—I was only glancing, but not at papers! I wanted to peek up at my teacher’s face, so he could see I wasn’t at all guilty, but the scorching-hot pain in my ears probably meant I looked as guilty as a wolf on a sheep farm anyway.

  CREATURE FILE

  SPECIES NAME: Nicholsonian Academicus

  KINGDOM: The classroom. (One time I saw him at the grocery store buying kiwis, but I’m not including that because it was sort of awkward seeing him out of his usual classroom habitat. Also, kiwis are weird and their skin makes my mouth itch.)

  PHYLUM: Teachers who are giant nerd-balls, but it’s okay because deep down you really love those funny little stickers that they put on tests when you do well.

  WEIGHT: Including or not including the sweater-vest–tie combo?

  FEEDS ON: Pop quizzes; those little balls of cheese wrapped in red wax; smiles from Ms. Fenton (pretty sure he has a crush on her).

  LIFE SPAN: Based on the kiwi and cheese diet, he’s probably pretty healthy.

  HANDLING TECHNIQUE: Nicholsonian Academicus is even-tempered and nice. Loves it when you participate in class (even if your answer is wrong); strictly against gum chewing.

  I circled an answer without thinking and peeked at my watch. I have no idea how watches work, but you can bet there’s a snail inside mine, turning a crank and making the seconds tick by as mind-numbingly slow as possible. You know, Kevin is always going on about this guy Stephen Hawking, who has all these theories on space and time and all that. I bet that he could tell me why time slows down during boring school stuff and speeds up when you’re actually having fun.

  “Time’s up!” Mr. Nicholson announced, clapping his hands together once.

  I clutched my pen tighter as he walked up the aisles to sweep the tests from our desks and into a pile on his green folder.

  When the tests were in a neat pile on the quiz shelf, Mr. Nicholson leaned against his desk. His eyes were dancing with excitement, which meant one thing and one thing only: he had a new project for us.

  “Okay, guys. I know since you’re such excellent, intelligent students, you’re probably wondering what your major project will be this month,” he said, rolling his eyes playfully, pretending like he was appeasing us by spilling the beans.

  I giggled, while the boys in the class booed. You had to hand it to Mr. Nicholson—he sure liked his own jokes.

  “I’ve given a lot of thought to your November projects, and I think I’ve got just the thing for a group of students who are sick of Mr. Shakespeare.” He eyed the room expectantly. “Am I right?!”

  “Yesss!” we all chimed, with my own voice ringing loudest.

  Anything but Shakespeare, pleeeease.

  “Good!” He clasped his hands together. “So we’re going to switch gears here. Since this is your last year of junior high before heading off to high school, I thought it would be nice if you did a little reflection.”

  Cue the moaning.

  “Now hold on a minute,” he said. He scrawled the word influence on the board in large, swoopy letters.

  “For one Superman eraser”—he held up the tiny eraser from the jar he kept on his desk—“who can tell me what influence means?”

  Brooke’s hand popped up. “Influence is the stuff that has an effect on you. Like, that changes you.” She caught my eye as she spoke, smiling.

  “Bingo!” he said, tossing her the eraser. “Have any of you ever thought back about your early childhood? What you were like at five years old? Or even ten years old? Who can share what influenced you at that age?”

  Imaginary crickets filled my head as Mr. Nicholson scanned the room. My palms itched with sweat. I knew as well as everyone else did that if nobody volunteered to answer, we would be voluntold to speak up. Personally, my early childhood was filled with reptiles peeing on my head and Daz trapping me in the washing machine, so yeah. Delicate cycle, my butt.

  I kept my eyes down.

  Bella lifted her hand hesitantly. I grinned into my notes; I knew Bella was trying to be braver in class, so it made my heart happy to see her answering more questions. Mr. Nicholson noticed too, snapping his fingers and pointing. “Bella! You’re up!”

  She blinked at her desk but spoke clearly. “Um, I loved Egyptian stuff as a little kid,” she said tentatively. “I guess you could say that influenced me. I tried to cut my hair like Cleopatra once.”

  Mr. Nicholson tossed her a tiny snail eraser. “Yes! That’s a great example.” I caught Bella’s eye and gave her a sneaky thumbs-up beside my desk.

  He scanned the room again, observing our blank faces. “You know, Cleopatra was the last pharaoh of Ancient Egypt, renowned for her beauty. Sort of like a Kardashian, only this was long before the time of all your iPods and iPads and iThingies. Write this down.” He cleared his throat dramatically. “Cleopatra did not take selfies.”

  The class tittered. Mr. Nicholson could be pretty cool for an old guy.

  “When I was a little kid, I was influenced by Batman,” he said, gathering a stack of papers from his desk. “I wanted to wear a cape everywhere and tried to go around fighting crime. In fact…” he said, leaning over to lift the bottom of his pant leg. “Some things never change.”

  The class gasped in goofy delight as he showed off the bright-yellow bat signal on his socks.

  “Nice!” Eric exclaimed, nodding with approval. I couldn’t help but agree. For some reason, knowing my teacher was a giant nerd made me feel a lot more comfortable with my own inner geek-ball.

  He grinned. “You see? Sometimes the things that influence us stick with us for life. Sometimes they’re temporary and help us get through certain stages. Each of us is different, and because you guys are almost halfway through the year and going into big, bad high school next year, I thought now was the perfect opportunity to mark your time in eighth grade by creating something to show me who, or what, influences you now. It will be like a time capsule of sorts that you can look back on when you’re old and gray.”

  He began handing out the papers to the front of every row, making sure every student got one. I swiped the crisp paper from my desk and carefully stuck it in my binder, handing the rest of the pile behind me. Mr. Nicholson’s usual bold, dark font stared back at me, outlining the project along with some fill-in-the-blank prompts to help us begin.

  Five Influences in My Life—

  A Media Project by:

  Already my mind was buzzing with ideas. As much work as new projects were, there was something deliciously fun about starting something different. Like having a gigantic sandwich in front of you that you couldn’t wait to dig into.

  Ashley’s hand shot up. “Um, Mr. Nicholson?” I could
tell by the way her cheek puffed out a little that she was doing her best to hide her gum. Mr. Nicholson hated gum.

  “Yes, Ashley?” He looked up from his own handout.

  “What exactly does the ‘media’ part mean?” she asked, holding up the sheet. “It says here, ‘A Media Project’?” Ashley squinted suspiciously.

  “Good question,” he said, sitting on his desk. “Does anyone know what media is?”

  I lifted my hand. “Is it a way of communicating?” I ventured.

  He tossed me a tiny unicorn eraser. “You got it. Media is the plural for medium. But not like ‘in the middle’ medium like an order of fries. This is stuff like newspapers, blog posts, videos, newscasts, magazines. Those are all forms of media. Once you’ve decided on your influences—and they can be people, places, things, even fictional characters—I want you to use one of the types of media listed to tell me about them.”

  A small grin curled at my lips. As far as projects went, this one rated pretty high on the Awesome Scale.

  Mr. Nicholson continued. “As you can see from your handout, you’ll have two weeks to hand in your project, and it can be any of the forms listed here. And…drumroll please!” He started to drum his fingers on the desk beneath him. “You will present your projects, and they will be displayed in the foyer at the end of the month!”

  Well, if the media thing didn’t get a bunch of moans out of us, that sure did. Immediately, hands shot in the air. I sat back, watching in amusement as the chaos unfolded.

  A few months ago, the thought of everyone seeing my project would have made me lose my lunch. Go figure that performing in front of an audience all summer with sharks swarming you gets rid of that fear pretty darn quick. School projects were nothing compared to waddling around in a scuba suit with strangers gawking at you.

  Mr. Nicholson shushed us. “To answer your question, yes, all projects will be displayed, and yes, you will have to say a few words about it for credit. This part is mandatory, but it’s only a short chat. It’s not a presidential address.” He gave us a sneaky smile. “I’m not that mean. And, for the first time ever, I’m introducing a ‘Get out of Jail Free’ card for the presentations.”

  Everyone exchanged confused looks. “What does that mean?” someone asked from the back. “Do we get to not do the project?”

  “Nice try!” He laughed. “But there will be three faculty from three classes there to listen to all of your presentations. The student who receives the highest marks from all of us will get to have their lowest test score dropped for your final grades at the end of the semester.”

  Ashley’s eyes lit up. “For real? You won’t count a bad grade? On any test?”

  Mr. Nicholson nodded. “Any of our biweekly tests, that’s right. I know some of you could use the boost, so this is a chance to make up for it. Each project will be submitted with a written piece about why you chose that medium and what you’re expressing through it. What I’ll need from you by Wednesday is a two-paragraph proposal on your choice of media and your list of influences, okay?” he said. “I’ve also included a suggested time line so you can use it to check off every step. Because I’m nice like that. Any questions?” He stood up again and leaned back casually in the way that always makes him look like a jeans model.

  Zack’s hand shot in the air. “Can we talk about anything anything?”

  I rolled my eyes. I swear, I wish I could use one of those little unicorn erasers of Mr. Nicholson’s to erase some of my past, because my crush on Zack should never have happened. He’s a total jerk. Funny how a guy whose name you had scrawled all over your binder can turn out to be a waste of ink. It was clear from the way his handout was already half-crumpled on his desk that he hadn’t bothered to read it yet. He was leaning back on his chair so only two legs were on the ground, with his trademark bright-orange hoodie zipped tight to his chin.

  Loser.

  “Four legs on the ground, Zack.” Mr. Nicholson walked over and reached for his paper, smoothing it out as he spoke. “Anything within reason, yes. I’d like you to use this as a way to explore newspapers or film or even the Internet, as a way to teach us about what influences you. Which is precisely what is says right here.” He tapped the page. Zack’s ears turned pink. “The possibilities are endless!”

  Settling back in my chair, I began to conjure up what the perfect project might look like. What were five things that influenced me? And what kind of media should I use?

  I turned in my chair, eyeing Bella. She was hunched over, already scribbling wildly in her notebook. A few chairs over, Ashley was tapping her desk while inspecting her cuticles. When she noticed me looking, she stuck out her tongue in a goofy face.

  I held back my laugh. Bella and Ashley were both so different, but I couldn’t imagine the past few months without them.

  That’s when it hit me. Some ideas bubble up inside you in a slow, fizzy rush. But sometimes they hit you like a stampeding buffalo. This was one of those buffalo ideas.

  I could do my project on my friends! Bella, Ashley, Liv—they all influence me so much!

  It was perfect. Not only would it be super easy (because, hello, they’re my friends, and I wouldn’t need to Wikipedia anything!), but it would also be great to talk about them more. My life had changed so much since summer, and Bella and Ashley were sort of like surprises the world gave me, especially when Liv moved away. Okay, that sounds totally cheesy, but if it weren’t for them, I’d probably still be holed up in a corner somewhere afraid of everything.

  Grabbing my pen, I jotted down my thoughts before they could flit away. The jittery feeling in my stomach grew as I doodled stars on my paper. You know when you have a great idea and your insides seem to smile back at you? That’s how I knew I was onto something.

  Now I just needed the perfect medium.

  Last year, I’d done an art project that included lots of photos and drawings of my life. Ms. Fenton still has it hanging on the wall in the art room. But this needed to be something even better.

  What was the best way to show off all the people who made me me?

  After school, I couldn’t wait to tell Bella and Ashley my awesome plan. Sneaking up on them by the bus lot at the end of the day, I scooped up a handful of snow and launched it at Ashley. Obviously, I made sure to aim for her legs, not her head. I don’t have a death wish or anything.

  “Ahh!” she squealed, whirling around. She searched the crowd with wide eyes. Tiny snowflakes glittered like gems in her hair. Go figure even snowball-attacked Ashley looked like a goddess. “Watch it!” She leaned over, delicately picking up a handful of snow. “I’ll get you for that!” She chucked a snowball back at my head.

  “Guess what!” I giggled, dodging her attack. Bella ducked out of the way of Ashley’s second attempt to snow me as I nearly wiped out on the ice at our feet.

  “You’re giving up your career as a wildlife nerd to become a figure skater?” Ashley quipped.

  “No,” I said. “For the media project, I’ve decided I’m going to talk about you guys.” I lifted my chin with pride. “I’m going to immortalize you with media! To showcase you with…something. I still haven’t exactly figured out what kind of media yet. But yeah,” I added sheepishly.

  Ashley skidded to a stop, sending slush everywhere. “For real?” she asked. Her eyelids blinked double-time. “We are your influences?”

  I nodded. “Yep,” I said. “Both of you guys. I don’t know what exactly I’m going to do, but I thought it would be cool to talk about how much you guys influence me, you know?” I looked to Bella. “Despite practically never talking for years.” I bit my lip. “Or, you know, hating each other.” I poked Ashley on the shoulder and gave her a fake stink eye.

  Bella’s hands whipped to her mouth. “Ana! That is so nice! I’ve never been anybody’s influence before! That’s so cool.” She beamed, reaching over to give me a hug.

&n
bsp; Ashley was much quieter, but the surprised look on her face was loud enough.

  “That’s…” she started, looking me up and down. “That’s really cool of you, Ana.” Her eyes brightened. “I mean it’s surprising, but… Wow. Who else are you going to talk about?”

  Before I could say anything else, my phone buzzed. Mr. Nicholson didn’t let us use our phones in class, but my parents always wanted me to keep the ringer on after class every day, in case they needed to get in touch with us. I yanked off my mittens to read the message.

  Dazmanian Devil: Where are you? Come home now!

  “It’s Daz,” I moaned. “Five minutes late and he’s already being annoying.” I glared at the screen and texted back.

  AnaBanana: What’s your prob? I’ll be home soon! It’s your turn for chores anyway!

  I barely had time to put my mittens back on before he texted again.

  Dazmanian Devil: COME HOME, OKAY?! :)

  “Sorry, guys,” I said, lifting my backpack higher on my shoulder. A smiley face in a text? This can’t be good. “I have to run. I’m pretty sure Daz is burning down the house right now.”

  Chapter 3

  Grizzly bears have excellent memory, especially when it comes to remembering where food is buried.

  —Animal Wisdom

  Can’t blame them there, right? Who doesn’t want to remember where they hid the cookies from their brother?

  “If Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson is in my laundry again, I’m going to murder you!” I announced, slamming the front door shut. The house hadn’t burned down. Daz was nowhere in sight. In fact, nothing looked weird at all. The warm air inside the house felt like a hug after walking home in the chilly weather.

  Kicking off my boots, I tiptoed around the slushy mess at the doorway so my socks didn’t get wet. The only thing worse than wet boots was wet socks, when you ended up squishing from room to room with cold feet everywhere. Stupid snow.