by Cat Clarke
I’d been busy telling Maisie that this was the only middle school in the district that didn’t allow girls to wear pants. I could tell that Maisie was only half-listening, swirling her yogurt with her spoon while she stared into space. The last thing she said before Chelsea and Jade arrived on the scene was, “But skirts are just nicer.”
I would have been grateful for the interruption if it had come from anyone else—even a teacher scolding me about my shirt not being tucked in properly.
Maisie and I looked up at them. Chelsea repeated her question, louder this time.
“Um…” Maisie glanced over at me before looking at Chelsea and Jade.
“Well?” Jade crossed her arms. “We haven’t got all day, you know. RSVPs were supposed to be in by Friday, just like it said at the bottom of the invitation in big letters. Chelsea’s mom needs final numbers by the end of the day so she can tell the caterer.”
Chelsea and Jade were acting as if I didn’t exist, but there was something about the way they were doing it that was so fake and staged. It was obvious that this little scene was for my benefit. It had been at least four days since the last time they’d picked on me in the locker room after PE.
I turned back to my pudding, reminding myself for the hundredth time that it was best to ignore them. If there’s one thing bullies hate more than anything, it’s being ignored. They only want to get a reaction out of you. They can’t stand it if you don’t react. Of course, this is really, really hard to do. Particularly if you happen to have a bit of a temper.
“Er…yeah…I meant to…”
Jade sighed so hard I actually felt a whoosh of breath on the back of my head. “It’s a simple question: Are you coming to the party or not?”
A few people were listening now, which was going to make it even more amazing when Maisie said no.
“Yes. I mean, yes, thank you. I’m looking forward to it.”
What?
Chapter 14
Traitor. That was the word I used after Jade and Chelsea had swanned off from our table. They obviously didn’t even care if Maisie went to the party.
Maisie didn’t like being called a traitor. She doesn’t have much of a temper; she tends to cry instead of getting angry. But not this time. Her eyes flashed and her mouth set in a thin, hard line. “It’s not my fault you weren’t invited.”
Deep breath, Liv. Logic and reason. That’s the way to go. “I’m not saying it’s your fault. But can’t you see what they’re doing? They’re trying to turn everyone against me.”
“Not everything is about you, Liv.”
“Then why did they invite everyone in our class except me? Oh, and Marion Meltzer, of course. Why would you want to go to the party anyway? Chelsea and Jade are horrible.”
“They’re popular.”
“So? They’re only popular because everyone’s scared of them. Well, scared of Jade. Anyway, since when do you care about being popular?”
Maisie pushed her chair back quickly, scraping it against the floor. “Look, I’m sorry you weren’t invited to the party. Maybe if you made more of an effort to fit in, people would like you a bit more.”
“What do you mean by that?”
She sighed in exasperation. “I don’t know! That stunt you pulled with the pants…You’re just so…Why can’t you just be like everyone else?”
That shut me up. I just stared at her, struggling to recognize my best friend. How long had she kept that bottled up?
She picked up her tray and breathed hard through her nostrils. “I think…I think we should maybe stop spending so much time together.”
“You’re my best friend,” I said, simply.
Maisie shrugged. She just stood there looking down at me, and for the first time ever, I felt that she was really, actually looking down on me. She was going to make me say it, wasn’t she? “You don’t want to be best friends anymore?”
She stared down at her tray and shook her head. The tray was shaking a little bit. The yogurt cup fell on its side and the spoon fell to the floor. Maisie walked away without picking it up.
I leaned over and picked up the spoon, placing it on my own tray. I looked around to see if anyone had been watching our conversation, but people must have stopped paying attention when Jade and Chelsea walked away from the table.
I stared into space, trying to make sense of what had just happened. My best friend had just well and truly unfriended me. All because of some stupid party. But maybe that wasn’t the whole truth. Maisie wasn’t the kind of person to make rash decisions like that. She liked to think about things from every possible angle before making up her mind. So she had probably been thinking about this for a long time, working up the courage to tell me. Chelsea and Jade had just given her the perfect opportunity.
Maisie and I had been friends for six years. More than half of my life. What would my life look like without Maisie by my side? I couldn’t even begin to picture it.
Thinking about what could have happened if I’d told her about The Secret made me feel jumpy and anxious. Thank goodness I’d been sensible enough to keep my mouth shut. It was the only thing comforting me as I sat alone, surrounded by people who didn’t care.
I don’t need her, anyway. Best friends are more trouble than they’re worth.
I’ve always been good at kidding myself.
=
“I thought Maisie was coming over today?” Mamma said, twisting the cap off a jar of cayenne pepper and sprinkling it into the chili that was bubbling away on the stove.
I checked my watch. It was almost six o’clock. Maisie would be on her way to Chelsea’s party. “Mmm?” I pretended that I’d been too busy scruffling Garibaldi’s ears to listen to the question.
“I said, isn’t Maisie supposed to be coming over?” Mamma stirred the chili (always clockwise—she says it tastes better that way).
Garibaldi lay down on the floor, exposing his tummy for me to rub. He was too far away for me to reach, so I tickled him with my toes. He gave me this look, as if to say, “You call that a tummy rub?”
“Liv, I’m talking to you!”
The doorbell rang and Garibaldi went crazy, barking and wagging his tail so hard it looked like it might fly off. I ran out of the kitchen, shouting, “I’ll get it!” Enzo clattered down the stairs. It was an ongoing contest to see who got to the door first, and we kept score. Enzo had more points than I had, but only because he usually lurked in his bedroom to listen for the gate creaking open. He got there first this time, slamming his hand on the front door. On the other side of the door, a voice said, “Heavens!” When he opened it, Gram was there on the front step, holding her hand up to her chest as if she were worried about her heart.
“Will you two stop this nonsense before you kill me?”
“Sorry, Gram,” we said in unison.
When Gram gave me a hug, Enzo did a little victory dance and mouthed the word “loser” at me. Garibaldi wanted a hug from Gram too, but she was having none of it. “Down, boy! Down!” she said. “That’s a good boy. No! I said down!”
Gram always acts annoyed when Garibaldi jumps up at her like that, but you can tell she loves it, even though he managed to knock her flat on her back one time. She always brings him a dog biscuit, which is a bit unfair because she hardly ever brings Enzo and me anything.
We went to the kitchen and Mamma put water on to boil for tea. Mom wouldn’t be home for half an hour, so we were allowed to open a bag of popcorn to hold us over until dinner.
You’d have thought that Gram arriving would have been enough to make Mamma forget all about Maisie, but it wasn’t. She asked a third time, and there was no ignoring it now.
“Maisie and I aren’t friends anymore.” I thought I sounded pretty cool about the whole thing, like I wasn’t even bothered. Everyone reacted as if I’d just told them that Maisie had been devoured by a mob o
f zombie penguins. Even Enzo stopped stuffing popcorn into his face, at least for a second.
Mamma put the lid back on the pot of chili and sat down between Gram and me. “What happened?”
When I didn’t answer she took my hand in hers. “Topolino?” That’s what Mamma calls me when I’m tired, sad, or ill. It means “little mouse” in Italian.
I moved my hand away and grabbed a handful of popcorn. I even managed a casual sort of shrug. “We just grew apart, I suppose.”
Mamma exchanged a look with Gram. I hate it when adults do that. It’s like they have some sort of secret conversation going on and we’re not allowed to be a part of it. “Okaaay,” said Mamma. “Did you fight about something?”
“No.” The lie was easy to tell. Just one word.
Gram took a sip of her tea. “I’m sure you two will make up soon. I remember when I was your age. I was always arguing with my friends about this and that! It never lasted.”
Enzo grinned and rushed over to get the box we keep under the kitchen bulletin board. He opened it and held it out to Gram. “Pay up!”
“What did I…? Oh, that’s not fair!”
Mamma smiled at her. “You know the rules, Frances! You wrote them yourself!”
“All right, all right! Where’s my purse?”
The rules were simple. Gram wasn’t allowed to say anything that made her sound like an old lady. She was banned from saying things such as, “In my day,” and, “They don’t make them like they used to,” and of course, “When I was your age…” The whole thing was her idea. She’s always saying that she feels too young to be a grandmother.
Gram rummaged in her purse for a dollar, while Enzo counted how much was in there. “Fourteen bucks…and this makes fifteen! We’re going to be rich, Liv!”
=
No one mentioned Maisie again until bedtime. This time it was Mom—Mamma had clearly given her the lowdown at some point in the evening. She came to tuck me in, even though I’ve told her again and again that I’m far too old for that sort of thing. She never listens, probably because she knows that I like being tucked in. I’m not sure I’d be able to get to sleep without it.
“Do you want to talk about what happened with Maisie? You know you can talk to me about anything,” she said as she sat down on the edge of the bed.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said, attempting a smile.
“Liv…” I recognized that tone of voice. It was the one she uses when she knows I’m lying to her.
I turned over so that I was facing away from her. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
She touched my shoulder gently. “If you’ve said something to upset Maisie, you can always apologize. You know that, don’t you? It’s never too late to say you’re sorry.”
That was the last straw. I lost my temper, big-time. I jumped out of bed and shouted at Mom. “What makes you think I said anything to upset her? Why does everything have to be my fault? I’m sick of it!”
Mom stood too, holding up her hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean anything by it. Now just…just calm down so we can talk about this. There’s no need for—”
“No need for what? No need for me to lose my temper? WILL PEOPLE STOP SAYING THAT! I HATE IT!” I was yelling now, at the top of my lungs. I wanted to stop, but I couldn’t. There’s nothing I can do when I get like that, or at least that’s how it feels. I’m not in control. It’s scary.
Mamma came bursting into the room, so now it was two against one. “Ssshhh! You’ll wake up Enzo! What’s going on in here?” she asked, but Mom and I didn’t answer. We just stood there glaring at each other.
“Okay, it looks like someone is in dire need of a hug.” Mamma held her arms out wide, smiling. It usually works, that little trick. It’s hard to be angry when someone’s hugging you, particularly when that someone is Mamma. She’s just so warm, that’s what everyone says about her. But I wasn’t falling for it this time.
I huffed my way over to the bed and pulled the duvet right over my head. “I don’t want a hug. Just… Go away. Both of you.”
There was a pause and I wondered if they were whispering or just shrugging their shoulders. I expected Mom or Mamma to come over and pull back the covers—to chew me out for being so rude—but they didn’t. They just left the room, turning out the light as they went. “Sleep tight, topolino,” Mamma whispered into the darkness.
I cried. Finally.
After a few minutes, Garibaldi came scratching at the bedroom door. I dragged myself up off the bed to let him in my room. I helped him up onto the bed, put my arms around him, and cried into his fur. He licked my face in sympathy, or maybe just because he liked the taste of my tears.
It was a long time before I fell asleep. I felt ashamed. Guilty, too.
I was miserable. But why did I have to take that misery out on the only people who actually cared about me? And if I couldn’t even manage to tell them about this, how could I ever tell them about me?
Chapter 15
My first thought after I woke up was, “Maisie was right. Maybe I should try to be more like everyone else.”
My second thought was, “No. Maybe I should try to be a little more me.”
(Actually, my very first thought was that I needed to pee, but that doesn’t sound dramatic.)
You feel like tiptoeing on the morning after a big argument. You’re not quite sure if you’re going to launch right back into where you left off in the argument, or whether a few hours of sleep will have miraculously solved everything.
Luckily, it seemed like sleep had done the trick that Sunday. Everyone acted as if nothing was wrong. The moms didn’t ask me to apologize, and Enzo was nice to me. Even Garibaldi was better behaved than usual, limiting himself to one single smelly fart over breakfast. (Mind you, it was at least three times more toxic than usual, which made it the same as three individual farts. That was Enzo’s theory anyway. He used to draw graphs of Garibaldi’s gas. He called it the Fart Chart. I pretended to disapprove, but it was actually quite useful because it helped us remember which foods we should avoid giving Gari under the table.)
At lunchtime, Mamma’s phone rang. It was sitting on the table so we could all see that the display read, “Maurizio.” Mamma stared at the phone for a few seconds before grabbing it and rushing out of the room. I think Mom was thinking the same thing as me—that it was bad news. I’m pretty sure Enzo wasn’t thinking anything much at all, except maybe wondering if he could nab the last potato while no one was looking. Gari was snoozing at my feet, blissfully unaware of anything other than his doggy dreams.
I held my breath when Mamma came back into the room. She put the phone back down on the table and sighed. “He’s doing better. He’s eating, at least.”
“That’s wonderful news,” said Mom as she stood up to put her arm around Mamma.
I got up and hugged Mamma too.
When the three of us sat back down again, the last potato was gone.
=
I spent the afternoon in my room. I told the moms I was doing homework, but I was working on something much more important than that: phase two of the mission to be allowed to wear pants at Bankridge. I wasn’t going to quit just because phase one had ended with Mrs. McCready being mad at me and Jade laughing at me.
I decided that the mission really needed a name. Mostly because I needed something to write at the top of the page in my super-secret planning notebook.
It took me a good twenty minutes to come up with a name I was finally happy with, but I got there in the end:
THE PANTS PROJECT
I spent hours doing research on the laptop. I gathered all the evidence I could, scribbling notes and then writing them out more neatly and marking the important parts with my green highlighter.
Phase two was simple: I was going to talk to the principal. The moms ha
d been meaning to call him, and I knew they would if I asked. But I didn’t want to bother them with everything going on with Mamma’s father. Not after the way I behaved last night.
So I was going to present my arguments to Mr. Lynch on Monday. If that didn’t work, it would be time for phase three. Mr. Lynch seemed like a reasonable man, if a little scary-looking. I think it’s his pointy nose that does it. It looks like it’s been put through a pencil sharpener. He’s very tall and has this tendency to peer down his nose at you, like he’s lining you up in his sights.
I did some research on Mr. Lynch too. I didn’t want to leave anything to chance. I found out that he’d only been at Bankridge for just over a year. He was almost as new as I was! He’d been vice principal at a middle school upstate before he came to Bankridge. I took that as a good sign. Surely, he would be keen to make some changes at Bankridge, now that he was the one in charge. I looked at the website of his old school and a smile spread across my face when I saw that there was no uniform policy. Everyone was free to wear whatever they wanted to wear.
I went to sleep a lot happier that night. I’d barely been able to hide my excitement at dinner. Mom even said, “You’re plotting something, aren’t you?” I just smiled and mimed zipping my lips closed. That made it quite hard to eat my pasta, so I had to mime unzipping them again. I wanted to wait and tell the moms when I had good news. I hoped they would be proud of me. Maybe it would help make up for how mean I’d been to them on Saturday night. (It didn’t occur to me that a better way to make it up to the moms might be saying sorry for losing my temper. Oops.)
Chapter 16
Monday didn’t start so well. When I walked into homeroom, Maisie was sitting on the back desks with Jade and Chelsea. Maisie didn’t look at me, even when Jade loudly said, “Urgh! What’s that smell? Oh. It’s her. If her is even the right word.”
That shook me up a little bit. Not the part about me smelling—that was pathetic. I think that even Enzo stopped using “you smell” as an insult when he was around five. It was the other part that bothered me. Jade couldn’t possibly know about The Secret, though. She was probably just talking about my haircut. Pathetic.