by Lin Oliver
“Yeah, I’m excited, too . . . it’s just that . . . well . . . I could get in trouble for some of this stuff. Like stealing, for instance.”
“It’s just Starbucks,” Lauren said. “You’re not going to go to jail for taking a cookie. Besides, it’s so crowded in there after school, no one will ever catch you. Bethany worked that one out with me. And the coolest thing of all is that she’s going to be there to watch you do it. Not to brag or anything, but she says I’m doing an awesome job as president.”
“But Lauren, I’m not sure I can do this.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. At last, she spoke, and her voice was icy cold.
“It’s up to you, Charlie. I thought you wanted to be a Junior Wave. I thought you wanted to be one of us. If you do, you have to show your loyalty. But if you don’t, well, we’ll just have to go on without you.”
Ryan pounded on the door again.
“Charles,” he shouted. “If you don’t get out of there, I’m going to pee right here in the hall.”
“Oh, is that Ryan?” Lauren asked. “Tell him I say hi.”
And then she hung up.
I stood up, took one last look at the list, tore it up into little tiny pieces and flushed it down the toilet.
I didn’t sleep much that night. I kept seeing the list in my head, and when I did, my heart would start to pound. Could I look right into a teacher’s eyes and refuse to turn in my homework? Could I swipe something right off the principal’s desk? Could I actually steal from Starbucks?
It all came down to one question: How much did I really want to be a Junior Wave? And I guess I wasn’t sure.
“Is there something wrong with your foot, Noodle?” GoGo asked the next morning as I came into the kitchen for breakfast. I was wearing one flip-flop and one shoe.
“My heel’s been hurting me for a couple of days,” I lied, “so I didn’t think wearing a shoe would be a good idea.”
Wouldn’t you know it, my dad walked into the kitchen at that very minute.
“Let me see your foot,” he said. “You girls are playing this weekend and we can’t have any injuries.”
“It’s nothing, Dad. I’m sure it will be better by tomorrow. Maybe even by tonight.”
“Let’s have a look,” he persisted, sitting me down and taking my foot in his hands. He pressed on several spots in my heel, which didn’t hurt at all, but I faked a little wince, just to make an injury seem real.
“I don’t see any swelling,” he said. “But just to be sure, we’ll ice it when you get home from school. And keep that foot elevated as much as you can in school today. Want me to write a note you can take to the nurse?”
“No, Dad. Honestly, that’s not necessary. I’ll just wear this flip-flop and it’ll be fine.”
“Why not just wear two flip-flops?” my dad wanted to know.
“Flip-flops aren’t allowed in school,” I explained. “But I can get away with one because of my in-injury,” I stammered.
Even though he had a tennis lesson to give, he insisted on driving me to school so I wouldn’t strain my foot any further. Thankfully, Sammie had already left for school. Otherwise, she would have figured out I was faking it.
As I walked into school, everyone seemed to want to know why I was wearing two different shoes. Including Principal Pfeiffer, who always greets students as they arrive at school.
“Hi, Charlie,” he said. “Hope that foot’s not going to affect your tournament play. I see you’ve got a big match against Bryant and Shinoda coming up.”
Boy, he really did follow our tennis schedule! I was thinking about how flattering that was, when suddenly, it hit me. Item number three on the list was to bring Lauren something from Principal Pfeiffer’s desk. What better time than now? It was a sign that going ahead with initiation was the right decision.
“Principal Pfeiffer,” I said. “I hear your son plays tennis. If you like, I could give him a list of some warm-up exercises my sister and I do before a match.”
He broke out into a big smile.
“Why, that would be a very kind thing of you to do, Charlie. Thank you.”
“No problem,” I said. “I think I have some paper in my locker. If I hurry I can go get it right now. I’ll leave it on your desk before the bell rings, if that’s okay.”
“Of course,” he said. “Just tell Mrs. Romero that I said for you to go right in.”
This was one lucky break. Maybe I could have two of my initiation assignments done before first period even started.
Once inside the hall, I pulled a piece of paper from my notebook, leaned up against the wall and quickly wrote down a list of five warm-up exercises Sammie and I do—basic drills like trunk twisting, diagonal sprints and slides, stuff like that. Then, with that paper in hand, I walked into the school office and found Mrs. Romero at her desk.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“I have this paper for Principal Pfeiffer,” I said, aware that my heart was thumping faster than usual. “It’s a list of tennis exercises for his son.”
“You can hand it to me,” she said, coming over to the counter. “I’ll leave it for him.”
“Actually, I just saw him and he said that I should personally leave it on his desk.”
She looked over her glasses at me, a curious expression on her face.
“He said that?” Did I hear a suspicious tone in her voice . . . or was it just my guilty conscience?
“Yes, he did, Mrs. Romero. He said just those words.”
Without answering, she walked over to the gate that separates the waiting area from her desk, and held it open for me. I forced a smile and walked through it, flashing her the paper with the list of drills, in case she thought I was making this all up.
“Thank you, Mrs. Romero,” I said.
Gathering up all my nerve, I walked past her and into Mr. Pfeiffer’s office. Quickly, my eyes scanned his desk for something I could take. Something that only a principal would have, but that he wouldn’t miss if I took it. A banana? No, anyone could have a banana on his desk. A pen? No, that looked like an expensive one. I walked up to his desk and laid the piece of paper down, letting my eyes skim over all the other papers there. Then I saw it, the perfect thing.
It was a card with his name written on it from Frankie’s Barber Shop. It was a reminder that he had an appointment for a haircut at 4:30 that day with Frankie himself. I didn’t know that bald men had to get their hair cut.
Quickly, I snatched the card off the desk and slid it into my jeans pocket. When I looked up, Mrs. Romero was standing in the doorway, staring at me. I felt myself turning red in the face.
“Young lady, is there something you’re looking for?” she asked in a harsh voice.
I couldn’t tell if she had seen me pick up the card or not. Maybe I had already slipped it into my pocket by the time she got to the doorway. But maybe I hadn’t. Should I confess right there or pretend that nothing had happened? I looked at her face, which had a sour expression on it—but she was a grumpy woman, so that didn’t necessarily mean she was ready to accuse me.
Don’t be crazy, Charlie. You want to be a Junior Wave, right? So confessing isn’t an option.
I took a deep breath and plunged ahead.
“I was just looking for a place to put this paper down,” I lied. “I was looking for a place that wouldn’t disturb anything on his desk,”
It sounded pretty good. I was getting better at this lying business.
Mrs. Romero looked at me for a long minute. I hoped she didn’t notice that my hands were shaking. And it felt like my chest was going to explode. Finally, the silence was broken by the morning bell ringing. It startled me so much I almost jumped five feet in the air.
“Very well,” she said. “You’d better get to class.”
Phew! I pract
ically flew out of the office. By the time I got into the hall, I was drenched in sweat, and it wasn’t even hot out. As stressful as that was, I have to confess that I felt a strange excitement at having pulled it off.
On my way to first period, I ran into Brooke in the hall. She was wearing a football helmet on her head, obviously part of her initiation list. We both smiled at each other, exchanging a secret look that only another Junior Wave would understand. That was fun.
My next initiation assignment was to take place during second-period Spanish. Although I was nervous about it, after staring down Mrs. Romero, I was feeling a little more confident about facing Señora Molina and refusing to turn in my homework. I could do this.
When I slid into my desk in Spanish class, Jillian passed me a note.
How’s it going? it read.
“Better than you can even imagine,” I whispered as she slid into her desk. I noticed she was wearing her clothes inside out.
We always start class by reciting a poem in Spanish, just to get our throats warmed up and our rs rolling, or so Señora Molina says. As we did our poem, I could see Sammie’s friend Sara on the other side of the class, staring at my foot with the flip-flop. She was frowning. After the poem, Señora Molina asked everyone to pass their homework to the front so she could collect it. We were supposed to write a paragraph describing one of our parents. When she got to the front of my row, Señora Molina glanced over the papers and noticed that mine wasn’t there.
“Charlie,” she said, “please pass your homework to the front.”
“No, thank you,” I said.
She stopped and looked up at me.
“What did you say?” she asked.
“Oh,” I said. “I meant to say, No, gracias.”
I could hear Jillian’s giggle behind me.
“Charlie,” she said, approaching my desk. “I asked for your homework. Now do you have it or not?”
“I have it, but I can’t turn it in, Señora.”
“And may I ask why?”
“It’s just not good enough yet,” I said.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” she answered briskly. “That’s why I’m the teacher and you’re the student.”
“I’m sorry, Señora Molina,” I said, “but I’m just not comfortable turning it in today.”
“Do you understand that if you don’t turn in your homework, you’ll get a zero on the assignment?” she asked me.
“Yes. I mean sí.”
“And that this paragraph I assigned you represents your whole week’s homework grade?”
I nodded.
“I just don’t know why you’d choose to jeopardize your good grade in this class,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m very disappointed in you, Charlie.”
She moved over to the next row. To my surprise, I felt sudden tears welling up in my eyes. I liked Señora Molina. She was a teacher who really cared that her students did well. And she seemed so confused—or was she hurt?—by my stupid refusal to cooperate. When I glanced over at Jillian, I saw that she was giving me a thumbs-up. I tried to smile and then turned my head away quickly so she wouldn’t catch sight of my watery eyes.
Finally, the bell rang and we filed out of class. As I was walking to my locker, Sammie ran up to me.
“What’s going on with you?” she demanded. “Sara told me you made a scene in Spanish class.”
“Nothing. Why do you think something’s going on?”
“Because you’re wearing one shoe. Because you’re refusing to turn in homework. Because you’re acting totally weird. Want me to go on?”
Lauren walked by us.
“Jillian gave me the report. Nicely done,” she whispered before she trotted ahead to join Brooke at her locker.
“It’s something to do with her, isn’t it?” Sammie asked. “What’s Lauren doing to you?”
“Is that all you can think about?” I snapped. “Lauren is my friend. We’re having fun, if that’s okay with you. I think you’re just jealous that I’m back with my old friends and I don’t need you and your little pals anymore.”
“That’s low, Charlie, and you know it.”
There we were, fighting again. Sammie stomped off without another word, and to my surprise, those tears in my eyes welled up again.
By the time lunch came around, I was in a really bad mood. I was standing at my locker, trying to make sense of the morning, when Spencer walked up. The sight of him cheered me up somewhat.
“Mmmmm,” he said. “Smells great in here. Is that pepperoni?”
I blushed.
“I know it’s disgusting,” I said with a shrug, “but I love cold pizza. My grandmother always puts it in my lunch when there are any leftovers.”
“I knew that lady was cool the first time I saw her,” he said. “Cold pizza is my favorite thing. Well, except for cold Chinese food.”
“You’re weird,” I said.
“Me? You’re the one with the locker that smells like pepperoni!”
I took my lunch bag and handed it to him.
“You can have it. I’m not that hungry.”
The stress of the morning was actually making me a little sick to my stomach.
“Really? Don’t make that offer again, Charlie, because I swear, I’ll take you up on it.”
I handed him the bag and he snatched it from me with a big smile.
“Man, this sure beats cafeteria tacos with ground-up mystery meat,” he said.
We headed down the hall and out to the lunch pavilion. Most of the SF2s were already gathered at our table. Lauren got up and met me before I reached the bench.
“Excuse us, Spencer,” she said. “We have some private business to discuss.”
“No problemo,” he said. “I’ve got some cold pizza to eat.”
As soon as he had taken his place at the table, Lauren whispered to me. “It’s going great,” she said. “What you did in Spanish class was unbelievable. And I see that you’re wearing one flip-flop, which is also excellent. Jilly and Brooke are doing great, too.”
I reached into my jeans pocket and handed her the haircut appointment card from Principal Pfeiffer’s desk.
“Item number three from my list,” I said. “Mission accomplished.”
Lauren looked at it, then burst out laughing. “Wait until I show this to Bethany,” she hooted. “She’ll die. So now it’s just lifting that cookie from Starbucks and you’re done.”
“I was thinking . . . how about if we call it quits now?” I said.
“Are you kidding me, Charlie? Bethany is coming to Starbucks to watch you. After that, she’ll give us her final permission to have the Initiation Ceremony tonight.”
“Wait, I didn’t know everything depended on her.”
“Well, technically it doesn’t,” Lauren said. “But she is our sponsor and also the most popular Wave in the whole high school. So I think we should listen to her, don’t you? Now come on, let’s sit down. We don’t want any of the guys to get suspicious.”
At the lunch table, I noticed that Brooke was putting three packets of hot sauce on her tacos. She took one bite and started waving her hand in front of her mouth to cool it down. She reached for a cup of water and chugged the whole thing down. Lauren was watching her carefully.
“Wow, I didn’t know you liked your food so hot,” the General said to her.
Brooke had reached into the cup and pulled out an ice cube. She was holding it to her tongue.
“Ahhh don’t” she tried to say. She looked over at Lauren, her eyes watering from the heat inside her mouth.
“Good girl, Brookie,” Lauren whispered to her. “Now you’re done.”
“Me too?” I asked. I thought it couldn’t hurt to try one more time.
“You’re almost done,” Lauren giggled. “Trust me, the best is yet to c
ome.”
I wished with all my might that I was done, but Lauren wasn’t letting me off the hook. Starbucks lay ahead—and along with it, my first time ever committing an actual crime.
“Charlie, over here,” Lauren called out as I made my way across the crowded patio of Starbucks.
Finally, I saw Lauren, standing at the far end with Brooke and Jillian and Bethany. They were each happily sipping a blended drink. Dodging tables and chairs, I crossed the patio and approached their smiling little group. I wasn’t smiling. In fact, I felt like throwing up.
“What took you so long to get here?” Lauren asked.
“I even left my last period early so I wouldn’t miss this,” Bethany said. “And you come strolling in late. I should ding you for this.”
“Ding?” I repeated.
“It’s a Waves thing. Three dings and you’re on probation. Five dings and you’re out. We have a strict moral code.”
Right, she would be the one to know about a strict moral code, this girl who is asking me to steal.
“Don’t be such a grump, Bethany,” Lauren said. “We’re here to celebrate, aren’t we? This is the last initiation test before we all become Junior Waves.”
I looked at Jillian and Brooke. They didn’t seem nearly as nervous as I was.
“Aren’t you guys scared?” I asked them.
“Of what?” Jillian said. “Drinking a mocha blended? I do that every day.”
I looked at Lauren and before I could ask her, she answered the question she knew was on my mind.
“You’re the only one who’s been asked to take a cookie from Starbucks, Charlie. The other girls have finished their initiation assignments. Remember, Brooke had to do that thing at lunch?”
“Wait a minute,” I complained. “Brooke has to eat some hot sauce, and I have to steal? That’s not fair! I already stole something off Principal Pfeiffer’s desk. That should be enough!”
“Well,” Bethany said, “I explained to Lauren that you had farther to go to prove your loyalty, given what happened with Sean and Jared and everything. So we had to make your test a little tougher than Brooke’s or Jillian’s.”