The 11

by Kim Tomsic

  “Hey, there’s Rhena,” Jackson said. “Weird. I told her we’d be here today when I asked her and Yoona for your number.”

  “But is that . . .” I stood up and pressed my forehead against the window, angling for a better look. Jackson joined me. The crowd on the sidewalk parted, and there was a sparkly clip and honey-blond ponytail. “Oh my gosh. That’s my little sister! With Rhena!”

  “Yeah?” Jackson said, probably wondering at my freaked-out tone. “Are you okay?”

  I couldn’t keep it together, no matter how cute he was. “Piper is with her.” My words came out fiery.

  Rhena and Piper headed down the sidewalk. I swept my backpack over my shoulder, slammed my cup into the trash bin, and bolted out the door.

  I was already halfway down the sidewalk before Jackson caught up, huffing to catch his breath. “Megan, what’s going on?”

  “She . . .” I pressed my lips together. “They . . .” I shook my head. “Ugh. I just can’t believe this!” I picked up my speed.

  Rhena and Piper passed several storefronts and then took a left, walking into Marble Slab Creamery.

  I hustled to the ice cream parlor and threw open the door. “Piper?” I spit out her name and popped my hands to my hips.

  “Megan!” Her face flushed.

  “Oh, hey, Jackson. Megan,” Rhena said all singsongy. She scooched closer to Piper and smiled. “Piper and I have been talking about what a hard time you’ve been having with this move; that you and your best friend back in Colorado are fighting.”

  I glared at my sister. “You’re talking about me to her?” The words squeezed from my tight throat.

  “Megan. I want her to know about you and you about her so you guys can be friends,” Piper said, her face begging me to trust that she had everything worked out. “And Rhena promises everything I say stays between us. She’s not going to talk about you to anyone.”

  “She’s talking about me now.” I flung a hand toward Jackson, who was studying his shoes and probably thinking I was the lamest person ever.

  “Piper says you’re a bit obsessed with a cat clock, too.”

  “I didn’t say obsessed,” Piper said, looking at Rhena.

  “And I’m thinking,” Rhena said, “it’s that cat clock in Kersey’s room, right?”

  I couldn’t say a lie, so I shook my head.

  “Hmm,” Rhena said. “Are you sure? Because after school I showed it to Piper.” Rhena smiled at my sister.

  Piper didn’t see the malice dancing in Rhena’s eyes. She looked at me in her hopeful way. “You’re right, Megan. I do think that clock is cool.”

  “And,” Rhena said, “she says your grandma has a clock just like it and used to wish on it.” Rhena paused. “At eleven-eleven.” Pause. “With some fancy rhyme?”

  A cold chill drained through my face and neck.

  “It’s too bad Piper can’t remember the rhyme,” Rhena said sweetly. “Do you remember it?”

  Every hair on the back of my neck spiked.

  Rhena narrowed her gaze. “Because I was thinking your Grams’s rhyme might be the same one I saw etched on the back of the clock when Kersey took it down to change the batteries yesterday?”

  “Megan,” Piper asked, “what’s wrong?”

  A satisfied smile smeared across Rhena’s face. “Anyhoo, we need to get back to our yearbook planning now, soooo . . .” She gave me a look that said I was dismissed. “Oh, and Piper.” She rested a hand on Piper’s arm. “Didn’t you say you wanted to talk about the big pillow fight we’re having in April?”

  I flinched.

  “Hold on, Megan.” Piper stood and grabbed my arm. “Of course it’s our pillow fight. I just thought Rhena could help. We need lots of people.”

  “Sure. That’s right,” Rhena said, sweet as ever, the perfect actress. “Stay. We’ll all plan it together.”

  How could Piper have invited Rhena to be part of our thing?

  “See?” Piper said. “She wants you here, and if you guys just get to know each other—”

  I shook off Piper’s grip and pushed open the door to leave Marble Slab.

  “Wait, Megan,” Piper said.

  I whipped around to face her just long enough to scream, “Leave. Me. Alone!” Then I blazed a path down the sidewalk, Jackson rushing to my side. When I rounded a corner, I nearly knocked over a small child with my swinging backpack.

  I stopped. “I’m sorry,” I said to the little boy. He clutched his mother’s leg. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” the mother said kindly before scooping the boy into her arms and walking on.

  Jackson rested a hand on my shoulder.

  “Here,” he said softly. “Let me carry that for you.” He took my backpack. “Megan, what’s going on?”

  My cheeks were wet, and I was probably a vision of loveliness—all drippy nose and mascara trails.

  “Are you okay?”

  I wiped my face and blubbered, “We were going to plan a pillow fight.”

  “Yeah?”

  “We, as in me and Piper,” I said, because he wasn’t getting it. “Not Rhena. Definitely not Rhena. What are they even doing together?” I looked at him accusingly.

  “Um,” he shifted. “I don’t—”

  “I texted her today.” I sniffed.

  “Rhena?”

  “No! Piper.” I let out an exasperated sigh and started walking, slower this time. “And I told her I had plans after school. She could’ve told me she had plans, too. But she didn’t. Not telling me is just as bad as lying. Right?”

  “Um—”

  “Why would she talk about me? I’ve already asked her not to hang out with Rhena. I’m the one who’s there for Piper in the middle of the night,” I said, kicking a pebble. “Not Rhena. I don’t know why Piper even wants to be around her.” I sounded stupid and jealous and full of drama. But the words continued to fall from my mouth.

  “My life is out of control, Jackson. Moving here. I’m losing my sister. And I don’t even know how you could be friends with someone like Rhena.” My hiccup turned into a slurpy sniffle. “And I promised to wow you all with an amazing flashmob to help Ally win the election, when the truth is I’ve got zip, and I probably shouldn’t be telling you this since you’re the competition.” I shook my head in disbelief. “My biggest flashmob idea so far has been to have an exponential cartwheel-off.” I scoffed. “Can you imagine? How nerdy is that? That’s about as exciting as having a hundred people call off the numbers of pi.”

  “That could be fun,” Jackson said softly.

  I blubbered a laugh and rubbed away tears. “That announcement in assembly about how the flashmob’s going to be legendary. Well, what’s the opposite of legendary?” I shook my head. “By this time tomorrow I’ll have ruined the Spirit Week election for Ally and everybody’s going to hate me.”

  “Nobody’s going to hate you. Here, stop walking for a sec.” Jackson offered me a Starbucks napkin. The sweet look on his face made me want to cry all over again.

  I took the napkin and turned my face away, wiping snot and tears.

  “It doesn’t matter that we’re running against each other in the election,” he said. “The flashmob is for our whole class, and I’ll help you brainstorm or whatever you need or we can forget it completely.” Jackson handed a fresh napkin to me. “You need to know people already like you—our math group, the lunch group, a bunch of people. It doesn’t matter if you throw a whopping Megan-palooza or not. Really. You can forget the flashmob if it stresses you out. You don’t need to do anything.”

  “Forget it? You don’t have a clue. You’ve lived here forever and already have a boatload of friends. More than a boat—a cruise ship.” I sighed. “You don’t understand the pressure. I can’t just not do anything.”

  Suddenly, the familiarity of being urged to forget the flashmob hit me hard. It clobbered me. Jackson was on Team Rhena. They’d been friends forever. He’d skipped math club to meet with her, probably to discuss th
eir own blindside. Lunch was probably a setup, too.

  “Did Rhena tell you to tell me that?” Hair bristled on the back of my neck. “That’s why you asked me out?” My voice rose. “To try to convince me not to have the flashmob so you and Rhena can win the election?”

  “No?” he said, but his face flashed a flicker of guilt, that same flicker I’d seen in the hallway. “I’m just saying—”

  “Right,” I said. “Forget it. This was a bad idea, and I have to go.”

  “Can I walk you?”

  “No.” I grabbed my backpack from him. “How dumb do you think I am?”

  “Megan?”

  “Remember what we talked about, Jackson,” I said mimicking Rhena’s voice from the other day. They’d probably planned this whole let’s-fool-Megan scheme together.

  CHAPTER

  36

  I stormed circles around my bedroom, kicking my trash can and then the moving box of books. I felt sorry for myself and even sorrier for Ally—because of me she’d lose the election. And worse, Rhena would probably theme Spirit Week in ways to make me miserable: Millionaire Monday, only the wealthy can play. Tahitian Tuesday, wear a bikini to school. Weirdo Wednesday, dress like Megan. Ugh!

  I had a mini tantrum, shoving my chair under my desk, stomping over my pile of laundry, and kicking the next thing in my path, the box with the Lincoln mask. Suddenly the “I” in the creativity formula sparked. C = fa(KIE): Creativity is a function of attitude multiplied by Knowledge, Imagination, and Evaluation.

  I stooped over and picked up the Lincoln mask and could’ve kissed it right then and there. Pieces of a plan started to gel and an idea for the flashmob came to me, something that could be funny and timely—one part flashmob and one part Spirit Week election.

  Would everyone think it was dumb?

  I squeezed the mask, thinking about what Mrs. Matthews had said at math club—understand the problem, devise a plan, and carry it out.

  I had an idea, but doubt crushed my chest. People might think it was dumb. But according to the formula, the fa, the function of attitude, was up to me, and I liked it. A lot. It wasn’t a perfect algorithm for a mind-blowing flashmob, but it was a creative solution. And before I talked myself out of it, I set the mask on my bed and used my phone to open the social media forum Ally had set up for the seventh-grade class. I typed “#TeamFreeSpirit.” I took a photo of the mask and posted it with the same hashtag and plastered it on all my social media sources, adding: “Noon. Cafeteria. Show up wearing a president mask—Nixon, Clinton, Lincoln, whoever! Vote Ally 4 Spirit Week Captain!”

  Then I copied and pasted the post in a text to Ally.

  My phone rang right away.

  “Megan,” Ally said, “I love the idea. It’s brilliant!”

  “I know, right? It’s an election, so I thought presidents. Anyhow, in the morning we could meet early and plan some kind of chant for our group and we could march into the cafeteria with our masks on, all saying something together and then scream out ‘Vote for Ally!’”

  “The thing is . . .”

  Uh-oh. She sounded flustered, not excited.

  “I don’t have a president mask. And I don’t mean to sound negative, because it is a funny idea and so perfect for an election. But I doubt most people own Obama or Nixon masks or any other president for that matter.”

  How could I be so lame?

  “I mean,” she continued, “I’m sure a few people do, but for those of us who don’t, it’s kind of a hard thing to get ahold of before lunchtime tomorrow.”

  “Right,” I said softly, hanging my head. Of course she was right. I should have talked to her before sending the post. C = fa(KIE). I forgot the “E” as in Evaluate.

  “Oh man,” Ally said, sounding panicked. “I have my computer opened right now. Look at how many likes the post is getting. What should we do?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, feeling defeated. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have promised a flashmob. Now I’ve probably ruined the election for you.”

  Ally didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she said, “It’s okay. If I can’t win an election without a flashmob, then I don’t deserve it. And you didn’t ruin anything. It was me. I shouldn’t have gotten so braggy at assembly.” Did she sniffle? “My mouth gets me in trouble sometimes.”

  She was being so nice when I’d just destroyed our chances of winning. I wished I could do something to fix this.

  The horrible weight of messing up things for Ally pressed on me. Rhena would win. Again. The thought spun anger through my veins.

  I was tired of Rhena winning. She won with lunch, with my sister, with Jackson. And now she knew enough about the clock to be dangerous. I couldn’t let her win the election, too. There was only one way to stop her—I’d have to make sure we had the best, most magical flashmob possible.

  “Hold on, Ally,” I said. “I’ve got this figured out.” I pushed down the warning crawling up my spine. “I have a way to get as many masks as we need delivered outside the cafeteria before lunchtime.”

  “You do?” she asked. “How?”

  “I can’t really explain, but trust me. I have it handled.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Mmmhmm.”

  “Wow! Okay . . . thank you!”

  “Don’t worry when you don’t see the masks first thing in the morning,” I said. “But trust me. They’ll be right outside the cafeteria door before lunchtime. In fact, they’ll be there at eleven twelve on the dot.”

  I didn’t consider what could happen to me. All I knew was that Rhena wasn’t going to win again. I’d risk one more wish to make sure of it.

  CHAPTER

  37

  On Friday morning, I got up at T minus five hours—that gave me plenty of time to take Archie on an early walk and another opportunity to practice saying my wish fifty more times. When the clock struck 11:11, I would say, “At eleven twelve a.m., please have Bruce deliver enough US president masks to Saguaro Prep’s cafeteria so that every single seventh grader can wear one.”

  After the walk, I poured myself a glass of orange juice, grabbed a brown paper bag, and returned to my room. Archie tried to go to Piper’s room, but I forced him to come with me. He went under my bed.

  A moment after I shut my door there was a knock. “Megan, can I come in and talk to you?” Piper said.

  “No.” I locked the door and also the Jack-and-Jill side of the bathroom.

  Then I stared at that crumpled fortune cookie paper from the other night. The one that said, “Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.”

  Dr. Seuss obviously never went to middle school.

  I snatched the Marilyn quote off my wall and shoved it into my backpack—a little extra motivation in case I started to chicken out.

  “Please, Megan,” she said, knocking again.

  I thought about flinging open the door and showing Piper the video of Rhena. But then she’d see me as lame. Spineless. Doing nothing to stand up for Ally. “Just go.”

  Thinking about Piper talking about me to Rhena made me angry all over again. And now Rhena knew about the rhyme. It was only a matter of time until she figured out she needed to make a pop and she’d be on the road to wishing. And then no one at Saguaro Prep would be safe!

  My phone had texts waiting. The first from Yoona:

  Yoona: No matter what happens today, good luck.

  I replied “Thanks” with a smiley face and dog emoji.

  Next, a text from Hannah:

  Hannah: Good luck w/ ur flashmob. I want to hear all about it.

  At least she remembered.

  Then a text from Ally flashed on the screen.

  Ally: SO excited about the flashmob!!!

  A tidal wave of jittery nerves rippled through my gut.

  Me: Me too ☺

  I slid open my desk drawer, magazine still hidden inside. I carefully placed it in the brown paper bag and tucked it into my bac
kpack.

  Ally: This’ll go down as the best Spirit Week kickoff ever!!!

  Yep, I thought . . . as long as the magic works, Rhena doesn’t mess with the clock, and I don’t grow a tail.

  After second period, my phone vibrated with an incoming call. Probably Piper. I reached into my pocket and clicked decline.

  “Hey,” Jackson said.

  His voice startled me. Embarrassment flooded my veins. But so did anger, because now I knew what he was about.

  “What?” I shut my locker and glanced left and right for an escape route.

  My phone vibrated again. Decline.

  “I tried catching up with you before both first and second period this morning.” Jackson moved closer, and the kindness in his voice squeezed my ribs. He tried to make eye contact. “How are you?”

  “Managing” was what I tried to say. “I’m fine” was what I wished I’d said. “Meow” is what came out. Ugh.

  “Huh?” Jackson said.

  “Hey, guys.” Rhena sidled in next to Jackson.

  “Later,” I said.

  Jackson looked flattened. “Megan?”

  “Let her go,” I heard Rhena say. “I hear she’s got a thing for Turner, anyhow.”

  The math room smelled like the egg burrito sitting on Mrs. Matthews’s desk. As I took my seat, a boy in the front row said, “Flashmob at noon, right, Megan?”

  Pressure churned my gut. “Yep.”

  Outside, the rain drizzled. There was no choice but to risk one more wish at 11:11.

  Too bad I couldn’t wish away the past. If I could, I’d rewind this week and zip my lips after the snow day. I’d never claim to be the Fun-meister or promise a flashmob. I’d skip the assembly. I wouldn’t tell Piper anything about the clock. And I’d wish to undo all the drama I’d created. At least Ally and her group would be my friends after all this was over. They had been nice from the start.

  “Hey, Megan.” Ally walked into the room, face pinched.

  Why was she looking at me like that?

  “Having lunch with Rhena again, today?” She flew past the open seat next to me and chose a last-row desk.

  I turned around. “No, I’m not—”