The 11

by Kim Tomsic

  My heart slammed in my chest—shaking nerves, adrenaline, and satisfaction combined. Once I was finally out of view, I slid down on a bench to catch my breath. Rhena was checked off my to-do list, but all my problems weren’t even close to solved. I still had to face the cafeteria and own up to my mistakes. While I sat there letting my heartbeat calm, I dialed Dad. No answer.

  A nearby locker clanged shut.

  I texted Ally again.

  Me: Cafeteria in five?

  Footsteps came toward me, and then someone tapped a large Nike against the edge of my Converse.

  CHAPTER

  40

  “Megan?” Jackson’s voice lacked its usual confidence. “Do you mind?” He pointed at the space next to me.

  I nodded.

  He sat on the bench, set a guitar case at his feet, and seemed to be searching for words.

  Why? There was nothing more to gain. The flashmob had already flopped.

  Mrs. Matthews’s words echoed in my brain: Sometimes the flaw is that you don’t understand the problem.

  Had I been summing up Jackson with the wrong set of variables? And then the truth about him hit me—he’d appreciated my Woofstock shirt, he’d liked my nerdy jokes, he’d seen my lion hairstyle and my face not only makeup-free, but also full of snot and tears. The campaigning was over, yet here he was, still interested in talking to me. It was time I spoke up to him, too.

  I cleared my throat. “I need to ask you something.”

  “Okay.”

  “Did Rhena tell you to work on me to get me to throw the flashmob?”

  Jackson’s gaze dipped to his shoes and my stomach buckled.

  He let out a sigh before meeting my eyes. “Of course she did. That’s Rhena’s way, and it’s too bad, because there are some decent things about Rhena. But I hate when she acts like that.”

  “Wow,” I said, dropping my chin. I wanted to hide my disappointment, but I was committed to being real. “Bummer.”

  “Hold up. It’s not like that. She asked me to ruin it, but I told her no.”

  “You did?”

  “And I stand by what I told you,” he said. “You don’t need to have a flashmob or pull off anything special to have people like you. I like you.”

  He searched my eyes.

  “Thanks,” I said. This was the second time he’d said he liked me. “I’m sorry about last night and for being so weird at my locker this morning.”

  “It’s all good.”

  “It’s not. Look. I’ve been sort of ridiculous and I’m sorry, because I like you, too.” I couldn’t believe I’d just said that out loud, but I didn’t turn away when the blush burned my face.

  Jackson scooted close, reached over, and tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear. “Mmmhmm. Tell me more.”

  My breath caught. “Well, I’ve been wanting to tell you all week how I like that you wear the bracelet from your little sister. That’s super-sweet. And I want to hear more about her.” My words picked up speed. “And my sister’s pretty awesome and I gave you a bad impression of her yesterday, but that’s all on me. And I’d love to come to your lacrosse game sometime and you could tell me what a midi does. And maybe we could do another Wednesday Night Walks. And—” I took a breath and realized I was rambling. “Uhhh. Sorry. Word vomit.”

  Jackson laughed. “No. It’s great. And about my mask. I wish I had a president mask.”

  “I know.” I looked down. “That’s my mess-up, too.”

  “But I have this.” Jackson reached into his backpack and pulled out a Scooby-Doo mask, slipping it on his head. “What do you think? Scooby would make a great president.”

  I laughed.

  Just then someone rounded the corner with a lightsaber. “Awesome, this day is,” said a voice under a Yoda mask.

  I looked at Jackson, confused.

  “Oh, you don’t know?” he said.

  “Know what?”

  “Come on.” He picked up his guitar case and ushered me through the empty hall toward the cafeteria. Halfway there, the boys’ restroom door swung open. Three superheroes and someone wearing an astronaut helmet walked out and gave me a thumbs-up.

  “Wait, what?” I said.

  “President masks are in short supply,” Jackson said. “But nobody wanted to be left out or count on getting one of the extras you were going to bring, so practically the whole seventh grade texted saying to bring a mask—any mask—and everybody dug through their old Halloween stuff. It’s pretty funny.”

  We arrived at the cafeteria entrance, and two people wearing Grim Reaper costumes stepped out of the double doors and stopped in front of us. “Megan!” They pulled off their matching masks—Turner and Ally.

  “We were just looking for you,” Ally said. “I love this! It’s the most spirited thing I’ve ever seen our school do.”

  “Yup,” Turner said. “The cafeteria is a veritable Halloween in September. Definitely my speed.”

  “Veritable.” Ally smiled. “Anyhow, Megan, you did it.”

  “I didn’t,” I insisted. “I didn’t deliver any masks. I’m sorry. It wasn’t a sabotage on purpose or anything, but I can’t take credit for all this.” I waved a hand to the costumes streaming into the cafeteria.

  “Sure you can,” Ally said. “The snowball effect. You said to show up in masks, and that’s what’s happening. It’s so fun.” She smiled at Turner. “Luckily Turner brought an extra costume.”

  “We can switch classes and pretend to be each other,” Turner said.

  “Nice,” I said.

  Ally laughed. “Megan, I’m sorry about everything. Putting you in the middle of my stuff with Rhena must’ve been a lot of pressure.”

  “Yep,” I agreed. “Like substituting nitro groups for three hydrogen atoms.”

  Turner and Jackson cracked up.

  “What?” Ally asked. “Is that a chemistry joke?”

  “Yep,” Turner said. “A dynamite one! Get it, because three hydrogen atoms?”

  Ally shook her head and smiled before continuing. “I’m sorry. To be honest, I was jealous about you guys hanging out at the Humane Society and then lunch.” Her mouth twisted. “I just didn’t want her to steal you away. So lame of me. You should be able to eat lunch with whoever you want. I just want us to be friends, too. Okay?”

  “It’s a deal,” I said.

  Hannah should be able to be friends with whoever she wanted to also. I took out my phone. “Just a sec, guys.”

  Me: Sorry, H. Talk after school?

  She replied immediately.

  Hannah: Sorry 2. Yes!!! Love you!

  “Hey!” Three people walked out of the cafeteria and lifted off their Ninja Turtle masks—Noelle, Mia, and Erin. “It’s time.”

  Ally grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the doorway. “Come on. You and I are first.”

  “First?”

  “Your exponential flashmob. We’re doing your cartwheel idea, but in twos because with threes it got to be too many people.” She nodded like this was perfectly normal. “Just keep cartwheeling across the cafeteria floor until you make it to the other side. Okay?”

  “Uhhhh?”

  “Come on. It’s going to be fun. Turner got his tech and engineering friends to doctor up the cafeteria’s lights and sound system. And the big cartwheeling groups are being handled by the spirit club and band. When they finish, we’ll all start dancing. Okay?”

  My head spun. A crowd? Eyes on me?

  “Hurry. Give Jackson your backpack and slip on your mask,” Mia said.

  Jackson touched my arm, restarting my pulse. “See you in there.” He headed inside.

  “Okay?” Everything was moving quickly. I put on my Lincoln mask.

  Ally grabbed my hand again, pulling me to just outside the closed cafeteria doors. “We’ll count down, open the doors, and when they get to the chorus we’ll cartwheel through to the other side.”

  My entire body vibrated, not the purring kind but the shaking in my shoes kind. “Oh . . .
kay?”

  Turner spoke into his phone. “Yep,” he said to the person on the other end. “Cue the lights and music. Be ready to bust out the sound system after the Minions.” Then he counted down: “Five, four, three, two, one.”

  Erin and Mia swung open the cafeteria doors and the crowd stepped aside.

  The lights went dim, and I couldn’t see anything for a second; then two lights popped on, one above Jackson and the other above . . . Piper!

  Piper and Jackson were holding guitars. The gym was silent until their strumming began. My brain took a second to catch up.

  Piper was playing music. For me. For my flashmob.

  Instead of owning the room the way she usually did, she looked tiny. Small. The strain showed in the stiffness of her back. The strumming was off, and then she glanced at me and hit a wrong note. And then another. My heart tightened. Piper stopped.

  I held my breath.

  She turned to Jackson and gave him a nod that must have meant to begin again. The strumming restarted, and this time it was perfect. Or it was perfect to me, because Piper was being brave, finding her voice in music even with mistakes and all. And she had taken the risk for me.

  My heart welled up.

  The truth about my little sister hit me. Piper’s life wasn’t just bubbles and rainbows. She pretended everything was okay, when really she spent her days worrying over Dad and her nights struggling with guilt and bad dreams about Mom. Our eyes connected again, and she smiled at me the way she used to smile on those long-ago Saturday mornings, and her song took off.

  “You okay?” Ally asked.

  My eyes blurred and a snort came out. “I’m perfect,” I answered.

  The music flowed, the beats energetic. Then the center lights popped on in time with their chorus. The middle of the cafeteria floor had been cleared and a crush of students in masks pressed together and against walls making a horseshoe around the cleared space.

  “Go!” Ally said.

  In we went, Ally and me cartwheeling to applause, adrenaline thrumming through my ears. We cartwheeled to the other side. I didn’t even know I’d been laughing the whole way until we landed our final cartwheel. Then Tank and Wigglesworth stepped from the crowd, each strumming a ukulele. They joined Piper and Jackson, and now the four instruments played and the music picked up tempo. Lights blasted at the entrance and heads shifted to the next group of masked cartwheelers—Mia, Erin, Turner, and Noelle. They turned as a synchronized set of four, and Ally and I couldn’t help but laugh at Turner in his Grim Reaper mask with his clumsy cartwheels. When they landed beside us, four students with horns stepped from the crowd and joined the musicians, making an eight-member band. Eight students in Minion masks detonated from the crowd, backflipping across the floor like Olympic gymnasts.

  “The Minions are the cheerleaders!” Ally screamed.

  The crowd roared and Turner whipped his phone from his Velcroed pocket. “Now,” he said. Right on cue, music exploded from the cafeteria speakers, and I could only guess it was sixteen instruments popping out galvanized beats, and sixteen people went next, then thirty-two blasted out of the left side of the room and cartwheeled across the floor. The music boomed in full tilt, and everyone started dancing and jumping. I caught sight of Rhena and Shelby, propped against a wall, arms crossed, scowling. Then Jackson grabbed my hand and pulled me to the center of the room with Turner and Ally, who screamed, “Dance party!”

  The faculty let the dance party go on for a full fifteen minutes. Even Mrs. Matthews and Mr. Scoggins hit the floor with a few moves that must’ve been popular back in the day. Then Coach Crosby blew her whistle and announced it was time to vote.

  Spider-Men, a few Bart Simpsons, several zombies, pumpkinheads, Marios, Zorros, Star Wars characters, and clowns made up the seventh-grade voting lines. Voting was monitored by teachers and faculty.

  We cast our ballots and grabbed some of the free election day food from baskets that had been set up with water bottles and plastic-wrapped hoagie sandwiches.

  The cafeteria tables had been stacked or pushed against the walls to clear an open space in the center, so we sat on the floor. I caught sight of Piper by the sandwiches and waved. She returned the wave, grabbed a sandwich, and ran back to the lower-division side. I placed a hand over the pocket where I had Mom’s guitar pick. Mom would have been proud to have seen how today went down.

  Turner was three rows over, high-fiving Wigglesworth and Tank. I sat squished between Ally and Jackson.

  Ally leaned close to me and whispered, “I never realized that Turner’s so cute.” She took a swig of water. “And he’s always himself.”

  “Always,” I said, and we laughed.

  Toward the end of lunch, the faculty tallied up the votes. Mr. Scoggins waited in the center of the room as Coach Crosby and Mrs. Sinoway crossed the floor with the results envelopes. The coach blew her whistle and the room quieted.

  “Thank you to all who ran for Spirit Week,” Mr. Scoggins said. Mrs. Butler stood beside him. “If you did not win, please offer your enthusiasm and support in another club or volunteering capacity. It’s people like you who make our school great. And now for the results.”

  Instead of sitting on the floor like everyone else, the Rhenites minus Yoona stood around Rhena, who was smiling like today was the best day ever, not a trace of worry.

  I grabbed Ally’s hand and crossed my fingers.

  Ally sucked in a breath, her knees bouncing, and Jackson reached over and patted her back.

  Mr. Scoggins unfolded the paper.

  “Drumroll, please,” Turner said.

  “Hmmm,” Mr. Scoggins said, his face scrunched. He looked over at Coach Crosby and Mrs. Sinoway. They both nodded.

  “Come on!” Tank shouted. “Tell us!”

  Ally squeezed her eyes shut and crushed my hand in her grip.

  I smelled the tangerine scent first.

  “Hey, girl.”

  Then my stomach dropped to my socks. The green-eyed girl held her clipboard and smiled at me.

  “Whaaa—”

  “Oh, whoops.” She scanned the notes on her board. “I’m not here for you. I’m here for her.”

  She disappeared and I swept my gaze around the room. Where had she gone?

  “Wow,” Mr. Scoggins said after pausing to huddle with Mrs. Butler, Coach Crosby, and Mrs. Sinoway. “With one hundred percent of the vote in their favor, the seventh-grade team of Rhena Thornsmith and Jackson Litner are your new Spirit Week Captains.”

  A combination of gasps, applause, and confused chatter surrounded us.

  “Huh?” Wigglesworth said, clapping and sounding puzzled at the same time. “How is that possible?”

  My head spun.

  Ally opened her eyes and gaped at our circle. “None of you guys voted for me and Megan? I mean, I can understand you, Jackson, but Megan?”

  “No. I did,” I said, scanning the cafeteria again for the green-eyed girl.

  “So did I,” Mia said.

  “You bet your rosy rutabaga I voted for you,” Erin said. “I demand a recount!”

  “Yeah,” Noelle said. “No way that’s right.”

  Across the room, I spotted the green-eyed girl handing her gold fountain pen to Rhena. Rhena signed the scroll.

  My skin went clammy, but I knew exactly what I had to do. Even though eating fire sounded like a better option than public speaking, I stood.

  “Excuse me.” I walked toward Mr. Scoggins, waving noodly-feeling arms over my head. “Excuse me,” I called from across the crowd. “Excuse me.”

  The applause quieted. It felt like forty million eyes were staring at me. “That—” My voice caught and I cleared my throat. “That result is statistically impossible. Do you mean ninety-nine percent? Because I voted for Ally.”

  Mr. Scoggins looked at Mrs. Sinoway. She shook her head. “It was a unanimous vote. One hundred percent for Rhena and Jackson.”

  The delivery girl was gone. Rhena crossed her arms and smiled. But her c
onfidence no longer intimidated me. “Well,” I said in the firmest, surest voice I’d ever heard leave my mouth, “that’s inaccurate. Because I voted for Ally. And I’m certain others did, too.”

  “Perhaps you made a mistake. Checked the wrong box,” Mr. Scoggins said.

  “Even if I’d made a mistake, and even if Rhena had enough votes to win, I’m still certain a lot of students voted for Ally.” I turned to the crowd. “Am I right? I know ballots are meant to be private, but can we agree there’s no way Rhena won with a hundred percent of the vote?”

  “Accept it’s over,” Rhena said. “I won. You lost, and—”

  “I voted for Ally!” Turner hollered over Rhena.

  “Me too,” said Haleigh and Zoe together. They rose to their feet and three friends stood next to them. “Us too.”

  “Me too,” said Erin, Noelle, Mia, Karen, Ellie, and a bunch of others.

  “This is ridiculous.” Rhena’s voice screeched. “Nobody cares what you have to say, ‘Fun-meister.’”

  I froze.

  “Yeah,” Rhena said. “It’s not hard to search social media. Newsflash, everyone. Megan wasn’t known as anything except a dorkjob at her last school.”

  I could feel my cheeks turning red, but I forced myself to stand taller. I had nothing to be ashamed of. “So what?” I said. “I can be dorky. I can be dorky to the tenth. Big whoop. It’s more fun than being fake.” I turned and smiled at my friends in the crowd. At Jackson, Ally, and Yoona. Tank, Erin, and Wigglesworth. Turner, Ellie, Karen, Mia, and Noelle. They all smiled. None of them were giving me a judgy look. I turned back to Mr. Scoggins, held my fist in the air, and said, “Re-vote! Re-vote!”

  “Re-vote!” Jackson join in.

  “Re-vote!” Turner chanted.

  Then Ally and Erin and Mia and Noelle were saying, “Re-vote! Re-vote! Re-vote!” So were Wigglesworth and Karen and Ellie. “Re-vote!” The cafeteria filled with the chant.

  “Okay, okay,” Mr. Scoggins said, trying to get everyone to calm.

  “Yo,” said one of the jocks, standing and gesturing to the group near him, “we all wrote in Turner’s name when we voted.”

  Turner jumped up and saluted. “Captain Turner at your service.”