For everyone who has ever felt small or inadequate—you are enough.
And for everyone who has bravely stood up to make the world a better place—thank you.
TITLE PAGE
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALSO BY LISA SCHROEDER
COPYRIGHT
Sometimes I like to imagine what it must be like to have a large family at dinnertime. Probably a little chaotic. Loud. Maybe messy. But I bet if there are school forms to sign, the parents hardly read them. Or if one of the kids doesn’t feel like talking, no one even notices. That must be nice.
Since it’s just the three of us in my family, my parents always notice if I don’t feel like talking. Some days it feels like a giant sign with neon lights flashing at me: TALK TO US, HAZEL! TELL US ALL YOUR THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS!
The lights were about to start flashing at me across our Friday night dinner table at Ruby’s Diner. It’s a favorite place of ours, with booths covered in old-fashioned red vinyl and a counter with round stools, where people sit and drink thick, creamy milkshakes. I love strawberry the most because they use real berries. The waitresses wear pink dresses with aprons while the men wear black pants, white shirts, and pink bow ties. As my dad likes to say, “It’s very retro.”
I’d brought a book along with me to read, because I much prefer reading to talking. I was finishing up an old favorite, The Adventures of Pippi Longstocking. It’s always been my comfort book, and since starting middle school, I’ve really needed some comfort. I discovered Pippi when I was little thanks to a statue of her that stands in the park in front of our city’s library. When Mom told me about Pippi, I’d wanted her to find the book and read it to me. So she had. And I fell madly in love with the girl named Pippi Longstocking.
Pippi doesn’t care what anyone thinks. And she’s so unique. She loves to sail the seven seas, she wears her two braids in such a way that they stick straight out from her head, and she can lift a horse with one hand.
For my birthday that year, Mom got me my own set of Pippi Longstocking books. It’s hard to know how many times I’ve read the original book, but if I had to guess, I’d say around thirty.
While I read my book, my parents talked about some problems Dad was having with a coworker. But once our food came and I set the book down, the questions would start. They always did. And I needed to show them something that was probably going to infuriate them, especially my mom. I’d brought it with me because chances were good Mom wouldn’t make a scene in a public place.
The waiter gave us our food and as soon as he left, I picked up my burger and took a bite. I was starving. But the texture was all wrong. I forced myself to swallow, set it down, and took a long drink of water. My face must have given away my disgust.
“Hazel, are you okay?” Mom asked. She’d ordered her usual soup and salad. Meanwhile, Dad worked on his bacon cheeseburger like he hadn’t eaten in five days.
“It’s not well-done,” I said. “I don’t know if I can eat it.”
Dad wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Then let’s send it back.”
“No,” I whispered. “That’s so embarrassing.” I picked up one of the crinkle fries that came with it. “I’ll just eat the fries. It’s fine.”
“Sweetie,” Mom said with her warm smile. “He asked how you wanted it and you said well-done. If they didn’t give you what you want, it’s okay to ask them to make it right.”
Sometimes I wonder if becoming an adult gives you superpowers, one of them being the ability to do most anything and not get embarrassed by it. Well, unless you’re Pippi Longstocking. Something magical must have happened to her as a baby. That’s my guess. But take my dad, for example. He has no problem taking out the trash wearing his robe if he’s forgotten to do it the night before. Really, Dad? You’re okay with the entire neighborhood seeing that old, ratty green robe you’ve had for at least a hundred years?
And then there’s Mom. Nothing fazes her. Last weekend we drove down to Salem and went to Macy’s. As we browsed a rack of sale shoes, she burst out laughing.
“What?” I’d asked. “What is it?”
She’d pointed at the shoes she’d worn. “I was in such a hurry, I didn’t pay attention to what I was doing. Look, I’m wearing two different shoes.”
They were the same style, but one was black while the other was navy blue. She works at a coffee shop, which means she’s on her feet all day. When she finds a comfortable pair of shoes that she loves, she often gets multiple pairs in different colors. Seems boring to me, but whatever. Another superpower adults seem to have is that boring doesn’t bother them. At all.
“Well, hurry,” I’d whispered. “Buy some new ones and put them on, before anyone sees.”
“But I’m not really finding anything I like. Besides, hardly anyone will notice, and if they do, well, I bet every woman in here has been so exhausted or rushed at some point, they’ve done the same thing.”
I couldn’t believe it. She was okay walking around with two different shoes on her feet? In public?
“Can I go look in the teen section?” I’d asked. Yes, I admit, I didn’t want to be seen with her.
“All right. I need to stop at the cosmetics counter. I’ll be there in ten minutes or so. Stay alert. Be safe.” Her favorite four words make me sigh every time she says them.
Now, before I could stop her, Mom had waved down the waiter. I stared at my glass of water like it provided all the answers to the universe. If only!
“I’m so sorry,” the waiter said. “It must have gotten mixed up with someone else’s. I’ll have the cook make you another one right away.”
“Thank you,” my dad said while I muttered, “Sorry.”
“Oh, nothing to be sorry about,” the waiter said. “We want you to be happy!”
I wanted to say, “I’m in sixth grade. Do you remember what that was like? Happiness seems about as hard to find these days as the lost socks that magically disappear in the laundry.”
“So, how was school today?” Mom asked.
I’d been in middle school for about a month. At first, I told them how much I hated being in a big school and having passing time for classes. I longed for the familiar faces at my old school and the rooms I’d come to know and love. Mom kept telling me that getting used to something new can be hard at first, but things would get better. It didn’t take long to realize that telling them about my problems only made things wors
e. Because then they felt the need to ask about every little thing, and I just didn’t want to talk to them about it.
Instead, I write haiku. Strange, I know, but it helps. My fifth-grade teacher, Ms. Lennon, got me started. She shared one almost every day on the whiteboard last year. I kind of became obsessed and started coming up with my own. My brain loves counting syllables, apparently. And when something good comes to me, I try to write it down. Since I’d been eating lunch in the library, I liked to write them on little pieces of paper and slip them into books for others to find. Like this one I’d written earlier today:
Three years of this, but
others have survived and so
will I. Hopefully.
For a moment, I thought about reciting it as my answer to her question. But instead, I turned to my mom, smiled, and replied, “Fine.”
“Learn anything interesting?” Dad asked.
I knew they didn’t like it when I answered with just one word. But did they understand I didn’t like it when they asked about school every single day? Because honestly, they might have thought they’d love to know what it’s like for me in middle school, but did they really?
I mean, did they really want to know there were a couple of boys who insisted on tripping my best friend, Tori, and me every day as we made our way to first period? Did they really want to know I’d asked for permission to eat in the library because kids in the cafeteria were so obnoxious, sometimes I could hardly stand it? Did they really want to know that in band class, I kept finding a note on my music stand with some horrible comment about my butt?
As much as I didn’t want to show them, I knew I had to, and this was my chance. I pulled the piece of paper out of the pocket of my jeans, unfolded it, and placed it in the middle of our table for them to read.
“Yeah, this happened today,” I whispered. “And, Mom, please, keep your voice down, okay?”
And then I held my breath, hoping she’d grant me my wish.
“Oh no,” Mom said after she read it. “No, no, no. This can’t be real. Not here. Not in our nice little town.”
That nice little town is Willow, Oregon, although it seems pretty big to me. Dad often talks about our city’s “growing pains” and how things have changed a lot in the past ten years. He thinks people are moving away from the expensive cities, hoping for a quieter life while still having the beach close by in one direction and the mountains nearby in the other. Oregon is a beautiful place, for sure. I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe this piece of paper was another one of Willow’s growing pains.
And sadly, the dress code they were looking at was real. Since I’d started middle school, I’d watched our principal, Mr. Buck, scold quite a few girls before school because of their wardrobe choices. And then, what do you know, the school board had met Wednesday night and voted on it, and now our entire school district had a brand-new policy in place.
“Mom, it doesn’t even affect me that much,” I said. “You know I don’t wear shorts or tank tops. That’s not me. So please, just sign it and I’ll take it back Monday.”
“But, honey, it doesn’t matter that it doesn’t affect you. It’s the message that it sends—that girls’ bodies are dangerous, so we better cover them up. That the girls are responsible for any problems because of what they wear, not the boys. Do you see what I mean?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I guess I didn’t really think about it like that.”
Dad piped in. “Me either, I’m sorry to say, and I’m a guy who’s been around a while.”
Mom continued, “Plus, the way I read this is that if a bra strap accidentally peeks out from your shirt, you could be written up or sent home to change. I mean, listen to this line; it’s really troublesome: ‘In all cases, the administration will decide whether or not students are adhering to the dress code standards.’ ”
Mom shook her head and was about to say more when the return of my burger saved me. All hail the life-saving hamburger!
“Here you are,” the waiter said. “Again, my apologies.”
“It’s okay,” I told him.
After he left, I cut it in half with a knife this time so I could see what it looked like before biting into it.
“Looks good!” Dad said. “And they even gave you more fries for your troubles. You should never feel bad about speaking up, Hazel. Nothing good comes from keeping quiet if you’re unhappy.”
Obviously, my dad is a lot more optimistic than I am, because all I could think about as I took a bite of my burger was, I hope the cook didn’t spit on it to get back at me for asking for a second one.
Maybe optimism is another superpower people get when they’re older. Probably after they’re out of school. I bet it’s a lot easier to be optimistic about everything in life when there’s no school to worry about.
Mom seemed to still be dissecting the dress code policy. “They say this is about creating a safe and positive learning environment, but what it does is shame students. Mostly girls. It’s not right.” She pushed the paper back toward me. “I’m going to call and speak to Mr. Buck on Monday. If a number of parents call, maybe we can get it changed.”
I’d gotten a text from Tori earlier, letting me know her moms were pretty upset as well. Maybe my mom was right. Maybe if enough parents complained, they’d reverse the policy. It affected Tori more than me, since she liked to wear tank tops sometimes.
“So, you’re not going to sign it?” I asked. Both of us were supposed to sign it and return it to the school. “Signing it doesn’t mean you approve of it; they just want to know that you’ve read it.”
“No,” she said firmly. “I won’t do it. Not yet. Let me see what he says on Monday.”
“You want me to call him?” Dad asked. “I’m happy to do it.”
“Hmm. That’s not a bad idea,” Mom said. “He might be more willing to listen to another man, unfortunately.” She shook her head. “But let me think about it.”
We finished eating, mostly in silence, which was fine with me. Dad paid the check and then we left. It felt like a dark cloud hung over us as we made our way to the car. I didn’t like it. But then something happened that turned things right around. I noticed a cardboard box sitting on a yellow parking bumper in the parking lot, like someone had parked, pulled it out of the car, and set it there. I ran over to see what was inside.
“What is it, Hazel?” Dad asked.
“You won’t believe it,” I said. I knelt down and gently touched it.
Mom and Dad both came over and peered inside.
“What in the world?” Mom asked. “Who would leave a turtle in the parking lot?”
“Someone who didn’t want their pet tortoise anymore,” Dad said. “How terribly sad.”
The tortoise was about the size of a soccer ball. A flat soccer ball, obviously. Its shell was really beautiful, with tan and brown markings. It kind of looked like the shell was covered in large, knobby scales, with a light brown spot in the middle of each one. It had black eyes, and there were red spots on its head and feet. I was a little nervous about picking it up, even though I wanted to. I figured there would be time for that later. So I tucked my book underneath my arm and picked up the cardboard box.
“What are you doing, Hazel?” Mom asked.
“I can’t just leave it here,” I said. “It’s abandoned and alone. If it were a puppy or a kitten, you’d insist on taking it home, wouldn’t you? We should do the right thing.”
Mom looked around. “What if its owner comes back? What if it was a mistake?”
“I don’t think it’s a mistake,” Dad said. “Sadly, people abandon pets all the time because they can’t care for them anymore.” He looked at me. “Do you know anything about tortoises, Hazel?”
“No, do you?” I asked.
Both of them shook their heads.
We’d had an old tabby cat named Felix that had been my mom’s since just after college. He died last year and Mom was so sad, she said she didn’t want another one for a while.
My parents agreed to stop at Tori’s house on the way home so I could show her what I’d found. I thought about texting Tori to let her know, but I wanted to surprise her. One of Tori’s moms, Jeanie, works as a veterinary technician, so it seemed like she might have some advice on how to take care of the tortoise.
By the time we got to their cute blue house, it was dark, but Tori and her two moms were sitting in comfy chairs on the large front porch that has string lights hung all around it. I didn’t see Tori’s older brother, Ben, around, although that seemed to be the way it was lately. Tori and her moms often sit on the cozy porch after dinner, listening to an audiobook. Tori has dyslexia, so listening to books is easier for her than reading them.
“Love that they still have the banner up,” Dad said, pointing to where it hung between two trees along the side of their property. It read, WE LOVE OUR WILLOW LITTLE LEAGUE TEAM!
Ben’s baseball team went all the way to the Little League championship game last summer during the World Series. They lost, but the whole city of Willow was behind them and while Ben was popular before, as the star pitcher, I think it catapulted him to a new level.
He used to like doing things with Tori and me. At least, I thought he did. We used to play restaurant in the mornings when I slept over. We’d make him a menu and then he’d choose what he wanted us to cook and pretend to be our customer. Okay, so maybe that was more about getting fed than hanging out with us, but there were other things, too. For years, he loved coming to cheer at our soccer games. In between games, we’d kick the soccer ball around in their yard and he’d give us pointers. We’d tease him and call him coach and then he’d yell at us (in a funny sort of way) and make us do push-ups and sit-ups.
Four months ago or so, all of it just … stopped. I noticed whenever I went to their house, he was mostly in his room with the door shut. A few weeks ago, I was with Tori when she knocked on Ben’s door and asked, “What are you doing?” All she got was, “None of your business.”
I think one of the worst feelings in the world is when someone stops liking you for no good reason. It’s like flunking a test and never getting it back to see what answers you got wrong. Why? What happened? What’d I do?
Don't Judge Me Page 1