“Did either of you show them Pip?” I asked Mom and Dad.
“No, we thought we’d let you do that,” Mom said.
“Pip?” Grandpa asked. “What’s a Pip?”
“Don’t tell!” I called to my parents as I ran up the stairs. “Let’s surprise them.”
I cleaned out Pip’s box, since he’d made some messes, then carried him downstairs. Grandma and Grandpa both came over to take a look.
“Well, look at that,” Grandpa said. “You got yourself a tortoise.”
Mom explained how we’d found him while I got some more kale from the fridge.
“Are you going to keep him, then?” Grandma asked.
“We haven’t actually talked about that yet,” Mom said. “There’s a lot to consider given that they live so long.”
“Why does that matter so much, anyway?” I asked.
Grandma came over and put her arm around my shoulders. “It’s a very big commitment, sweetheart. And it’d probably be hard to have other pets with a tortoise around, unless you want to keep it in a box or tank all the time, which seems pretty sad to me.”
“Yes,” Dad said. “It would need to be your only pet for the rest of your life.”
I stared at Pip. My heart was telling me it was fine, I should keep him, but my brain was saying a lot of other things. What happened when I went away to college? I was pretty sure dorms didn’t allow pets of any kind. And someday, if I got married and had kids, what happened if my family wanted a different kind of pet, like a dog or a cat?
I looked up at Dad. “But if I don’t keep him, what will happen to him?”
Mom knelt by the box. She reached in and stroked his shell. “We could see if the Oregon Reptile Man might want him. He travels around and does reptile shows.”
I shook my head. Hard. “No. Pip would hardly get any attention if he lived with so many other animals. If I give him up, we have to find someone with a lot of love to give. He deserves to be loved. A whole, whole lot.”
“You have a good heart, Hazel,” Grandpa said.
I wasn’t so sure about that. If I had a good heart, wouldn’t I have said I wanted to keep him, no matter what?
Flowers bloom in spring.
They don’t wonder, they just know.
That must be so nice.
After dinner, we played the game Apples to Apples. I couldn’t stop yawning. Between winning our soccer game, finding a notebook filled with awful things, and taking a fun trip to the zoo, it’d been a long day. When it got to the point where I wasn’t sure if I could keep my eyes open any longer, I wished everyone good night and carried Pip in his box upstairs with me.
I really liked that sweet turtle. But I also knew it was possible that someday my life could change so much I might not be able to care for him. I needed to do what was best for Pip, not me. He needed a place where he would be loved and taken care of forever and ever. The more we had talked about it over dinner, the more I’d realized we needed to find him a new home.
Where should I look? Who could I ask? I didn’t have a clue. I wondered if Tori might have some ideas, so when I woke up Sunday morning, I sent her a text and asked if she wanted to meet for cinnamon rolls at Ruby’s. When she said yes, I hopped out of bed, threw on some clothes, brushed my teeth, and took care of Pip by cleaning out his box and getting him some new veggies to eat.
“Where are you headed?” Dad asked when I came downstairs dressed and ready to go.
“Tori and I are going to meet up at Ruby’s,” I said. “Sorry, I should have asked first.”
Dad smiled. “It’s okay. Need some money?”
“Yes, please.”
After he handed me the cash, I kissed him on the cheek and ran to the garage to get my bike.
When I got to Ruby’s, I parked my bike next to Tori’s and went inside. It smelled delicious—like sweet, fluffy pancakes with a side of bacon.
My family and I had been coming to the diner for as long as I could remember. I’d heard other kids complain that they didn’t like it because it wasn’t one of the latest and greatest restaurant chains, but that was exactly why I liked it. It was the kind of place where two sixth graders could come by themselves and feel welcomed. Here, it felt like they treated everyone as family. I wished I could feel as comfortable in other places as I did here. Except when I had to send a hamburger back, obviously. Fortunately, there would be no hamburgers for breakfast.
Tori sat at a booth with two cups of hot cocoa in front of her. As I slid in, she told me, “I went ahead and ordered for you. Cinnamon rolls will be here soon.”
“Thanks,” I said. Then I noticed the cotton shirt she had on. It was white with little bluebirds all over it. “I love your shirt. Is that new?”
She grabbed a piece of the fabric on the sleeve with two fingers. “Yeah, Mimi bought it for me on a whim from that new little store that just opened, Sweet Pea Boutique. I told her I want to go next time, since they supposedly have super cute stuff. As for this, I guess I can only wear it on the weekends now.”
“How come?”
She pointed toward the back. “Has a crisscross back, so you can see my bra straps.”
I groaned. “Because bra straps are the absolute worst thing happening in our world right now, huh?”
Tori rolled her eyes. “Don’t you love how they sent that new policy home on a Friday? They’re probably hoping everyone will forget about it by Monday. Not my moms, though. They’re definitely calling the school office first thing Monday.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure my mom put it on her calendar. Although my dad offered to call instead, which kind of surprised me.”
Tori took a sip of her cocoa. “My moms say men can be feminists, too, and that it’s important to have men standing up for women’s rights.”
“Yeah, I can see that.”
“So how’s Mr. Pip?” she asked.
I squeezed my folded hands on the table in front of me. “He’s fine. And I really like him a lot. But I’ve decided … we’ve decided to look for a different home for him.”
Her eyes grew big. “What? Why?”
“I’m not sure I only want one pet my entire life, you know? And if my mom and dad aren’t all in, I couldn’t ask them to watch him when I go to college or travel the world or whatever I end up doing.”
She nodded. “I get it.”
“So, you’re not mad?”
“Mad? That you’re going to find the poor homeless tortoise a good home? Of course not! Why did you think I’d be mad?”
“I don’t know. I guess because I was so excited about him and that made you excited, too. Maybe mad wasn’t the right word. Sad? Disappointed?”
She nodded. “We’ll probably both be a little sad when we have to say goodbye. That’s normal, right? So, how are you going to find him a good home, exactly? Because it seems like it may be a kind of hard thing to do.”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “I thought you might have some ideas to help me. Mom said the Oregon Reptile Man might take him, but poor Pip would never get any attention that way. He deserves to be loved, you know?”
“Of course he does. What about the exotic rescue place my mom talked about? They might be able to find him a home.”
I scratched my chin. “Maybe. But if they have lots of other animals, some a lot more exotic and exciting than him, he could be ignored there, too. And that’s the last thing I want.”
Tori’s eyes lit up. “What if we asked Mom to put up a sign at work? ‘Free tortoise to good home.’ Something like that?”
“Hey, good idea.”
Our waitress came and set the plates with our warm, gooey cinnamon rolls in front of us. They smelled so good—like the best cinnamon-and-vanilla candle ever made, but better, obviously, because you can’t eat a candle. I watched the white frosting drip down the sides of mine as we both thanked her.
“You girls need anything else?” Doreen asked. (I knew her name because she wore a name tag on her pink dress.)
“No, thank you,” Tori and I said at the same time.
“It’ll be okay,” Tori said as she cut into her roll. “You’ll find someone.”
“I hope so.”
Tori looked past me at the door as someone came in. “Oh, look, it’s Maddie Gray, that gorgeous eighth grader.” Tori raised her hand and waved, much more enthusiastically than I would have. I turned to see Maddie give the tiniest, hesitant wave back.
“Do you know her?” I asked.
“No, but I’d love to,” Tori said. “She seems to have a lot of friends.”
“Last week I heard boys whispering about her in the hallway, though,” I replied. “Not very nice things. I guess because she looks more like an eighteen-year-old than a thirteen-year-old?”
“Oh, whatever,” Tori said. “Most middle school boys are gross. I’m just going to ignore them until high school. But if I become popular now, things will be easier when I get there.”
I started to ask, “What happens to me if you become popular and I don’t?” But I stopped myself. Because honestly? I was afraid of the answer.
Before the first bell on Monday, Tori and I stood at our locker, listening to the latest Taylor Swift song on her phone with the volume only about halfway up.
“Stop with that garbage,” Preston Williams, an eighth grader, said as he walked past us. “It’s making my ears bleed.”
“Girls wouldn’t know good music if it slapped them in the face,” his friend Aaron added. “So stupid.”
Preston’s a big kid with thick, curly brown hair and the bushiest eyebrows I’ve ever seen on another person. I’m not saying that’s good or bad; it’s just a fact. Aaron is tall and skinny and always wears shorts and T-shirts, even if it’s cold and raining outside.
“Did he just call us stupid?” Tori asked after they’d gone. “Aaron Adams, the guy who told Mr. McCarthy that the earth is actually flat and people have been lying to us for hundreds of years?”
I shut our locker door. “I think he really likes attention. Or something. All right, you ready?”
“Let’s do it,” she said.
We were going to try out a new plan to get past the boys we’d nicknamed the tripping boys, otherwise known as Jerrod and Rusty. Our locker was at the end of A hall, near the door that leads out to the parking lot. The other two halls, B and C, were parallel to ours. We’d tried once to go outside and then back in one of the other doors leading to another hall to avoid passing by the tripping boys, but the doors were locked for security reasons. We had to knock on the window really hard to get someone to notice us and let us back in.
If you’ve never been to a middle school before, I don’t know how to even describe how crowded the halls get during passing time. Sometimes I imagine my younger self yelling, “Too many onions!” as I ate my mom’s homemade chicken noodle soup. I couldn’t get a single bite without a bit of onion and I did not like that. At all. Middle school hallways are like that—can’t take a single step without running into someone.
Today we were going to try walking along the opposite end of the hall, as far away as possible from Jerrod and Rusty. We’d tried dodging them before, but they’d managed to dart over in front of us and not let us pass without making it difficult. It was like a game to them. Well, Tori and I were ready for the game to be over.
“Excuse me,” I said over and over as we weaved in and out of people standing at their lockers. The five-minute bell rang, and I watched Jerrod and Rusty as they peered down the hallway, trying to spot us.
“Hurry,” Tori said, her hand tightly gripping my arm.
“Sorry,” I said as I bumped into someone. “Excuse us.”
I heard Jerrod yell, “There they are!”
I grabbed Tori’s hand and rushed to the middle of the hallway where I started to run. Yes, there were lots of onions, but too bad; they could move or get run over.
“Hey, girls, hold on there,” said a loud, deep voice. I stopped in my tracks and turned around to find the principal glaring at us. He was probably in search of girls to send home because of the new dress code. “No running in the halls. You know better than that.”
“Sorry,” we both said.
Tori started to explain. “It’s just—”
But he didn’t let her finish. “No excuses. Those are the rules. Now please walk to your class, understand?”
We both nodded and hung our heads as we continued on.
“At least we didn’t get tripped today,” Tori said.
I leaned into her as we walked. “Way to look at the bright spot, I guess.”
Outside the door of homeroom, Preston and Aaron were talking. I didn’t look their way because I really didn’t want to hear more insults from them.
“You’re such a wuss,” I heard Preston tell Aaron. “Come on. Man up.”
I couldn’t help but wonder what they were talking about. Man up about what? I didn’t like that phrase. What did it even mean, to man up? To act like a man? To be tough? Why is being tough a thing to be admired, though? And why is that something boys should be, anyway?
When we got to our seats, Tori turned around and said, “I think this school has a problem.”
“What kind of problem?” I asked.
“A jerk problem,” she replied.
The bell rang so she turned back around. I thought about Ben’s “Private Property.” About boys thinking that what’s most important about a girl is how she looks to others. Then I pulled out my spiral notebook and wrote a haiku.
Stars in the darkness.
Why do we admire them?
Not because they’re tough.
The vice principal, Ms. Carson, came over the loud speaker for morning announcements.
“Good morning, everyone, and happy October! I hope you had a good weekend. A student this morning asked about wearing costumes on Halloween, and our policy is that you may dress up but there are to be no masks. We must be able to see your face. Furthermore, you cannot carry a weapon of any kind. And yes, that includes lightsabers.”
Some of the students in my class laughed.
“I also want to remind you that the talent show is scheduled for December 18. Ms. Holland, who is in charge of organizing it, has hung a sign-up sheet outside her classroom. If you want to participate, you can sign up this coming Friday. Each and every performance must be approved by Ms. Holland, so keep that in mind. All right, that’s all for now. Have a wonderful day of learning, students.”
Tori turned around, silently clapping her hands and mouthed, “Talent show!”
I gave her a thumbs-up even though there was no way I was going to get up on a stage in front of people at this school.
As our homeroom teacher, Ms. Beaty, began class, I flipped to the last page of my notebook. My doodle page. I’d drawn pictures of flowers, trees, a kitty cat. And positive little sayings to try and get me through the hard days.
You got this
Be happy
Girls rule
But I’d written other things, too.
Life is hard
Growing up sucks
Today I wrote:
I miss my old school. A LOT!
All day long, it felt like boys at school were watching me. Was I imagining it or was it real? What if they’d read things about me and were sizing me up to see if they were true? And was this how it was going to be from now on because I’d found that stupid notebook? So many questions, and I didn’t have a single answer.
When I crossed paths with Ben between sixth and seventh period, I said hi like I normally do. And do you know what he said back?
“Hey, how’s it going? You know, that shirt you’re wearing, uh …”
I stopped walking and looked down, thinking I might have spilled something at lunch and not noticed. “What about it?”
“It’s just … never mind. It’s fine.”
I tried to figure out what he was talking about. I was just wearing a plain, baby-blue T-shirt. Although when I’d put it on this morning,
I had thought it felt a little tighter. That must be it. It was too tight.
“Gotta run,” Ben said as I stood there, wishing I could call my mom and ask her to bring a baggy sweatshirt for me to throw on.
I hated this. I hated that I had to think about all these things now. Why couldn’t I wear what I wanted to wear without worrying about how it looked or what people would think or if it was something that would get me sent home? I missed the days when I never thought about any of that—when my body was just for running around, playing soccer, being a kid. How come it couldn’t be that way forever?
With my mind going a mile a minute, all I could manage was “Yeah, okay.”
Two more classes, I told myself. You just have to make it through two more classes.
I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About any of it. Boys were going around looking at girls and writing things about them in a secret notebook. No matter how much I wanted to forget about it, I couldn’t. I wanted to forget, believe me. Like, I really, really wanted to forget. Or to pretend I’d never seen it and simply wish away the awful stuff that was happening.
But I had seen it. I knew something probably no other girl in our school knew. Something bad. And the longer I carried the secret, the heavier it got. It was like carrying around a bag I couldn’t put down while people kept adding rocks to it.
When I got home, I went straight to Pip’s box and picked him up. He raised his head just slightly, and I swear his eyes looked right into mine.
“Aw,” I whispered. “I’m happy to see you, too.”
I held him close to my chest for a minute and felt myself relax for the first time all day. And while it was nice, I couldn’t take a tortoise to school to comfort me every time something upsetting happened. If only.
So how was I supposed to live like this for the next three years?
Don't Judge Me Page 4