And that’s when I knew: I had to get that notebook. If I knew it wasn’t circulating anymore, at least I’d have one less thing to worry about.
The question was, how?
“Everything all right?”
I spun around to find Mom standing in the doorway to my room. “Just giving Pip a hug.”
She sniffled a little, pretending to be sad. “When hugging a turtle is preferable to hugging your mother, I suppose that means you’re growing up.”
I put Pip back in his box and then went over to my mom and wrapped my arms around her. “See? I can hug both my mom and a turtle.”
She gave me a tight squeeze. “Oh, good.” After I pulled away, she asked, “How was school today?”
Like always, I replied, “Fine.” And then I quickly changed the subject. “What did Mr. Buck say when you called him? Or did Dad call him?”
“Actually, we both tried,” Mom said. “But the secretary wouldn’t put us through. She said we could email her with our thoughts because she was gathering parents’ comments and then she would forward them to Mr. Buck at the end of the week so he could read through everything all at once.”
“Do you believe her?” I asked.
She paused before she said, “I believe she’ll gather the comments and pass them on. I’m not so sure I believe that he’ll read and consider them. That’s why a phone conversation would have been so much better. I really wanted to make sure he heard what we have to say, you know?”
“So what now?”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll write out my thoughts and send them to both him and the school board members, since they’re the ones who approved the policy. That’s probably better, anyway.”
“Good idea,” I said. “I’m gonna change, and then can I put Pip on the floor for some exercise? I promise I’ll watch him.”
“Sure, but why are you changing?” she asked.
“I think this shirt is too small,” I said. “I need to go through my closet and get rid of some stuff. Is that okay?”
She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “Hazel. Did something happen? Did someone say something about your shirt?”
I shook my head. “It just feels too tight, okay? And I don’t want to talk about it. You didn’t answer my question. Can I let Pip out for a little while?”
She looked like she had more questions, but luckily she didn’t ask. “Actually, we need to get ready to take him to the vet. Our appointment is in a half hour. We’ll get him checked out, make sure he’s healthy, and find out how old he is.”
“Okay, are we leaving now?”
“In a few minutes. I suppose you can let him out while I get us both a snack. Let me go and do that.”
“Sounds good. Oh, I forgot to tell you, Tori said she’d ask Jeanie if she could put up a sign at the vet’s office about Pip. Maybe we’ll find someone that way?”
“Wonderful,” Mom said. “If you make me one, I can hang it in the coffee shop, too.”
“Okay.” I paused. “Mom, maybe I should keep him. I mean, would it be so terrible to have a nice turtle for the rest of my life?”
“Honey, there may be someone out there who has been dreaming of a pet tortoise forever. You could make that dream come true. And if it doesn’t happen, if you can’t find anyone, how about we revisit it then? Sound fair?”
I nodded. “Yeah. That’s fair.”
After Mom left, I put a towel from my hamper on the carpet and placed Pip on it. As I watched him slowly explore (very slowly, obviously), I could tell he was enjoying his freedom. The freedom to move around, to go wherever he wanted, and to not be confined to a box. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that’s what I wanted. To move around freely at school and not worry that boys were secretly rating me in their heads. And I didn’t want to be confined to a box, a box that said girls were good for one thing and one thing only: the way they looked.
I wasn’t sure what to do about any of it. It seemed like such a big problem. An enormous problem, really. But there was one thing I could do that might help a little bit.
I needed to get that notebook from Ben and make sure no one ever saw it again. Somehow, some way, I had to do it.
It isn’t easy
trying to do the right thing,
but no excuses.
At the exam, the vet told us Pip was four to five years old, so pretty young for a tortoise, and in very good health.
“Do you recall seeing him before?” my mom asked. “Since we found him in a parking lot, I was just wondering if someone around here left him there.”
The vet shook his head. “Nope. Pretty sure this is his first time here. Maybe they were passing through town or something.”
“Could be,” my mom said. “Jeanie told us you agreed to let us hang a little sign about him out front. Thank you for that.”
“Not a problem,” he said. “We appreciate you taking care of him temporarily. It’s a good thing you’re doing.”
I was glad to hear this. I’d been worried that the vet might think I was a terrible person for wanting to find a new home for Pip. It wasn’t that I didn’t want him. I did want him. Kind of.
Sometimes I think being twelve years old means being confused about everything all the time. That’s how it feels to me, anyway.
The next day, I told Tori I’d meet her at homeroom because I had something important I needed to do before school. Thankfully, she didn’t ask for details. Ben’s locker was in C hall, so I went there and waited for him to show up. I’d thought about what I’d say so I’d feel ready, but when he walked up, my mouth felt like I’d been eating dirt all morning. Not only that, but I was afraid my heart might explode from beating so hard.
“Hazel, you okay?” Ben asked as he dropped his backpack on the floor.
I swallowed hard. “Yeah, I was just wondering …”
I didn’t finish. He stared at me. “Wondering what?”
Oh my gosh, why was this so difficult? “Um, yeah, I was wondering if I could, well, do you have a protractor I could borrow? I sort of … lost mine.”
“Protractor?”
“Yeah. You know, for math class.”
“You want to borrow my protractor.”
I could feel sweat beading on the back of my neck. “Yes, please.”
He shrugged. “Sure. I just have to find it. Haven’t used it for a while.”
My words came out fast. “That’s why I figured you’d be a good person to ask, you know? Everyone in my class will be needing theirs, so they can’t loan one to me.”
He spun his lock around three times and jiggled his locker open. A lot of the girls have pictures and stickers on their locker doors, but Ben didn’t have anything. What I noticed the most was the smell—like something rotten.
I plugged my nose. “Oh my gosh, Ben, has something died in there?”
He laughed. “Probably. I think there might be some cucumber slices that Mimi made me bring on the first day of school. It’s like the start of every year is a new chance to start fresh and get it right, you know? Healthy snacks. Good homework habits. No more tardy slips. Then it all flies out the window after a couple of weeks.” He rummaged around the messy pile of papers and books. I wasn’t sure if he was looking for the cucumber or the protractor. “I should probably find it and throw it out, huh?”
“Ben, I’m not even joking when I say that you should do that before you do anything else.”
He continued digging around while I searched for a glimpse of that notebook, but I didn’t see it. Maybe it was in his backpack? And if so, was there a way I could get into it without him seeing me?
As he knelt down to look through the stack of stuff on the bottom shelf, I started thumbing through books on the top shelf. I pulled a crumpled paper bag out and opened it. The smell about made me pass out.
“Found the cucumbers,” I told him.
“Cool, thanks. Can you throw that away over there?” He waved toward a garbage can across the
hall. As I made my way to it, the bell rang. Disappointment filled me. There’d be no notebook for me this morning, only a smelly cucumber. Just my luck.
“I gotta go,” I told Ben.
“Here,” he said as he jumped to his feet. “I found it!” He handed me the protractor and turned back to his locker. “Good luck with that.”
“Thanks,” I said, feeling totally defeated.
“And thank you,” he said, turning back to me. “Hopefully my locker won’t smell like death anymore.”
It was like a bad joke or one of those T-shirts about your grandma going on a fabulous vacation and all you got was a T-shirt. CAME FOR THE NOTEBOOK WITH ALL THE GIRLS’ NAMES AND ALL I GOT WAS A BAG OF SMELLY CUCUMBER SLICES.
Oh, joy.
* * *
At lunch, Tori and I went to the library, as usual. We’re lucky that Mrs. Thompson lets a few of us eat lunch in there to escape the cafeteria. There’s an elevated area with two comfy sofas and a large table with games and puzzles stacked in the middle. I’m just happy to eat in peace and maybe write a haiku or two to slip in a book.
After I checked out a couple of books about tortoises, we climbed the three stairs and took our usual seats at the big table. Two other girls sat on one of the sofas, reading and munching on their sandwiches. As I started to unpack my lunch, I heard sniffling.
I turned around and saw a boy curled up, arms hugging his knees, against the shelf of picture books that some of the Language Arts teachers like to use in their classes. His face was buried in his arms so all I could see was his curly black hair. I looked at Tori, hoping she’d run over to ask the boy what was wrong. I know I could have done it, but I’m not very good at that kind of thing. The last thing I wanted was to upset him even more. Still, when someone is crying, you should check on them. Shouldn’t you?
Thankfully, Tori knows me. She gave me an understanding nod before she got up, went down the steps, and sat down next to him. I wanted to hear what was going on, so after a minute, I followed her and joined them on the floor.
“What’s wrong?” Tori asked. “Do you need help with something?”
He wiped his face across the sleeve of his shirt, then shook his head before ducking back down into his arms.
“Come on,” Tori said. “We want to help. Can you talk to us? Please? We’re super nice, honest. Oh, and I’m Tori and this is Hazel. What’s your name?”
He raised his head and sniffled. “Dion. And don’t y’all go and tell people you saw me crying. It’ll just make things worse.”
“We won’t,” I said. “We’d never do that.”
“My moms say boys should cry more often,” Tori said matter-of-factly. “That the world needs more sensitive men. Or something like that.”
Dion sniffled again. “Tell that to the bullies of the world.”
“Is someone hurting you?” Tori asked softly, her voice filled with concern. “Because that is not okay. At all.”
“I just …” He sighed. “I don’t fit in anywhere. I miss my old school. I miss …” He looked around like he wanted to make sure no one could hear him before he whispered, “I miss recess.”
I’d never felt so sure in such a short amount of time that I would soon have a new friend. Before I could say, “I feel the exact same way,” Tori said, “I know it’s hard at first, but it’s going to be okay. We just have to figure out a way to get in with the right crowd.”
I knew Tori was trying to be helpful, but I flinched. What if there never was the right crowd for people like Dion and me? What then?
“I’m sorry,” I told him. “I know it’s hard. I don’t remember you from Hoover Elementary. Which school did you go to?”
“You wouldn’t know it,” he said. “We moved here over the summer. All the way from Alabama.”
So he wasn’t just new to middle school; he was new to our town—and our whole state.
“Why’d you move?” Tori asked.
“My grandpop died, and my grandma begged us to come and live with her. They’ve lived here in Willow a long time. Anyway, we’re living in her big, old house with her now and she’s really glad to have us. My pop found a job at the hardware store, but my mama’s a teacher and she hasn’t found anything permanent yet, so she’s subbing.”
“Hey, someday you could have her as a teacher, then!” I said. “That could be … interesting.”
“I hope I don’t,” he said. “I don’t want to call my mama Mrs. Wise!”
My stomach growled. “Did you bring your lunch? Want to come up to the table and eat with us?”
“You guys eat in here?” he asked.
“For now,” Tori said. “Hazel really likes it in here. Hopefully we’ll give the cafeteria another try one of these days.”
I knew Tori was getting kind of tired of eating in the library. She wanted to be in the cafeteria where she could be seen. Where she could try to sit with the popular kids. It gave me a stomachache just thinking about trying the cafeteria again.
“I already ate my sandwich,” Dion said. “Still hungry, though. And I have soccer practice after school.”
I smiled. “Hey, we play soccer, too! We practice Wednesdays and Thursdays, though.”
Dion looked around again. He seemed so frightened that someone would see him. Probably because it wasn’t cool to hang out with girls or something. Who made all these stupid rules, anyway? People are always so happy to judge other people about what they’re doing without thinking about why. I don’t get it.
Dion got to his feet, so Tori and I did the same. Once we were sitting at the table, Tori didn’t hesitate, just handed him half her sandwich. I opened my bag of grapes and set them between us so we could share.
“Thanks,” Dion said as he took a grape. “I really mean it. Thanks a lot.”
“No problem,” Tori said. “Hazel and I were saying earlier that this school has a jerk problem.”
That made Dion smile and boy, did he have a nice smile. “A jerk problem. I guess that’s one way to put it.”
“What would you call it?” I asked.
“I dunno. There’s definitely … something. Seems like maybe people are afraid to be real? I mean, just to be themselves, you know? Like, it’s all about looking good for everyone else. Gotta be this way or that way, or else.”
I opened my notebook and started writing.
Dion raised his eyebrows. “You taking down my brilliance?”
“She writes little poems,” Tori said.
“Haiku,” I explained.
“That’s cool,” he said. “I like poetry. My pop used to read that book Where the Sidewalk Ends to me when I was a little kid. He used to say, ‘There’s a poet inside all of us, Dion. I want you to remember that.’ What do you think he meant, exactly?”
I wrote while Tori talked. “I think poets are good at seeing the world in an interesting way. Maybe he meant we can all be like that if we try?”
Dion nodded. “Yeah. Maybe so.” He looked at me. “Can we hear your haiku?”
Roses bloom in lots
of colors, never worried
about fitting in.
“Haiku are usually about nature,” I explained after I read it. “I do them about lots of things, though.”
“I like it,” Dion said as he took more grapes. “It’s so true, too. Roses just gonna do what they’re meant to do. They don’t care a bit about what people think. And no one gets mad at a yellow rose because it’s not red. They just let it be and move on. How come people can’t be that way all the time?”
Tori and I didn’t say anything. We didn’t have an answer for him.
“Dion?” I said.
“Yeah?”
“You can eat lunch with us here tomorrow if you want,” I told him.
“Yeah,” Tori said. “Any time, actually.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I really mean it. Again.”
I wanted to ask him if he’d written in a secret notebook being passed around by boys at school. But part of me didn’t w
ant to know the answer, in case it was yes. I wanted to hold on to the Dion I knew right now—the boy who liked poetry and cried because his feelings were hurt.
“You’re very polite,” Tori told him.
“My mama taught me well, I guess,” he said. “She’s always saying, ‘The world has enough turkeys, so don’t be a turkey. Be a chickadee instead. Sweet and harmless. That’s what the world needs.’ ”
“I think I like your parents,” I told him as I tossed my trash into my lunch bag. And that’s when the greatest idea ever popped into my head.
“Hey, do you like tortoises?” I asked.
Dion’s grandma had an old dog at their house, so the tortoise wouldn’t work for him. I was so disappointed. It would have been the perfect solution. He was really nice about it, but it made me feel like I had no idea what I was doing and if I’d ever be able to find Pip a good home. But maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.
The thing was, all day long I found myself looking forward to going home and seeing Pip. He gave me something new to think about. Something good. I liked having to care for him. He needed me in a way that no one else did and it felt nice. Plus, he didn’t care about being popular or not, didn’t care what I wore or what I looked like, and he really didn’t care if my shirt was a little too small. He was the most nonjudgmental turtle I’d ever met.
Mom had specifically told me not to get too attached, but that was exactly what was happening, and I didn’t know how to stop it. Or even if I wanted to. Maybe he was better off staying with me. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have just one pet the rest of my life. Millions of people have just one spouse their entire life and that seems to work out pretty well.
I’d never really understood what “I feel so torn” meant until now, but it was pretty much how I felt. Torn. Torn between wanting to keep him and finding him the perfect home where he would be happy and loved forever.
As I headed toward my bike after school, I saw Ben coming right for me in the main hallway.
He smiled as he said, “Hazel, that protractor work okay for you?”
“Oh, yeah, thanks so much,” I said, watching as he tried to put a stack of books into his backpack. He stopped walking and pulled something out in order to get the others in. And that something was the notebook!
Don't Judge Me Page 5