When I got to my room, I shut the door and pulled out the notebook. My hands shook as I held it, thinking about all the girls’ names written on the pages.
I shoved it under my pillow to deal with later and then went and said hello to Pip. “I did it,” I whispered. “Aren’t you proud of me?”
I’m pretty sure he gave me the tiniest of nods to tell me he was very proud of me. I picked him up and carried him out to the family room where Mom and Dad were watching a show together.
“I thought you’d be a little later,” Mom said.
I just shrugged and hoped that would be enough. I didn’t want to lie to them about what happened. “I’m going to put Pip down and let him roam while I practice my flute. Okay?”
“Sure,” Mom said.
“Any luck finding him a home?” Dad asked as he paused whatever show they’d been watching.
“Not yet,” I said as I grabbed some newspaper from the pile on the counter. Luckily, I had a dad who liked to read the actual paper every morning instead of just his phone. “I thought this one kid at school would be good for Pip, but they have a dog. I was really bummed because he would have been perfect. But I don’t want Pip to be a midnight snack or something.”
“You know, here’s another idea,” Dad said. “Turtle soup is supposed to be really delicious.”
I set Pip down, stood up, and crossed my arms. “Dad! Stop it. That’s not nice.”
He smiled. “You know I’m teasing.”
“A couple more weeks and then we may need to change strategies,” Mom said.
I didn’t like the sound of that. I went and took a seat beside her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” she said, “the longer you keep him, the more attached you’re going to get. I don’t want it to be too hard to say goodbye. So if a viable option doesn’t come up soon, it may be time to contact the Reptile Man or other people like him.”
“But, Mom—”
She didn’t let me finish. “I know it’s not what you want, honey. But he’d take good care of him. It’s his job, after all.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s what’s best, though,” I said. “You know I’d rather keep Pip forever than do that.”
Why did this have to be so difficult? Why couldn’t I find the perfect solution? Next to getting that awful notebook from Ben, it was all I wanted in life.
As I sat there pouting, I noticed a pad of paper on Mom’s lap filled with her messy handwriting. I could make out only a few things—EEOC, discrimination, and promotion.
“Mom?” I asked as I tapped her notes with my finger. “Is everything all right?”
She quickly flipped the cover over. “Everything’s fine.” She turned to me with a smile as she tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Just boring grown-up stuff.”
“I think it’s okay to tell her, Kate,” Dad said.
“But I don’t want her to worry,” Mom replied.
I really didn’t like it when they talked about me like I wasn’t there. “Hello? I’m sitting right here. And I can take it. I’m in the sixth grade. Maybe you should walk the halls of a middle school and hear all the things kids talk about. Wait. Don’t do that. I don’t want you to die from shock.”
Both of them laughed. “You want to give us an example?” Dad asked.
“Absolutely not,” I said.
“Okay, then,” he said. “Does that make you feel better, Kate? I think she can handle it.”
Before I could say anything, Mom spoke quickly. “Hazel, I’m going to tell you, but you can’t tell anyone else, okay? It needs to stay between us. I was, um, passed over for a promotion at work even though I have a lot more experience. So, I’ve filed a claim with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission. That’s all. It’s nothing for you to worry about, okay?”
“Who got the job instead of you?” I asked.
“Oh, um,” she paused. “Geoffrey got it. He’s now the day supervisor.”
Mom had worked at the Beanery for as long as I could remember, and it seemed like I knew just about everyone who worked there. I think Geoffrey was the last name I’d expected to hear.
“What?” I gasped. “How long has he been there? Like, six months or something?”
“Seven, actually, but yes. Now that you’re older, I felt like I could take on more responsibility. And then, they just passed right over me.”
“Why?” I asked. “Why would they do that?”
“Well,” Mom said, “have you ever noticed I’ve only had male supervisors?”
I thought about it for a second and realized she was right. “You think you didn’t get it because you’re a woman?”
“That’s exactly what she thinks,” Dad said. “And why she’s filed a complaint. Looks a lot like discrimination to me. You know what that is, right, Hazel?”
“Kind of? I think? I mean, if you’re looking for a definition, I’m not a walking dictionary,” I said. “I wish I was, though. Push a button and out comes the perfect definition. That’d be so cool.”
Mom grabbed her phone and asked Siri, “What’s discrimination mean?”
Oops. Forgot about Siri. Sorry, Siri.
She gave us this definition: “The unjust or prejudicial treatment of different categories of people or things, especially on the grounds of race, age, or sex.”
“So, unfair treatment based on a certain category,” I said. “Like, being treated unfairly because you’re a woman.”
“Yes,” Mom said matter-of-factly.
And just like that, I had a lot more in common with my mother than I’d thought.
When it was bedtime, I took Pip back to my room. Before I went to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth, I sat on my bed as I held him.
“I don’t know what to do,” I said. “Mom obviously doesn’t want to keep you. Do I try to talk her into it? And if so, how? Or do I just need to work harder to find the perfect place for you?”
I told myself I was tired and that was probably making everything feel extra horrible. So I put him in his box and went to the bathroom to get ready for bed.
When I finally crawled under the covers, I grabbed the book I’d been reading since I’d finished my last read through of Pippi Longstocking. The book was Front Desk by Kelly Yang, and I was excited to get back to it. One thing about books? They give you someone else’s problems to think about instead of your own, and that’s strangely comforting.
Except as I read, I couldn’t stop thinking about the notebook under my pillow.
Specifically, what did it say about me?
You don’t want to know, I told myself.
But part of me did want to know. I wished it didn’t. I wished I wasn’t dying of curiosity. I also wished I knew what to do with the thing. I didn’t really want to keep it. But I didn’t want to get rid of it, either. Not yet, anyway. Because maybe one day I’d wake up brave enough to march into the principal’s office and tell him about the jerk problem we had at our school. It might not happen until the very last day of eighth grade, but it could happen. Maybe.
I tried to read my novel. I really did. But every third or fourth sentence it was like someone had a large, sharp stick and was poking my brain.
You’re probably in there.
What does it say?
You can’t avoid it forever.
Get it over with. Right now.
Do it!
Just as I started to pull it out from underneath my pillow, there was a knock on my door.
“Come in,” I said.
Mom stepped in and said, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Yeah.”
I moved over and she sat down on the edge of the bed. “I just want to make sure you don’t have any more questions about … what we were talking about earlier.”
“The only thing I’m wondering is whether you could lose your job over it.”
“I suppose I could, but that would be illegal.”
“Were you scared to file the claim?”
> “Of course I was. But I knew it was the right thing to do. They need to know it’s wrong. It may not help me, but maybe it will help someone else down the road.”
Wow. Another superpower. I was beginning to think my mom was actually a superhero disguised as a wife and mother.
“I want to be that brave,” I told her. “I could never do something like that.”
She reached out and took my hand. “Sweetheart, this is how I think of it when it comes to things like this. White women couldn’t vote until 1920. And black women couldn’t vote until very recently, 1965. My grandmother couldn’t even apply for a credit card in her own name. Banks wouldn’t even lend them money on their own. Do you know why those things changed?”
I shook my head.
“Because women fought for those rights. They fought really hard. And I’m pretty certain that the best way to show our appreciation to those women is to continue fighting today when we see something that’s unfair. Do you think those women weren’t scared?”
I dropped my mom’s hand and hugged my knees to my chest. “How am I supposed to know?”
“Well, yes, it’s hard to know exactly how they felt, but my guess is that they were probably very frightened. I imagine they found strength in each other and knew that ultimately, it would change the lives of millions of women forever. And so they did what they believed was right, despite the fear.” She leaned in. “Hazel, I know you are young and a bit shy and sensitive, but please, always remember you have a voice. And you have just as much of a right to use it as anyone else. Okay?”
I knew my mother well enough to know that the only answer she would accept was the one I gave her. “Okay.”
“I found a quote I really love the other day,” she said. “I think you’ll like it. Ready?”
“Ready.”
“It goes, ‘Watch the turtle. He only moves forward by sticking his neck out.’ Louis Gerstner Jr. said that. And women have to keep sticking their necks out if they want change.”
“Should I stop calling you Mom and start calling you Turtle instead?”
She laughed. “No, thank you.” She leaned in and kissed my cheek. “I love you. Sleep tight. See you in the morning.”
“Good night.”
She made it sound so easy. Use your voice, that’s what it’s there for. You have as much right as anyone else. Well, yeah, of course she’s gonna say that, because she’s my mom!
It was already nine-thirty and that meant time for me to go to sleep. But it seemed like I’d never be able to do that until I just opened the notebook and looked for my name.
So that’s what I did. I got it out and flipped the pages. Name after name after name. I didn’t let myself stop to read what they’d written. I didn’t want to see the words. I didn’t want to look at a girl at school and let those comments be the first thing that popped into my brain. Girls have enough trouble being judged for things they have no control over; they didn’t need one more thing shaping how someone saw them.
I was just about to the end and I felt myself relax because maybe I wasn’t in there, after all. Maybe I’d been worried for nothing.
But on the second to last page, there it was:
Hazel Wallace
T.E.
3 there’s a reason people call her camel lips
J.J.
not even worth a rating
V.R.
1 uuuuuugly
P.W.
4 eh, she’d be all right if she lost a little weight
A.A.
2 literally the worst
B.R.
no comment
I slammed the book shut as tears welled up in my eyes. There were more, but I couldn’t read them. I started to throw it across the room but stopped myself. The last thing I needed was Mom coming in, seeing me upset, and asking me to explain what was going on.
How could people be so mean? How?
I put the notebook under my pillow and picked up Front Desk. I should have turned out the light and tried to sleep, but I knew I’d just toss and turn. So I’d have to read until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer.
The main character of the story, Mia, was also dealing with mean people. It probably wouldn’t make me feel better, because I wasn’t sure anything would make me feel better in that moment.
But at least I wouldn’t feel so alone.
The next day, Tori could see I wasn’t my normal self.
“I’m tired,” I told her. “I didn’t sleep well.”
“Are you sick?” she asked.
I’d almost forgotten about last night. “Maybe. My stomach still hurts.”
Which was the truth. How could anyone read such hurtful things and not have a stomachache?
She smiled. “Well, I have just the thing to cheer you up. I figured out how you can be in the talent show with me.”
“Tori, Taylor Swift coming to our school to perform would cheer me up. But me getting onstage and performing? You know I could never do that.”
She smiled. “Sure you can! Wait until you hear my idea. I was thinking—”
“Tori!”
“Please, just listen, okay? I was thinking while I sang, you could do the lyrics to the song in sign language. Wouldn’t that be awesome? And beautiful. Plus, if any hearing-impaired people are in the audience, they wouldn’t feel left out.”
“Sign language? Me?”
She shrugged. “Yeah. You could learn. I’d learn, too. We could do it together! Please, Hazel? You don’t have to give me an answer right now. I’m going to sign up Friday, once I figure out the song I’m doing, and it’s probably fine if we add you later.”
It felt like my best friend and I were living on different planets. All she could think about was the talent show, something fun and happy-making. Meanwhile, all I could think about were the horrible words I’d read in a notebook that I now had in my bedroom. A notebook that many boys knew about but only one girl—me—knew about.
If I’d had a magic lamp with a genie inside, I would have wished to switch problems with Tori. Because trying to decide on a song seemed a whole lot more fun than trying to decide what to do about a disgusting notebook.
As for Tori’s request, the best option seemed to be to go along with it and make her think I was considering it. For now, anyway.
“Fine. I’ll think about it.”
She squealed and threw her arms around me. “Thank you, my dear, sweet BFF, thank you!”
As we hugged, I heard sniffles nearby. I let go and turned around. It was our friend Sasha, from soccer, getting into her locker.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I asked. “You okay?”
“Mr. Buck is sending me home,” she said as she wiped her face with the back of her hand. “Said my shirt isn’t appropriate for school.”
Her T-shirt read: INSTEAD OF BEING RACIST OR SEXIST, JUST BE QUIET.
“No way,” Tori said. “For that? Seriously?”
“Right?” Sasha said. “My mom is so angry. She’s on her way to pick me up. I think she’s gonna try to talk to him, but I doubt it’ll do any good. She said we might have to move if this is how it’s going to be.”
“I’m so sorry, Sasha,” I said. “It’s not right.”
“No, it’s not,” Tori said.
The warning bell rang, which meant we needed to get to class. “Do you want us to stay with you until she gets here?” I asked.
Sasha shook her head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll be fine. I was just embarrassed, you know? He did it in front of a bunch of people and it just … I don’t know. It shocked me.”
I understood. Sometimes tears come not because you’re sad but because you’re so full of all kinds of feelings that something has to come out.
Tori and I headed to class, and we didn’t even try to avoid the tripping boys this time. It just seemed easier today to take it. They came up behind us and kept kicking our feet, trying to make us lose our balance, but we held on to each other and managed to make it to the end of the hallway.
“Good job,” Tori said as she gave me a high five.
“Do you think they’ll ever get tired of it?” I asked. “They have to, right? Like, at some point there’ll be something else they want to do.”
“Something more obnoxious, you mean?”
That was a depressing thought. “Yeah. Probably. I wish someone would say something. Every day people see them doing it, and no one says a word. It’s so frustrating.”
“I know,” Tori said.
“Maybe we should do something nice for them. Show them we’re trying hard to get along with everyone. Bake them cupcakes or something.”
It stopped Tori in her tracks. “What did you just say? I think I didn’t hear right, because it sounded like you said we should bake those horrible boys some cupcakes.”
“That’s what I said.”
We were almost to our class. The halls were still pretty crowded, so I figured we had a couple of minutes left.
“But why?” she asked, her face all scrunched up like I’d just shoved a dirty diaper at her. “Why would you want to do that?”
“I don’t know. Nothing else has worked. Maybe being super nice would make them feel bad? Or something?”
“Good morning, girls,” Ms. Beaty said. “Are you going to join us or are you hoping we’ll have class in the hallway this morning?”
Tori walked through the doorway and I started to follow her when I felt a hand around my upper arm.
“Hazel,” a stern voice said. A voice I recognized. A voice that did not sound happy. At all.
I turned around and smiled at Ben. “Oh, hey. How’s it going?”
He kept his voice low, but he was obviously mad. “Where is it?”
I tried to act like he was speaking Russian and I had no idea what any of his words meant. “What? What do you mean?”
“Don’t do that,” he snarled. “Don’t pretend. I know you took it. It’s the only thing that makes any sense. You looked at it in the bathroom last weekend, didn’t you? And then you decided you didn’t want it circulating at school anymore, so you stole it.”
“Stole what?”
As the bell rang, Ms. Beaty came over to the door and looked back and forth between Ben and me. “Hazel, is everything all right?”
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