Kat Greene Comes Clean

by Melissa Roske

  I am SOOOOOO sorry, Kat!

  I was way out of line.

  Please forgive me.

  PLEASE!!!!

  I’m not sure whether I should accept Sam’s apology or not. I can forgive Mom, who genuinely seems sorry and ordered sushi as proof. But Sam? All he’s done is send a bunch of shouty texts with smiley-face emojis. If he wants me to forgive him, he’ll have to try harder than that.

  While I’m thinking this over, I catch Halle scanning the cafeteria for you-know-who. He wasn’t in class this morning, and Halle thinks he’s sick. “I should text him,” she says, digging in her backpack for her phone. “He might need me to bring him his books.”

  Bring him his books? What is she now, his personal assistant?

  Halle puts away her phone. “What are you smirking at? If you have something to say, say it.”

  “I wasn’t smirking,” I say, taking a sip of Halle’s water. “But I do have something to say.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Halle is frowning now.

  I nod. “I know you really like Michael, Hal, but you’ve become totally obsessed with him. It’s getting old.”

  “Old?” Halle narrows her eyes. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re jealous.”

  “Me, jealous of Michael?” I try not to snort. “That’s not it. I’m just getting tired of listening to you talk about him all the time.”

  Halle mashes her lips together. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Kat, but you’re being ridiculous. You’re just mad that I’ve got someone who likes me and no one is interested in you.”

  “That’s not true,” I say, trying to think of boys (other than Sam) who like me. There’s Justin, a kid on the fifth floor who says hi in the elevator, and William, Henry’s friend from preschool who sits on my lap during playdates, and…oh, who cares! “Fine,” I say, just to smooth things over. “But I mean it about Michael, Hal. If you like him that much, tell him already.”

  “You said you would do it!”

  Oh boy. Not that again. “First, I said no such thing. Second, talking to your crush is your job, not mine.”

  Halle swats away my comment like a pesky mosquito. “I still say you’re jealous. So jealous, you can taste it.”

  I know a losing battle when I see one. “Can we talk about something else?” I say. “Please?”

  “Fine.” Halle leans back in her seat. “This conversation was starting to bore me anyway.”

  I ignore her. “Halloween is twenty-two days away and I’m thinking of going as Ms. Frizzle from The Magic School Bus.”

  Halle shrugs. “So?”

  “So…I’ll decorate a blue thrift-store dress with stars and planets, borrow my mom’s pointy red shoes, and put up my hair in a messy bun. I might even carry around a stuffed-animal lizard, if I can find one. What about you?”

  “I’m not dressing up this year,” Halle says. “It’s babyish.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Halle loves Halloween as much as I do. Maybe even more. Last year she started planning her costume in July. She even sent me a three-page letter from camp, outlining the pros and cons of each possible idea. Could her lack of interest in her favorite holiday be a symptom of her crush on Michael? I try not to panic. “You’re still going trick-or-treating with me, aren’t you? Say yes!”

  “Well…”

  “There’ll be candy,” I say. “Lots and lots of candy…”

  Halle grins. “You know me too well.”

  I laugh, relieved things are back on track. Best friends don’t have to agree on everything. It’s just nice when we do.

  On Saturday I go to Halle’s for a sleepover. It’s nice to have it be just us for a change. No Henry. No babysitting. Just me and Halle.

  “Let’s prank call Michael!” she says, leaping onto her bed. “Go get your phone.”

  I look up from the beanbag chair where I’m letting my sparkly purple toenail polish dry. Clearly our conversation at lunch the other day didn’t get through to her. Halle is still riding the Michael McGraw crush train. “Why would we want to prank Michael?” I ask, watching Halle bounce up and down on the springy mattress. “And on my phone?”

  “First, it’s fun,” Halle says, “and second, he’ll know it’s me if we use mine.” She points to my overnight bag. “Phone. Go. Get.”

  I inspect a smudged pinkie toe. “Forget it.”

  “Then I’ll use my own phone.”

  “No, you won’t. It’s a bad idea.”

  Halle stops bouncing. “Come on, Kat. Don’t be such a party pooper.”

  “I’m not,” I say. “I just don’t think pranking Michael is a good idea. He’ll think it’s annoying.”

  “True.” Halle flops down on her belly. “I’ve got a better idea.”

  “Which is…?”

  “I’ll pretend I have a question about the Harriet project. We’re partners, after all.”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he’ll want to talk about school stuff on a Saturday night.”

  Halle sits up and bites off a hangnail. “You’re right. You should call him.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. You can talk about random stuff, like how his weekend is going. Then you’ll ask what he thinks of me—whether he likes me or not. It’s a perfect plan!”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just talk to him yourself?”

  “Easy?” Halle heaves a monster sigh. “We’ve been over this before, Kat. Asking a boy whether he likes you or not is the opposite of easy. And nobody does that! Maybe if you’d ever had a crush on someone, you’d know.”

  At first I’m not sure how to take this. Should I be insulted? Storm out of Halle’s room and take my best-friend-sleepover business elsewhere? But Halle’s right. I’ve never had a crush on anyone. At least not one I’m aware of.

  “Please, Kat,” Halle says. “Just one little call. For me?” She clasps her hands together, begging.

  “Okay, fine. But you owe me.”

  Halle grins as she runs off to get my phone. I watch as she digs it out of my overnight bag and punches in Michael’s number. Of course she’s got it memorized. “Here,” she says, thrusting the phone at me. “It’s ringing!”

  I put the phone to my ear. “Hello?” I hear loud chewing, followed by a gulp. I wonder what Michael is eating. Beef jerky, maybe? Cheetos?

  “Kat!” Michael says. “What’s up?”

  “Um, not much.” I know I’m supposed to ask how his weekend is going, but now it seems stupid. I shoot Halle a help-me look.

  “Ask him what he thinks of me,” Halle hisses. “Go!”

  I clear my throat. “So, Michael. What do you think of Halle?”

  “Halle?” Michael takes another bite of whatever he’s eating. “I dunno. I never thought about it. But what’s the deal with you and Teitelbaum? You like him, or what?”

  Huh? Why would Michael think I’m interested in Sam? Ever since he kissed me, I’ve done my best to pretend Sam doesn’t exist. Except when we have to work on the Harriet project. Then I don’t have a choice. “Sam?” I finally say. “You can’t be serious.”

  Halle gives me a sharp poke. “Why are you talking about Sam? This is supposed to be about me.” I wave her away.

  “I didn’t mean to, like, insult you or anything,” Michael says. “I was just wondering.”

  “Oh.” I hear rustling. More chewing. What is he eating?

  When he starts talking again, his voice is so quiet, I can barely hear him. “I…um, want to tell you something,” Michael says.

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, I, uh…I wouldn’t want you to, um, like Teitelbaum or anything. Because, well…I think you’re really cool, Kat.”

  Wait. Is Michael saying what I think he’s saying?

  “I just wanted you to know that,” he says, gaining confidence. “You’re a cool Kat.” He laughs at his little joke.

  “Okay,” I say. “Bye!” I drop the phone as if it’s about to scald my palm.

  “What
was that about?” Halle asks. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Nothing,” I say, slipping the phone in my back pocket. “Want to order a pizza?”

  “I want to know what Michael said about me.”

  I feel my face heating up. “He wasn’t very specific,” I say. “You know…boys.”

  Halle isn’t going for it. “I’m sure he said something. Come on, Kat. Tell me.”

  If Halle’s apartment had a fire escape, I’d make like a burglar and sneak out the window—but it doesn’t. I try again. “He thinks I like Sam, so I had to hang up. I mean, gross.” I screw up my face for emphasis.

  Halle sits down on the bed. “Why would Michael care if you like Sam?”

  “He doesn’t,” I tell her. “He was just looking for something to say.”

  “Oh.” Halle gives me a funny look, but she doesn’t say more. She just gets up and says she’ll ask her mom to order us a pizza.

  Once she’s out of the room, I flop back into the beanbag chair and try not to scream. What just happened? How is it possible that Michael likes me? I thought he liked Halle! Sure, I didn’t realize it at first—like at the first rap session, when he said he liked a girl who was “nice, and cool, and funny.” He could’ve been talking about anyone. But later, when he waved at Halle in the hall, and stared at her in the cafeteria while she was eating her grilled cheese, it was obvious. I know because I was right next to her each time!

  And then a horrible thought worms its way into my brain. What if the girl Michael was talking about in rap session—and waving to in the hall, and staring at in the cafeteria—wasn’t Halle?

  What if it was…me?

  On Monday morning I find a note taped to my desk. I open it up and start reading:

  Dear Kat,

  Your the best, better then the rest

  When I look at you I want to smile

  Not for a minute but for a while

  Your hair is brown your teeth are white

  I really think your DINOMITE…

  Oh no. Michael McGraw has written me a poem. A love poem, with bad spelling. Thank goodness Halle is at the orthodontist. Otherwise, I’d be planning my own funeral. I stuff the note in my pocket and avoid Michael’s moony eyeballs for the rest of homeroom.

  Later, in the hall, Halle spies her crush gazing at me from behind the water fountain. “Why is Michael staring at you?”

  “He’s staring at you,” I say. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “No,” Halle says, narrowing her eyes. “It’s not.”

  “Well…”

  “What did he say on the phone, Kat? I know there’s more than you’re telling me.”

  “It was nothing,” I lie. “Just stuff about Sam. I told you already.”

  “Then tell me again. And don’t leave anything out this time. I want to know everything.”

  I fight the urge to bite my nails. “I don’t remember.”

  Halle makes a face and walks off down the corridor. She doesn’t turn around to see if I’m following her.

  —

  In carpentry, Halle catches Michael gaping at me while I’m hammering nails into the bookshelf I’m making, and again at lunch, as I’m eating my pasta primavera. By the time we’re in PE, finishing up a unit on rhythmic gymnastics, Halle’s had enough. The fact that Michael is waving at me from across the room isn’t helping.

  “What’s going on, Kat?” she asks, rolling a wooden hoop for me to jump through. “I know it’s something.”

  I squat down to pick up the fallen hoop. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Halle glowers at me, hands on hips. “You don’t expect me to believe that, do you? It’s obvious that—”

  Halle doesn’t get to finish. Michael is standing right in front of us. “Hey,” he says, nodding at me. “Whaddya think of my poem?”

  “Poem?” Halle frowns. “What poem?”

  “The one I wrote for Kat,” Michael says. “Poetry’s kinda my thing.”

  Before I have time to explain, Halle snatches the gymnastics hoop out of my hand and stomps over to Madeline and Coco.

  —

  In rap session Halle’s hand is the first to go up. “The person I trust most in the world—and I won’t name names—is doing something behind my back. Something sneaky.”

  My best friend doesn’t have to name names. All eyes are on me. Madeline’s and Coco’s glares feel the strongest.

  “Are you sure about this, Halle?” Olympia asks. “For all you know, it could be a misunderstanding.”

  “Oh, it’s no misunderstanding,” Halle tells her. “I feel it in my gut.”

  “Maybe you’re lactose intolerant,” Wilson says, adjusting the cuffs of his lab coat.

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Halle asks.

  Wilson puts out his hand for the talking stick. “People with sensitive digestive systems have an incredible sense of intuition. I read about it in last month’s New England Journal of Medicine.”

  “Wilson’s right,” Liberty says, taking the stick. “If you think this person is doing something sneaky behind your back and your stomach is acting up, well…she probably is.”

  “How do you know it’s a she?” Sam says, taking the stick from Liberty. “Halle could be talking about a guy.” I shoot Sam a grateful smile. I’ve been avoiding him all week, but he’s still on my side.

  “It’s not me!” Kevin yells.

  “Me neither,” Hector says. “I’m not a sneaky person.”

  “But you’re weird,” Madeline tells him. “And you think you were abducted by aliens.”

  “I was,” Hector says. “At Yankee Stadium. I was waiting in line for a hot dog, when all of a sudden this little green man hopped out of a spaceship and—”

  Olympia holds up her hand. “Do you have the talking stick, Hector?”

  Hector looks down at his stick-less hands. “No.”

  “Then it’s not your turn to speak.” Olympia takes the stick from Sam and gives it to Halle. “Please continue,” she says.

  Halle shifts in her seat. “As I was saying, this person—who shall remain nameless—is trying to steal my crush. I never thought she’d do something like that, but obviously I was wrong.”

  I feel like running out of the room. Why did Halle have to say she? Everyone knows it’s me, but she didn’t have to be so obvious about it. Why couldn’t she have listened when Olympia said this could be a misunderstanding? As Ole Golly tells Harriet: “People are hurt more by misunderstanding than anything else.” Can’t Halle see this is exactly the same thing?

  As I’m about to ask for the talking stick, Michael slaps his hand against his head. “Oh no!”

  Olympia’s forehead creases in concern. “What’s wrong, Michael?”

  “I just remembered something.”

  “Fine, but what did we say about interrupting the speaker?”

  “It’s rude?”

  “And…”

  “Inconsiderate?”

  Olympia nods. “Exactly.”

  “But can I say one thing?” Michael says. “It’s important.”

  Olympia turns to Halle. “Does Michael have your permission to speak?”

  Halle can’t hand the stick over fast enough.

  Michael jumps to his feet. “The Yankees beat the Red Sox last night—seven-three. Their losing streak is officially OVER!”

  “Yes!” Kevin pumps his fist in the air. “Finally!”

  “Whew,” adds Hector. “I was beginning to give up hope.”

  Olympia, who usually has the patience of a Buddhist monk, has had enough. “Let’s turn our attention back to Halle,” she says, putting out her hand for the talking stick. “She’s been waiting patiently to continue.”

  “That’s okay,” Halle says, gazing at Michael. “I’m done.”

  I’m dying to reach for the stick and tell the class I’m not the sneaky backstabber Halle says I am, but why bother? Nobody would believe me anyway. When rap session is over, I pick
up my backpack and follow my classmates out the door.

  “Kat?” It’s Olympia, catching up to me in the hall. “Do you have a few minutes to chat?”

  This “chat,” I’m guessing, is not about Halle. “I, um…have to see the nurse,” I say. “I think I’m coming down with something.”

  “Oh, this won’t take long.” Olympia gestures for me to follow her to her office. “Come on.”

  Clearly I don’t have a choice. I’m going with her.

  The first thing I notice about Olympia’s office is that it’s messy. Books are scattered everywhere, with stacks of manila folders propped up against the walls and under the bookshelves. Mom would freak if she saw this.

  Olympia directs me to a large overstuffed chair next to her desk. The fabric has faded to a powdery blue and is smeared with suspicious stains. I wonder how many other Village Calamity kids have sat in this chair. A lot, I’ll bet. Maybe even Mom.

  “Make yourself comfy,” Olympia says. “And have some jelly beans.” She points to a glass jar on her desk. I reach in and fish out three pink ones. When I pop them in my mouth, I taste grapefruit. Not my favorite flavor, but a jelly bean is a jelly bean.

  While I’m chewing, I sneak a peek at the bulletin board over Olympia’s desk. Every inch is covered with postcards, campaign buttons, and bumper stickers. A picture near the top catches my eye. It’s Olympia with President Obama. The photo must have been taken a long time ago, because Olympia’s face is less wrinkled and her hair looks different: still orange, but loose and flowing. I wonder why she got to hang out with such a famous person, but it feels nosy to ask.

  “Great photo, isn’t it?”

  I feel my cheeks get hot. “I’ve never met anyone famous,” I admit. “Was it cool?”

  “Really cool.” Olympia smiles at the memory. “I met Mr. Obama before he was elected president, in 2008, at a campaign rally in Washington Square Park. His campaign manager’s cousin was married to my college roommate, so I was allowed backstage.”

  “Wow.”

  “I was nervous to meet him,” Olympia adds, “but he was very gracious and down to earth. It was quite an experience.” She kicks off her Birkenstocks and pretzels her legs underneath her. “You’re probably wondering why I asked to see you, Kat.”