“I used my mom's credit card to have them made. When my stepdad saw it, he said, ‘R.U.?’ and I was like, ‘Am I what?’ ” She dissolved into giggles, then cast an annoyed glance at Elizabeth. “I guess I can try to have another shirt made.”
Elizabeth smiled gratefully.
“Good,” Tricia said, once again scribbling in her notebook. “She'll need one for the meetings. I've been jotting down some club rules.”
She held them up for inspection:
CLUB RULES:
Meet every Thursday at 3 p.m. in the tree house.
Wear club T-shirt to meetings. (REQUIRED!!!)
Tell NO ONE what R.U. stands for.
The girls murmured their approval of the rules, and everyone but Elizabeth pulled their new shirts over what they were wearing. They giggled at the sudden plethora of pink, but Mei looked concerned.
“So we've got a place for the meetings… and we've got a time for the meetings… and we've got T-shirts for the meetings. But what will we do at the meetings?”
All eyes turned to Tricia. Uh-oh. Maybe she hadn't thought this through.
“Uh …” The girls' expressions were so expectant that she had to come up with something quick. Think…think…
Lists! Tricia loved lists.
“Here's what we'll do,” she said. “We've all got hassles associated with complicated families, right? For instance, I have a totally annoying half sister who gets all the attention in my family. And Mei's stepdad is the principal.”
The girls' expressions were unanimous in sympathy.
“Hope has to put up with a stepmother,” Tricia continued, “and Leighton's stepbrother is a geek.”
“I like him,” Mei said softly, but nobody noticed.
“And my parents are fighting for custody!” Elizabeth interjected cheerily.
“Exactly!” Tricia said. “We all have Right-Under problems. So here's what we'll do.” She glanced at Hope, who was holding a thin stick she'd found on one of the tree house steps. Tricia took the stick from her and held it up.
“This is the Problem Stick,” she said solemnly. “Each week, one of us will hold the Problem Stick. We'll take turns. The one holding the Problem Stick has to stand up and tell us about a Right-Under problem she's having. The rest of us will each write down a solution. Don't sign it, just write it anonymously. We'll read the solutions out loud and discuss which one we think is best. Then the person with the problem can report back to us about whether it worked.”
She pulled out a marker, and wrote “Solutions” on the plastic bowl. As she set the bowl ceremoniously on the floor, the girls gazed, intrigued. Just an empty plastic bowl, but it had suddenly given shape and purpose to their club… maybe even to their summer. Was it really possible to pluck a solution out of a bowl?
“I dunno…,” Mei said in barely a whisper, giving voice to what everyone was thinking. “We can't expect a plastic bowl to change our lives.”
“Maybe not,” said Tricia. “But five heads are better than one. We all understand what the others are going through. What's the worst that can happen if we put our heads together and try to help each other?”
“What's the best that can happen?” Hope countered. “You guys can't make my dad unmarry my stepmother. We can't fire Mei's stepdad as principal. And we can't make your bratty little sister disappear.”
Tricia blushed and lowered her head. Was that how she had characterized Everly? As a bratty little sister she wanted to make disappear? She felt ashamed. “I love my sister,” she said softly. “I just hate always feeling second best… you know?”
The girls nodded, and Mei reached over and touched Tricia's arm. “We know,” she said. “Like a leftover. We all feel that way. That's why we formed the Right-Under Club, remember?”
The tree house was silent except for the sound of birds chirping outside in the warm June sunshine.
“And it's not like any of our solutions will involve hiring a hit man,” Leighton said, speaking her mind so brashly that the girls couldn't help laughing.
Tricia folded her hands and cleared her throat. “Okay, Right-Unders: It's time to put your problems in the RightUnders' hands.” She glanced at the notebooks and passed them out to the girls along with pencils. “Good thing I brought extras,” she said as she handed one to Elizabeth. “And, hey: let's keep Right-Under journals during the summer.”
Leighton's eyebrows arched. “Who are you, my English teacher?”
“So writing's not your thing?” Hope asked, rolling her eyes. “I'm shocked.”
“It's bad enough my mom's making me study math,” Leighton complained with a sniff. “I am not wasting my whole summer on schoolwork.”
Tricia held up her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay,” she said. “Journaling is optional. But be sure to bring your notebook to meetings. Let's put our club name on the cover. And our motto.”
The girls' brows furrowed.
“Which means, of course, that we need a club motto,” Tricia said with a grin.
The girls tapped their pencils against their notebooks as they thought. Hope's eyes brightened. “How's this: We R There for U.”
It had a nice ring to it. The girls wrote it on their notebooks.
5
Tricia cleared her throat. It was time for serious business.
“Okay,” she said somberly. “Let's decide who gets to hold the Problem Stick for this meeting.”
The cedar beams squeaked as the girls self-consciously adjusted their positions on the floor. They cast their eyes downward, up at the ceiling, at the sunbeams peeking through slits in the wood—anywhere to avoid each other's gazes. Sure, they all had problems, but having to put them on display suddenly felt a little like going to school in your underwear. Would this really work? Would the girls be willing to bare their souls?
Hope wondered if the problem had to concern her complicated family. Frankly, she had a more pressing matter. Her biggest problem right now was her hair. Other girls could pull theirs back in a bouncy ponytail or a chic French braid, or just wash and go without worrying that their hair would set off in an entirely different direction. Why couldn't she exchange her red ringlets for sleek, straight hair like Mei's or Leighton's? Sure, Leighton was a snob, but there was no denying how beautiful she was. Why did Hope have to look just like her mother? She swallowed hard and tamped down the thought.
Mei was struggling, too. Her biggest problem right now was that she had a crush on Leighton's stepbrother, Kyle, who, like every other boy at Clearview Middle School, barely knew she existed. But she couldn't exactly disclose that to the group. She was so shy, she couldn't fathom a guy's even noticing her, let alone liking her. She was usually able to talk to her mother about her feelings, but with a new baby on the way, her mom was way too preoccupied with swollen ankles to even give lip service to Mei's concerns. Mei alternated between feeling invisible and sticking out like a sore thumb because of her Asian features—a distinct rarity in Clearview, and now even weird in her own house, thanks to a blue-eyed stepfather. She wished she looked like Leighton….
Forget it, Leighton said to herself. The idea had popped into her head so spontaneously—Maybe I should come clean and tell my real problem—that she didn't have time to censor the thought. Of course she couldn't write that problem down. She was annoyed at herself for even considering it. She had a reputation to protect, after all. The most beautiful and popular girl at Clearview Middle School wasn't about to blow her cover.
Elizabeth tapped her pencil rhythmically against her knee. Her main problem was so overwhelming, she couldn't even wrap her brain around it. She had perfected the art of pushing it out of her mind. The only time it crept back in was at night, when she would scream out loud during a nightmare or amble through the house during a bout of anxious sleepwalking. So it didn't even occur to her to write that problem down.
Tricia, as usual, didn't have a moment's hesitation in coming up with her problem. It was so all-consuming that she thought about it at
least a dozen times a day. She knew exactly what her problem was. What she didn't know was how the Right-Under Club might be able to help.
“Has everybody thought of a problem?” Tricia asked.
Hope knitted her brow and mouthed something at Mei. Mei shook her head quickly and looked away.
“What?” Tricia probed.
“Mei kinda has a problem that's coming up right away,” Hope said.
“Hope!” Mei scolded.
“Well, that's what we're here for,” Hope said. “Stop being so shy. We're all going to tell our problems. We might as well start with you since you need an immediate solution.”
Mei looked hesitant, but as far as Tricia was concerned, the matter was settled. She handed the Problem Stick to Mei, who took it reluctantly.
“You have to stand when you tell your problem,” Tricia said, and Mei slowly rose to her feet. She smoothed her pink T-shirt and cleared her throat.
“Um…”
“Louder, please,” Tricia prompted.
“Um,” Mei said more loudly, “my stepdad wants… well, he asked me…he kind of said he'd like…”
“Get to the point!” Hope said.
“He wants me to paint a mural in the school lunchroom,” Mei blurted out, then exhaled nervously.
“You see, Mei's stepdad…,” Hope began to say, but Tricia shushed her.
“Mei has the Problem Stick,” she reminded her. “Let her talk.”
Mei cleared her throat again. “It doesn't seem like a big deal,” she said.
Elizabeth shrugged. “Then what's the problem?” she asked, adjusting her glasses.
“See, Mei feels like—” Hope said in a rapid-fire tumble before the others shushed her again.
“Mei?” Tricia said.
“Hope makes a big deal about what a great artist I am,” she said, wincing, “but I'm really not. And even if I was, I still wouldn't want to show anybody my work, let alone the whole school. I'm afraid the kids will make fun of me. And I feel like my stepdad's just using me for free labor.”
The girls mmmmed their understanding.
Mei offered a bashful smile. “That's my problem.”
She handed the Problem Stick back to Tricia and sat on the floor of the tree house, leaning back on her hands and crossing her legs at the ankles.
“Okay, girls: our first problem,” Tricia said, exhilarated that their club was taking shape. A real problem! This club was going to be great.
“Time to write a solution in your notebooks,” she continued. When you're finished, tear out the paper, fold it twice and put it in the Solutions Bowl.” She glanced at her watch. “Let's take five minutes to write down our solutions, then I'll read them out loud.”
“Do I have to follow your advice?” Mei asked.
Again, everyone looked to Tricia for the answer. “We can't force you to do anything you don't want to do,” she said reasonably. “But remember that your fellow Right-Unders have your best interests at heart. We'll read the solutions and discuss which one we like. Then you do what you think is best, weighing our advice very carefully. But you have to report back to us at next Thursday's meeting.”
She glanced at her watch again. “Right-Unders: The time starts now.”
As the girls concentrated, Hope began humming the Jeopardy! theme song.
“Do you mind?” Leighton snapped.
Hope rolled her eyes but piped down.
Silence fell as the girls turned in separate directions for privacy. Mei glanced anxiously from one notebook to the next.
“Can I have a potato chip?” Elizabeth asked softly.
“Shhh!” the others said in unison.
“Elizabeth, we need complete silence while we come up with our solutions,” Tricia explained patiently.
Elizabeth blushed and returned to her notebook.
Tricia wrote and erased, wrote and erased, then wrote some more. This was serious business.
A few more minutes passed.
“Time's up,” Tricia said after checking her watch.
The girls ripped pieces of paper from their notebooks, folded them twice and dropped them in the Solutions Bowl as Tricia passed it from one Right-Under to the next.
“Can we have chips while you read the solutions?” Elizabeth asked. Tricia tightened her lips but opened the potato-chip sack and passed it to Elizabeth.
“Okay, girls, here's the first solution,” she said, picking a piece of paper from the bowl and unfolding it. “‘SOLUTION: Sabbitoj! Do such an awfull job that your stepdad will never ask you to help him again.’”
Tricia couldn't help smiling. She hadn't known Leighton long, but the spelling—not to mention the sentiment—made her pretty sure who the author was.
“What was that first word?” Elizabeth asked.
“Sabotage,” Tricia said. “It means to mess up a project on purpose. Should we discuss this solution or read the others first?”
“Read them all, then we can talk about which one we think is best,” Hope said.
“Okay. Here are the other solutions.” Tricia unfolded the papers and read them one by one:
“SOLUTION: Explain to your stepdad that you feel used and refuse to paint the mural.
“SOLUTION: Tell your mom how you feel and let her tell your stepdad that you won't do it.
“SOLUTION: Paint the best mural ever! Everybody at school will be talking about how talented you are.”
Tricia paused after reading the final solution.
“I like the first one best,” Leighton said after a few seconds. Hope stifled a giggle.
“What are you laughing at?” Leighton spat.
“Sabotage is a stupid idea,” Hope said coolly, tossing a curl over her shoulder. “The only person that will hurt is Mei. She's a great artist. People should know.”
“Hmmm.” Leighton sneered. “I wonder which solution was yours.”
Hope turned toward Mei. “Go for greatness. Who cares why your stepdad is asking you to paint the mural? This is your chance to shine.”
Elizabeth bounced in excitement. “That's an awesome solution, Hope.”
Mei frowned. “The only person who thinks I'm great is you, Hope,” she said. “And I appreciate it… but I'm not. I don't want to make a fool of myself. Besides, my stepdad will be expecting daisies and butterflies. That's not my style.”
“Then show him your style!” Tricia said. “Show the world your style. I think Hope is right. This is your chance.”
Mei hugged her knees against her chest. “I can usually talk to my mom about my problems, but she gets this panicky expression on her face when I complain about Stan. She's so desperate for us to get along, especially now that she's pregnant.”
“I totally get that,” Tricia concurred. “My mom has a smile practically pasted on her face when Troy and I are together, as if she can make us like each other just by sending out happy vibes. It's so fake… not like with my real dad, who's okay with whatever kind of mood I'm in.”
“Ahem,” Leighton said, raising an eyebrow. “I thought we were talking about Mei's problem.”
“It's okay,” Mei said. “Tricia's right. I don't remember what it's like to have a real dad, but I know what it's like to fake it with a stepdad.” She laced her fingers together and squeezed. “Not that I'm always faking it. He's nice, and sometimes it's cool having him around. But if it's not cool, I always have to fake it for my mom's sake.”
Tricia shook her head. “I don't fake it,” she insisted. “I keep it real, and if Troy doesn't like it, that's his problem.”
“And your mom's problem,” Mei said.
“Too bad.” Tricia sniffed. “I didn't ask her to marry him.”
A warm breeze whistled softly through the cedar slats.
“Mom says we'll feel more like a family after the baby is born,” Mei said.
Tricia opened her mouth to respond, then changed her mind.
Hope leaned closer to Mei. “Paint your mural,” she said. “You really are talented.”
“Is it unanimous, Right-Unders?” Tricia asked. She, Hope and Elizabeth raised their hands. Leighton hesitated, then extended a hand weakly in the air.
“Our advice: Paint the mural, paint it your way and show the world your true colors.” Tricia smiled at her cleverness.
Mei bit her lower lip. “I don't know…,” she said. “I'll give it a try, I guess. For the Right-Unders.”
“For the Right-Unders,” Tricia repeated, holding the Problem Stick aloft ceremoniously. “Don't forget to report back to us next Thursday.”
6
“Focus, Leighton.”
Leighton pushed her sunglasses onto the tip of her nose and cut her eyes at Hope. She'd finally agreed to a tutoring session, but only if it was poolside. It was Saturday, after all.
Hope had gamely stuck a math book into a nylon bag, along with her beach towel and sunscreen, then made it to the neighborhood pool at two p.m. sharp, just as they'd agreed. But as soon as she opened the gate and scanned the pool area, she calculated that the chances of a productive afternoon were slim to none. There was Leighton, sprawled out on a lounge chair in a turquoise bikini and glistening with suntan lotion. Several boys buzzed around her like mosquitoes, laughing too loudly and gesturing too broadly. Occasionally, one would dive or do a cannonball into the sparkling blue pool, then spin his soaked head in Leighton's direction to see whether she'd noticed. Leighton mostly looked bored, and Hope doubted she'd find math much more interesting.
Of course, she was right. As Hope pulled up a chair beside Leighton's and droned on about factors and variables, Leighton applied lip gloss, smacked her lips together and tilted her head farther back for maximum sun exposure.
“If you don't focus, you'll never learn this stuff,” Hope said.
“Hey, Leighton, watch this!” one of the boys called before doing a badly executed somersault into the pool that left him grimacing in pain as he smacked the water with his back.
Leighton sputtered giggles into her fingertips. “He is so immature,” she concluded to no one in particular—certainly not to Hope, who seemed no more noteworthy than the lounge chair she was sitting in.
The Right-Under Club Page 3