by Rachel Vail
“Doesn’t hurt anybody to celebrate these kids just showing the heck up,” Dad said. “Right?”
“I guess,” the other dad grumbled.
Dad turned around to face front again and put his arm around Mom. I was watching his face to see if he looked scared of that big bully dad behind him.
Nope.
I leaned against him a little bit until it was our team’s turn to get our glittering gold trophies.
November 29, Monday
I was walking in from recess with Cash and Xavier Schwartz, discussing whether Fig Newtons are actually cookies or a secret plot to get kids to eat a vegetable called figs, when Noah bumped into my back.
“Ouch,” I said.
Cash and Xavier kept going, still talking about secret plots.
“Just because you walk in from recess with those guys doesn’t make you cool,” Noah said.
“I didn’t say it did,” I told him.
“Not in words, maybe,” Noah said.
He turned around and walked back outside even though recess was over and you are supposed to go straight in.
I had nobody to walk the rest of the way in with. I let my fingers drag over the cold bumpy wall and just walked to the classroom by myself.
November 30, Tuesday
For the holiday concert this year, since we are fourth-graders, we will be singing some songs and also playing our recorders. Thursday in music class they are going to test our voices to see how high and low they go so they can put us into groups.
I don’t even like talking in front of the class. Now they want us to sing in front of the whole school and the parents, in high and low voices?
At the same time as we are singing and then playing our recorders and then singing again, we have to stand nicely on the risers and not wiggle, jiggle, or push one another or poke anybody’s back with our recorders.
You would think these grown-ups had never met us.
December 1, Wednesday
Montana C. says when you wake up on the first day of a new month, you are supposed to say, “Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit,” as your first words. If you do, you have good luck all month.
If you don’t? Bad luck.
I never heard of that rule before. Everybody else was like, Yeah, of course, obviously. I never, in my entire life, said, “Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit,” as my first words any day when I woke up.
Which explains a lot.
December 2, Thursday
My voice is high.
I stand between Daisy and a whispery girl named Willow who comes up to my armpit. And right behind Montana B., who can’t stop bouncing, ever, and whose voice sounds like a baby hamster’s.
Cash and Xavier Schwartz and Noah all have low voices. Bartholomew Wiggins has the lowest in fourth grade (of the kids). Only Gianni Schicci of the boys is anywhere near me in the high-voice section, and even he is kind of near some other boys.
Unlike me.
Apparently saying “Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit” as your second thing (after “No, I don’t want to get up yet, please five more minutes”) on the second day of the month gives you the opposite of good luck.
December 3, Friday
It was not my fault I fell down those steps and dropped my books. I would not have fallen if Noah hadn’t bumped into me on our way down, single file and silent, back to our classroom from the science lab.
I know he was mad at not being included in the Taking Care of the Tortoise group. And maybe I should have said to Cash and Xavier that we should ask Noah to be the fourth person in our group. That is what a good friend would do: include his friend.
But Cash said, “Let’s see if Montana C. wants in on this.”
I was so surprised, I just said, “Yeah.”
Also, the thing is, everybody says yeah to Cash.
Plus, Montana C. is really good to work in a group with. She works hard and still laughs a lot but not at the wrong times.
And maybe also a small and probably very bad thought mumbled inside my brain:
When I was alone at the lonely end of the lunch table, Noah did not come and sit next to me, did he?
No, he did not. That was Montana C. who came and sat next to me.
For some or maybe all those reasons, I did not say, Maybe we should ask Noah to join us instead of Montana C.
Montana C. answered, “Sure, why not?”
I smiled at her and then I turned my face away from Noah’s, even though I could feel him looking at me like he wanted to be in our group instead of the one taking care of the tropical fish with Bartholomew Wiggins. So I didn’t see Noah’s sad eyes.
Except for maybe one second before I stopped seeing them.
I had looked at him with sad eyes in the cafeteria from the far end of the table. And what he did then was, he smiled at me before he turned his face away.
But when Mr. Leonard picked me up by the armpits at the bottom of the stairs and asked, “What happened, young man?” I did not tell on Noah.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Gather your things, please, and pay attention as you walk.”
“Okay,” I said. And I did pay attention to gathering my stuff. What I did not pay attention to was if my friends were laughing at me for falling down the stairs.
Maybe they weren’t laughing about that. Maybe somebody had told a really good knock-knock joke and I just hadn’t heard it because of being busy with tumbling down those stairs and saying stuff like OOOF and AAAAHHHH.
But right now, in the dark of my bed, even though I promised three nights in a row on the Pillow of Honor for anyone who could think of one, none of my stuffties can think of any knock-knock jokes that are that funny.
And neither can I.
December 4, Saturday
Mom went into Elizabeth’s room to have a talk with her. Qwerty and I looked at each other like, What is going on? But neither of us had an answer. So he went back to napping and I went back to doing the Battle Between the Forces of Good Knights and Evil Knights.
Mom came storming out of Elizabeth’s room right when the Good Guy Knights’ castle was being stormed by the Head Bad Guy Knight, Steeltrap. I watched her go, with Steeltrap in one hand and Achilles Heel, the dying Good Guy Knight, in the other hand. Qwerty watched too.
By the time Mom marched back to Elizabeth’s room, with Dad right behind her, the tide had turned and the Good Guy Knights were winning.
I wish I knew what Elizabeth is in trouble for, but I was kind of happy nobody was telling me to go outside or clean my room or anything productive all day. I usually like to have a lot of attention, but sometimes I like to have none.
December 5, Sunday
Turns out, Elizabeth is in trouble for bullying.
Bullying Buckey.
She keeps trying to kiss him. And he doesn’t want her to.
He said, Please stop, and I mean it, Elizabeth, please stop or I am telling, and she still didn’t stop trying to kiss him. So Buckey told the teacher on Elizabeth. And the teacher told Mom and Dad. They are Very Serious and Elizabeth is in Very Big Trouble. I am not even sure what other punishments she’s getting, but I know she was sitting at the kitchen table for a long time writing a letter of apology to Buckey with promises to quit bugging him. And no snacks until she was done.
No smiles, either.
I stayed mostly in my room because Mom and Dad were looking Very Not Smiley, and when I left my sneakers in the slightly wrong place, they said JUSTIN! so burstingly I jumped up nearly to the ceiling.
Some new family rules we got today:
No means no.
Use your words, not your kisser.
Put your sneakers away when your sister is in trouble.
Don’t be annoying.
December 6, Monday
We had recess right after Music.
Everybody was relieved to get outside even though it was cold and we had to form two lines and wait for Mr. Calabrio to set up relay races.
“We sound awful,” Cash said. “Why do th
ey make us play those things anyway?”
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“And why do they make us sing such weird stuff?” Xavier asked. “And so many different tunes at once!”
“I have to sing like lalalala,” I said, imitating how high I have to sing the middle part of the song.
“You sound like a little girl crying when you sing, Justin,” Noah said with a huge smile on his huge face. “Waa waa waa.” He laughed like he’d just made a hilarious joke. “Justin sounds like a baby girl!”
Montana C. said, “So what? I sound like a boy!”
And then Daisy said, “I sound like a nothing!”
Which made us all (except Noah) laugh. Because Daisy does not sound like a nothing. And also Daisy doesn’t usually speak up on the playground.
“Get into two lines!” Mr. Calabrio yelled from the far end of the field. “I’m almost ready!”
“So what if Justin Case sounds like a girl?” Gianni said, putting his face close to Noah’s.
“Hey,” I said. “I do not sound like a girl! Some boys just have…”
“So what, what Justin Case sounds like? Better to sound like a girl than like a fish,” Gianni said right in Noah’s nose. “You sound like a fish.”
“Fish don’t sing,” Noah said, his face turning bright red like somebody slapped both his cheeks at once. But nobody did. “Fish are silent.”
“So why don’t you shut up, then, Noah?” Cash said quietly to him. “Come on, Justin.” He yanked my sweatshirt sleeve into line in front of him.
“You’re not allowed to say shut up in school,” Noah said from the other line. “It’s a rule here, for your information.”
“Okay,” Cash said, leaning across toward him. “Fine. How about if you try to quiet down now, okay, Noah? Like a fish.”
“Well, some aquatic mammals sing,” Noah answered. “Like dolphins. And humpback whales.”
“You’re a humpback whale,” Gianni said to him.
December 7, Tuesday
Mom said, “What happened to your mouth?”
I did not want to tattle.
“Your lip looks funny,” she said. “Did you bite your lip?”
“No,” I said.
“Did Elizabeth try to kiss you too?” she asked.
That made me laugh. “No.”
“Because she gave Buckey a fat lip last week when she tried to kiss him, and the nurse called me and … oh, my goodness, what am I going to do with that girl?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
And that is all I told my mom about what happened. I didn’t say one thing about Noah’s swinging fist and how it collided with my just-standing-there mouth after school waiting for the bus today.
Or about what Montana C. said about Elizabeth and how she better leave Buckey alone. Or. Else.
I just went to my room. I wanted to relax on my bed, but I couldn’t because all the stuffties are in a fight about which one of them is leaking tiny plastic balls on my covers. And whether that is tragic or disgusting.
So I went out into the hall where Elizabeth was slumping. “You need to stop kissing kids,” I told her.
“That’s not what you said before,” she snapped back.
“When?” I asked. We were two very cranky kids in one narrow hallway.
“Last year.”
“Elizabeth! No.” This was ridiculous. This is exactly why I hate everybody. “I said you should run after kids, trying to kiss them?”
“No,” Elizabeth said, standing up with her fists on her hips. “But you didn’t say I NEED to STOP kissing kids. What you said is that in life you need only food, water, shelter, and occasionally an umbrella.”
“I never said that,” I told her.
“You did so. Last year.”
“I hate umbrellas,” I said. “So there’s no way I—”
“You’re afraid of umbrellas.”
“Shut up.”
“You’re not allowed to say shut up!”
“So what?”
“Justin! You’re also not allowed to say so what!”
I shrugged. “I don’t care.” I was suddenly really, really tired.
“I’m pretty sure I don’t care is against the rules too, Justin,” Elizabeth said, sinking back down onto the floor next to my foot. “If you’re not careful, you’re gonna end up taking a turn as the bad kid, and I’ll be the good one.”
I sank down beside her. “Did I really say that, occasionally an umbrella?”
“Yup,” she said.
“Sorry,” I said, and we leaned against each other for a while.
December 8, Wednesday
The first song we have to sing at the holiday concert is called “Hello, Children.”
I don’t know what the second song will be called.
Maybe “Good-bye, Everybody, and Please Stop Booing.”
December 9, Thursday
In between the songs, we will play “Jingle Bell Rock” on our recorders. We tried it today.
Supposedly.
All our recorder songs sound exactly goosily alike.
In the good news department, Montana C. said the apology note Elizabeth gave to Buckey Monday morning is the second-sweetest thing ever. It is on their fridge held up by their second-best magnet.
“Second-best?” I whispered.
“Shhh,” Mr. Leonard said. We were supposed to be BOOOCHing, not whispering about first-graders.
“Uh-huh,” Montana C. whispered while Mr. Leonard sharpened a pencil. “Because our best magnet is holding up the sweetest thing ever. The note Elizabeth passed to Buckey yesterday. I made a copy of it last night on my mom’s printer. You want to see?”
I did. I nodded instead of saying okay, because how did Mr. Leonard hear none of what Montana C. whispered, only my very quiet question second-best?
After making sure Mr. Leonard wasn’t looking at us, Montana C. pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket. She silently unfolded it, checked to make sure Mr. Leonard was still stooped over Rozzie Constantine’s desk, and plopped it into my book.
I would know Elizabeth’s handwriting anywhere. The note looked like this:
December 10, Friday
We were taking care of the tortoise when it happened.
Me, Cash, Montana C., and Xavier Schwartz (the Tortoise Group) were over by the tortoise bin. We had all just washed our hands and taken leaves of arugula to feed to the tortoise.
Noah was supposed to be in the Taking Care of the Tropical Fish Group. “Justin,” he said right behind me.
“What?” I said, but it was my turn to hold a leaf of arugula for Lightning the Tortoise to come eat and you have to concentrate completely because you could get your finger bitten off. Russian tortoises have no teeth but very strong jaws.
Noah knows that. He is full of facts about how your fingers could get bitten off.
You have to be especially careful, Mr. Leonard had just reminded us, because Lightning the Tortoise did not get the memo about how tortoises are supposed to be slow. Not when there’s arugula involved, that is for sure. Lightning the Tortoise is a BIG fan of arugula.
“Justin!” Noah yelled in my ear. “I am talking to you!”
“Hold on, Noah,” I said. “I’m doing something.”
“Can’t you ever leave Justin alone?” Cash asked him.
“Yeah, Noah,” Xavier Schwartz said. “Stop being so annoying all the time, would you?”
“Justin,” Noah said, in a growly voice, “if you don’t talk to me now, I am going to shoot you with a rubber band.”
“Shut up, Noah,” I said. Even though you are not allowed to say shut up. Not in my family and not in school.
I know it. I know I broke that rule.
And I also know I didn’t care.
Lightning the Tortoise chomped away at the piece of arugula I was holding for her. Xavier Schwartz and Montana C. and Cash were all laughing and pointing and saying How hungry can a little tortoise be? and Look, did you see how pink her tongue
is? But I wasn’t laughing or pointing or saying things.
I was getting ready to be hit with a rubber band.
Because here are some facts about Noah:
1. He is at least as bad at ball sports as I am, maybe worse
2. He knows millions of facts about fish and diseases
3. He is very kind when you need a friend to just stay by your side because you are having a worried day
4. He has very large hair
But the biggest fact about Noah is:
5. If he says he is going to do something, he is absolutely going to do it.
So when Lightning the Tortoise finished eating the leaf of arugula, I took a big breath. I was very worried about how it was going to feel to be hit with a rubber band because although I am nine years old, almost nine and a half, I have never been shot with one yet in my entire life.
Which Noah, as one of my best friends of my entire life, knows.
In fact, he is probably my best friend even though I always think of him as my second-best. Daisy has always had the slot of my best friend. But really, I think she hasn’t really been my best friend for more than a year. I don’t know if she is mad at me for something or if an unlisted rule of fourth grade is you can’t be best friends with a boy if you are a girl. Or if she just wanted a change. But we haven’t had a regular playdate since second grade, back when neither of us had very many teeth. So Noah probably moved up a slot when I wasn’t paying attention.
Which probably means Noah is my best friend. He knows that I am actually very scared of many things, including falling off a cliff, food that jiggles, death, bad guys, my dog, umbrellas, getting eaten by a bullhead shark—and getting shot by a rubber band.
And, it turns out, I was right to be scared of at least one of those things, I found out today.
Because when I finished feeding that leaf of arugula to Lightning the Tortoise, I took my deep breath and started to turn around—and one of the things I am most scared of in the whole world hit me in the face.
I saw Noah’s hand in the shape of a gun. A rubber band was looped around his pinky, stretched past his thumb onto his pointer finger. With one little twitch of the pinky, he shot the rubber band across the few inches toward my head.