The Pages Between Us

by Lindsey Leavitt

  Anyway, I hope when you went to French Club today it ended up having lots of castable members—and people for me to practice the art of conversation with.

  I’m putting together a plan for how to approach Jackson when I see him at LEGO Club. I call it “My Plan of Attack.” Too aggressive?

  My optional title is the 2-3-73 Plan.

  I figure if I say TWO intriguing things . . .

  Followed by THREE flirty gestures . . .

  The odds of him realizing that I actually LIKE HIM will run at about seventy-three percent.

  I don’t have any actual math to back that up—it’s just more of a hunch. Anyway, those are my working titles. I will create some flowcharts to plan this out in greater detail. Planning ahead is one of my few strengths.

  See you soon (bruiseless and with a pinkie toe that works),

  Olivia

  Grateful for:

  1. The visual of that guy in LARP actually saying the words “I’m putting a monkey brain in a baby”

  2. The fact that medicine has advanced so much that putting a monkey brain in a baby is probably possible (though not all that practical for the baby)

  3. That my bruise is still visible so I have a conversation starter if needed

  4. YouTube videos that teach you how to become a better chess player

  5. That casserole Mom made

  Chapter 13

  Olivia (did you know that’s a French name? Oui?),

  We need a rule. No missing school two days in a row. You think one class together isn’t a big deal, but that one class is the best part of the day. And after the second day of not having someone to share details with, not having someone to meet with during locker breaks, you start to feel a little sad faced. ☹

  And by you, I mean me. Because YOU, Olivia, were home today and I was in class.

  Anyway, I was ☹. You are my favorite person, and I wanted to see you. But the good news is, it’s Friday and hopefully you are recovered enough this weekend that we can get together. We absolutely MUST strategize, since LEGO Club is on Monday. I’m actually a little nervous for you. Not that you should be nervous.

  I mentioned LARP to my parents and my dad said, “Oh, that’s perfect for you, Pipe.”

  And I was, like, “Um . . . thank you? Are you being serious?”

  Mom nodded. “Think of the live nativity our family puts on every Christmas. You’ve been writing and directing that since you were three!”

  Which is true. Remember the anxiety I had about the twins’ birth and not being sure who should be baby Jesus?

  Then Dad said, “And look at all those videos with your brothers that you put online. Maybe you can film your LARP Club and stick it up there too. Everyone loves watching the stuff you come up with.”

  I would be embarrassed to put my name on the patchy plot-line our group came up with last week, but it’s not a bad idea.

  Also, they didn’t say LARPing was dorky or anything, and listened and laughed when I explained that between volunteering at the shelter and my LARP character, I may develop a cat allergy.

  I like my dad’s laugh. And my mom’s attention.

  There, I said it.

  But back to today. Fourth period. Super bizarre events occurred. In math class, Joel Lamier stopped at my desk during group time and said, “Hey, do you need your pencil sharpened?”

  “I’m using a mechanical pencil.”

  “If you ever do, I’m a really good sharpener. I get the point super pointy.”

  “Thanks, but I’m . . . pointy enough.”

  And then Joel looked nervous talking to me. Actually nervous. I wondered if he had to go to the bathroom and had already used up his two free passes this year because he just kept standing there. “So . . . your brother is Luke Jorgensen, right?”

  I wanted to say, “Yeah, that’s why we have the same last name.” But I controlled myself. Joel’s pencils might be sharp, but he isn’t. It didn’t seem fair to throw him sarcasm. Maybe he can play Cornelious McDougerson, a very rich but rather daft gentleman who never quite understands a joke. Or he could wear a cardigan and fluff his hair and be a rugby player who got hit in the head one too many times.

  “Cool,” Joel said. “I just joined his volleyball club, High Impact? He’s really good. Like hits the ball straight down every time.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” It is so weird having people know you because of your siblings. You probably don’t get it because Jason is so much older. But here I have pretty Talin and athlete Luke, and who am I? Oh, yeah. I have a pretend cat allergy.

  “No, he’s amazing.”

  “He played varsity as a freshman, and he said that’s a big deal,” I said. “Although he always thinks he’s a big deal.”

  Joel laughed. I was being serious, not funny. Maybe I will put him in our party audience and he can do all that fake laughter they have on sitcoms. “Hey, Ryan. Come over here. This is Luke Jorgensen’s sister.”

  Then Ryan came over, and they started asking me all these questions about Luke. And then Brittan Tanner came over because she’s “going out” with Ryan.

  “Are they boring you with sports?” she asked.

  “No . . . just asking about my brother.”

  “Oh, I hate talking about my brother.”

  “Me, too,” I mumbled. Although I love talking about the twins. And this was the first time that being related to Luke seemed like a good thing.

  Then she laughed. It was like a regular comedy club. Mrs. Dudley had slipped out to the bathroom, otherwise we wouldn’t have had that kind of freedom to yak it up.

  “I like your scarf,” Brittan said.

  “Thanks. I knitted it.”

  “Shut up! You can knit? That is so cool.”

  And then I smiled. I can’t remember the last time I had that much attention. It was almost overwhelming. Good overwhelming, like we were on the same page, not Bethany-Livingston-exclamation-point overwhelming.

  “So do you think Luke would ever come play with us?” Joel asked. “We have sand courts in the neighborhood.”

  “I could ask him.”

  Then Mrs. Dudley walked in and told everyone to quiet down and go back to their seats. Ryan scribbled his number on a scrap of paper. “Text me if he’s down. Thanks, Piper. That’s cool of you.”

  Olivia, I have never talked to Ryan or Brittan. Joel is nice to me, but Joel is nice to everyone. The conversation was so weird, just one person after another joining in, and they all had nice things to say. And it felt . . . normal. Unusual, but normal at the same time. Like I really could invite them to my birthday party and I actually think they would come and be excited. And even if they didn’t want to play certain characters and were just, like, regular people that . . . might be cool. Although I might need to force Luke to be there too. I’m not sure how this works.

  Then, after school, I was hanging in the hallway, waiting for French Club to start. I could smell food in the room . . . bread, so I was totally right about the baguettes thing. Related: do they have an Italian Club at our school? Because:

  I was just standing there when I saw blogger Bethany. I almost ran in before she saw me, but then she called my name.

  “Hey, Piper!”

  Too late. I turned around slowly.

  “Hey! Tessa told me that you hooked her up with Danny. He’s so cute.”

  “I guess.”

  “I would never even have the guts to talk to a boy.”

  “Uh . . . sure.” I just kind of stood there, waiting for her to get to the point. In my experience, that’s how a conversation goes. You do small talk for a second, then get to a topic—either asking something or sharing something. But Bethany didn’t really do that.

  “Are you going to Drama Club?” she asked.

  “No, French Club.”

  “Oh, you should totally join Drama Club, P!” She actually shortened my name to one letter. “We have so much fun in there, and you’d be so good at it.”

  “How do you know?” I
asked before I could stop myself. But seriously, how does she know what I’m good at?

  “Because you’re so good at speaking up in church class. I get so scared when the teacher asks questions, and you just pipe right in with the right answer all the time. Hey, get it? Pipe?”

  I don’t think she was making fun of me, but I couldn’t tell for sure. “That’s funny.”

  She laughed. “Anyway, come sometime. I’ll see you at Souper Saturday next week, right? My mom is making my favorite tortilla soup.”

  “Yeah, I’m bringing my friend, Olivia.”

  “Perfect! ’K, bye.”

  I don’t even know what happened. It’s like I was wearing some people-attracting perfume. Which was in an episode of Love and Deception. Or have you ever heard the expression “jumped the shark”? (Sorry to bring up sharks.) It’s when a show just kind of spins out of control. That’s what today felt like.

  I’m trying to figure out the character motives. Those boys talked to me because they worship my brother. And Brittan worships Ryan. And Bethany . . . I’m still not sure if I’m her church project. But . . . it was kind of nice. I really think Bethany would come to my party too. I’m almost halfway to filling up the guest list, and that’s with taking off pretend ones like Trigger and the CVS cashier.

  And, I don’t know. Talking to people? About, like . . . random things. I don’t totally hate it.

  But don’t tell anyone I said that.

  I went to French Club after. I’ll tell you all about it this weekend. I have extra math homework to do because I didn’t get my problems done in class.

  And my mom said you can come over for another late-over. (I keep telling her she can just call it “Olivia coming over.” She doesn’t have to keep calling it a late-over just because you never stayed all night when we attempted “sleepovers” at our house.) We can discuss what you’ll wear at LEGO Club on Monday. Mom will even get us treats as long as we watch the twins while she runs to the grocery store. So text me a list of some fancy food you like, unless you want Goldfish crackers and applesauce. And don’t even think we’re going to order spinach pesto pizza again. Pepperoni. It’s the American thing to do.

  Night!

  Piper

  Grateful: that my brother finally did something useful for me (even if he doesn’t know it), baguettes (they were warm!), pencil sharpeners, my mom really explaining my project in English so I can understand (even though she’s busy and the birthday party is already the nicest thing any parent has ever done EVER), and HAVING YOU BACK ON MONDAY OR ELSE

  Chapter 14

  Piper,

  Look at me . . . back at school!

  It was a little strange to be away for two days—kinda like when the TV announcer says “we now return you to your program, already in progress.” It feels like I’ve missed a bunch of the plot and can’t keep up. But I’m happy to be back and spending a quality fifty-two minutes each day with you in French class.

  You’re right . . . the rule should be one-day absences only. Even if you’re coughing up an internal organ, GO TO SCHOOL. Deal?

  Honestly, reading about how it went for you Friday at school—where you were wearing people-attracting perfume—was, how do I put this . . . hard to read. I mean, it makes perfect sense for people to want to talk to you. You have such a funny personality. An awesome smile. The world’s cutest boots.

  It just made me think . . . why does talking to people have to be so hard for me? All this planning and preparation—is something wrong with me? Am I missing the section of my brain that handles people skills? Or maybe I’m low on some essential vitamin . . . ? I keep forgetting to take my daily pill. (It’s not a pill, of course. I’m still taking those Gummy Bear vitamins. Only the orange or green ones.)

  I’m orange!

  I’m green!

  I’m yellow and get no respect.

  I’m guessing that whole Savannah Swanson incident from third grade still haunts me.

  But I’m in sixth grade now—I should have this figured out! Honestly, I just wish there was a formula I could follow.

  I say that because of what happened today . . .

  I took your advice to heart. Really, I did. The thing with the sharks and the unicorns? I gave it a shot. And it may have ruined my life.

  But I’m guessing you’ve already heard.

  Today in the cafeteria, I searched for an empty seat. I had to because I’d already stopped by Ms. Benson’s and she was out sick today. Her office door was locked with this note tacked to it.

  “Out sick the rest of the week. No counseling. And no organizing my office during lunch, Olivia.”

  She probably knew I’d try to get in there. Locked door, darn it.

  So that’s how I ended up in the cafeteria searching for a seat. The room had filled up quickly and open seats were a rare commodity. (On a side note: I’m not confident that the school staff has counted out the number of students versus the number of seats available. It’s like an apocalyptic version of musical chairs. With lunch bags and trays.)

  My heart sped up and I felt frantic. Where could I sit?

  I recognized a couple of faces from our fifth grade class last year. Tara and her best friend, Jamie, who’s obsessed with flavored lip gloss. There was one seat open on the end by them, but I wasn’t sure if they were saving it for someone. You know what that meant: I had to ask the question.

  “Umm, can I sit with you?” I barely squeaked it out.

  Tara looked up at me as if I were some annoying door-to-door salesperson. But she didn’t say anything—not a word. She just went back to chatting with Jamie. Was she being rude? Hard to tell.

  So I sat down anyway, slowly easing into my chair like it was covered in thorns. Or maybe broken glass. It was an uncomfortable situation is what I’m saying.

  Without hesitation, I whipped out my lunch and laid out a bag of Frito chips and some M&M’s. Surely these would be my key to breaking into a new group of friends. Let the lunchtime bartering begin!

  But when they pulled out their lunches, my jaw dropped through the floor:

  French macarons.

  Raw almonds.

  Seaweed chips.

  They had listened to Bethany’s blog advice. Apparently junk food was now the uncoolest lunch item possible!

  I quickly stuffed them in my backpack, but I’m sure Bethany is already blogging about my lunch fail. Defend me in the comments section, okay?

  So there I was . . . trying to get Tara or Jamie or someone to acknowledge my existence. You would think I would’ve given up and run out of the cafeteria to save my reputation.

  You.

  Would.

  Think.

  But, no. That “Everything Is Awesome!” poster from Ms. Benson’s office kept nagging at me and I knew I had to try to look on the bright side. Which meant I couldn’t give up.

  I took a deep, cleansing breath and said to Jamie, “I got some bubblegum lip gloss this weekend. How about you?”

  Nothing. No response. No one even looked my way. I could feel my heart beat faster and faster. It was up to techno-dance beat. Ohmygosh, ohmygosh . . . what was I supposed to do? Why were they ignoring me? I refused to hide out in the bathroom!

  And that’s when your advice came to mind. You know how you said that at lunch I could read interesting factual books about things like sharks or unicorns and become an expert on those things and then find other people who liked those things?

  You said it’s how I could make friends.

  Well, I haven’t started reading at lunch, but I have watched a bunch of reruns of Shark Week to get prepared. I’m not a shark expert yet, but I know a lot of shark facts.

  So that’s why without warning, I let out a sentence involving sharks.

  A sentence I will regret until I’m a senior citizen.

  “They’re re-airing episodes from Shark Week. Anyone watch last night’s Man-Eater show?” I asked it all loud and perky, counselor style. Then I horrifyingly added, “There was some v
ery interesting information about the shark’s mating behaviors, amirite?”

  Tara looked over and crossed her arms. “We aren’t talking about sharks. We’re talking about something else.”

  With one head flip and swing of her hair, she shut me out. None of them would even look at me.

  It was the Savannah Swanson incident all over again. I know you say I shouldn’t bring that up anymore, but all those feelings . . . the humiliation, the embarrassment, the Immediate Stomachache . . . they all came back.

  I realized I couldn’t do this anymore.

  I bolted out of the cafeteria and discovered that the fourth bathroom stall really isn’t all that bad. Sort of roomy, actually.

  But I can’t live like this. Ms. Benson could get sick anytime, so I can’t rely on the comfort of her office. I have to find a way to deal. And apparently sharing my new knowledge of sharks is not the answer. I have no doubt that if I’d tried to start a unicorn conversation, it would’ve ended in the same result.

  Oh wait. Unicorns are way cute. Darn it!

  Which brings me to this:

  I know it’s always been me and you . . . The Fearsome Twosome. But I have to find a way to make more friends—people who talk to me, eat lunch with me, ask me questions.

  Today made me realize that my problem isn’t just trying to talk to Jackson . . . it’s trying to talk to anyone.

  So maybe I need to open up more—make some actual friends. I’m not exactly sure how I’m going to do that, but I’m going to try. Trying feels good.

  I know it won’t come between us. It just WON’T.

  So. Deep breath . . .

  LEGO Club is this afternoon. Am I ready to charmingly chat up Jackson? No. No, I am not.

  I know we figured that all those practice clubs would give me time to rehearse my Chatting-People-Up skills. But worksheets and toe sprains and girls with tooth extractions got in the way, and the only real conversation I had was with that CVS cashier. So I’m going back to my original plan. . . .