A few kids look over.
“Just the fifth graders,” Katie-Rose commands. “And yes, Max, that includes you.”
Milla’s heart thumps. Max looks confused, but he approaches with the other fifth graders. At first, Milla focuses on Max’s shirt (blue plaid and painfully cute), but then Milla steels herself and lifts her head to meet his gaze.
He tries to smile. It’s the most heartbreaking smile she’s seen in her life.
on the field, surely not looking the slightest bit suspicious. Anyway, the teachers don’t seem to care as long as no one starts fighting or yelling. Everyone’s excited. Everyone’s throwing out ideas for the Snack Attack. Becca wants to have a school dance, and the ticket money could go to animal rights. Olivia wants to make bumper stickers. Brannen wants to shoot off fireworks to spell a message, like “Save the Pigs! Down with Bacon!”
“Dude, no way,” Chance says. “Bacon rocks.”
“Even if it means hurting pigs?” Milla says. She’s being surprisingly forward, challenging even the rowdy boys like Chance and Preston. The only boy Milla isn’t interacting with is Max. Who isn’t rowdy at all.
“There are farmers who raise pigs humanely,” Milla says. “You don’t have to give up bacon entirely. Just don’t buy it from Happy Healthy Farms.”
“How about ‘Eat Lettuce’?” Olivia suggests. “For the firework message?”
“I love fireworkth,” Natalia says. She makes eye contact with Yasaman. “Hi, Yathaman.”
“Um, hi,” Yasaman says. She checks to see where Katie-Rose is, her gut fluttering even though technically there’s no reason for it to.
Natalia smiles behind her headgear. “Thankth again for our talk yetherday.”
“Uh-huh,” Yasaman says. Other kids are throwing out Snack Attack ideas, so she says, “Let’s listen, ’kay?”
“What talk?” Katie-Rose says, edging farther from Milla and Olivia and closer to Yasaman.
“It was nothing,” Yasaman tells her.
Natalia makes an indignant sound. She steps closer to Katie-Rose. “I wath the one who told Yathaman”—she lowers her voice—“what Milla did.”
“You were?” Katie-Rose says. She turns to Yasaman. “She was?”
“Can we talk about this later?” Yasaman asks. She feels sickish. “I want to listen to people’s ideas.” She edges away, but not before overhearing Natalia’s next proclamation.
“And Yathaman apologithed to me for how rude you’ve been. Tho I gueth I forgive you.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” Katie-Rose says.
Yasaman blends deeper into the crowd. She pays desperate attention to Carmen, who’s raising her hand even though they’re not in class and no one’s the teacher. She ignores the tingling of dread at the base of her spine, because what’s said is said, right? It’s not as if Yasaman was wrong to smooth things out with Natalia. It’s good to smooth things out with people.
“Last year?” Carmen said. “On the Fourth of July? My little brother put a sparkler in his diaper.”
“Dude, bad idea,” Preston says, doubling over and actually putting his hands over his crotch. Yasaman looks very quickly away from that, and Quin, who notices, smirks.
“No fireworks,” Violet says with authority. “Bumper stickers are fine for later, but we don’t have time to do that before tomorrow. For tomorrow, we just need, like, a presentation.”
“A polite presentation,” Milla contributes.
“That tells everyone how we’re not going to put up with it anymore,” Violet says. “All the lying and unhealthiness and stuff.”
“Yeah,” Yasaman says.
“We should do the Chicken Dance!” Chance says. “Only we could make it the Dead Chicken Dance, and at the end we could die, like this!” He squawks and flaps his elbows and puts his hands around his throat. His squawks grow raspier and more tortured. He falls to the ground, and kids clap.
“Uh-huh, do that,” Quin says sourly. Yasaman thinks again that it’s interesting how with Modessa out of the picture, Quin actually can function, even if it’s in an obnoxious, wanting-the-Snack-Attack-to-fail sort of way. But earlier this morning, Yasaman overheard Mr. Emerson tell Ms. Perez he was going to call Modessa’s parents, so she’ll probably be back soon, unfortunately.
“No Chicken Dance,” Violet says.
“Aw, come on,” Preston protests. “The Dead Chicken Dance is a winner. It’s got drama, suspense—”
“Poo,” says Elena, who lives on a farm. Not a factory farm, but the good kind. “Chickens poo everywhere.”
“Poo,” Preston repeats, chortling.
That unleashes a flood of poo comments from everyone—“Poo is pooey.” “There was poo in my brother’s diaper. It got on the sparkler!” “Down with poo!”—and Yasaman starts giggling and can’t stop. There’s so much energy buzzing through the crowd, and it all has to do with the Snack Attack. Or at least most of it. She’s ignoring Katie-Rose and Natalia, who might possibly be engaged in a heated exchange.
But still. How amazing that all of this force and motivation started out with her. It’s incredible!
There’s a flash of rainbow and the bounce of pompoms, and a scowling Katie-Rose appears by her side, sticking her face right up close to Yasaman’s. That scowl—it makes Yasaman dry right up.
“Katie-Rose?” Yasaman says. Her heart whams, and she thinks Natalia, though she doesn’t want to go there out loud.
“This is not the time or the place,” Katie-Rose says in a low voice. “And I’m trying very hard to, like, be a better person. Because of Milla.”
“That’s . . . that’s good.”
“Very very hard.” Katie-Rose lifts her chin. “But I want you to think about . . . things, and I want you to look into your heart and decide what being a good friend means. To Milla, but also to me. And that is all.”
She turns to go, then turns right back. “Okay, actually it’s not. You shouldn’t be so impressed with Natalia’s buttons, because guess what? Natalia totally stole the ‘Why Snackrifice?’ slogan. She said she made it up, but she didn’t. It’s on the Wheat Thins box! I saw it when I made Milla a snack yesterday!”
“She . . . what?”
“I was going to keep it to myself. So just ask yourself this, Yasaman. If Natalia lied about that, what else might she be lying about?” She gives Yasaman a hard stare. “And that really is all I have to say. So good-bye for real.”
She spins on her heel and bumps into Chance, who flings his hands up and screams a high-pitched scream. Because Chance and Preston are still doing that, pretending to be scared whenever Katie-Rose gets too close.
Katie-Rose flushes and strides off. Yasaman is stunned. Around her, kids continue to make poo comments, while Violet tries to get them back on track.
Milla steps up next to Yasaman. “So what do you think?” she asks. “Should Elena bring her pig?”
“Um, I didn’t know she was considering it.”
Milla hip-bumps Yasaman. Her eyes are bright. Possibly too bright. “Haven’t you been paying attention, goofball? Elena has a potbelly pig as a pet, and Elena says her dad could bring it tomorrow for the presentation. It weighs two hundred pounds!”
“Wow,” Yasaman says.
“When we give our speech, Porkchop could just be up there with us. It would be like, ‘See? Do you really want to eat me?!’”
“Its name’s Porkchop?”
“He’s very affectionate, Elena says,” Milla goes on. “Elena says pigs are very social. They need friends just like we do. Isn’t that cool?”
It is cool, and yet it isn’t, because sometimes a friend needing a friend doesn’t equal a friend being a friend, or getting a friend, or something. That’s what Yasaman thinks, and her body agrees.
“My stomach hurts,” she says, giving Milla a troubled smile. “I’m going to ask if I can go to the bathroom. Thanks, though. For talking.”
Yasaman crosses the playground, and the Snack Attack chaos grows fainter. She walks up to Ms.
Perez and asks if she can go to the bathroom.
Mr. Emerson, who is standing by Ms. Perez, snaps his fingers. “Nutmeg!”
“Right!” Ms. Perez says.
Yasaman looks at them both, confused. “Nutmeg?”
“Sorry, Yasaman,” Ms. Perez says. “And of course you can go to the bathroom. Just come back to class afterward, if morning break is over.” She gives Mr. Emerson an amused smile. “You’ll have to make me some, if your oven doesn’t catch on fire again.”
Mr. Emerson laughs, and despite her aching tummy, Yasaman notices that the two teachers seem to like each other. Like, really like each other, the way friends do or possibly even more.
But with the Snack Attack, plus Milla’s bright eyes, plus Porkchop the two-hundred-pound pig, she has too many things to think about, especially with Katie-Rose’s burning words hogging most of the space.
In the bathroom, she tries to process, again, the mess of herself, Katie-Rose, and Natalia.
She wishes she hadn’t apologized to Natalia on Katie-Rose’s behalf. She didn’t mean to make Katie-Rose feel as if she’d gone behind her back.
She did, though, didn’t she?
As for the “Why Snackrifice?” slogan, well, that’s just weird. Natalia claimed she worked so hard on the slogan that she got a migraine. But if it came from a Wheat Thins box . . .
Why would Natalia lie about something so meaningless?
Yasaman leans forward, her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands.
Lying isn’t okay. Meanness isn’t okay. But hurting a friend’s feelings isn’t okay, either. Hurting even a non-friend’s feelings isn’t okay.
Which is more important: being a good friend or a good person?
Her mind goes to Nigar, and how Nigar’s teacher said, “No more crying at drop-off.” Yasaman’s ana made a “Good Drop-off Chart” to help Nigar do better, with a box to fill in for each day of the school week. If Nigar doesn’t cling to their ana and cry when it’s time for her to leave, then Nigar gets to draw a smiley face in that day’s box. If Nigar has five smiley faces at the end of the week, then their ana will take Nigar out for ice cream.
Not clinging to their ana is really hard for Nigar. But it’s got to be hard for their ana, too. If Nigar was clinging to Yasaman and crying, “Don’t go, don’t go,” could Yasaman pry Nigar off and walk away, even if she knew it was for Nigar’s own good?
Oh, wow, Yasaman thinks, having an aha moment about Natalia and Nigar and even Katie-Rose. Especially Katie-Rose. The basic aha has to do with how life is hard for everyone. The specifics are more complex.
Last month, Katie-Rose got mad at Modessa for making “rules” about who Milla could talk to and who she couldn’t. But isn’t she doing the exact same thing to Yasaman now? Yes, she is.
But . . . Katie-Rose isn’t Modessa. She’s spazzy sometimes, and bossy, but deep down Yasaman knows Katie-Rose doesn’t want to hurt anyone.
With Modessa, Katie-Rose was on the outside wanting in. Now Katie-Rose is the one on the inside. . . . Is it possible she’s scared of losing that?
As for Natalia, Yasaman’s aha is that Natalia is like a very large preschooler. Just as Nigar wants to cling to their ana, Natalia wants to cling to Yasaman. And—oh, wow, here comes another aha, this time about herself—Yasaman hasn’t done much to discourage her.
Yasaman still thinks Katie-Rose is more in the wrong than she is, and she still feels bad for Natalia. Natalia just wants friends, that’s all. Nonetheless, Yasaman is finally beginning to understand where Katie-Rose is coming from.
There will be no fireworks, but there will be a pig, as long as Elena’s dad is available to bring it. Oh, and as long as Ms. Westerfeld gives her permission. In an amazing display of courage, Milla volunteered to go to Ms. Westerfeld and do the asking; that’s where she is now.
As for Violet, she is glowing as she heads toward the building with the rest of her class. She’s the one who kept everyone focused out on the field (as focused as a bunch of wild fifth graders could be), and she’s the one who came up with the official lineup for tomorrow: speech (Katie-Rose), pig (Elena), and a modified version of the Dead Chicken Dance (Chance, Preston, Brannen). Then, on Violet’s cue, all the fifth graders will cry out in unison, “Happy Healthy Farms hurt happy healthy animals!” And Yasaman will present Ms. Westerfeld with a signed petition begging Rivendell to stop supporting such an evil company.
Milla catches up with Violet and says, “That went well, don’t you think? You’re such a good leader. Like, a natural leader.”
“Thanks,” Violet says. She grabs Milla’s forearm to slow her down, letting the other kids go ahead of them. “Hey, Mills . . . are you doing okay?”
Milla flashes a smile. Only, it’s more just the shape of a smile. “Oh, you know.” She changes the subject. “What about you? How was your visit with your mom?”
“It was good,” Violet says.
“Yeah?” Milla says.
Violet pauses. Everyone else has gone inside. “Yeah,” she says slowly. “I mean, it was weird, and the hospital smelled funny, but it wasn’t as awful as I thought it would be.”
“Oh, Violet, that’s great,” Milla says, and if her tone doesn’t fully match up with her words, well, Violet doesn’t hold it against her.
“See you at lunch?” Milla says. Milla has keyboarding next, while Violet has German. For those classes, which are called “specials,” the fifth graders get mixed up so that everyone gets to know one another. That goes for art, music, PE, and Spanish, too.
Violet nods, and Milla gives her another smile. This one’s more real, even if it’s a sad-real. Then Milla pulls open the door and disappears into the building.
Violet follows, taking her time. As her eyes adjust from outside light to inside light, she hears someone clear his throat.
It’s Cyril, standing to the side of the door. He seems to be waiting for her, but Violet has no idea why.
“Cyril?” she says.
Nothing.
“Did you want something?”
Still nothing, and Violet feels a trickle of sweat at the back of her neck. Did Cyril . . . omigosh, did he hear what she said to Milla?
“If you want something, you should say it, because otherwise I’m leaving.”
His lips part, but he doesn’t speak. She waits maybe two seconds, growing increasingly distressed, then fast-walks down the hall. She takes her seat in Mrs. Gundeck’s room, but she can’t stop thinking about him. He slinks in after her—he has German, too, because she’s just that lucky—and the sight of him makes her body heat up.
In the front of the room, Mrs. Gundeck starts her lesson. Violet tries not to fidget, because Mrs. Gundeck is strict and threatens to duct tape kids to their desks if they don’t stop wiggling and pay attention. Of course, this makes most kids wiggle even more, because it’s so fun to see Mrs. Gundeck get worked up.
But Violet isn’t that type of kid, and she isn’t being disrespectful on purpose. She just can’t get interested in the German words for various body parts. So der Kopf means “the head” and der Fuβ means “the foot.” How can she possibly care about that with Cyril swimming around in her brain?
His shirt today says “Employee of the Month,” but Cyril doesn’t have a job. He’s ten, for heaven’s sake.
Ag, Violet thinks. His crazy shirts. His crazy behavior. His dark eyes staring at her, his mouth opening and shutting.
And that notebook! He’s writing in it again, right this second. He’s writing whatever mysterious things he feels compelled to put down, and maybe he’s writing about her or maybe not, but how can she know unless she sees for herself?
“Now, who can tell me the German word for ‘arm’?” Mrs. Gundeck asks.
“No idea,” Thomas says. “What’s the German word for ‘bottom’?”
“Inappropriate,” Mrs. Gundeck says as the class titters.
“Whoa, that is just weird,” Thomas says. He turns to Max. “Sit on your inappropriate, young m
an.”
The laughter builds, and if not for Cyril, Violet would probably join in.
“Thomas, I will spank your Hintern if you don’t behave,” Mrs. Gundeck threatens. She never would really, but she’s always saying she will. Plus, she’s German. In Germany, she has told the class, students get spanked all the time.
“She’s going to spank my inappropriate!” Thomas says in a stage whisper. “Oh no!”
Thomas is being funny, and Violet knows he’s doing it to cheer Max up, which is sweet. But she can’t stop brooding about Cyril. She came to school feeling better about her mom than she’s felt in a long time—and now here Cyril is, triggering her anxiety all over again. She has to find out what he knows about her mom, and the only way to do that is to get her hands on his notebook. It’s the only way.
She’ll find out once and for all what he knows, and then . . . and then she’ll deal with it. She’ll finally be able to move on.
She glances over her shoulder and sees that Cyril isn’t paying attention to Thomas’s antics, either. He’s hunched over his notebook, his evil notebook, and if he hooked his pinkie into the corner of his mouth and smiled deviously, he would be the spitting image of Dr. Evil himself.
Violet feels the hot pressure of tears, because it’s not fair. When she feels good, everything seems doable, and she’s able to focus on what’s important. Like Milla. Like the Snack Attack. But when she feels bad, everything falls apart.
It’s as if the words scrawled in Cyril’s notebook are connected to one end of a piece of thread, and Violet is connected to the other. When he writes, he’s tugging on Violet’s end of the thread, and Violet is unraveling.
“What about teeth?” Thomas calls out. “How do you say ‘teeth’ in German?”
“Zzzzt,” Mrs. Gundeck says sharply, because the class is unraveling, too. They know Thomas doesn’t care what the German word for “teeth” is, and they’re excited to see where he’s going with this. Becca bounces in her seat, so ready to laugh that her mouth has fallen wide open.
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