by Rachel Vail
15
I TOOK A shower and used extra conditioner. The Squad all has silky hair.
Dried off, used a ton of zit cream, twisted my hair into a top bun. Considered push-ups and sit-ups but justified not doing them because I just showered, don’t want to get sweaty. Looked up what to wear to look cool in eighth grade.
Answers included: don’t try too hard, don’t wear a long-sleeve shirt under a tank top (um, okay), maybe have parties with your friends to try stuff on so you can get their opinions. Great. Thanks. If I had a bunch of friends (and wanted them in my house), would I be googling this to get advice from random internet strangers?
Took out the black jeans Ava chose for me, the flowy top her mom bought me for my birthday, and a bra-tank for under (not over!) it. Cute socks, with cartoon avocados on them. Then, because I couldn’t resist any longer, I texted Ava:
Turns out I needed glasses!
Send.
No response.
I turned off my light and tried to go to sleep, holding my phone in case anybody wanted to text me. But vowing to never again in my entire life text someone first.
I lasted maybe four minutes.
Texted Ava again: oh and hey, could you bring my sneakers to school? I left them out back when I was at your house!
Nothing.
Tried to convince myself maybe she hadn’t seen my texts yet. Maybe she wasn’t ignoring me, maybe the texts didn’t go through. Maybe she didn’t have her phone with her for the one time ever in her life.
Should I text Holly? Again? No. We’re gym/yoga partners. That’s all.
Text NOBODY. EVER.
It just felt like I should tell somebody I was getting glasses. Ava’s not my only friend. Milo.
Milo? I should flirt with boys.
That’s what they do, the Squad. What do they do, though? They just smile a lot, lower their eyes, laugh at any dumb thing the boys say. How do I do that if he hasn’t said anything yet?
Hey, I need glasses, I texted to Milo and hit send before I could talk myself out of it. I stared at that for a solid minute, my heart pounding. Dread. How am I so bad at this? NEVER TEXT ANYBODY.
This is Niki btw, I added. Send.
OMG. Making it worse.
Delete delete delete. Why can’t I delete a sent text? Why can’t I have a time machine and just erase all my dorkiness? This is why my favorite thing is my pink eraser. Just erase everything please.
Can’t go backward.
I used to imagine maybe someday I’d be world famous for wiping out cancer or warfare or pollution. Now my only ambition is to pull my most embarrassing texts back.
I sat up and retwisted my hair into a fresh loose bun on top of my head. Tried to find some music to listen to. Even Fumble had abandoned me. Every song felt like noise. I flopped back down and took my earbuds out. Breathe, I told myself. Sink into the silence. Don’t sneak into Danny’s room to see if Milo and Robby’s light is on.
When I was little, it was so soothing to fall asleep listening to my parents’ voices down in the kitchen, but now, I don’t know. Not so much. They obviously thought we couldn’t hear them. As if the wine they were drinking would dull my hearing instead of their ability to whisper.
Danny is the one who supposedly has excellent hearing. He tells everybody he scored the highest ever on his hearing test last year at the doctor’s. Drives me nuts. Stop bragging about your hearing; that is a weird thing to tell people about. Still, maybe I have excellent hearing too. Maybe I could be a spy. Maybe that is my talent. A secret talent. Maybe a thing I should look into as a career? Way cooler than fighter pilot. Who wants to be an astronaut if you could be a spy?
Some spies probably wear glasses.
I tried to sense if Danny was asleep or awake. Using my spy skills, I concentrated hard.
Maybe.
I couldn’t tell. Oh well. Maybe I’m not a gifted spy, either.
Maybe I should go into Danny’s room, I considered. Hang out with him. And if I happen to glance out his window . . .
No. I needed to spy on my parents, not Danny. Definitely not Milo. What? Milo? Why was I even thinking about him? So much, recently. Weird.
“Danny?” Dad was asking.
I tried to focus in on their conversation.
Mom said that Ms. Chambers wants Mom and Dad to come in to discuss having Danny “tested.” Ms. Chambers is the principal. She wants what?
“They just want to drug him up,” Mom was hissing. “Any kid who’s not completely compliant, they just want to get a diagnosis so they can tranquilize them into zombie-hood.”
“We don’t know that they want to medicate . . .” Dad started saying.
“Sure, Jake,” Mom said. “I’m sure they just want to test him to see how brilliant he is. That must be it.”
“Okay,” Dad said. “That’s not—”
“You know how they treat a kid with a diagnosis?” she demanded. “Especially a behavioral or psychological, or emotional? Emotional! Why do they have to make it a disability, like there’s something wrong with—it’s a, a stigma. A label. It’ll follow him forever.”
“But you said she suggested that there could be services he’s entitled to?”
“That’s the lure,” Mom hissed. “That’s the trick, so we sign the consent.”
“So, let’s not sign anything,” Dad said. “Let’s go, hear them out, and then we’ll discuss—”
“I won’t allow them to scapegoat my child.”
“Suzi,” Dad said.
“You’re always so ready to blame him, to make it that he’s purposefully, or that something’s wrong with—”
“Suzi,” Dad said again. “He threw a tantrum in school. We should be thankful he wasn’t suspended.”
“Thankful? Are you—thankful?”
“He terrified poor little Margot Hu and Ms. Broderick, so of course—”
“Terrified. What a crock of—he was frustrated!” Mom whisper-yelled. “She put him with Margot for a partner, and he said no!”
“He said more than—he screamed, ‘I DON’T WANT YOU,’ you said.”
“Yeah,” Mom said, with a slight chuckle. “I don’t want you.”
“Right! You don’t think that’s a little, I mean, I don’t want you? What kind of thing is that to say to poor little Mar—”
“Did anyone pay attention to what he wanted?” Mom interrupted. “No! He’s entitled to say no too! Doesn’t he get to consent?”
“Suz, this isn’t about con—”
“Yes, it is! He wasn’t being heard! That’s the only reason he threw his textbook at Broderick!”
Yikes—Danny threw his book at his teacher??? I got out of bed and tiptoed toward my door to get closer. And he yelled I DON’T WANT YOU at Madeleine Hu’s sister??? Danny!
“I know,” Dad whispered. “I get that. I’m not blaming anyone. I’m just—”
“Well, I am.”
“Me?” Dad asked her, his voice low. “Are you blaming me?”
“No! Why would you—don’t make this about you, would you please, Jake? It’s not . . . No, I’m saying, Samantha.”
Samantha??? I crawled to the threshold of my doorway.
“Samantha?” Dad asked. “What does she have to—”
“What she said about his birthday party, about maybe we shouldn’t even—as if she doesn’t throw the most over-the-top parties for Ava, with everybody invited. Do you remember when they rented that bouncy house? How over-the-top was—”
“Yes, of course. But why would that have anything to do with the school?”
“Well, you know she’s tight with Ms. Chambers, or wants to be. She’s always inviting her to our book club just to brag that the principal is there, and donating so all the kids can go on the trip or whatever, which she says she wants to keep secret. But d
oes she? She told me, about paying the extra. Right? I’m her best friend, sure, but am I the only one she tells her secrets to? You know what I’m saying? Does she keep secrets? Or does she barter them? I’m just saying, maybe it’s a coincidence, but—”
“He threw a—”
“I’m aware! But it’s not the first time he . . . All I’m saying is, I should never have confided in her about the fact that I get frustrated with Danny. That’s on me; I never should’ve admitted that. But she took what I confided about my child, about my most fragile feeling, and—”
“She’s your best friend, Suzi, or one of them.”
“Well, she’s been really cagey lately about Danny, asking questions, and making these veiled, like, suggestions. And of course she was weird about Niki, too.”
ME?
“You think Samantha complained to the principal about Danny?” Dad asked. I tried to telepathy to Dad: Focus! Ask what Samantha said about ME!
My phone buzzed. I dashed over to my bed to get it.
Milo: Awww—that’s cool, tho, no?
“Not that she complained, Jake, come on,” Mom was saying. “Could you give me one drop of credit please?”
“Suz . . .”
“When I asked her, yesterday and then again today, about what that thing was last weekend with the girls, remember I told you? The thing about Ava?”
WHATTT???
“I don’t . . .”
“How she and those other girls acted when Niki—remember? I told you.”
“Yeah, of course,” Dad said. “Sort of? Remind me?”
“And you said I shouldn’t say anything to Niki?”
“Definitely, I vaguely, yeah,” Dad said. “I stand by that. You don’t need to get all involved in her middle-school drama.”
“That’s what Samantha was saying,” Mom growled. “She was like, Oh, let’s not talk about the kids; let’s let them figure out their own mess.”
WHAT MESS???
“That sounds, I mean, Suzi, you always say that too,” Dad said in his soothing/warning voice. “We agreed. It’s hard enough to—”
“I think Ava is excluding Niki,” Mom whispered, but not quietly.
“Why would she do that?” Dad asked.
Yeah, WHY?
“I have no idea, but remember when I was at Samantha’s last weekend after our long run? Ava and those other girls were there? Remember I told you how I said something about Niki, asked if they were meeting her? And they got all awkward? I told you.”
“Yeah,” Dad said. “I remember. Sort of.”
Last weekend? What was I doing? Ava had said she wanted to stay in bed late.
I was just hanging around at home. I was here when Mom got home from her run and she was all, How is everything going, Niki? And I thought, Why is she so weird? but she wasn’t just being weird. She knew. She knew my entire life was about to blow up in my face. OMG OMG.
“They did, Jake. They got really fidgety when I mentioned Niki!”
“Okay.”
Ava was with the Squad LAST WEEKEND??? When she told me she was sleeping in?
“Don’t look at me like I’m crazy—they were in their pajamas, Jake. They had a sleepover and Niki wasn’t invited.”
“Shhhh,” Dad said.
OMG. OMGOMGOMG. I stood up to get as near the edge of the upstairs landing as I could get without being seen from the kitchen. Ava had the Squad sleep over and didn’t invite me. I have just been booping around school, booping through my life, boop boop boop, without the slightest clue that my best friend had ALREADY DUMPED ME. Everybody must have known except me. OMG OMG.
“I haven’t told Niki, on your advice,” Mom was whispering. “But now I’m thinking maybe I should because doesn’t she have the right to know? If those girls are being little—if they hurt her, I swear I . . .”
“You what?” Dad asked. “It’s girl politics in middle school. You said that yourself last weekend, and you were totally right. This is—”
“I swear I will never forgive her.”
“Niki?” Dad asked.
ME????
“Samantha!” Mom said.
“For—I’m so confused,” Dad said. “Is this about Niki or Danny—or you?”
“Family first. I will never—”
“Okay, before you . . . Maybe she—”
“Don’t you defend her, Jake, don’t you do it! I canNOT right now, don’t even . . .”
“Okay,” Dad said. “I’m not. I’m just saying, Niki is great, she’s fine, and maybe we need to focus on what Ms. Chambers was saying about having Danny tested.”
A crash. What was that?
Mom cursed.
“It’s okay. I got it,” Dad said. “Fumble, get away. Go up . . . Fumble! Where’s Niki?”
I heard Fumble skittering up the stairs to my room. He jumped right into my lap, his tail wagging. I cuddled him and kept listening.
“My phone wouldn’t stop ringing,” Mom said.
“Don’t, Suz. Step back. Don’t pick up the glass with your bare . . .”
“The whole time I was showing the Tuckers’ house to that crass, self-satisfied couple, who were like, Is everything okay? Fine, fine. Horrible. My phone kept ringing. Finally I had to answer; I thought one of the kids must’ve had a terrible accident. But no. There is nothing wrong with him! How dare they imply . . . He’s challenging? Sure. He’s also, thank you, smart, and sensitive, and they are a school!”
“Sure,” Dad said.
“They have to teach each child according to . . . And then, to add insult, the nurse! She was like, ‘When’s the last time you took Niki to the eye doctor?’ Seriously! It was basically bullying! They were ganging up on me. Like, how many times do we have to call you per day, lady? As if we just neglect our children! Is that what they think?”
“I’m sure they don’t, love.”
“She needed glasses.”
Was she crying? Because I need glasses???
“We both need glasses,” Dad said. “So the odds . . .”
“That’s not—”
“I know.”
“Well, I’m going up to check on them,” Mom said. “As always.”
“Suzi,” Dad said.
I let go of Fumble and dashed to my bed, faced the wall, slowed my breathing as I listened to her stomping up the steps. Fumble jumped up next to me, watched me. I could feel him wagging away, so excited with whatever this new game was.
I could feel my mother hovering in my doorway and then, one step to her right, at Danny’s. No words. A few sniffs. She pulled our doors not closed but halfway.
Her footsteps, back down the stairs. Step-squeak-step-squeak-step.
I lay in bed, staring at the wall.
Fumble cuddled up next to me and we breathed in each other’s faces.
Mom knew about Ava dumping me before I had any idea. She just let me walk blindly into traffic, into that most humiliating . . . She knew. She knows.
Plus: a meeting about Danny. Labeling him. Drugging him?
What do they actually think is wrong with him?
Does Danny have a right to know this is happening? Should I tell him?
We always say our family is so tight, so close and honest with one another.
If that’s true, why were my parents whispering, or at least trying to?
And keeping secrets about us, from us.
My phone buzzed under my pillow.
Milo: You okay?
I couldn’t even. I turned it off.
16
“WHY ARE YOUR parents at school?” Isabel asked me on the way from gym to lunch. I had been partners with Holly again. Trust falls are our major warm-up for yoga, which is basically all of us sticking our butts up in the air and waggling them around to make other people laugh.
Whatever. At least it’s not volleyball, my actual enemy.
“What?” I asked Isabel. I couldn’t even make eye contact with her, knowing what I knew now.
“Your parents?” Isabel repeated. “I saw them walking in.”
Danny. The meeting. How was I supposed to explain? “When?” I asked, stalling.
“I saw them walking in the main door, before fourth period,” she said in her low, quiet voice. “I figured you were sick or something.”
“Me?” I said. “I’m fine. I suck at yoga, but . . .”
She put her hand on my sleeve. “Good,” she said. “I thought it might be about . . .”
“About what?” Don’t say Danny don’t say Danny don’t say . . .
“Your eyes,” Isabel whispered. “That you had to, that there was a problem?”
“Oh,” I said, relieved. “I need glasses, turns out.”
The boys were walking past us. Milo paused and asked, “Hey, Niki. You okay?”
“Great! Fine! Hahahahahaha!” I turned to laugh with Isabel, because flirting. That’s what they all always do. Isabel looked alarmed.
“Oh,” Milo said, slightly confused. “Okay.” He jogged to catch up with his friends.
I weighed saying something about how cute he was to Isabel, or something snarky. Instead I didn’t. Obviously, I suck at flirting even worse than yoga.
Isabel’s eyebrows tented in worry. I weighed saying, Your eyebrows are so expressive, because eyebrows are an interest of mine! But again, NO.
“I know the nurse was concerned . . .” Isabel whispered. “And obviously Milo is too.”
“Did you say, both of my parents?”
“Yeah,” she said. “So, glasses . . .”
“Yeah,” I said.
“I guess the doctors have to do tests?”
She knows about Danny. Ugh. “Tests?” (Stalling.)
“On your eyes.”
“My . . . oh. Right,” I said. “Yeah, they did tests. At the—my mom took me to the glasses place. You know, next to Scoops? I think your sister was working, actually, but I couldn’t see . . .” Don’t look desperate, don’t try too hard. Isabel is so effortlessly friendly to everyone, it’s easy to imagine she’s your friend, but she is not.