“Why don’t you keep her company?”
“I have color swatches to clip, furniture catalogs to sift through, and office supplies to order. Go.”
I stomped up to get a sketchbook out of my room then sat down on the couch opposite Ginger. I tried to get interested in Star Trek as I started a sketch of Ginger’s quarter profile.
With Farrah Fawcett hair, Noxzema skin and sky blue eyes, Ginger could have been Amica’s older sister. Her eyebrows matched her hair, but somehow her features didn’t get lost in all the paleness, like many blonde girls’ do.
That’s where the resemblance to Amica ended, however. When Ginger turned to smile at me, it lit up her whole face, as if she actually liked me.
“Are you drawing me?”
“Is that okay?”
“Can I see?”
I turned the sketchbook toward her. I’d only done the shape of her face and bangs, as well as her eyes and nose. “I just started.”
“Wow. You’re making me look pretty.”
“You are pretty. If you weren’t, Mark wouldn’t be dating you.”
As soon as I said it, I felt like dirt. Ginger’s eyes fluttered and fell back to her notebook.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that Mark likes pretty girls.”
She tipped her head at me. “Well, don’t most guys?”
I shrugged and went back to sketching.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Her paper crinkled where she rubbed the corner of it between two fingers. “Really?”
“It just must be nice to be pretty.”
Ginger sighed and sort of half-smiled. “I don’t think anybody feels pretty at thirteen.”
“Huh?”
“Thirteen’s a crummy age. Don’t you think?” She put her pencil down. “You’re not really a kid anymore, but you still get treated like it. Everybody’s,” she paused, then held up quotation fingers, “‘developing’ differently. Junior high is just hard.”
If I had an older sister, I’d have wanted Ginger. “It couldn’t have been that hard for you.”
“Of course it was. I think it’s hard for everybody, no matter what anyone says.” She leaned back. “So, how come Mark was teasing you about a boy?”
Everything tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop it. In fact, for the first time, I actually wanted to talk about Damon. I told Ginger all of it—except the weird stuff about the drawings coming true—and relived the lunch disaster.
She put her palm over her mouth, then started laughing, but not in a making-fun-of-me way. “Oh gosh. How awful. I’m so sorry that happened.”
That Ginger didn’t call me a complete moron made it a tiny bit better.
“I do not want to go to school tomorrow. I can never face him again,” I said.
She shook her head. “Absolutely untrue. Every girl feels ridiculous in front of a boy sometime or other. How you recover is the important thing.”
I tossed the sketchbook on the table and crossed my arms. “So how do I recover?”
“You act like nothing happened. You hold your head up high and walk the halls like you’re the homecoming queen.”
I snorted. “And when everyone makes fun of me?”
“Laugh.”
Groan.
“Seriously. You won’t feel like laughing. But you do it anyway. Blow it off. Come up with something blithe to say, like, ‘Miss Sweeney was just jealous. Wouldn’t you be?’ What can they do with that? You act totally cool, totally unfazed.”
Could I pull that off? “What about if I see Damon again?”
“When you see him. Don’t avoid him, but don’t hunt him down either. Just say, ‘Hi’, smile, and walk away.”
“I was a complete jerk, though.”
She shrugged. “So apologize. But keep it low-key. No drama or anything. ‘Sorry about yesterday’, and that’s it.”
“That sounds too easy.”
She took a deep breath and let it out. “It’s not, really. It looks easy, and that’s the point. You get your dignity back by acting dignified. People will treat you the way you act like you should be treated.”
I tapped my foot against the coffee table. “How do you know so much?”
“My dad’s a psychiatrist and my mom and sisters know everything. Really, you should talk to one of them.”
I wasn’t sure I bought into her plan, but at least she had one. A beautiful, popular, varsity cheerleader had to be doing something right.
“Hey.” She leaned forward. “I’m pretty good with clothes. Want me to help you pick out something cute to wear tomorrow? If you like how you look, you’ll feel more confidant.”
Please marry my brother and be my sister.
We went up to my room. Ginger pulled hanger after hanger out of my closet, then put each one back. “Your wardrobe is pretty young, Juliet.”
I sat down on my bed and blinked away tears.
“I’ll help you put a couple of outfits together, then I recommend a shopping trip. Think high school, or even college. Not junior high.”
Ginger laid a couple of skirts and a pair of tan Chinos on the bed.
“Do you have a black cardigan?”
I shook my head. “Pink or white. Isn’t it kind of hot for a sweater, anyway?”
“Cardigans are great. Wear one, drape it over your shoulders, tie the sleeves around your neck. But you need a black or dark gray one. It’ll set off your gorgeous eyes.”
I have gorgeous eyes?
She pulled the pink sweater out of the closet and held it up to me. “Pink isn’t your color. At least, not this shade.”
She put it back and took out a white T-shirt with lace trim at the neck and sleeves.
“I hate that one. It’s so babyish.”
She held it up and shook her head. “It doesn’t have to be.” She put it over a long denim skirt, then got the white cardigan out and laid it under the T-shirt. “That’s a great outfit.”
“Really?”
“Totally. You just need a necklace with it.”
I showed her my jewelry box and she untangled a chunky silver cross. “Wear that, and silver earrings, too.”
She did two more outfits for me and hung them in the closet.
“I’m going to have to finish that essay, or I’ll be up the rest of the night,” she said.
You are the most wonderful person in the world and I want to be exactly like you and I will adore you forever. “Okay. Thanks.”
Ginger gave me another toothpaste-commercial smile. “Don’t forget. Calm. Cool. Able to laugh at yourself, but way above letting anyone put you down.”
“I’ll try.”
Mark’s car pulled into the driveway.
I put my jewelry back in the box and closed the lid. “Mark’ll probably keep you from getting your essay done.”
“I have to be home by 9:00 anyway. He can’t distract me all night.”
After Ginger went downstairs I put on my nightgown and looked at myself in the mirror. “I’m Laura Ingalls.”
I finished the sketch of Ginger, then read some more of The Little Prince, just to get ahead. Then I fell asleep repeating Ginger’s mantra.
Calm. Cool. Laugh.
* * * * *
When I woke up in the morning I thought about the outfits Ginger created for me. I would be dressed by a senior varsity cheerleader for the next three days.
But I still didn’t have any shoes. Ugh.
Calm. Cool. Laugh.
I rubbed the sleep dust from my eyes and rolled out of bed. My foot hit a paper grocery sack next to the bed, just inside the door. A note on the side hung from a piece of tape.
Juliet,
I had some clothes that don’t fit me anymore, and my mom was going to take them to Goodwill. Some of them were my older sisters’ before I had them. I thought you might like to try them. I hope you don’t mind they’re second-hand.
Ginger
Mark must have stuck it in my roo
m last night.
It felt like Christmas. There were T-shirts, each with something special about it: a button placket, ribbon trim, eyelet panels. I found a black skirt with silver embroidery around the hem; a dove-gray knit skirt that fell into a thick, wavy ruffle at the bottom; and a pair of skinny jeans with embroidered pockets and jewels here and there around the legs. I reached in near the bottom of the stack and pulled out two sweaters: a powder blue shaker and an impossibly soft, off-white cowl neck.
At the very bottom of the bag lay two pairs of shoes wrapped in plastic. I took them out and squealed. Loud.
One pair had dark denim-colored laces on light denim and white canvas. The second pair were totally cute brown loafers with crisscrossed strips of scalloped leather and skinny brass buckles attached with silver rings.
I wriggled out of my nightgown and dressed in the white T-shirt and denim skirt, then wrapped the cardigan around me and tied the sleeves over my chest, the way Ginger said. I slipped my feet into the canvas shoes, put on the silver necklace, then dug through my earring box till I found a pair of silver studs.
At the vanity table I parted my hair straight down the middle and brushed it back on both sides, then combed together a small chunk on the right and did a thin braid behind my ear. I repeated it on the other side.
Not bad.
I scarfed a bowl of cereal as fast as I could then slipped out the front door before the others came downstairs. I didn’t want anyone to jinx this feeling.
As I hopped over the broken front step I looked down. Moss the exact shade of sage-green I used in the painting crept across the top and over the sides.
“Weird.”
Pam waited at the corner of our two streets where the bus picked up. Her eyes focused past me. I stopped leaned against the lamppost.
“He’s not even up yet,” I said.
“Do you think he’ll come to my party?”
“I’m not coming to your party.”
She got that sad puppy look. “Why not?”
“I told you. You’re going to get in so much trouble.”
She bared her shiny buckteeth and shook her head. “It’s going to be great.”
“You can tell me about it after. If you’re still alive.”
The school bus lurched around the corner and chugged its way toward us. It screeched and hissed to a stop.
The flashing red lights blinked across Pam’s face. She squinted at me as we climbed onto the bus. “You look different.”
I smiled and hugged my bag. “Different how?”
“Did you get a new outfit?”
I shook my head. “Just shoes.”
We slid into an empty seat and Pam looked down over my knees. “Cute. You look, I don’t know. Older, or something.”
Ginger’s advice and clothes felt like magic talismans, something that set me apart and gave me power I didn’t have on my own. Power I didn’t want to share with Pam. Or anyone else.
But when the bus pulled up at school and its door folded open, all the stuff from yesterday rushed in and attacked me.
Calm. Cool. Laugh.
We made our way through the chaos of bodies exiting buses. I slung my bag over my shoulder and hoped I looked casual, but butterflies rioted inside my stomach.
“Homeroom’s this way,” I said when Pam turned toward the cafeteria.
“I need to stop at the bookstore first.”
I checked the clock. “You won’t make it before the bell.”
“Sure I will!” she said, and jogged down the hall.
Suddenly alone, I felt like an insect tacked to a display board. I gripped the side of my canvas bag in one fist and forced each foot in front of the other all the way to Hirsch’s room.
Damon waited inside. I just knew it, even before I walked through the door. I forced my eyes straight ahead and pasted a half-smile on my face. My heart pounded in my throat.
He leaned back in his seat, fingers laced behind his head and legs stretched out under the chair in front of him as he talked with Erik. His faded indigo T-shirt matched his eyes.
Bethany and Tori sat on both sides of the aisle I had to pass through.
“It’s Juliet!” Bethany called, too loudly.
Calm. Cool. Laugh.
Damon sat up in his chair a little.
Calm.
Erik looked at me, too.
Cool.
“That was hilarious at lunch yesterday,” Bethany sang. “Are you going to sit in Damon’s lap today?”
Laugh.
I pretended to be Ginger and walked slowly up to Bethany and Tori. I stopped right between them and smiled, first at Tori, then at Bethany. “Maybe I will,” I said. Then I leaned down and spoke loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. “Are you jealous, Bethany?”
Tori’s lips pressed together. Bethany’s face went purple. Everyone else in the room cracked up.
And I knew, for the first time ever, that they laughed for me and not at me.
Erik whistled between two fingers. “Go, J.!”
My heart thudded against my breastbone, and my knees felt like noodles again, but in a strange, great way. I did it.
I got to my desk and sat down.
My face burned and I didn’t dare turn around and let Damon see it. My legs shuddered and went limp. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Hirsch came into the room just as the bell rang. Pam dashed in two steps behind him.
“You’re late, Miss Martz.”
Hirsch read the announcements then sent Bethany up to the board to do the first homework problem. When Hirsch turned his back to the class to correct one of Bethany’s mistakes, Pam tapped me on the shoulder and dropped a football-shaped piece of paper in my lap.
“This is from Damon!” she whispered. “Awesome! I swear he likes you!”
I peeled the note open. Hirsch or no Hirsch, I couldn’t wait.
He wrote normal-sized this time, with jerky letters in straight, measured lines.
I want to see you after school at Academic Olympics practice.
* * * * *
I sailed through the day on this amazing high.
Amica completely ignored me, except to sneer when I walked into English. The other dragons must have told her about homeroom. But I wasn’t afraid of them anymore. What could they do to me? I had Ginger-ness. I had calm, cool laughter.
I let Drew swing me as high as he wanted during gym class. I even kind of liked it, and I just smiled at Miss Sweeney when she barked at us over the square-dance record.
Damon sat with the guys at lunch. Disappointed at first, I fingered his note in my pocket and got over it.
I want to see you…
I discovered a genuine interest in science. Mr. Holden started genetics and gave us these two-by-two matrices to fill in with dominant and recessive genes. If one parent has one brown-eyed gene and one blue-eyed gene, and the other parent has the same, three out of four of their children should have brown eyes, and one should have blue. Mr. Holden answered all my questions, as I sorted out if Damon’s and my children would have straight or curly hair, blue or gray eyes, straight or hitchhiker thumbs.
But during social studies my concentration slipped. As the clock crept toward 3:05, excitement spiraled into anxiety. I would see Damon within the hour. I would have to talk to him. And the only thing I knew about the Academic Olympics was that I didn’t belong there.
The bell rang and everyone jumped up from their seats, slammed their books shut and stuffed papers into their bags.
Ten minutes to get to Hirsch’s room.
I went to the payphones across from the office, slipped a dime into the slot and dialed home to let Mom know I’d be late and see if she could pick me up. The phone rang and rang till I finally hung up.
Five more minutes.
At my locker I organized my homework and wished I had a mirror.
“Hey.”
I spun around so fast I dropped a book on my foot and hit my funny bone on the locker door. “Ow!”
I cried and grabbed my elbow.
“You okay?” Damon looked down at me from much too close.
“You’re always asking me that.”
His dimpled smile burned away my very last droplet of Ginger-ness.
“I wanted to make sure you’re going to practice this time.”
“What if I’m not?”
“I guess I could carry you there.”
Was he serious?
He leaned against the next locker. “You have somewhere else to be?”
Yes. In my bedroom, alone, making up this conversation and not living it in reality, where I can’t go back and change anything stupid I say or do.
I shook my head.
“Come on then.”
I closed my locker and clutched my bag. He walked next to me, so close we occasionally brushed arms. A metal rod ran through my spine, and I couldn’t stop thinking about my shoulder long enough for it to move normally.
“That was really funny this morning.”
I glanced over. Did he really think so? “I’m sorry about yesterday.”
He turned. “Yesterday? You mean lunch?”
I nodded.
“You didn’t do anything.”
“Please.”
He stopped. So I stopped. We stood in the middle of the hallway and faced each other. “Seriously. An allergy is an allergy.”
Allergy?
“Tammy told me about the tomato thing. You should check for that before you eat a hamburger.”
Tammy? Tomato thing?
“It’s good you didn’t have to go to the hospital.”
I pressed my lips together.
“What’s funny?”
“Nothing.”
When we got to Hirsch’s room Damon opened the door for me. “After you,” he said, and put his hand on the small of my back as I entered the room. Tingles exploded where he touched me, and I felt like a can of shaken-up soda.
Everyone else got there ahead of us. Erik drilled Kim Leasier on current events. Mia Teele pored over her science textbook. Lucas Emberry looked up from his desk and smiled at me, then scowled at Damon. Hirsch sat at his desk and wiped his nose.
And Amica Aldridge stood, arms folded, right in front of me, smoke rolling out of her scaly, flaring nostrils.
CHAPTER 7
I flopped onto the bed and sobbed.
“I hate her! I hate her! I hate her!” I screamed into my pillow.
If I thought I couldn’t feel worse than I did yesterday, I way underestimated Amica’s ability to incinerate me, heart and soul.
“I’d like to shave her head and throw her into an alligator pit!”