I hated the clink and clank of her stiletto heels as she sauntered to her seat behind mine. I hated the tons of mascara she wore and the bright red lipstick she also used as rouge for her cheeks. I watched her rub it into her face once while I waited or her to finish admiring herself in her locker mirror. I was waiting because Summer insisted on keeping her locker door wide open, so I couldn’t get into my locker, which unfortunately, just like my desk, was right near hers.
She gave her heels one last click for good measure and plopped her butt in the seat behind mine. I waited for it. I knew it was coming. Summer had this annoying habit of resting her feet on the book basket underneath my desk.
No big deal. Most kids liked to be comfortable. I would have done it, too, if Mr. Steinberg hadn’t placed me in the front row. That wasn’t the problem. Her habit of shaking her feet throughout the entire 48-minute class period was the problem.
I had just completed two weeks of my freshman year, only forty more weeks to go. Forty weeks of this! I’d go insane. On the first day of school, it was just a light jitter, like an annoying little fly buzz. I turned around and asked her nicely to stop. She smiled and stopped.
The next day, she started the shaking again. I turned around and reminded her about her annoying habit, but in a nice way, or so I’d thought. She scowled at me and shook my desk harder.
When I was six years old, my biker uncle took me for a ride on his Harley Davidson. My brain jiggled for a week afterwards. This is how sitting in front of Summer Powers felt every morning in pre-algebra. I felt powerless to stop her.
Krysta told me Summer had been in five fights last year; she won every one. I was only in one fight in my life. In sixth grade, Patty Ledbetter called me a brat, so I fought her and I got my butt kicked. If any kid could have been dorkier than me, it was Patty. Her parents worked at K-Mart so getting beat by her was really hard to take. I was the laughing stock of the school.
Trying to concentrate on Mr. Steinberg while my head rattled was difficult, but I didn’t need to pay attention. I knew this stuff. I was wasting my time in pre-algebra. Fractions. Duh. He had to keep stopping the class because Summer was confused, along with ten other kids who kept raising their hands. “What’s a denominator again?” Were people really this stupid?
I couldn’t stand it any longer. I had to see my counselor. Without wasting another aggravating minute, I raised my hand.
“What is it, Sophie? I thought you understood fractions.” Mr. Steinberg pointed his giant arrow at me. What kind of a weirdo taught class with an enormous foam arrow on his hand? It was like a big yellow, pointy hand puppet. Sometimes, he even pretended the arrow would speak by answering questions for the class when they were too stupid to figure out the answers.
“May I go see my counselor?” I tried to keep my voice as low as possible. I didn’t need the entire class knowing my business.
“Why? Is there a problem?” Great! The stupid arrow was talking.
For a second, I almost answered his arrow back, and then I realized I would look even more idiotic than Mr. Steinberg.
“I just really need to see her, Mr. Steinberg.” “Do you have an appointment?” The arrow pointed directly between my eyes, as if it had the power to see into my mind.
“Yes.” One little white lie. I had been raised to be honest, and so far, my parents had been pretty good at ingraining that principle into my mind. But they never said I couldn’t lie to a puppet. “Okay.”
Okay? It was that easy? If it wasn’t for the psycho hall monitors on our campus, a kid could have easily gotten away with skipping class.
I reached under my desk for my binder. Summer’s heels were resting on it, and I could tell by the way she held them firmly in place, she had no intention of helping me out. I yanked on my binder until I heard the banging of her heels against the metal bars. She didn’t say anything, but she did give my desk one last shove before I departed.
****
Mrs. Ramirez greeted me with her pasted on smile. It wasn’t like her smile was fake; she just always smiled. In my short time at Greenwood Junior High, I didn’t remember Mrs. Ramirez ever having a bad day.
“How may I help you, Sophie?”
That was another incredible talent of hers; she knew every kid’s name in the school. How did she do it? I couldn’t even keep the names of my seven teachers straight.
“Pre-algebra is a waste of my time. I’m learning nothing.” I tried to keep the whine out of my voice as I fidgeted with the creases on my binder.
“But we’ve just started our third week of school. If I move you to algebra, you’ll be lost.” Mrs. Ramirez offered a sympathetic smile.
“I can handle it. If I need to, I’ll stay after school for tutoring. Please, Mrs. Ramirez, I can’t suffer like this for a whole year.” Somehow, despite my efforts, that high-pitched little whine slipped into my voice. I just couldn’t help it. If I was going to change my reputation, I had to get out of bonehead math and far away from Summer Powers.
“Well, let me look at your classes.” She pulled up a screen on her computer. “We might need to change your schedule.”
What? Change my schedule! No, no, she couldn’t take away English. It was the only class I had with Jacob. Mrs. Ramirez was one of the few reasonable adults at this school. Surely, she wouldn’t do that to me.
I tried to keep my voice calm, but I felt the shakiness in my throat. “Why? Can’t I just switch first periods?”
“No.” She answered quickly, without even looking from her computer. “All of the first period algebra classes are full. Let’s see. Fifth period looks like the best bet.”
“Fifth period?” How did I know she was going to say that? “Fifth period won’t work.”
Mrs. Ramirez looked up from her computer and studied me. “Why not?”
I tried not to let her see the panic in my eyes. Whatever happened, I have to keep my class with Jacob. “Because we are in the middle of a novel unit. I know the other English classes aren’t reading Huck Finn and I’ll have to catch up in English and in math.”
“Well, I could put you in algebra if you are willing to drop your third period elective.”
Third period was band, my second least favorite class. Mr. Martinelli was the kind of teacher who took pleasure in his students’ misery.
Whenever he smugly smiled, folded his arms across his chest, and asked me to play, I couldn’t even hold my flute steady. As I tried to control my nervousness, I inhaled sporadic puffs of air that sounded more like a dog panting than music. Mr. Martinelli told me he could lock a cat in a trash can, throw it down a flight of stairs and make better music.
“Ok. I’ll drop band.” I was ready to jump out of my seat. No more Summer, no more yellow arrow, and no more musical melodrama.
“So I’ll have to give you a new elective first period.” Mrs. Ramirez turned back to her computer and made several clicks with her mouse. “How about yearbook?”
“Yearbook?” This summer, when I reviewed my choice of electives, I hadn’t even given that class a second glance. Ever since I erased that fat, ugly picture of me in my sixth grade book and replaced it with a Sponge Bob sticker, my mom told me she would never buy me a yearbook.
“I hear if you join the staff you get a free book.”
“Really?” Wow! My day couldn’t get much better. I’d get my own yearbook with Jacob’s picture.
“Here.” Mrs. Ramirez printed out a new schedule and handed it to me. “Go see Mrs. Carr. She’s in room 200. She is short staffed this year. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had you taking football pictures this weekend.”
I had to be dreaming. Standing on the sidelines, watching Jacob Flushman and his masculine thighs as he raced toward me with the pigskin tucked under his arm. He scored a touchdown and I caught the moment with my lens. He grabbed me in excitement and planted a big kiss on my cheek. No. This was my dream. He planted a big kiss on my lips.
This schedule change was just the boost I needed. I was
on my way to a fun freshman year. My confidence would grow. My life would change. So long to “So Fat” Sinora.
****
“Just what I need. Another new kid I have to train.” Mrs. Carr looked down at me through thick glasses. “Do you have any photography experience?”
“No.” I had wondered why this class was short staffed when students could get free yearbooks. Now I knew.
“Great.” Mrs. Carr threw her hands in the air. “Do you know anything about PhotoShop?”
“No.” I suddenly felt much smaller, much less significant than I had before walking through the yearbook room door.
“Terrific. There goes my first deadline.” Mrs. Carr stormed off and threw herself behind her desk that was positioned in the center of the classroom. She was instantly engulfed by a huge flat-screen computer monitor on the desktop. Surrounding her desk were other computer stations, facing inward like a fortress, as if whatever was on them was top secret information.
“I can train her, Mrs. Carr.” Lara “Spread ‘em” Sketchum popped her head from behind one of the dozen large computer monitors.
“You’re going to have to,” Mrs. Carr groaned.
“I’m up to my eyeballs in paperwork. This administration doesn’t think I have enough on my hands.”
Lara smiled and I hesitantly smiled back. Although I’d never had Lara in a class and we hung out in entirely different circles, I knew all about her. She was the school slut. If I became friends with her, I could be labeled a slut, too. This year was my chance to prove Sophie “So Fat” was cool and making friends with Lara didn’t fit in with my plan. What would Jacob think of me?
“Come sit over here, Sophie.” Lara waved toward an empty seat next to hers. “I was just uploading freshmen mug shot pictures. I’ll teach you how to do it, along with some of the basics of PhotoShop.”
“How did you know my name?” I slipped in between a crack in the computer fortress and sat beside her.
“This is my third year on staff. I know everybody’s face. Your picture has changed since seventh grade.” Lara hesitantly smiled, then lowered her lashes and bit her bottom lip. I’m not a slut. I hope you don’t believe the rumors.
Wow. I hadn’t heard someone else’s thoughts since before school started. Hearing her voice echo in my skull was suddenly shocking, and humbling. Lara wasn’t the only student at this school who’d been branded by a label.
I almost goofed and answered her thoughts. That would have been a bad thing. People would’ve been afraid to come near me if they knew about my gift. “Thanks, I hope my picture looks better now.”
“Yeah. You lost weight; you’re actually pretty.” “Thanks.” Coming from Lara, that was a huge compliment. I guess whoever labeled her the school slut was jealous. With her long black hair, big blue eyes and perfect body, Lara got lots of attention from the guys.
“I’m just placing pictures of the freshmen on their pages. I’m already on the Fs.” Lara must have seen my eyes widen, because she grinned after she spoke. “Do you like Jacob Flushman?”
Those traitors. Krysta and AJ blabbed their big mouths. But wait…they didn’t talk to Lara, which meant it must have gotten around the whole school. I wanted to die. “How did you know?”
“My lens catches everything.” Lara clicked her mouse and pulled up a picture of students eating lunch.
I instantly recognized Jacob with his football buddies. They were laughing and throwing fries at each other. Then my eyes did a double take; I was sitting at the table behind Jacob and I was staring…no…drooling in his direction. Oh, how embarrassing. My mom had always told me I had an expressive face but did I have to make my crush so obvious? I felt a tinge of guilt for accusing my best friends of betraying me when my own stupid face was the culprit.
“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.” Lara gave me a reassuring smile and closed the picture.
Still stunned, I had trouble finding my voice. “Is…is that picture going in the yearbook?”
“Not if you don’t want it to.”
“God, no!” I accidentally screamed my answer. Mrs. Carr looked up from her computer long enough to scowl.
Lara nudged my shoulder. “Consider it deleted.”
“No, wait.” No matter how embarrassing I looked, I just couldn’t stand the thought of deleting Jacob.
“I’ll save you a copy first,” Lara teased. “Jake does look cute in that picture.”
Bad reputation or not, I knew Lara and I would become buds. A minor setback in my plan to prove to Greenwood I was cool. If Lara helped me in yearbook, the least I could do was help her uncover the myth behind the rumors. After all, if she wasn’t a slut, someone was lying.
Chapter Three
Summer had to check her text messages and then put on her makeup while I waited to get my flute out of my locker. My annoyance was overshadowed by relief; I’d never need to carry around that rusted out hunk of metal again. I was so relieved after I turned it in to Mr. Martinelli, leaving his classroom for the last time.
Between waiting for Summer and turning in my flute, I was now late to my new class. Why was I so directionally challenged? Mrs. Stein’s room should have been easy to find. Two hundred. Even number. Simple. Not hardly. I was going in circles. I knew I’d seen that ‘Don’t be a dope’ sign by the bathroom entrance at least ten times. Some idiot was smoking pot and driving into oncoming traffic. The first time, the sign made me laugh. Now I wanted to tear it down and rip it to shreds, except that wouldn’t look good on my school records. They’d probably think I was on drugs.
“Where’s your pass?” Busted. The burly voice stopped me dead in my tracks.
I turned to face my captor, a school rent-a-cop. Man—maybe. Woman—I didn’t know. Big, scary mammoth beast with spiked hair—definitely.
“I…I don’t have one.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t catch you? The bell rang five minutes ago.”
How could I answer without sounding like a complete idiot? “I’m lost.”
“Lost? Are you one of Mrs. Frances’ kids?” The beast smiled smugly and folded its arms across its chest, obviously waiting for me to challenge the insult. Mrs. Frances’ kids rode the little bus.
The list of people who liked to put me down was growing larger. I needed to stand up for myself, starting with the beast. “Mrs. Ramirez changed my schedule this morning so I am still learning my new classes. I don’t know where Mrs. Stein’s room is.”
“Let me see your schedule.” The cop grabbed the twisted paper from my hands and carefully eyed the document, as if looking for a watermark or something to prove the schedule’s authenticity.
Because evil teenagers forge school schedules all the time. “I’m going that way now. Follow me.”
I walked behind the beast, trying hard to decipher its gender. Dark roots, dyed frosted blonde at the tips, spiked with something, probably gel. Would a guy go through that much trouble to make each follicle stand up in a straight line?
Yes.
Jacob’s best friend, Frankie Salas, would, but then again Frankie was perfect. From his angular jaw to flawless, tanned skin and large, dark eyes, Frankie could have been ripped from the pages of GQ; at least that’s what Krysta always said.
The beast in front of me had no butt, a large stomach, and breasts that were either big man- boobs or small girl-boobs. By the time we arrived at room two hundred, which was located in hallway three hundred—go figure—I still hadn’t figured out the cop’s gender. When the beast turned around, I had the chance to check the name on its badge. Tyler. No help there.
The door to Mrs. Stein’s room had one window, which was covered up with butcher paper. Tyler opened the door without knocking and I noticed a teacher was writing equations on her dry-erase board.
“You have a new student.”
Her arm jerked. She dropped her algebra book and her dry-erase marker at the sound of Tyler’s booming voice. She turned, hand on chest and momentarily glared at Tyler before f
ocusing her gaze on me. Her entire face softened as she beckoned me toward the front of the room. “Welcome to Algebra, dear. I’m Mrs. Stein. What’s your name?”
“Sophie.” I handed her my crumpled schedule.
“Sophie, how lovely.” She looked at the paper before giving me a warm smile that reached her eyes. Caryn’s hair. Dark and smooth.
How did I have two telepathic experiences in one day? And who was Caryn? I must have reminded Mrs. Stein of this person by the way she smiled.
Mrs. Stein retrieved her algebra book and clutched it to her chest. “Have a seat wherever you want. There are no assigned seats here.”
I scanned the room for an empty seat. That’s when I noticed the waving hand. I instantly recognized AJ, with her sporty blonde ponytail and the beat-up binder plastered with Clay Matthews pictures. I remembered her mentioning she had Mrs. Stein for algebra. “The nicest teacher in the school.” Those were her exact words.
AJ had been real excited when she called me after registration this summer. Although her mom wanted her to take all honors classes, she allowed AJ the one exception with Mrs. Stein. The Mikes had Mrs. Stein. All the kids loved her.
“Hey.” I sat down in an empty desk next to AJ, relieved to have a friend in class. I normally only saw her and Krysta during lunch.
“So, you finally ditched those losers in pre-algebra?” AJ smiled before we turned to the commotion at the back of the room. Tyler was trying to get to Grody Cody Miller.
Mrs. Stein was standing in front of Cody’s desk, hands on hips, blocking the cop’s path. “You’re not taking him out of my class. If he misses one lesson, he’ll be behind.”
“Mr. Sparks’ orders.”
“I don’t give a damn what Mr. Sparks said, Cody’s not leaving!”
Usually students oohed and aahed when teachers swore, but not this time. They stared at her, eyes wide with something like awe. Some kids smiled. I could hear them whispering, “Go, Mrs. Stein.”
I didn’t get it. Grody Cody Miller was every teacher’s worst nightmare. Cody had a bad attitude. He was always telling teachers off and disrupting class. Why wouldn’t she have wanted him to leave?
“He left Mr. Benson’s class without permission Friday. The principal wants to see him…now.”