“Who’s Joe Marchetta?”
“Caitlyn’s cousin. He’s in ninth grade, over with the older kids.”
“Does she like him?”
“Nah. Not one bit.”
“That’s awful. Well, if I hear the rumor I’ll make sure to say something. That it’s not true, I mean.”
“But that’s not going to really help her.”
She shrugged. “We can’t get involved. It’ll just make things worse. It’s got nothing to do with us. So how come you know all this? I feel like I don’t know a thing about anybody.”
I drew a deep breath. “Well, you know when I was the Friendship Matchmaker?” She nodded. “People trusted me and talked to me all the time. The other day Keisha told me what was going on.”
“Oh, I see,” Tanya said. “Poor thing. I feel sorry for her.”
“Me too. Which is why I was thinking about helping her out . . .”
She let out a short laugh. “Oh no. Not interfering again.”
I tried not to look too wounded. “Do you remember those Friendship Mediation Sessions I used to run?”
“How could I forget?” she said, shuddering. “You were so bossy! Telling people what to do and how to act. You know something, Lara? I was dying for you to help me the way you did last term . . . but I was kind of scared of you back then.”
My face fell. “Oh.”
She gave my arm a quick squeeze. “It’s okay. I’m not scared of you now. You’ve changed. You don’t go around telling us all what to do anymore. You just let everybody sort things out on their own. And we can all be ourselves.”
There was just one problem with that. Sneaking around like this, watching kids get bullied and not being able to help them out, meant that I wasn’t being myself.
Chapter 19
One way to deal with a problem is to bury it so deep that you forget it exists.
Well, maybe that’s not dealing with it. Maybe that’s ignoring it until it digs its way up again. But I just didn’t have the energy to get out a shovel. And even if I had, I wouldn’t have known where to start.
So I spent the week trying to think about anything but my friendship problems. I threw myself into testing my list of ten possible matches for Chris. It was a total disaster. Nobody wanted to be Chris’s friend. I couldn’t even sell Chris as a gateway to popularity. Even the loneliest of the lot, Marco, preferred being alone to being close to Chris. I avoided Chris all week, dodging him in the halls, holding Mediation Sessions in the library where he never ventured voluntarily.
I approached one kid, Samuel, who was sitting alone on a bench eating his lunch, watching the kids in the playground.
“Can we talk?” I said.
He suddenly seemed tense. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I just want to talk.”
It was a little sad, the way his face lit up. “Sure,” he said with a big smile. “We can talk.” Then he laughed, and he was so clearly bursting with relief that for a moment I felt guilty about what I was about to do. Chris had picked on Samuel in the past. Why was I even bothering?
We chatted about nothing and then, eventually, I launched into my Chris campaign, trying my best to sell the idea of Samuel hanging out with Chris. But a shadow seemed to fall over Samuel’s face and he sat mute as I blabbered on. Then I realized how dreadful I must sound.
“You’re right,” I said. “There’s probably no reason for you to be friends with Chris.”
“Sorry, Lara,” Samuel said. “But last term I couldn’t get dressed for our weekly swimming lessons without Chris teasing me in front of all the guys for having a girl’s body—I don’t, by the way,” he quickly added. “Okay, so I’m skinny and short but what am I supposed to do about it? I eat like a horse. I just don’t put on weight. And, anyway, even if I did he’d hassle me for being fat, like he calls Martin man-boobs.”
“Okay,” I said gently. “Just forget I asked.”
When I opened my e-mail that night I saw that Chris had sent a group e-mail to about ten kids from seventh grade, me included, with the subject line: Majur is Weird: Comment. That was it. The actual body of the e-mail was empty. Some kids had replied to the group:
Yeah he is a little weird. Off the soccer field. (That was Tony, who always asked Majur to play soccer at lunchtime.)
They say he’s seen people killed. He might lose it in class one day! Go after us all. Keep your scissors hidden, hahahahaha. (That was Tim. I couldn’t believe it. Tim had only yesterday high-fived Majur out on the field.)
Some people need subtitles, huh? (That was Chris’s e-mail in reply.)
You can’t tell if they’re speaking English cause their accent is so bad! (That was Ali.)
On and on they went. I was furious and sent an e-mail in reply:
YOU GUYS ARE A BUNCH OF JERKS AND USERS. YOU PLAY WITH MAJUR AT LUNCHTIME BECAUSE HE CAN SCORE GOALS AND YOU CAN’T. AND THEN YOU TALK ABOUT HIM LIKE THIS BEHIND HIS BACK. THAT’S SERIOUSLY LOW.
Nobody replied.
My stomach was churning. This was the last straw. What was I doing helping Chris? He deserved to have no friends. I was going to tell him that I couldn’t help him. It was too hard to find him a match anyway. I wasn’t going to be involved with delivering him another victim on a silver platter.
The first thing Chris said when I told him I was quitting was, “No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am,” I said defiantly.
He folded his arms across his chest and shook his head. “You don’t have the guts to make me angry.”
For a second I was lost for words. But then I thought of his group e-mail and got mad all over again.
“You’re a bully. You’re mean. It’s not my fault nobody wants to be your friend.”
He kind of lost it then. His face twisted up and he started shouting at me: “That’s because they’re all crazy about this weirdo! Just because he can kick a ball they forget that nobody plays better than me! How many games have I won for them? And they go and kiss up to this new kid who can’t even speak English. They don’t even pass me the ball anymore!”
“Why can’t two people be good at soccer?”
“Are you crazy? I’m the best at sports in our grade. And I am better than him but they all just ignore me now.”
I shrugged. “You can’t go around bullying people and then expect them to want to hang out with you.”
He grinned. “Tough luck. Anyway, it’s all for fun. If he wants to cry about it, that’s his problem.”
“I’m not helping you. I just want you to leave me alone now.”
He stormed off.
Chapter 20
For two days Chris didn’t harass me or stalk me online. And it was easy enough to keep track of his movements because things had changed since Majur arrived. Now Chris was almost always by himself, moping around the playground and taking his anger out on other kids, tripping them, calling them names in the lunch line, picking on the smaller kids and making them give him their stuff.
The weird thing is that some kids were asking me to help them deal with Chris. Of course, I had to tell them my FMM days were over but then, when I saw the miserable kids alone, I’d slip them a note of advice (e.g., avoiding a bully is easier than putting yourself in their path and having to defend yourself) or schedule an undercover meeting (first swearing them to secrecy).
I was in the quad with Tanya. Emily was out sick and yes, it’s evil to admit but I was glad I had Tanya all to myself. It was like old times, before Emily was in our face twenty-four seven. I was showing Tanya a photo slide show on my smart phone that my older sister’s friends had made for her birthday party. We were sitting down watching it, the phone in my hand. Chris appeared out of nowhere, swept down, grabbed my phone and hurled it into a nearby garbage can. Tanya was too scared to say anything. I jumped up and launched myself at the can, reaching down to grab my phone. It had hit the edge and was switched off. It was all scratched and covered in sauce (it had landed in a half-eaten burger)
. My face went bright red and I turned to Chris.
“How could you?” I screamed. “My mom’s going to kill me!”
“Tough,” he said, and walked away.
I raced after him. “Are you crazy?”
He turned around to face me. I could have sworn there was guilt in his eyes.
“You forced me to do that,” he said defensively, folding his arms. “You pushed me to it.”
“Sure, Chris, I wanted you to throw my phone in the garbage.”
His body kind of deflated then. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “It’s just . . . I need your help.”
“But all that stuff you wrote about Majur online.”
He sighed. “Yeah, I know. It was mean. I won’t do it again. The guys have ignored me since the e-mail anyway. So what was the point? I thought they’d come back to my side.”
“Chris, that is just so wrong.”
He looked at me guiltily. “I’m so mad, you know? All those guys were my friends. And they just kicked me to the curb when Majur came along.”
I didn’t say anything, and he searched my face for a response. “Please,” he pleaded. “Just give it one more try.”
“Fine,” I muttered.
The next morning I was standing with Tanya and Emily, listening to them complain about how tired they were because they’d stayed up so late talking on the phone. I felt sick and ran away to the girls’ bathroom.
I hid in one of the cubicles and, like an idiot, I lost my cool and started to cry. What made it so bad was that I didn’t know why I was so upset. It felt like everything was all messed up. I didn’t hate Tanya. Or Emily. I just felt so . . . left out.
I heard a gentle tap on the cubicle door. I quickly wiped my eyes and took a few deep breaths.
“Yes?” I said, my voice wobbly. I coughed and tried putting on a stronger voice. “Someone in here.”
“Lara, it’s me,” said Emily.
“Oh,” I said, trying not to sound disappointed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I dried my eyes and took another deep breath. Then I threw the door open. “What makes you think something’s wrong?”
“There’s no need to yell,” she said.
“I’m not yelling.”
Even as I was yelling, treating her this way, I knew I was being rotten. But I couldn’t stop myself.
She raised an eyebrow. “I noticed you were upset.”
Oh. Did you now? Well, Emily Wong, I’ve been upset for some time now but you’ve been too busy stealing my best friend to care!
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You’ve been crying.”
I put my hands on my hips. “I was not crying. Some dirt got into my eye. I have sensitive pupils.”
“Is this about Tanya?”
“Of course not.” I sniffed.
She raised both eyebrows this time. “What’s going on?”
“Read my lips: Nothing.”
Emily sighed. “Okay . . . well, if you need to talk . . .”
“I’ll know where to go, thanks.”
And it’s not to you, Emily Wong, I thought as I walked out.
The problem was, I didn’t know who to turn to anymore.
Unfortunately, Chris’s cyber obsession meant I couldn’t forget about him on the weekend. He stalked me online, flooding my inbox with messages demanding to know whether I’d found him a best friend yet. When I eventually logged on to reply, he sent me an instant message:
The Terminator SO? Found anybody yet?
FMM I’m trying my best. It’s harder than I thought it would be.
The Terminator I was thinking about it this morning. What about Harry?
FMM I did speak to him. But his eye started twitching when I mentioned your name. That’s not a good sign.
The Terminator The wimp. Okay then, what about Turner?
FMM Thought of him too. But you gave him an atomic wedgie while he was wearing his Spider-Man outfit at the book parade last year.
The Terminator Oh yeah. Forgot about that. Stan?
FMM Is it a problem for you that he’s part of a creative writing group that meets three lunchtimes a week?
The Terminator Yes. Massoud?
FMM Student council rep.
The Terminator Who’s left, then? Don’t people realize that being my friend will change their lives?
I hadn’t thought about it from that angle. In fact, Chris had hit the nail right on the head. This didn’t have to be so painful. I didn’t need to make somebody’s life miserable just to help out Chris.
If I was smart enough, it could be a win-win situation.
The fact is, I needed to find somebody who was needier than Chris.
Chris needed a friend for a selfish ulterior motive. So I had to find somebody who needed Chris for a selfish ulterior motive too. Somebody who could overcome their fear of Chris and use him as much as he’d be used by Chris!
But who?
The answer came to me the following week, during PE. Mr. Raj had chosen Stan and Rex as captains, and they were about to pick their teams for a game of soccer. Rex had first pick and chose Majur. There was a buzz among the other boys, whispering to one another that they wanted to be on the same team as Majur. I glanced at Chris. His face was tense, his eyes fixed on Stan, daring him not to choose him. Stan wasn’t an idiot. Plus, after Majur, Chris was without a doubt the best soccer player in our class. Stan quickly called out Chris’s name, and Chris went to stand beside Stan, puffing out his chest and glaring at Majur. Majur glared back.
The last person standing was Antony.
Antony was a friendly, happy-go-lucky, simple kind of kid. But he was without a doubt the worst athlete in our class. Even Tanya had more skill with a ball. His claim to fame happened during an interschool basketball match last term. When Antony finally got his hands on the ball, he got a little excited, dribbling it from the halfway line in the court to the basket. He had an open line straight to the hoop. Nobody on the other team tried to stop him. They had no reason to, given he was heading for their goal. It was the one time he ever got a ball in the basket.
Too bad he scored for the other team.
So even Antony understood why he was always getting picked last. He wasn’t the type to sulk. He just stood, shuffling his feet, accepting his fate.
That’s when the beginnings of a plan hit me.
Chapter 21
I logged on to my instant messenger that night. Chris must have been seriously addicted because he was logged on too.
FMM I have an idea. I think I may have found you a possible friend.
The Terminator WHO?
I took a deep breath as I typed Antony’s name.
The Terminator R U NUTS? I TELL U I LOVE SPORTS AND U CHOOSE THE WORST ATHLETE IN THE CLASS. I DON’T THINK HE’S EVER CAUGHT A BALL IN HIS LIFE. MAJUR IS TAKING MY PLACE AS THE BEST KID IN SPORTS AND U WANT ME 2 HANG OUT WITH ANTONY?
FMM Exactly. PS I’d really like it if you stopped shouting at me.
The Terminator I’M NOT SHOUTING AT U. I’M IN MY HOUSE AND UR IN URS.
FMM THE CAPS LOCK KEY IS FREAKING ME OUT. SEE? ISN’T THIS FREAKING YOU OUT?
The Terminator No. But fine. Caps lock is off.
FMM Thank U.
The Terminator Forget Antony.
FMM Hear me out.
The Terminator Fine.
FMM How do I say this nicely . . .?
The Terminator Forget nice, just get to the point.
FMM You have a reputation for beating people up and acting so crazy that people think UR unstable upstairs and duck for cover when they see U.
I held my breath.
The Terminator U got to the point pretty fast.
FMM Sorry. But we’re in a kind of desperate situation now.
The Terminator So what does Antony have 2 do with me being crazy and unstable?
FMM It’s not that people hate U. It’s just that people are scared of U.
The Terminato
r Good. That’s cool.
FMM Actually no, it’s not good or cool when U want a friend. Nobody wants to hang out with somebody who’s going to give them a black eye, or set their schoolbag on fire in science.
The Terminator Wimps.
I sighed.
FMM This is what I think: the only person who’s going to ignore the fact that U pick on kids is a kid who needs UR help.
The Terminator I don’t pick on people. I’m just teasing. Only messing around. Anyway, this isn’t about them. It’s about me.
FMM WOULD YOU HEAR ME OUT?
The Terminator Now look who’s trigger happy with the caps lock.
FMM I know for a fact Antony wants to be good at sports. He hates being picked last. He hates letting the team down. He needs a personal coach. Somebody who can give him one-on-one attention. Kind of like a sports makeover.
The Terminator You just wrote sports and makeover in the same sentence. I just ate.
FMM Do you see what I’m saying? You hang out with Antony, teach him all U know about sports, and UR not a loner any—
The Terminator I’M NOT A LONER! THIS IS NOT ABOUT ME BEING LONELY. THIS IS ABOUT ME FINDING SOMEONE TO HELP ME GET BACK ON THE SOCCER TEAM!
He was shouting at me again. I logged off.
Chapter 22
I eventually persuaded Chris. It’s not like he had other options. Antony was his last chance.
The next step was to persuade Antony.
“Chris Martin?” Antony yelled through a mouthful of chips.
“Yeah,” I said.
His eyes were practically falling out of their sockets. “Are you nuts?” Then he laughed and wagged his finger in front of my face. “Ah, I get it! This is a joke.” He stood up, looking left and right. “Any minute now Stephanie’s going to come running toward us to interview me for her dumb radio program. Try to catch me saying something bad about Chris.” He leaned toward me. “I’m not that crazy,” he whispered.
“Such an imagination,” I clucked. “Antony,” I said coolly, “this isn’t a joke. Just hear me out.”