Planet Middle School Read online

  Planet Middle School

  NIKKI GRIMES

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Heartsick

  Names

  Tom Boy

  Basics

  Sitting Pretty

  Signature

  Preacher’s Kid

  Conversation

  Jake

  Beginnings

  New Math

  Ridges

  The Usual

  B-Day

  Humiliation

  Planet Middle School

  Last Straw

  Hunger Pangs

  Early Warning Signs

  Oh, Joy

  Artiste

  Worthless

  Through the Walls

  Game On

  Busy

  Cravings

  It’s Official

  Period

  The Curse

  Lunch Line

  Text

  Bragging

  The Evil Eye

  The Produce Section

  It’s Not My Fault

  Not My Kind of Exercise

  Bell

  Locker Room

  Lunchroom

  Silent Shift

  History

  Risky Business

  Butterfingers

  Teacher

  Girls Will Be Boys

  After

  Santiago

  Dinner Chatter

  Speechless

  Boy Watch

  The Closet

  Message

  Apology

  Unspoken

  To Be Honest

  Lipstick

  Busted

  Help

  Advice

  Practice Does Not Make Perfect

  Useful Noise

  Hair

  Scar

  Enough

  The Plan

  Seven Kinds of Sorry

  Looking Back

  I’m Texting as Fast as I Can

  Woodruff Never Had a Chance

  Kudos

  Obsessed

  Reminiscing

  The Hang-Up

  Huddle

  Just Like Old Times

  Lonely Lobes

  Pierced

  Studs

  Doubt

  School Photos

  It’s Not What You Think

  Behind Closed Doors

  Homework

  Quick Question

  Practice

  Birthday Dinner

  Better Than Cake

  Told You So

  Heels

  Run

  Daydreaming

  Movie Night

  The Day After

  Skirting the Issue

  Caught

  Runway

  I Don’t Get It

  Fire Drill

  News Travels

  Sick to My Stomach

  What Are Friends For?

  Is Everybody Crazy Now?

  Hiding Out

  Glee

  The New Girl

  Aftermath

  Fuming

  Confession

  The Call

  S.O.S.

  Room 321

  Vigil

  Concussion

  Visiting Hours Are Over

  Gift

  Standing Watch

  The Old Jake

  Peg-Leg

  I Hate to Say It

  Readjustment

  Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner?

  Acknowledgments

  Imprint

  For my young friend and surrogate daughter,

  Sheila Northcutt,

  whose middle name should be Joy.

  Heartsick

  The emergency-room doors

  crack open

  and I feel my heart split.

  The hospital smell

  leaves me dizzy,

  or maybe it’s just my fear.

  What if I got here too late?

  What if my friend’s eyes

  never open?

  What if I missed the chance

  to say I’m sorry?

  Our fights seem silly now.

  But then,

  so do the last few months.

  I guess the joke is on me.

  Too bad I don’t feel

  like laughing.

  Names

  Joylin was my mother’s idea.

  She says she swelled with joy

  the moment she knew

  I lay curled up

  inside her.

  While she waited

  for my arrival,

  she dreamed in pink,

  imagined frilly dresses

  and sweet tea parties.

  Sorry, Mom.

  Jockette is what

  Caden calls me.

  He’s so lame.

  If he weren’t my brother,

  I’d strangle him.

  Just kidding.

  So what’s the big deal, anyway?

  So I’m not a girly girl.

  So what?

  Is there some law?

  I don’t think so.

  Tom Boy

  What does that

  even mean?

  And where did it come from?

  And if there’s a Tom Boy,

  how come there’s no Jane Girl?

  I’m just sayin’.

  Basics

  I go to my closet

  grab a T-shirt and jeans.

  Which pair will I wear?

  Long jeans, cropped jeans,

  just so they are baggy jeans.

  Dad keeps asking Mom,

  “Where’s the girl

  you promised me?”

  Like he doesn’t love

  our games of one on one.

  Please.

  Sitting Pretty

  Mom bugs me about

  sitting with my legs

  wide open.

  But I don’t get

  what she’s so worried about.

  I’m covered up in blue jeans.

  It’s not like anyone

  can see anything.

  I’ve told her this

  a million times.

  For some reason,

  she just keeps

  shaking her head.

  Signature

  My friend KeeLee teases me

  for always being dressed

  head to toe

  in navy.

  I just roll my eyes

  and tell her

  it’s my signature color.

  She’s just jealous

  she doesn’t have one.

  Preacher’s Kid

  I.

  KeeLee would swallow the rainbow

  if she could.

  She loves every single color.

  “God made each one,” says KeeLee.

  “He doesn’t pick favorites,

  so why should I?”

  KeeLee’s a preacher’s kid,

  so she’s got a different way

  of looking at things.

  II.

  She chose me when we were nine.

  At school, a bunch of girls

  were making fun of me

  for dressing like a boy.

  I tried to act like I didn’t care,

  but KeeLee caught me balling my fists

  and shoving them inside my pockets.

  She pushed through the group

  and came straight to my side.

  “You’re just jealous,” she told those girls,

  “’cause the boys don’t want to play with you.”

  Then she slipped her arm through mine

  and said, “Let’s get out of here.”

  III.

  KeeLee dresses frill
y,

  but she’s tougher than me.

  One day, a girl called her

  Goody Two-shoes,

  and KeeLee said,

  “Well, you got the shoe part right!”

  and walked away.

  “You think being a Tom Boy is hard?

  Try being a PK,” says KeeLee.

  “Everyone expects me to be perfect.

  Like that’s even possible.”

  KeeLee may not be an angel,

  but she’s practically perfect to me.

  Conversation

  Jake thinks KeeLee

  is a little weird.

  She was watching Jake and me

  play ball one day

  when he was off his game.

  He kept putting “God”

  and “damn” in the same sentence

  every time he missed the hoop.

  I cleared my throat

  to get his attention,

  nodded in KeeLee’s direction

  and whispered,

  “Pastor’s kid, remember?”

  Jake turned red,

  told KeeLee he was sorry.

  “For what?” she asked.

  “For taking God’s name in vain.”

  “But you didn’t,” said KeeLee.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “Yes. I did.”

  “No,” KeeLee said again.

  “You didn’t.”

  Jake looked too confused to spit

  and I wasn’t much better.

  “My father says, God is who he is,

  but that’s not his name.

  And you can’t take his name in vain

  if you don’t even know what it is.”

  “So, what’s his name, then?” asked Jake.

  KeeLee smiled.

  “I’m not telling.

  If you want to know,

  you’ll have to ask him yourself.”

  Jake just shook his head

  and threw his hands up.

  I didn’t know what to say,

  but KeeLee’s words

  made me wonder

  what other secrets

  she and God shared.

  Jake

  Monday afternoon

  I meet Jake for our weekly

  game of one on one.

  He takes the ball out

  and I do my best to block him,

  but he’s too tall and solid

  for me to break his play.

  Didn’t used to be that way.

  Back in second grade

  when we first met,

  I was the one

  with all the size.

  Not sure when that changed.

  But so what?

  He’s still one of my best friends,

  him and KeeLee.

  We play for an hour or so.

  When it’s time to find our way home,

  he play-punches me

  in the arm, like always,

  only harder than I remember.

  I must be getting soft.

  “Later, dude,” says Jake.

  “Yeah, later,” I say,

  grinning through the pain.

  Beginnings

  I.

  Jake moved to the neighborhood

  right after his dad walked out

  and left his mom a mess.

  One December day, at recess

  I found him all by himself,

  clinging to a swing,

  crying in the cold.

  I plopped down on the swing

  next to him,

  pushed myself off the ground,

  and kept him quiet company.

  When I could see

  he was done crying,

  I said, “Hi. My name’s Joy.”

  And he said, between sniffles,

  “I’m Jake.”

  And that’s all it took

  to make us friends forever.

  II.

  When I had appendicitis

  and thought I might die,

  I woke up after surgery

  and there was Jake

  staring down at me,

  saying “Hey!”

  which was about

  all the conversation

  I was in the mood for.

  III.

  These days,

  we’re mostly basketball buddies.

  Jake doesn’t talk much,

  but the silences between us

  are filled with friendship.

  I don’t know what I’d do

  without him.

  New Math

  Up till now,

  the math of my life

  has been pretty simple:

  friends

  plus family

  plus sports.

  What more

  could I ask for, right?

  But lately,

  my outside has been changing

  and my inside keeps telling me

  more is on the way.

  Trouble is,

  I’m not sure

  I’m ready.

  Ridges

  Ridges, that’s all they are.

  Two weird mounds ruining

  the perfect flatness

  of my chest.

  I do the best I can

  to hide them,

  wearing too-tight undershirts

  stolen from

  my baby brother’s dresser.

  (Okay, so Caden’s not technically a baby,

  but he’s two years younger than me,

  so that qualifies.)

  God, forgive me, but

  I need those shirts.

  I just can’t have

  those things on my chest

  bouncing around

  every time I charge down

  the basketball court.

  I want all eyes

  on the swish

  as my perfect layup shot

  clears the net.

  The Usual

  The minute Dad walks in the door

  he starts grilling me:

  “So?

  How did the basketball tryouts go?

  What did the coach say?”

  I bite back a smile

  and pretend annoyance.

  “What about it, sport?

  Did you make the team?”

  “Probably,” I hedge,

  wanting to watch

  his excitement build.

  Dad pats me on the back.

  “Okay. It’s your decision.

  I think you’d be good, though.”

  He falls silent

  and my brother, Caden,

  steps in the gap.

  “Hey, Dad.

  Look at this!”

  He holds up his drawing

  of a pitcher on the mound.

  “My teacher says

  it’s one of the best drawings

  she’s ever seen.”

  “That’s nice,” Dad whispers

  and turns away,

  letting all the air

  out of Caden’s balloon

  and mine.

  B-Day

  Back from a killer game

  at the neighborhood b-ball court,

  I dribble through the living room

  like I don’t know better

  till Mom tells me to stop,

  then I cut to the kitchen

  where water waits.

  I’m two glasses down

  and working on a third

  when Mom makes me

  sputter up water

  like a busted faucet.

  “That’s it,” she says.

  “No more training bras.

  Time to take you shopping

  for the real thing.”

  Where is a parallel universe

  when you need one?

  Humiliation

  “No, Mom.

  You cannot come into

  the dressing room with me!”

  I face the torture
<
br />   on my own,

  fumble with assorted A cups,

  plain and padded,

  turn myself into a human pretzel

  trying to fasten the stupid little hooks

  across my back.

  I’m sure there’s some

  trick to it.

  Then finally, I’m in,

  locked down,

  nothing moving,

  feeling like I’ve just

  been sentenced

  to jail.

  Planet Middle School

  “It was embarrassing,”

  I told KeeLee.

  “I’m trying on all these

  strange contraptions,

  and my mom’s right outside

  the dressing room,

  dying for a peek!”

  KeeLee shrugged.

  “You’re growing up,” she said.

  “That always weirds out parents.”

  “Still.”

  “I know.”

  Thank God for KeeLee.

  She’s the only familiar thing

  about this crazy school year.

  Bad enough my body’s

  turned against me.

  On top of that

  everything else is new:

  new school, new teacher,

  new classrooms

  I need a map to find.

  I swear, some days

  I feel like an alien,

  dropped off on

  Planet Middle School

  by mistake.

  I keep scanning the skies,

  searching for that spaceship

  that’s gonna take me home.

  Last Straw

  Over dinner,

  Mom and Dad

  slip into their usual ritual

  discussing the day

  and Mom casually mentions

  “Joy and I went

  bra shopping.”

  I grab a napkin

  to cough into

  and slide down

  in my seat.

  “Good,” says my bratty brother.

  “Maybe now she’ll stop

  stealing my undershirts.”

  That does it.

  I bolt from the table

  and make my getaway.

  I’ve had more than enough

  embarrassment

  for one day.

  Hunger Pangs

  Three hours later,

  I’m still chasing sleep.

  My stomach growls at me

  as if I’m the one to blame

  for skipping dinner.

  It’s all Mom’s fault, and Caden’s!

  I complain into my pillow,

  which gets me nowhere

  so I sneak into the kitchen

  for a late-night snack.