Planet Middle School Read online

  Early Warning Signs

  Don’t ask me

  what’s up with KeeLee

  all of a sudden.

  I haven’t got a clue.

  Today we’re walking

  to Spanish,

  and she puts a finger

  to her lips,

  warning me to shush.

  Next thing I know,

  John Taylor passes by

  (He’s in the ninth grade!)

  flaming red hair

  bouncing off his shoulders.

  KeeLee flips his curls

  quick, so he won’t notice,

  then bites her lip

  to keep from laughing

  out loud.

  What is with her?

  “You never used to care about

  some boy’s stupid hair,” I tell her.

  “Whatever,” she says.

  “People change.”

  I shake my head, thinking,

  Not me.

  Oh, Joy

  End of the day,

  I lay my head

  on my desk,

  faking the migraine

  I’m certain

  is on its way.

  Imaginary numbers?

  Come on!

  Who dreams up this stuff?

  It’s enough to make

  anybody ill.

  I practically scream for joy

  when the bell rings.

  Artiste

  Homework done

  I run out for some air,

  handball resting in my palm.

  I slam the thing

  against the brownstone wall

  while Caden studies me

  through the window the way

  he sometimes does,

  his hand a busy bird

  flying across a page

  of his drawing pad.

  Back inside,

  I breathe heavy over

  Caden’s shoulder.

  The action pose he’s drawn of me

  nearly leaps in the air.

  I tell him so

  and watch my words

  paint a smile on his face.

  Then I go and spoil it.

  “You should show that to Dad.”

  Caden stares at me

  like I’ve grown two heads

  and I can’t blame him.

  “Well, show it to Mom, anyway.”

  He nods and I leave the room

  before I manage to say

  something else stupid.

  Worthless

  It’s a wonder

  my brother hasn’t completely given up

  on showing Dad his drawings.

  One time, all Caden got was

  “Too bad you can’t

  go out for a sport

  like your sister,

  instead of wasting your time

  doodling.”

  Ouch.

  Through the Walls

  It’s not often

  Mom raises her voice,

  but that night,

  her words beat their way

  through the bedroom wall.

  “If you’re not careful with Caden,

  you’re going to lose that boy!”

  she tells my dad.

  “And you won’t have

  anyone to blame

  but yourself.”

  All I hear from Dad

  is a grunt.

  I burrow deeper

  under my covers

  praying that Caden

  is already asleep.

  Game On

  The very next day, Caden

  begs me for basketball lessons,

  just him and me.

  He says he’d be too embarrassed

  around Jake

  or other guys.

  Anyway, all he wants,

  he says,

  is a few tips on

  how to make the backboard squeal,

  how to make Dad take notice.

  Busy

  The next days bounce by

  fast as God can dribble them.

  I race to keep up:

  Caden’s lessons, games with Jake,

  visits with KeeLee—and school!

  Cravings

  I wake up in the middle of the night

  crazy for a piece of chocolate

  as if my life depends on it.

  I feel under my pillow

  like there’s some secret stash

  I should know about,

  then roll over

  and finally go back to sleep.

  It’s Official

  First thing in the morning,

  stomach pains send me

  to the bathroom

  where I discover

  that some things change inside you

  whether you want them to

  or not.

  Period

  That’s a good name for it.

  It’s the end of life

  as I know it.

  The Curse

  I lie in bed

  curled in a ball tight enough

  to stuff through a hoop.

  “No playing for me today,”

  I whisper to Michael Jordan

  staring at me from a poster

  on my wall.

  Another colossal cramp

  shoots through me

  and I’m thinking:

  Boys have it easy.

  Lunch Line

  Feeling better,

  it’s back to school.

  The morning flies by

  and soon, it’s time for lunch.

  The line goes on forever.

  “Hey, Joy.”

  It’s KeeLee, three inches taller

  than yesterday.

  “Heels, KeeLee?”

  I know my friend’s

  in there somewhere

  behind the lip gloss

  and wanna-be stilettos.

  KeeLee shrugs.

  “I just thought I’d give them a try.

  I’ll probably go back to flats tomorrow.”

  I decide to study shoes,

  see how many other

  three-inch heels I can count.

  One. Two. Five.

  Without planning to,

  I find my eyes traveling

  up a pair of calves

  attached to a cute boy with

  chocolate brown skin

  in shorts and a tight tee

  clinging to—

  “Quit it!” I tell myself.

  My stomach growls

  loud enough for others to hear

  and for once, I don’t care.

  The distraction is exactly

  what I need.

  Text

  A handful of words

  shot into cyberspace

  explode into smiles:

  “KeeLee, I made the team!”

  “Joy, I made the choir!”

  Bragging

  Dad claps Caden

  on the back.

  An Etch A Sketch

  of momentary joy

  spreads across his face.

  My brother’s too happy

  to calculate

  the why of Dad’s attention.

  “Did you hear

  the good news, son?”

  asks Dad.

  “Your sister here made the team!”

  And just like that

  my brother’s smile

  disappears.

  The Evil Eye

  I bite my lip

  to keep from telling Dad

  he’s clueless.

  Instead, I grab Caden’s hand

  and drag him to the kitchen

  to help me set the table,

  anything to distract him

  for a minute.

  But I throw Dad

  the dirtiest look

  I can manage.

  It’s what Mom calls

  the Evil Eye.

  The Produce Section

  Sometimes I feel

 
like slave labor

  forced to run errands

  whenever my mother gets a whim.

  “Say!” says Mom. “I think I’ll make

  buckwheat pancakes with bananas.

  Doesn’t that sound great?

  We’re a little low on syrup though,

  and I could use an extra banana.

  Joylin?”

  Next thing I know,

  I’m slouching down

  a supermarket aisle

  like I got nothing better to do.

  I growl at the list

  that grew to ten items

  by the time I hit the door.

  I’m grumbling about

  the unfairness of life

  when this cute guy reaches around me

  and grabs a plum tomato.

  “Excuse me,” he says

  as if he needs to apologize

  for being fine

  and popping into my life

  long enough for me to get close

  to his sweet-smelling beautifulness.

  He continues down the aisle

  I just left behind

  and my head swivels

  so I can go on staring.

  There I am, grinning, when bang—

  I crash my cart into

  this nice old lady

  since I wasn’t watching

  where I was going.

  “Sorry. Sorry,” I say

  turning three shades of purple.

  I close my eyes and count to ten.

  “Okay,” I say to myself.

  “What am I looking for again?

  Oh, yeah.

  Bananas.”

  It’s Not My Fault

  There are suddenly

  cute boys everywhere,

  I swear.

  They keep popping up

  all the time.

  Not My Kind of Exercise

  My English teacher

  is out to ruin my day.

  “I want each of you

  to write a poem

  about a topic

  that interests you,” she says.

  Don’t get me wrong.

  I love to write, but I hate

  these on-the-spot assignments.

  My brain always freezes.

  I study the clock,

  count down

  the remaining minutes

  of this torture

  and scribble something about

  running against the wind.

  Bell

  The bell rings at last.

  I spring from my seat and dash

  to the locker room.

  Locker Room

  They call her Glory,

  the girl who has the locker

  next to mine.

  She’s the same age as me,

  only more like—

  I don’t know—

  a lady.

  Her silver hoop earrings,

  armload of bangles,

  and painted fingernails

  tell me she’s

  nothing to worry about—

  some girly girl who probably

  shouldn’t even have made the team.

  I’m sure I’m right

  till we hit the gym

  and she dribbles the ball so fast

  all you see

  is a blur.

  Guess I counted her out

  too soon.

  Lunchroom

  Glory spots me

  in the lunchroom,

  waves me over to the table

  with a bunch of other

  girls from the team.

  I’m so used to

  playing with the boys,

  it’s strange to be with girls

  who play the game

  as hard as me.

  I join them,

  trying not to stare

  at the perfection

  of Glory’s hair,

  a cascade of braids

  framing her face.

  Here she is in her

  lace-trimmed tee,

  this serious jock

  who looks nothing

  like me.

  Silent Shift

  On the way out,

  I pass by KeeLee

  laughing with her new friends

  from show choir.

  We smile and wave

  at each other

  like our not sitting together

  is no big deal.

  History

  KeeLee texts me

  in the middle of history.

  Good thing the teacher

  doesn’t catch me

  with the phone in my hand.

  What excuse could I use?

  I’m exploring the history

  of technology?

  “Come over for dinner,”

  she texts.

  “Can’t,” I answer.

  “My mom has

  an exciting evening

  planned for me.”

  “Got it,” types KeeLee.

  “Laundry.”

  That girl knows me

  too well.

  Risky Business

  Nobody told me

  the Laundromat could be

  a danger zone.

  There I am

  minding my own business

  studying the slow turn of the dryer

  when here comes

  this six-foot-tall

  chocolate chip,

  muscles rippling like Denzel

  in The Hurricane,

  and suddenly I’m imagining

  my hand swallowed up in his

  my head nuzzling his shoulder

  my—

  the ear-splitting dryer buzzer

  brings me back to reality

  and I make myself busy

  folding sheets.

  Butterfingers

  Give me an “F” for frustration

  and you can spell out

  the next afternoon.

  That’s when Caden’s on the court.

  I call him to the throw line,

  grab his hand, and press

  our palms together

  to measure size.

  His hand is already

  larger than mine.

  So why can’t he keep the ball

  from slipping away

  in the middle of a dribble?

  It’s a mystery to me,

  but he keeps saying

  “Wait! Wait!

  Let me try again.”

  Mom says

  that’s one thing her kids

  have in common:

  We’re both

  stubborn as sin.

  Teacher

  KeeLee and I

  follow our gym class

  out into the school courtyard

  for a jog.

  The new phys-ed teacher

  runs back and forth alongside us

  to keep an eye on everyone’s pace.

  KeeLee can’t take her eyes

  off of him.

  “What exactly are you staring at?” I ask.

  “You gotta be kidding!

  Don’t tell me you missed

  that bodacious butt.”

  “KeeLee!”

  “What?” KeeLee looks all innocent.

  “Bodacious isn’t a bad word.”

  I lower my gaze

  and check out the teacher’s

  southern hemisphere,

  and a minute later,

  I’m giggling like

  every teenage girl

  I’ve ever made fun of.

  I bite my tongue

  to stifle my silliness,

  but it doesn’t help.

  I’m already

  too far gone.

  Girls Will Be Boys

  On Saturday,

  I try to shake off whatever this weird

  giggly-thing is

  that’s happening to me.

  I hit the local basketball court,

  make the boys groan, like always, />
  butting into their game,

  stealing the ball

  like I belong there.

  What’re they gonna do,

  hit a girl?

  So they put up with me.

  I charge downcourt

  ready to slam past

  the guard shadowing me

  a little too closely

  for my use.

  Who is this guy?

  I look up past the knees,

  catch sight of sweet brown curls

  bouncing above killer green eyes

  rimmed with the longest lashes

  I’ve ever seen,

  and I lose it.

  The ball is gone

  before I know it,

  and I’m shaking my head.

  What’s the matter with me?

  How could I let

  some boy get me

  off my game?

  After

  Far as I’m concerned,

  the game is over.

  I excuse myself

  and limp off the court,

  pretending a pulled hamstring.

  The only thing worse

  than losing my game

  is Jake catching me.

  “Why was you staring down Santiago?”

  is the way he puts it.

  “It’s were staring down, Jake,

  and I wasn’t staring down anybody.”

  “So you say.”

  I’m pretty sure

  that’s a smirk

  Jake is wearing on his face,

  and I’m not having it.

  “Good-bye, Jake,” I say,

  happy nobody can tell

  when I blush.

  Plus, I get one good thing

  for my embarrassment.

  I find out the new boy’s name

  is Santiago.

  Santiago

  Turns out,

  he’s not new

  to the neighborhood.

  So how come

  I never noticed him

  before?

  Dinner Chatter

  “Hey, bud,”

  Dad says,

  “Jake told me

  he saw you down

  at the basketball court last week.”

  “Yeah,” says Caden,

  grin splitting his face in two.

  “Good for you!” says Dad.

  Caden passes me

  a look that says,

  “See? It’s already working!

  Dad’s starting to notice me.”

  I’m thinking,

  Yeah, but wait