Planet Middle School Page 2
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