Planet Middle School Read online

  till he sees you

  try to play.

  Speechless

  I’m losing my mind,

  I’m sure of it.

  Yesterday, that cute boy

  Santiago said hello

  and I completely lost

  my power of speech.

  I mean, I opened my mouth

  and out came …

  nothing at all.

  What’s wrong with me?

  Boy Watch

  I can’t help it.

  I start watching Santiago

  watching girls in the hall.

  How dumb is that?

  I try to talk myself

  out of my stupidity,

  but then I notice

  every one of them

  wears makeup

  and tight shirts

  and short skirts.

  My naked lips

  form the words:

  “Guess that leaves me out.”

  The Closet

  I search my closet for

  a single outfit that would qualify

  as pretty.

  Of course, I come up empty.

  “Pretty” has never been

  part of my vocabulary.

  But that was pre-Santiago.

  Is that my phone?

  I let the call go

  to voicemail.

  I’m not leaving this closet

  till I find something

  semi-pretty

  to wear.

  Message

  Oh, no!

  It was Jake’s call

  I missed

  on purpose.

  We were supposed to meet.

  How could I forget?

  Apology

  “Sorry I didn’t show up,”

  I tell Jake

  when I call that evening.

  “Where were you?” he asks.

  “I waited for almost an hour!”

  “Sorry,” I repeat,

  stalling until I can figure out

  what to say.

  I’m usually honest with Jake,

  but this truth is just too lame.

  “I was studying for a test,” I tell him.

  “I guess I lost track of time.”

  I’m holding my breath

  but don’t even know it

  until I hear him say,

  “Yeah, well, don’t do it again.”

  Unspoken

  Back from another practice,

  Caden and I find Mom

  in the living room

  thumbing through one of his

  old drawing pads,

  her crescent moon smile

  lighting up her eyes.

  “Hey! Where’d you find that?”

  asks Caden,

  snatching the pad

  from Mom’s fingers.

  “I thought it was lost.”

  “I found it under the coffee table,”

  she says.

  “Bottom shelf.

  Must’ve moved it there one day

  when I was cleaning.

  Which reminds me,” says Mom,

  “I haven’t seen you

  drawing in a while.

  Why is that?”

  Caden shrugs,

  all the answer

  he plans on giving.

  To Be Honest

  Secretly,

  I’m with Mom on this.

  I miss Caden’s drawings.

  I hate to see him give up

  something he’s so good at

  just to try to be

  like me.

  Lipstick

  I stand in front of

  Mom’s vanity

  like most girls do at three,

  splashing on perfume

  and smearing blush

  from cheek to ear.

  And here I am,

  snagging lipstick.

  “Crimson Touch”

  is a nice name.

  I wipe it across my lips,

  then dash out the door

  before Mom can catch me.

  Minutes later, I meet up with KeeLee

  and we strut through the school hall,

  me waiting for my chance

  to impress Him.

  I’m all smiles when I see Santiago,

  which is when KeeLee starts

  poking me. But I ignore her

  ’cause all I can think about

  is Santiago, who

  takes one look at me

  and laughs out loud.

  Not the reaction

  I was hoping for.

  KeeLee pokes me again.

  “You’ve got lipstick

  on your teeth, silly.

  I tried to tell you.”

  My hand flies to my mouth

  too late.

  I sprint to the girl’s room,

  leave “Crimson Touch”

  on wads of toilet paper,

  suddenly realizing the color

  looks just like blood.

  Disgusting.

  Can this day

  get any worse?

  Busted

  Of course

  the first person

  I run into on my block

  is Jake. “Dude! Your lip is bleeding.

  No, wait.

  It’s your whole mouth!”

  The lipstick must have left

  a stain on my lips.

  I sigh and roll my eyes,

  in no mood to explain.

  “Hey, Jake.

  What’s up?”

  “You tell me,” he says

  studying my lips.

  “It’s lipstick,” I mumble.

  Jake laughs.

  “You gotta be kidding!”

  I burn him with a stare.

  “Sorry,” he says.

  “I didn’t know

  you were into that

  sort of thing.”

  I shrug.

  “Just thought I’d give it a try.”

  “O-kay,” says Jake.

  “But why?”

  “None of your business!” I say,

  wanting to get off of the subject.

  “Dang! Somebody’s in

  a rotten mood today.

  Later,” he says,

  and jogs off

  before I tell him

  to leave me alone.

  Help

  I need help with this makeup stuff.

  KeeLee doesn’t know

  much more than me.

  Too bad I’m not

  Cinderella.

  A fairy godmother

  would come in handy

  right about now.

  Advice

  I slip out of my

  sweaty gym clothes

  and hit the showers.

  Toweled off and half dressed,

  I find my voice

  before Glory has a chance

  to leave.

  “I like your makeup,” I say,

  feeling silly.

  “I mean, the colors are nice.”

  “Thanks,” she says.

  “I wish—”

  My tongue stumbles.

  “There’s this boy—

  I mean—”

  Why is my mouth

  suddenly useless?

  “I try to get him

  to look at me, but—”

  Thank God,

  Glory steps in.

  “You want a makeup tip?”

  I nod. That seems safer

  than speech.

  “Keep it simple.

  A little blush,

  a little lip gloss.

  That’s it. Okay?”

  I nod again,

  smiling, relieved.

  Still feeling ridiculous, though,

  but at least

  Glory didn’t laugh.

  Practice Does Not Make Perfect

  Today

  it’s layup shots

  for Caden.

  Of course,

  he sti
nks at this.

  One of these days,

  I’m going to have to tell him so.

  I just don’t know how.

  Useful Noise

  Back home,

  I sprint ahead,

  take two stairs

  at a time,

  duck into the bathroom

  and lock the door.

  Just before I switch on

  the shower,

  Caden yells,

  “Hey! How did I do today?”

  I turn the water on

  full blast.

  “Sorry!” I yell back.

  “I can’t hear you!”

  Hair

  I step from the shower,

  catch sight of my wild mane

  in the mirror.

  Something makes me pause,

  capture a damp curl in my fingers,

  and pull.

  Wonder what I’d look like

  if I gave up my usual ponytail

  for braids?

  Scar

  Some monstrous thing

  crawled under my skin last night

  while I was sleeping,

  something hideous that left

  a bulging bump on the middle

  of my cheek.

  This thing’s the size

  of Kilimanjaro,

  so it’s not like

  I can hide it.

  With my luck,

  Santiago will notice me today,

  and how exactly

  am I supposed to

  explain this thing away?

  Enough

  Today,

  I push Caden into a game

  with the neighborhood boys

  so he can see

  just how bad he is.

  A half hour in

  he’s swimming in sweat

  from chasing up and down the court,

  bruised from one too many

  body blows

  from playing guard,

  mad from losing his grip

  on the ball

  each time he manages

  to get his hand on it

  for a second.

  I shake my head

  and yell, “Time!”

  then pull him aside.

  Give it up

  is what I’m thinking.

  Instead, I say,

  “Go home, Caden.

  Just—go home.”

  He clenches his fist,

  glares at me,

  and stomps off the court.

  The Plan

  The next day,

  Caden shows up at my door,

  stares silently for the longest.

  “What?” I finally ask.

  “I thought you got it, Joy.

  I thought you understood

  why I need to learn that game.”

  I sigh, set aside

  Bridge to Terabithia,

  and tell my little brother

  what he doesn’t want to hear.

  “You’re okay at sports, Caden,

  but your heart’s just not in it

  and that shows.”

  Now it’s Caden’s turn to sigh.

  “I know. I just thought—

  since Dad—

  you know.”

  We both sit silent

  till an idea comes to me.

  “Hey! Dad’s birthday

  is coming up soon.

  Why not do a drawing for him?

  You’re so good at that,” I say.

  Caden rolls his eyes.

  “No, seriously.

  Do a portrait of him.

  He’ll really look at it this time.

  Trust me. He doesn’t want

  to make Mom mad.”

  “Maybe,” says Caden.

  “I bet he’ll love it.

  You could even do it from

  one of his favorite photos.

  Like that old one

  when he was captain

  of his basketball team.”

  I can see Caden’s wheels

  start to turn.

  “You think so?”

  I don’t answer.

  I just smile.

  Seven Kinds of Sorry

  The next game

  of one on one with Jake

  is not what it used to be,

  not half as rough

  or wordless.

  It’s got a new vocabulary

  with seven kinds of sorry.

  Jake says it every time

  he knocks into me on the court

  or grazes my leg

  or if our chests bump

  when we both jump

  for the hoop,

  him trying to score,

  me trying to steal the ball,

  or vice versa.

  Sorry.

  Sorry.

  Sorry!

  I wish he’d come up

  with some other way to say

  I didn’t mean

  to touch you that way.

  I wish he’d quit

  saying it

  at all.

  Looking Back

  I sit in my room

  at my desk

  flipping the wings

  of one of the model airplanes

  Jake and I

  used to build together.

  So what if I was a girl,

  he was a boy?

  Life was simple then.

  There was no weirdness.

  We were just—friends.

  I’m Texting as Fast as I Can

  “I’m missing U, KeeLee.”

  “Me 2 U.”

  “Coming to the girls game today?

  We’re playing Woodruff MS.”

  “Can’t. Choir.”

  “Bummer.”

  “I know.”

  This is a new dance

  for KeeLee and me.

  We still haven’t learned

  all the steps.

  Woodruff Never Had a Chance

  Thirty seconds on the clock,

  I block out screams

  from the bleachers,

  power downcourt,

  get in place for a pass

  from Glory.

  Ball in hand,

  I feint left,

  feint right,

  push forward,

  work the poor girl

  guarding me

  into a lather,

  then fly for the net

  and swoosh!

  I’m so hot

  it hurts!

  If only Santiago

  could see me.

  Kudos

  I feel a pat

  on the back,

  turn and find Jake

  grinning enough

  for the both of us.

  “Not bad, kid,” he says.

  “Glad to see

  you remember everything

  I taught you.”

  I give him

  a little shove.

  “You wish!” I say.

  “Why didn’t you tell me

  you were coming?”

  “There’s this thing

  called a surprise.

  Have you heard of it?”

  That earns Jake

  an eye roll,

  but he just ignores it.

  “I don’t see any

  earrings or lipstick.

  That must mean

  you’re not expecting

  Santiago.”

  I shoot Jake a look

  that shuts him up.

  He raises his hands in surrender.

  “See you later,” says Jake.

  All he gets from me

  is a nod.

  Obsessed

  I spend the morning

  noticing hair:

  straight, curly,

  wavy, dreads,

  braids, twists.

  It’s like I’m shopping

  for the style that’s right

  for me.

  Then later, I see Santiago,

  whos
e brown curls are

  too beautiful for words.

  In the packed cafeteria,

  I sneak up behind him,

  stroke his hair,

  and race past him so fast

  I crash into a support beam

  I never even noticed was there.

  That was hours ago

  and the roomful of laughter

  is still ringing in my ears.

  Reminiscing

  Don’t know what makes parents

  decide to reminisce,

  but tonight Mom turns up

  in my doorway

  in the mood.

  “When I was a girl,

  I loved to climb trees,” she says.

  I look out at the lifeless

  lampposts that fill

  our street, our city,

  and wonder where.

  “Then one day,” Mom drones on,

  “I just didn’t feel like

  scrambling up trees anymore,

  and it was okay,

  you know?”

  I nod, thinking,

  There’s got to be a point

  in there somewhere.

  I just can’t figure out

  what.

  The Hang-Up

  All evening

  I think about calling Jake,

  about telling him what happened

  with me crashing into

  that support beam.

  It’s the sort of thing

  we used to laugh about.

  Only this time

  the girl in the story

  is me.

  I pick up the phone,

  then put it down again.

  I love my friend, but

  the last thing I need

  is to mention anything

  that has to do with Santiago.

  Jake doesn’t need to know

  what kind of crazy girl

  that boy has turned me into.

  Huddle

  I don’t like the strangeness

  between Jake and me lately,

  so when Mom mentions

  he hasn’t been over for dinner

  in a while

  I invite him.

  Everything seems normal again,

  him kicking me under the table,

  chewing with his mouth wide open

  so only I can see,

  both of us sticking our tongues out

  at our plates

  like we did when we were eight.

  Later, washing dishes,

  I ask why he’s the same old Jake

  when he comes over for dinner

  but all weird

  when we play basketball these days.