Planet Middle School Read online

He shrugs. “That’s different,” he says.

  “Why?”

  “Because, you know. You are.”

  I argue.

  “I’m the same me

  I’ve always been.”

  “No,” says Jake, shaking his head.

  “Now, you’re—”

  “A girl?” I finish for him.

  “Exactly!” he says.

  “Big whoop!

  I’ve always been a girl, Jake.”

  “I know,” he says. “But now

  you look like one.”

  I drop a dish back in the sink,

  send bubbles flying.

  “Yeah, well,” I tell Jake,

  “get over it!”

  Just Like Old Times

  The old Caden is back,

  him with his nose in a book

  or sketching every time

  I turn around,

  while I’m busy

  slamming the backboards.

  One Saturday, Dad says,

  “It’s a beautiful day out there, son,”

  like Caden can’t see that.

  “Don’t you want to go play ball?”

  Caden shakes his head,

  carefully shading

  the face he’s just drawn.

  “No thanks,” he tells Dad,

  who immediately

  starts to frown.

  “Joylin plays enough

  for the both of us.”

  Lonely Lobes

  One morning

  I wash my face

  then study my reflection

  trying to figure out

  what’s missing.

  I pull my hair back

  and there’s the answer.

  I run to my parents’ room,

  bang on the door, and yell,

  “Mom! I need to get

  my ears pierced!”

  I hear her whisper,

  “Finally!”

  Pierced

  My new twelve-carat

  gold studs gleam

  even in the fake glow

  of the lunchroom lights.

  They sparkle and scream

  “Look at me! Look at me!”

  At least, they’d better

  since every time

  I turn those stupid things

  to help keep the holes open

  until they completely heal,

  I feel the burn.

  Studs

  I jog onto the court

  dribble back and forth

  to warm up while I wait for Jake.

  He sneaks up behind me

  and steals the ball.

  He’s all ready to play

  till he looks at me

  and catches a flash of gold.

  “Earrings, Joy?

  You’re wearing earrings now?”

  “So?”

  “You never wear earrings,” says Jake.

  “It’s no big deal,” I say.

  Jake palms the ball and stares at me.

  “I know why you’re doing this,” he says.

  “Doing what?”

  “The earrings, the hair, the lipstick.

  It’s all about Santiago.”

  “I don’t know

  what you’re talking about.”

  I can play dumb

  with the best of them.

  “I see the way you act

  when he’s around,” says Jake.

  “You suddenly start

  messing with your hair

  and pulling on your clothes

  to make sure they’re straight.”

  Jake doesn’t usually talk much,

  so when he does, his words hang heavy.

  I jog in place, impatient

  to change the subject.

  Truth or consequences

  is not my game.

  Besides, I can’t talk to Jake

  about Santiago.

  He’d only laugh.

  I smack the ball out of Jake’s hand.

  “Are we gonna play or not?”

  Jake shakes his head,

  snatches the ball,

  and drives it to the hoop.

  It’s all ball and no talk after that,

  which suits me just fine.

  Doubt

  Time for school photos again.

  I clutter my bed

  with outfit rejects

  and turn to KeeLee for

  a little assistance.

  “Who are you?” she asks me.

  “And what have you done

  with my friend?”

  “What do you mean?”

  KeeLee sighs.

  “You used to know exactly

  what you wanted

  to wear

  to do

  to listen to.

  But these days,

  you can’t even choose

  what to eat for lunch.”

  I shrug, like it’s no biggie,

  except she’s right.

  At least, I think she is.

  Or maybe not.

  I can’t decide.

  School Photos

  Flash those pearly whites.

  Pretend you’re a movie star

  except for the zit.

  It’s Not What You Think

  Mom comes in from work,

  catches me watching

  Sex and the City again.

  She snatches the remote

  and switches the screen to black

  before I can blink.

  “You’ve got no business

  watching that show,” she says.

  “I’ve told you that once before.

  What do you find so fascinating

  about that show, anyway?”

  I keep the answer to myself

  so she won’t laugh.

  She’d never guess

  that it’s all about the shoes.

  I keep wondering

  how those girls

  manage to walk

  in those shoes,

  and how on earth

  will I ever learn?

  Behind Closed Doors

  I shuffle into the kitchen

  one morning

  and catch Caden

  bent over his drawing pad.

  Hearing me,

  he slams the thing shut

  (think diary,

  minus the lock and key).

  “Is that Dad’s portrait?”

  I ask.

  “Quiet!” Caden orders.

  “Or you’ll spoil the surprise!”

  I back off, hands in the air

  showing surrender,

  but I’ve got to laugh.

  I could say

  “Hey! It was my idea

  in the first place.”

  But I don’t

  because that would be

  immature.

  Homework

  I.

  Doing homework at KeeLee’s

  can be lonely.

  She’s faster than me

  and usually gets bored

  waiting for me to finish

  so we can just hang out.

  She says she doesn’t mind, though,

  especially since we don’t

  get to see each other as much

  as we used to.

  Today when she’s done

  she jets to the kitchen

  for a snack.

  A few minutes later,

  I decide to take a break

  and join her,

  my mouth watering

  at the thought of chips.

  But I guess

  they’ll have to wait.

  KeeLee’s been busy

  painting her nails.

  She blows on them,

  then flashes her fingers

  in my face.

  “You like?” she asks.

  I nod, then stare down

  at my own nails,

  jagged and dirty.

  Not pretty like KeeLee’s or Glory’s.

>   Not the kind of nails

  a certain boy would notice.

  Before I can think about it too long,

  I hold my hands out toward KeeLee

  and say,

  “Do mine!”

  II.

  KeeLee lets me sort through

  her stash of nail polish colors.

  One is called “Iridescent Black.”

  “You’re kidding me!” I say

  “What?” asks KeeLee.

  “Your dad lets you wear this?”

  “Why wouldn’t he?”

  “Well, I just thought—”

  “Let me guess: You just thought

  a pastor’s kid

  can’t wear black nail polish.

  Or say ‘butt.’ Or wear heels.

  I get it,” snaps KeeLee.

  I whisper, “Sorry,”

  then wait

  for Hurricane KeeLee

  to pass.

  III.

  KeeLee sets out

  the base coat and polish,

  giving herself a minute

  to calm down.

  She opens the first bottle,

  grabs my left hand,

  and works in silence.

  One coat is finished

  before she speaks again.

  “Sorry,” she says.

  “It’s just hard sometimes

  fighting to be myself.

  I get so tired of people

  putting me in a box

  ’cause I’m a pastor’s kid.

  And the thing is,

  God doesn’t even care

  about stuff like

  what color nail polish I wear,

  and neither does my dad.

  He cares about me,

  what kind of person I am inside.”

  Nails still wet,

  I risk giving KeeLee

  a monster hug.

  “I know what kind of person you are,”

  I tell her.

  “The best.”

  Quick Question

  I’m losing a game to Jake,

  his five shots

  to my two.

  Out of the blue,

  he asks,

  “You and KeeLee

  ever talk about me?”

  “Why?”

  “Just wondered,”

  says Jake,

  stealing the ball

  while I’m distracted.

  I ignore his casual tone.

  If he’s got KeeLee

  on the brain,

  there’s more than wondering

  going on.

  I let it go,

  for now.

  Practice

  The house quiet,

  I leave my door open

  certain I’m alone.

  I walk back and forth

  across my room,

  flashing my shiny blue nails,

  trying to swish my hips

  like I’ve seen other girls do.

  I’m pretty sure I’ve got it,

  but I decide to try one more time

  for good measure,

  which is right about when

  I catch sight of Caden’s reflection

  in my mirror.

  He’s standing in the hall,

  grinning,

  shaking his head.

  I slam the door shut wondering

  how long it would take

  my parents to notice

  if I just accidentally

  shoved my brother

  over a cliff.

  Birthday Dinner

  Birthday cake ablaze,

  Dad blows out the candles

  keeping the wish to himself

  if he made one.

  Caden’s wish is no secret.

  He slides his thin present

  across the table and waits,

  jaws clenched so tight

  I hear them squeak.

  I whisper a prayer for him

  then say, “Come on, Dad!

  Open it already!”

  He finally frees a frame

  from the wrapping

  and stares down

  at his portrait.

  The surprise and wonder

  that dance in his eyes

  is a picture all its own.

  He looks up at Caden

  in the hush that follows.

  “Son, you did this?”

  he asks.

  Caden swallows,

  shakes his head

  and I realize

  I’m holding my breath.

  “This is amazing, Caden,”

  says Dad.

  “Thank you.”

  Next thing I know,

  I’m on my feet and clapping

  while my pesky little brother

  takes a bow.

  Better Than Cake

  Dad cuts his cake,

  gives the first piece to Caden.

  A pair of Cheshire cats,

  neither of them

  can stop grinning.

  “Son, you may not be able

  to play basketball

  like your sister,

  but you’ve got a gift

  of your own.”

  Where are my sunglasses?

  My brother’s smile

  is blinding.

  Told You So

  “See what happens

  when you stop trying to be

  someone you’re not,

  when you stick with

  who you really are?

  Good things follow.”

  I’m in my stride now,

  wagging a wise finger

  in my brother’s face.

  “I know,” says Caden.

  “You keep telling me.

  Now quit it.”

  Heels

  Next morning,

  I’m having second thoughts.

  The heels I borrowed from Mom

  are pretty, though.

  Strawberry to match

  my lip gloss,

  my patent-leather pointed toes

  peek from beneath

  my cuffed blue jeans.

  I slip them on just before

  I leave the house

  so Mom won’t have time

  to make a fuss.

  It’s bad enough

  Caden catches me

  and laughs.

  At school,

  I tiptoe down the hall,

  now and then touching the wall

  for support.

  My pinched toes

  make me want to scream

  till Santiago

  comes onto the scene.

  Then I’m all smiles.

  Too bad that’s not

  the last thing I remember.

  A second later,

  my ankle gives way

  and I’m on the floor,

  Santiago holding out a hand

  to help me up,

  which means

  I got half of what

  I wanted:

  I made an impression

  on Santiago.

  Just not

  the right one.

  Run

  After school,

  Jake calls

  asking me to meet him

  for a run.

  I rub my sore ankle

  and wince.

  “No running for me today,”

  I say.

  I just don’t tell him

  why.

  Daydreaming

  I walk into a room

  and Santiago breezes by everyone

  who stands between us.

  He reaches me

  and stares down into my eyes

  like no one else

  is there.

  He cups my face

  in his strong hands,

  leans in close,

  and our lips—

  “Joylin!” says the teacher.

  “Please tell the class

  the answer to the question.”

  “Wha
t?”

  Movie Night

  Movie night,

  our code words for

  hanging out.

  KeeLee comes

  for dinner

  so we have time

  to catch up.

  Jake pops in later.

  “Hey, Joy,” he says,

  then switches voices.

  “Hello, KeeLee.”

  “Hey, Jake,” she says,

  then looks back

  at the television.

  I give Jake

  a sharp look,

  see his eyes

  full of KeeLee,

  and pull him down

  on the couch right

  next to me.

  “Let’s watch a movie,”

  I say, not bothering

  to take a vote.

  I start the movie

  and dim the lights.

  I am not having one of my friends

  make googly eyes

  at the other.

  Forget it.

  The Day After

  KeeLee and I

  find our old table

  in the lunchroom,

  leaving show choir

  and the girls from my team

  on their own.

  “That was weird last night,”

  says KeeLee.

  “What?”

  “You know.

  Jake kept staring at me like

  I don’t know.”

  She looks down at her plate.

  “Like pizza.

  With extra cheese.”

  “Oh. That,” I say.

  Should I tell her?

  I wonder.

  “A while back, he asked me

  if we ever

  talk about him.”

  “When?”

  “I don’t know.

  A few weeks ago,” I say.

  “I think—he likes you.”

  There. I said it.

  “Really?”

  I hate the way she says it,

  twirling a braid

  around her finger.

  “He is kind of cute,” she says.

  “KeeLee!”

  Then she bursts out laughing.

  “I’m just kidding, Joylin.

  You should see your face!

  Look, Jake’s your friend

  and me messing around with him

  would just be too—icky.

  So forget it, okay?”

  I breathe again

  relieved that I’m not going

  to lose one friend

  to another.

  Skirting the Issue

  I charge through the doors

  of a discount clothing store

  on the hunt for a bargain.

  The few dollars I earn doing chores

  will only go so far.