Planet Middle School (3 page)

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.

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.”