Calli Be Gold (13 page)

“Perfect!” Tanya exclaims. Her desk is still next to mine, unfortunately. We won’t change desks until after break. “I’m leaving that Friday for Mexico,” she says. I’m not sure if she’s talking to me or just to the general air around her. “I’m filming a commercial, so my family gets a free trip. How cool is that?”

I wonder if she expects me to answer. I look at her teeth. Maybe she got the toothpaste commercial after all. Tanya glances over at me, as if daring me to say that I have something better planned over break, which, of course, I do not.

Tanya jiggles her hand in the air. “Mrs. Lamont! Don’t forget that Ashley and I need to plug something in for our display. Of course, I need to talk to her, but I’m pretty sure I know what we’ll be doing.”

“I didn’t forget, Tanya.” Mrs. Lamont still has her shoes on, since it’s the morning, but even so, I can see that today her socks have little green and red frogs on them.

Mrs. Lamont picks up a stack of papers and asks Wanda and me to hand them out to the class. “Be sure to give your families these flyers about the date and time of the Friendship Fair,” she says.

“The fair is going to be so much fun,” Wanda whispers as we start passing out the flyers.

“Yeah.” I wonder if Noah and I are going to have anything to show. We’re supposed to come up with ideas this week.

Tanya takes a flyer and actually says thank you. She scans it, then raises her hand again. “Mrs. Lamont,” she says, frowning, “I don’t see a diagram of the booths.”

“Mrs. Bezner and I will randomly assign booths that night when the gym is set up,” Mrs. Lamont says.

“Randomly assign?” Tanya repeats, as if she’s never heard of that concept.

“Well, yes.”

“If it’s all right, I’d like to request a certain space in the gym.”

Mrs. Lamont raises her eyebrows like she is trying not
to look annoyed. “Write me a note, Tanya,” she says. “And I’ll see what I can do.”

Wanda rolls her eyes. “Do you think her hair is really that color, or she dyes it?” she whispers to me.

I shrug and continue down the row of desks with the flyers.

Wanda narrows her eyes. “I bet it’s dyed.”

When I get home, the first thing I do is take a yellow Post-it and write
Friendship Fair 7 p.m.
Then I pull a stool from the counter over to the Calendar. I climb up and find the right Thursday.

I see a pink Post-it and a blue one already on that day. Becca’s says
skating competition, time TBA,
and Alex’s says
home game, 5:30 p.m.

I’m standing there atop the stool, holding my measly yellow Post-it, when I hear Mom’s voice behind me. “Calli! Be careful! What are you doing?”

“I have something to put on the Calendar.” I turn, waving the Post-it. Then something awful happens. My foot slips. The stool shakes. Then it topples out from under me and I go flying through the air. As I’m falling, I desperately clutch at something. The Calendar. I hit the kitchen floor with a big corner piece of it in one hand and my little yellow Post-it in the other.

Mom lets out a scream. “Are you okay?”

I stand up sheepishly and rub my side. “I’m fine.”

She looks me over. “You sure you’re not hurt? Can you walk? Do you feel dizzy?” She puts a hand on my forehead.

“Mom, I’m fine.”

She sets the stool upright, then slowly gazes up at the Calendar.

“I’m sorry,” I say with a gulp.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she whispers. She reaches for the corner I’ve torn from the Calendar, then opens a drawer and takes out a roll of tape. She fits the ripped section back into place, then secures it with several long pieces of tape. A few Post-its fluttered to the floor when I fell. She picks those up and firmly places them back on the correct dates.

“I don’t think I could live without this calendar,” she says with a nervous chuckle. “What were you doing up there, anyway?”

“Here,” I say, handing her my Post-it. “This goes on the Thursday before winter break.”

“What is it?” Mom looks at the note.

I reach inside my backpack and pull out the flyer. “This explains everything. It’s a big thing at school. We’re doing this Friendship Fair with our second-grade peers. Part of the Peer Helper Program. Remember I told you about it?”

“Oh,” she says, and takes the flyer from me, reads it, then holds my Post-it up to the Calendar. She sticks
it just below Becca’s and Alex’s, then turns to me. “Honestly, Calli, I don’t know how we’re going to squeeze this in.”

I stare at her, unable to speak. My heart starts to pound.

“Becca has her first competition, and the Lady Reds will be there. And this is a crucial game for Alex,” she says. “Those things were already on the Calendar.”

I cross my arms. “So?”

“Well, let me think.” She rubs her forehead. “We certainly can’t be in three places at once … and I don’t even know the exact time of the competition at this point. I guess Dad and I can split up, and one of us can bring you to the fair when either the game or the competition ends.”

Something inside me boils up, and my skin gets hot and prickly. My voice rushes out like I’m not in control of it. “I can’t be late. And are you saying either you or Dad wouldn’t come? All the other families will be there. This is something important! To me! Don’t you understand?”

I grab my backpack and stomp upstairs, then slam the door to my room. I start kicking and throwing pillows and stuffed animals off my bed; then I thrash around and mess up my comforter. Even though my lip is quivering and my eyes feel watery, I promise myself I won’t cry.

Finally, when I feel tired out, I hang upside down from the bed with my head nearly touching the carpet. I dig deep inside me and find the courage to whisper the truth. “Sometimes I really hate this family.”

No one calls me for dinner. Maybe they forgot about me. Maybe Mom cautioned everyone to let me cool off. She’s big on that when someone has a fit. At six-thirty, I decide to go downstairs. Everyone is in their usual seats and Mom is putting a plate of chicken on the table. Before I sit down, I glance at the taped-up Calendar and I’m happy to see that my yellow Post-it has not been removed. Yet.

Dad has already started the ABC game and Alex is telling him something about a new basketball play. Mom slides a piece of chicken onto my dish as Dad moves on to Becca.

“My L.A. teacher said only one student got a hundred on the pronoun quiz, and that one student was me,” Becca declares proudly.

“Way to go.” Dad nods, then turns to me.

I have that boiling, prickly feeling again.

“Number three?” He raises his eyebrows. “Your turn.”

That does it.

I take a deep breath. “I have an actual, real, important activity that I put on the Calendar today, but it seems that this family is too busy to care about me or anything that I might want to do.”

The four of them stare at me.

Becca glances toward the wall and says, “What happened to the Calendar?”

“Why is Becca’s and Alex’s stuff more important than my fair?” I cry.

No one says anything.

“All this family cares about is what everyone can do, not how people feel.” I stand up and march out of the kitchen. Even though I’m really hungry, I decide not to eat so they will feel even more awful.

As I’m going upstairs, I hear Becca mutter, “What’s up with her?”

A few minutes later, after I’ve cried about a thousand tears (I couldn’t hold them back this time), there’s a light knock on my bedroom door. Mom walks in and sits down next to me on the bed.

“Calli,” she starts.

“Don’t talk to me,” I yell. “I don’t want to hear your reasons why I have to be late and you can’t come.” I stuff my face in a mushy pillow.

She pats me on the back. “All I came up to tell you is that we’ll find a way to work it out,” she says, smoothing my hair. “You know, these are good problems to have. It’s good to be busy. That’s what life’s all about.”

No, I think, that’s not what life is all about. “I’m going to the fair. I’m not going to be late either. We have to be there an hour before to set up.”

Mom stares at me.

“I’m not going with one of you to the game or the competition,” I say. “I’m going to the fair. I don’t care if any of you come or not, but I’m going.”

ow not only is Becca acting cool around me, Mom is too. I don’t know what’s happening to me. It’s like quiet Calli is being taken over by a mad, emotional Calli who keeps having outbursts. And every day when I walk into the kitchen, the rip in the Calendar is a reminder of my tantrums. The worst part is that there’s no one to talk to about all this. Not Becca, never Becca. Alex is busy with basketball, and as close as I am with Wanda and Claire, they don’t really understand what life is like in my family. It would be nice to have someone who would get it without my having to explain.

At school, Mrs. Lamont tells us that we’re having a shortened gym period so we can get together with our peers and plan the Friendship Fair. I’m happy because I’ll
get to see Noah, and gym is not my favorite subject. We still have to change into our gym shoes, though.

This turns out to be a waste, because all we do is sit and listen. Ms. Pector informs us that after winter break, we will be starting the health unit. Today is a little overview.

“Puberty,” Ms. Pector begins, and the boys immediately erupt into fits of laughter. “Quiet!” she commands. “Puberty is a time of wonder,” she continues. “We will be learning about the remarkable changes that will be happening to each and every one of you.”

From the corner of my eye, I catch Wanda sneaking a peek at her chest. Claire pokes her in the back. Tanya Timley is sitting up straight and tall in front of me, and when I look at the back of her shirt, this time I do see the outline of a bra.

I point it out to Wanda, who gasps. Claire jabs both of us.

Ms. Pector is saying these embarrassing, private words with no shame, and all the boys are laughing again, plus snorting and slapping their legs. Jason starts chanting the word “uterus” over and over, making it sound like he’s cheering for the uterus team. Pretty soon all the boys are chanting it along with him. “U-ter-us! U-ter-us!”

Ms. Pector blows her whistle loudly and the boys stop. “Might I remind you,” she says, “that you will be tested on all of this information, so it
is
to be taken seriously.”

With the boys still whispering, “U-ter-us,” we walk to Mrs. Bezner’s room, and when we get inside, I see that Noah’s chair is empty. I find him under his desk.

I duck underneath and I’m about to ask him why he’s there, but he pulls a deck of cards from his pocket—the most tattered, worn deck of cards I’ve ever seen.

“Want to see a trick?” he asks.

“Sure.”

I know we’re supposed to be talking about the fair, but I watch as Noah fans out the deck. “Pick a card.”

I pull one out; then he closes up the deck, has me stick my card in the middle, and shuffles. Noah starts laying out cards on the floor. “Is this your card?” He points to the seven of spades.

“No,” I say.

He nods. “This one?” The three of hearts.

I shake my head.

“Right,” he says, “because it’s this one.” He holds up the two of diamonds.

“That’s it,” I reply. “How did you do that?”

“I can’t tell you.” He gathers up the cards and stuffs the deck back into his pocket.

“That was amazing, Noah!”

The two of us sit there for a while. I can hear the others planning away.

“So,” I say, “do you have any ideas of what we can do for the Friendship Fair?”

He makes a face at me.

“Let me guess,” I say. “You’re not good at thinking of ideas.”

He nods, but I think I see a little smile too.

“Is that why you’re back under here?” I ask softly.

“Maybe.” He looks down at the carpet.

“Let’s try to think of something together. We have to think of
something,
or else you and I are going to have an empty table the night of the fair.”

“Why do we have to?” Noah asks.

“Well, everyone else is, and besides, maybe it will be fun. Did you ever think about that?”

He doesn’t say anything. A feeling of panic creeps into my stomach. After I made that big scene with my family, now I’m not going to have a booth even if a miracle happens and they do manage to come. “Everyone is thinking of ideas,” I say, peeking out from under the desk.