Bending Over Backwards (3 page)

“No one would ever listen to you,” Alex said. He gulped his water in that glub-glub way he knows annoys me.

“Be quiet,” I said.

“La, la, la, la!” Alex sang. Then he smacked his lips together. That grosses me out more than his gulping.

“Both of you!” Mom sighed. “Really now, Alex, you're a senior in high school.”

“Molly's in middle school. Don't treat her like the innocent baby,” he said. “She started it.”

“Oh, please!” I cried. “You just bother me because you have lame friends.”

“Molly!” Mom cried. “Stop that!”

Alex doesn't care if I make fun of his red, bristly hair or his smelly deodorant, so I tease him about his friends, because sometimes that bothers him. Sisters know these things.

“Ah, but that's where you are wrong,
Mollster
.” Alex grinned in his lopsided way. “All has changed at Hillsbury High.”

“Seriously?”

Alex nodded smugly. Mom turned to stare too. Since the divorce, Alex had been really moody. He grunted more than he spoke, and he didn't seem to have many friends. Mom called it a phase and said it would pass. I hoped she was right. I'd never tell Alex, but even with his moodiness, I thought he was pretty great.

“Seriously.” Alex pushed his plate away and stood. “The kids here are cool. I'm meeting some of them at the library now.”

“Hold up,” Mom said. “You need to clear the table before you go anywhere. We talked about this, right? If I'm going to work these long hours, everyone has to do their part.”

Alex grumbled as he gathered the plates and glasses.

I tried to make sense of what I'd heard. My shy, unfriendly brother had made friends on the first day. What about me? Had I made friends? I wasn't sure. Roseann hadn't said anything else to me all day.

Mom reached over and ruffled my hair. “It's just the first day, sweetie,” she said, as if reading my mind. “Great things are going to happen. You'll see.”

I thought about Eden and her mom's blog. I wasn't supposed to wait for great things. I was supposed to make them happen. I was supposed to grab happiness.

“I met this woman at work today,” Mom continued.
“She's not in my department, but I saw her in the bathroom.”

“You made a friend in the toilet,” I teased.

“Yes, my bathroom buddy.” Mom grinned. “She said she has a daughter your age in your school. The girl's name is Sheila. How about I arrange a playdate?”

“A playdate?” I cringed. “Alex is right. I'm not a baby. I don't want a playdate with a stranger.”

“I thought it would make meeting friends easier,” Mom said. “And she's not really a stranger.”

“No offense, Mom, but everyone here is a stranger.”

“It takes time,” she reminded me as she stood to wipe down the table.

I looked at the clock. Back in Arizona, with the three-hour time difference, Eden would just be getting out of school. I thought about Roseann. “Thanks, Mom, but I've got the friend thing covered. Right now, I need to make a call.”

All I could think about was lunch.

All morning long, as the teachers began to actually teach, I counted down the minutes.

And I wasn't even hungry.

In first period social studies, Roseann had leaned over and whispered, “Eat with us.”

“Okay! Great!” I'd planned to ask her that same thing. Eden and I had worked out how I should say it. Now I didn't have to. Big relief. I didn't know who “us” was, but it didn't matter. I was sitting with
Roseann
.

Now my eyes swept across the huge lunchroom, slowly filling with sixth graders. Roseann wasn't here. Kids jostled to get around me. Standing frozen in the doorway wasn't good, I realized. I wanted to look confident. I had to look as if I belonged.

I joined the line snaking out of the food area. Breathing in the tangy odor, I smelled something with
tomato sauce. I groaned and glanced down at my white sweater. I wasn't good with messy foods.

When I'd told Eden how preppy Roseann dressed, we decided I should look the part too. I didn't own any super-preppy clothes. My style was more funky—skinny jeans, colorful shirts with studs or other embellishments, and high-tops. Mom came to the rescue with a cable-knit golf sweater she rarely wore. I paired it with skinny pink jeans, but the sweater was kind of huge on me. Now I pushed up the sleeves. At least my cuffs would be free from stains.

“You have no fear! I like it!” said a familiar squeaky voice behind me.

I turned to Shrimp. “Fear of what?”

“School lunch.” Shrimp wrinkled her freckled nose. “Marlo's older sister warned us. Marlo brought a sandwich from home, but my mom's not a sandwich maker. Well, she is, but she smears hummus and cucumbers on pita bread and thinks that's a sandwich. She won't make my favorite. Nutella and banana. She says chocolate spread isn't healthy.”

“You like Nutella too?” I squealed. “I make the best Nutella sandwich with cream cheese and strawberries.”

Shrimp considered my combo as the line moved forwards. “I'd totally eat that.”

We both gazed at the hot-lunch option in front of us. Ravioli drowning in watery tomato sauce.

“Yes or no?” demanded a pinched-face, gray-haired woman. She plunged a big spoon into the vat, sending a spray of sauce onto the clear food guard that separated us. No question. I'd be wearing that sauce.

“No thanks.” I slid my tray down towards the vanilla yogurts and bagels. All white foods. All safe.

“Wait! Stop!” Shrimp cried.

I pulled my hand away from a plastic-wrapped bagel.

“I've got it!” Shrimp bounced on her toes. She was always in motion. “Nutella-filled ravioli. Tell me that isn't the best.”

“Hot Nutella? Yum!” I agreed, and took the bagel. “But what about the sauce?”

As Shrimp and I both gave the checkout lady our school numbers to pay, she said, “Hot fudge?”

I shook my head. “Too much chocolate.”

Shrimp balanced her tray against her hip. I liked how she'd paired a polka-dot shirt with striped leggings and plaid sneakers.

“I know!” she cried. “Strawberry sauce. Then they'd look like the real thing.”

“Can you imagine if we switched out the school ravioli with ours?” I asked.

“Hysterical!” Shrimp agreed. “We could—”

At that moment, Roseann stood and waved me over to a table in the center of the room. “See you later, okay?” I said to Shrimp.

“Sure thing,” Shrimp agreed. She turned and headed towards a table against the wall. I recognized some of the girls from the assembly. Then she turned back. “Do you want to sit—?”

“I'm good,” I said before she could finish. I didn't want her to think I was snubbing her.

“Okey-dokey, artichokey!” Shrimp called. “Wait! How about holy moley, ravioli?”

I laughed. Shrimp sure was silly!

Roseann scooted down to make room for me. The table was packed, but I wasn't surprised. I slid between her and a girl named Miranda, who smelled like oranges and had blue rubber bands in her braces. A tall girl named Grace sat across from us. She tucked her white-blond hair behind her ears and eyed me curiously.

“Do you ride Western?” she asked. “I take horseback riding lessons, but I ride English. Everyone does out here.”

“I've never been on a horse,” I admitted.

“That's not possible. Roseann said you're from Arizona,” she protested. “Don't you live on a ranch?”

“Nope.” I shrugged.

“How about donkeys?” Miranda asked. “We rode them when we visited the Grand Canyon.”

“No donkeys. Sometimes I rode my bike to school,” I offered. “Bikes are much easier. You don't have to feed them, and they don't poop.”

Miranda giggled, and Roseann said hi to the teacher patrolling the tables. Grace screwed up her face and asked more questions. She seemed to be having trouble understanding that I lived nowhere near the Grand Canyon or a ranch. She asked about cacti, but what's there really to say about a prickly plant?

Roseann changed the subject from Arizona to a scavenger hunt they all did last week at the town pool. Was she trying to save me from Grace's questions, or had my talk about Arizona been boring?

Nibbling my bagel, I tried to follow along. Something about a missing beach towel and a scoop of ice cream that fell off a cone. And then something about a cute lifeguard.

“Did you see the way Red Hair was staring at you-know-who?” Miranda asked.

“She's so obvious,” Roseann agreed, biting into a cheese sandwich. “He didn't care. He's into that girl who teaches the Minnows.”

“Did you know the Minnow teacher is going to help when the Eagles practice on Saturday?” Grace asked.

“Oh good!” Miranda clapped her hands. “She's much better than Braid Head.”

Minnows helping Eagles? Braid Head? Were they speaking in code? I wanted to join in, but I had no idea what to say.

“Braid Head wasn't too bad.” Roseann waved at two girls all in black who passed by. Then three boys said hi to her. I couldn't get over how many kids and teachers greeted Roseann. All different kinds from all different groups. She was the rock star of the middle school.

“That's because you were her favorite player,” Miranda pointed out.

“Roe is everyone's favorite,” Grace said. She sounded proud of her friend. Not jealous.

“Except Mr. Sabel,” Roseann said. “He cringed when he read my name yesterday. He wasn't a big fan of Kate and Lauren, either. Luckily, he liked Chrissy.”

I couldn't take it anymore. “Who're Kate, Lauren, and Chrissy?” At least these names sounded human.

“The Bleeker sisters,” Miranda explained. “Roseann and her sisters are legends here. The royal family of Hillsbury.”

“No, we're not,” Roseann said.

“Yes, they are,” Miranda mouthed to me.

“How many sisters do you have?” I asked.

“Four. Kate's in eighth grade, Lauren's in tenth, Chrissy's in twelfth, and Jane's still in fourth.”

“Is
that
why all the teachers here know you?”

“It would be impossible not to. The famous Bleeker sisters all look alike,” Grace said. I imagined a row of five pretty girls with Roseann's long chestnut-brown hair, dark blue eyes, and thick eyelashes.

“And they're all supergood at everything,” Miranda added.

“We are not!” Roseann cried. She wasn't being modest. I could see she meant it, and I liked her even more for that. Roseann wasn't stuck up.

Over the next couple of days, I discovered that the Bleeker sisters truly were amazing. Photos of winning sports teams, cast lists from school plays, science fair prizes, and good citizenship awards covered the wall by the principal's office. The sisters owned that wall. They were easy to spot, not only because they all looked alike, but because they all had that same sparkle. I couldn't stop staring at them. Sometimes I pretended I was lost, just to go down that hallway.

Alex was okay as far as brothers go, but I'd always
wanted a sister. Roseann had four beautiful, smart, perfect sisters. She wasn't only an It Girl. She came from an It Family. How cool was that?

As the days went on, all I could think about was Roseann. She'd continued to save a spot for me at lunch. That was good, I knew, but she hadn't texted me at all. I'd texted her twice and she had answered both times, but she hadn't started a conversation.

Don't be silly,
I kept telling myself.
Texts don't mean anything.

“Maybe I'm not exciting enough,” I'd told Eden during our video chat last night.

“You are so weird.” Eden polished her nails sea-foam green while we talked.

“Not as weird as you!” I teased. “Seriously, though.”

“Tell her something about you that will stand out. Be interesting,” Eden said.

“Like what? What's interesting?”

“You can gargle water and sing the alphabet,” she suggested.

I shook my head. “Not exciting enough.”

“You wrote and illustrated an entire book?”

I had, but it was a children's book. A Dr. Seuss–type
thing I did to make Eden's little sister laugh.

“Bigger. I need something bigger,” I insisted.

And that's how I came to say what I said the next day at lunch.

I sat at the table with my usual bagel. I'd gotten used to not understanding their inside jokes, but I was picking up on nicknames. The girls called Miranda Flick, and another girl with tons of woven friendship bracelets and a Spanish accent who sat with us was called Striker. I had no idea why.

“The Eagles is our field hockey team,” Roseann finally explained. “We all play. Do you?”

“No. I don't know anyone who plays field hockey back home,” I admitted. The girls in Arizona were more into volleyball.

They eagerly described the game. Miranda was called Flick because she was queen of flicking the ball into the goal. A striker was a position on the field. Defense, I think. Striker's real name was Anna.

Then all they did was talk about field hockey. About plays. About who made the A team and who made the B team. About a tournament sometime soon in Delaware.

I pretended to be interested. I didn't mention that I hate sports where you have to run up and down chasing a ball. I was the kid who turned cartwheels in the field during T-ball and kindergarten soccer.

Squeezed between Roseann and Flick, I felt as exciting as the colorless bagel on my tray. What had happened to my sparkle?

Roseann's eyes twinkled as she recalled how she and Grace had worked together to score. “They should give gold medals for goals like that.” Roseann pointed at Grace. Grace pointed back. Another inside joke.

“I won a gold medal last year,” I blurted. “Actually, I've won a bunch.”

Roseann tilted her head towards me, suddenly interested. “For what?”

“Gymnastics.” I plunged ahead. “I'm a gymnast.”

“That's so cool. Are you good?” Roseann asked.

“Yeah.” I wasn't lying. I really was a gymnast. And I was good.

“How good?” Grace asked. She liked sports, I knew that.

“Pretty good.” I thought back to Eden last night.
Think big. Be interesting.
“I was the best in my gym.”

“Wow!” Grace seemed impressed. “So you can do flips and all that?”

“I can. I was working on some really hard stuff before I left.” I went on to describe some of the tricks I can do. I told them about the back-handspring contest where I did eight in a row. I would've done more, but the wall got in my way. As I spoke, the energy around me shifted. I had their interest. I had
Roseann's
interest.

“So did you find a new gym here?” she asked.

Luckily, my mom had. “Today's my first day. I'm pretty excited. The next level I'm working towards is huge.”

“Big-time huge?” Roseann focused on only me now.

“Very big-time,” I agreed, getting into my role in the spotlight.

“Do you mean . . . ? Are you training for the
top
?” Roseann asked, her whispery voice rising.

I leaned back a little, trying to look casual. “I always work to be the best. I'm going
allllll
the way.”

“All the way?” Roseann cried.

“TV! You'll be on TV!” Miranda exclaimed.

Wait. What? What was she talking about? I wondered.

“Trials come first, Flick,” Roseann explained. “Lots of other competitions too. And training camps, right, Molly?”

“Uh, totally,” I said, unsure what she too was getting at.
What camps? Was this another one of their inside jokes?

“We watch the Olympics like crazy people in my house. It's a total obsession,” Roseann said.

“Me too,” I agreed. “I set up camp in front of the screen when gymnastics is on.”

“How amazing is it that you're training for it? I never knew anyone who did that.”

“Training for . . . ?” My brain tried to piece together the words, but I was too slow. Everyone began talking at once. About me. About gymnastics. About me going . . . to the
Olympics
?

My mouth hung open. The closest thing I had was a gold medal from the Desert Flower Olympic Festival at our gym in April. But that didn't count. Our local competition was miles—no, worlds—away from the real thing.

Roseann slung her arm protectively around my shoulder. “Chill out, folks, and stop bothering Molly. She's new. She's training for the Olympics. She has a lot going on.”

The questions stopped, but not the smiles.

“Gold Medal Girl,” Roseann announced.

“Huh?”

“I just came up with that. Isn't it cute for you? Gold Medal Girl.” She gave my shoulder a friendly squeeze.

I didn't know what to say. I was conflicted. I'd made myself the center of Roseann's attention, but not in a good way. In a not-exactly-true way.