Bending Over Backwards (5 page)

“That is too hysterical!” Eden cried. The sides of her eyes crinkled when she laughed.

“Sure, that's really funny, isn't it? You didn't have brownie on
your
butt.” I tried to sound angry, but I wasn't fooling Eden. Even on the computer screen, she could see my cheeks puff as I held in my giggles.

“I know.” Eden suddenly turned serious. “I wish I was there. No, I wish you were here.” She picked the cuticle of her thumbnail. She always did that when she was worried. “Don't sweat the brownie thing. Roseann sounds cool. She'll roll with it.”

I rested my chin in my hand and stared at Eden. If I reached out, I felt as if I could touch the heart charm she always wore around her neck. But if I tried, my fingers would hit the computer screen. Video chat was amazing, but it was also a cheat.

I adjusted my laptop on the metal table on our
patio. The very beginnings of yellow and red had crept into the leaves on the trees that lined our backyard. I'd never seen the seasons change before. I wondered what our yard would look like in a month. Back where Eden was, it was still too hot to sit outside in the middle of a Saturday in September.

“You need to move on.” Eden was all business now. She twirled a strand of her sun-streaked hair. “You and Roseann are really close to bonding. I sense it.”

“From there you can sense it? Do you have superpowers?” I teased.

“Definitely! I'm Superbestie! I control friendships. I make them! I break them!” Eden flipped her zip-up sweatshirt into a cape. “My power puts fear into girls everywhere!”

I cracked up. Eden and I can always make each other laugh. “So why aren't you working your magic on me, O powerful BFF?”

“Ah, but I am. I have your next assignment.” Eden squinted and leaned into the screen. “Hey, are you listening to me?”

“Yeah, just checking my phone, that's all.” I tucked my cell in the pocket of my jeans. “Roseann might text.”

“Really? That's great!” Eden sounded excited.

“Yesterday, even though I was wearing those
hideous sweats, Roseann and the girls at lunch talked about getting together for fro yo today,” I explained. “They might go after their field hockey practice. Or maybe it's a game. I don't know. She's supposed to text.”

“You totally need to go,” Eden said.

“If she texts.” I was having trouble reading Roseann. Eden was so animated. I never had to guess how she felt about anything, especially me.

“So I made a list.” Eden held up a piece of notebook paper covered with her handwriting in purple pen. “The next step is to join in more.”

“Join how?”

“My mom tells women looking for boyfriends that guys like girls who have similar interests. It gives you something to talk about and do together. I think it works for friends too. Don't you?”

“I guess.” I leaned back in the metal chair and wondered what Roseann and I could do together.

A flash of yellow through the trees caught my eye. Then it was gone.

“You said she does a lot of stuff in school. Clubs and teams.” Eden's voice floated from the computer, but I'd stopped looking at the screen.

The yellow flew by again, then disappeared. What was it? Did they have big yellow birds in New Jersey?

“Moll? Yoo-hoo?” Eden called.

“One sec.” I needed to confirm my Big Bird sighting. I twisted to see better past the corner of our fenced-in yard. The yellow blur flew into sight again. This time I noticed a reddish color too. I stood, and it was gone.

I stepped off the patio. The yellow twisted through the air. A body, not a bird.

A girl, I decided. A girl who could fly!

“Hey, let me call you right back. I have to see something!” I yelled towards the laptop.

The fence that surrounded our yard was twelve feet tall. Bushes and shrubs grew around it, covering the solid brown wood. Every house in our neighborhood had one. You couldn't see into anyone's yard. Mom liked the privacy.

The yellow girl somersaulted through the air, then disappeared.

So weird.

She flew back up. Legs outstretched in an impressive split.

I took a step towards where the fences of four houses met in a corner. The flying girl whizzed up. As she launched into another split, our eyes met.

I knew her!

I waited, but she didn't soar up again.

“Molly? Is that you?” a squeaky voice called from the other side of the fence.

“Shrimp?” I cried. The fence was too tall to see over. “Where are you?”

“Here.” Her voice came from the yard diagonal to ours. “I live here.”

“I live over here. How were you doing that? The flying thing?”

“It's a trampoline! I'm practicing.”

“Practicing for what?” It was strange talking to someone I couldn't see.

“Cheerleading. I'm a flyer on a competitive cheering team.”

“What's a flyer?” I sat on the patchy grass near the fence.

“I'm the top of the pyramid. I stand on shoulders and do flips off. I'm the flyer because I'm tiny.”

“Really? You're short? I never noticed,” I teased.

Shrimp laughed. “I can see how you wouldn't notice. My gram says my personality is bigger than my body. That's a good thing, by the way.”

I told her about training at Top Flight. Turned out, she was at Top Flight Cheer, just around the wall!

“Shhh!” she warned, and lowered her voice. “My little brother is coming. I don't want him to see you. I
love freaking him out. This'll be fun. Play along.”

Uh, okay. I pressed my lips together and heard footsteps approach through the grass. “Who are you talking to?” a boy asked. His small voice grew louder as he ran over.

“N-n-no one.” Shrimp sounded frightened. “I mean, it's a secret.”

“Tell me!” the boy cried. He sounded about six or seven. “I won't tell Mom this time.”

“I don't want to scare you, C.J. It's safer if you don't know.”

“You can't scare me,” C.J. insisted.

“Really? Okay.” Shrimp paused. “There's a ghost in that prickly bush by the fence.”

I heard C.J.'s footsteps move closer. “Where?”

“Whoa, stay away!” Shrimp cried. “It's an angry ghost.”

“How'd you know?”

“Watch what happens. I'm going to take this little pink ball . . .” I grinned as Shrimp spoke. I knew what she was planning. “And I'm going to count to three, then throw it. One . . . two . . . three . . .”

The ball thwacked against the leaves and the fence.

“Oohhhh!” I groaned in my deepest, spookiest voice. “Who goes there?”

“What's that?” C.J. sounded scared.

“I am the Ghost in the Bush. W-w-why have you woken me?” I boomed.

C.J. gulped loudly.

“Help me! Help me get out!” I bellowed in a creepy voice. “I'm trapped!
Ohhh . . .
”

“Mom!” C.J. cried.

“Hey, scaredy cat, it's a joke. Relax. There's no ghost.” Shrimp laughed. “It's Molly.”

“Who's Molly?” C.J.'s voice quavered.

“I am the Ghost in the Bush,” I moaned.

“I'm telling! Mom!” His footsteps pattered away as he ran off.

“That was excellent,” Shrimp choked between giggles. “He was totally shaking.”

“Is he okay? I don't want to get you in trouble,” I said.

“He's fine. He likes being scared. He says he doesn't, but he does. Mom will lecture me, but it was so worth it. And you knew exactly what to do.”

“You set it up great,” I said. “It was like we planned it.”

“Classic! Hey, do you want to come over?”

At that moment, my phone buzzed. I slid it out of my pocket.

Roseann! I wanted to hang with Shrimp, but I wanted to hang with Roseann even more.

“Can we do it another time?” I asked. “I have plans.”

“Sure, no prob, Ugga Bugga!”

“You know about that?” I cried.

“Who doesn't? Why were you bringing brownies to school anyway?” Shrimp asked.

“Long story.” I groaned.

“Tell me later, okay? I'm going back to my trampoline. Out the door, dinosaur!”

“See you!” I called as I ran into my house. In my mind, I worked on ways to beg Alex to drive me to town. He hated chauffeuring me around. I knew he'd complain, but I planned to trade him for some of his chores. I had to see Roseann.

And I had to text Eden.

Our plan to be friends with the It Girl was finally working!

“You look like a wet noodle!” Andre shook his head in frustration.

I swallowed hard and tried my back walkover on the beam again.

Tighten up,
I silently commanded my legs and my stomach.

“Stop! Stop!” Andre cried as my feet touched down in a perfect line on the four-inch-wide beam. “Floppy! Why are you so floppy? Like a rag doll!”

“I don't know.” Daria had never called me floppy. She said our bodies had to flow.

“Again! Again!” Andre folded his arms. “You have a lot to correct.”

“Correct?” I'd only been at the gym for an hour and a half, and already my legs were trembling. He'd had me do vault and now beam. Over and over.

“Everything is wrong. Your feet are too flat.”
Andre continued to list all the parts of me that weren't working—my extension, my posture, my landings. Pretty much everything.

My eyes searched out Sofia. She practiced her leaps alongside the beam, waiting her turn. I shot her a pleading look.

She shrugged and kept on leaping. Each one higher than the one before. Her toes pointed gracefully.

I looked around at the other girls in my group. They'd been friendly earlier in the locker room, but out in the gym, they were all business. No one gave me thumbs-up or an encouraging smile. Each girl concentrated on only her own moves.

Gymnastics had never been lonely at Daria's gym. I missed Eden and the others cheering me on. Even when they did it silently, I knew they were rooting for me.

I was on my own here.

Andre had me do that back walkover twenty-two more times. I didn't give up. No matter what he said, I stayed strong.

I just wished he'd said something nice. Anything.

“Back tuck dismount,” Andre called. “You can do this, no?”

“Sure,” I said. I'd do a flip any day. Especially a
backflip! I hated the slow, stiff moves where I had to point my toes.

I turned a cartwheel, and as my feet hit the beam, I sprang backwards into the air. As my feet landed solidly on the floor, I raised my arms.

I looked expectantly at Andre. I knew that was good.

“Body rounder in the tuck this time,” he said.

My shoulders slumped as I climbed back onto the beam. Daria always said something nice, even if she had tons of corrections to make. How good would I have to be to get praise from Andre?

“That's the way, Kelsey!” he called across the floor as I landed my second back tuck. I lifted my head in time to see Kelsey nail an amazing double salto. This girl was good enough to be on a cereal box!

That's
what it takes,
I thought. I hopped onto the beam again, ready to work harder. I could win Andre's praise.

But by the end of the evening, he had bumped me down a group!

“But . . . but—” I sputtered. How could I be moving backwards?

“First you must fix your positions. You are strong, but you are sloppy.” He handed me over to Nastia's group.

“He knows what he's doing,” Sofia whispered to me
later, as we stretched for our cooldown.

“My old coach thought I was ready for your level.”

“Did your old coach make champions?” Sofia asked.

I'd always believed Daria was the most fantastic coach. We'd had so much fun working out at her gym, putting on random music and making up tumbling routines.

“No,” I admitted. Daria made us smile, but she didn't make champions. She didn't care about perfect body positions.

“You'll tough it out. We all do,” Sofia said as we opened the locker room door.

Screams and laughter hit me like a tidal wave. The gym floor had been so quiet with all the girls concentrating on their moves. The locker room sounded like a slumber party after midnight when everyone was loopy with sugar.

“What's going on?” I asked.

“Cheerleaders.” Sofia grabbed my hand and pulled me into a corner. “They change on that side. We change over here.”

Other girls in red leotards hurried to pull on their warm-ups and slip on shoes.

I couldn't help watching the cheerleaders. They all wore cheer shorts in different bright colors and cute
tank tops. I loved one in purple zebra print and one that spelled
CHEER
in magenta sparkles.

The cheerleaders talked about TV shows and websites. They seemed in no rush. The gymnasts were too tired to talk. We all wanted to go home and collapse. At least I did.

“Think fast, Molly!” Shrimp popped up from behind a bin of sweaty towels and hurled one in my direction.

I ducked. “Gross!” Then I flung it back at her.

Shrimp squealed as it hit her white sneakers. “Hey!”

“You started it!” I realized I hadn't seen Shrimp in school today. We didn't have any of the same classes.

“I did,” she agreed. Shrimp picked up the towel and wiped sweat from her forehead. Her curly hair was pulled into two short braids. She looked cute in black Lycra shorts and an orange racer-back tank. “How was practice?”

I groaned. “Fine.”

“You sound like you went to the dentist or had to take a science test.”

“It's hard,” I explained. I glanced at Sofia. “The coaches expect a lot.”

“You should try cheerleading,” Shrimp suggested. “Right, guys?”

“Woo! Yes! Come cheer!” the girls near us all yelled.

“No way,” I scoffed. “I'm a
serious gymnast. We tough this stuff out.”

Sofia reached over and slapped me a high five. “Serious gymnasts rule.”

“Totally,” I agreed.

“Have fun being serious!” Shrimp grinned as if I'd told a joke.

Was it a joke? I wondered. Could I do this?

I'd never been a serious gymnast before. I'd never been a serious anything before. Seriousness didn't come totally naturally to me, I guess. But I had to try. My entire “new girl” plan was riding on it!

I spent all my time thinking about the Roseann Project. That's what Eden called it when she was trying to sound like her mother. She planned to be a therapist too when she grew up. She always fixed, or tried to fix, our friends' problems, so she'd be good at it.

Roseann and I were getting on great. I no longer had to rush to lunch, because there was no question that I had a place at her table. Miranda, Grace, Anna, and all the other girls greeted me in the halls. Miranda offered to hold my feet when we did sit-ups in gym. We all hung out on the benches outside the frozen yogurt place on Saturday, comparing toppings.

And that was the problem.

The group thing.

Roseann always had a group around her. If not the girls from lunch, then boys who had crushes on her or girls who needed help with their homework or kids who just wanted to be near her. She radiated an energy that drew kids in.

That magic sparkle.

I wanted to be more than part of her group. I wanted to be her best friend.

To do that, I needed alone time.

That's why, on Wednesday, I joined the newspaper staff.

“Be a joiner,” Eden had said.

“You want to write articles?” Roseann beamed at me when I entered Mrs. Murphy's room after school.

“I've never done it, but I thought it would be fun.” I sat next to her. “Is it okay that I missed the first meeting?”

“So okay. Mrs. Murphy just explained rules and stuff. And we elected officers.” Roseann gestured to the ten kids sitting in the semicircle the desks now formed. “We need more members.”

“Where are Grace, Miranda, and the others?” I'd been expecting the group.

“They wanted to do art club. It meets at the same time.”

“You don't? Like art, I mean.”

“I like art, but I want to be a journalist. Newspaper is a Bleeker thing.” She adjusted her stretchy pink headband. Every day her headband or barrette perfectly matched her outfit.

“A Bleeker thing? How's that?” My curls were too wild to tame with a cute headband. I was queen of the messy ponytail.

“The
Hillsbury Herald
has had a Bleeker as the editor for the past five years. Mrs. Murphy expects it. Kate's editor-in-chief this year.” She nodded to her sister, who had just walked in with Mrs. Murphy. Kate was a taller version of Roseann, and just as bright and happy. “I'm the sixth-grade editor,” Roseann continued.

“Congratulations!”

“Thanks.” She scooted her desk closer. “I really want to make our paper great. I want to prove that I can write a great article. Do you too?”

Until ten minutes ago, I hadn't even considered joining the newspaper staff. But now . . . “Sure.”

“We should help each other with ideas—”

“That'd be great!” I answered, too fast, but I was excited. “When?”

“I don't know.” Roseann waved at a boy across the room. “Hey, Jeremy!”

“Are you and Kate going to the barbeque at the church this weekend?” he asked.

Roseann's attention shifted to him as they made plans to play a game with beanbags and teams they played every year at the barbeque.

Mrs. Murphy clapped her hands, cutting them off. She welcomed the new members and spoke about the upcoming issue.

“Kate will be covering the bus debate for the lead article. Brandon and Elise will do rundowns on the sports teams. What else?” She looked expectantly around the semicircle. “We need feature stories. Stories that will interest the students. Let's throw out ideas.”

“Cafeteria food?” the boy next to me suggested.

“What about it?” Mrs. Murphy leaned forwards. “You need an angle. Are you investigating something about the food?”

“Why it's so bad?” he offered.

“That's not a story. How about making up a questionnaire and then write about the students' answers? Think more about it, then come back to us.” Mrs. Murphy brushed her wispy bangs out of her eyes. I could see she enjoyed this group. I wondered if she'd
ever written for a newspaper.

A girl with cropped hair raised her hand. “I could interview the new teachers. Do a profile on each of them.”

Mrs. Murphy looked at Roseann's sister. “What do you think, Kate?”

“That could be good, but it has to be interesting. The teachers won't be all that new by the time the newspaper comes out, so you need to find something special about them. What makes them different from all our other teachers?”

“Exactly!” Mrs. Murphy snapped her fingers. “That's the key. We should highlight special activities and students. Who knows a student who does something incredible?”

“Simon can play chess with his toes,” the cafeteria-food boy suggested.

“Big deal,” said the girl with cropped hair. “I can play the piano with my toes.”

“There's a kid in the eighth grade with webbed toes,” another boy offered. “Two of his toes are attached with skin.”

“Enough with the toes!” Mrs. Murphy called as everyone giggled. “Let's try for real achievements.”

I thought playing piano with toes was a pretty
good achievement. I planned to try that later on Alex's keyboard.

“Tyler Blanchi won the Labor Day running race,” another girl said.

“A local race is good,” Mrs. Murphy encouraged. “Anything else?”

“I think there's a girl in seventh grade who's competing in a national horse show,” Kate said. “Carly something-or-other. She owns her own horse. I heard the horse can jump crazy high.”

Everyone liked the idea of tracking down Carly for an interview and taking some action photos of her horse.

I thought about my stepmother, Carmen. She always wore those stretchy beige riding pants and talked about Buddy, her horse.

I wondered if she'd done horse shows. I wondered why I'd never met Buddy. It was weird how Dad had this other life without me.

“Wait!” Roseann called. “I have something that's better than a local or national winner.”

“What's better than national?” Kate asked her sister.

“The whole world.” Roseann opened her arms wide. “Did you know that we have a student at our school who is training for the Olympics?”

Everyone tried to guess the mystery student, but I'd
stopped listening. I didn't know anyone in this school. I had no chance of coming up with a feature story. My mind was still on Carmen's horse. Dad never wanted Mom to get a dog when they were still married. What was he doing with a horse?

“It's Molly!” Roseann cried.

“What?” I said, hearing my name. “What's me?”

“Molly is an amazing gymnast. She's training to be in the Olympics,” Roseann explained to the group. She rested her hand on top of mine.

“That's incredible, Molly.” Mrs. Murphy gazed warmly at me, as if seeing me clearly for the first time. No longer was I the girl with the bag of brownie poop. I was Molly Larsen, Olympic hopeful!

“Well, that's not it exactly.” I itched to pull my hand out from under Roseann's. “I mean, you never know—”

“It's a hard road to go down.” Mrs. Murphy nodded as if she understood and began to turn away.

“I mean, I don't know about
these
Olympics,” I began again. Mrs. Murphy's gaze was back on me.

“True, true,” Roseann cut in. “It can't be this one coming up. You're too young. But probably the next one. Isn't it fantastic? In four years, Molly Larsen will represent the United States in a competition against the rest of the world!”

“That's so cool!”
said cropped-hair girl. “Molly definitely has to be our feature story.”

Everyone agreed.

“I don't think . . . you have to know . . .” I took a deep breath. I had to set them all straight. The Olympics were a dream, but so was becoming a movie star or a fashion model. Right now, there was a better chance of me suddenly growing twelve inches and strutting the catwalk in Paris than Andre jumping me to the Elite level. He wouldn't even let me do my back handspring–back tuck yesterday.