Twice As Nice (10 page)

Phew, that was close.

“And now for the best part,” Lauren said. “Gather around because I have something really special to announce.”

This was it! This was the epic plan she had talked about in the parking lot. Lauren lowered her voice to almost a whisper and waited until she had everyone's attention.

“Let us never forget that we are the core of this group. We are the heart. We will be true to each other, no matter what. Do we agree on this?”

“Yes,” we all whispered at once.

“Then I, as your president, am asking each girl here to take part in a day of initiation tomorrow. I have written down what each of you is to do during the day. You must do everything on the list, exactly as I have written it. And if you do, then I will allow you to take part in tomorrow night's initiation ceremony.”

“What ceremony?” Brooke asked.

“The Junior Waves swearing in,” Lauren said. “The ceremony where we all officially bond as Wave sisters, for ever and ever.”

“This is so exciting,” Brooke said. “What's going to happen at the ceremony?”

Neela got up from the desk and walked over to us.

“I think I can help you with this,” she said. “I have a lot of experience with initiation ceremonies.”

“Way cool,” Jillian said. “Are you in a sorority? My mom was a Tri Delt. She said when she got initiated, she had to sit on a whole bunch of balloons filled with shaving cream.”

“No, I'm not in a sorority,” Neela said. “And that's certainly not the type of initiation I'm talking about. What I study is how people celebrate important moments in their life cycles. Like the birth of children and weddings and funerals.”

“Funerals?” Brooke said. “
Eeuuwww
, we're not going to die, are we?”

“I think Neela was just using it as an example,” I said, “of the kinds of events people create ceremonies and rituals for.”

“Can we hold hands and sing a song?” Brooke asked.

“Actually, those are both very common things that people do in these kinds of ceremonies,” Neela said. “They share food and music to create a sense of community. Sometimes they wear costumes or special clothes, like masks or headdresses or jewelry.”

“Now you're talking my language,” Jillian said. “Lauren, can we wear lots of jewelry at our ceremony?”

“The most important thing that happens in all initiation ceremonies is the sharing of trust,” Neela said. “When a community forms and takes new members, people have to prove their loyalty to each other.”

“That is exactly what I've been planning for tomorrow,” Lauren beamed. “An all-day initiation. You will start by doing everything on the list I've made for you. Remember, as a test of your loyalty, you must do
everything
I ask of you. And you cannot tell anyone that what you are doing is part of our secret initiation. Understood?”

We all nodded. Then Lauren reached into her purse and pulled out four sealed envelopes.

“Inside these envelopes are your initiation assignments,” she said. “Each of you will do different things, but the important thing is that you will only be judged loyal enough to come to the initiation ceremony if you complete the list.”

“How come you don't have to do any initiation assignments?” Jillian asked.

“I already did mine,” Lauren said. “Bethany initiated me. Charlie saw, didn't you, Charlie? I had to walk and cluck like a chicken for an entire afternoon.”

“I hope we don't have to do anything embarrassing like that,” Brooke said.

“You'll find out when you go home tonight and open your envelopes.” Lauren stood up and handed each of us our sealed envelope. “Everyone onboard?”

We nodded.

“Good. Tomorrow is Initiation Day. If everyone does well, we'll meet at sundown on the beach for the final ceremony.”

“That's appropriate,” Neela said. “Many native ceremonies are held at sundown. It's a very spiritual time of day.”

“I know that,” Lauren said. “And I think I can take it from here, Neela.”

We ended with forming a circle and holding hands. Oddly enough, this reminded me of the Acceptance Circle they do at a Truth Tellers meeting, but without the humming, of course.

“Until tomorrow then, Junior Waves forever,” Lauren said. “And don't breathe a word to anyone.”

This was feeling very real. And very mysterious. And incredibly exciting.

I couldn't wait to get home and see what was inside my envelope.

“Charlie!” Ryan yelled, pounding on the bathroom door. “You stay in there any longer and we're going to charge you rent!”

“I'll be out in a few minutes,” I hollered back. “I've got to finish drying my hair.”

I wasn't drying my hair at all. I hadn't even washed it. But when you live with your whole family in three tiny rooms in a caretaker's cottage, the only place you can go for a little privacy is the bathroom. The other girls in the SF2s were probably opening their envelopes lying on their beds in their own rooms. But me, I had to lock myself in the bathroom and pretend to be drying my hair just to be able to open my envelope and read my initiation assignment list in private.

I read the five items at least twenty times. At the top, in bright pink marker, Lauren had written CHARLIE'S LIST. Under it, she had printed the words:
For Your Eyes Only.
Memorize this list, and then destroy it.
After that, came the list.

INITIATION ASSIGNMENTS

1. Wear one flip-flop and one shoe all day at school.

2. Refuse to turn in your Spanish homework.

3. Bring me something from Principal Pfeiffer's desk.

4. Steal a cookie from Starbucks after school.

As I poured over the list, I could feel my hands starting to sweat. My armpits, too. This list definitely made me nervous. As bad as clucking like a chicken was, almost everything on this list was a whole lot worse. And wouldn't not turning in my homework jeopardize my grade? What was Lauren thinking? We needed good grades to keep the club. The only item I felt at all comfortable with was the flip-flop thing.

I pulled my phone out of my jeans pocket and dialed Lauren's number, making sure the hair dryer was on high so its roar would drown out my voice. Ryan has a bad habit of eavesdropping. The phone rang twice and then Lauren picked up.

“Hey, Lauren. It's Charlie. I'm in the bathroom so I have to talk fast.”

“Gross. What is wrong with you, Charlie? Call me when you're finished.”

“No, I'm hiding in the bathroom because . . . well . . . it doesn't matter. Anyway, I've read my initiation list and . . .”

“It's awesome, isn't it?” Lauren interrupted.

“Um . . . here's the thing, Lauren. There are some things on here that I don't think I should do. Has anyone else called you about that?”

“No, Charlie. You're the only one. Everyone else is really excited to be part of the Junior Waves.”

“Yeah, I'm excited, too . . . it's just that . . . well  . . . I could get in trouble for some of this stuff. Like stealing, for instance.”

“It's just Starbucks,” Lauren said. “You're not going to go to jail for taking a cookie. Besides, it's so crowded in there after school, no one will ever catch you. Bethany worked that one out with me. And the coolest thing of all is that she's going to be there to watch you do it. Not to brag or anything, but she says I'm doing an awesome job as president.”

“But Lauren, I'm not sure I can do this.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. At last, she spoke, and her voice was icy cold.

“It's up to you, Charlie. I thought you wanted to be a Junior Wave. I thought you wanted to be one of us. If you do, you have to show your loyalty. But if you don't, well, we'll just have to go on without you.”

Ryan pounded on the door again.

“Charles,” he shouted. “If you don't get out of there, I'm going to pee right here in the hall.”

“Oh, is that Ryan?” Lauren asked. “Tell him I say hi.”

And then she hung up.

I stood up, took one last look at the list, tore it up into little tiny pieces and flushed it down the toilet.

I didn't sleep much that night. I kept seeing the list in my head, and when I did, my heart would start to pound. Could I look right into a teacher's eyes and refuse to turn in my homework? Could I swipe something right off the principal's desk? Could I actually steal from Starbucks?

It all came down to one question: How much did I really want to be a Junior Wave? And I guess I wasn't sure.

“Is there something wrong with your foot, Noodle?” GoGo asked the next morning as I came into the kitchen for breakfast. I was wearing one flip-flop and one shoe.

“My heel's been hurting me for a couple of days,” I lied, “so I didn't think wearing a shoe would be a good idea.”

Wouldn't you know it, my dad walked into the kitchen at that very minute.

“Let me see your foot,” he said. “You girls are playing this weekend and we can't have any injuries.”

“It's nothing, Dad. I'm sure it will be better by tomorrow. Maybe even by tonight.”

“Let's have a look,” he persisted, sitting me down and taking my foot in his hands. He pressed on several spots in my heel, which didn't hurt at all, but I faked a little wince, just to make an injury seem real.

“I don't see any swelling,” he said. “But just to be sure, we'll ice it when you get home from school. And keep that foot elevated as much as you can in school today. Want me to write a note you can take to the nurse?”

“No, Dad. Honestly, that's not necessary. I'll just wear this flip-flop and it'll be fine.”

“Why not just wear two flip-flops?” my dad wanted to know.

“Flip-flops aren't allowed in school,” I explained. “But I can get away with one because of my in-injury,” I stammered.

Even though he had a tennis lesson to give, he insisted on driving me to school so I wouldn't strain my foot any further. Thankfully, Sammie had already left for school. Otherwise, she would have figured out I was faking it.

As I walked into school, everyone seemed to want to know why I was wearing two different shoes. Including Principal Pfeiffer, who always greets students as they arrive at school.

“Hi, Charlie,” he said. “Hope that foot's not going to affect your tournament play. I see you've got a big match against Bryant and Shinoda coming up.”

Boy, he really did follow our tennis schedule! I was thinking about how flattering that was, when suddenly, it hit me. Item number three on the list was to bring Lauren something from Principal Pfeiffer's desk. What better time than now? It was a sign that going ahead with initiation was the right decision.

“Principal Pfeiffer,” I said. “I hear your son plays tennis. If you like, I could give him a list of some warm-up exercises my sister and I do before a match.”

He broke out into a big smile.

“Why, that would be a very kind thing of you to do, Charlie. Thank you.”

“No problem,” I said. “I think I have some paper in my locker. If I hurry I can go get it right now. I'll leave it on your desk before the bell rings, if that's okay.”

“Of course,” he said. “Just tell Mrs. Romero that I said for you to go right in.”

This was one lucky break. Maybe I could have two of my initiation assignments done before first period even started.

Once inside the hall, I pulled a piece of paper from my notebook, leaned up against the wall and quickly wrote down a list of five warm-up exercises Sammie and I do—basic drills like trunk twisting, diagonal sprints and slides, stuff like that. Then, with that paper in hand, I walked into the school office and found Mrs. Romero at her desk.

“May I help you?” she asked.

“I have this paper for Principal Pfeiffer,” I said, aware that my heart was thumping faster than usual. “It's a list of tennis exercises for his son.”

“You can hand it to me,” she said, coming over to the counter. “I'll leave it for him.”

“Actually, I just saw him and he said that I should personally leave it on his desk.”

She looked over her glasses at me, a curious expression on her face.

“He said that?” Did I hear a suspicious tone in her voice . . . or was it just my guilty conscience?

“Yes, he did, Mrs. Romero. He said just those words.”

Without answering, she walked over to the gate that separates the waiting area from her desk, and held it open for me. I forced a smile and walked through it, flashing her the paper with the list of drills, in case she thought I was making this all up.

“Thank you, Mrs. Romero,” I said.

Gathering up all my nerve, I walked past her and into Mr. Pfeiffer's office. Quickly, my eyes scanned his desk for something I could take. Something that only a principal would have, but that he wouldn't miss if I took it. A banana? No, anyone could have a banana on his desk. A pen? No, that looked like an expensive one. I walked up to his desk and laid the piece of paper down, letting my eyes skim over all the other papers there. Then I saw it, the perfect thing.

It was a card with his name written on it from Frankie's Barber Shop. It was a reminder that he had an appointment for a haircut at 4:30 that day with Frankie himself. I didn't know that bald men had to get their hair cut.

Quickly, I snatched the card off the desk and slid it into my jeans pocket. When I looked up, Mrs. Romero was standing in the doorway, staring at me. I felt myself turning red in the face.

“Young lady, is there something you're looking for?” she asked in a harsh voice.

I couldn't tell if she had seen me pick up the card or not. Maybe I had already slipped it into my pocket by the time she got to the doorway. But maybe I hadn't. Should I confess right there or pretend that nothing had happened? I looked at her face, which had a sour expression on it—but she was a grumpy woman, so that didn't necessarily mean she was ready to accuse me.

Don't be crazy, Charlie. You want to be a Junior Wave, right? So confessing isn't an option
.

I took a deep breath and plunged ahead.

“I was just looking for a place to put this paper down,” I lied. “I was looking for a place that wouldn't disturb anything on his desk,”

It sounded pretty good. I was getting better at this lying business.

Mrs. Romero looked at me for a long minute. I hoped she didn't notice that my hands were shaking. And it felt like my chest was going to explode. Finally, the silence was broken by the morning bell ringing. It startled me so much I almost jumped five feet in the air.

“Very well,” she said. “You'd better get to class.”

Phew! I practically flew out of the office. By the time I got into the hall, I was drenched in sweat, and it wasn't even hot out. As stressful as that was, I have to confess that I felt a strange excitement at having pulled it off.

On my way to first period, I ran into Brooke in the hall. She was wearing a football helmet on her head, obviously part of her initiation list. We both smiled at each other, exchanging a secret look that only another Junior Wave would understand. That was fun.

My next initiation assignment was to take place during second-period Spanish. Although I was nervous about it, after staring down Mrs. Romero, I was feeling a little more confident about facing Señora Molina and refusing to turn in my homework. I could do this.

When I slid into my desk in Spanish class, Jillian passed me a note.

How's it going?
it read.

“Better than you can even imagine,” I whispered as she slid into her desk. I noticed she was wearing her clothes inside out.

We always start class by reciting a poem in Spanish, just to get our throats warmed up and our
r
s rolling, or so Señora Molina says. As we did our poem, I could see Sammie's friend Sara on the other side of the class, staring at my foot with the flip-flop. She was frowning. After the poem, Señora Molina asked everyone to pass their homework to the front so she could collect it. We were supposed to write a paragraph describing one of our parents. When she got to the front of my row, Señora Molina glanced over the papers and noticed that mine wasn't there.

“Charlie,” she said, “please pass your homework to the front.”

“No, thank you,” I said.

She stopped and looked up at me.

“What did you say?” she asked.

“Oh,” I said. “I meant to say,
No, gracias
.”

I could hear Jillian's giggle behind me.

“Charlie,” she said, approaching my desk. “I asked for your homework. Now do you have it or not?”

“I have it, but I can't turn it in, Señora.”

“And may I ask why?”

“It's just not good enough yet,” I said.

“I'll be the judge of that,” she answered briskly. “That's why I'm the teacher and you're the student.”

“I'm sorry, Señora Molina,” I said, “but I'm just not comfortable turning it in today.”

“Do you understand that if you don't turn in your homework, you'll get a zero on the assignment?” she asked me.

“Yes. I mean
sí
.”

“And that this paragraph I assigned you represents your whole week's homework grade?”

I nodded.

“I just don't know why you'd choose to jeopardize your good grade in this class,” she said, shaking her head. “I'm very disappointed in you, Charlie.”

She moved over to the next row. To my surprise, I felt sudden tears welling up in my eyes. I liked Señora Molina. She was a teacher who really cared that her students did well. And she seemed so confused—or was she hurt?—by my stupid refusal to cooperate. When I glanced over at Jillian, I saw that she was giving me a thumbs-up. I tried to smile and then turned my head away quickly so she wouldn't catch sight of my watery eyes.

Finally, the bell rang and we filed out of class. As I was walking to my locker, Sammie ran up to me.

“What's going on with you?” she demanded. “Sara told me you made a scene in Spanish class.”

“Nothing. Why do you think something's going on?”

“Because you're wearing one shoe. Because you're refusing to turn in homework. Because you're acting totally weird. Want me to go on?”

Lauren walked by us.

“Jillian gave me the report. Nicely done,” she whispered before she trotted ahead to join Brooke at her locker.

“It's something to do with her, isn't it?” Sammie asked. “What's Lauren doing to you?”

“Is that all you can think about?” I snapped. “Lauren is my friend. We're having fun, if that's okay with you. I think you're just jealous that I'm back with my old friends and I don't need you and your little pals anymore.”

“That's low, Charlie, and you know it.”

There we were, fighting again. Sammie stomped off without another word, and to my surprise, those tears in my eyes welled up again.

By the time lunch came around, I was in a really bad mood. I was standing at my locker, trying to make sense of the morning, when Spencer walked up. The sight of him cheered me up somewhat.

“Mmmmm,” he said. “Smells great in here. Is that pepperoni?”

I blushed.

“I know it's disgusting,” I said with a shrug, “but I love cold pizza. My grandmother always puts it in my lunch when there are any leftovers.”

“I knew that lady was cool the first time I saw her,” he said. “Cold pizza is my favorite thing. Well, except for cold Chinese food.”

“You're weird,” I said.

“Me? You're the one with the locker that smells like pepperoni!”

I took my lunch bag and handed it to him.

“You can have it. I'm not that hungry.”

The stress of the morning was actually making me a little sick to my stomach.

“Really? Don't make that offer again, Charlie, because I swear, I'll take you up on it.”

I handed him the bag and he snatched it from me with a big smile.

“Man, this sure beats cafeteria tacos with ground-up mystery meat,” he said.

We headed down the hall and out to the lunch pavilion. Most of the SF2s were already gathered at our table. Lauren got up and met me before I reached the bench.

“Excuse us, Spencer,” she said. “We have some private business to discuss.”

“No problemo,” he said. “I've got some cold pizza to eat.”

As soon as he had taken his place at the table, Lauren whispered to me. “It's going great,” she said. “What you did in Spanish class was unbelievable. And I see that you're wearing one flip-flop, which is also excellent. Jilly and Brooke are doing great, too.”