Everything I Know About You

  Praise for

  Halfway Normal

  “Readers will feel with her as Norah struggles with how, when, and to whom she should tell her story—if at all. The moment that really sings is when Norah realizes that there are some life experiences that change you forever, and that’s not always a bad thing. Dee, whose acknowledgments hint at family experience with childhood cancer, does an exceptional job accurately depicting Norah’s struggles in a way that is translatable to those with varied understanding of illness. . . . A powerful story not only about illness, but about accepting yourself for who you are—no matter the experiences that shaped you.”

  —Kirkus Reviews, starred review

  “A powerful story about surviving and thriving after serious illness.”

  —School Library Journal, starred review

  “The authenticity of Norah’s story can be credited to the author’s own experiences as the mother of a cancer patient. But this is not a book about cancer; rather, it’s about the process of moving forward in its wake. Readers who appreciate well-wrought portrayals of transformative middle-school experiences, such as Rebecca Stead’s Goodbye Stranger (2015), will find a story in a similar spirit here.”

  —Booklist

  “In writing this remarkable novel, Barbara Dee has performed an amazing feat. She has traveled to places you hope you will never have to go and then drawn a lovely, heartbreaking, warm, funny, and ultimately hopeful map of the way back home.”

  —Jordan Sonnenblick, author of DRUMS, GIRLS, AND DANGEROUS PIE

  “Barbara Dee has an unfailing sense of the dynamics of middle school social life. Spot-on portrayals of friends and family relationships frame a powerful main character who’s determined to find her way back. Halfway Normal has a brave, kind heart—as tender and triumphant as the main character herself.”

  —Karen Romano Young, author of HUNDRED PERCENT

  “Dee realistically explores the varied emotions of maturing middle-school students, as well as the way Norah feels singled out and patronized by classmates and adults alike.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  Praise for

  Star-Crossed

  “A sweet story of young love amid middle school theatrics . . . Readers cannot but help root for Mattie as she discovers bravery she never gave herself credit for, both onstage and in life.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “A sweet coming-out story for junior high readers. The clever Shakespeare content is a bonus. . . . Verdict: A fine choice for middle school libraries in need of accessible LGBTQ stories, and a great option for students reading or performing Romeo and Juliet.”

  —School Library Journal

  “In this welcome addition to the middle grade LGBTQ bookshelf . . . Dee (Truth or Dare) thoughtfully dramatizes the intricate social performance of middle school, with its secret crushes and fierce rivalries.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  For Lizzy, beautiful inside and out

  Boxes

  WE GOT TO SCHOOL IN the dark that morning, already fifteen minutes late.

  By then, cars were headed in the opposite direction, doggy heads hanging out the passenger windows, horns honking good-bye. Ms. Jordan was standing by the fancy bus, wearing jeans (she owned jeans?), checking her clipboard. She looked up; now I could see she was talking to Ava Seeley and her mom, a blond woman dressed head to toe in beige, like she was about to go on a safari.

  Suddenly I had the feeling Ava was glaring at me. I mean, my brain told me she wasn’t; we were maybe thirty feet away from her, in a car, and probably she couldn’t even see me through the windshield. But she was the head clonegirl of our grade, basically my enemy, so I was always on the lookout for her nasty expressions.

  “Gug,” I said, my stomach knotting.

  “Tally, don’t decide this will be bad before anything happens,” Mom said.

  “Yeah, well. Too late.”

  “Come on, honey, you got this.” Mom gave me a pep smile, which usually worked. Although not this time. “Just share the goodies Dad baked you; that’ll help with the bus trip. Oh, and here’s a present from me.”

  She handed me a small sandwich bag. Inside were two red things that looked like cap erasers.

  “Earplugs,” Mom explained. “For the bus. And the room, if Ava’s a snorer.”

  “If she is, she couldn’t be louder than Spike.” My dog was a champion loud breather, so I was an expert at ignoring snores. Obviously, Mom meant the earplugs for more than snoring.

  I stuck the bag in my pants pocket and threw my arms around her. “Thanks, Mom.”

  She smooched my cheek. “You’re welcome, Daughter. Text me when you get there, okay? Tell Spider to text his mom too. And let me help with the bakery boxes.”

  We stepped out of the car into the sharp, chilly air. It didn’t even feel like September, really—although maybe that was because it still seemed liked night. Maybe once we were on the road, and the sun was up, it would feel like a normal fall morning in Eastview.

  But not yet. I shivered.

  Mom carried two of the boxes, and I carried one, plus my duffel bag. The bus had this huge underneath storage compartment, but by now it was completely crammed with everyone’s stuff for the next four days. So we had to wedge my duffel in sideways, probably squishing all the extra cookies Dad had packed.

  Then we walked over to Ms. Jordan.

  “Good morning, Tally!” Ms. Jordan greeted me too energetically, as if she’d had an extra cup of coffee for breakfast. “I was starting to worry you wouldn’t make it. You’re Mrs. Martin?” she asked Mom.

  Mom caught my eye. Because I’m so much bigger and taller than the rest of my family, people say stuff like this sometimes. Maybe Ms. Jordan didn’t mean it as an actual question—Are you really Tally’s mom?—but it was hard to tell.

  “Yes, I am,” Mom said, smiling at everyone. Even at Ava, who didn’t bother to smile back.

  But Ms. Jordan did. “Quite a daughter you have there. Full of character.”

  Mom nodded. You could tell she was trying to figure out whether that was a compliment.

  Meanwhile, Ava’s mom was reaching out her hand to shake Mom’s, completely ignoring the fact that Mom was holding two bulging bakery boxes. “Good morning. I’m Ellen Seeley,” she announced. “I’m the parent chaperone for this trip.”

  The parent chaperone? But there were three other parents going, I was sure of it.

  “Oh yes,” Mom said pleasantly. “We’ve already met, Ellen. How nice of you to volunteer! Tally, could I please give you these boxes? The car is in a no-parking zone, so I really can’t stay.” Her eyes were begging; she obviously wanted to escape Ellen Seeley.

  “Sure,” I said, stacking Mom’s boxes on top of mine. “You’d better hurry, so you don’t get a ticket.”

  Mom tiptoed to kiss my cheek. “Have fun, sweetheart, and remember those earplugs,” she murmured. “Tune out whatever you need to, okay? And don’t forget to text.” Then she raced off.

  Mrs. Seeley turned to talk to Ms. Jordan, as Ava narrowed her eyes at me. “So what’s in the boxes?” Ava asked.

  “Oh, these?” I said. “Binoculars. Pickaxes. Flashlights. You know, assorted extremely high-tech devices for exploring our nation’s capital.”

  “Huh,” Ava said. She never appreciated my sense of humor. “It looks like bakery stuff.”

  “We’re allowed to bring snacks,” I informed her. “Not that I am.”

  “Whatever.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means bring whatever you want, Tally. However much you want. I really don’t care what you do, all right?”

  “That’s so funny, Ava,” I replied. “Because you always ac
t like exactly the opposite.”

  Now Ava definitely was glaring, and I glared right back at her. She was teeny, maybe ten inches shorter than me, so I had to stoop a bit to make eye contact. But it’s hard to stoop while balancing three bakery boxes, so I sort of teetered in her direction.

  Finally she said, “Well, you’d better get a seat. You’re late, and we’re about to leave.”

  And we know you’d hate to leave me behind, wouldn’t you, Ava?

  I climbed on board, my heart banging so loudly I was sure you could hear it over the bus engine.

  Because here it was. We’d now arrived at the moment I’d been dreading for the past two weeks.

  The moment I’d find out if my friends had shown up.

  Or if I’d have to do this thing—all three days and four nights—stuck in a room alone with Ava Seeley.

  We Hold These Truths

  I STOOD AT THE FRONT of the crowded bus, balancing the boxes, scanning the rows. Where were they? Had Sonnet and Spider chickened out, the way I was terrified they would? Especially Spider, who’d texted me at eleven last night: Umm, not so sure about this. . . .

  Nono, it will be fun!!!! I’d texted back.

  But he’d never answered, which meant I hadn’t slept very much, even with Spike’s cuddling.

  I looked past all the clonegirls in the front rows, then Mr. Gianelli and the chaperones: Mia Gilroy’s mom, Althea Packer’s mom, Jamal Melton’s dad. Finally I spotted Sonnet waving at me from the second-to-last row.

  I breathed.

  Then, clutching the boxes with sweaty hands, I made my way down the aisle, past classmates who were either half-asleep or much too perky for five fifteen in the morning.

  The way this sort of fancy bus worked was: window, two seats together, aisle, one seat, window. I guess to save the entire row, Sonnet and Spider had split up, with Sonnet sitting by the window in the two-seat part, and Spider across the aisle by himself. So, like usual, my seat was in the middle—next to Sonnet, across the aisle from Spider.

  But also right in front of Marco Sarris and Trey Donaldson. Which meant that for the next six and one-quarter hours, there’d be no vacation from Spider’s possibly-former-but-I-wasn’t-sure-about-this enemies.

  Oh, bleep.

  “Where were you, Tally?” Spider was asking. “Why were you late?” His soft brown eyes were enormous.

  “Sorry,” I said, handing him the top box. “Dad insisted on making cinnamon buns this morning. And then of course he had to do the icing. You didn’t think I’d just forget to show, did you?”

  I recycled Mom’s pep smile for him, but he didn’t smile back.

  “Nah, I knew you’d make it,” Spider admitted. He opened the box. “Whoa, awesome. Your dad rules.”

  “He definitely does,” I said, giving the second box to Sonnet. “These are from the bakery. He made them yesterday, but they’re still pretty fresh.”

  She squealed when she saw the box had giant chocolate chip cookies. My box had some Cinna-mmm muffins and a few blondies. To be honest, the cookies and blondies kind of made me queasy this hour of the morning, but I figured I’d change my mind about them later.

  “We can trade,” I announced as I settled into my seat. “Plus there’s a ton more stuff in my duffel bag. Dad kind of went crazy with the bakery products. I barely had room for my treasure box.”

  “Wait,” Sonnet said. “You brought your treasure box, Tally?” She asked this quietly, like it was a secret between the two of us.

  “Yeah, of course. I’d never travel without my treasures. Why would I?”

  “I don’t know. Ms. Jordan said not to bring precious things on the trip, right?”

  “Well, but they’re not ‘precious things.’ Just precious to me.”

  “But what if they get lost or something?”

  “That’s why I brought the treasure box. So they won’t get lost.”

  “I know, but.” Sonnet began chewing on her thumbnail. “Maybe they’re too precious for this trip.”

  Sonnet always dressed in such a careful, boring way—all her tops the colors of fall fruit, little gold studs in her ears, nothing in her straight black hair but a red ponytail holder—so probably she didn’t understand why I needed my treasures with me. But I knew she thought they were cool, because she said so all the time. She even used that specific word: “cool.”

  Was Sonnet worried that they wouldn’t be safe in a room with Ava? Or was she worried about something else? Either way, it was extremely strange.

  I glanced over at Spider. He was fine, just eating a bun and reading one of his space books. I didn’t envy a whole lot about him, but the way he could read wherever—in moving vehicles, the noisy cafeteria, dark movie theaters—seemed kind of like a superpower, really. And he didn’t even need earplugs.

  A jab on my shoulder.

  “Hey, Math Girl, your dad baked you all of that?” Marco was practically hanging over my seat, salivating like a cartoon wolf.

  “Yeah,” I said. “He’s a baker. So you know, he bakes.”

  “Cool. You’re so lucky.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Wish someone in my family baked like that.”

  Obviously, he was waiting for me to offer him something. Well, too bad for him. I didn’t forget things so easily. And I didn’t feel the need to bribe him. At least, not yet.

  Sonnet’s cheeks were already bulging with cookie. “Eelikeshoo,” she murmured.

  “What?” I said.

  She chewed and swallowed. Then she leaned over and whispered with chocolate breath: “He likes you.”

  “Don’t be preposterous.”

  “No, no, I mean it. He asked if you’d be sitting here when he took the seat.”

  “Well, that was stupid. Of course I’d be, if you and Spider were here.”

  Suddenly Sonnet did a bizarre thing: She passed her box of cookies to Trey and Marco. “You should try these; they’re amazing,” she told them, blushing.

  I kicked her in the shin.

  She looked at me blankly, so I pulled out my phone and texted her:

  Me: Why did you do that?

  Her: Why not?

  Me: Dad baked for ME to share with MY FRIENDS. They are NOT MY FRIENDS!!!

  Her: Well maybe they could be, if we’re nice they could be nice back

  Me: ARE YOU SERIOUS

  Her: yeah Why not

  Me: !!!!they bullied Spider!!!!

  Her: Well people change, I dunno they seem nice now

  I couldn’t believe this. The cookies weren’t even Sonnet’s; I’d just handed them to her for the trip. So what right did she have to pass them to an Evil Nemesis—or to anyone, really?

  Finally Ms. Jordan, Ava’s mom, and Ava climbed onto the bus. Ms. Jordan said something to the driver, Ava took her seat with Nadia Ramirez and the other clonegirls they hung out with, and brrmm, we were off.

  We’d barely pulled out of Eastview before these girls started singing Hamilton. Haley Spriggs, of course, was the loudest; she had the best voice, too, so she was Angelica, Ava was Eliza, and Nadia Ramirez was Peggy:

  We hold these truths to be self-evident

  That all men are created equal

  And Sonnet was singing right along with them. Of course, they couldn’t hear her all the way in the back of the bus, but the funny thing was how her singing was a decibel too loud, like she was hoping that somehow her voice would carry to their seats, and they’d come racing down the aisle with their arms outstretched: Ooh, look, our long-lost Schuyler sister!

  A weird question popped into my head: Does Sonnet wish she was sitting in the front, with the clonegirls, singing along? Maybe she does. And considering how she’s rooming with that awful Haley Spriggs—

  Okay, click on a different thought, I ordered myself.

  I peeked at Spider, who turned a page in his book. He’d tuned everything out, it seemed. Including me.

  And suddenly Ava’s voice—high and piercing, surprisingly strong for s
uch a teeny person—took over the bus, drowning out everything, including the bus engine.

  Look around, look around,

  At how lucky we are to be alive right now—

  I stuck in the earplugs and shut my eyes.

  The Ugly Tee

  SOMETIMES WHEN YOUR BRAIN HAS nothing better to do, it focuses on weird things, replaying them over and over in an endless loop. And as I half-dozed on that crazy-long bus trip, what I kept replaying in my head was Seventh Grade Spirit Day from a few weeks ago.

  It started off with the Handing Out of the Ugly Tee. Which, first of all, was the color of that greenish jellybean with the weird un-candy-like taste, which you can never remember if it’s kiwi or sour apple and try to avoid but end up eating before you realize it’s lima bean avocado.

  Which, second of all, said EASTVIEW MIDDLE SCHOOL ROCKS! And underneath that: SEVENTH GRADE HAS THE SPIRIT! And underneath that: GO BULLDOGS! With a drawing of a slobbering bulldog inside both the Os.

  “Okay, I’m not wearing that,” I informed Ava Seeley, who, along with her clonegirl friend Nadia Ramirez, was handing out tees in front of the auditorium.

  “Tally, you have to,” Ava told me. She was wearing a doll-sized tee that looked shrunk from the dryer. If I had a tee that size, I’d use it as a hankie or something.

  “Or what?” I challenged her.

  “Or you can’t attend the Spirit Day assembly,” Nadia said. “And then you won’t know anything about the trip.”

  “I fail to see what wearing that vomitocious tee has to do with the trip.”

  Nadia rolled her eyes. “Tally, you think the tee is ugly, but you’re wearing a weird bat barrette in your hair—”

  I touched the barrette that was keeping my dark, wavy hair out of my eyes. “It’s not weird,” I said huffily. “It’s an actual replica of a baby fruit bat. I got it at a flea market.”

  “My point exactly,” Nadia said.

  “Tally, the tees are for seventh grade unity,” Ava insisted. “Everyone’s wearing them today. Here.” She reached into the pile and pulled out a shirt. “Size large,” she said, shoving it at me.