Everything I Know About You Page 2

  It was the shove. Also the way she pronounced the word “large,” leaning extra hard on the r sound: Larrrrge. Also the look in her eyes—a judgment. As if large equaled something bad.

  I held the tee in front of me, pretending to inspect it. “Wait, that might not be my size,” I said. “Are these things unisex?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Ava said. “It’ll definitely fit you, Tally.”

  For such a teeny girl, she sure had a loud voice. Well, fine, I thought. Possibly it would fit me. I flipped it inside out and pulled it on over my own SAVE THE SQUIDS tee, backward. “Tally, you can’t—” Ava began.

  “Sure I can,” I said. “Behold.”

  I marched into the auditorium. Spider and Sonnet were sitting in the third row, on the aisle, and they’d saved me the seat between them. Spider never noticed what I was wearing, even when I came to school in one of my treasures like that necklace I’d made out of soda-can tabs, or the sleeves from Grandma Wendy’s fringed suede jacket. So it wasn’t surprising that he barely even looked at me as I took the seat.

  Sonnet, on the other hand, appreciated my anti-fashion sense. But she still made a scrunched face at my backward/inside-out tee.

  “Um, Tally?” she said. “How come you’re—”

  “It’s a protest,” I answered.

  “Against what?”

  “This T-shirt, obviously. Don’t you think it’s preposterous how they’re making us all wear this thing? The color’s like moldy guacamole.”

  “Yeah, Tally,” she replied, smiling. “But it’s the same color backward and inside out. You haven’t solved anything.”

  I shrugged. “At least now there’s no stupid logo on my chest. And no dog spit.”

  Before Sonnet could respond, the principal, Mr. Barkley, walked up to the microphone and started talking about how the upcoming seventh grade field trip to Washington, DC, was a tradition but also a privilege (which could be taken away, if we misbehaved), how he was sure we were going to have the Best Time Ever, and that we’d never forget the four days and three nights we were soon to spend Maturely and Well-Behavedly in Our Nation’s Capital. When he finally finished, he wiped his bald head with a handkerchief and handed the mic to Ms. Jordan, who I had for social studies and also homeroom.

  Ms. Jordan was young, enthusiastic, fresh out of teacher school. Everything about her was shiny. Her light brown hair was shiny; her teeth were shiny; her eyes were shiny. All her outfits practically still had tags.

  She grinned at us. “Are you all ready for the seventh grade trip?”

  Kids screamed.

  Apparently, she hadn’t expected the screaming. She blushed; she laughed; then she made some settle down motions with her hands. When those didn’t work, Mr. Barkley snatched the mic back from her and reminded us One More Time about his Expectations for Our Behavior.

  People finally shut up. So Mr. Gianelli, the other social studies teacher, started a PowerPoint of all the places we might be visiting (but only if we behaved!). He added that if there was “sufficient interest,” he and the other adults on the trip would be “open to other possibilities.”

  I poked Spider. “We should tell them about the Air and Space Museum.”

  Spider’s eyes lit up. “Yeah.” But right away he shook his head. “Nah, they won’t want to go.”

  “Don’t say that! It’s a really cool place, right? Why wouldn’t they?”

  He shrugged, like What’s the point?

  Then Ms. Jordan took back the mic.

  “As for the hotel,” she said. “We’ll be staying at the Independence, a place we were extremely lucky to find, because they can accommodate all of us—students, teachers, and chaperones. All of their rooms are doubles, and since one of our goals for this trip is to promote class unity, Mr. Gianelli and I will be assigning roommates. If there’s some important information you want to share, please let us hear from you as soon as possible.”

  Immediately, people started buzzing. ASSIGNING roommates? No, wait. We’re supposed to be with our FRIENDS in the hotel! That’s the whole point of this trip, to have FUN! They aren’t doing this right! It ISN’T FAIR.

  “I’m not going,” Spider blurted.

  I turned to him. “Why not? Because of this roommate thing?”

  “Yeah.” His face had gone pale, and his eyes were round and staring.

  Uh-oh. I knew that look.

  I turned to Sonnet. “Spider just said he isn’t going!”

  “Really?” Sonnet leaned across me toward Spider. “Why not, Spider?”

  “Why not?” I said. “Stuck in a room for four whole days with kids we don’t even like—”

  “We won’t be ‘stuck in a room’; we’ll be touring around,” Sonnet reminded me. Then she shrugged. “And, I don’t know, it could be sort of interesting.”

  Sonnet had only moved to town last spring, so she didn’t know kids here the way I did. I decided to pretend she hadn’t used the word “interesting.” Because what was “interesting,” anyway? It was one of those fiftieth-percentile, neutral words that drove me crazy. I liked words in the tenth percentile. Words that meant something, in either direction.

  “What if I talked to Ms. Jordan,” I said.

  Spider shook his head. “It won’t make any difference.”

  “Aww, come on. Don’t be so negative, Spider. I’m great at arguing, right? And Ms. Jordan is nice; she’ll understand how we are.”

  Was she? Would she? I sounded more confident than I felt. Sonnet and I both had Ms. Jordan for social studies; we’d only been in school for a week, so I didn’t have a whole lot of data to form an impression. All I could say for sure was that our teacher was young, new, and nervous. Spider had Mr. Gianelli, who had a full dark beard, rode a motorcycle to school, and competed in Ping-Pong tournaments. All the kids called him Mr. G, which he seemed to like, and everyone agreed that he was cool (except for Spider, who had his own weird standards for coolness).

  So far Ms. Jordan and Mr. Gianelli both seemed decent, the kind of teachers who wouldn’t ruin a field trip with scavenger hunts and journals. But would either of them let Spider share a room with two girls, even if they were his best—and only—friends?

  I couldn’t imagine they would, but what choice did we have? Last year, in sixth grade, Spider was bullied so much he had panic attacks. So someone had to try, and of the three of us, I could tell it had to be me.

  Open Mind

  I WAITED UNTIL ALMOST EVERYONE had left the auditorium to head for second period. For me that was math, which I hated being late for, but getting this room thing settled was more important.

  “Ms. Jordan?” I said. “Can I please talk to you?”

  “Oh, sure, Tally,” she said brightly, as she gathered her papers. “Are you excited about our trip?”

  “Extremely,” I said. “Especially about the Washington Monument. Did you know it’s the tallest freestanding obelisk in the world? Also the world’s tallest stone structure?”

  Ms. Jordan beamed at me. “No, actually I didn’t. What a cool fact—”

  “Yes, and it’s exactly five hundred and fifty-five feet, five inches tall. I read it online.”

  “Wow,” said Ms. Jordan.

  Now my heart was skittering. “Five is my absolute favorite number, and obelisks are my favorite shape. Well, aside from pentagons, which are also Washington, DC-related, obviously. And of course there’s also the Capitol dome, which is pretty great too. If you’re into geometry like I am. Um.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I could see Ava and Nadia, and a bunch of their clonegirl friends, hanging out by the auditorium doors. Maybe they were waiting to talk to Ms. Jordan about rooming stuff too. Whatever they were doing there, I didn’t want them listening in on my conversation, so I lowered my voice. “Actually, you said we should tell you important information? About rooming?”

  “I did,” Ms. Jordan said. “Is there something you wanted to share?”

  “Yes! Sonnet, Spider, and I need to be to
gether.” It came out fast, without any spaces between the words: YesSonnetSpiderandIneedtobetogether.

  Ms. Jordan blinked at me. “In one room? Oh no, I’m afraid that’s impossible, Tally. First of all, the rooms are all doubles. And second, of course you realize there’s no coed rooming.”

  I suspected she’d say this, so I was ready. “But Spider isn’t like that. I mean, obviously he’s a boy, but we’ve been best friends forever, and—”

  “No,” she cut in. “That’s not something we can accommodate. I’m sorry, Tally.”

  “Okay, so what if you put Sonnet and me in a double right next to Spider’s room? That way we could be there for him.”

  “In case what?”

  “In case anything.”

  She looked straight into my eyes. “Is Spider being bullied?”

  “No, but.” I chewed my lip. “It could happen.”

  Ms. Jordan paused, not taking her eyes off my face. “And is Sonnet?”

  “Not at the moment.” When Sonnet had moved to Eastview last year, in the middle of sixth grade, she’d tried out for the spring musical. Only, at the audition, instead of singing Somewhere over the rainbow / bluebirds fly, what she sang was bluebirds die. As soon as Sonnet realized it, she froze and started panic-giggling. And then Haley Spriggs, who always got the lead, sent her a card that said RIP, Bluebirds, which made Sonnet feel more humiliated, as if that were possible. But I kept telling her how great her voice sounded, which was how we became friends.

  Now Ms. Jordan was frowning at me. “Tally, is there anything else you’d like to tell me? Because I’m not really following.”

  I swallowed. “The thing is, Spider doesn’t want me talking behind his back.”

  “Okay, so would he like to share something himself? He can speak to me, or to Mr. Gianelli. Or perhaps to a guidance counselor—”

  “He won’t,” I said. For the last few months Spider had been seeing an out-of-school therapist named Dr. Spielvogel—a nice woman he liked, and who’d been helping him stay calm lately. But I knew he couldn’t handle any more talking, because sometimes he complained about going to weekly sessions. “And now he says he isn’t going on the trip,” I added.

  “Oh. Well, I’m very sorry to hear that, Tally. But you know the trip isn’t mandatory. If he’d prefer to stay home—”

  “But that’s not fair!” I exploded. “Spider shouldn’t be forced to stay behind! And if you want my opinion, this whole ‘assigning roommates’ thing is a terrible idea. Really terrible,” I repeated, just in case she hadn’t heard it the first time.

  By then Ms. Jordan’s smile looked a lot less shiny. And her makeup looked sweaty, a bit like melted crayons, I thought.

  “Well, I’m very sorry you feel that way, Tally,” she said. “But this trip is about bonding as a grade, not just about US history. So if you approach it with an open mind—”

  But my mind was open. Sometimes too open, according to some people.

  “My mind isn’t the problem,” I informed her.

  She grabbed her tote bag. “Oops, the bell’s about to ring for second period. We can talk more later, if you want. And Tally? This is a day about unity, so please fix that tee.”

  My tee? For a second, I didn’t get what she was talking about. By the time I processed it, she was hurrying out of the auditorium, as if she wanted to escape.

  Math Girl

  AVA SEELEY WAS IN MY accelerated math class, even though she wasn’t a math person, just the sort of person who was good at taking tests. All sorts of tests, not just math. Everything written in her perfectly even, squarish handwriting. Work all shown, extra credit all done, directions all followed. She even erased without leaving smudges or little eraser droppings.

  To me she was the scariest clonegirl in our entire school. Not only because she was all rah-rah, school spirit, but also because she was Miss Perfection: straight As in everything. Straight golden-brown hair, parted in the middle. Skin with zero freckles, warts, bruises, or zits. Straight fingernails all the same length, polished cotton-candy pink. Every outfit super coordinated and trendy, all hugging her skinny, symmetrical body.

  I mean, geometric shapes were supposed to be perfectly symmetrical, not people. But it was like Ava thought she was a rectangle: no wiggly lines or incongruent angles. And she had to prove it to everyone, all the time. On graph paper.

  Plus, she was mean. Not in a playground-bully sort of way, like Trey Donaldson and Marco Sarris, who’d terrorized Spider until I made them stop. More in a quiet, sneaky sort of way, which you didn’t notice until it was too late. Even if she didn’t say actual mean sentences, I knew she was always judging. Sizing you up with her hazel eyes. In my case, literally sizing.

  “Are you okay, Tally?” she asked sweetly as I plopped into my assigned seat next to her.

  I grunted. “No.”

  She smiled. “Maybe your luck would reverse if you turned your tee around.”

  Had she really just said that? “Ava, why is my tee such an obsession for you?”

  “It’s not an obsession. I just don’t want you ruining our celebration.”

  “You can’t possibly be serious.”

  “Listen, Tally, maybe you don’t care about Spirit Day, but the rest of us—”

  “The rest of you can stuff it,” I said.

  At that exact moment, our teacher, Mr. Santiago, walked into the room. Without saying hello, he picked up a blue marker and started writing a long problem on the board. Which Ava immediately began copying in her perfectly even, squarish handwriting.

  I never raised my hand in math, on principle. “Thirty-six-point-two miles,” I announced, a millisecond after Mr. Santiago stopped writing.

  He smiled, which for him was a 180-degree line across the bottom third of his face. “Very good, Tally,” he said. “Can you explain your answer?”

  “Yes, I can,” I said. “But do I have to?”

  “Come on, Math Girl.” Marco was laughing as he poked my shoulder. “He means how’d you get that so fast?”

  “Neurons,” I replied.

  Marco blushed.

  And I didn’t feel one atom of guilt for embarrassing him. After the way he’d treated Spider last year, he deserved it.

  Elevator Shaft

  THAT NIGHT IT OCCURRED TO me that maybe the problem was, in fact, the T-shirt. Maybe Ms. Jordan had reacted the way she had because she saw me as the Problem Kid, rebelling against something as meaningless as Ugly T-Shirt Day. And maybe if I’d been dressed the official clonegirl way starting that morning at the assembly, she’d have listened more sympathetically. And wouldn’t have tried to escape from the auditorium.

  So even though it made me crazy to do this, the next morning I put on the Ugly Tee again, this time over my Jellyfish Rescue-thon tee. To this outfit I added a personal touch: Grandma Wendy’s ringtail-lemur necklace and a scarf with a banana pattern (a banana bandanna!). I took Spike outside to do her dog business; then we came into the kitchen for breakfast.

  “Ooh, look at you, Tally, school spirit two days in a row,” my big sister, Fiona, teased. She was eating one of Dad’s newest muffins, which he called Good Mornin’ (no g at the end, to sound more casual, I guessed). Mom and Dad owned a bakery in town called Baked Goodies, and they were always bringing home samples and leftovers. For some reason, they always named the muffins: Cinna-mmm, Brantastic, Chocolate Chip off the Old Block, Raisin the Roof.

  I poured myself some OJ and took a big muffin with a top that looked like a lumpy pillow. These were always my favorites: the lopsided muffins, the ellipsis-shaped cookies, the brownies that didn’t have four right angles. Because who wanted geometrically perfect pastries? In my opinion, geometric perfection was for buildings. And the Washington Monument.

  “Yep, that’s me,” I told my sister. “Miss Eastview Middle School, rockin’ the official seventh grade tee. Woo-hoo.”

  Fiona laughed. “Although I must say, that shade of green is not flattering.”

  I took a bit
e of sweet, carroty muffin. “Yeah, well, Ava Seeley designed it, and she didn’t ask for anyone’s input on the color. Or anything else.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Fiona asked. She was in tenth grade, but she hadn’t forgotten what it’s like in middle school. So sometimes I told her things—and not just about Ava.

  Suddenly I had a brilliant idea. “Hey, Fiona, are there any extra muffins?”

  “Yeah, there’s an extra box on top of the fridge. Why? You’re not feeding them to Spike, are you?”

  “I’m just bringing them to school. For Sonnet and Spider.”

  Which was true, although indirectly. The muffins wouldn’t be a bribe, exactly, just a little teacher gift. Ms. Jordan had had a rough day yesterday, so of course she’d appreciate a little chewy, carroty muffin-ness before homeroom. I mean, who wouldn’t, right?

  As soon as I got to school, I slipped the banana bandanna in my jeans pocket and knocked on her homeroom door.

  “Good morning, Ms. Jordan,” I said pleasantly. “Isn’t it a lovely day?”

  She sipped some coffee from a paper cup. “It’s raining, but yes, Tally. I suppose it’s lovely.”

  I waited a second for her coffee to kick in. “Hey, so I brought you something. From my parents’ bakery.” I placed the open muffin box on her desk.

  She gaped. Her first-ever teacher gift, I bet. “Oh, that’s so sweet! Thank you so much, Tally! But I already had my breakfast. Maybe I’ll save it for a snack later.”

  “Okay, sure. They’re called Good Mornin’ muffins, but they’re edible whenever, really.” I watched her sip more coffee. “So, um, about the room situation. I don’t think I explained it very well after the assembly. The thing is, my friends were both bullied last year. Haley Spriggs teased Sonnet a lot, and Marco and Trey were both extremely mean to Spider.”

  “Yes, I think I heard something about that,” Ms. Jordan said immediately. “But everything’s fine now, right? Isn’t that what you told me yesterday—no more bullying?”

  I nodded. Why was she asking this question? And why is she making eye contact like this?