Bessica Lefter Bites Back (12 page)

“She’s an hour away,” I said.

“Looks like you’ve got time to do something productive.”

“I am not doing homework right now,” I said. Ever since I started middle school, my mom had started frequently reminding me that I always had homework. Bleh.

“Not homework,” my mom said. “But maybe you could practice your mascot routine.”

“That’s a great idea,” I said. “Because I perform against the tiger in a week.”

My mother looked at me in a disapproving way. And I had no idea why.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re not performing
against
the tiger,” my mom said. “You’re performing
for
your school.”

I shook my head. Wow. I had never realized this about my mom before, but she didn’t understand basic mascot rules. “Actually,” I said, “I’m totally competing with the tiger. In fact, the crowd loves it when the mascots fight.”

“Who told you that?”

“Vicki Docker.”

My mom smiled. “You’re still in touch with the Docker twins?”

I nodded. But I didn’t bother telling my mom that Vicki had come to my PE class to coach me. Because my mom would have wanted all the details. And there were a lot of those, and that would have taken too much time to explain.

“I should probably put my bear paws on and practice in the grass,” I said.

“You’ll stain them,” my mom said. “Why don’t you practice inside?”

But the more I thought about it, the more sense it made to practice acting like a bear outside in the wilderness.

“Grass is better,” I said. “It’s bear authentic.” I hurried to my room, waved to Bianca, and grabbed my bear paws. But I also thought about how mushy the grass felt on the way inside, so I also grabbed something to protect the fur: gigantic plastic trash bags. I sat on the sidewalk and started tucking the plastic around my paws.

“What are you doing?” my dad asked.

I looked up at him. He was holding his laser jammer.

“What are
you
doing?” I asked. Because I thought the laser jammer belonged in the car.

“Registering my unit,” he explained.

“Oh,” I said. I didn’t like that he was registering an illegal unit. “I’m wrapping my bear paws in plastic so they don’t get grass stains on them.”

“Are you going to be able to jump rope like that?” he asked.

“Probably,” I said. Jumping rope was my special talent that won me my mascot position. I wasn’t going to give that up.

I finished tucking the plastic in all the way around my bear paws so it went in the hole for my foot. I heard the front door open behind me.

“There’s no way that will work, Bessica,” my mom said. “You’re going to slip and hurt yourself.”

I didn’t know why both my parents had decided to be so negative. “It’s fine,” I said. “I’m going to practice my bear stances.”

I was so lucky Vicki had come and offered me such fantastic ideas.

“Roar!”
I said, swinging my arms out wide. “Score!” I yelled. Then I swung my arms very quickly, yelling, “
Roar!
Score!
Roar!
Score!”

When I looked at my parents, they were both laughing at me.

“Nice bear stance,” my dad said. Then he swung his own arms just like I had, and I didn’t really appreciate that.

“Do you know another cheer?” my mom asked.

“Yes,” I said. I’d taken Vicki’s cheers and added a few of my own touches. I stood with my feet apart to give myself the best balance possible. “I want a touchdown! I want a trout! If you get in my way, I’ll rip your guts out!” Then I fell to my knees and unleashed the biggest roar ever and clawed at the air in front of me.

My parents did not laugh at this. They looked a little stunned.

“You’re going to threaten to rip the guts out of the opposing team’s players?” my dad asked.

But I shook my head. That wasn’t what my cheer meant at all. “No, Dad. I’m threatening the guts of the other mascot. They’re going to yell similar things to me. It’s called talking smack.”

My parents looked at each other.

“And you’re going to fall down on your knees like that on the football stadium turf?” my mom asked. “You’ll stain your costume.”

I looked down at the knee area of my grass-stained jeans and shook my head. “The costume is brown. You won’t be able to see grass stains.”

Then I decided to show them another cheer. “Imagine that I’m jumping rope,” I said. I pretended to do that. “Roll it! Shake it! Beat it up and bake it! Honey and sugar, you’re gonna lose. Honey and sugar, eat our boos!” And then my mom and dad were supposed to boo like maniacs, but they didn’t, so I booed for them.

“Boo!” I yelled. “Boo!”

Then I went into the second part of the cheer, which required a burst of energy. I jumped. “Win!”
Jump.
“Win!”
Jump.
“Win!”

Then I decided to pick up my jump rope. I jumped as fast as I could.
Swing, jump. Swing, jump. Swing, jump.

“Holy cow,” my dad said. “If you hit anybody with that rope, you’ll knock them out.”

“Be careful, Bessica,” my mother said, taking a few steps back.

“Boo!” I hollered. “Boo!”

“Honestly,” my mom said. “Do your cheers have to be so unkind?”

I stopped jumping rope. “Yes,” I said. “That’s what people want.”

My dad shook his head. “They want to be entertained. You don’t have to jeer so much.”

I wasn’t sure what the word
jeer
meant. But I didn’t let that stop me from disagreeing with him. “Jeering isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

Honk! Honk! Honk!

I turned and looked to where the driveway met the road. “Grandma!” I cried.

I ran toward the motor home as it turned into our driveway. I could see Grandma’s arm waving at me from the passenger window. I picked up my sign and stayed on the grass as Willy drove up to our garage and parked, because I didn’t know how good a driver he was and it seemed he could accidentally hit me if I got too close.

“Bessica!” Grandma cheered as she climbed out of the motor home.

I ran to her as fast as I could while holding up my sign.

“It’s so good to see you!” I said. I handed her the sign, threw my arms around her waist, and squeezed her. She felt safe and familiar and good.

“Good to see you, Willy,” my dad said.

I turned my face toward my dad and glared at him a little. I didn’t think we should be encouraging Willy. That was why I didn’t put his name on the sign.

“Your pixie cut is getting so long,” Grandma said.

“It is?” I asked as I reached up and touched it.

“It’s getting to that point where you’ll have to decide whether you want to let it turn into a bob. Or re-pixie it.”

“Really?” I asked. I didn’t know those were my two choices.

“Is Sylvie growing hers out too?” Grandma asked.

Seeing Grandma again
and
thinking about Sylvie at the exact same time made me sad.

“I think so,” I said. I figured guessing was the best answer.

“What’s on your feet?” Grandma asked. “Are they slippers?”

Then I got very excited, because Grandma had never seen my bear paws!

“They’re my hind paws!” I said. “Check them out.” I
tugged the plastic off them and slipped them off my feet and handed them to Grandma. She handed Willy the sign and took them.

“Nice!” she said.

“They look very ferocious,” Willy added. Then he made a lame growling noise.

“These give me an idea,” Grandma said.

“What?” I asked. Because I thought maybe she wanted to make her own set of hind paws so we could match, and that seemed like fun.

“We should all visit Bear Galaxy together,” she said.

“I’ve already suggested that,” Dad said.

“Are there real bears at Bear Galaxy?” Willy asked.

“Of course,” I said. What a terrible question. Could Willy have been any more lame?

“Once, in Alaska, I came toe to toe with a polar bear,” Willy said.

That was actually pretty cool. “Did you shoot it?” I asked. Because Mr. Hoser had told us that polar bears were the most vicious bears that had ever walked on Earth.

“I did not,” Willy said, taking one of my paws in his hands.

“Did a person you were with shoot it?” I asked. Based on what Mr. Hoser had told us, I was pretty sure the only way to escape a polar bear was by killing it.

“The person I was with shot it with bear spray and we took off on a snowmobile,” Willy said, crossing his heart with his index finger. “True tale.”

“Wow,” my dad said. “Great story.”

But I didn’t think it was great. I thought it was just okay.

“Let’s fix some snacks,” Grandma said.

“Do you need me to help you carry your things inside?” I asked.

Grandma shook her head. “Willy and I are staying in the Winnebago.”

“Huh?” I asked. Why would Grandma want to stay inside that awful thing when she could come inside the house and live with us again? This was all so confusing.

“Bessica!” Willy called. I turned back around and looked at him.

“What?” I asked.

“I brought you something,” he said.

I wanted to roll my eyes, but I stopped myself from doing that. Didn’t Willy understand that he bothered me?

“Here,” Willy said.

He handed me a key chain with a bear on it.

“It’s a grizzly bear,” he said. “Like you.”

I felt like telling Willy that I was a mascot, not a grizzly bear. I stuck the key chain in my pocket without even looking at it very closely.

“Thanks,” I said.

“We got something for Sylvie too,” Grandma said. “Isn’t her birthday coming up?”

I didn’t even answer.

“Yes,” my mom said. “Bessica bought her a surprise present. She isn’t telling anybody what it is.”

“Ooh,” Grandma said. “I bet she tells me.”

Was this the right time to tell Grandma that due to a war of texts, Sylvie had uninvited me to her party and that we were no longer friends? No.

“I want it to stay a surprise,” I said.

I thought back to what I’d bought Sylvie at the mall that day. Thinking about it now, what I got might be seen as a little bit of a mean gift. I had looked up her nose and seen all that hair. And I’d spotted a battery-powered nose hair trimmer and thought that would be perfect. So I’d bought it and wrapped it and stuffed it under my bed. But it didn’t matter much now. Because how could you go to a disco/jungle–theme birthday party when you weren’t even talking to the person who was throwing it?

S
omething had happened to Annabelle. She hated me. One day we were fine and I was giving her fantastic advice about Jasper. The next day she wouldn’t even talk to me. At first I thought maybe I was imagining that Annabelle was giving me the silent treatment. But then Lola tracked me down before lunch.

“Annabelle is furious with you and has asked that you not eat lunch with us anymore.” Lola seemed bummed when she told me this.

“Why?” I asked. I thought I’d been a pretty good friend to Annabelle. What had I done? Why was she mad at me? Who would I eat lunch with? This was all terrible news.

“It’s about Jasper,” Lola said.

“Oh yeah,” I said. “I forgot about that. How did it go?”

Lola bit her bottom lip. “I don’t think I should tell you. I think she should tell you.”

“But she doesn’t even want to talk to me,” I argued.

Lola took a big breath and held it. She studied my face before she released it. “Her talk with Jasper was a disaster.”

“What happened?” I asked.

Lola huffed a little. “I already said I think Annabelle should be the one to tell you, not me.”

“Right,” I said. “Hey, maybe I could write Annabelle an apology really quickly and you could give it to her and maybe we could forgive each other and eat lunch together.”

I was impressed I could think on my feet so quickly.

“That’s pretty doubtful,” Lola said. “She’s so upset I’m surprised she even came to school.”

I tore a piece of paper from my binder and tried to write the apology I’d want if I were Annabelle.

Hi, Annabelle. I am SO SO SO sorry to hear about Jasper. You are AWESOME and he doesn’t deserve your kindness or attention. PLEASE don’t be mad at ME. I was only trying to help. Let’s talk.

FEEL BETTER! BL

“Will you read this and tell me what you think?” I asked Lola.

Her eyes darted left to right and back as she read it. “It looks pretty good. Wait here and I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” I said. “But if I’m not here, I’ll be by the vending machine buying my lunch.” I didn’t like to buy a zero-nutrition lunch from the vending machine, but it was better than eating alone in the cafeteria wishing I were eating with my friends. Or starving all by myself.

Lola hurried off with my note and I hung out by my locker until I heard footsteps.
Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.
Uh-oh. They belonged to my middle school’s hall monitor, Cameron Bon Qui Qui. She was incredibly hung up on rules, and I found her to be a mean drag of a human being.

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” I told her as I stood by my locker. Because she loved calling me a hallway violator.