Planet Middle School (2 page)

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My friend KeeLee teases me

for always being dressed

head to toe

in navy.

I just roll my eyes

and tell her

it’s my signature color.

She’s just jealous

she doesn’t have one.

Preacher’s Kid

I.

KeeLee would swallow the rainbow

if she could.

She loves every single color.

“God made each one,” says KeeLee.

“He doesn’t pick favorites,

so why should I?”

KeeLee’s a preacher’s kid,

so she’s got a different way

of looking at things.

II.

She chose me when we were nine.

At school, a bunch of girls

were making fun of me

for dressing like a boy.

I tried to act like I didn’t care,

but KeeLee caught me balling my fists

and shoving them inside my pockets.

She pushed through the group

and came straight to my side.

“You’re just jealous,” she told those girls,

“’cause the boys don’t want to play with
you
.”

Then she slipped her arm through mine

and said, “Let’s get out of here.”

III.

KeeLee dresses frilly,

but she’s tougher than me.

One day, a girl called her

Goody Two-shoes,

and KeeLee said,

“Well, you got the shoe part right!”

and walked away.

“You think being a Tom Boy is hard?

Try being a PK,” says KeeLee.

“Everyone expects me to be perfect.

Like that’s even possible.”

KeeLee may not be an angel,

but she’s practically perfect to me.

Conversation

Jake thinks KeeLee

is a little weird.

She was watching Jake and me

play ball one day

when he was off his game.

He kept putting “God”

and “damn” in the same sentence

every time he missed the hoop.

I cleared my throat

to get his attention,

nodded in KeeLee’s direction

and whispered,

“Pastor’s kid, remember?”

Jake turned red,

told KeeLee he was sorry.

“For what?” she asked.

“For taking God’s name in vain.”

“But you didn’t,” said KeeLee.

“Yes, I did.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes. I
did
.”

“No,” KeeLee said again.

“You didn’t.”

Jake looked too confused to spit

and I wasn’t much better.

“My father says, God is who he is,

but that’s not his name.

And you can’t take his name in vain

if you don’t even know what it is.”

“So, what’s his name, then?” asked Jake.

KeeLee smiled.

“I’m not telling.

If you want to know,

you’ll have to ask him yourself.”

Jake just shook his head

and threw his hands up.

I didn’t know what to say,

but KeeLee’s words

made me wonder

what other secrets

she and God shared.

Jake

Monday afternoon

I meet Jake for our weekly

game of one on one.

He takes the ball out

and I do my best to block him,

but he’s too tall and solid

for me to break his play.

Didn’t used to be that way.

Back in second grade

when we first met,

I was the one

with all the size.

Not sure when that changed.

But so what?

He’s still one of my best friends,

him and KeeLee.

We play for an hour or so.

When it’s time to find our way home,

he play-punches me

in the arm, like always,

only harder than I remember.

I must be getting soft.

“Later, dude,” says Jake.

“Yeah, later,” I say,

grinning through the pain.

Beginnings

I.

Jake moved to the neighborhood

right after his dad walked out

and left his mom a mess.

One December day, at recess

I found him all by himself,

clinging to a swing,

crying in the cold.

I plopped down on the swing

next to him,

pushed myself off the ground,

and kept him quiet company.

When I could see

he was done crying,

I said, “Hi. My name’s Joy.”

And he said, between sniffles,

“I’m Jake.”

And that’s all it took

to make us friends forever.

II.

When I had appendicitis

and thought I might die,

I woke up after surgery

and there was Jake

staring down at me,

saying “Hey!”

which was about

all the conversation

I was in the mood for.

III.

These days,

we’re mostly basketball buddies.

Jake doesn’t talk much,

but the silences between us

are filled with friendship.

I don’t know what I’d do

without him.

New Math

Up till now,

the math of my life

has been pretty simple:

friends

plus family

plus sports.

What more

could I ask for, right?

But lately,

my outside has been changing

and my inside keeps telling me

more is on the way.

Trouble is,

I’m not sure

I’m ready.

Ridges

Ridges, that’s all they are.

Two weird mounds ruining

the perfect flatness

of my chest.

I do the best I can

to hide them,

wearing too-tight undershirts

stolen from

my baby brother’s dresser.

(Okay, so Caden’s not technically a baby,

but he’s two years younger than me,

so that qualifies.)

God, forgive me, but

I need those shirts.

I just can’t have

those things on my chest

bouncing around

every time I charge down

the basketball court.

I want all eyes

on the swish

as my perfect layup shot

clears the net.

The Usual

The minute Dad walks in the door

he starts grilling me:

“So?

How did the basketball tryouts go?

What did the coach say?”

I bite back a smile

and pretend annoyance.

“What about it, sport?

Did you make the team?”

“Probably,” I hedge,

wanting to watch

his excitement build.

Dad pats me on the back.

“Okay. It’s your decision.

I think you’d be good, though.”

He falls silent

and my brother, Caden,

steps in the gap.

“Hey, Dad.

Look at this!”

He holds up his drawing

of a pitcher on the mound.

“My teacher says

it’s one of the best drawings

she’s ever seen.”

“That’s nice,” Dad whispers

and turns away,

letting all the air

out of Caden’s balloon

and mine.

B-Day

Back from a killer game

at the neighborhood b-ball court,

I dribble through the living room

like I don’t know better

till Mom tells me to stop,

then I cut to the kitchen

where water waits.

I’m two glasses down

and working on a third

when Mom makes me

sputter up water

like a busted faucet.

“That’s it,” she says.

“No more training bras.

Time to take you shopping

for the real thing.”

Where is a parallel universe

when you need one?

Humiliation

“No, Mom.

You cannot come into

the dressing room with me!”

I face the torture

on my own,

fumble with assorted A cups,

plain and padded,

turn myself into a human pretzel

trying to fasten the stupid little hooks

across my back.

I’m sure there’s some

trick to it.

Then finally, I’m in,

locked down,

nothing moving,

feeling like I’ve just

been sentenced

to jail.

Planet Middle School

“It was embarrassing,”

I told KeeLee.

“I’m trying on all these

strange contraptions,

and my mom’s right outside

the dressing room,

dying for a peek!”

KeeLee shrugged.

“You’re growing up,” she said.

“That always weirds out parents.”

“Still.”

“I know.”

Thank God for KeeLee.

She’s the only familiar thing

about this crazy school year.

Bad enough my body’s

turned against me.

On top of that

everything else is new:

new school, new teacher,

new classrooms

I need a map to find.

I swear, some days

I feel like an alien,

dropped off on

Planet Middle School

by mistake.

I keep scanning the skies,

searching for that spaceship

that’s gonna take me home.