Planet Middle School (7 page)

Doubt

Time for school photos again.

I clutter my bed

with outfit rejects

and turn to KeeLee for

a little assistance.

“Who
are
you?” she asks me.

“And what have you done

with my friend?”

“What do you mean?”

KeeLee sighs.

“You used to know exactly

what you wanted

to wear

to do

to listen to.

But these days,

you can’t even choose

what to eat for lunch.”

I shrug, like it’s no biggie,

except she’s right.

At least, I think she is.

Or maybe not.

I can’t decide.

School Photos

Flash those pearly whites.

Pretend you’re a movie star

except for the zit.

It’s Not What You Think

Mom comes in from work,

catches me watching

Sex and the City
again.

She snatches the remote

and switches the screen to black

before I can blink.

“You’ve got no business

watching that show,” she says.

“I’ve told you that once before.

What do you find so fascinating

about that show, anyway?”

I keep the answer to myself

so she won’t laugh.

She’d never guess

that it’s all about the shoes.

I keep wondering

how those girls

manage to walk

in those shoes,

and how on earth

will I ever learn?

Behind Closed Doors

I shuffle into the kitchen

one morning

and catch Caden

bent over his drawing pad.

Hearing me,

he slams the thing shut

(think diary,

minus the lock and key).

“Is that Dad’s portrait?”

I ask.

“Quiet!” Caden orders.

“Or you’ll spoil the surprise!”

I back off, hands in the air

showing surrender,

but I’ve got to laugh.

I could say

“Hey! It was my idea

in the first place.”

But I don’t

because that would be

immature.

Homework

I.

Doing homework at KeeLee’s

can be lonely.

She’s faster than me

and usually gets bored

waiting for me to finish

so we can just hang out.

She says she doesn’t mind, though,

especially since we don’t

get to see each other as much

as we used to.

Today when she’s done

she jets to the kitchen

for a snack.

A few minutes later,

I decide to take a break

and join her,

my mouth watering

at the thought of chips.

But I guess

they’ll have to wait.

KeeLee’s been busy

painting her nails.

She blows on them,

then flashes her fingers

in my face.

“You like?” she asks.

I nod, then stare down

at my own nails,

jagged and dirty.

Not pretty like KeeLee’s or Glory’s.

Not the kind of nails

a certain boy would notice.

Before I can think about it too long,

I hold my hands out toward KeeLee

and say,

“Do mine!”

II.

KeeLee lets me sort through

her stash of nail polish colors.

One is called “Iridescent Black.”

“You’re kidding me!” I say

“What?” asks KeeLee.

“Your dad lets you wear this?”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“Well, I just thought—”

“Let me guess: You just thought

a pastor’s kid

can’t wear black nail polish.

Or say ‘butt.’ Or wear heels.

I get it,” snaps KeeLee.

I whisper, “Sorry,”

then wait

for Hurricane KeeLee

to pass.

III.

KeeLee sets out

the base coat and polish,

giving herself a minute

to calm down.

She opens the first bottle,

grabs my left hand,

and works in silence.

One coat is finished

before she speaks again.

“Sorry,” she says.

“It’s just hard sometimes

fighting to be myself.

I get so tired of people

putting me in a box

’cause I’m a pastor’s kid.

And the thing is,

God doesn’t even care

about stuff like

what color nail polish I wear,

and neither does my dad.

He cares about
me
,

what kind of person I am inside.”

Nails still wet,

I risk giving KeeLee

a monster hug.

“I know what kind of person you are,”

I tell her.

“The best.”

Quick Question

I’m losing a game to Jake,

his five shots

to my two.

Out of the blue,

he asks,

“You and KeeLee

ever talk about me?”

“Why?”

“Just wondered,”

says Jake,

stealing the ball

while I’m distracted.

I ignore his casual tone.

If he’s got KeeLee

on the brain,

there’s more than wondering

going on.

I let it go,

for now.

Practice

The house quiet,

I leave my door open

certain I’m alone.

I walk back and forth

across my room,

flashing my shiny blue nails,

trying to swish my hips

like I’ve seen other girls do.

I’m pretty sure I’ve got it,

but I decide to try one more time

for good measure,

which is right about when

I catch sight of Caden’s reflection

in my mirror.

He’s standing in the hall,

grinning,

shaking his head.

I slam the door shut wondering

how long it would take

my parents to notice

if I just accidentally

shoved my brother

over a cliff.

Birthday Dinner

Birthday cake ablaze,

Dad blows out the candles

keeping the wish to himself

if he made one.

Caden’s wish is no secret.

He slides his thin present

across the table and waits,

jaws clenched so tight

I hear them squeak.

I whisper a prayer for him

then say, “Come on, Dad!

Open it already!”

He finally frees a frame

from the wrapping

and stares down

at his portrait.

The surprise and wonder

that dance in his eyes

is a picture all its own.

He looks up at Caden

in the hush that follows.

“Son, you did this?”

he asks.

Caden swallows,

shakes his head

and I realize

I’m holding my breath.

“This is amazing, Caden,”

says Dad.

“Thank you.”

Next thing I know,

I’m on my feet and clapping

while my pesky little brother

takes a bow.

Better Than Cake

Dad cuts his cake,

gives the first piece to Caden.

A pair of Cheshire cats,

neither of them

can stop grinning.

“Son, you may not be able

to play basketball

like your sister,

but you’ve got a gift

of your own.”

Where are my sunglasses?

My brother’s smile

is blinding.

Told You So

“See what happens

when you stop trying to be

someone you’re not,

when you stick with

who you really are?

Good things follow.”

I’m in my stride now,

wagging a wise finger

in my brother’s face.

“I know,” says Caden.

“You keep telling me.

Now quit it.”

Heels

Next morning,

I’m having second thoughts.

The heels I borrowed from Mom

are pretty, though.

Strawberry to match

my lip gloss,

my patent-leather pointed toes

peek from beneath

my cuffed blue jeans.

I slip them on just before

I leave the house

so Mom won’t have time

to make a fuss.

It’s bad enough

Caden catches me

and laughs.

At school,

I tiptoe down the hall,

now and then touching the wall

for support.

My pinched toes

make me want to scream

till Santiago

comes onto the scene.

Then I’m all smiles.

Too bad that’s not

the last thing I remember.

A second later,

my ankle gives way

and I’m on the floor,

Santiago holding out a hand

to help me up,

which means

I got half of what

I wanted:

I made an impression

on Santiago.

Just not

the right one.