Plastic Polly (13 page)

I can see in Melinda's and Jenna's eyes that they're doing the math. Popular girls are great at doing the math. And by “math” I don't mean algebra. I mean all the little calculations we make every day to stay popular. Adding up our outfits, words, and actions and rounding them out to a social sum that will, hopefully, keep us popular.

So I bet Melinda and Jenna are probably thinking something like this: They don't like being fired. Maybe the only respectable thing to do is quit the committee. But now, thanks to their rigged judging system, a lot of the popular kids are participating in Groove It Up, and they don't want to miss out.

Melinda and Jenna glance at each other, and Jenna nods.

“We'll stay,” Melinda says.

“Great. Because I have something for everyone.” I dig into my backpack and pass out white envelopes to the members of the planning committee. Last night, as the second part of my plan, I came up with assignments for everyone—collecting tickets, handling the Talent Team props, set up, tear down. We're not spending any more committee meetings gossiping or fighting. It's time to get to work.

While the girls read their assignments, I feel a rush of exhilaration, like I have just accomplished a major coup. But it's short-lived when Derek turns the conversation back to the Winston Wildcats. Same old, same old. I quickly finish my salad, make up an excuse about needing to talk to Mr. Fish, and leave.

Suddenly the Court is the last place I want to be.

True Confession: I don't even like Shattered Stars' songs, but I buy their music anyway because everyone else likes them.

T
HE LAST TIME
I
VISITED
A
LYSSA
'
S HOUSE WAS THE DAY
before seventh grade started. Kelsey and I went over so we could devise our middle school strategy. Kelsey said we needed a game plan, especially since Alyssa's locker wasn't near ours and none of us had any classes together.

Alyssa thought we were being paranoid. “We've been going to Winston Academy since kindergarten,” she said. “This is just the middle school section. It's not a big deal.”

Alyssa refused to talk about a “middle school strategy,” so we ended up picking out our outfits for the next day, singing a bunch of bad karaoke on her dad's
machine, and snacking on the back-to-school brownies Mrs. Grace had baked.

Now Mrs. Grace looks shocked to see me standing on her doorstep. “Polly!” she exclaims after she opens the front door. “It's so good to see you!” She envelops me in a hug. When she releases me, she says, “Is Alyssa expecting you?”

“No.” For a second I wonder if Alyssa told her mom why we aren't friends anymore. If she had, would Mrs. Grace still look so happy to see me? “Is she home?”

“She's in her room.” Mrs. Grace opens the door wide. “You know the way.”

In her room Alyssa is sitting at her desk in front of her computer. “Hey, Mom, who was at the—” She stops when she turns and sees me.

“Hey.” I wave slightly. “It's me.”

“I can see that,” Alyssa says. “What do you want?”

“Alyssa!”
comes Mrs. Grace's voice.
“I have snacks for you and Polly!”

Alyssa sighs and stands up. “I'll be right back.”

My phone rings as she leaves. It's Justin with his daily apology, so I let it go to voice mail. Alyssa's room is the same as I remember. Posters of different musicals decorate her walls:
Chicago
,
The Phantom of the Opera
,
Wicked
. A tiny pair
of sparkly ruby slippers still sits on her bookshelf. I was with her the day we found them at a thrift shop. There's still a glass jar of M&M's on her desk, because Alyssa always said she was incapable of doing homework without large quantities of chocolate.

I used to know every single thing about Alyssa. What boy she had a crush on. Her current favorite singer—which changed all the time, depending on her mood. What Alyssa and Mrs. Grace had fought about the day before.

But now I don't know anything about Alyssa's life. On her corkboard she has tacked up a ton of pictures. In one Alyssa is at last year's Spring Fling dance with her choir friends. In another she's rooting for the Wildcats at the homecoming game. In the background of the picture, I can see the top of the pink beanie I wore that night. Kelsey and I hadn't realized we were sitting so close to Alyssa until halftime. Then, I remember, we went out of our way to laugh longer and harder at Melinda's nasty comments, even though they weren't funny. It was like we were trying to send Alyssa a message:
We don't miss you at all.

Also tacked on the corkboard are three tickets to a play. I don't recognize the name of the play, but I figure it must be a musical. Behind the tickets I glimpse an old picture of me and Kelsey and Alyssa. Quickly I remove the picture—
being careful not to disturb the play tickets—and sit down on Alyssa's bed.

It was taken the summer before seventh grade started. I'm standing in between Alyssa and Kelsey. I'm smiling, but Kelsey and Alyssa aren't. If I remember correctly, they'd gotten into a fight that day—over what, I can't remember anymore.

In this photo I see the me I used to be. Before I joined the Court and became popular. Before I started giving myself pep talks in front of a mirror. My hair is tied back in a ponytail and I'm wearing a T-shirt and cutoffs, something I wouldn't be caught dead in now.

The Polly I'm staring at right now—the Polly with the ponytail and the cutoffs—is she the real me?

I stand up and walk over to the mirror on Alyssa's closet door and stare at myself. The me I am today. I changed so much about myself once seventh grade started. I practiced a new voice, and a newer, more confident walk. I bought a
ton
of new clothes and jewelry. (Mom didn't seem to care, so I just went with it.) And I got a really great haircut. But does all that make me a fake? Am I really Plastic Polly? Alyssa would probably say so. Kelsey would probably say no.

I look back at the picture again. Both Alyssa and Kelsey
have always known exactly what they want and how to get it, but I'm not like that. I'm still trying to figure out what I want. Last year I decided I wanted to reinvent myself (no more bookworm with the squeaky voice) and socialize at the Court, and actually have some fun in middle school, instead of taking the Star Student test.

Because, not to brag, I'm pretty sure I would've passed it. One day in the library I pretended to be texting Kelsey while I eavesdropped on Bethany Perkins and her friend. They talked all about the test, and the questions they thought were difficult. I knew the answers to all of them.

But I don't think all that makes me a fake. I mean, I know I don't always say what I really think. But really, does
anyone
in middle school always say what they really think?

I hear Alyssa coming down the hall. I stuff the picture into my backpack so she won't see me holding it. The next time she leaves the room, I'll just pin it back up on the corkboard.

Alyssa enters carrying a tray with a plate of brownies and two glasses of milk. “We had leftovers in the fridge,” she says grudgingly.

“Cool.” I join Alyssa on the floor, and we eat cross-legged in silence.

“So, why are you here?” Alyssa asks again after we've finished eating.

“I moved tryouts for Groove It Up back a few days.”

“I heard.” Alyssa looks impatient, like she wishes I would leave.

A part of me wants to tell Alyssa that I just came to hang out, and that I want to be friends again. But I know we're past that. I know if I said sorry, Alyssa would tell me it was too little, too late.

“A lot of people crossed their names off the tryout sheet,” I say instead.

Alyssa shrugs. “Of course they did. Everyone is saying the judges will only vote for the popular kids, so what's the point?”

“Then I need your help.”

“
My
help?”

I nod. “I fired Melinda and Jenna as judges.”

“You fired them?” Alyssa looks surprised. Then a huge smile spreads across her face. She leans forward. “How did they take it?'

“Not well. I thought Jenna was going to pass out from shock.”

“I'd have paid money to see that.” Alyssa starts to laugh. Then I laugh too.

Once we stop, I say, “I need judges to take their place.”

“And you want me to be a judge?”

“Well, yes,” I say, “but that's not all. I also need you to be my talent scout.”

This is the plan: Alyssa's going to show me around the Dungeon. If the talented kids at Winston Academy won't come to me, then I'll go to them. We're going to recruit students to try out for Groove It Up. Then on Thursday we'll hold tryouts for the rest of the Talent Team. Alyssa and I will be judges. I still need a third judge, but I think I know who I can ask, so I'm not too worried about that.

It took a while to convince Alyssa to help me. I couldn't tell if it was because she didn't want anything more to do with Groove It Up or if she just didn't want to hang out with me. Finally I said, “Look, you said what Melinda and Jenna did wasn't right. Here's your chance to change things.” Alyssa gave in then and said she'd help.

Early the next morning Alyssa and I meet in front of the administration building. As we walk past Principal Allen's office, Mrs. Baker, the school secretary, stops me.

“Polly? Principal Allen would like a word with you.”

“Uh-oh, busted,” Alyssa says.

“What do you mean, ‘busted'? I haven't done anything wrong.”

“Yeah, but yesterday you fired Jenna Huff. What do you want to bet that her mom has been pestering Principal Allen since the second she found out?”

I find out pretty quickly Alyssa is right, because as soon as I'm seated in front of Principal Allen, she says, “Polly, I've received some troubling phone calls. Is it true you fired a couple of the girls from the judging committee?”

“Have you been talking to Mrs. Huff?” I ask.

“Who I've been talking to isn't important. What is important is that I understand what's been going on. Did you or did you not fire them?”

“Yes. I fired them.” I think about what Mom would say if she was arguing a case in front of a jury. “They were engaging in unfair judging practices.”

Principal Allen looks worried. Her eyes are squinched up, and the lines on her forehead show. “If you didn't like the way Melinda and Jenna were doing things, the appropriate action would have been to discuss your feelings with them.”

“Have you ever tried to discuss something with Jenna Huff—or any Huff, for that matter?”

For just a second the corners of Principal Allen's lips
tilt upward, but then she mashes them together and is all business. “Be that as it may, you can't go around firing people just because you don't like how they're doing their job.”

“Actually, I can.” I pull
The PlanMaster's PlanMaster
from my backpack and drop it onto her desk with a thud. Then I open it.

“It says on page eighty-three that the PlanMaster can select anyone to judge tryouts and may replace judges at any time if needed.” I close the book. “I decided it was needed.”

“Let me see that.”

I hand Principal Allen the binder. She opens it and rifles through all the sticky notes I've attached. “You read this whole thing?”

“Twice. And I'm the one who highlighted everything.”

“Impressive.” She hands the binder back to me. “But I'm not sure—”

“Don't you want to win?” I interrupt, and her eyes slide over to the blank space in her trophy case.

“Yes, I do.”

“Me too. And Jenna and Melinda were going to sink our chances. And according to the rules, I haven't done anything wrong. Not technically.”

“Not technically,” Principal Allen repeats. She doesn't look convinced. “I guess I just don't understand it. Isn't Melinda Drake one of your best friends?”