Plastic Polly (2 page)

True Confession: No one at school ever told me I was pretty until after I became popular.

“F
INALLY
,” K
ELSEY SAYS WHEN
I
TAKE MY USUAL SEAT
at her right side. As the most popular eighth grader at Winston Academy, Kelsey sits at the head of the Court. “I need you to settle a disagreement between Melinda and me.”

Everyone sitting at the Court—which today includes a few football players, Kristy Palmer and a couple of other cheerleaders, and Kelsey's soccer teammates—turns to stare at me.

“Okay. What is it this time?” Lately Melinda has been saying we should have certain rules at the Court, like Monday you have to wear pink, or Friday is jeans day, but
Kelsey—who never wants to be like anyone else—thinks it's a stupid idea. And when it comes to clothes, neither of us trusts Melinda. She's great at selecting an insult but less accomplished when it comes to fashion. Today Melinda's wearing a bright yellow sundress with brown polka dots, and frankly she looks like a talking banana.

Kelsey flips her long hair, which is as black and sleek as a panther's mane, over one shoulder and says, “Melinda thinks we should all wear the same costume to Kristy's Halloween party, but I say no way. What do you say?”

“Come on,” Melinda begins. “The party isn't for a few weeks, and—”

“I already bought a costume,” I say, cutting her off. “And there's no way I'm taking it back.” I'd take Kelsey's side even if I hadn't already bought a costume. When you've been best friends since kindergarten, that's just what you do.

Kelsey grins triumphantly. “See? Two against one. Too bad, Melinda.”

Melinda stabs at her salad and grumbles. “It's not fair. Just because you have a best friend who—”

“What was that?” Kelsey cocks an ear.

Melinda looks up and suddenly seems to realize everyone is looking at her. “Nothing.”

Melinda changes the subject and begins talking about a reality show she saw on TV last night, but I don't pay attention. I'm looking over her shoulder, at Alyssa. In the window behind her several red and gold leaves from the maple trees drift slowly to the ground like lazy sailboats. I remember how Alyssa's dad used to pay me and Kelsey and Alyssa a penny for every leaf we picked up in their front yard. Kelsey and Alyssa always fought over the red ones.

“Earth to Polly,” Kelsey says. “What's with you today? You seem distracted. And you took forever at the salad bar.”

“Some girl was giving Polly a hard time.” Melinda points her fork at me. “And Polly was just taking it.” Melinda's voice is disapproving, like she's tattling on a small child who's just done something very naughty. Sometimes I catch her staring at me with a puzzled, distasteful expression on her face, like she can't figure out how I became popular. And lately Melinda's been taking her chronically cranky mood out on me—especially when she feels like me and Kelsey are ganging up on her.

Before I can remind Melinda that I did stick up for myself (and still feel bad about it), Kelsey says, “That's your problem, Polly. You don't assert yourself. Someone messes with you”—Kelsey pounds her fist on the table—“you squash them.”

“Squash them?”
I laugh.

“Like a bug. And anyway, what girl was giving you a hard time?” She turns to survey the cafeteria, eyes narrowed.

“Some ugly girl from my history class,” Melinda says. “She's no one.”

“Her name is Alyssa,” Lindsey says. “She's usually pretty nice.” Lindsey quickly glances at Kelsey and me, to see if she said the wrong thing. As a seventh grader Lindsey is careful to stay on everyone's good side. So I smile back at her to let her know everything is fine.

Kelsey pales, and after the conversation turns to another topic, she leans over and whispers, “Alyssa Grace?”

It sounds weird to hear Kelsey use Alyssa's last name. Like she's a stranger. Like Alyssa isn't the girl we once bought special best friend necklaces with—a heart split three ways.

“She's sitting behind Melinda,” I whisper.

Kelsey turns, and we both watch Alyssa. “Why is she sitting there?” Kelsey whispers. “Doesn't she usually eat lunch with her choir friends?”

“Yes.”

Kelsey and I glance at each other—both of us silently acknowledging that, even though we don't talk about Alyssa, we've kept track of her the past year.

“Um, Kelsey?” A girl I don't know—a seventh grader, I think—tentatively steps forward. “Mr. Fish says he needs to see you. R-right now.” Sweat breaks out on her upper lip, probably because she was forced to approach the Court without an invite.

Mr. Fish is the teacher adviser for Groove It Up. He seems nice enough to me, but Kelsey can't stand him. She gives a long-suffering sigh before leaving.

Afterward I get drawn into a conversation about the upcoming football game, and whether I think the Winston Wildcats will win on Saturday. I smile and nod, since I'm expected to care, but the whole time I'm watching Alyssa.

Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if the ground hadn't shifted, elevating Kelsey and me—turning us into middle school royalty—while Alyssa was thrust to the bottom of the middle school heap. Back when the three of us had sleepovers every Friday night at Alyssa's house, Kelsey and I would sing off-key to stupid pop songs on Mr. Grace's old karaoke machine. Every now and then Alyssa would join in—overpowering us with her diva voice. But usually she'd make funny faces and dance crazily around the room—like a chicken doing the hokey pokey—and we'd all laugh till we fell to the floor in hysterics.

“Hey, Pretty Polly,” says Derek Tanner, a football
player sitting next to Kristy. “I'm going to get a soda from the vending machine. Want one?”

I nod and tell him thank you. In the past couple weeks Derek's started showing up at my locker, buying me sodas during lunch, and insisting on carrying my backpack in between classes.

After he leaves, Kristy and Melinda giggle, and Lindsey whispers, “He
totally
likes you.”

“Maybe.” The girls are convinced Derek has a crush on me, but I just can't get all that excited about it. I mean, yeah, Derek's really cute. But he also has this weird look on his face all the time—like he's constantly surprised by the smallest things. Plus, he smells like cardboard. Don't ask me why.

Also, I happen to know (since he mentions it at least once a day) that Derek is trying out for Groove It Up and really wants a slot on the Talent Team. If it weren't for the fact that Kelsey intimidates most of the boys at Winston, I think Derek would be buying
her
sodas. You know, go straight to the top, and all that.

I watch while Derek lingers in front of the soda dispenser, scratching his head and looking baffled—like the machine's playing a practical joke on him. Then I turn to the girls. “What if he only likes me because I'm on the planning committee?” I ask. “Or because I'm popular?”

“So what?” Melinda looks genuinely confused.

After that, Kristy tells us about the camping trip she went on with her family over the weekend.

“That sounds super fun,” I say, watching Alyssa while I talk. “I love camping.”

Melinda turns to me. “Didn't you tell Kate Newport last week that you'd rather stick a needle in your eye than go camping?”

“What?” I turn my attention back to the girls. “Oh, um . . .” Okay, I did say that. I wasn't trying to be totally fake to Kristy or anything, but I've noticed people sometimes get upset when you disagree with them over the smallest things. Like if someone says, “I really like lemon drops,” and you say, “I don't like lemon drops,” the other person gets all offended. Like you've just said you don't like
them
.

So in my opinion it's just easier to agree with people.

“Um . . . I forgot,” I say.

“Hey, hey, hey, it's the PlanMaster herself!” says Toby Markowitz, another football player, as Kelsey plunks back down in her seat. “Death to American River!”

Then Kristy and the other cheerleaders start clapping and break into a chant, “WIN-ston! WIN-ston! WIN-ston!” I can't help it. I look around at the rest of the
cafeteria and watch everyone else (including Alyssa) watch us. It feels good.

“Free concert with Shattered Stars, here we come! American River doesn't stand a chance with Queen Kelsey as the PlanMaster!” Lindsey says.

(Yep, Kelsey also has a nickname that we think came from Alyssa. The difference is, Kelsey
likes
hers.)

“It doesn't matter who the PlanMaster is,” Kelsey says, rubbing her temples. “What matters is which school has the most talent.”

“Stop being so modest,” Melinda says, in a voice so sugary I wonder if
she
practices in front of a mirror. “We all know that if Winston wins, as PlanMaster, Kelsey should get all the credit.” Melinda smiles, but her yellowish-brown eyes—that remind me of greedy wasps—don't. For a second I wonder if Melinda believes the opposite. If Winston loses, does Kelsey deserve all the blame?

I think Kelsey must wonder the same thing, because she snaps, “I
know
, Melinda. Okay? Since you remind me practically every hour.”

Derek returns, having finally outsmarted the vending machine. He hands me a soda, and then offers one to Kelsey. “Here you go, Madame PlanMaster.”

“It's dented.” Kelsey turns the can to show Derek.

“Oh, yeah,” Derek says, looking vaguely surprised. “I guess I dropped it.”

“Look what I found.” Kristy holds up an American River flyer advertising Groove It Up. “They hung it up outside of Chip's. Can you believe that?”

Groove It Up is a big deal in Maple Oaks, and a lot of the local businesses get into it, supporting one school or another. Chip's, the diner across the street from Winston, is always firmly on our side.

“Give me that.” Melinda snatches the flyer, wads it up, and tosses it behind her. It lands in Alyssa's tomato soup, sending red liquid splashing onto Alyssa's face—which sends half the Court into hysterics.

“She looks better that way.” Melinda gasps, laughing so hard she can't catch her breath.

Everyone goes back to cheering for Winston. No one notices that Kelsey and I aren't laughing. Alyssa, meanwhile, wipes the soup off with a napkin, revealing a face that's still tomato-colored. Then she hastily gathers her things. After she's cleared her tray, she starts for the staircase leading to Winston's lower level—the Dungeon, as it's known around campus.

“I want to go talk to her,” I whisper to Kelsey.

“Absolutely not. She made her choice.”

I turn and stare at Kelsey. “I wasn't asking for your permission.”

I stand up and start after Alyssa. Behind me I hear Kelsey say, “All right, Polly.
Fine.
Wait for me.”

I'm at the edge of the staircase, and Alyssa is down the stairs—heading into the Dungeon—when I call down to her, “Alyssa!”

This is the part I will always replay in my mind:

1. Alyssa turns to stare up at us.

2. Next to me I hear Kelsey pop open her soda, and icy liquid sprays my shoulder as the soda spurts everywhere. Then I hear a dull thud as Kelsey drops the can.

3. Alyssa grins, but her look quickly turns to panic and she mouths the word
No!

4. I turn just in time to see Kelsey trip over the can and go toppling down the stairs, her screams tumbling after her.

5. When Kelsey lands, Alyssa is at her side.

6. Alyssa looks up at me. Then, like a mirror image, we each bring a hand to our neck.

Both of us reaching for a heart necklace that isn't there anymore.

True Confession: Besides Kelsey, I never show my report card to the girls at the Court. I don't want them to know I get straight As.

T
HIS IS THE STORY OF HOW
I
BECAME POPULAR AND LOST
a best friend, all in the same week:

On our first day of seventh grade, Alyssa and I sat together at a side table in the cafeteria, trying to calm down Kelsey, who was livid that some eighth grader named Amanda had dared to call her Squirt in the hallway.

“It's not a big deal,” Alyssa said. “And who cares what she says, anyway?”

“
I
care, Miss High-and-Mighty,” Kelsey snapped. “And so should both of you. Do you know what kinds of decisions are made in the first weeks of middle school?
Where you sit, who you hang out with? It defines your entire existence.”

“Okay, now you're just being overdramatic,” Alyssa said.

“Don't talk to me about being dramatic, Miss I'm-Saving-My-Voice-for-Choir-Tryouts-Tomorrow.” Kelsey stared pointedly at the scarf Alyssa had tied around her neck.

I kept quiet, but I actually agreed with Kelsey. Right then in the cafeteria most people (except for Amanda) seemed pretty nice—spread out like pieces of a living puzzle, trying to figure out where they fit. But eventually, I knew, everyone would find their matching pieces and connect together, making up Winston Academy's student body. After that, if you tried to switch groups or sit at a different table, people would look at you funny.