Spirit Week Showdown (11 page)

S
he turns to face me. “All those trophies are from pageants and beauty contests that I've won,” says Connie.

I stand and stare at the mantel again. “What? No way!”

She keeps talking. “I went to the same private school as Naomi. My parents don't have a lot of money, and private school is expensive. But my grades were good enough to get a scholarship. It paid for all of my classes, meals, everything. The private school has an art program, and as you probably guessed, I love art.”

“And you're really good at it, Connie. That art room is amazing.”

“Drawing helps me say things when I can't find the right words. So that school was perfect for me. The only thing I had to do to keep my scholarship was make good grades and stay out of trouble. No problem.”

I sit back down and stare at her. Five days ago, I would never have believed that Connie Tate was
not
a troublemaker, and I wouldn't be caught dead sitting in her living room. But now, I've got a feeling she's about to unload some hair-raising, heavy-duty truth on me, and I've made a promise not to repeat it.

Connie folds her arms across her chest. “My mom began signing me up for beauty pageants when I was in second grade.”

I almost fall off the couch. “You? I can't imagine you in a beauty contest. I bet you hated it.”

“Actually, I loved it! Texas has tons of pageants, so Mom entered me in at least one every month or so. They were a lot of fun. That's when I first became friends with Naomi. We already went to the same private school, but we had different friends and didn't hang out together. Once, we ended up in the same pageant, and she asked me to be her best friend. I said okay. She won that pageant, and
I came in second. I didn't care because I was having so much fun, and I even had a best friend who liked to do the same things I did. We played together, ate lunch together, and even went to the movies together. Things were great until the next pageant.”

I let go of the couch cushions. This doesn't sound too bad. “What happened? Did you come in second again?”

She grins. “I almost won!” Then the grin fades away. “That was the problem. The judges liked Naomi's song, but they clapped for a really long time after I showed them the picture I drew. Some of the other contestants thought I was going to take first place. So Naomi asked me to drop out.”

My face wrinkles. “What?”

Connie nods. “She said if I was really her best friend, I would drop out of the pageant. I didn't know what to do. I've never quit anything in my whole life, especially a pageant. I told her I didn't want to quit.”

There's no doubt in my mind that Naomi was mad at Connie. And I bet she did the same thing to her that she did to me

“So what happened?” I ask.

She chews on her bottom lip. “Every pageant I've been in, when it was time for the talent part,
I always drew pictures while music played in the background. That's why I was so angry when Naomi accused me of cheating. She knows I can draw. But anyway, one of the other girls in the pageant asked me if I broke my brother's fingers. I didn't know why she would ask me that, so I told her what really happened. My brother broke his fingers when he fell out of a tree. A few minutes later, another girl in the pageant asked me if I trashed the principal's car. That wasn't true either.”

I grip the couch cushions again. I can barely listen.

“But the worst was the rumor that I took my ankle boots off a homeless woman. There are lots more, like painting stripes on my dog, and taking doughnuts back to the bakery for some weird reason. All the girls said Naomi told them the rumors. They believed her because we were best friends. I yelled at Naomi to stop lying about me. That's when she started calling me Mean Connie.”

I pound the couch with my fist. “She flipped everything to make it look like you were the mean person when it was really her.”

Connie moves from the chair to the sofa, and sits right beside me and pounds the couch, too.

“I was so mad at her for all her lies that I
threatened to beat her up. She told the pageant coordinator and got me kicked out of the competition. Then she told her parents that she was afraid to go back to school because I was going to hurt her. A few days later, the principal gave me an envelope to take home to my parents. It was sealed. I was a good student, Mya, and I had never been in trouble, so I had no idea what the letter said. I thought it was something good! I gave it to my parents. They read it, sat at the table, and stared at each other. I'll never forget the looks on their faces.”

Connie gets up, walks over to the mantel, and stares at her trophies. I try to be patient, but the suspense is killing me. When she turns around, her eyes are wet. I'm hurting for her, and I don't even know why yet. But I can tell it's something bad.

“They took away my scholarship, Mya. The letter said the principal had met with the private school committee over a recent incident when I threatened a student. My scholarship was only good as long as my grades were good and I didn't cause any trouble. Because I was a good student, they would allow me to stay if I accepted a one-week suspension, and my parents would have to pay for the rest of the year on the day I came back to school. That was over ten thousand dollars! No way could my parents afford that.”

Tears roll down my face and I don't even try to stop them. How can one person be so ugly to so many people, and still win beauty contests?

“Why didn't you tell everybody that the rumors weren't true?” I ask.

She glares at me. “You mean like the way you told everybody that you didn't break your promise on purpose?”

My face warms. I can't look at Connie as I think about all the things I've done to her, when all along, she's the one who deserved to walk on my red bathroom carpet.

And I double-crossed her.

And Naomi Jackson double-crossed me.

Naomi didn't just use me to get Nugget. She used me to get Connie, too.

Now there's no way I can tell Connie what I did. I just can't.

She sits back down. “So that's how I ended up at Young Elementary. Mr. Winky and Mrs. Davis found out about my art talent and asked me if I wanted to do posters for special holidays and school events. I said yes. All the posters you see for Halloween, Valentine's Day, and Spirit Week, I did them.

“Mr. Winky and Mrs. Davis took me down the K3 hall and showed me an empty room. Mr. Winky
said if I stay out of trouble, and do a good job on those posters, I can use that room in the back to draw or paint. But if I get in trouble, I lose my art room.”

I wipe my eyes and try to smile. “I like your art room, Connie. But I . . . I can't believe what Naomi did to you.” I get up and walk to the door. “Tomorrow I'm going to be the best Animasia you've ever seen. And we're going to win those VIP tickets.”

Connie smiles. “I think you're going to be an awesome Animasia. You know, I'm glad I didn't agree to trade partners last Friday. You've been a really good Spirit Week partner, Mya, and the best fake friend I've ever had!”

She's still smiling, but I'm dying inside. “I've got to go, Connie. See you tomorrow.”

My boots are too heavy and I can't run as fast as I need to. I want to run faster than all the terrible things I've done to Connie Tate. I have to outrun the things Naomi Jackson is going to say to her tomorrow. I've got to stop it all, but I don't know how.

Even though I'll be dressed like Animasia, the best warrior in the Girl Guardian Court, tomorrow may be the worst day of my life because Naomi may tell Connie what I couldn't—that I gave away our secrets, and that I tried to help her win. I may get
called names that are worse than Mya Tibbs Fibs. And I'll take the blame for all of it, as long as Connie doesn't get hurt again.

I'm going to do everything I can to make sure it's the perfect day for her.

A
s I walk home, the streetlights buzz to life. It's still light outside, but that's not why I run like the wind toward the house. Mom and Dad have a strict rule about being home by the time the streetlights come on. I open the front door. Mom's there, smiling at me.

“You had me worried for a minute. Is everything okay? Did Connie like the outfit? Did it fit?”

I look for Nugget. His door's closed. That always means he doesn't want to be bothered. I don't know if Connie's costume fits. I don't even know if she likes it. I want to tell Mom what I did, but she
doesn't need the stress. Dad's so tired when he gets home from all the work he has to do at the store that I don't want to give him extra drama to handle. Nugget and I promised we wouldn't bother Mom and Dad with our problems unless they were too big for us to figure out on our own. My problem with Naomi and Connie is pretty big, but I'm going to fix everything tomorrow.

I smile and walk toward my room. “Connie's going to be an awesome Queen Angelica.”

I stop on the steps and look back to look at Mom. She's still smiling, rubbing her belly, and looking like the most beautiful mom to ever wear house slippers shaped like cowgirl boots. “You really are amazing, Mom. Thanks for helping us with our costumes, and my braids, and everything else.”

She stops rubbing her belly. I see a tear in her eye. Good gravy. Now I've made Mom cry, too.

I rush upstairs and close my door. The cows and horses on my wall stare at me. Annie Oakley and Cowgirl Claire give me a look like I need to tell them what I did.

So I do.

I must have fallen asleep, because a knock on my door scares me so badly that I fall on the floor.

I wipe my face. “Who is it?”

“Mom and Dad said it's time for dinner. Come on, let's go,” says Nugget.

I
ka-clunk
over to the door and open it. We stand there, staring at each other for a moment, before Nugget reminds me with a whisper, “I'm sure Dad's had a long day at work. Mom and the baby don't need any stress. We'll talk later, okay?”

I nod and follow my brother downstairs. Dad's already at the table, dressed in a clean shirt, holding his knife and fork like he's starving to death. Nugget and I grin at him as we take our places at the table. Mom's made her yummy meat loaf with mashed potatoes and green beans. Nugget and Dad stare at the food and then back at each other.

“Maybe I should get my food first, before you take it all. I'm still a growing boy,” says Nugget with a smile.

Dad shrugs. “You might just have to grow someplace else, because that meat loaf is mine.”

I can't help but giggle. Mom comes to the table, wiping her hands on her apron.

“If I had known we were going to have a food fight, I would have made spaghetti.”

Nugget and I laugh, and Dad joins us.

After Dad gives thanks for our food, Mom starts off by telling us about her day.

“The baby moved a lot, so I had to rest more than I wanted to and that put me behind on the housework. But then I ran out of peanut butter, and it depressed me so bad that I had to take a nap. When I woke up, I realized I had loaded the washing machine but forgot to start it,” she says, getting a scoop of mashed potatoes and squirting catsup all over them. My eyes meet Nugget's, and we cover our mouths to hide our grins.

Dad's plate is piled up like he's building a castle. “This should fill my empty stomach,” he says. “Today was a long day at the store. I had two people ask for refunds for Bronco Buck Willis stuff they bought last week. Then some little boy pushed the button on the side of Buttercup, and when the bull started bucking, it scared him so badly that he ran through the store knocking over displays, camping gear, all kinds of stuff. I spent my entire lunch hour cleaning up that mess. Right before I left the store, the Fall Festival Committee called and said they're working on a contract for a rodeo replacement, but they wouldn't tell me who it was.”

I glance at Dad. “Not even a clue?”

“Not even one lousy clue,” he says.

I stab another forkful of meat loaf and shove it into my mouth. Mom takes a long swig of her
cranberry juice. “Mya, Nugget, do you know why your father and I are so happy about the new baby?”

I shrug. “New babies are fun,” I say.

Nugget looks at Dad. “Another tax deduction?”

Dad laughs. I do, too, even though I have no idea what a tax deduction is.

Mom wipes her mouth, puts both elbows on the table, and props her chin on the backs of her hands. “The reason we're so happy about having another child is because the two we have are so wonderful! Your father and I love being your parents.”

Dad nods at me and fist-bumps Nugget as Mom continues.

“Don't think we can't handle your problems. We can, and we want to help.”

I slowly let my fork drop on my plate. Nugget's eyes are glued to Mom's as she begins to cry.

“It's so precious of you to try and keep your problems away from your dad and me because you think we can't handle them right now.”

Nugget stares at Dad. “You knew?”

My eyes widen. “How'd you know that?”

Dad's eyebrows rise as he nods. “It's been tough on your mom and me, waiting for both of you to come and talk to us. We know when things aren't going well for you. Things don't always go right out
there in the world. But in here, at this table, we're family, and we help each other, understand? That's what families do.”

Mom holds out her arms. “Come here, Sir Nugget.”

Dad holds out his arms. “Come here, baby girl.”

I'm almost running to the end of the table. I close my eyes and let Dad hug me. My arms wrap around his neck. His face feels so warm and perfect, just like a dad should feel.

He whispers in my ear. “You can always talk to me, Mya, about anything. You hear?”

“Yes, sir,” I say without letting go of his neck.

The dining room is quiet, but it doesn't feel strange. It feels like a whole lot of love in the room, and that's exactly what I needed. And since I don't hear my brother saying anything, I'm thinking that's exactly what he needed, too.