Spirit Week Showdown (5 page)

C
onnie gets two pieces of pizza and two milks, and then disappears into the cafeteria crowd. I grab a piece of pepperoni pizza, a piece of cheese pizza, and a bunch of napkins in case Connie decides to shove my lunch up my nose. I spot her at the detention table near the stage.

I'm sure Mean Connie owns that table because she sits there every day. I bet she's even carved her name into the wood with an axe. I'm
ka-clunk
ing that way when I hear Nugget.

“Mya, come here a minute! I need to ask you something.”

He puts his arm around Solo and smiles as if he just won the lottery. “Fish picked Solo's name and gave it to me. I gave him Bobby Joe McKinley. His sister, Lisa, is in your class.”

I glare at Solo, wearing sunglasses in the cafeteria. Two fifth-grade boys walk by and give him high fives for no reason. Solo leans toward my brother and whispers something. Nugget speed-walks to me and cups his hands over my ear. “Since I've been hanging out with Solo, no one has called me Word Nerd Nugget. And he's teaching me how to hoop!”

“And what are you doing for him?”

Nugget shrugs as his voice drops to a whisper. “Nothing really. I do his math homework. No big deal. It's totally worth it, and math is easy for me.”

I roll my eyes. “You won't even help me with
my
math homework,” I say, walking away. But my brother taps my shoulder and then folds his arms across his chest like Dad does when he's not happy about something.

“One more thing. Did you default on a pinkie promise?”

I feel a cry coming. “It wasn't Dee's fault, whoever that is. It was my fault.”

Nugget rolls his eyes. “No, not Dee's fault. Default. It means go back on something.”

“I couldn't help it, Nugget,” I say. “I picked Mean Connie for my Spirit Week partner, and I was too scared to ask her for a trade, but nobody believes me.”

He pulls me over near the big trash can. “You've put me in an unpleasant predicament, Mya. Solo's calling you Mya Tibbs Fibs, and I'm extremely uncomfortable with that.”

I can't take all these big words right now. “Is Solo all you care about?”

He jumps when I slam my tray down on the closest table and walk away.

Nugget yells to me. “Mya, wait!”

But I don't. I run out of the cafeteria into the restroom, and lock the door on a stall. I'm no crybaby, but I'm having a hard time making the tears stay away. I reach inside my boot and grab the Spirit Week schedule.

I told Naomi I'd explain everything to her at lunch, and I didn't, and that could cost me another shot at making up with her. I didn't keep my promise to Mean Connie, either. I was supposed to meet her at the detention table. That could cost me my lips.

Spirit Week is over for me before it's even started. I prop both elbows on my legs and hold my
face with my hands. Those VIP tickets are history. No free food or first in line for me. Suddenly, the restroom door opens.

“Tibbs, you in here?”

“No.”

I pull up my legs, so they can't be seen under the door, and watch a pair of ugly black ankle boots shuffle across the floor.

“I know you're in here, Tibbs. You were supposed to find me, not the other way around. Anyway, I got your pizza.”

I put my feet down and open the door. Connie's on the floor with her legs crossed. A plate of pizza sits in her lap. I walk over to the sink, wash my hands, and frown at her.

“I'm not a brat. Everybody thinks I broke my promise on purpose.”

“Quit caring about what other people think. Are we going to talk about the Spirit Week schedule in here? This isn't the greatest place to eat pizza,” says Mean Connie, looking around.

“I don't feel like talking about the schedule right now, Mea . . . Connie. Sorry.”

She grabs the pepperoni pizza, then moves the plate from her lap to the floor, stands, and points her finger at me.

“Listen up, Tibbs. We were supposed to eat lunch together. Then you bailed on me. Now I'm eating pizza on the restroom floor just so we can talk about the schedule, and you're trying to bail on me again. I'm not—”

I interrupt her. “You don't understand. I lost all of my friends today! I've got a nickname that is the ugliest nickname in the whole universe. Everybody in the whole school thinks I'm a promise breaker. Then I pick you for my Spirit Week partner, and you don't even like me! Well, guess what? I don't like you either! If you're going to beat me up, just do it.”

She gobbles the last piece of pizza. “I never said I didn't like you. But I never said I did, either. We're Spirit Week partners, whether we like it or not. Even though I don't like to fight, I told Solo and Nugget if they mess with you again, I'd kick their butts and make them lick Lisa Lotta-Germ's tissue bag.”

I feel sick at the thought, but it's kind of funny. “Thanks. Solo's not even Nugget's best friend. I don't like him at all. Anyway, I guess we can talk about the schedule at recess.”

“I don't do recess,” says Connie as she walks to the door. “Don't worry. I'll find you.”

I
ka-clunk
out of the restroom, not sure how I feel about having a private conversation with the
school bully. She didn't stuff my head in the toilet. She didn't stick my face in the sink and turn the hot water on. And I'm not wearing the pizza she brought in—eating pizza on the restroom floor? That's got to be number one on the gross chart. But I guess bullies eat pizza in restrooms all the time.

I push open the door that leads to recess. Mrs. Davis isn't looking, so I try to blend in by walking around and standing with different groups until I feel like I don't have to anymore. I spot Naomi and the twins practicing cheers over by Nugget, Solo, and a bunch of guys playing basketball. I jog over to them. Skye waves at me, and smiles as she holds Starr's hand.

“Hey, you guys, I think there's been some kind of misunderstanding. Let me explain what happened, okay? I feel really terrible about this, Naomi. I really do want you to meet La'Nique Sidney, and I'll do anything to help you because you're still my best friend.”

She frowns. “I can't believe what you did. Me getting Lisa Lotta-Germs as a Spirit Week partner is almost as bad as you getting Mean Connie. It's over. I'm never going to meet La'Nique, and I can forget about winning those tickets. You totally let me down.”

I step closer to her. “Don't say that, Naomi. Do you think I care whether or not Mean Connie wins VIP tickets? I'm not helping her win anything! She ruined my vest and
still
hasn't apologized for it. Plus I just watched her eat pizza in the restroom.”

“That's just gross,” says Skye.

“So gross,” says Starr.

I stand in the middle of my three friends. “I'm sticking to
our
plan. Mean Connie is just my Spirit Week partner. You're my friends. We have to figure out how to get Naomi a VIP ticket.”

Naomi crosses her arms. “I thought you wanted the tickets, too, Mya Tibbs Fibs.”

Mrs. Davis blows her whistle. That's the signal for us to line up.

“I
do
want a VIP ticket, Naomi, but I want you to have one, too. Let's meet at my house again. We can work on another plan.”

She doesn't answer me. Instead, Naomi walks toward Mrs. Davis, and the twins follow. I take my place behind Lisa McKinley. After getting stuck with my terrible nickname, I'll never call her Lotta-Germs again.

Back in class, every time I glance Naomi's way, she's looking at me. It's creepy, but I'm sure it's just because she's hurt and angry.

When the after-school bell rings, I
ka-clunk
into the Cave and hear Kenyan Tayler tell David Abrahms, “She broke a promise. Are you going to call her Mya Tibbs Fibs?”

David disagrees. “Over Connie Tate? No way. I would have done the same thing Mya did.”

I wait at my cabinet for my best friend. Soon, Naomi, Skye, and Starr pop out of the crowd.

My voice cracks. “I wish you weren't so mad at me.”

Naomi frowns. “Don't talk to me. Let's go, girls.”

I hold up a hand. “Wait! Your necklace! I brought the beads and string, remember?”

I yank open my cabinet door, and my bag of beads falls to the floor. Hundreds of red beads bounce and roll inside the Cave. Skye moves to help me, but Naomi grabs her arm.

“She didn't help us today. Why should we help her now?”

The twins trail behind Naomi, looking over their shoulder at me. My classmates step over my beads and leave. I'm all alone. Tears roll down my cheeks as I drop to my knees and cover my face so no one will see me cry. Someone touches my shoulder. I turn around, hoping it's Naomi, but it's not. Mean Connie takes the bag of beads out of my hand.

“Take them. I don't care,” I say.

She opens the bag. The pockets of her skirt are full of red beads. Carefully, she drops them all back into the bag. When she finishes, she walks toward our classroom.

I yell to her. “Hey, aren't we going to talk about the schedule?”

She sticks her head back inside the Cave. “I'll find you tomorrow. Later, Tibbs.”

Yeah, right. There's no school tomorrow, genius. It's Saturday. Geez.

I think back to this morning, when I was so excited about today. I had three friends and a school full of students who treated me like a rock star. Now I'm called Mya Tibbs Fibs, my really nice best friend is super rude to me, and the super-rude school bully is really nice to me.

I stand, and just before I close my cabinet door, I remember something. I didn't tell Mean Connie thanks for picking up my beads. Wait . . . what? Why do I care about saying thank you to a bully?

Everything is wrong. It must be Opposites Day on Fish's weird calendar, and he forgot to tell me.

A
ll night Friday, and early Saturday morning, I sit on the floor in my bedroom and listen to sad country music. The songs seem to be written just for me—songs about how my best friend done left me and now I'm all alone, and all my exes live in Texas.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Come on, Mya, it's time to go,” says Dad.

I've got my red Tibbs's Farm and Ranch Store shirt on with my jeans and boots. I put my yellow bracelet on again. Maybe it will make me feel better.

After breakfast, we load Buttercup onto the truck. Nugget and I hop into the backseat. I still haven't spoken to my brother since lunch yesterday, and I'm not speaking to him today, either. Dad drives down State Street.

“Nugget, I got a big order for my special corn mix. Go to Storage Barn A, turn on the corn feeder, and fill thirty-five bushel baskets. Be careful; don't waste any.”

“Okay, Dad, I'll get it done,” says Nugget.

“Mya, I need you to take down all the Bronco Buck Willis stuff and make some kind of rodeo display. Take your time and do a good job. We'll put Buttercup back there, too, so you can create a really nice scene that will make people want to buy things.”

“I'll take care of it,” I say.

Once we get out of the truck, Nugget, Dad, and I move Buttercup inside and roll him to the back, and then the three of us go in different directions. I walk to the clothing and shoes department, and there he is: a big cardboard cutout of Bronco Buck Willis, Mr. Cancel Britches, Mr. Too Big to Come to Bluebonnet. I should glue his cutout on top of Buttercup and press the Turbo Ride button. But I won't since Dad's trying to get a refund.

Once I get rid of Buck, the only thing I have to work with is Buttercup. I lay a red blanket near Buttercup's front hooves and throw a bag of beef jerky on top of it. That looks so lame. I take a seat on a bench and stare at the bull, but my thoughts are somewhere else. I wonder what Naomi is doing right now. She's probably having fun with the twins. Maybe they're going to the Burger Bar for smoothies.

“Who made this display? A first grader?”

I turn around and swallow all the spit in my mouth when I see Mean Connie Tate standing next to me.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

She walks around Buttercup. “I said I'd find you. And I did. I went to your house and your very, very pregnant mom said you were here. She's going to download that baby pretty soon, isn't she?”

Connie walks over to the clothing area and grabs a pair of snakeskin boots, a cowboy hat, and a blue bandanna. “I like your bracelet. You make it yourself?”

I take my bracelet off and shove it in the front pocket of my jeans so Connie can't get it.

“Those boots cost over three hundred dollars. That hat is at least fifty. Don't even think about
stealing stuff out of our store, Connie Tate. I'll tell my dad!”

She drops everything next to Buttercup and then walks to a different department, collecting weird stuff from all over the store. Now she's got firewood and a skillet from the camping department, hay from the general feed department, a stuffed raccoon, two stuffed rabbits, and two American flags! I can barely see her face because of all the things she's carrying. She comes back over to me.

“You mind if I fix your display?”

I cross my arms. “If you think you can do better, go for it.”

She wraps a bandanna around Buttercup's neck and hangs a cowboy hat on his head. The last thing she does to Buttercup is stuff hay in his mouth. I try not to laugh, but I've never seen Buttercup dressed up before.

Soon she stacks the wood like a campfire, places the raccoon and two rabbits near it, and puts the flag and the snakeskin boots near Buttercup. I slowly stand and watch her change my sad, sad display into the best-looking one in the store. There's so much to see, so many colors—I can't believe Mean Connie did this! Customers gather and point at Buttercup and the campfire scene. Dad walks by
and a lady grabs his arm.

“Mr. Tibbs, do you have any of those boots for sale like the ones near the bull?”

“Yes, ma'am. Mya, show this kind lady to our boots area.”

“Yes, sir.”

When I return, he hugs me. “This is spectacular, Mya! What made you think of this?”

I point at Connie. “She did it.”

Dad walks over to Connie. “Hi, I'm Mr. Tibbs. Do you go to school with Mya?”

She nods. “Yes, sir. I'm Connie Tate. Johnny Tate's daughter.”

Dad chuckles. “Johnny and I went to school together, too! Is he still at the factory?”

Connie nods. “He sure is. Just made operations manager.”

“Oh, good for him,” says Dad. He reaches into his pocket and gives me ten dollars. “I've got to get back to work. Why don't you and Connie go have a couple of smoothies at the Burger Bar? Maybe your other friends will be there, too! Come back here when you're finished. See you kids later. Good job.”

I take the ten bucks and look up at Connie. “You're not thirsty, are you?”

“I'm so thirsty I'm about to die,” she says.

“Naomi and the twins are probably there,” I say.

She rolls her eyes. “Big wow. Let's go.”

Never in all my nine years of life would I imagine walking anywhere with Mean Connie Tate. Yesterday morning, she ran over me like a lawn mower and got paint on my favorite vest. But here I am, walking side by side with her, right to the front door of the Burger Bar.

It's packed with families, kids, and old people. Country music blares from the speakers, and a crowd of people two-step on the dance floor near the salad bar.

“I'm going to grab us a table. Order me a banana-blueberry smoothie with whipped cream, please,” says Connie.

Did she just say
please
to me? While standing in line to order, I look around for Naomi and the twins. They're not here. I don't know if I'm happy or sad.

When our smoothies are ready, I take them to the table. Connie takes hers.

“Thanks, Tibbs. That sure was nice of your dad to buy us smoothies.”

My mouth is open, trying to find the straw as I stare at Mean Connie. She said please and thank you. Bullies don't say thank you. Mean people don't say please, do they?

“If our dads went to school together, where have you been all of these years?” I ask.

Mean Connie clears her throat. “Private school. I live on Bayou Bend, just three streets down from you. Let's talk about the schedule. Monday is Dress Up Like a King or Queen. Do you have any cool ideas?”

I shrug. “I've got a princess gown somewhere in my closet. I could wear that.”

Connie gives me two thumbs down. “Lame. I hear you telling Naomi and the twins those silly taradiddles all the time about wild poker games.”

I sit up. “You know what a taradiddle is?”

Connie sighs. “Yes, but think about your poker-game taradiddles. What else has kings and queens?”

I shrug. “Other than a deck of cards, I—”

“Exactly,” she says. “Last year, my parents went to a Halloween party dressed like the king and queen of hearts. They won a prize. I think we could win the five points on Monday if we wear those costumes. Yours will probably need some adjusting. You know anyone who can sew?”

I lean back in my chair. “My mom is the best on the planet.”

Connie nods. “Good. I'm going to bring you your king of hearts outfit later today or tomorrow. And
while we're here, let's talk about Tuesday. You got a problem with Little Bo Peep?”

I glare at her. “Let me guess. For Mother Goose on the Loose Day, you want me to dress like a lost sheep, right?”

She tilts her glass up to get the last drips of smoothie, then puts her cup down. She's got a smoothie mustache above her lip, but I'd never tell her that to her face.

“Yep, I need you to be the lost sheep, okay? I've got an amazing blue gown that's perfect for a Bo Peep costume. If you can nail the sheep's outfit, we might have a shot at winning that day, too! Are you okay with that? You like the idea?”

I want to hold up my fist for her to bump it, but I think about that bully bacteria Naomi was talking about and change my mind. “It's a really cool idea,” I say.

I'm not absolutely sure, but I think I just had a good conversation with the baddest bully in Bluebonnet.