Spirit Week Showdown (8 page)

T
oday I'm wearing three braids, one on each side of my head, and a big one in the back.

I've got my blue boots on with the teddy bears and hearts. My lucky boots are at home, but maybe nothing bad will happen today. I'm still wondering why Connie didn't make fun of me yesterday when I told her about these rubber boots. I've had them since second grade, and now more than ever they look like boots for babies. Why am I just now noticing that? I stick my gloves in my pocket and follow Nugget outside. He's wearing his batting gloves and
his favorite basketball shoes, and yawning and wiping his eyes as if he's trying to wake up.

“Up late last night?” I ask.

“Math is getting harder. I don't know how much longer I'll be able to do this for Solo.”

“You shouldn't be doing it at all.”

He frowns at me. “Heard anyone call me Word Nerd Nugget lately?”

I stare at the sidewalk as I walk. “No, not really.”

He nods. “That's why I do his math. It's our agreement. Solo lets me hang out with him, I get to play basketball on his team, and for that, I do his math homework. It's been relatively easy so far, but now we've moved into working with commutative, associative, and distributive properties, prime numbers, and oh my gosh, the teachers have taken division and multiplication to a totally different level. It's hard stuff, Mya. And Solo is expecting me to get everything right.”

“So, what if you told him you couldn't do his math homework anymore?”

“That's not an option. I could get beat up. A deal is a deal,” he says.

I wish I had someone to stop kids from calling me Mya Tibbs Fibs, but I don't. And anyway, if I had
to do their math, they'd flunk.

I look behind me and spot my Spirit Week partner.

“There's Connie. I'm going to walk with her.”

Nugget stands at the corner of State Street. “You know where I'm going. See you later.”

When she sees me, Connie slows down. “Very cool,” she says.

“Check 'em out. Bull riding gloves with wings!”

Connie holds up one hand. “I've got motorcycle gloves. There's no fingers on them.”

She takes my boot, then hands me hers. I'm not sure who laughs first, but Connie's got a bad case of the giggles.

“We look silly,” she says.

I look down at my mismatched rubber boots and giggle with her.

“Tomorrow is Superhero and Sidekick Day. You want to meet at my house after school to talk about what we're going to wear? Nugget makes really good smoothies,” I say.

Her smile fades. “No, thanks.”

“Aw, come on, that's what friends do.”

Why the why did I say that?

“Friends are nothing but trouble. You should know that by now,” says Connie.

“I meant to say fake friends,” I add as we walk.

Connie grins. “Fake friends wearing mismatched rubber boots. Yep, that's what we are. Anyway, can you sing or rap or dance?”

“Of course!” I say. “I can do all of those things, why?”

“I think we should challenge Naomi and Starr to a cafeteria talent contest. We need the extra points, especially if we don't win the five points today.”

I stop walking. “I can't challenge Naomi. I want her to be my friend again.”

“No you don't,” says Connie.

I frown at her. “Naomi Jackson is the best friend I've ever had.”

Connie sighs, and steps closer. “Tibbs, what I'm about to tell you might hurt, but it's the truth. Naomi doesn't like you. She likes Nugget.”

There's a rumble in my stomach, and it's not because I'm hungry. My skin's hotter than it was a few seconds ago as I ball my fists up.

“Take that back! You're just being mean!”

She blinks so quickly that I wonder if she's going to cry. But instead, her eyebrows scrunch and her nose wrinkles. “Think about it, Tibbs. How many times does Naomi ask you about your brother? I hear her ask all the time. Test her yourself! Tell
Naomi you can get Nugget to like her, and see what she says. She is so fake.”

I yell at her. “You're the only fake friend I've got, Mean Connie!”

She backs away from me. “Whatever, Tibbs Fibs.”

“Stop calling me that!” I shout.

“I will, when you stop calling me Mean Connie!”

She's eyeballing me. I'm eyeballing her. “Fine!” I say, and walk by her as fast as I can.

I almost liked her. What a megamistake that would have been. I wish I had never picked her name out of the partner hat. It's her fault my best friend is mad at me. The only friend
she's
got is me, and our friendship is fake.

“Tibbs, wait!”

Connie runs to catch up. “Look, I know you don't believe me. I know you like Naomi a lot. But I just don't want you walking around thinking Naomi is a nice person. She's not. I know for a fact.”

I grip the straps of my backpack. “You don't know anything about her!”

She stomps her foot. “You're wrong, Tibbs! I know
everything
about her.”

Even though Connie's standing right beside me, I know she's really not here. She's daydreaming, lost
in space, totally distracted by something. Whatever it is, or wherever she is, it takes all the anger out of her face and replaces it with hurt.

“I went to private school with Naomi for a year. If you ever want to know the truth about her, ask me, or test her yourself. I still want those VIP tickets for the Fall Festival, and I think we need to do a challenge if we want to stay in the race to get them. I'm going to tell Mrs. Davis as soon as I get to class. I'm really sorry if I hurt your feelings. It's just that I wanted you to know the truth before she hurt you like she . . .”

Connie's face wrinkles up, like her stomach hurts. She looks down at the sidewalk and mumbles something before looking back at me. “Anyway, I'll see you in class, Tibbs.”

As Connie walks away, my mind goes back to last Friday, when I tried to apologize to Naomi but she wouldn't accept it. In the last four days, I've had fun with Connie, even though she just made me bone-breaking mad, but I don't think she did that on purpose. Seriously, I thought I'd be dead by now, being her partner. But I'm not. Now Connie's trying to apologize, and I'm treating her the same way Naomi treated me.

Most of all, after what I did on Monday, this is
the least I can do to try to make it up to her. Even though she doesn't know, maybe it will make me feel better.

“Hold on,” I say, running toward her.

She stops and turns around. I shrug twice before anything comes out of my mouth. “I'm sorry for yelling at you. I won't do that again. And I'm sorry for calling you Mean Connie. I used to believe you were, but I don't anymore. I don't even know why I said it, but that won't happen again, either. We can do the talent challenge. And I'll find out if what you said is true. But if it isn't, you owe me a large smoothie at the Burger Bar.” I hold out my fist. “Deal?”

Connie bumps my fist and smiles. “That's a deal . . . Mya.”

I look up at her. “You called me Mya! You always call me Tibbs.”

Connie shrugs. “People I don't like or care about, I call them by their last names.”

I grab the straps of my backpack. “Are you saying you like me?”

Connie smiles. “I'm just saying things may be changing.”

I'm not sure how I feel about what Connie just said. It didn't scare me. I'm not mad. And I don't feel sick, but I definitely like how she says
Mya
more
than I hate how she says
Tibbs
.

Mr. Winky greets us with a gardening glove on one hand and a lady's white church glove on the other. One of his shoes is the normal black one that he wears with his suits, but his other foot is stuffed in a red high heel. There are black scuff marks all over the side of the red shoe. I bet those came from him losing his balance.

I laugh out loud. Connie covers her mouth, as Mr. Winky greets us. “Howdy, Mya. Good morning, Connie. Happy Share a Glove and a Shoe with Your Partner Day! My secretary's high heel matches my outfit, don't you think? Yes, yes, yes. Sharing is caring and, for me, very daring! Have a wonderful day today!”

As we stroll toward class, two girls walk by us whispering “Mya Tibbs Fibs,” “Promise breaker,” “Mean Connie Tate,” and “Spirit Week partners”
loud enough for us to hear. Connie and I keep walking.

The hall is full of
flip-flop/ka-clunk
s,
boomp/flap
s, and
squeak/clink
s from mismatched boots, sandals, and shoes. One boy wears a green basketball shoe and one black cowboy boot. A girl has one foot flip-flopping in a gold sandal, and the other foot
ka-clunk
s in a shiny orange boot. Two girls
have switched bedtime slippers. One slipper is a duck and the other is a teddy bear. Everyone looks crazy, but nobody looks as good as Connie and me until I see David Abrahms and Johnny Collins. Students move to let those guys strut down the center of the hall.

Red lights flash from the front, back, and sides of one of their shoes when they take a step. Their other shoe has blue lights flashing. David's snapping his fingers, wearing one red glitter glove and one blue one. Johnny's wearing the same. They even have glittery red and blue hats! David plays music on his cell phone. Everybody's watching as they come down the hall.

Suddenly the crowd splits. Naomi and the twins
click-clack
toward me in mismatched shoes.

“Hi, Mya,” says Skye, wearing a bear-claw slipper and a white tie-up boot that stops at her knee, with red and yellow mismatched gloves on her hands. “Your boots are hilarious.”

I giggle. “Yours are funny, too. Does Susan Acorn ever get upset that you spend most of your time with Starr and not her? I mean, she
is
your Spirit Week partner.”

Skye shakes her head. “Susan understands how close I am to my sister. She's just having fun with
Spirit Week and doesn't care about the VIP tickets, just like me and Starr. We're good.”

Starr's
click-clack
ing around in a glass slipper like Cinderella's on one foot, and a pretty blue sandal on the other. Long white gloves cover her arms up to her elbows. Naomi strolls over in gloves and slippers that match Starr's.

“Where's Nugget today?”

I think about what Connie told me. “I don't know. He's around here somewhere.”

Naomi doesn't ask anything else, like how I'm doing, or even what Connie and I are working on. Why hasn't she decided to be my best friend again? What's taking her so long?

Once the bell rings, Mrs. Davis closes the door. Connie raises her hand. “Mrs. Davis, Mya and I would like to challenge Naomi and Starr to a cafeteria entertainment challenge today.”

I
t's so loud in the classroom that Mrs. Davis has to clap her hands to shut us up. Everybody's talking about Connie and me challenging Naomi and Starr. Mrs. Davis holds up two fingers.

Silence.

“Participants must remember to bring their own music, or props if you need them.”

I hope lunch gets canceled, or the cafeteria burns down.

But it doesn't.

Time flies by faster than ever. My stomach is full of butterflies as we line up for lunch. Connie
stands with me at the back of the line.

“What are you going to do for the challenge, Mya?”

“I guess I'll sing.”

“Okay. I'll back you up.”

I turn around. “You're going to sing backup?”

“That's not what I meant,” says Connie.

In the cafeteria, I spot Nugget sitting with Solo. They're not sharing gloves or shoes. My brother looks my way, and I roll my eyes. Yesterday he was a blind mouse. To me, he's still blind if he thinks Solo is a better Spirit Week partner than Fish.

Connie and I set our trays down at the detention table and eat. Halfway through lunch, Mrs. Davis stands near us with a microphone in her hand.

“Boys and girls, we have a cafeteria entertainment challenge!”

“YAY!”

Mrs. Davis continues. “Connie Tate and Mya Tibbs have challenged Naomi Jackson and Starr Falling. Naomi and Starr, you're up! Please come to the stage.”

Naomi and Starr take their time walking toward us. Connie and I move so they can use the steps to climb up on the stage. Suddenly Connie gets up and walks toward the cafeteria door. Where is she going?
When Naomi gets close enough, she whispers to me.

“Why didn't you tell me about the challenge? You knew about it and didn't warn me. I thought you were my friend. Where's your partner? I bet she left you to do the challenge all by yourself.”

My food doesn't feel good in my stomach. Mrs. Davis hands Starr the microphone. Naomi takes her cell phone from her purse.

“Mrs. Davis, will you take a picture of me before I get started? I may need a photo of me onstage at school for my portfolio.”

“Sure,” says Mrs. Davis.

After the picture, Naomi presses a button on her cell. A song from the movie
Annie
comes on. Students stop eating and listen as Naomi sings, and Starr tries to be a ballerina.

“‘The sun'll come out tomorrow.'”

I look around the cafeteria for Connie. I don't see her.

“‘Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow there'll be sun!'”

When it's over, everybody claps.

“Yeah!” “Awesome!” “Way to go, Naomi!” “Good job, Starr!”

“Now, the challengers, Connie and Mya,” says Mrs. Davis. “Connie, are you in here?”

Where is she? Naomi's right. She bailed on me.

Mrs. Davis has a sad face. “Well, I guess the challenge is—”

“Wait! I'm here! Sorry I'm late,” Connie says. “It will only take me a minute to set this up.”

The cafeteria buzzes with giggles and whispers of “Mya Tibbs Fibs” and “Mean Connie Tate.” Connie rushes to the stage, unfolds her easel, sets a huge writing tablet on it, and then pulls out five crayons.

Good gravy in the navy.

Why is she using just five crayons? I sure hope she has a plan. The laughter is so loud that Mrs. Davis has to put up two fingers. Connie pulls a cell phone from her pocket and starts pushing buttons. “Here, I've got music for you, Mya. What do you want to sing?”

My heart thumps hard. I've got a belly full of butterflies and bumblebees. “I'll sing anything that will make us win,” I say.

Mrs. Davis comes onstage. “Ladies, time is running out. You must do something soon.”

“Okay, we're almost ready,” says Connie.

She points to a song on the screen of her cell. “Do you know this one?”

“No,” I say. Connie lets out a loud sigh. “Hurry and think of something, Mya!”

Students giggle and point at us. I'm looking everywhere for a clue of what I could sing. Then I see the recess box with all the equipment inside.

“Mrs. Davis, may I use one of the jump ropes over there?”

She nods. “Sure, go ahead!”

I skedaddle down the steps, grab a jump rope from the box, and hurry back. I tie a good lasso knot on one end and glance back at Connie. She gives me a thumbs-up, so I twirl that rope in the air and sing my song as if I'm on television.

        
“She'll be ropin' all the cattle when she comes!
Ruby gems and yellow diamonds on her thumbs.
Mya Tibbs is such a winner,
Because winning is what's in 'er.
She'll be ropin' all the cattle when she comes!”

Students put their forks down and begin to clap the rhythm to my song. Some get up, loop arms, and do-si-do. I hold the microphone with one hand and pretend as if I'm roping things with the other! I even try to jump through my lasso, but it gets tangled on my rubber boots. Nobody seems to care! Things are going so good, I sing the second verse and keep twirling!

        
“She'll be ropin' all the cattle when she comes!
She'll be using all eight fingers and two thumbs.
Mya Tibbs is such a winner,
Because winning is what's in 'er.
She'll be ropin' all the cattle when she comes!”

We're having so much fun with the song that Mrs. Davis has to come onstage and take the microphone away from me. “Time's up! Thank you, Mya. Connie, would you like to show everyone what you were doing while Mya was singing?”

Connie stands, takes the drawing tablet from the easel, and turns it around for all of us to see. My mouth opens. I drop the mike. She drew that with crayons?

Everyone's staring and pointing. “Aaaaaahhh.” “Oooooohhh.”

There's a sky full of blue diamonds and red rubies and other colorful gems. The sun makes them sparkle over a field full of cows with someone on a horse with a lasso riding up behind them. I'm speechless. Connie drew what I sang. She drew it even better than I sang it.

And she did it with five crayons.

Fish stands up again. “That is boo-yang awesome!” he shouts.

“Yeah! Connie and Mya are the best!” yells Nugget, as the crowd claps and cheers.

Naomi runs onstage and grabs the microphone off the floor. “That's not fair. Mrs. Davis, we didn't actually see Connie draw that picture. Mya and Connie should be disqualified.”

The clapping stops. Mrs. Davis takes the microphone from Naomi. “Even though I really don't like the accusation, Naomi, you have a fair point. I'll take it under consideration, and results will be posted in my classroom on the Spirit Week board.”

“I drew it just now!” yells Connie as she folds up her easel.

There's a creepy quiet in the cafeteria until Mrs. Davis lifts the microphone again. “Settle down, people! All right, let's just finish eating.”

There's no way I can eat. Connie's telling the truth. She didn't know what song I was going to sing until I sang it. Then she drew it.

I walk down the steps and sit at the detention table. I didn't see Connie draw that picture, but my guts tell me she did. She brings her things from the stage and leans them against the wall, then sits down next to me. She's shaking, and I don't think it's because she's cold.

“I drew that picture while you were singing. By
the way, you did an awesome job.”

“Thanks, Connie.”

As I sip my milk, Connie pushes her tray away, shakes her head, gathers her easel, her backpack, and the rest of her stuff, and leaves the cafeteria. I look over at Naomi. Our eyes meet. Something doesn't feel right. I know Naomi needs the VIP tickets, and I know she needed me to be her partner. But if things had worked out, and I
was
Naomi's partner, I never would have agreed to hurting people.

As I take my tray to the conveyer belt, I get a few thumbs-ups and pats on the back. A fifth-grade girl actually smiles at me. Connie and I may not be the coolest girls in this school, but right now, we are definitely the most popular Spirit Week partners.

I need to make sure Connie's okay. Last week I wouldn't have cared one way or the other, but now I do. I'm not sure where she goes instead of recess. She might get mad at me for spying on her, but that's the chance I'm going to take. So if I'm going to follow her, I'd better leave now while I'm still brave enough to do it.