The Sister Solution (19 page)

“What?”

Glacial gray-blue eyes drill through mine. “Stay away from Noah.”

SIXTEEN

“WANNA DANCE?”

I am sitting on one of the tables, playing a game of chess on my phone. I have a wall on one side of me and a pile of coats on the other side, and still I say to him, “You mean me?”

“Yep.” His overgrown blond hair bounces into his eyes.

“No, thanks.”

“Come on. This is a good song.”

“I like the song all right. I'm a terrible dancer.”

“You can't be that bad.”

“I am the worst.”

“The worst, huh?”

“Without a doubt.”
I go back to my chess game. Instead of leaving, he kneels on one of the seats in front of me. “Tell you what—if I can find three people who dance worse than you, will you dance then?”

“O . . . okay, I guess so.”

“I'm Charlie, by the way.”

I touch the neck of my lace tunic. “Jorgianna.”

He rubs his chin. “All right, let's see what we have here.”

While Charlie searches the crowd for horrible dancers, I play another game of level-nine chess on my phone. I win in twelve moves.

“Is this yours?” Charlie points to the small gold purse on the seat next him.

“Yes.”

“It's buzzing.”

I reach for it. “It's my sister's phone. She's always forgetting it.” I unzip my bag and take out Sammi's cell phone. I want to give it to her, but I'd be breaking our contract. I touch the screen. It's a text from Banana. I start to put the phone away, then think,
What if it's an emergency?
I'd better read it. I open the message.

Hi S, don't
forget to send me your photos. Love, Banana

There!” Charlie is pointing to a tall dark-haired boy who is dancing like a giraffe stuck in the mud. He
is
awful. Reluctantly, I hold up my index finger.

I text Banana back:

I'm at the school dance. Which photos?

I give thumbs-down to Charlie's next two finds, a girl doing a Beyoncé-style strut and a boy shaking like he has a nest of wasps in his pants.

“What do you mean?” He throws his arms out. “Those two are awful.”

“I'm the judge and I say they are still better than me. Keep looking.”

“You're not going to make this easy, are you?”

Smart boy.

Another text from Banana comes in.

The ones of me hang gliding, remember? No rush. Send them tomorrow. Have fun tonight. I hope you are dancing with that cute boy from the book sale. Love, B

I have nothing else to do. I might as well look for the photos Banana wants. Tapping on Sammi's photo gallery,
I start scrolling through her pictures. I see a series of shots Sammi took of me at the beach last fall. The wind is blowing my hair straight up and I am laughing as I skip from rock to rock. These are followed by a set of pics at the aquarium. No surprise there. Sammi loves the Point Defiance Aquarium. I slide through pictures of sea horses, otters, dolphins, various fish tanks—ooh! A giant Pacific octopus. I tap it so it comes up full screen. A little girl in a pink coat is clamped to the exhibit window as she watches an octopus watching her. I've seen this photo before. It's Patrice's entry in the art show. Sammi must have taken a picture of it when she went to the gallery with Banana last week.

“Got one!” Charlie points to a kid patting his head, jutting out his neck, twisting his hips, and doing some kind of soccer kick with his feet.

Is he dancing or having a seizure? Dancing. Definitely dancing.

Charlie's got me. I hold up two fingers.

Charlie pumps his fist. “Two down, one to go.”

I look at the photo on my sister's phone again. Something isn't right. There's no black mat around the
picture or white wall behind it. This isn't a photo of a photo. Plus, from all the pictures that come before and after this one, it's obvious my sister
is
at the aquarium. There's no doubt this is
Sammi's
photo. The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. If that's true, then—

Charlie is tapping on my shin. “There!”

“Where? I don't see anybody.”

“The lady by the door.”

“You mean Mrs. Vanderslice?”

Mrs. V is flapping her plump arms while doing some sort of toe-heel, toe-heel step out to each side. She looks like a yellow hen about to lay an egg.

“Disqualified,” I say. “She's an adult.”

“We didn't say anything about age. She only has to be worse than you.”

He's right. Watching the Leaning Tower of Vanderslice do her pendulum thrash, I cannot deny it. Mrs. V
is
worse than me. I have no choice. I must give Charlie three fingers. And I must dance.

Putting both phones in my purse, I sling the strap over my head. The moment I climb off the table, the music ends. I'm saved! I am about to sit down again
when the DJ announces, “All right, kids, we're going slow things down for this next one, and it's ladies choice. So choose your lads wisely, lovely ladies, or the toes you lose could be your own.”

Charlie is standing. He is waiting for me to choose him.

I shake my head vigorously as the speakers crackle with the first few notes of Elton John's “Can You Feel the Love Tonight.” “I . . . I can't slow dance.”

“For a girl who has the guts to skip a couple of grades, you sure say ‘can't' a lot.”

Charlie knows who I am! He also has a point.

“Can you rock back and forth?” he asks.

I nod.

“Then you can slow dance.” He takes my hand and pulls me onto the dance floor before I can come up with a decent argument.

Facing Charlie, I regret not putting on a second layer of deodorant. I have never even held a boy's hand before, and now I am going to dance with one! I feel like I am about to take a test I didn't study for. I haven't had that feeling since kindergarten.

Charlie puts his hands on my waist. I hope he can't feel the butterflies in my stomach, because there's a whole monarch migration going on in there. I watch the couple behind Charlie and place my frozen hands at the top of his shoulder the way I see the girl do with her partner. Charlie's neck is warm. Turning my head, I watch the feet of another girl next to me. She's swaying back and forth, hardly moving at all. I copy her. I try not to lock my knees. I don't want to tip over. I try not to breathe too much. Or too little. Charlie leads us, and we make a path in the shape of a small trapezoid. As the music plays, the monarch stomach butterflies start to land. I dare to close my eyes. But not for long—not for more than thirteen seconds at a time. I don't want to crush his feet.

“You're doing fine,” Charlie says into my ear.

The music has stopped. Is the song over? Already?

Charlie lets me go. He steps back. “Not so bad, huh?”

“Not so bad.”

He gives a small salute, and we go in opposite directions. I try not to skip back to my table, but there may be a slight springiness in my feet. Yippee! I did it. My
first dance at my first dance. I can't wait to tell Sammi.

Sammi!

I was having so much fun I almost forgot. Yanking the zipper of my purse, I grab Sammi's phone and tap the screen. I go to the gallery and find the photo of the little girl at the aquarium. I start scanning the dance floor for my sister, but then remember I can't talk to her. We're on school grounds. And we still have a contract. Dang! There is one other option. I could ask someone else—someone who used to be my friend. But will she even talk to me? And will she tell the truth? There is only one way to find out.

Patrice and her friends are camped in the opposite corner of the cafeteria. I've been trying not to look their way all night. Now I lift myself to my full height, fill my lungs, and march over to them. Their seating order on the table is pretty much the same as it is at lunch, with Tanith perched on one side of Patrice, and Mercy and Cara on the other side. India sits next to Tanith. She stares at her brown T-strap sandals with the turquoise beads and curls her ombré pink toes under.

“Look who's here,” snickers Tanith, inspecting me
from pearls to boots. “Selling jewelry, Jo? You've got enough on tonight.”

“Hey, Jo!” Patrice welcomes me with a big smile.

I didn't expect her to be so friendly. “I don't mean to bother you,” I say, my fingers tightly gripping Sammi's phone. “I need to ask you something, then I'll go—”

“Don't be silly. You're not bothering us. Come and hang. Tanith, shove over and make room for Jo.”

“That's okay,” I say, taking a step back.

Patrice scoots to the edge of the table. She crooks her finger at me. I inch forward. Patrice puts a hand on my shoulder. “Sit. Down.”

“Okay.” I'm not sure it's a good idea to sit next to her.

“BTW, great outfit,” she says, moving her black sweater to clear space beside her on the table. “Love the pearls, Quirky Chic, but don't they get in your way when you're dancing?”

“Uh . . . no. I haven't been dancing that much.”

“Oh, that's too bad. I'm glad you came over. I've been wanting to talk to you. I wanted to say I was sorry for—you know, everything. I've decided I want us to be friends again.”

“You are? You do?”
I stare at her. This is a complete switch. I should be happy, right? This is what I wanted, right?

Patrice leans back against the wall. “So what did you want to ask?”

I hold Sammi's phone, tilting the screen toward Patrice. “I was . . . well, I was wondering, why is your photo on my sister's phone?”

“What are you talking about? What have you got there?” Tanith tries to lean over me. “What is that?”

I give her a sharp elbow to the ribs. “You really should stop asking so many questions, Tanith,” I say, never taking my eyes off Patrice. “It's soooo annoying.”

India snickers. She puts a hand up to muffle her laugh.

Patrice looks at the photo for a long time. She taps one of her front teeth thoughtfully, then finally glances at me and says, “I don't know.”

I can feel my cheeks getting warm. “That's your answer? You don't know.”

“It doesn't really seem fair to attack someone who isn't here to defend herself.”

“Defend herself?”
My pulse quickens. “Who are you talking about?”

“Isn't it obvious?” Patrice throws out a hand, nearly knocking the phone from my grip. “You sister is sure good at stealing things, Jo. First Noah, and then
my
photo!”

SEVENTEEN