We stood under the blue and silver WELCOME TO THE FALL FLING! banner, me and Noah, behind the snack table, within easy reach of the popcorn and fruit punch.
The lights were turned down low. A twirly ball hung from the ceiling, sending flicks of light shooting across the lunchroom. Music pumped from the stereo system Coach Wilder had rolled in from the gym. The faint aroma of bleach water and old chicken nuggets drifted about the edges of the room.
We munched our popcorn. Noah tapped his foot to the music. I gave my armpit a covert sniff, just to make sure my sport-scent deodorant was working. So far it was.
I wasn’t in much of a dancing mood, to tell you the truth. If I hadn’t already promised Noah, I probably wouldn’t have even come. I probably would’ve stayed home with my Bristol board and marker, filling my trash can with more useless drawings.
Emma skittered up, her shiny dress and shiny personality and shiny gold glitter hairspray nearly blinding us. I barely even noticed the Kaleys, following along in her wake.
“This is a disaster,” she whispered. Even in a whisper, her mind-jamming superpowers beamed down on us like a force field.
“Oh, I don’t think so.” Noah glanced around. “You did a good job with the decorations. The flickery light’s a sweet touch. And the popcorn’s crunchy.”
“But this is a dance,” said Emma. “And nobody’s dancing.”
We nodded. All the girls, in their new dance dresses, huddled in clumps on one side of the cafeteria. All the guys, hands stuffed in their pockets, trying to look too cool to be here, huddled in clumps on the other side. The clumps eyed each other. But nobody had worked up the gumption to cross the wide stretch of lunchroom linoleum and actually dance.
Noah shrugged. “Nobody’s dancing yet,” he said. “But they will.”
Emma sighed. “I hope you’re right.”
She’d been shooting frantic glances at the clumps of nondancing people. Now she stopped, a really surprised look on her face. She stared at the door.
“Wow,” she said. And not in a mean way.
I turned.
Standing inside the door was a girl.
A girl who normally didn’t walk like a girl or talk like a girl or punch people like a girl.
A girl who normally wore an army surplus jacket flapping around her about five sizes too big.
A girl who actually . . . looked like a girl.
In a sparkly dance dress.
With her hair, well, fixed. In some kind of braid or something. Not flying around like it was on fire.
Wearing combat boots.
She must’ve polished them, because they gleamed black in the flickery lunchroom light. And I’m no fashion designer, but with the red sparkles and everything, those boots looked . . . perfect.
She stood right inside the door, arms crossed, glaring at pretty much everybody, glaring at the balloons and paper streamers, and especially glaring at the twirly glitter ball, like she was just waiting for it to start something. For a second I was afraid she was going to turn around and stomp back out. Then she shook her braided head, lifted her chin, and strode across the cafeteria to the snack table.
She saw me and pierced me with a Zawicki Glare of Don’t-Look-at-Me-Don’t-Talk-to-Me-Don’t-Come-Within-a-Mile-of-Me-Beanboy-I’m-Not-Kidding-I-Will-Kill-You.
So I pierced her back with a Tucker MacBean Glare of Fine-Because-That-Was-My-Plan-Too. Only she missed it because she wasn’t looking at me anymore.
Noah, being Noah, hadn’t even noticed Sam walk in. He was still focused on Emma and the dance problem.
“Everybody just needs time to get warmed up,” he was saying. “Nobody goes out to dance right away. Nobody wants to be first.”
Emma shook her head. “We don’t have time to wait for people to warm up. The dance is over at nine. And you know Ms. Flanigan.” She shot a glance at our FACS teacher, who was circling the cafeteria, clipboard and pencil at the ready. “If we don’t get somebody dancing soon, she’ll never let another seventh-grader within a mile of the planning committee.” She shook her head. “I’m letting the whole seventh grade down.”
“No, you’re not,” said Noah. “That’s crazy. You just need to give this thing a jump-start. Get somebody to dance with you.” He motioned his head toward me. “Once people see you out there”—he motioned again—“they’ll go out, too, and pretty soon everybody’ll be dancing.”
Noah tipped his head again, and Emma could take a hint, I guess, because her eyes got big and she latched onto my arm.
“Yes!” she said, her hand sizzling a warm, toasty spot into my skin. “You guys are the best. I knew you’d know what to do. Come on, Tuck.” She tugged my arm. “Let’s give this thing a jump-start.”
“Ah—urr—guk,” I said.
Noah stuck a finger into the middle of my back. Pushed me forward. “Go. Emma needs you.” He lowered his voice. “And for pete’s sake, say something besides ‘guk.’”
I nodded, pushed my popcorn bag at him, and—while the Kaleys watched with their mouths hanging open—followed Emma across the cafeteria. I really couldn’t help it. She still had a hold of my arm, and Emma’s a lot stronger than she looks.
And I hate to admit this out loud, but even though it’s hard to be invisible when you’re standing under a twirly glitter ball, and even though I am hardly an excellent dancer, and even though my heart was thumping so loud in my ears I couldn’t hear what song was playing, at that very minute, following Emma across the cafeteria was the exact one thing I wanted to do in the universe. Even if she hadn’t been dragging me.
We got to the middle of the floor, and Emma turned and gave me her half-dimple smile. Her gold glitter hairspray glittered. Her eyes twinkled under the twinkly ball.
For that one small second, I’m pretty sure I passed out, right there in the middle of the Amelia M. Earhart Middle School cafeteria.
We started to dance. I think it was a fast song. I’m pretty sure I was actually dancing. Moving my arms and stuff, maybe even my legs. Not completely standing there like a stump.
And as I drifted back to consciousness, I found that Noah’s brilliant plan was working. While I’d been passed out, other people had trickled over, till now the whole dance area was pretty crowded. Ms. Flanigan had tucked her clipboard under her arm, slid her pencil into her hair, and was drinking a cup of fruit punch.
It was easier to be invisible now that we weren’t the only ones under the twirly glitter ball. Emma leaned in to say something to me, and I actually said something back. You know, formed words and everything.
Here’s what she said. She said: “Oh, my gosh, I’m so relieved. I think the dance is going to turn out okay after all.”
And I said: “Yeah.”
The song changed, and I figured we were finished dancing, now that we’d saved the Fall Fling and everything. But Emma just changed beat with the music and kept dancing.
And remember that stuff about the zone? Suddenly there I was again. Smack in the middle of the zone. Dancing with the shiniest girl in all of Wheaton. For two whole songs in a row. Having a conversation. Kind of. Sport-scent deodorant locked and loaded.
I could hear the music now, and I danced along to the beat. Moved my legs. Bobbed my head. Snapped my fingers once. Then I got really crazy and did a little twirl.
And that’s when I saw her.
Sam. She was still by the snack table. Only now she was surrounded by Kaleys.
And she was backing away from them, which was just . . . weird. Sam Zawicki never backed away from anything.
“Tuck?” Emma leaned in to shout in my ear, because the music was pretty loud. “Don’t you like this song? You want to stop?”
I shook my head. I think maybe I said, “Guk.” And started moving my legs again.
I shot a quick glance at the snack table.
And saw why Sam was backing away.
Kaley C. had stuck her fingertips in her cup of fruit punch, and she was flicking punch in Sam’s direction. And with each flick, Sam took a step backward, her hands held up in front of her to shield the red sparkles.
I blinked. She wasn’t backing away to save herself. She was backing away to save the dress.
And people were starting to watch.
I tried to start dancing again. But I kept glancing back at the snack table.
Emma touched my arm. “Are you okay?”
I looked at her. At all that shiny hair and shiny personality. At her hand, warm and toasty on my arm.
And my zone? At that very moment, it skidded into a pole.
“I—I just—I have to—” I flung an arm toward the snack table. “I’m sorry.”
And I really was. I was probably the sorriest person I’d ever known.
Because when I turned and left the dance floor, I knew I was leaving it for good. After what I was about to do, Emma would never dance with me again.
Nobody would.
The whole school would hate me.
Including Emma.
I doubted even Noah would talk to me.
Nobody would. Probably not even the teachers.
I’d have to be homeschooled. Except since I’d be the only one home, I’d have to homeschool myself.
I walked across the cafeteria, under the flickering lights and the floaty balloons, one step after another, toward the snack table.
Toward my doom.
I seriously have no idea what is wrong with me.
As I got closer, I could hear Kaley C. A small crowd had gathered behind her.
“I know you’re the one who told Mr. Petrucelli.” Kaley C. flicked punch. “I know you’re the one who got me in trouble.”
“What? Are you kidding me?” Sam wiped specks of punch off her arm. “You didn’t get in trouble. Mr. Petrucelli’s probably going to give you an award.”
“But you didn’t know that.” Flick. “You told him because you were trying to get me in trouble.”
The crowd murmured in agreement.
Sam took a step back. “You got my brother in trouble for something he didn’t do.”
“What difference does it make?” Flick. Flick. “He’s always in trouble for something. You’d think he’d be happy to stay home for a week. We were sure happy he was gone.”
The crowd nodded and whispered.
I pushed my way through.
“You know what would make us really happy? If the Zawickis stayed home for good. We’re tired of you causing trouble for everyone else. We’re tired of—”
“It wasn’t Sam.”
A voice rang out, a voice that sounded disturbingly like . . . mine.
I swallowed. Stepped forward.
“Tucker?” Noah cut me a look. “What are you doing?”
Ending my life as I knew it.
I took a breath. “It was me,” I told Kaley C. “I wrote the note to Mr. Petrucelli.”
Kaley C., actually both of the Kaleys, actually the whole crowd, turned on me.
“You?” Kaley C. shook her head. “No way.”
“Yes,” I said. “Way.”
“It couldn’t be.” She gave me a disgusted look, the kind of look you give a bug you just crushed under your shoe. “You never do anything.”
“Yes, I do.” I swallowed. “I did this. Because I saw what happened. In FACS.”
“So you tried to get me in trouble?”
I could feel the crowd watching. Could feel them stabbing me with their pitchfork glares. Stabbing the traitor who ratted out Kaley C.
I could see Noah, still standing beside the snack table, mouth open, a really confused look on his face.
“No,” I said. “I didn’t try to get anybody in trouble.”
Kaley C. narrowed her eyes. “Then why couldn’t you just leave it alone?”
I could see the crowd narrowing its eyes, too. Nodding. Wondering why dweeby Tucker MacBean couldn’t just stick to his own pathetic life and leave Kaley C. alone.
“It wasn’t fair.”
This was a new voice. A voice that sounded suspiciously like . . . Emma’s?
I turned, and there she was. I steeled myself. Waited for her to stab me with her own pitchfork glare.
But she didn’t.
She crossed her arms and leveled a look at Kaley C. “Maybe you think it’s okay to stand by and watch somebody get in trouble for something he didn’t do, but Tucker’s not that kind of person.”
She was standing there side by side with Sam, both of them standing by . . . me.
Yeah. Me, Sam, Emma. Like the Justice League from a twisted alternative universe.
Noah had a weird look on his face. Still, even though he didn’t have a clue what was going on, he moved over and stood beside us.
That was my friend, Noah Spooner. Confused, but completely loyal.
Emma was still looking at Kaley C. “This is a dance,” she said, “and we worked really hard to put it together. So why don’t we all go dance.”
The crowd nodded and murmured and sort of drifted away. The Kaleys stared at Emma for just a second longer, then they turned and stalked away, too.
Emma grabbed Noah’s arm. “Come on,” she said. “Ms. Flanigan’s looking. We better get out there.”
And then all that was left was me and Sam. Standing by the snack table.
She folded her arms over her red sparkly dress. “Don’t think I’m going to dance with you,” she said. “’Cause I’m not.”
“No problem,” I said.
“Good.”
“Good.”
So we just stood there.
“Kind of weird,” Sam said finally. She poked at a floor tile with her boot. “The Kaleys didn’t even know who I was at first.” She looked up. “Not very bright, huh? I mean, change the clothes, braid the hair, and suddenly nobody knows who I am?”
I nodded. “The Clark Kent syndrome.”
She gave me a weird look.
I shrugged. “Like Clark Kent and the glasses. Take them off, he’s Superman. Put them back on, nobody recognizes him.”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “When the Kaleys thought I was just some random girl, they treated me pretty much normal. Kaley C. even said, ‘Oh, sorry,’ when she bumped me with her elbow. She said it kind of snotty, but she said it. Then they figured out who I was, and suddenly they’re looking at me like they always do, like—what did you call it? The loser dweeb look?” She toed the floor tile. “And I hadn’t changed at all. I was still the very same person.”
I nodded again. Inside, the same person. Outside, arch nemesis of the world.
I stopped.
Blinked.
Looked at her.
“That’s it,” I said. “That’s the secret of Beanboy.”