On Monday morning I find a note taped to my desk. I open it up and start reading:
Dear Kat,
Your the best, better then the rest
When I look at you I want to smile
Not for a minute but for a while
Your hair is brown your teeth are white
I really think your DINOMITE…
Oh no. Michael McGraw has written me a poem. A love poem, with bad spelling. Thank goodness Halle is at the orthodontist. Otherwise, I’d be planning my own funeral. I stuff the note in my pocket and avoid Michael’s moony eyeballs for the rest of homeroom.
Later, in the hall, Halle spies her crush gazing at me from behind the water fountain. “Why is Michael staring at you?”
“He’s staring at you,” I say. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“No,” Halle says, narrowing her eyes. “It’s not.”
“Well…”
“What did he say on the phone, Kat? I know there’s more than you’re telling me.”
“It was nothing,” I lie. “Just stuff about Sam. I told you already.”
“Then tell me again. And don’t leave anything out this time. I want to know everything.”
I fight the urge to bite my nails. “I don’t remember.”
Halle makes a face and walks off down the corridor. She doesn’t turn around to see if I’m following her.
In carpentry, Halle catches Michael gaping at me while I’m hammering nails into the bookshelf I’m making, and again at lunch, as I’m eating my pasta primavera. By the time we’re in PE, finishing up a unit on rhythmic gymnastics, Halle’s had enough. The fact that Michael is waving at me from across the room isn’t helping.
“What’s going on, Kat?” she asks, rolling a wooden hoop for me to jump through. “I know it’s something.”
I squat down to pick up the fallen hoop. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Halle glowers at me, hands on hips. “You don’t expect me to believe that, do you? It’s obvious that—”
Halle doesn’t get to finish. Michael is standing right in front of us. “Hey,” he says, nodding at me. “Whaddya think of my poem?”
“Poem?” Halle frowns. “What poem?”
“The one I wrote for Kat,” Michael says. “Poetry’s kinda my thing.”
Before I have time to explain, Halle snatches the gymnastics hoop out of my hand and stomps over to Madeline and Coco.
In rap session Halle’s hand is the first to go up. “The person I trust most in the world—and I won’t name names—is doing something behind my back. Something sneaky.”
My best friend doesn’t have to name names. All eyes are on me. Madeline’s and Coco’s glares feel the strongest.
“Are you sure about this, Halle?” Olympia asks. “For all you know, it could be a misunderstanding.”
“Oh, it’s no misunderstanding,” Halle tells her. “I feel it in my gut.”
“Maybe you’re lactose intolerant,” Wilson says, adjusting the cuffs of his lab coat.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Halle asks.
Wilson puts out his hand for the talking stick. “People with sensitive digestive systems have an incredible sense of intuition. I read about it in last month’s New England Journal of Medicine.”
“Wilson’s right,” Liberty says, taking the stick. “If you think this person is doing something sneaky behind your back and your stomach is acting up, well…she probably is.”
“How do you know it’s a she?” Sam says, taking the stick from Liberty. “Halle could be talking about a guy.” I shoot Sam a grateful smile. I’ve been avoiding him all week, but he’s still on my side.
“It’s not me!” Kevin yells.
“Me neither,” Hector says. “I’m not a sneaky person.”
“But you’re weird,” Madeline tells him. “And you think you were abducted by aliens.”
“I was,” Hector says. “At Yankee Stadium. I was waiting in line for a hot dog, when all of a sudden this little green man hopped out of a spaceship and—”
Olympia holds up her hand. “Do you have the talking stick, Hector?”
Hector looks down at his stick-less hands. “No.”
“Then it’s not your turn to speak.” Olympia takes the stick from Sam and gives it to Halle. “Please continue,” she says.
Halle shifts in her seat. “As I was saying, this person—who shall remain nameless—is trying to steal my crush. I never thought she’d do something like that, but obviously I was wrong.”
I feel like running out of the room. Why did Halle have to say she? Everyone knows it’s me, but she didn’t have to be so obvious about it. Why couldn’t she have listened when Olympia said this could be a misunderstanding? As Ole Golly tells Harriet: “People are hurt more by misunderstanding than anything else.” Can’t Halle see this is exactly the same thing?
As I’m about to ask for the talking stick, Michael slaps his hand against his head. “Oh no!”
Olympia’s forehead creases in concern. “What’s wrong, Michael?”
“I just remembered something.”
“Fine, but what did we say about interrupting the speaker?”
“It’s rude?”
“And…”
“Inconsiderate?”
Olympia nods. “Exactly.”
“But can I say one thing?” Michael says. “It’s important.”
Olympia turns to Halle. “Does Michael have your permission to speak?”
Halle can’t hand the stick over fast enough.
Michael jumps to his feet. “The Yankees beat the Red Sox last night—seven-three. Their losing streak is officially OVER!”
“Yes!” Kevin pumps his fist in the air. “Finally!”
“Whew,” adds Hector. “I was beginning to give up hope.”
Olympia, who usually has the patience of a Buddhist monk, has had enough. “Let’s turn our attention back to Halle,” she says, putting out her hand for the talking stick. “She’s been waiting patiently to continue.”
“That’s okay,” Halle says, gazing at Michael. “I’m done.”
I’m dying to reach for the stick and tell the class I’m not the sneaky backstabber Halle says I am, but why bother? Nobody would believe me anyway. When rap session is over, I pick up my backpack and follow my classmates out the door.
“Kat?” It’s Olympia, catching up to me in the hall. “Do you have a few minutes to chat?”
This “chat,” I’m guessing, is not about Halle. “I, um…have to see the nurse,” I say. “I think I’m coming down with something.”
“Oh, this won’t take long.” Olympia gestures for me to follow her to her office. “Come on.”
Clearly I don’t have a choice. I’m going with her.