The first week in December, Zooey texts me that she is staying home because she has a stomach bug. After sending her a series of grossly funny barfing emojis, I realize that this will be the first time in a long time that I’ll be eating lunch by myself.
“I’d like an update on your reports,” Ms. Lyle says at the beginning of class. “Just so I can be sure you are on target to have them completed before the holiday recess.”
Some pairs are better off than others. Darren and Jacob appear to be almost done, while a few others seem to think Ms. Lyle will not notice they haven’t even really gotten started.
When she calls on me, Celeste and Fee turn around in curiosity. I watch the words new kid form on Fee’s mouth.
“Ms. Maletti, would you like to wait until Zooey has returned to update us?” Ms. Lyle asks.
“No, that’s okay,” I answer. “I have our notes.”
“Go ahead, then. How is your research?” A little smile plays on her thin lips.
“Great!” I say, blushing because I sound so excited. “Oh, also! We actually found part of the complete Harvest Jinx poem at the historical society.”
Ms. Lyle blinks at me. “The complete poem?”
“Well, almost.” I explain, “Not just the ‘Make a promise before you think, and you could get a Harvest Jinx’ part, but some of what comes after it.”
I don’t think she realizes she’s shuffle-stepped over to my desk until she lightly presses her papery fingertips on my hand where it rests on my book. “You’ve read the rest of the poem?”
My classmates look about as confused by Ms. Lyle’s attention as I feel, especially Fee and Celeste, who assume this is my first day of school.
“Um, not the whole poem,” I explain. “Just maybe half of it. The rest was torn out of the book we found it in.”
“Ah,” she says, the flat line of her mouth curving up into an unfamiliar smile. “You found the book.”
The bell rings just as I’m asking her, “What book?” I am sure she hears my question, but she moves back up the aisle to the front of the class, announcing that everyone else can give their updates on their projects tomorrow.
I linger by her desk after class, but she busies herself sorting a neat pile of paper into a different neat pile of paper on the other side of her desk, one piece at a time.
“Ms. Lyle?” I finally say when it’s obvious that she is going to keep on ignoring me.
“Yes, Hattie?” Her eyes seem huge through her glasses.
“What did you mean by ‘you found the book’?”
She looks down at the piece of paper she is moving from stack to stack. “I meant that it was nice that you found the poem in a book.”
“But”—I wait for her hand to move from one pile to the next—“you didn’t say a book, you said the book.”
“Did I?” She looks up at me in surprise. “I suppose I misspoke.” She glances behind me, toward the clock on the wall. “You are going to be late for lunch, Ms. Maletti.”
I head to the library, as usual, and offer to help Mr. Zubki even though I could finally get a chance to sit in the Big Comfy Chair, since Zooey isn’t here. It feels weird to be in our little area without her. Mr. Zubki puts me to work helping him shelve books in the history section. With the whole sixth grade working on our projects, which are due before the holiday break, he says a lot of books have been going in and out.
“Mr. Zubki, do you know how long Ms. Lyle has taught here?” I ask him.
“Oh, she was here long before I started,” Mr. Zubki responds.
“Did she grow up here?”
He gives me a quizzical look. “This is one of those moments when it would be better for you to use a primary source.”
I nod, even though I have a feeling Ms. Lyle isn’t going to be too open to talking about her personal life.
“Why do you ask?” he asks.
“Just curious, I guess.”
Zooey’s out again the next day, which means that in the afternoon, I’ll be hanging out with Maude by myself. But first, I need to get through the school day without the one person at school I consider to be a friend.
At lunch I start to wander my usual way down to the library, but as I do, I pass Celeste and Piper on the way to the cafeteria. I “met” them both this morning, so they smile when they pass. I pause after they go into the cafeteria, and I see Fee’s already there, waiting for them. Her clothes have gotten even more bizarre, and I heard someone say that she got called down to guidance the other day because you could see her underwear through her skirt.
I make the decision before I even realize it, and soon I am striding into the cafeteria after Piper and Celeste. I walk slowly, to give them a chance to sit down and for Piper to pull out her ONLY NUT ALLOWED sign. When I get closer, I sense some iciness between Celeste and Fee, and watch as Piper looks distressed at the tension between her friends.
“Hi,” I say, standing at the head of the table. My stomach jumps, a happy sort of nervousness.
“Oh, hi!” Piper says, like she’s happy for something to break the tension. “How was your first day?”
I nod. “Great! Okay if I sit here?”
“Sure,” Celeste says. Piper moves over, making room next to her for me to sit.
“So where are you from?” Fee asks. She’s wearing makeup, a sort of cat’s-eye eyeliner that I’m frankly surprised her mom let her leave the house with.
“Brooklyn,” I answer, and her eyes go wide. “Have you ever been?”
She shakes her head. “I want to, though, so badly. What’s it like?”
Usually, when Fee would ask me, I’d feel put on the spot, like nothing I say could have been as great as what she imagined. But this time, since she’ll forget all of this tomorrow, I want to answer honestly. I take a second to think of what to say. “It was the best. I loved my neighborhood, and my school. There were always kids around, in our building, on our block, at the park, wherever. We lived on the top floor of this old apartment house with a view of the Statue of Liberty. And I had a best friend named Rae. We read a lot of that fantasy series Tilde’s Realm together.”
It’s a random list of facts, but Fee looks entranced. She blinks at me. “You look kind of familiar.”
“What?” I ask so forcefully that she almost reels back, gives her head a shake.
“Nothing,” she says brightly after a moment. “So where do you live now?”
I’m still puzzling over this when I climb the stairs to the historical society that afternoon. It seemed, for just a moment, like Fee recognized me. It strikes me that it’s not until I actually told the whole truth about myself and my life in Brooklyn that she thought I was someone worth impressing.
“How’s the glossy one?” Maude asks when I get up the stairs.
“Still barfing, I think. Hey, do you know Ms. Lyle, who teaches English and social studies at school?”
“I do,” Maude says, not looking up from her book. I wander between two shelves I’ve never explored before.
“Why?” I hear her call. Then, “Where are you?”
“I’m in land grants and sewage plans,” I answer, wrinkling my nose as I read the spines of the huge ledgers lining the shelves. “I’m looking for stuff on the historical society.”
“You’re in the historical society,” Maude says, appearing next to me.
“Yeah, but who runs it?” I ask. “Is there a record of who have been members?”
“You’re wondering if Ms. Lyle was a member?”
“Kind of,” I answer. “She seems really interested in our project, like maybe it’s something she’s personally invested in.”
“Why don’t you just ask her?”
“I will,” I answer. “I just thought I’d check here first.”
Maude guides me down and up aisles until we get to a low bookshelf next to the window on the opposite end of the attic from our little nook. “Here are the member rosters,” she says. “Ms. Lyle is maybe seventy-five, so here are the ones for the past sixty or so years, on the off chance she joined up when she was eighteen, the youngest age a person can be a member.”
I spend the afternoon flipping through but don’t see her name anywhere.
“Also,” Maude says, later reappearing next to me, “I found something that might interest you.”
“Really?” I ask, turning to see the small piece of paper she is holding in her fingers.
“I found it in the repair box. Apparently, it was separated from the book. Shall we tape it back in?”
I have to blink at the page like fifty times before my brain really understands what I’m seeing.
“It’s the rest of the poem?” I ask weakly.
Maude grins. “Well, part of it anyway. Someone really ripped this book to shreds. It’s a start, though. Come on.”
I follow her back to the green metal desk, where she pulls a length of clear tape from a heavy holder and carefully seals the torn page back into the book.
“There’s at least a little more to it now,” Maude says.
“Oh my gosh,” I breathe. I get out my phone first, snapping a picture and texting it to Zooey with about a million exclamation points.
The newly found part of the poem reads:
Alone in this you will be,
Except your guide and the one who sees.
“The one who sees?” I ask aloud, confused. “Your guide? What the heck does that mean?”
Maude shrugs. “Who knows. Poets are weird.”
The one who sees. Could Maude actually see what’s happening to me? Could she be my guide? I look hard at her. She blinks at me, looking totally confused.
My mind keeps me awake, whirring all night.
Zooey is out again on Wednesday, and I’m back at my old friends’ table. For the very first time. Again. I wish I could figure out if it really was a flash of recognition I saw in Fee’s eyes and, if it was, what I did to get it there. The whole one who sees thing has me feeling so strange, I’m watching everyone, trying to figure out if someone is watching me.
“Hi!” Piper says, swallowing. “Are you new … ”
“Yep, I’m new here,” I answer quickly. “Hey, did you guys know I’m from Brooklyn?”
I watch Fee’s eyes widen, wait for her to ask me about it.
“Oh, it was incredible,” I say. “I mean, I was, like, living the dream, you know. People come from all over the world to live there, and I was born there. It was just awesome.” I go into a long story about the subway, and when I finish, Fee looks interested, but there is no flicker of recognition on her face.
I don’t even realize Zooey came back to school the next day until I’m about to sit down by Piper.
“Hold it,” Zooey says, making a sudden appearance worthy of Maude.
“Hey, you’re back!” I say happily. “Did you come in after first period?”
“Yes, I’m back,” she says to me. And then to my former friends, whom I was impressing with tales of Brooklyn street art, “I have to borrow her.” She leads me to the far end of the cafeteria where the snack machine stands.
I stand facing her, my arms crossed over my long-sleeved kitten sweatshirt. “Are you feeling better?” I ask.
“You have to knock it off,” she says firmly.
“Knock what off ?” I ask, leaning hard against the soda machine, before I realize the front is made of plastic that pushes in when you lean on it. It ends up kind of hugging me. I straighten up, and there is a big clonking sound as the plastic pops back out.
“I had no idea this is what you were up to while I was gone. I thought you were still hanging in the library with Zubki.”
I shrug, a little defensively. “There were no more books to be shelved. And you weren’t here, so I needed company.”
“I think they’ve made it pretty clear they don’t want your company, Hattie,” Zooey says, sounding a little bitter.
“They’ve made it clear?” I ask, freeing myself from the soda machine. A weird, tingly feeling crawls up the back of my neck.
“That they don’t want to be friends with you. I mean, seriously, day after day, I see you talk to them and they’re nice to your face, and then they ignore you the next day! And now you’re sitting with them? Are you, like, a glutton for punishment or something?!”
“You see them ignore me?” I ask, my brain whirring as I realize what she’s saying.
“Yeah, day after day. They don’t want to be friends with you, Hattie. Sorry if that’s harsh, but I feel like you’re just not getting it. Let it go. They defriended you. Get over it.”
“So you’ve seen me talk to them?”
Zooey makes a frustrated noise. “Are you even listening to me? Everyone has seen you talking to them. Just no one else wants to tell you how sad it makes you look.”
“You’ve seen me. Talking to them?”
“YES!” she says loudly. “Hattie, they are messing with you. They’re never going to be friends with you. Trust me, this used to be, like, my career.”
My mouth goes dry, my heart is racing. “Will you do me a favor?”
Her eyes narrow a bit. “Maybe. What?”
“Will you go over there and ask them if they know me?”
“Why … why are you such a glutton for punishment? Of course they’ll say they don’t know you! They’re freezing you out, Hattie. I should know what that looks like. It’s what happened to me.”
I nod. “I know. Just, just go over.”
“Fine,” she says, and I watch as she marches over. Piper and Celeste look up and smile at her. Fee does, too, but her whole body stiffens as she does. I watch as Zooey motions toward me, and my former friends look over to where I stand. They shake their heads; Fee says something. Zooey says something back, something I guess might be a little mean. Because I see Piper look hurt and shake her head again. I watch as Zooey keeps talking, and they keep looking over at me, shaking their heads.
By the time Zooey is walking back toward me, I’m heading out of the cafeteria. She follows me down the hall, calling after me to hold up, but I don’t stop, not until I’m in the last stall of the girls’ bathroom in the science wing, the one that no one uses because it’s so far away.
“Hattie, what is going on?” Zooey asks, leaning against the open stall door of orange-painted metal. “I asked them; they pretended they’d just met you. Jerks.”
“They should call this the sherbet bathroom,” I say nervously, taking in the gleaming orange and white tiles. “Or maybe the Creamsicle bathroom? Why don’t we use this place ever? This bathroom is, like, the best.”
“I think you might be”—my heart races with what I’m about to say, and I think I might get dizzy, so I sit down on the toilet, grateful the lid is closed—“I think you might be my one who sees.”
“Who sees what?”
“Alone in this you will be,
Except your guide and the one who sees.”
“Are you talking about the Harvest Jinx?” she asks, and she steps away from the stall door, making it swing a little. “The part of the poem you texted me yesterday?”
“Yes,” I say, my stomach lurching as I continue. “I am going to tell you the truth. The truth that I’ve been hiding from you and Maude and everyone else.”
“Okay,” she says slowly.
I take a deep breath. “I’ve been jinxed, and I think you’re the one who can see it.”
I hold my breath, watching as she looks at me, blinking. Oh please oh please oh please oh please don’t forget me.
“Ugh, Hattie, what are you talking about!” Her voice echoes off the Creamsicle tiles.
I break into a huge smile, jump off the toilet, and hug her.
“Gah! No hugging in the bathroom! You were just on the john!” she says, pulling out of my grasp, moving to the sink, and filling her palms with foaming soap from the dispenser.
“You know me! You really know me!” I say weepily, leaning against the sink next to hers and smiling.
“This again?” She cranks the paper-towel dispenser. “Hattie, of course I know you!”
“But my friends don’t! I swear to you, Zooey, they don’t remember me. They don’t remember meeting me, becoming best friends, none of it. And no one else here remembers I was ever friends with them either. Everyone has just sort of … forgotten.”
“Except me?” she asks incredulously, tossing the paper towels.
“Except you. Because you’re—”
“The one who sees. Right. So,” she says, stepping around me and toward the bathroom door. “You just stay here. I’m going to go crazy-check your little theory, and I’m going to come back in with your former friends so they can apologize for sending you over the deep end, and I’m going to bring in a couple of other people to tell that they do in fact remember that you were friends with them and that you are now in fact making a fool of yourself on a daily basis trying to get back into their good graces. Stay here. BRB, okay?”
“Okay!” I say breathlessly. “I’ll just wait here.”
And I do wait there. For a long time. So long that I think maybe Zooey forgot about me, or maybe got in trouble for leaving the cafeteria without a hall pass. I’m about to go look for her, when the bathroom door slowly opens again, and Zooey steps in.
“I was … ” she says, shaking her head, like she is trying to make sense of something. “I was going to get the guidance counselor and bring her in to you. Because I was kind of worried you had maybe lost touch with reality or something?” She stands in front of the sink, looking at her own reflection. “But then I thought, Why not just ask someone about what Hattie said? So I did. And then I asked someone else, because that first someone was from way below the loser line, so what would they know about anything anyway? But then the next person I asked said the same thing: Hattie was never friends with Piper. Or Celeste. Or Fee. So I asked someone else. And someone else after that … ” She trails off, then turns to face me. “Hattie, were you jinxed?”
I nod.
She hugs me this time and says, “This is so weird!”
“I know!” I say gleefully. “It’s terrible! And now you get to know about it, too!”
“So what do we do?” she asks, finally pulling away.
“About what?” I ask.
“The jinx, how do we break the jinx?”
I burst out laughing. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously!” she says. “I can’t be the only one who knows about this weirdness! I’ll go crazy, like you.”
“Well, get ready to go bananas, sister, because there is no way to break a Harvest Jinx. You read the poem, you know what it said!”
“Okay, fine. So I’m the one who sees? Who’s the guide?”
We look at each other and say at the same time, “Maude.”
“Do you think she knows?” Zooey asks. “That she’s your … guide or whatever? We have to ask her.”
“NO!” I say loudly. “We can’t.”
“What? Why?”
“Because what if we tell her about the jinx and then it gets worse? That rule is no joke. I broke it soon after I was jinxed, and that’s the reason my friends keep forgetting me every single new day.”
“We have to try,” Zooey says.