The next day it finally felt like I was really back at school.
I had a million pictures of baby Cecilia that I wanted to show Talia. And when I thought of Talia, I remembered I hadn’t ever asked her about how Poetry Out Loud went.
Before the first bell rang I ran to her locker as fast as I could, hoping she would forgive me for being a terrible friend. She was standing at her locker packing up books.
That’s when I saw her face close up. Her eyes and mouth were crumpled like she was going to puke.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I’m fine,” she said.
Her face looked a little ashy. She didn’t look fine to me. “You sure? You feeling all right?”
“Yeah, yeah, just my stomach.”
“Maybe you need to go home. Should we talk to the nurse?”
“No, no.” She looked down at her shoes, now looking more embarrassed than sick. She twisted some of her curly, dark hair around her finger. She looked up and down the hall, then leaned in closer. “Actually, it’s … I woke up and … well, I started my first period this morning. That’s what.”
“Oh.”
She leaned back. “I’m really fine, it just feels weird right here.” She patted a hand low, low on her stomach. “My mom was acting so weird, like I’d won some freaking trophy or something. She was like, ‘Oh girl, my grown-up girl.’”
I didn’t really know what to say, because I was worried that whatever I said would be the wrong thing. Besides, my brain kept saying mixed things to itself. I was glad that Talia had told me about it, because it’s the sort of thing that you only tell your best friends. But also I knew I would never have a period like that. At least not on my own, not for a long time. I would need special pills when I was older to make me have a period. For hormone regulation and bone density reasons, according to the doctor, although Mom says that’s still years away and she also said, “Man, it would have been nice to get you out of the whole stupid thing entirely.”
So yeah, no normal getting my period for me, whatever that means.
But actually I didn’t think about that for too long because I remembered that my mom was already proud of me, and then I started thinking about questions. Questions I’d never had to ask before. Like, did it hurt in a stomachache way or in a gut-punch way? How much blood was there? I’d heard that in a few years when I started taking the pills, I’d only have to get a period every three or four months and getting one each month seemed like it would be so draining and, well, a lot of blood. Did you have to wear a tampon right at the beginning? Did they make it hard to walk?
Probably not great questions to ask in the middle of the school hallway.
And there were other Big Girl things to talk about first.
“You sure you’re okay?” I asked.
She nodded. “I … Sorry I haven’t exactly been super fun lately. There’s been a lot going on.”
“Me too,” I said. “And you don’t need to be sorry for being sad about your grandma or working really hard on the contest. Totally okay.”
“Thanks,” she said.
“Sure thing,” I said. “And thank you for … for being my favorite poet.”
She laughed. “Well, no rehearsing during lunch anymore, so you want to eat in the library?”
I smiled. “Always,” I said, slapping my hands together. “And speaking of, I’m really, really sorry I haven’t even asked you about Poetry Out Loud yet. How’d it go?”
“Nah, no worries,” she said. Then Talia smiled one of her rare, dimply smiles, and it was like we were right back where we left off. Maybe even better.
“Well?” I said, bouncing. “How’d you do?”
Talia grinned.
“I got second place.”
I jumped and clapped some more. “That’s amazing! You’re amazing! Phenomenal!”
“I was sort of sad at first that I didn’t win. Okay, more like totally pissed. But actually then I thought of you talking to that stupid dumb editor guy on your own and I was like, when I tell Libby about this, what will she say? And I swear I could hear your voice in my head being all like, ‘Second place is just amazing and plus it means you’ll be ready to kick butt next year,’ and so that’s what I decided to do. Hang my certificate on my wall and get ready for next year.”
Have you ever had moments where everything is so exciting and wonderful and you have a friend saying that she’s glad you’re her friend and you’re so effervescent (a Hard Reading Word that means vivacious and enthusiastic) that you can’t use words, only make happy squealing noises?
“And what about the Smithsonian contest?” Talia said. “You still have five days before the deadline.”
I put a finger on my locker. “But I didn’t get Cecilia in the textbook.”
“So? You still have five days to do a teaching project and finish your letter.”
“Five days? That’s not very much time. Plus, I don’t know what my project would be. I can’t do poems like you or play music or do painting or drawing or anything.”
“Oh please,” she said. “Libby, you’re one of the smartest people I know. No way you can give up on twenty-five grand, girl. Even if you don’t win, you have to try. You can totally think of something kick-butt to do.”
“What is it with you and butts?”
Dustin Pierce was at his locker down the hall.
Hadn’t he learned anything?
I started walking toward him.
“Hey,” Talia said. “Don’t, he’s not worth it.”
I kept walking.
“Hey, Dustin,” I said.
He looked at me and huffed. He was quite a bit taller than me. “Oh no, it’s FrankenChin.”
“Who’s your favorite basketball player?” I asked.
Dustin and Talia both stopped talking. Dustin’s forehead crinkled in confusion. “Huh?”
“You like basketball, right?” I said. “That’s your thing, isn’t it? So who’s your favorite player?”
“Well, Michael Jordan is the best of all time. Duh.”
“Okay, so do you think Michael Jordan wasted his time putting butt pictures in people’s lockers? Do you think he spent time thinking up mean names and things to call people or do you think he maybe focused on something more productive?”
“What are you talking about?”
“While you’re sitting here being a butt-obsessed butthead, some other kid is practicing free throws or learning plays or … something. I dunno. But if they’re practicing and you’re butt-picturing, who’s gonna be better at basketball?”
Dustin slammed his locker and rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”
When I walked back to Talia she was shaking her head at me, grinning. “You are so weird,” she said.
“I know,” I said.
“Back to the Smithsonian contest…,” she said.
I thought about the private, best-friends thing Talia had just told me and I finally thought of the right thing to say. Maybe practicing Silent Questions also helps you become better at figuring out what to say when you have to say out-loud things.
“Okay, Talia. I’m not giving up on the contest, but I need someone to help me with a new master plan. Would you maybe want to ask our moms if we could have a sleepover this weekend and I’ll try and have a new idea for us to start working on? And I’ll submit it on Tuesday. And also, there’s something I want to show you … if you’re not scared of needles.”