Blackbird Fly (5 page)

Gretchen gasped—her usual reaction. I opened my bag of chips.

“You have to!” said Gretchen. “Who will I hang out with? Besides, you're the best one.”

Alyssa nodded as if to say,
I know, I know.
“I'm just not sure I can do everything.” She opened her bag of Funyuns. “I'm doing community theater in the spring, and I've got dance class once a week.”

“You
have
to, Alyssa,” Gretchen said. “You
have
to.”

Alyssa nodded again.
I know, I know.
“I'll think about it. I'll decide by tomorrow.”

“Does this have anything to do with what Jake said?” I asked, popping the top on my soda. “About swing choir being the gayest club in school?”

“As if I care what he says,” she said. “I do what I want. I just think it might be too much for my schedule. You know how busy I am. It's a good thing I didn't join the cheerleading squad.”

The truth is, she didn't
make
the cheerleading squad.

I took a big swig of soda and decided to change the subject. The less we talked about Jake Bevans and his friends, the better.

“What do you guys think about the field trip?” I asked. I was looking at Gretchen, but Alyssa answered.

“Great!” she said. “I already have ideas on what I'm gonna wear. Then again, I might get my mom to buy something new. We have, like, an eternity before we even leave.” Suddenly her face lit up. Another announcement. “Speaking of new outfits, guess what else I found out today?”

We looked at her, waiting.

“We get to wear Halloween costumes to the fall dance this year,” she said. “It's going to be
a-may-zing
. We need to discuss costume concepts.”

Gretchen shoved a handful of Skittles into her mouth. “I was gonna be a zombie bride for Halloween.”

“Don't you think we're too old for that sort of thing?” said Alyssa.

I turned to Gretchen. “I like the zombie bride idea.”

“Thanks,” she said. “What about you, Apple? What's your costume concept?”

“Apple isn't going to the dance,” said Alyssa, before I could answer. She turned to me with wide eyes. “Are you?”

“I don't know. I was thinking about it,” I said. “Why wouldn't I?”

“Last year you said dances were lame.”

I didn't tell Alyssa that the reason I'd said that was because they both got brand-new outfits and I knew my mom would never get me one, which meant I'd have to wear something they'd already seen at school. But a Halloween party was another story—I could make my own costume.

“So are you saying you changed your mind?” said Alyssa.

“I don't know,” I said. “It depends.”

“Well, I know I'm going for sure. And I have a feeling Jake will ask me.”

“I'll probably go with Lance.” Gretchen crumpled up her empty Skittles bag and put it in her pocket. She liked to put her junk-food trash in her pockets instead of walking ten feet to the trash can. One of her IFs.

“Why do we need dates?” I asked. “Nobody brought dates last year.”

Alyssa sighed as if I were the dumbest person on Earth. “Things are different this year. Everyone's gonna have a date. Well, except maybe Big-leena.” She snickered.

I scanned the lunch crowd for date possibilities of my own, but I saw only the same faces I'd seen since elementary school, and none of them would want to go with a girl on the Dog Log. Who could blame them? I saw the neon sign again—DOG LOG, DOG LOG, DOG LOG—and felt the corners of my eyes moisten, so I blinked and blinked and then pretended I had an eyelash caught in my eye. When I finally looked up, I saw an unfamiliar head of messy brown hair by the vending machines. It was
a boy I'd never seen before. Even though he was standing in the crowd, he wasn't part of it. He was leaning against the wall, reading a book.

“Who's that?” I asked, pointing.

“I have no idea,” said Alyssa. She squinted at him. “I don't remember hearing anything about a new student.”

“Me neither,” Gretchen and I said at the same time.

“What's he doing?” asked Gretchen. “Is he
reading a book
by the vending machines?”

Not many kids read books during lunch, but there he was. He looked really into it too. I wondered what the book was about.

“It's probably because he doesn't have anyone to talk to,” Alyssa concluded. She stood up and brushed the grass off her bottom. Gretchen and I did the same.

“Are we going to talk to him?” I asked.

“Sure, why not?”

His pants were too long, so the cuffs curled under his dirty sneakers. I noticed he was wearing Vans, which is my second-favorite brand of sneaker after Chuck Taylors. You can tell a lot about someone by their sneakers. Alyssa used to tell me that I needed to wear different shoes, since my black Chucks are all worn down. She suggested I wear sandals like she and Gretchen did, but why would I wear sandals when I can wear comfortable shoes? Then again, maybe if I'd listened, I wouldn't be one of the ugliest girls in school.

The new boy's hair was long, and it hung in his eyes in a way that made me want to brush it away. The book he was reading was thick. He scrunched his eyebrows as he read it, the same way my mom does when she's playing cards.

“Hey,” said Alyssa.

He didn't see us—or maybe he didn't hear us—so he kept right on reading.

“Hey,” said Alyssa again, louder. She put her hand on her hip.

He looked up.

“Hey,” he said, glancing quickly at all three of us before going back to his book.

“Uh . . . hello?” said Alyssa.

He looked up again. “Hello.” Then back to reading.

Alyssa looked at Gretchen and rolled her eyes. “Excuse me,” she said. She put her hand over his book. “Are you new here?”

Finally he lowered his book. He looked completely irritated. I tried to see what he was reading, but all I could tell was that it was from the school library.

“Yeah, I'm new here,” he said. His hair hung all around his face. When he blinked, some of the strands caught on his eyelashes.

“We wanted to introduce ourselves,” said Alyssa.

“Okay.” He blew his hair out of his eyes.

The four of us stood there for a while in silence.

“So go ahead,” he said.

Alyssa had both hands on her hips now. “Ugh! Never mind.” She turned around and walked off with Gretchen close behind. I introduced myself as Analyn before I followed too, a bit slower.

“Is that one word or two?” he asked. “Like Anna, and then Lynn?”

I turned around.

“No. Like A-N-A-L-Y-N.”

“Cool,” he said, nodding. “My name's Evan Temple. I just moved here from California.”

A lot of really good songwriters live in California, like Matt Costa and Eleisha Eagle, so I thought about asking what music he liked, but instead I asked what book he was reading.

“The Silmarillion,”
he said. He held it up so I could see the cover. It was by J. R. R. Tolkien. “It's the same guy who wrote
The Lord of the Rings
.”

“I love that movie,” I said.

“You should read the book.”

Alyssa called out, “Apple!” and motioned for me to come over. She glared at me like I was a traitor as I walked back to the oak tree.

“His name is Evan Temple,” I said. “He's from California.”

“Evan Temple?” Alyssa crinkled her nose. “What kind of stupid name is that?”

About as stupid as Apple
, I thought.

The three of us glanced back at the new guy. He was reading again, but just before I looked away, I thought I saw him glance at me. I couldn't be sure though.

Alyssa talked about what a jerk the new guy was until the bell rang and Gretchen announced that she couldn't find her purse. While she and Alyssa looked for it, I turned back to the vending machines, but he'd already disappeared.

T
he Dog Log isn't actually written down. It's spread, guy to guy, until any guy who is “in the know” knows. It's a good thing for me it's not on paper, I guess, but that doesn't make it any less of a Dog Log.

The reason it's not written down is because, a few years ago, a bunch of boys got in big trouble for passing it around at school. They even got suspended. So, the next year, they just made it an
unofficial-official list. That's what makes it a little mysterious.

The only thing worse than being on the Dog Log is being one of the top five on the Dog Log. Part of me wanted to know what my ranking was, and part of me wanted to die without ever knowing. Or just die, period. Alyssa was determined to figure it out though. As soon as she got home from school, she called to let me know that Jake had spilled everything.

When the call came in, I was sitting on the floor of my room, listening to
Abbey Road
and tapping my pencil on my social studies book in rhythm. I never played my dad's tape anymore, because it was in such bad shape, but I had the album downloaded on my laptop, along with
Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band
,
Magical Mystery Tour
,
The White Album
, and
All Things Must Pass
, which is the first album George Harrison released after the group broke up.

Sometimes it feels like the Beatles are the soundtrack to my life. Sometimes it feels like music
is the only thing that saves me, especially in moments like this, when my so-called best friend is ready to tell me how ugly I am.

“I know what number you are,” she said. Her voice was serious. Too serious.

I dropped my pencil and moved to my bed. When you're about to hear bad news, it's nice to know you have a soft place to fall.

“I don't care,” I said, even though my heart was beating so loudly, I was certain Alyssa could hear it. “Gretchen's right. It's stupid.”

“The list is, like, really superficial,” she said. “But don't you want to know what number you are? That way we can figure out how to get you off the list altogether.”

“If it's superficial, who cares?” I said.

Alyssa sighed. “Do you really want to go to high school as one of the Dog Log girls? Think about it.”

The Dog Log may not be written down, but it's impossible to erase. I knew the names of some of the
Dog Log girls who were in eighth grade when I was in fifth. Amanda McNally. Kim Achee. Bonnie Nyberg. I can't really remember what they looked like, but I remember their names.

Just like people would remember Apple Yengko.

“It doesn't matter,” I said, but my voice sounded small and tiny, like Heleena's.

“Yes, it does. We're talking about tiers here, Apple.”

Alyssa believes that every school is divided into tiers. The most popular people—the Claires, Jakes, Lances, and others—are on the first tier. They are the ones who always get invited, get nominated for this and that, and never in a million years would end up on any dog list. Alyssa thinks that we are somewhere between the second and third tier. She said that she had been headed for the fourth tier before she left Colorado, which was “a fate worse than anything,” because there are no more than four tiers. Once you get below that, you join people like Heleena.

“We don't want to start the year on the wrong tier,” Alyssa said.

“We?”

“You know what I mean.”

I pressed my lips together, fell back on the bed, and put a pillow over my face. “Okay,” I said, my voice muffled. “What number?”

Please let it be ten. Please let it be ten. Please let it be ten.

I would give anything for it to be ten.

Anything.

Just let it be ten.

Alyssa cleared her throat.

“Three,” she said.

Three?

I opened my mouth to say a million things—
How could it be three? Am I really that ugly? I know I don't look like anyone else, but am I really
three?
Third-ugliest girl in middle school?
Third?—but nothing came out. My face suddenly started sweating under the heat of the pillow.

One. Two. Three.

I swallowed. A well of tears crushed my chest.

“Hello?” said Alyssa. “Did you hear me? I said you were—”

“Yes. I heard you.” Three. I heard you. “Who are the others?”

“Heleena Moffett is first, of course. Then Dana Duttons.” Dana Duttons was in the special-needs class. One time last year, she dropped her binder in the hall and all her papers flew out of it. Another girl and I helped her pick them all up. She said thank you but never looked up from the floor. That was the only time I've ever talked to Dana Duttons, and we hadn't really talked, but every time I've seen her, she's wearing something purple—a purple shirt, purple pants, purple bow, whatever. Purple has got to be her favorite color.