Natalie and the Bestest Friend Race (5 page)

Sasha?

Sasha?
It’s true that Sasha is a fast running girl. But she is also…Sasha. And she has been as not nice to us as Peter the Not-So-Great.

I think maybe I didn’t hear right. My desk is in the way back of the room. Maybe Laurie said Natalie, and it sounded like Sasha.

Sasha jumps out of her seat and runs to the front of the classroom. She stops right next to Laurie.

My heart hurts. My seat is already out of my seat, and I have to put it back down. Why didn’t Laurie pick me? She said she was going to. We
always
pick each other.

I try to remember exactly what Laurie said about our team. We talked about who else to get.

Maybe she didn’t say she’d pick me first, even though it feels like a very sad thing not to be first.

Maybe Laurie is being a smart captain. On account of picking me first is a waste because I’m not so fast. So nobody else would want me on their team first. And Sasha
is
fast.

So maybe Laurie picked Sasha so Peter wouldn’t get her. And she’s sure Peter won’t pick me.

I just hope she’s right about that.

“Jason!” Peter yells.

Laurie and I wanted Jason on our team. Jason is a fast boy. Plus, he is a nice boy. For a boy. But at least Peter didn’t pick me.

I wait for Laurie to say my name.

“Laurie?” Miss Hines says. “Your turn.”

Sasha whispers something to Laurie.

“Chase,” Laurie says.

My stomach goes from twitchy to twisty. I know Chase is a fast boy. But I still can’t believe Laurie picked him before me.

“Rory,” Peter says.

I am wishing that I could be a fast runner. I think about how Laurie wins every time we race. And I didn’t even care before. Only I care now.

“Tosha,” Laurie says.

Now I really don’t get it. Tosha never runs. Sometimes.

Peter says a name that isn’t me.

Laurie says a name that isn’t me.

Peter says a name that isn’t me.

Laurie says a name that isn’t me.

I wish I could be home right now. And not here. I hate here.

When only four slow-running kindergartners are left, Jason says, “Pick Nat! Come on, Peter! Nat can run. Pick Nat!”

Peter scrunches up his face at me. Then he says, “Natalie, I guess.”

I get up and walk to Peter’s side. I watch my shoes and that’s all.

“I am glad we are on this same team,” Farah whispers when I get to the front. Peter picked her right before he picked me.

I try to smile back at Farah. But my smiley face has left kindergarten.

I take one secret look at Laurie and
her
team. She had a gazillion chances to pick me. She promised we’d be on the same team.

Laurie should have picked me. She didn’t. And I will never ever never forget it. That’s what.

Miss Hines sends us out to recess early. I don’t run to the swings.

Farah walks up beside me. “Are you all right, Natalie?”

Part of me wants to say, “No! I’m very not all right. On account of my bestest friend didn’t pick me. And I got picked almost last. And Laurie doesn’t even care. And that makes my heart hurt with so much sad in there.”

But some of that sad is changing into mad now. And that mad part of me wants to say, “Yes! I’m better than all right. Better ’cause I’m
not
going to be on Laurie’s team. On account of she is a big traitor girl. That’s what!”

“Natalie?” Farah sweeps her long hair behind her shoulders and gets big in her eyes. “Are you sick?”

I look up. And that’s when I see that we are at the swings. Sasha and Laurie are swinging very high. I can tell without even asking that Laurie did not save me a swing.

And this turns the rest of the sad in me to mad.

I take Farah’s arm and pull her away from the swings. But before we go, I say loud enough for Laurie to hear, “We don’t want to swing, Farah. We need to find
our
team and be with them.”

Jason and Peter are kicking a soccer ball at each other. I head for them, yelling, “We’re number one! We’re number one!”

And this yelling turns into a promise in my head. I’m going to do everything I can to beat Laurie and Sasha’s team in the Kindergarten Olympics.

Miss Hines gives us school time to meet with our teams. Peter’s team gets one side of the classroom. Laurie’s gets the other side. I try not to look at Laurie’s team. Looking there makes the sad come back.

Peter is bossy. “
I’m
racing in the first race,” he bosses. “Carlo can be in the long race.” He gives out jobs like he is the boss of the world. Only not to Farah and me.

“What races are for Natalie and me?” Farah asks.

“I don’t know,” Peter answers. “You can cheer or something. I want to win.”

Miss Hines has sneaked up to listen to Peter’s team. She comes all the way over for this one. “Peter, I told you that everyone on your team will compete in at least one event. You should have plenty of openings for Farah and Natalie.”

“I do not mind,” Farah says.

“Well, I do,” Miss Hines says. “Now, who’s running in the first event?”

“Brandon and me,” Peter says.

“All right. Who’s in the second event?” asks our teacher.

“Carlo and me,” Peter says.

“Then how about the shot-put throw?”

“Me and Bethany,” Peter says.

Miss Hines gives Peter her line eyes. “Peter, you can’t compete in every event. Pick two. That’s it.”

Peter kicks the floor.

Our teacher smiles at Farah. “Farah, I think you would be perfect for the shot put. All you do is throw a special ball as far as you can.”

“But I—” Peter protests.

“Two events only, Peter,” Miss Hines reminds him. She smiles at Farah again. “How about if you and Bethany do the shot put together?”

“Yes,” Farah says.

“What about the hurdles?” Miss Hines asks.

“I want to do that one!” Peter shouts.

Miss Hines lets out a big, fat sigh. “Fine. You and Natalie can run hurdles. And that takes care of everybody, right?” She looks over at me. “Is that all right with you, Natalie?”

“I don’t care,” I say. But I don’t know what running “hurls” means. I know what
hurling
means, on account of I do that when I’m stomach sick. But I never saw that one on the TV Olympics.

School gets over. For the first time forever, Laurie and I don’t walk out together. This makes my
heart hurt again. But I act like it doesn’t. I make my feet skip on the sidewalk. I am a good skipping girl. Sometimes.

My feet skip all the way to Buddy. Only my heart doesn’t. Before I get in, I look back and see Laurie getting into her mom’s car. Laurie looks over at Buddy. I can see Laurie seeing me. Now is when we always wave at each other.

Only this time we don’t.

Granny is sitting down in our front yard when Mom and I drive up in Buddy. She’s digging in the dirt. If I didn’t feel so sad and mad already, I would laugh at my granny.

“Hey, Nat!” Granny calls. “I could sure use some help planting these flowers.”

“Please help your granny, Nat,” Mom whispers. “I have some business calls to make.” Mom is the flower planter in our house, except for this time.

“Okay.” I am thinking that there is nothing else to do. Nobody to play with. Nobody to call and ask to come over.

Granny hands me a little shovel that’s as big as my hand. “Start digging, cowgirl,” she says.

It feels a little good to
dig, dig, dig
in the dirt.

“You’re not much of a talker today,” Granny says. “How was school?”

“I don’t know.” I don’t want to talk about being un-picked.

Granny doesn’t say anything. But I feel her staring.

“So, Nat,” Granny says. “Why don’t you phone Laurie and see if she can come help us plant these flowers?” She reaches into her pocket and holds out her cell phone.

“No, thanks.” I keep on
dig, dig, digging
.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to. That’s what.”

Granny is quiet for minute. But not for long. “Nat, did you and Laurie have a fight?”

I stop digging. Laurie and I have never had a fight. Peter and I have. Sasha and I have. Even Granny and I have. Not Laurie and me. “We didn’t yell at each other.” In those other fights, there was a lot of that yelling going on.

Granny’s eyes have sad in them. “Some fights don’t come with yelling, Nat.”

Beep! Beep!

A big black car drives into our driveway. My daddy gets out. The car belongs to Daddy’s boss, who goes by the name of Mr. Adams. He and Daddy and another guy car pool to work. And that isn’t fun like it sounds. There’s no swimming in a car pool.

I run up to my dad. He lifts me high and spins me around. And I kind of wish he would stay holding on. But he puts me down and tells his boss good-bye.

“Nat,” Daddy says when the black car drives away, “what’s the latest on the Kindergarten Olympics?”

My stomach feels twitchy just at the sound of that word. “They happen on Friday.”

“Friday? That doesn’t give us much time to practice, does it? What’s your event?”

“Hurling.”

“Hurling? Like the sport they play in Ireland? Why would they make kindergartners learn hurling? I don’t even think it’s an Olympic event. Are you sure that’s your event, Nat?”

“Miss Hines made Peter let me be the one to run
those hurls with him,” I explain.

“Run those hurls?
Hurdles!
Is that what you mean, Nat? Are you running hurdles?” Daddy is really excited about this. “
I
ran hurdles in high school!”

After dinner, Daddy hurries me out to the backyard to practice hurling. It turns out hurdles are like little fences you jump over. I even saw those things on the TV Olympics.

“I don’t suppose you know how high your hurdles will be, do you?” He’s hammering nails into skinny boards. “No. Of course you don’t. We’ll just make different kinds of hurdles and different sizes, so you’ll be ready for anything.”

We pull out boards and empty boxes and build things to jump over. Daddy moves a yellow tube thing that Laurie and I crawl in and pretend it’s a tunnel. Thinking about this makes my sadness come back. But I try to push it out with mad and remember how Laurie didn’t pick me for her team.

By the time Daddy finishes our hurdles, the sun is dropping down in the sky.

“Nat, why don’t you just run and jump over our hurdles to start out. Okay? Then we’ll work on style.”

“I’m not very fast,” I warn him.

“You’re plenty fast,” Daddy says. “And hurdles are as much about jumping as running. You’re a good jumper.”

“I am?”

“Sure you are!” Daddy says. “How many times have you gotten in trouble for running up the hall and jumping over my footstool?”

This is a true thing. “Many times,” I admit.

“On your mark!” he shouts. “Get set! Go!”

I run to the yellow tunnel, stop, jump, and run again. Then I do the same on the other two jumps. “I did it!” I cry.

“You sure did!” Daddy yells. “Not bad for a first try.”

I walk over to Daddy. “But I wasn’t very fast, was I?”

“You were fine. But let’s do it again. Try the yellow jump. But this time, don’t stop before you jump. Just keep on going. Lean forward, jump, and keep running.”

“I’ll try,” I say. I take a big breath and run to the tunnel. I slow down, but I don’t stop.

“Great!” Daddy shouts.

It feels a little great too, to have my dad say this. “Can I do it again?”

Mom comes out to watch. She sits on the swing, and I do all of the jumps again. And again. And this last time, I don’t even slow down before I jump.

“You’re a natural, Nat!” Mom says.

“She gets it from me,” Daddy says, like he’s proud about this. “Nat, come over here!” I do. “I’m going to tell you a secret, Nat. It’s something my high school coach taught me. It’s the reason I made it to State my senior year.”

“What’s the secret?” I ask.

Daddy looks over his shoulder like he wants to make sure nobody else can hear. Then he whispers, “Look at your watch when you sail over the jump.”

This is not sounding like a very good secret to me. “Daddy, I don’t have a watch.”

“Look where your watch would be, on your wrist. That’s how you make sure your arms are in the right place when you jump. Go on, Nat. Try it.”

I try it. Only I forget the watch part. I do it again. This time I think about the watch I don’t have. And I look.

“That’s it, Nat!” Daddy shouts. “Keep going!”

I keep running to the next jump. This time I feel like I’m flying over that hurdle. When I look at where my watch isn’t, I feel fast. That’s what.

Mom and Dad clap for me when we quit. This feels like a happy thing.

I am still happy when I jump into my bubble bath. Only when I lean back, I see purple wallpaper. We have boring black-and-white wallpaper in here, except for where I’m looking. It’s purple, on account of Laurie and I colored it that way one day before my mom made us stop.

By the time the bubbles are gone, so is my happy feeling.

I get in my jammies and still have a little time to play before bedtime. I pull out all of my stuffed animals and pretend I’m choosing up teams.

“Steg-O,” I say, moving my dinosaur to one side. But my bear and my moose and my bunny and all the others look too sad. So I change my mind and scoop all of them to my side. “I pick all of you,” I tell them. “On account of I don’t ever want you guys to feel unpicked.”