Sticks & Stones (20 page)

1. Survive being in Ms. Sigafiss's class.

2. Figure out Liam's deal, once and for all.

3. Come up with more opinions on things like nail polish colors and bras, just in case Jeg invites me somewhere with her friends and I have to answer more difficult questions.

4. Do stuff. And maybe think about stuff, too. Or think about stuff and don't do stuff. It might be okay to just do whatever feels right. I think.

5. Find out who wrote the rest of those notes!

6. And one more thing. You might need to break up with Nice Andy.

Catch ya later,

March Elyse

*   *   *

I closed my notebook and started to unpack when Dad called for me from downstairs.

“What's going on?” I asked. Dad was sitting at the big brown dining-room table with his hands folded. He looked like he was trying to sit really still, but a few of his fingers kept popping out and tapping against each other.

“Hey.” He looked up. “Sorry to pull you away from your unpacking. I know how much you love putting things away.”

We both giggled nervously. Why was this so awkward?

“So … what's up?”

“Um…” Dad twiddled his thumbs. “Mom thought I should tell you … No, I mean, I wanted to tell you … Well, what you did on your trip, rescuing yourself like that, staying calm under scary circumstances … was really brave. And I'm very proud of you.”

I don't know what it was about what Dad had just said, but my smile stretched all the way across my whole face. Dad hadn't said something this awesome to me, well,
ever
.

“Yeah, I'm a born explorer,” I said with a little laugh.

“Ha!” Dad did a real giggle this time, not a nervous one. It was
sooo
cool, laughing with my dad. “You're silly.”

Dad's face turned white as he gasped and threw both hands over his mouth like he had said something absolutely terrible. I burst into an enormous fit of giggles as
SILLY
popped up on my elbow. It really, really tickled!

“That didn't bother you?” Dad's eyes got as big as pizzas.

“No.” I gave him a funny look. “
Silly
isn't the worst thing I've ever been called, Dad. I'm in sixth grade.”

Before I knew what was happening, Dad got up from the table and smushed me into a gigantic hug. The kind of hug where you can't breathe but you don't mind at all.

When the hug ended and we pulled apart, I asked, “Is that why you never talk to me about anything important? You think you'll call me silly and I'll die?”

Dad laughed, but his face was serious. “Elyse, do you remember the very first word that ever made you itch?”

“Of course,” I said. “Poopyhead.”

He sighed. “No. No, it wasn't. It was when you were two. We were playing together and you accidentally knocked over a vase that was really important to me because it belonged to my mom, your grandma, whom you never got to meet. I knew you didn't do it on purpose, but I was upset, and in the heat of the moment I scolded you, saying you were a bull in a china shop.” Dad took a deep breath. “Since the bad name was a phrase instead of a word, it took up almost your whole two-year-old arm. You were miserable. Screaming bloody murder. Throwing yourself on the ground. Kicking. Sobbing. We took you to the emergency room and they had to give you a shot to calm you down. You started seeing Dr. Patel a lot more frequently after that. And I … I was scared of accidentally calling you a name that would hurt you or, you know, literally scar you for life, so I decided that I'd avoid talking to you about anything that could get too serious or personal.” He chuckled. “Mom's been trying to get me into therapy for years. I don't know. Maybe it's time. I hate being someone you only talk to about traffic and the weather.”

I took a breath as all of this sank in.

“You called me a bull in a china shop?” I raised my eyebrows in a joking-mad kind of way.

“Yeah.” Dad sighed.

“Dad … I
am
a bull in a china shop. I can be super clumsy. Everyone is, sometimes.”

Dad looked scared, but I made an extra effort to stay calm. We both watched as
BULL IN A CHINA SHOP
and
CLUMSY
popped up near my shoulder.

“I'm okay, Dad. See?” I smiled.
BULL IN A CHINA SHOP
and
CLUMSY
itched like small mosquito bites did. A little annoying, but not that bad. Nothing I couldn't handle.

Dad got a huge grin on his face and pulled me into another hug.

“I love you,” he said. “For who you've been, who you are, and who you'll be. You're wonderful in every way, Elyse.”

“Thanks,” I said. “You're pretty cool yourself.”

As I climbed up the stairs after our hug, I turned back to look at Dad. He had a goofy look on his face, kinda like he had just read a mushy-gushy greeting card and was about to cry in a happy way.

I felt a little like happy-crying, too.

When I got upstairs, I had a text from Nice Andy.

How R U 2nite! U looked so lovely at school 2day!
  ☺    ☺    ☺  

Yikes. Lovely? He was running out of compliments if he had to go to lovely. It sprang up on my wrist right in between
AWESOME
and
COOL
. It was nice, but I didn't really need it. Like, I was totally good with
AWESOME
and
COOL
and
OKAY
and all the others.

And I didn't even need Nice Andy to get those, because I felt that way about myself.

 

32

OPERATION DUMP NICE ANDY

The next day at school, I told Olivia that I was going to break up with Nice Andy.

“But he's so nice!” she argued.

“But lots of things are nice,” I said, and showed her the list I had made to prove it.

Things That Are Nice Besides Nice Andy

  
1. Candy.

  
2. Books.

  
3. Chapstick that sort of looks like lipstick if you use your imagination.

  
4. Fuzzy green socks (and all socks, for that matter).

  
5. Cupcakes.

  
6. Laughing with your mom and dad.

  
7. Rescuing yourself from the Minnesota wilderness.

  
8. Grilled cheese.

  
9. Making Ms. Sigafiss make grilled cheese after she thought she was done making grilled cheese. Also, soup! Mmm, soup.

10. Lists.

“Wow, there are a lot!” she said. “Can I make one, too?”

I gave her a piece of paper from my notebook. A few minutes later, we taped Olivia's to mine and made a giant list. Hers said:

  
1. Puppies.

  
2. Kittens.

  
3. Rainy days.

  
4. Sunny days.

  
5. Things that turn your mouth blue (Popsicles, Ring Pops, etc.).

  
6. Ice cream.

  
7. Friends.

  
8. Brothers and sisters.

  
9. Dancing awkwardly.

10. The Mall of America.

“What are you guys doing?” Jeg's head poked out from behind a wall. I hadn't even noticed her watching us. Her face was covered in slimy-looking clear stuff, like she had gone to get a drink and missed her mouth. Or maybe it was just a weird new colorless lipstick. Maybe it was a fashion statement. I wasn't sure, so I kept my mouth shut.

“Making a list of nice things,” I said. “Want to do one?”

“Totes,” Jeg answered, and I gave her a piece of paper. Soon, our list grew even longer.

  
1. Parties.

  
2. Boys.

  
3. PG-13 movies.

  
4. Makeup.

  
5. Sleepovers.

  
6. Sharing secrets.

  
7. Playing truth or dare.

  
8. Hanging out with friends.

  
9. Clothes.

10. Kissing.

“Kissing?” Olivia and I squealed at the same time. Jeg went red instantly.

“Just this one guy in France earlier this year,” she said. “And Kevin. And … um … Liam.”

“Liam?” We squealed again.

After my squeal I started to feel a little sad. I had wanted Liam to be my first kiss, but he didn't even want to be my first hand-hold. But when I thought about it, I realized it was probably good that I didn't waste my first kiss on someone who would ditch me in a blizzard. My first kiss was going to be romantic, with someone I liked and who liked me, too.

“Well, he kissed me,” she admitted. “Just now, actually. I broke up with him and he seemed upset, so I let him give me a little teeny one to be nice.” She laughed. “Guys, I haven't told anyone else yet. It was really disgusting. He, like, slobbered all over my face. He didn't even use my mouth. I've only kissed two other boys, but I'm pretty sure when you kiss someone, you're supposed to kiss their lips, not lick their face.”

She looked at me, waiting for a reaction, and—I couldn't help it—I started to giggle.

Soon Olivia started giggling, too, and then Jeg started, and then the giggles turned into real laughs and the real laughs turned into the kind of laughs where we were holding our stomachs and crying and gasping for air and trying not to pee in our pants. I wanted it to last forever.

“He slobbered all over you!” Olivia gasped through her laughter. Tears were streaming down her face.

“He's a slimeball!” I screeched with delight. “Literally!”

“It isn't funny!” Jeg whined, but she was laughing so hard she almost fell off the bench. “I've been slimed!” she cried, and we all laughed even harder.

A second later, Jeg stopped laughing all of a sudden, like she had just realized her face really was covered in slime and we weren't kidding around.

But it wasn't that. Ami stood in front of us, hands poised on her hips, looking the three of us up and down.

“What's so funny?” she asked.

“Oh, we were just making these lists of nice things,” I said. “And then Jeg told us a hilarious story. Do you want to make a list?”

She made a face like she was thinking about it, but she shook her head and linked her arm through Jeg's. “Not now. But I do want to hear the story.”

“You're gonna freak,” Jeg told her.

As the two of them walked off together, Ami looked back at me and smiled a teeny tiny bit. Then Jeg looked back and mouthed “Slime,” and that sent Olivia and me into another round of hysterics.

When we finally got it together, I remembered I had a job to do: Operation Dump Nice Andy, or ODNA for short. All I had to do was march right up to his nice face and be all
I cannot. Read. One. More. Text. That. Ends. In. A. Smiley. Face. Or. Exclamation. Point. Good. Bye.

No problem.

Only, the second I saw him, I knew I was never going to be able to do that. He really was the nicest guy ever. How could I hurt the kind of dude who opened doors for people he didn't even know and picked up garbage that wasn't even his? Nobody did that. I bet that if he had seen my blue note, he would have picked it up just like Mr. Todd did.

Maybe Nice Andy would be a principal someday. Maybe my kids would go to his school. I couldn't break up with my future children's future principal! But Nice Andy was so nice that he probably wouldn't even be mean to my future kids because of what I was doing to him. Ughhh. Maybe I wouldn't break up with Nice Andy out loud. Maybe I would do it with a note.

Andy,

You are so nice but we can't go out anymore. I am moving to Antarctica.

No. I crossed it out. I couldn't give him that.

Andy,

You are so nice but we can't go out anymore. My parents won't let me.

No, that was a total lie. Mom had practically thrown a party in his honor when I told her we were going out. Dad said, “No dating until you're forty,” but I bet he secretly liked how often Nice Andy gave me compliments. Finally, I wrote:

Andy,

I don't want to go out anymore, but I want to be friends.

There. Perfect. Done. I ripped it out, stuffed it in my jeans pocket, and made my way down the hall. The hallway was quiet, but noisy thoughts were zipping through my mind.

Don't do it!
You will never have a boyfriend again. You can't go to the mall and get a new one. A boyfriend is not a purple sweater you grab off a mannequin!

You're going to hurt his feelings. He's going to spend the rest of his life crying and then he's going to become a murderer instead of a principal and it will all be your fault.

Elyse, you know you need to do this.

But with a note? That's kind of wimpy.

So without thinking anymore, I snatched the note from my pocket and tossed it in the trash, just as Nice Andy noticed me coming.

“Elyse!” he exclaimed, sticking up his hand for a high five. “What is up!”

“Hey,” I said. “Listen, Andy…”
Do it. Do it. Do it. You can. You're okay. DO. IT!!!!!!
“I don't want to go out anymore. I just want to be friends, okay?” I took a humongous deep breath.

There. It was done.

“Oh!” He raised his nice eyebrows. “Okay!”

“Okay?” I questioned, raising my eyebrows right back. “That's it?”

“Yeah!” he said. “What'd you expect?”

Uh, tears? Murder? A beautiful future as a middle-school principal ruined forever?