The Reinvention of Bessica Lefter (19 page)

I sneaked back into my house and curled up on my bed and thought about what Sylvie had said. She sounded so convincing when she told me that she hadn’t lent our journal to people. And that was painful. Because I wanted to believe her, but I also knew the truth. The fluffy-ponytail girl knew all about Kettle Harris. And that meant Sylvie was a liar. And what was really terrible wasn’t that she was lying to other people. I could have handled that. Because that was something I sometimes did. But Sylvie Potaski was lying to me. And that felt rotten. All night long, I tossed and turned. All night long, I felt so alone.

got ready for school the next morning in a very grumpy mood. When it came time for me to pick out a color for my sneaker tongues, I chose black to reflect how terrible I felt about life.

“Are you excited for cheerleading practice?” my mom asked. She’d gotten up a little bit earlier than usual and made me pancakes.

“That’s not till Friday,” I said. I plopped down in my chair so hard that I accidentally moved it.

My mother flipped a pancake onto my plate and frowned. “I thought you had tumbling practice today.”

I took my plate and started drowning my pancake in
maple syrup. “That’s true. But tumbling practice is part of PE, because Ms. Penrod believes that fitness is all about adding variety and avoiding heartbreaking grass stains.” I looked at my mom and smiled. “I love pancakes.”

“I know.” She sat down next to me and watched me eat. “Are you nervous about tumbling?”

I shook my head. “Why should I be? We’ll be doing it on mats.”

“Right. But if Ms. Penrod asks you to do something that you’re not comfortable doing, it’s okay to tell her that inverting yourself makes you queasy.” My mom pointed to her stomach when she said this.

I rolled my eyes. Ever since I got sick on an upside-down roller coaster, my mom thought I had trouble inverting myself. “Ms. Penrod isn’t teaching the class. Alice Potgeiser is.”

“Who’s that?”

I finished my pancake and looked down at my syrup puddle. “A stuck-up person who is really good at tumbling. Can I have another pancake?”

My mother flipped a second pancake onto my plate and set my lunch sack down next to me. It was not emitting any odor, so I couldn’t tell what kind of sandwich it was.

“I made you a turkey and cheese sandwich.”

“With cookies?” I asked.

“No. With turkey and cheese and mustard.” My mom
smiled at me like she’d told a funny joke, but I thought it was lame.

I made a serious face. “Will I ever get cookies? I mean, don’t I deserve cookies?”

My mother watched me saw apart the last of my pancake. “Maybe you’ll get cookies next time. Today you got grapes.”

“Wonderful,” I said. But I didn’t mean it. “Hey. Do I have a postcard from Grandma that you forgot to give me?”

“No. But I bet you get one soon.”

“Are you saying that because you know she sent me one, or are you just guessing?” I asked.

“I’m guessing,” she said. “But knowing your grandma, you’ll have another one soon.”

“I better,” I said. Because if a person abandons you during a very difficult time in your life, the least that person can do is write you all the time. “And I don’t want to hear about the great time she’s having with Willy.” I pictured him falling off the tallest mountain ever.

“Ease up on Willy,” my mom said.

What a terrible thing to tell me first thing in the morning. I rolled my eyes and put my sticky dish in the stupid sink.

All day long I was pretty thrilled about learning how to tumble so that I could improve my chances at becoming a cheerleader. It was hard to focus on anything. Nutrition
was boring. English was a bummer. Math involved a quiz that was horrific. Lunch was lonely. Geography was awful. And it sort of felt like public speaking would never end.

For PE, I think I was the fastest one to change. I didn’t have time to mess around and get my socks perfectly level. I put on my gear and rushed to the mats, because I needed to learn as much about tumbling as possible so that I could kick all the other wannabes’ butts and take my rightful spot at the cheerleaders’ table in the lunchroom.

Once I was on the mats, I started looking around for Alice Potgeiser. I figured she would look like one of the best tumblers in the world. That was when I made a terrible discovery and saw somebody I didn’t want to see. I spotted the fluffy-haired girl who’d read my diary and knew that I liked Kettle. She was standing right next to Ms. Penrod—talking to her! Why was she even here?

Then I discovered something worse. Ms. Penrod called the fluffy-haired girl by her name. And it was the worst name imaginable: Alice Potgeiser! I gasped. Could my life get any worse? Yes. Because as soon as I learned the true identity of the expert tumbler, I also learned that she had a minor thumb injury and would not be teaching us how to tumble this week.

“In three weeks we will be introduced to intermediate tumbling,” Ms. Penrod said.

But that didn’t help me at all. Because I needed to be
introduced to it right away. So I could learn it for cheerleading tryouts. I was so mad at Alice’s stupid minor thumb injury. I bet she hurt it by doing something dumb. Like using her thumb too much. I stared at Alice as she happily hopped off the mats and out the door. Stupid expert tumbler. Then things got a little weird. Instead of doing regular PE stuff, like no-fun jogging around the gym, my nutrition teacher showed up. Except she wasn’t dressed in her cowgirl clothes. She was wearing tight, stretchy black clothes. Sort of what I’d expect an acrobat to wear.

“I wonder why she’s here,” I said.

I guess Ms. Penrod heard me, because she said, “Mrs. Mounds is going to teach us some basic yoga moves.”

“That’s right,” Mrs. Mounds said. She smiled so big her face looked like it could split in two. “Find a comfortable position on the mat. Make sure that you’ve got enough room to stretch out.”

So I walked toward a corner and found myself plenty of room.

“Take off your shoes and socks,” Mrs. Mounds said.

This was so not good. Because I wasn’t prepared to show people my bare feet. I hadn’t cut my toenails in ages. What was wrong with Mrs. Mounds? But everybody around me took off their socks and shoes, and so I did too.

“Now, with your feet shoulder-width apart, reach forward,” she said. “Breathe in joy. Exhale gratitude.”

When I reached forward, I breathed like a normal person. But Mrs. Mounds didn’t. She made very loud whooshing sounds.

“Close your eyes and release a juicy breath,” Mrs. Mounds said.

I did not do either of those things. I kept hoping that at some point we would put our socks and shoes back on and learn cheerleader moves. But that didn’t happen.

“Reach! Juicy breath! Reach!” she pleaded.

I glanced at Ms. Penrod. Even though she was squatty, she was an excellent reacher and releaser of juicy breaths.

“We will now do a basic yoga move that will help you improve your circulation and overall health. Place your palms on the mat. Spread your fingers and keep your legs straight. Lift your derriere,” she said. “Lift! Lift! This is downward-facing dog.”

And I did that. But it did not feel normal. It felt like I was poking my butt in the sky, and I never realized that that was something people did to improve their circulation or health. Just then I heard a ton of squeaking shoes. And because all the girls had taken off their shoes, I knew that the people squeaking around the gym were not girls from my class. Even though I was upside down, I turned and looked.

Holy crud! The boys were here! They were never in the gym when we were in the gym. They were supposed to be
in the weight room lifting heavy stuff in order to grow muscles. Why did they show up when I was facing downward like a dog with my butt sticking out? Why was Mrs. Mounds doing this to us? Didn’t she remember what it felt like to be a sixth grader with a butt? You didn’t poke it in the air in front of boys. I dropped to the mat and curled up like a ball.

“Good job, Bessica,” Mrs. Mounds said. “Listen to your body. Return to child’s pose when you need a break.”

Then I felt more eyes on me than had ever been on me in my life. Even though I didn’t want to see who was looking at me, I lifted my head. It was terrible. All three psycho-bullies were standing right there. Laughing. And so was Dolan the Puker. What was he laughing at? And Blake was standing there too, holding a jump rope. Why didn’t we jump rope in PE? Why was I doing yoga in front of boys? Then everybody else in my class dropped into balls like me.

“This is a great asana to stretch the hips. But this is not a good asana to practice if you are suffering from a knee injury or diarrhea. Up again. Push back into your dogs.”

And when they all pushed back up into downward-facing dog, I didn’t want to join them. I wanted to stay where I was. Ball. Ball. Ball. So I did. Until it was time for us to assume something called the corpse pose, where we lay on our backs until class ended. Mrs. Mounds called it
savasana
. It was supposed to do something for our
chakras. But I didn’t care. Because I didn’t see how this would help me become a cheerleader at all.

“Mom! Mom!” I said when I got home. But she was still at work. I opened the refrigerator to see if there were any leftover pancakes. But there weren’t. Then I checked the counter for a postcard from Grandma. But there was only a dish towel. So I grabbed my phone and went to my room and called the one person who I thought could save my life from turning into total crud. I called Marci Docker. Because she knew how cheerleaders operated. And I needed to know that immediately.

Me:
Marci, I need your advice. This is Bessica Lefter and I’m very stressed out about cheerleading tryouts. Alice Potgeiser was supposed to teach us intermediate tumbling today. But I learned basic yoga moves instead.

Marci:
Bummer. Alice is a tumbling genius.

Me:
I know it’s a bummer, but what should I focus on?

Marci:
Have you been practicing?

Me:
Yes and no.

Marci:
Can you do a round-off yet?

Me:
No.

Marci:
Can you do a cartwheel?

Me:
Yes! Yes! I can do, like, four in a row.

Marci:
That’s a start. Do you have good lift?

Me:
Probably.

Marci:
Try to jump off the ground and tell me how high you get.

Me:
(Oomph. Oomph.)
I can get knee-level.

Marci:
Can you kick your legs out while you jump in the air?

Me:
Let me try.
(Oomph! Ugh!)

Marci:
Are you all right?

Me:
I can’t kick my legs out while I jump. I can only jump.

Marci:
That’s too bad.

Me:
Don’t say that. I believe in positive visualization. It’s something my grandma taught me. If I picture myself doing something over and over, I’m usually always able to do it. Eventually.