The Sister Solution (16 page)

Boi-oi-oing. Boi-oi-ing. Boi-oi-ing.

Good granola.
Not again!

As I walk into first period, my language arts teacher is plucking several guitar strings attached to a flat, rectangular board propped up on her desk.

“Happy Monday, sister of the full moon,” she calls.

“Right back at ya, Miss Fleischmann.”

I drop my backpack at my desk. “What is that thing?”

“Homemade zither,” says Eden flatly.

Crumpling into my desk, I take my sea horse fairy tale out of my notebook. In a few minutes, I will turn it in to Miss Fleischmann. I do a last-minute proofread and see three round wrinkled spots on the last page. Tear stains. I hope my teacher doesn't notice them. It's too late to print out another copy. I hope Miss Fleischmann likes my fairy tale, but she probably won't. I'll get
another blah B. I am queen of the Bs. Queen B. I giggle to myself.

“Was it something I said?” I turn to see a grinning Charlie.

“Hey, Charlie.”

He stops folding a silver gum wrapper. “Gum?”

“Sure.” I take a stick. “Thanks.”

Charlie goes back to his origami.

Eden turns to sit sideways in her seat. “I've been thinking. From now on, we should sit at a table next to the windows at lunch. It's closer to the deli and the light is much better there. Agree?”

I know what she is doing and I love her for it.

“Are you sure?” I ask. “If you waited by yourself at our table, I bet Patrice would invite you—”

“I don't want to go without you. It wouldn't be any fun. Besides, I'm tired of waiting. I'd rather just live and be happy. Know what I mean?”

I do.

Once the concert ends and roll is taken, Miss Fleischmann says, “Hand in your fairy tales, please. Pass them forward to the front of your row.”

The inside of my mouth morphs into the Sahara Desert. This is it.

Charlie takes Lorzeno's paper, puts his assignment on top, and hands them to me. I put my story on top of Charlie's and give the pile to Eden.

A minute later Charlie is tapping my shoulder. “Hold out your hand.”

I do, thinking he is going to give me a stick of gum. Instead, Charlie drops a silver piece of paper into my palm. It's one of his origami gum wrappers. I look closer. It's a sea horse! I study its long, scooping snout and tiny, curled tail. He's even put teeny folds in the body to give the sea horse ridges. It's a perfect replica!

“A little something for luck,” he says.

I smile. “Thanks, Charlie.”

I place the little silver sea horse at the corner of my desk. When it comes to winning over Miss Fleischmann, I'll take all the luck I can get.

“Do you want to come to my baseball game on Saturday?” Noah asks. We are walking to the public library after school.

“Okay.”

“My dad
could pick you up on the way.”

“Okay.”

“Or we could take you, and your parents could pick you up,” he says.

“Okay.”

“Or you could have one of your parents drop you off, and we could bring you home.”

“Okay.”

He stops. “Sammi, you don't have to come if you don't want to.”

“I do, Noah. I'm sorry if it seems like I'm not paying attention. It's just that—”

“What? You don't like me anymore?”

“No! I lov—I mean, I like you.” I slap a hand over my mouth. I can't believe I almost said “love.” Slowly, I take my hand away, unsure if I can trust myself. “Of course I like you. I was thinking about something else.”

“What?”

“You'll laugh.”

“Try me.”

“I was thinking about . . . french fries. I didn't get lunch today.”

Noah laughs.

I point at him. “See?”

“Come on,” he says, reaching for my hand.

There was a good reason why I didn't eat today. First, Eden and I had to break free from Saturn's orbit, and it took a little longer than we thought. We had to try out a couple of tables until we found one we liked. After that I bought a Cobb salad that I had every intention of eating, but each time somebody came into the cafeteria, I'd pop up to see if it was Jorgianna. I did it so much Eden started calling me a Sammi-in-the-box. Then I sent Eden to check the bathroom nearest to the cafeteria to be sure Jorgianna wasn't inside sobbing her eyes out. She wasn't. I know she didn't take her lunch this morning, so what did my sister eat? And more important, where did she eat it?

Noah and I stop at Hot Diggity's for an order of fries and two chocolate milks to go. As we cross the street toward the library park, Noah reads my mind. “You want to eat in the gazebo?”

“Sure.”

The last time Noah and I were here together, the park was packed with hundreds of people searching
for books at the big library book sale. Now we are by ourselves, except for the people going into and coming out of the library. As we walk down the gravel path, the breeze kicks up. The wind plucks pink cherry blossoms off the trees to create a petal ballet. I cannot help but think of this place as ours. I wonder if Noah thinks of it that way too.

There is a bench on each wall of the hexagonal-shaped gazebo. We choose the one that faces the ornamental cherry trees. Noah hands me a bottle of chocolate milk. He takes the box of crinkle fries out of the bag and sets it on the rail behind us. As steam rises off the fries, my stomach gurgles.

I shake my milk, open it, and take a drink. The thick sweetness of cold chocolate slides down my throat, through my chest, and into my hollow stomach. I sigh. “I love chocolate milk.” Noah doesn't answer. I look over at him. His milk is half gone already.

Noah wipes a hand across his mouth. “Me too.”

I want to ask him about Patrice, but I can't. Does he still like her? I want to ask him how he feels about me, but I'm not brave enough to do that, either.

“I'll be a little
late to the dance Friday night,” says Noah. “I have baseball practice.”

“Okay.” I place my milk at my feet.

“Also, I should warn you, I'm not a very good dancer.”

“Me neither.”

“I'm better at line dancing.” Noah clicks his heels twice, taps each toe on the floor, crosses then uncrosses his ankles, and ends with kicks out to the side with each foot.

“That's good. Show me how to do that.” He goes through the routine again, this time more slowly so I can copy him. I do everything exactly as he does it, except I get a little enthusiastic with the kick and my right foot hits my chocolate milk, sending it onto its side. It pours out onto the wood. “Oh no!”

Before I can move, a long arm shoots out over my knees to rescue the bottle. Noah straightens. I hold out my hand, expecting him to give back my chocolate milk, but he doesn't. He doesn't say or do anything. I look up. Sage-green eyes are as close as they have ever been to me. And coming closer. Lips touch mine
quickly, and lightly, like fairy wings. I taste chocolate. I shiver in my moss sweater, even though the tree limbs, heavy with cherry blossoms, haven't moved since we sat down. Everything around me goes still and silent, and I am certain time has stopped. Noah lifts his head and we smile at each other. My brain goes blank. I forget about Jorgianna and Patrice. I forget about Miss Fleischmann and my A. I even forget I am hungry.

Noah and I turn so we are sitting side by side on the bench. A strange sensation begins to spread through me. It starts in my heart and flows outward, like an electrical current. It zings up to the top of my skull, then out to my fingernails and down through the tips of my toes. Here and now, everything that is wrong in my life is suddenly and mysteriously eclipsed by this one right. As usual, Banana was dead-on.

Chocolate
is
good for the soul.

So is love.

FOURTEEN

IN FIRST-PERIOD SCIENCE I GET
a 100 percent plus earn all the bonus points on Wannamaker's chemical reactions test. I am told it's happened only twice in his eighteen years of teaching. In second-period history I get an A-plus on my paper on Clara Barton, the Civil War nurse who founded the American Red Cross. She has always been one of my heroes. I always wanted to be a nurse, but my mother has always wanted me to be a doctor. In third-period math Mr. Withey, the substitute, struggles with calculating permutations. I step in to show the class how to solve one of our story problems
and end up finishing the lesson for him. I give no homework. The class applauds.

Everything is going perfectly in my new school. And I am miserable.

I have been steering clear of the cafeteria all week so I don't run into Patrice and her friends or, for that matter, Sammi. I don't mind eating alone, but I don't want my sister feeling sorry for me. I'm still not speaking to Sammi. I know I am being mean, but I want her to feel, if only for a little while, the way I feel all the time. Isolated. Frustrated. Helpless.

After third period I do what I have been doing for the past five days. I get my lunch from the vending machines in the atrium. Today's menu: spicy chipotle chips, corn nuts, butterscotch pudding, orange juice, and a two-pack of s'mores-flavored Pop-Tarts. My mother would have a heart attack if she knew what I was eating for lunch. I wish they sold Tums, too, for the stomachache that always kicks in during fifth-period PE.

I take my lunch outside to the courtyard. It's sunny, though chilly, for late April. Most of the kids sitting in the courtyard are in groups of two to four, though a
couple of them are alone—a girl and a boy. The girl is reading, absently plugging grapes into her mouth. The boy's head of blond hair is bent so far over his tablet, I can't see his face. I don't go up to either of them. Instead, I follow the main circular path and turn right at the overgrown holly bushes before I reach the other side of the courtyard. The offshoot leads to a dead end with a small iron bench. It's hidden, yet gets a sliver of sun during lunchtime.

“Look, Patrice.” I lift my pudding in the air. “I'm starting with dessert. Oh, the horror!” I happily yank off the top. At least I don't have to worry about someone telling me what to eat and when to (or when not to) eat it. Goose bumps go up my arms as I remember her sharp warning. “No tacos, Jorgianna. Never tacos!” Next Monday I am buying a taco. I will eat it alone, but I will get one.