The Sister Solution (18 page)

JORGIANNA STARES OUT THE WINDOW
on her side of the car. I do the same on my side. We are only a few feet apart, but it feels like miles. Jorgianna crosses her legs. I watch the pointed toe of her black boot swing back and forth. She's paired her stretchy black knee-boots with a red eyelet skirt. A red camisole peeks through her white lace tunic. Ten or twelve strings of white pearls hang to her waist—probably about eight strands more than I'd wear, but for her it's tame. I want to tell her she looks good, but I'm afraid I might set her off. Jorgianna would probably insist I call her JT and make Dad turn the car around so she could go home
and dye her hair green. I figured it's best to keep quiet, but I wonder, is she
ever
going to talk to me?

Dad makes a left into the middle school parking lot. Instead of heading for the drop-off curb, he pulls into a space in the last row of parking spots.

Thank you, Dad!

He turns in his seat. “I'll be in this spot in two hours, girls, unless you call me to come sooner, okay?”

We nod.

“Your mom gave you money, right?”

We nod again.

“Have fun, Sunbeam and Moonbeam. Don't break too many hearts.”

Jorgianna and I snort.

My sister motions with her hand, waving me to go on ahead of her.

I push up the sleeves of my sky-blue blazer with the little purple forget-me-nots and get out of the car. I start across the parking lot. It's weird to be at school when the sun is going down, rather than coming up. I walk with the hope that if I go slowly enough, Jorgianna will catch up to me. My new jeans are doing a
swish-swishing
thing with each step. Maybe I shouldn't have worn them. I don't want to seem like I am trying too hard.

Inside the foyer a hand-painted banner reads
WELCOME TO PARADISE
. The sign is trimmed with a garland of silk orchids in a rainbow of colors. On each side of the entrance to the cafeteria, an inflatable palm tree sways. Overhead, the fringe of a thatched roof made out of plastic flutters each time someone opens an outside door. Mrs. Delpy, Stella, Bridget, and a few other students are at a table next to one of the palm trees, selling tickets.

“Sammi!” Eden hurries over and we get in line behind a group of seventh grade girls. “Love your new jeans.”

She always knows exactly what to say to make me feel better.

“How do I look?” She twirls in a pink-and-white floral sundress and white sandals. Eden always dresses to theme. She has tucked a white silk gardenia behind her ear.

“Stunning, as always.” I peek over her shoulder
to see if Jorgianna has made it inside yet. I don't see her, but I know she's here. My sister has gotten good at keeping out of sight.

“Where's Noah?” asks Eden.

“He's got baseball practice, so he's going to be late. He said he'd text me if it was more than a half hour—oh, shoot!” I slap my hands against my blazer pockets. “I left my phone in the car.”

“We should Velcro the thing to you. Then you'd never forget it.”

“I'll bet Jorgianna could make me a stylish phone hat.”

Eden giggles. “With birds on it too.”

I pay for my ticket and make a fist for Stella Nguyen to stamp. When she takes the stamp away, I stare at the brown-ball imprint on the top of my hand.

“It's supposed to be a coconut,” says Stella.

“Ohhh.”

Bridget looks at my white tee and blue blazer and lifts a pale-blue lei out of her box. “Aloha,” she says, placing the flowers around my neck.

“Cute,” I say, fingering the silk petals.

“It was Patrice's idea.”

I let out a skeptical grunt. Bridget tips her head, and I tap my chest and cough, as if I had to clear my throat all along.

Eden gets a pink lei to match her dress, and we stroll under the plastic thatched roof into the darkened cafeteria. A few steps inside, we pause and wait for our eyes to adjust. It's about ten degrees warmer in here and smells like popcorn and cookie dough. The piercing bass reverberates up through my feet, threatening to derail my heartbeat.

Boom, boom, ba-boom, boom. Boom, boom, ba-boom, boom.

Beams of red, blue, and green light circle the dance floor in time to the beat. The tables have been pushed back against the wall, and although there is plenty of room to dance, only a few people are out there. This is typical for the first half hour.

Eden points to the back of the room, where they are selling snacks. “Do you want anything?” she yells over the pounding music.

I shake my head. “OMG, is that Mrs. Vanderslice?”

The superintendent is busting some moves, trying to get the kids sitting on the tables to get up and dance. She does the gunslinger, pointing at the air in time to
the beat, her yellow hips pitching from side to side.

“Whoa!” Eden squeals. “I cannot unsee that.”

Laughing, we turn away.

Eden and I run out onto the dance floor. It's how we always dance—doing our own thing side by side—until we get the courage to ask a boy to dance, or vice-versa, or a slow song comes on and we take a break. I have a billion times more courage at dances than I do at school. Maybe it is because it is dark. Or because the music is loud. Or because even the popular boys, the ones who don't want to talk to you at school, will dance with you if you are brave enough to ask. At my first school dance it took me exactly one hour and forty-nine minutes to get up the nerve to ask Corey Bateman to dance. He said yes. We danced the last dance, “Stairway to Heaven.” And was it ever.

A few songs later I see Jorgianna. She is sitting by herself on one of the tables next to some coats. Knees pulled up, she is hunched over her phone. I bet she is playing chess. I can relate. Games were my go-to strategy for my first few dances last year until I figured out all the people you think are watching you aren't really watching you at all. I try to get Jorgianna's attention,
but she is two inches from her screen. Eden and I dance past her. The next time I see my sister, about fifteen minutes later, I am dancing a slow dance with Charlie. Jorgianna is in the same spot on the same table, still nose to screen. Is she going to sit there all night?

“Come on, Jorgianna, ask someone to dance,” I murmur.

“Sorry.” Charlie pulls back. “Did I step on your toes?”

I look down at him. “No. It's me—well, my sister, actually. It's her first dance. I don't think she's having much fun.”

“First dances can be rough.”

I nod toward her table as we go by. “Look at her, over there all by herself. Like a dead bug.”

“That's your sister, huh?” He gives a wry grin. “It'll get better.”

“I hope so. It couldn't get much worse.”

When the song ends, Eden appears. She points to the back of the room, which is our signal for “let's take a break.” We head to the snack bar and get two 7-Ups. Still trying to catch my breath, I pop open my can of soda.

“Hi, Sammi.” It's Cara.

“Hi.”

She won't look
at me. She keeps licking her lips.

“Thirsty?” I offer her my 7-Up.

Cara shakes her head and licks her lips again. “I . . . uh . . . Patrice sent me.”

The music is starting again. “What?” I ask.

“Patrice,” she says louder. “She wants to talk to you.”

“Me?” I tap my chest. “Now?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What does she want?” demands Eden.

“I don't know. Honestly, I don't. She'll meet you in the bathroom. Also . . . um . . . she said to come alone.” Cara scuttles away before Eden and I can quiz her further.

Eden glues herself to my arm. “Don't go.”

“Why not? I'm not under her spell anymore.”

“That's why you shouldn't go.”

I hand her my soda. “It'll be okay. I won't be long.”

“Text me if you get in trouble.”

I lift my hands to remind her: no phone.

She groans. “I'm giving you exactly ten minutes and then I'm coming in.” As I go, Eden adds, “And I'm bringing Mrs. Vanderslice with me.”

I know my best friend. She is not kidding.

It's a big contrast, going from the flashing lights and thundering music to the dull fluorescent lights and stillness of the hallway. I hurry down to the girls' bathroom at the end of the hall. As I go in, I meet Bridget and Stella coming out.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi,” they mutter, their eyes down.

Patrice is at the long mirror, putting on mascara. Tanith is waving her nails under the hand dryer.

I look at Patrice's reflection. “If I have to be alone, then so do you. It's only fair.”

“You can't tell me what to do,” says Tanith.

“Go, Tanith,” orders Patrice.

Tanith grumbles and gives me a dirty look, but she follows orders.

I lean back, checking the stalls for feet. I don't see any. We are alone.

I'm super nervous. I have to pee.

Not now,
I tell myself.
Now you need to be strong, and the strong hold their pee. Be confident. Be courageous. Most of all, be quick.

“Is this about my photo?” I ask. “The one you stole
from my phone and entered in the district art competition as your own?”

Turning from the mirror, Patrice puts a hand to her heart. “Sammi, I am so sorry about that. I only borrowed it for my photo assignment. I didn't know—”

“Borrowed?”

“Well, you weren't using it. It didn't seem like any big dealy woo. Nobody was supposed to know.”

Nobody was supposed to know
. Is she kidding me?

“I didn't give you permission to use the picture for an assignment,” I say. “And I definitely didn't say it was okay for you to enter it in the art contest.”

“That wasn't my fault,” she barks, pointing her mascara wand at me. “I didn't find out about the contest until
after
Mr. Hargrove had entered my—your—photo in it. And then I was stuck. I couldn't tell him the truth. It was too late.”

“It's never too late to tell the truth.
You
won a blue ribbon with
my
photo, Patrice. That's wrong.”

Taking a step toward me, she sniffles like she is about to cry. “I said I was sorry. You aren't going to tell, are you?”

“I don't know.” I am pretty sure I'm not going to
turn Patrice in, but I don't want her to know that.

There's something moving on the floor behind her. Is that a foot in the last stall? It is! I see a dark brown sandal with turquoise beads and five toes, each painted a different color of pink. The foot slowly slips back and out of sight.

“I have an idea,” says Patrice. “I think I know a way we can work it out so we're all happy.”

I eye her. What's to work out? She stole my photo. End of story. “What do you mean?”

“I was thinking, it must be so hard on Jo right now,” says Patrice.

Jo? I stiffen. I'm guessing she means my sister, but what does Jorgianna have to do with this?

“She must hate being caught between us,” says Patrice. “She eats lunch by herself in the atrium. Vending machine food. Did you know that?”

I didn't, but I lift my chin and say, “Yes.”

“She has no friends at all. Poor thing. She's been sitting out there in the same spot all night.” Patrice pouts. “Nobody is talking to her or dancing with her. She looks so sad.”

I grit my teeth. I don't need her to tell me anything
about my sister. “Jorgianna will be fine. She needs to make some
new
friends.”

“It's not that easy,” she says. “Especially at our school.”

Is she trying to tell me she is keeping other girls from being friends with Jorgianna? Patrice has a lot of power. Just ask Hanna and Lauren.

“Anyway,” Patrice says, “I thought, if you were to keep quiet about the photo, I could—I mean, we could—make up with Jo. We could be friends again.”

Oh-oh-oh! Now I get it. Patrice wants to make a deal. She wants to be absolutely, positively sure I keep my mouth shut about her stealing my photograph, and she's using my sister's happiness to do it.

“You know it's what Jo wants,” says Patrice. “She wants to be back with us, and we want her back too. It's the best thing for everybody, Sammi. It's the perfect solution.”

My mouth drops open. I can't believe this girl. Worse, I can't believe Eden and I wasted eight whole months trying to inch our way into Saturn's inner ring. What were we thinking?

Patrice is right about one thing, though. Jorgianna
is
alone. And my sister blames me for it. Patrice is giving me a chance to fix things. If I agree, Jorgianna gets her friends back. If I don't, I doom my sister to be a middle school outcast.

Patrice tosses her mascara into her purse. “Oh, and there's one other thing I'm going to need for you to do, Sammi.”