Always, Abigail (8 page)

1.
Practice poms.

2.
Cross fingers AND toes.

3.
Repeat.

1.
AlliCam are
really
getting on my nerves. I don't even want to sit with them anymore. This must be what it's like to have
real
sisters.

Besides all the inside jokes, they keep talking about funny stuff that happened in class and then turning to me and saying, “Sorry, Abigail. Guess you
had
to be there.”

Or they talk about their e-mail pen pals from Paris, France. Of course, Mr. Blue Eyes, being the cool new teacher that he is, is totally into computers and the Internet for LA assignments. So while I'm stuck writing old-fashioned friendly letters to Gabby Marco of Crestdale Heights, they're e-mailing two French girls named Brigitte and Colette, who are practically supermodels. (I saw the photos they e-mailed. Both are definitely born for the runway.)

And I won't even mention how much they talk about J&M. I'm so sick of them, and I barely even know them. What's it going to be like when we're all on poms together?

2.
Jackson Dawber started making fun of Gabby yesterday. He found out that Gabby calls her brother “Paul Bunyan,” so he started calling her Babe the Blue Ox. (I don't know how he found out about the Paul Bunyan thing.
I
didn't tell him, but I think I might've mentioned it to AlliCam. I can't believe they'd tell Jackson, but maybe they did. I felt kind of crummy thinking that I might've been the reason Jackson was calling her Babe.)

While Jackson was being his normal idiotic self, Gabby just sat there in her usual seat in the middle of the bus staring out the window. I did see her close her eyes and take a deep breath, but otherwise, she acted like she couldn't even hear Jackson singing at the top of his lungs.

“Old Paul Bunyan had an ox.

E-I-E-I-O.

And that old ox was big and blue.

E-I-E-I-O.

With a Gabby, Gabby here;

And a Gabby, Gabby there…”

I swear that kid is so demented sometimes.

Why was Jackson such a moron when he really should've known better?

3.
The day after the Paul Bunyan thing, when Gabby got on the bus, she pulled something out of a plastic bag. She held it up for me to see. Thankfully, AlliCam were comparing their nail polish color at the time and didn't notice. It was a shoebox decorated like a hawk. The thing had feathers all over it, a big old hawk head, and a hook beak. She'd made a mailbox for Miss Hendrick and decorated it like a hawk! Was she crazy?

Dear Gabby,

Are you nuts? What do you think Old Hawk is going to say when she sees that thing on her desk? You must want to get suspended or something. You better not say I had anything to do with it.

Abigail

“These spelling papers are astonishingly atrocious, my friends!” she said, shaking a stack of notebook paper at us.

The papers had so much red ink all over them that they looked like blood-splattered evidence from a crime scene.

“I have to call a spade a spade here and say that this is simply not sixth-grade work.”

I knew half the class was thinking, “What the heck does a spade have to do with spelling papers?” The other half was thinking, “What in the world
is
a spade?”

Old Hawk went on with her sermon. “Furthermore, I am not accustomed, and will never
be
accustomed, to accepting this kind of work! Now the burning question of the day is, what are we going to do about this?”

No one moved a muscle. No one coughed. No one scratched an itch. No one even blinked an eye for fear Old Hawk would think they had an answer to her question.

I kept thinking if the question were really “burning,” every fire alarm in the whole school would've been going off because NO ONE was going to answer Old Hawk.

“Good heavens! What on earth is this?”

Dear Miss Hendrick,

We've been having so much fun exchanging friendly letters. We didn't want you to feel left out, so here's a mailbox for you. It's decorated like a hawk because hawks like to sit on perches and watch over things just like you sit on your stool and watch over us while you teach.

Enjoy your mail!

Sincerely,

Spirit of the Sixth-Grade Sky

After reading Gabby's letter, Old Hawk was flying high. She sat on her stool during language arts smiling like a proud peacock fanning her feathers. I didn't even know she
could
smile.

She let us quit our vocabulary practice five minutes early so we could talk quietly with our friends until the bell rang. That's when I heard kids whispering about writing her nice notes all the time to keep her in a good mood every day.

Someone said, “Whoever came up with the mailbox idea is a genius.”

I looked over at Gabby. As usual, she had her head in a book and was laughing to herself in her usual weird way. I wondered what everyone would think if they knew Gabby was the one who had made the mailbox.

Pom-pom tryouts are TODAY.

Abigail,

Just do your best, and you'll knock 'em dead, sweetie!

♥

Mom (& Dad)

I'm sooooo tired. I lay in bed last night going over and over the pom-pom routine in my mind. The last time I looked at my clock it said 3:17 a.m. When my alarm went off at seven, I felt like I hadn't slept at all. My brain feels like mushy oatmeal. (And thinking about oatmeal makes me want to throw up even more.) I'm so stressed, I don't think I can even remember the routine. If I don't make the pom squad…I'm so freaked out I can't even think of words to describe how horrific my life will be if I don't make it.

1.
Take deep breaths.

2.
Read Post-it note from Mom and Dad.

3.
Repeat.