Read Planet Middle School Online
Authors: Nikki Grimes
My English teacher
is out to ruin my day.
“I want each of you
to write a poem
about a topic
that interests you,” she says.
Don’t get me wrong.
I love to write, but I hate
these on-the-spot assignments.
My brain always freezes.
I study the clock,
count down
the remaining minutes
of this torture
and scribble something about
running against the wind.
They call her Glory,
the girl who has the locker
next to mine.
She’s the same age as me,
only more like—
I don’t know—
a lady.
Her silver hoop earrings,
armload of bangles,
and painted fingernails
tell me she’s
nothing to worry about—
some girly girl who probably
shouldn’t even have made the team.
I’m sure I’m right
till we hit the gym
and she dribbles the ball so fast
all you see
is a blur.
Guess I counted her out
too soon.
Glory spots me
in the lunchroom,
waves me over to the table
with a bunch of other
girls from the team.
I’m so used to
playing with the boys,
it’s strange to be with girls
who play the game
as hard as me.
I join them,
trying not to stare
at the perfection
of Glory’s hair,
a cascade of braids
framing her face.
Here she is in her
lace-trimmed tee,
this serious jock
who looks nothing
like me.
On the way out,
I pass by KeeLee
laughing with her new friends
from show choir.
We smile and wave
at each other
like our not sitting together
is no big deal.
KeeLee texts me
in the middle of history.
Good thing the teacher
doesn’t catch me
with the phone in my hand.
What excuse could I use?
I’m exploring the history
of technology?
“Come over for dinner,”
she texts.
“Can’t,” I answer.
“My mom has
an exciting evening
planned for me.”
“Got it,” types KeeLee.
“Laundry.”
That girl knows me
too well.
Nobody told me
the Laundromat could be
a danger zone.
There I am
minding my own business
studying the slow turn of the dryer
when here comes
this six-foot-tall
chocolate chip,
muscles rippling like Denzel
in
The Hurricane
,
and suddenly I’m imagining
my hand swallowed up in his
my head nuzzling his shoulder
my—
the ear-splitting dryer buzzer
brings me back to reality
and I make myself busy
folding sheets.
Give me an “F” for frustration
and you can spell out
the next afternoon.
That’s when Caden’s on the court.
I call him to the throw line,
grab his hand, and press
our palms together
to measure size.
His hand is already
larger than mine.
So why can’t he keep the ball
from slipping away
in the middle of a dribble?
It’s a mystery to me,
but he keeps saying
“Wait! Wait!
Let me try again.”
Mom says
that’s one thing her kids
have in common:
We’re both
stubborn as sin.
KeeLee and I
follow our gym class
out into the school courtyard
for a jog.
The new phys-ed teacher
runs back and forth alongside us
to keep an eye on everyone’s pace.
KeeLee can’t take her eyes
off of him.
“What exactly are you staring at?” I ask.
“You gotta be kidding!
Don’t tell me you missed
that bodacious butt.”
“KeeLee!”
“What?” KeeLee looks all innocent.
“Bodacious isn’t a bad word.”
I lower my gaze
and check out the teacher’s
southern hemisphere,
and a minute later,
I’m giggling like
every teenage girl
I’ve ever made fun of.
I bite my tongue
to stifle my silliness,
but it doesn’t help.
I’m already
too far gone.
On Saturday,
I try to shake off whatever this weird
giggly-thing is
that’s happening to me.
I hit the local basketball court,
make the boys groan, like always,
butting into their game,
stealing the ball
like I belong there.
What’re they gonna do,
hit a girl?
So they put up with me.
I charge downcourt
ready to slam past
the guard shadowing me
a little too closely
for my use.
Who is this guy?
I look up past the knees,
catch sight of sweet brown curls
bouncing above killer green eyes
rimmed with the longest lashes
I’ve ever seen,
and I lose it.
The ball is gone
before I know it,
and I’m shaking my head.
What’s the matter with me?
How could I let
some boy get me
off my game?
Far as I’m concerned,
the game is over.
I excuse myself
and limp off the court,
pretending a pulled hamstring.
The only thing worse
than losing my game
is Jake catching me.
“Why was you staring down Santiago?”
is the way he puts it.
“It’s
were
staring down, Jake,
and I wasn’t staring down anybody.”
“So you say.”
I’m pretty sure
that’s a smirk
Jake is wearing on his face,
and I’m not having it.
“Good-bye, Jake,” I say,
happy nobody can tell
when I blush.
Plus, I get one good thing
for my embarrassment.
I find out the new boy’s name
is Santiago.
“Hey, bud,”
Dad says,
“Jake told me
he saw you down
at the basketball court last week.”
“Yeah,” says Caden,
grin splitting his face in two.
“Good for you!” says Dad.
Caden passes me
a look that says,
“See? It’s already working!
Dad’s starting to notice me.”
I’m thinking,
Yeah, but wait
till he sees you
try to play.
I’m losing my mind,
I’m sure of it.
Yesterday, that cute boy
Santiago said hello
and I completely lost
my power of speech.
I mean, I opened my mouth
and out came …
nothing at all.
What’s wrong with me?
I can’t help it.
I start watching Santiago
watching girls in the hall.
How dumb is that?
I try to talk myself
out of my stupidity,
but then I notice
every one of them
wears makeup
and tight shirts
and short skirts.
My naked lips
form the words:
“Guess that leaves me out.”
I search my closet for
a single outfit that would qualify
as pretty.
Of course, I come up empty.
“Pretty” has never been
part of my vocabulary.
But that was pre-Santiago.
Is that my phone?
I let the call go
to voicemail.
I’m not leaving this closet
till I find something
semi-pretty
to wear.