Read Planet Middle School Online
Authors: Nikki Grimes
The next game
of one on one with Jake
is not what it used to be,
not half as rough
or wordless.
It’s got a new vocabulary
with seven kinds of sorry.
Jake says it every time
he knocks into me on the court
or grazes my leg
or if our chests bump
when we both jump
for the hoop,
him trying to score,
me trying to steal the ball,
or vice versa.
Sorry.
Sorry.
Sorry!
I wish he’d come up
with some other way to say
I didn’t mean
to touch you that way
.
I wish he’d quit
saying it
at all.
I sit in my room
at my desk
flipping the wings
of one of the model airplanes
Jake and I
used to build together.
So what if I was a girl,
he was a boy?
Life was simple then.
There was no weirdness.
We were just—friends.
“I’m missing U, KeeLee.”
“Me 2 U.”
“Coming to the girls game today?
We’re playing Woodruff MS.”
“Can’t. Choir.”
“Bummer.”
“I know.”
This is a new dance
for KeeLee and me.
We still haven’t learned
all the steps.
Thirty seconds on the clock,
I block out screams
from the bleachers,
power downcourt,
get in place for a pass
from Glory.
Ball in hand,
I feint left,
feint right,
push forward,
work the poor girl
guarding me
into a lather,
then fly for the net
and
swoosh!
I’m so hot
it hurts!
If only Santiago
could see me.
I feel a pat
on the back,
turn and find Jake
grinning enough
for the both of us.
“Not bad, kid,” he says.
“Glad to see
you remember everything
I taught you.”
I give him
a little shove.
“You wish!” I say.
“Why didn’t you tell me
you were coming?”
“There’s this thing
called a surprise.
Have you heard of it?”
That earns Jake
an eye roll,
but he just ignores it.
“I don’t see any
earrings or lipstick.
That must mean
you’re not expecting
Santiago.”
I shoot Jake a look
that shuts him up.
He raises his hands in surrender.
“See you later,” says Jake.
All he gets from me
is a nod.
I spend the morning
noticing hair:
straight, curly,
wavy, dreads,
braids, twists.
It’s like I’m shopping
for the style that’s right
for me.
Then later, I see Santiago,
whose brown curls are
too beautiful for words.
In the packed cafeteria,
I sneak up behind him,
stroke his hair,
and race past him so fast
I crash into a support beam
I never even noticed was there.
That was hours ago
and the roomful of laughter
is still ringing in my ears.
Don’t know what makes parents
decide to reminisce,
but tonight Mom turns up
in my doorway
in the mood.
“When I was a girl,
I loved to climb trees,” she says.
I look out at the lifeless
lampposts that fill
our street, our city,
and wonder
where
.
“Then one day,” Mom drones on,
“I just didn’t feel like
scrambling up trees anymore,
and it was okay,
you know?”
I nod, thinking,
There’s got to be a point
in there somewhere.
I just can’t figure out
what.
All evening
I think about calling Jake,
about telling him what happened
with me crashing into
that support beam.
It’s the sort of thing
we used to laugh about.
Only this time
the girl in the story
is me.
I pick up the phone,
then put it down again.
I love my friend, but
the last thing I need
is to mention anything
that has to do with Santiago.
Jake doesn’t need to know
what kind of crazy girl
that boy has turned me into.
I don’t like the strangeness
between Jake and me lately,
so when Mom mentions
he hasn’t been over for dinner
in a while
I invite him.
Everything seems normal again,
him kicking me under the table,
chewing with his mouth wide open
so only I can see,
both of us sticking our tongues out
at our plates
like we did when we were eight.
Later, washing dishes,
I ask why he’s the same old Jake
when he comes over for dinner
but all weird
when we play basketball these days.
He shrugs. “That’s different,” he says.
“Why?”
“Because, you know.
You
are.”
I argue.
“I’m the same me
I’ve always been.”
“No,” says Jake, shaking his head.
“Now, you’re—”
“A girl?” I finish for him.
“Exactly!” he says.
“Big whoop!
I’ve always been a girl, Jake.”
“I know,” he says. “But now
you look like one.”
I drop a dish back in the sink,
send bubbles flying.
“Yeah, well,” I tell Jake,
“get over it!”
The old Caden is back,
him with his nose in a book
or sketching every time
I turn around,
while I’m busy
slamming the backboards.
One Saturday, Dad says,
“It’s a beautiful day out there, son,”
like Caden can’t see that.
“Don’t you want to go play ball?”
Caden shakes his head,
carefully shading
the face he’s just drawn.
“No thanks,” he tells Dad,
who immediately
starts to frown.
“Joylin plays enough
for the both of us.”
One morning
I wash my face
then study my reflection
trying to figure out
what’s missing.
I pull my hair back
and there’s the answer.
I run to my parents’ room,
bang on the door, and yell,
“Mom! I need to get
my ears pierced!”
I hear her whisper,
“Finally!”
My new twelve-carat
gold studs gleam
even in the fake glow
of the lunchroom lights.
They sparkle and scream
“Look at me! Look at me!”
At least, they’d better
since every time
I turn those stupid things
to help keep the holes open
until they completely heal,
I feel the burn.
I jog onto the court
dribble back and forth
to warm up while I wait for Jake.
He sneaks up behind me
and steals the ball.
He’s all ready to play
till he looks at me
and catches a flash of gold.
“Earrings, Joy?
You’re wearing earrings now?”
“So?”
“You never wear earrings,” says Jake.
“It’s no big deal,” I say.
Jake palms the ball and stares at me.
“I know why you’re doing this,” he says.
“Doing what?”
“The earrings, the hair, the lipstick.
It’s all about Santiago.”
“I don’t know
what you’re talking about.”
I can play dumb
with the best of them.
“I see the way you act
when he’s around,” says Jake.
“You suddenly start
messing with your hair
and pulling on your clothes
to make sure they’re straight.”
Jake doesn’t usually talk much,
so when he does, his words hang heavy.
I jog in place, impatient
to change the subject.
Truth or consequences
is not my game.
Besides, I can’t talk to Jake
about Santiago.
He’d only laugh.
I smack the ball out of Jake’s hand.
“Are we gonna play or not?”
Jake shakes his head,
snatches the ball,
and drives it to the hoop.
It’s all ball and no talk after that,
which suits me just fine.