Read Planet Middle School Online
Authors: Nikki Grimes
Shut up in my room for the night,
I jam on my headphones,
and crank the music up so high,
I don’t have to think about why
I just told my best friend
to get lost.
Friday night,
the lights in the school auditorium
go dim.
A few weeks ago,
KeeLee told me I could invite Jake,
so he’s there, three rows back.
We don’t even wave to each other,
so I have no one to keep me company.
I sigh and silently wish KeeLee luck.
She looks so beautiful, so strong.
The lyrics of Christina Aguilera
fill the room.
“Words can’t bring me down,”
sings KeeLee.
Her voice rubs the air
soft as silk
and I smile knowing
KeeLee doesn’t need luck
after all.
I.
On Saturday,
I jog to the neighborhood
basketball court,
find Santiago
mixing it up
with some new girl.
A minute later,
their game is over
and they leave the court,
laughing at some private joke,
his arm slung across her shoulder
like he owns her.
I reel from the gut punch,
but can’t keep from staring.
There’s something about her,
something familiar.
The naked face,
unpainted lips,
plain hair flipped up
into a ponytail,
dirty sneaks,
boys’ jogging shorts,
oversized shirt.
The new girl,
the old me—
we could be twins.
II.
I collapse
on the park bench,
wait till my heart stops
thundering inside my chest.
I feel something wet on my cheek,
wipe it away with the back of my hand,
and run all the way home.
Two days later,
I’m still mad.
Next team practice,
I snatch the ball
before my turn,
make a mad dash
for the hoop,
and slam the ball like
it’s Santiago’s face.
Coach doesn’t even have to call time.
I bench myself
before he gets the chance.
Three days of moping
around the house,
and Mom is wondering why.
She bugs me
till I tell her about
Santiago,
the dumb things I did
to get his attention,
and the new girl
who didn’t have to do
anything at all.
Mom listens, pushes the hair
from my forehead,
and asks me:
“Why do you care so much
whether he likes you?”
It’s a hard question
and I take time to think
before I answer.
“Because—
because he makes
my heart beat fast.”
“Oh, honey,” Mom says,
“he may be the first,
but I promise you,
he won’t be the last.”
Then she holds me close
long enough for me to leave
a puddle on her shoulder,
long enough for me to feel
some of the hurt drain away.
One night
the phone rings.
Mom answers the call
then gives me the news
and the world falls away.
Some man was in his car
texting.
He never saw Jake
till it was too late.
16 and ¼ blocks
from my house to
Columbia Presbyterian Hospital.
14 and ¼ blocks.
I run
counting each one.
12 and ¼ blocks.
Keeping count
gives me something
to concentrate on.
10 and ¼ blocks.
Something other than
my fear.
8 and ¼ blocks.
6 and ¼ blocks.
Oh, Lord.
Please!
3 and ¼ blocks.
I’m coming, Jake!
I’m coming!
Room 321.
That’s what the nurse told me.
The elevator groans
all the way up
to the third floor.
How long did I stand
outside his door,
afraid to go in,
afraid not to?
Why did I fight with him?
Jake is worth
ten Santiagos.
He’s my friend.
What if Jake doesn’t forgive me?
What if he doesn’t wake up
long enough to try?
Hand shaking,
I grab the doorknob,
take a deep breath,
and push.
Jake’s mom
leaves us in the room alone.
I sit on the edge of his bed,
one hand holding his,
the other wiping
a stupid tear
from my cheek.
If I start bawling
like some little girl,
Jake will never let me
live it down.
I swallow hard
and give his hand a squeeze.
When he doesn’t squeeze back
I die inside.
I lay my head down
on his blanket
and fight for breath.
When I can’t stand
his stillness anymore,
I stumble out the door.
Even the word sounds
like it could break you.
The doctor says
it’s why Jake is still asleep.
But if the doctor’s so smart,
how come he can’t say
when my friend will wake up?
Or if?
I need an aspirin.
I take the stairs down
to the ground floor
so I can cry
in secret.
Once outside,
the cold air clears my mind.
I text KeeLee,
ask her to talk to God,
and to put in a good word
for Jake.
The next afternoon, I’m back
determined to get through to Jake.
I lean over his bed,
give him a shake.
“Enough already!”
I tell him.
“Wake up!”
That’s when
Jake slowly opens his eyes
and gives me the shadow
of a grin.
It feels like Christmas.
“Hey,” says Jake.
“Hey,” I say,
and suddenly I know
this is all the conversation
I’m in the mood for.
24 hours later,
I change my mind.
I want to hear more
than a word or two.
I want to see Jake move.
His stillness stops my heart.
Jake? Are you in there?
Sitting up in bed,
laughing with his nurse,
the old Jake
sees me at the door,
fakes a shot
with an imaginary ball.
“Nothing but net!” he says,
then waves me in.
That’s my Jake.
I can breathe again.
That’s my new name for Jake.
Lucky for him
the driver wasn’t going that fast
so the only thing broken
was his leg.
Still, he’s pretty banged up.
But after watching Jake
for a few days,
the doctors
get him and his cast
up on crutches
and send him home.
That’s good for me
’cause I’m worn out from running
back and forth
those 16 and ¼ blocks
to see him.
I drop by Jake’s after school,
find him in front of the television.
He makes a place for me
on the couch.
I grab the remote
mute the sound,
and get to the point:
“I’m sorry about our fight, Jake.
You were right.”
The words are out
before I know it.
(What was it I said to Caden
about sticking with
who you really are?)
I tell Jake about
Santiago and the new girl,
and how ridiculous I feel.
“Don’t call yourself ridiculous!”
Jake is quick to say.
“That’s
my
job!”
It takes me a minute
to tell that he’s joking,
to catch his grin.
But when I do,
I punch him in the arm,
smiling at my friend,
glad to have us back.