Calli Be Gold (5 page)

am sitting with Wanda and Claire at our usual lunch table the next day when Tanya Timley strolls by.

“Look at her! She’s wearing a bra!” Wanda whispers.

“Who?” I ask.

Wanda tips her head in Tanya’s direction.

“Really?” I say. “How do you know?”

“You can see it,” Claire says matter-of-factly, taking a bite of her peanut-butter-with-no-jelly sandwich. “Look at the back of her shirt.”

I peer over at Tanya, who is in line at the salad bar. If anything’s there, I can’t detect it. All I notice is that the front of her shirt says
WONDER GIRL
in shiny gold letters.

“You have to look up close,” Wanda informs me. “She doesn’t even need one, anyway. She’s just wearing it to be cool and act like she’s so grown-up.” Wanda sighs and
glances down at her chest. “I asked my mother for a bra, but she said all I have is baby fat.”

Claire and I don’t say anything, because this is probably true. Wanda is a little on the chubby side. Claire is skinny as a stick and I am somewhere in between. I guess you could call me average in that area too.

Tanya drifts past our table with her plate of salad. She’s taller than any other girl in our grade and she wears a different-colored headband every single day. She tells people it’s her signature look. She has one to match every outfit, and somehow, they all look good with her fiery long red hair.

“How come all she eats is salad?” I ask Wanda and Claire. “You’d think she’d want a bag of chips once in a while.”

Claire, who pretty much has an answer for everything, says, “I’m sure the modeling agency tells her what she can and can’t eat.”

Everyone knows that Tanya Timley models and in her spare time attends fifth grade at Southbrook Elementary.

Claire motions for the two of us to lean toward her. “I heard Tanya say that she’s up for some big TV commercial,” she whispers.

“Well, good for her,” Wanda scoffs.

“What’s the commercial for?” I ask.

“Toothpaste,” Claire replies.

“How do you know?” Wanda questions.

Claire shrugs. “She sits in front of me in math.”

Wanda makes a face and sticks her tongue out. Then she holds up an invisible tube of toothpaste and smiles insanely from ear to ear. “I’m Tanya Timley,” she drawls. “The only toothpaste I use is for people who are better than everyone else.”

Claire and I giggle as Wanda stays frozen in her ridiculous smile.

When we settle down, I glance across the cafeteria at Tanya, who is sitting with a few other fifth-grade girls. All of them are eating only salad. Becca has started eating salad a lot lately too, and I wonder if they know something I don’t. Is there an unwritten rule that girls are supposed to start eating salad at a certain point? I hope not, because I don’t even like salad.

A few minutes later, the lunch lady comes over to our table with her spray bottle. “Almost cleanup time,” she warns. “Move it along, girls.” She aims the spray toward the middle of our table and some droplets land right on Claire’s sandwich.

“Well, I guess I’m done with that,” Claire mutters under her breath, and glares at the lunch lady.

Wanda zips her lunch bag. “The bell’s about to ring anyway,” she says to Claire.

As the lunch lady begins to wipe off our table, we crumple up our garbage, toss our water bottles into the recycling bin, and walk toward the door of the cafeteria. Luckily, this year, Wanda, Claire, and I are all in the same class.

We stop at our lockers. Wanda and I share one. When I open it, Wanda checks her braces in our little mirror like she always does after lunch. “I have a piece of apple stuck in there,” she wails, trying to pick it out with her fingers.

“Wanda!” Claire whispers. “Do you have to do that in front of everyone?”

“What?” Wanda says innocently.

Claire shakes her head and slams her locker door. Wanda shrugs at me.

Before we enter the room, I know that Mrs. Lamont has taken her shoes off. The smell of her feet drifts out into the hallway. She says she does that in the afternoons because her shoes start to get tight and her toes need to breathe. I guess this makes sense, but honestly, she could use some foot deodorant. One of the boys once put a little jar of foot powder on her desk, but she didn’t seem to get the hint. She just raised it in the air and asked, “Who does this belong to?”

Claire, Wanda, and I all pinch our noses as we slide into our seats. Today Mrs. Lamont’s socks have yellow bumblebees on them. Yesterday it was ladybugs. I’m not sure why she likes to have insects decorating her feet, but some people are just weird about certain things.

“Take your seats, boys and girls.” Mrs. Lamont motions to the desks, smiling broadly. “I have a big surprise to announce.”

Tanya is in our class this year too. Her seat is right next to mine. She pretty much towers over me. I check the back of her shirt, but I still can’t see anything. Tanya folds her hands across the top of her desk and sits up very straight. She makes me realize that I’m slouching, so I try to sit up straight too.

Mrs. Lamont walks over to the board and writes
Peer Helper Program
in huge letters. Then she twirls around, clasps her hands, and grins. “For years,” she says, “I have been trying to implement my idea for a peer program in this school, and I’m thrilled to tell you that the principal has finally given me the go-ahead.”

Mrs. Lamont strolls down the middle aisle between our desks. When she passes by, Wanda fans the air in front of her face. I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

“Educational research has shown that when students of different ages work together, the benefits are great for both,” Mrs. Lamont explains. “The older students mentor the younger ones, which helps them learn to become leaders, and the younger students also teach their peers something in return.”

“What’s she talking about?” I hear one of the boys say.

“Shhh,” Claire whispers.

Wanda raises her hand, and Mrs. Lamont says, “Yes?”

“Exactly what is a peer, anyway?” Wanda asks.

“Well,” Mrs. Lamont says. “Good question. A peer is a colleague, a coworker, a contemporary … Really, a peer
is simply a friend.” She glances around the classroom. “I think you’ll all be excited about this once you understand what it is.”

“Okay, but does it mean more homework?” Jason interrupts.

“No,” Mrs. Lamont says. “Our class will meet once a week with the second graders in Mrs. Bezner’s class to form relationships, read, help with classwork, and perhaps join together for a special project in the future. So, right now, what I’d like you to do is pull out the spirals I asked you to bring today.”

I let out a small gasp as all the other kids in the room reach inside their desks for their shiny, unwritten-on, brand-new spiral notebooks. My shoulders drop as I think of Mom rushing around with all those Post-its attached to her steering wheel. Claire sees me and mouths, “Did you forget?” I nod.

These are the times when I love Claire. She pulls a spiral out of her desk like a magician and passes it down to me. “I bought some extras at the beginning of the year,” Claire whispers, and I mouth, “Thanks.”

Mrs. Lamont starts explaining about the Peer Helper Program, or PHP. Most of the kids are making notes in their spirals, but although I’ve opened mine to the first page, I’m not sure what I should be writing down. As Mrs. Lamont keeps talking, my mind drifts and I look out the window and watch leaves flutter from the trees
one after the other, as if each one knows exactly the right time to fall. Does the tree or the leaf let go first?

All of a sudden, everyone is standing up and getting into a line.

“Where are we going?” I ask Claire.

“Weren’t you listening?” She frowns at me.

“I sort of stopped paying attention.”

“We’re going up to the second-grade classroom for the first PHP get-together,” Claire says importantly. “We’ll be matched up with our partners. I hope I get a second grader who can at least spell.”

“What do you mean, partners?” I ask Claire, following her in line.

She looks a little annoyed. “Mrs. Lamont said each of us will have our own second-grade peer, you know, one-on-one. That’s how the PHP works.”

“Oh,” I reply. “Of course.”

When we pile inside Mrs. Bezner’s second-grade room, she tells us how happy she is that we will be working with her students. “We think you will find this program to be a wonderfully rewarding experience,” she adds, and Mrs. Lamont nods enthusiastically.

“Now, before we choose our peers,” Mrs. Bezner says, “does anyone already know someone in my class?”

Tanya Timley shoots her hand into the air.

“Yes?” Mrs. Bezner asks.

Tanya waves to a girl with long, straight blond hair and
enormous round blue eyes. “That’s my cousin Ashley,” Tanya says. “Ash and me. PHP. It can’t be any other way.”

“I guess that’s all right,” Mrs. Bezner says. “Okay with you, Lucy?”

“I don’t see any harm,” Mrs. Lamont says.

Tanya raises her hand again. “I do have a mini problem, though. I’m out of school a lot, modeling and going on auditions.” Tanya bats her eyelashes and shows off her evenly spaced, very white teeth, perfect for a toothpaste commercial. “So, who will be with Ashley when I’m not here?”

“I’m sure we can work it out, Tanya,” Mrs. Lamont says briskly. “Let’s move on.”

For the rest of the peer partners, Mrs. Bezner explains, we will be pulling numbers from a cup, and so will the second graders. The students with matching numbers will be each other’s peer helpers. “I think that’s the fairest way,” she adds.

Mrs. Bezner is shaking one cup, and Mrs. Lamont is shaking the other, when I cannot believe what I see at the very back of the room: someone with messy light brown spiky hair, slumped over on a desk, wearing a dark blue winter jacket.

Noah Zullo?

I lean over, trying to see if it’s him. I examine the jacket intently, and I’m positive it’s the same one from the rink yesterday.

My hand flies up in the air, as if I am not in control
of it. “Mrs. Lamont,” I hear myself saying, “I know someone too.”

“You do, dear?” she says. “Who?”

“That kid over there.” I point.

Several of the second graders turn to stare at the back of the room as Noah Zullo slowly raises his head and squints at me through his glasses. His skin is very pale, like a white seashell.

“I’d like to be Noah’s peer,” I say with a gulp. From the corner of my eye, I glimpse a confused look on Wanda’s face.

“Oh, wonderful!” Mrs. Bezner replies. “Noah is new to our classroom. His family just moved here. How do you know each other?” she asks me.

I suddenly feel panicky, like Noah will blurt out that we really don’t know each other and I am lying. But somehow, as I watch him blinking at me, I know he won’t do that.

“We met yesterday,” I say. “At the skating rink.”

“Okay, then.” Mrs. Bezner resumes shaking the cup with the numbers.

I smile at Noah, but he just looks at me blankly.

“Now,” Mrs. Lamont says after all the numbers have been chosen. “Go ahead and find your peers. We’ll have a few minutes for you to get acquainted, and then we will get together again next week for our first real PHP time.”

Tanya brushes past me. “Leave it to Calli Gold to pick the weirdest kid in the entire second grade,” she says. Her
cousin Ashley giggles and covers her mouth. The two of them put their heads together and arms around each other in a private huddle.

Ever since Tanya called me puny last year, she and I haven’t exactly liked each other very much. It’s true I have been in the front row every year for class pictures, so maybe I am a little on the short side. But still, I wouldn’t go around calling Tanya Timley freakishly tall, even if she is.

I stop right in front of Noah, look at him, and wonder what I’ve gotten myself into. My heart thumps as loudly as a basketball on a gym floor.

“Hi,” I say brightly. “Remember me?”

He stares at me, with that messy hair and pale face and blank expression; then he starts wringing his hands together as if he’s washing them with soap and water. Finally, with what seems like a tremendous effort, he places his hands on top of his desk and makes two tight little fists. After a moment, he looks up at me through his glasses with an almost suspicious expression.

“Why’d you pick me?” he asks.

I look around the room at the groups of fifth graders and second graders, some talking, some smiling, some seeming awkward. Ashley and Tanya are hugging each other, practically exploding with excitement. Then I look back at Noah. I don’t have an answer.