Please, Please, Please (15 page)

“A calculator,” Olivia says, lifting it. Her eyes focus above our heads on the back wall. “Because math is my favorite subject.” She sets it down.

I catch myself twirling the bottom of my black polo shirt and force myself to stop. My eyes, betraying me, glance over to my left. Next to me, CJ is sitting straight as a two-by-four on the edge of her chair, her head balanced gracefully on her long neck.

Olivia reaches into her Sack and pulls out a small box. I clamp my jaw shut and count. Sit up straight. My posture is just as good as CJ’s.

Olivia pulls a pair of earrings out of the box. I can’t stop blinking.

“These are soccer ball earrings, which represent me both because soccer is my favorite sport and also because I just got my ears pierced this summer.”

Olivia glances at Mrs. Shepard, who hasn’t budged. Ned told me that one time Mrs. Shepard told him, “Well said,” and the whole class practically fainted.

Olivia swallows hard. Poor Olivia. I wonder what she’s thinking. I don’t know her that well, yet, but I’m sure she’s off balance, not having the teacher nodding at her for once. If Olivia looks at me, I decide, I’ll smile encouragingly. It must be hard, sort of, to expect praise all the time. Not that I’d know; I’m just guessing.

I prepare to be supportive. Olivia doesn’t look at me. Which is fine. Whatever. She doesn’t look at anybody else, either, at least. Staring at the back wall, she pulls a thick paperback book out of her bag. “A dictionary, because I’m interested in etymology,” she says.

I have no idea what that means. Nothing in my bag can be explained in a sentence. I did the whole thing wrong. What am I going to do?

“A pool ball, because I like to shoot pool.”

Oh, shut up already, Olivia
, I almost say out loud. I open my crumpled brown bag just enough to peek inside. Wrong, wrong, wrong; no pool balls, no charcoal pencils. I have a broken thermometer. A Barbie head. A twig. Nothing I could possibly explain to these nineteen other seventh graders who’ve known me my whole life but have no clue. Not even CJ has a clue what’s in here, and I am not at all interested in confessing. Not even to CJ who was my best friend from the beginning of fourth grade until today.

I’m twirling the bottom of my shirt with my finger again. It shames me if my clothes are wrinkled, it looks like I’m poor. Stop it. Pay attention to Olivia. My best friend. I blow the long bangs out of my eyes. They drive me crazy, but at least they hide the pimples on my forehead, four of them and a fresh one coming. Don’t touch, the oil from fingers makes it worse. Think, think—what am I going to do? The backs of my thighs are sticking to the chair. Olivia is finishing, thank the Lord. I don’t know if we’re supposed to clap or what. I’m not going to be the first one. I wedge my hands under my thighs and blow at my bangs again.

I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s not like I’m so close with Mrs. Shepard I want her to be in on all my private business; in fact, I don’t really like her at all, the owl. I just got so involved, all weekend, choosing my ten items, I didn’t think of how they’d be presented. I guess I thought we’d just hand our Sacks in.

Olivia is heading back to her seat, the desk in front of mine. I make the mistake of glancing toward CJ again. She looks at me with a big sad apology all over her face.

Save it, pal. It’s not like I care or anything. I’m just trying to get through the day, and please, you are totally free to do whatever you want. It makes no difference, I’ve dealt with more than you’ll ever know, you pampered little prima donna. It would take a lot more than you to hurt me.

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