The Brilliant Fall of Gianna Z. (16 page)

CHAPTER 18

N
onna was right. Today is better.

Dad has an early pickup, so I arrive at school in Mom’s minivan like every other kid in America. For once, I have everything I need for the day. I checked my assignment book after breakfast. Thursday’s boxes are all blank except for science, where I’ve written “25 LEAVES!!!!!” in humongous letters. And I have them. All twenty-five. I counted twice.

Zig has a dentist appointment in the morning, so I don’t see him until after lunch.

“Hey, you’re back!” I run to catch him at his locker before science class.

“Hey, Gee. Mom rushed me back so I could check in with Mrs. Loring. Leaf deadline today, you know.”

“Yep—twenty-five leaves.”

“Collected and identified.” Zig slams his locker closed and starts walking, but I freeze.

“Identified?”

“Yeah. We had to have them all identified for today so she can let us know if we need to go back and check any of them before the final project’s due tomorrow.”

“But I thought we just had to have them.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve missed another deadline, Gianna.” Bianca swoops over from her locker on the other side of the hall. I swear she has supersonic hearing. “I can’t imagine
how
anyone could still be working on this project with all the time we’ve had, but I guess things happen, don’t they?” Her pink lips curl up in a smile. “Don’t worry. I’ve totally got you backed up if you have to miss sectionals.” She ducks in front of us into class.

I watch her ponytail swing down the aisle to her seat in back. I’m having fantasies about chopping it off with Nonna’s big garden shears when Zig brings me back to reality.

“You didn’t identify the rest after I left, huh?”

“Nope. I still have fifteen to go.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, we better go sit down.”

I follow him into class and sink into my seat.

Nonna was wrong. It’s not a better day.

The bell rings to start science class, and I pray for a miracle. Mrs. Loring is about to check our leaves. Is it too selfish to ask God to slap some labels on them in my backpack?

“Okay,” Mrs. Loring says, passing out the field guides. “Today, you should have all of your leaves identified. I’ll let you know if you need to double-check any of them before—”

“Attention teachers and staff,” our vice principal, Mr. Yando, booms over the loudspeaker. He’s not God, but he’ll do. “This is a drill. At this time, please enter lockdown mode and remain there until I come back on the announcements in a little while. This is only a drill.”

Mrs. Loring can’t find her keys to lock the doors like she’s supposed to. By the time she finds them, two school safety officers have come to the wide-open door, shaking their heads. Finally, we’re lined up, sitting on the floor in the dark.

I smell perfume and realize I’m next to Mary Beth Rotwiller. She’s managed to bring her purse over to the wall and is filing her nails in the light coming in from under the door. She pulls out a second nail file and hands it to Bianca. Mrs. Loring is right next to them but doesn’t say anything. It looks like she’s either meditating or has fallen asleep.

Mary Beth sees me looking at her and mouths the word “loser” with so much expression I can make it out even in the dark.

I squint to see if I can find Zig. I’m pretty sure that’s his shape over by the bookshelf, so I crabwalk across the carpet.

“Hey,” I say, looking around as my eyes adjust to the dark.

“No talking,” Zig whispers. “You’ll get in trouble.”

“I know. But it’s kind of dumb, don’t you think?” I lean against the bookshelf as my eyes adjust to the dark.

“Dumb? Do you have any idea how many raging, gun-toting lunatics have broken down classroom doors in rural Vermont schools because they thought they might have heard whispering inside?”

I let out a snort, and Mrs. Loring’s eyes snap open. It’s too dark for her to know who to scold, though.

A triangle of tightly folded notebook paper lands in my lap, and I hear Bianca giggle over by the door.

I unfold it.

“Who is crinkling that paper?” Mrs. Loring hisses, so I have to unfold super slow and quiet, until I can finally hold the paper to the light creeping in under the door to read it.

Cheer up. Maybe Coach will still let you run the
stopwatch at sectionals.

There’s a little smiley next to it. An evil smiley like the one I’d like to wipe off her face right now if it wouldn’t make too much noise during the lockdown.

“Look!” I thrust the note at Zig.

He studies it for a minute. More than a minute. Five, maybe. It’s hard to tell in the dark.

“Can’t you still do it?” he whispers finally.

“Do what?”

“Identify the leaves.”

“This isn’t about leaves anymore!” I start to raise my voice. “This is about a stuck-up, sparkle-shirt-wearing witch who’s trying to steal my spot . . . steal my life!
Look
at this!” I grab the note from him and the paper crackles in the dark.

“Shhh!” Mrs. Loring hisses.

And it’s quiet again. I try not to breathe too loud.

“Gee?” I feel Zig’s hand on my elbow. Warm. And the mad drains right out of me.

“Sorry.”

“ ’S’okay. But here’s the thing . . .”

“What?”

“It
is
about the leaves.”

I sigh. “I know.”

“Because if you just finish the project, she goes away.”

Zig is going to make someone a fabulously annoying father someday.

“She doesn’t, actually. She’ll never go away.” I watch her toss a football-folded note to Mary Beth. “But I know you’re right. I just need to finish it.”

Someone rattles the door handle and I jump. The safety monitor must be checking the classrooms now. When they’re done, we’ll turn the lights on and have science. Zig’s rough sweater scratches against my arm.

“I just couldn’t think about leaves after you left,” I tell him, leaning closer.

“I figured.” He pauses. “Do they know if it’s Alzheimer’s?”

“No, and I’m not sure if they’ll ever know a hundred percent. I guess they can test and find out if it’s probably Alzheimer’s or probably not. But I think Nonna already knows. She said she has a feeling.”

“And Nonna’s feelings are always right,” Zig says. He’s been around Nonna long enough to know she has serious intuition. “Well, almost always, anyway. There’s that whole wedding thing.”

I’m glad it’s dark because my face is as red as a sugar maple in October.

Zig pulls his calculator from his backpack and starts fiddling with it while I drift off, out the window, wishing it were time for cross-country.

My right foot has been asleep for almost half an hour when the loudspeaker clicks on.

“Faculty, staff, students. Thank you for your patience. This lockdown drill took longer than anticipated because of some confusion on the lower level of the building, but you all handled yourselves very well. You’ll be dismissed for the day when the bell rings.”

When the lights come on, Bianca tosses me one last sneer over her shoulder and heads for the door, smoothing the wrinkles out of her skirt.

I look up at the clock.

2:34.

Yes! One minute until science class ends.

No time to check leaves.

Thank you, God and Mr. Yando!

Mrs. Loring looks like she’d like to jump through the loudspeaker and throttle someone in the office, but I’m so happy I try to jump up, straight from sitting pretzel-style to standing. When I land on my right foot, a thousand needles attack it and I stumble into the bookshelves. A thick yellow book teeters off the top shelf and is about to land on my head when Zig snatches it from the air. It’s like he was just waiting to save my life. Maybe this will be the beginning of one of those romantic stories. Zig hands me the book that we’ll remember someday as the one that started it all.
Tree Identification
for Dummies
.

So much for a romantic story.

I start to put the book back on the shelf, but Zig grabs my arm.

“This is perfect for you!” He looks at my face, then down at the book. “I didn’t mean it that way. But you should sign one out for tonight. She said we could borrow any of the resources.”

“I guess.” I pick up the two-inch pencil that Mrs. Loring has wrapped in duct tape and attached to a string.
Gianna
Z,
I write.
Tree Identificaton for Dummies.
There’s no denying it. Only a dummy would have waited this long. I have less than a day to identify, write up, and creatively display twenty-five leaves.

CHAPTER 19

B
y the time I dress for cross-country practice and head out into the afternoon sun, I feel like I can do it. I really think I can do it. I just need to focus. Which isn’t exactly my thing, but this time, I’m going to focus if it kills me, because having Bianca Rinaldi running in my place would kill me for sure. I’d drop dead of shame, and she’d probably stand over me in her sparkly T-shirt and say, “Oh, isn’t that too bad?”

It’s not happening.

I’m going straight home after practice, and I’m going to spend the whole night identifying those leaves and putting them in that dumb binder Mom got me.

I’m getting my leaf project done.

I just am.

But first, I’m going to run.

I take a deep breath, round the corner of the building on the sidewalk that leads out back, and stop like I’ve run into a wall.

“Well, thanks for your understanding, Bianca. You’ve certainly been a trouper.” Coach Napper takes a paper from Bianca and tucks it into her folder. “I have your permission slip all set, so if things don’t work out with—”

Coach stops talking when she sees me.

“If things don’t work out?” I say, stepping up to them. I feel my cheeks getting red, and I haven’t even started running.

Coach shifts her folder to her other arm. “It’s just in case you’re . . . not available, Gianna.” Bianca smirks.

I step up to her. “What did you tell her?”

Bianca’s eyes go all wide. “Just that I was worried about you. I told Coach you’re behind on your project, and I knew you’d want the team to have a backup in case you can’t go to sectionals.”

I turn to Coach. “You don’t think I can do it, do you?” I’ve run with Coach Napper for years—back when she used to do intramurals at Orchard Elementary School, and we could only run from the slides to the swings out on the playground. I always won. How could she stand here telling Bianca she might get to run in my place?

I want to be angry; I really do. I want to grab that stupid folder with the runner lists and the times and meet records and throw it, because it doesn’t make a difference anyway. Not if she’s going to stick some jogging cover girl in my spot.

But I do what I always do instead. I blink, really fast, to keep from crying. When the tears spill out anyway, I look down. They make little dark splotches in the dirt.

“Gianna . . .” I feel Coach’s hand on my shoulder. She squeezes me toward her, but I pull away. “Gianna, it’s sectionals. I know you’re working on your project, and I’m sure you’ll get it done, but . . . I have to make sure we’re covered. Bianca’s been very understanding about training for a meet where she may not be needed.”

“Absolutely, Coach.” Bianca flashes a toothpaste-commercial smile and tucks her hair behind her ears as Ellen jogs up.

“Coach, I really need to talk with you about this water-bottle situation.”

“No problem.” Bianca waves. “I’m off to see if I can knock a few more seconds from my time so I’ll be ready for sectionals if the team needs me.” She steps past Coach and says, “And I’m
sure
the team will need me.” Then she runs off toward the bleachers.

I turn to Coach, but she’s already talking with Ellen. “Seriously? We toss more than two million plastic bottles an hour? Sure, I can see how the booster club might support this. Let’s see . . . they have a meeting . . .” She didn’t hear what Bianca said. Of course, she didn’t hear. Bianca is the best at being Snow White in front of teachers and the evil witch behind their backs.

Even though she’s off jogging with Mary Beth, her words drift back to me. “And I’m
sure
the team will need me.”