The Reinvention of Bessica Lefter (29 page)

“Those are my bear pants,” I said. “I’m a mascot.”

Mrs. Potaski smiled at me. “I heard. And you jump rope.”

I nodded.

“And you brought us tarts?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Blueberry. We each get our own.”

“Lovely,” Mrs. Potaski said. “Why don’t you girls go catch up. I’ll call you when lunch is ready.”

“Cool,” I said. Even though I only wanted to catch up with Sylvie.

“Let’s go watch Taco!” Sylvie said.

Mrs. Potaski frowned a little. “If you take the ferret out of the cage, make sure your bedroom door is shut so he can’t rampage through the house again.”

“I know,” Sylvie said.

“Malory’s ferret rampaged through the house?” I asked. Because I was starting to like the ferret a little.

“Ferrets are pretty high-strung animals,” Malory said. “Containment isn’t in their nature.”

“Oh,” I said. That made sense.

When we got to Sylvie’s bedroom, I spotted the ferret right away, because he was skinny and brown and chewing a hole in Sylvie’s clothes hamper.

“Stop that, Taco!” Malory said.

But Taco didn’t stop.

Malory scooped him up and held him to her chest. “Do you want to hold him? He loves sniffing new people.”

I held my hands up. “Ferrets freak me out.”

“Don’t freak out,” Sylvie said. She reached out and took hold of Taco. “This ferret is amazing. He knows geography.”

I wasn’t all that excited about walking into Sylvie’s bedroom and meeting a ferret that knew geography. I wanted to learn bear dance moves. It was the whole reason I’d brought my fur pants.

“When are you going to teach me dance stuff?” I asked.

“After we play with Taco!” Sylvie said.

I decided I would play with Taco for ten minutes and then demand to learn dance moves.

“Taco can find any state on a map,” Sylvie said.

But I didn’t think that was all that special. Because I learned how to do that in third grade.

Sylvie pointed to a map of the United States that was spread out on her bedroom floor. Each state had a Cheerio on it. “Watch!” Sylvie said.

“Kentucky!” Malory said.

Sylvie set the ferret down and it lowered its nose to the map. It sniffed quickly, twitching its nose over and over.

“Does Kentucky smell different than other states?” I asked.

“Watch!” Sylvie said.

And then I watched as Taco walked across Texas and Louisiana. For a second it looked like he was going to turn south and go to Florida, but he didn’t. He hurried up to Kentucky and ate the Cheerio.

“Wow,” I said. “Your ferret knows Kentucky.”

“Taco knows all the states,” Malory said. “Vermont!”

I watched Taco scurry across the map, dislodging Cheerios from West Virginia, Pennsylvania, and New York as he hightailed it to Vermont.

It was impressive. “That ferret could be on TV,” I said.

“I know,” Malory said. She pulled at her headband and readjusted it. “First I want to teach him all the countries in Africa. Because I think my ferret has global potential.”

“He does!” Sylvie said. Then she giggled and rushed toward Taco and plucked him off the map.

“I didn’t know you liked ferrets so much,” I said. Because as far as I knew, Taco was the first ferret Sylvie had ever seen.

Sylvie looked up at me and smiled. “I have learned so much about myself since school started.”

“Oh,” I said. I guess I’d learned some stuff about myself too. For instance, according to Principal Tidge, I had great comedic timing.

“Being brand-new is awesome,” Sylvie said. She set Taco down on the carpet and he scampered to my feet. He sniffed my shoes and looked up at me.

“Does he bite?” I asked.

“It depends,” Malory said.

I picked him up anyway, and he tried to burrow his head in my armpit, which I thought was pretty rude. But I guessed a ferret wouldn’t know that.

It felt really weird to be standing in Sylvie’s bedroom holding a ferret and not knowing what to say. So I sat down on Sylvie’s bed. I liked being brand-new too. But I also missed things about my old life. Like Sylvie. And Grandma. And I didn’t want to hide this from Sylvie.

“Being brand-new is harder than I thought,” I said. “I mean, there’s stuff I miss.” When I said this, I looked directly at Sylvie.

Then Sylvie came and sat down next to me. When Taco tried to burrow his head in my armpit again, I put him on the floor.

“I know,” Sylvie said. “I understand.”

That meant a lot to me. Then I felt Sylvie hug me and that meant a lot to me too.

“I’m glad you’re here hanging out with us,” Sylvie said.

“Yeah,” Malory said. “Sylvie is always telling funny stories about you.”

“Really?” I asked.

I liked the idea of Sylvie always talking about me. Because it meant she was always thinking about me.

“Are you ready to learn some dance moves?” Sylvie asked.

I nodded.

“Ohh!” Malory said. “Have you ever done the robot? My brother taught me that one.”

Sylvie and I glanced at each other and laughed. We hated the robot!

“What?” Malory asked, looking confused.

“No robot,” Sylvie said.

“I agree,” I said.

“I know! How about I teach you how to do the shimmy hips!” Sylvie said.

Then Sylvie hopped up on her bed and shook her hips back and forth, back and forth. She got them going so fast I thought her pants might fall down.

“Holy crud!” I said. “That looks cool. I need to put on my fur pants.”

I slid on my pants and snapped the suspenders into place. Then I hopped up onto Sylvie’s bed and so did Malory. We both started shaking our hips back and forth, back and forth. Malory did it while holding her ferret.

“You guys look great!” Sylvie said.

And I sort of agreed.

“Those fur pants look awesome!” Malory said.

Sylvie and Malory started laughing so hard when they watched me that they had to stop shimmying. But I didn’t. I shimmied faster.

“I think it’s the coolest thing you’ve ever done,” Sylvie said. “You do it like a pro!”

But I couldn’t thank her. Because I was pretty breathless. I flashed her a thumbs-up sign instead.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

“I want to come watch you do this at a game!” Sylvie said.

“Me too!” Malory said.

I finally stopped shimmying because it felt like I was going to die. Also, I needed to say something.

“I’d like that,” I said while puffing a little. Because I couldn’t think of anything better than shaking my butt like a wild animal or shimmying my hips like a pro in front of my friends.

“Do you want me to teach you the samba?” Sylvie asked. “You’ve definitely got the hips for it.”

I smiled.

“What about krumping?” Malory asked. “She’d be great at the stomps and the wobbles.”

I smiled wider.

“Lunch is ready!” Mrs. Potaski called.

I unsnapped my suspenders and slid off my fur pants. “I have an idea,” I said. “After we eat our sandwiches and tarts, let’s try both.”

KRISTEN TRACY
grew up in a small town in Idaho, where she learned a lot about bears. Sadly, she was not clever enough to reinvent herself in middle school. Also, technically, Kristen Tracy never went to middle school. She attended North Bonneville Junior High, where she took classes in industrial exploration (which involved lots of saws), Idaho history, public speaking, and keyboarding. Her least favorite class was PE, in which she was forced to run, tumble, hurdle, play shuffleboard, and perform the flexed-arm hang.

kristentracy.com