Unschooled Read online

  “Yep, that’s us—enemies forever.” I laugh as we step down the aisle together. “Just remember: Winning is about organization and planning.”

  Lilly laughs. “It’s called Spirit Week, not Organizing and Boring Week. And no one can out-spirit me.”

  A few kids cheer as we step onto the gym floor and approach Principal Klein. I’m not sure if they cheer because we are captains, or because we walked down the bleachers without falling. I hate standing here, with everyone’s eyes on me, but I focus on our principal and try to ignore the bleachers. He holds two shiny badges. They look sort of like police badges, except made of cheap bronze-colored plastic.

  “These were the only pins they had at the store,” Principal Klein mumbles to us as an apology of sorts. My team leader pin features a picture of a goldfish with the words I LOVE GOLDFISH! underneath it.

  “Congratulations, George,” says Mr. Foley.

  I throw him a smile and a thumbs-up. “I’m sure it’ll be fun.”

  “That’s the spirit!” says Mr. Foley.

  After we pin our badges to our chests, Principal Klein steps up to the microphone again. “Spirit Week begins on Monday with our first official contest: Twin Day. Everyone should pick a teammate and dress in identical clothing. The team with the most and best matches will get five points. I’ll personally judge Twin Day on Monday morning right here in the gym.” He clears his throat, smiles at Lilly and me, and adds, “Just remember, the week is about spirit and teamwork. Let’s compete with good sportsmanship. I’m sure you’ll make Liberty Falls Elementary proud.”

  Nearly every kid in the bleachers applauds, but I notice Sarah and Grace do not. They whisper to each other, quietly huddling, as if they are passing secrets.

  “Good luck,” I say to Lilly.

  She grins back to me. “You bet.”

  But I notice that she doesn’t wish me good luck back.

  As we join the rest of our grade in exiting the gym, Lilly hurries ahead of me and reaches Sarah and Grace. The three of them walk off with their arms around one another’s shoulders, and I get an uneasy feeling about them.

  I don’t want to compete against Lilly and secretive Sarah and Grace. I regret volunteering to be team captain even more.

  Mrs. Martinez pats her lips with her napkin, which she does after every bite. George does the exact same thing, even when eating in the lunchroom, which used to drive me batty, but now I just giggle.

  We have dinner with the Martinez family every Friday and sometimes we eat at my house and sometimes we eat at George’s house and sometimes we meet at a restaurant. Restaurant nights are my favorite Friday night dinners, especially if they let George and me pick where we go, because George always lets me pick.

  But tonight dinner is at my house, and I hate that because Mom makes me clean up my stuff first, and it’s not easy picking up an entire week’s worth of clothes and junk from every room. I usually cram everything into my closet.

  We host more dinners than the Martinezes host dinners, and I’m pretty sure it’s because Mom likes me cleaning up stuff. Thankfully, she never looks in my closet.

  “I hear you are both Spirit Week captains,” George’s dad says. Mr. Martinez always wears a tie because he works in an office, unlike my dad who works out of our house. George looks a lot like his dad. They both have the same dark eyebrows and tan skin and they both look serious all the time. I think George will wear a tie every day when he’s older.

  “Hard to believe.” George beams. “I didn’t really want to be captain. But someone needed to step up, at least until Maggie is back.”

  “We’re proud of you,” says his mom. “It’s not easy being a team captain, even for only a day or two. It’s a lot of responsibility.”

  “And we’re proud of you, Lilly,” says my mom. When I got home from school and told her the news, she gushed and hugged me and acted like it was a really big deal.

  She flashes me a smaller smile now. Mom isn’t the sort to fuss over me in front of other people.

  To George I say, “You guys don’t have a chance.”

  “We’ll see,” says George in his serious tone. “It’s all about organization, you know.”

  I shake my head. “It’s all about winning.”

  “Well, I hope it’s a tie,” interrupts Mr. Martinez.

  “Amen to that,” says my dad. “I’m sure you’ll both be great leaders, and you’ll have a lot of fun no matter who wins.”

  “Just remember you two are best friends,” adds my mom.

  Moms say the weirdest things sometimes. “Why would we forget that?” I ask.

  “Competition can bring out the ugliness in people,” says Mr. Martinez, frowning.

  All the parents nod their heads, and my mom looks right at me. She keeps her stare fixed on me.

  “What now?” I ask.

  “Remember Adventure Scouts a few years ago, and your cookie sales?” Mom takes a bite of her lasagna, but she continues to watch me.

  “Sure, I sold more cookies … ”

  “You stole Francine Pepper’s list of cookie sales,” says Mom. “That’s how you sold so many cookies.”

  “I didn’t steal it!” I insist. “She gave it to me.”

  “Because you promised you’d be her best friend.”

  “I was her best friend for a whole week, so I kept my promise,” I retort with a frown. So I like to win? Who doesn’t? “I even earned enough points for a free sleeping bag.”

  “I just know how you can be sometimes,” Mom says.

  “It would take a lot more than Spirit Week to break this team.” I motion to George and me. “Team George and Lilly is way more important than Team Red or Team Blue.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” says Dad.

  “Just remember that friendship is forever and the silly Spirit Week is only a week,” adds Mom.

  “It’s not silly,” I say. “There’s a giant prize this year for the winning team, and it’s probably better than an Adventure Scouts sleeping bag. Principal Klein won’t say what the prize is, but I hear it’s something like a trip to Hawaii. And don’t you want me to win a trip to Hawaii?”

  Dad laughs. “I don’t think the school could afford to send half the grade to Hawaii.”

  “Well, I’m sure it will still be a great prize,” I say. I wish Spirit Week started right then. I’d prove to everyone that my team is unbeatable and show my parents what a fantastic prize we all get. “My team is going to win, and win big.” I glare at George.

  “Stop it, Lilly,” says Mom.

  I break my stare and remind myself that the week is just for fun. I laugh at myself. Maybe I can be a little competitive, but like Sarah said, losing is for losers. I dig into my lasagna again. Mom still watches me as if she’s worried I’m going to do something terrible, but a little competition won’t get in the way of my friendship with George. We’ve been best friends since before I can remember anything. My parents even have pictures of us sleeping next to each other as babies.

  In each photo, I’m lying in the middle with all the stuffed animals while George is curled off to the side. If we ever fought over the stuffed animals, then I won every time.

  Lilly’s bedspread is a confusing maze of pink diamonds and green swirls. Her walls are bright blue and her carpet is orange. I always get a headache if I stare at the carpet too long. But I can’t see that much of it anyway, because her floor is usually covered with clothes and books and random things like a stuffed bear and a shoebox. I grit my teeth as I look at everything that’s out of place. I want to walk around and clean it all up.

  This is why I never spend much time in Lilly’s bedroom. I always feel like screaming at the mess. Once I made the mistake of opening her closet. It’s all empty hangers and balled-up clothes on the floor. I offered to help her organize all her clothes, and even started to diagram a special area for sweaters, but she wasn’t interested.

  Her dresser and shelves are lined with small clay figurines of all sorts, including a guitar without a neck, a ballet dancer with only one leg, a soccer player with no arms, and a unicorn without legs. Lilly isn’t great at finishing things, although she loves making things out of clay.

  I have a miniature U.S. Capitol building in my bedroom that she made for me last year. The bottom half looks just like the real U.S. Capitol. It doesn’t have a top half though, and that’s sort of the most important half.

  On the floor by my feet is a deck of cards. Lilly and I used to play all the time, but we played Go Fish a few weeks ago and I won by accident, because I usually let her win, and she hasn’t wanted to play since.

  She’s not a good loser. One time she bought two Hula-Hoops, and it turned out I was really good and Lilly wasn’t. She threw the Hula-Hoops away the next day.

  “It’s right here,” Lilly says, digging through her sock drawer. “At least I think it’s here.” She tosses socks around the room, which just adds more mess. I wonder how she can find anything in such a disorganized disaster of a room.

  “Oh, I’ve got them,” she says at last. I think the drawer is now empty of all socks. She holds out two bracelets made of interwoven green, red, and blue string. She hands one to me. “A friendship bracelet.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We each wear one. It means we’re best friends. Forever.”

  “I don’t need a bracelet to know that.” But I tie it on my wrist. Lilly does the same. I throw her a big grin. “Thanks. It’s pretty great.”

  “Just like me,” says Lilly, but with a playful smile. “Mom bought me a kit, and I started them a few weeks ago, but then I think we had dinner and I put them away and sort of forgot. But anyway, here they are.” She beams.

  As I look at the bracelet hugging my wrist, I forget all about Lilly’s glare at dinner. I just hope Maggie is feeling better. Our parents might have been excited that we are both captains, but I’m not. I think it’s more fun to take notes than to give them. I’ve been taking plenty of notes for Maggie. I’ll pass them to her when she’s back at school, hopefully on Monday.

  “And don’t worry about the stupid Spirit Week and us being captains,” Lilly says, as if reading my mind. “It would take more than a contest to break us apart.” She throws me a smile, and it’s a warm smile, one that I can feel deep down in my stomach all the way up my chest and down my arm where my new bracelet is wrapped snugly. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to win.”

  “I think we’ll give your team a run for your money,” I say with a smile.

  “You can try, but we’re not going to lose,” Lilly adds, but she is not smiling. “And I’ll do anything to win.” She glares at me, the same glare from dinner. But then she breaks the glare and giggles. “I’m just goofing around.”

  But I honestly can’t tell if she’s totally goofing around or not.

  I don’t know why George feels his team has a chance to beat my team this week. He seems to think I can’t even organize my lunch.

  Which, by the way, I did today all by myself—a cheese sandwich and some cookies and a bag of chips. I forgot the fruit, but so what? Fruit is overrated.

  On Friday, Principal Klein gave George and me a list of the events planned for the week so we could prepare, and I read it over during the weekend, or at least I read most of it because I was busy doing other stuff. Mom bought me some new clay and I made a totally incredible penguin, except I didn’t finish its beak or feet. But otherwise it looks exactly like a penguin, sort of.

  Today, Monday, is Twin Day, and Team Red has this contest wrapped up like a cozy blanket. Because it turns out that I’m an organizing queen, even if George doesn’t think I am. Saturday morning I called Sarah, and she was going to text Grace, who was going to text a few other people, and then Aisha volunteered to call a few kids from class, and so I’m sure someone reminded everyone, somehow.

  There is no way Team Blue can match our matches.

  Aisha and I are twins today. It wasn’t easy figuring out what clothes made sense, since she wears sweat pants and team jerseys almost every day and I don’t play sports like she does. But we both have red sweaters, so we wore those and that’s perfect because we’re Team Red. I own two of the same scarves, because I thought I lost mine last year but I found it under my bed after Mom had already bought me a new one, so we’re wearing those, too. Aisha also bought two silly straw hats at the party store yesterday.

  I haven’t seen Aisha yet this morning, but she came over to my house last night and we swapped clothes. We will look fantastic together.

  It feels a little weird being Aisha’s twin, since I always thought George and I would be twins today. He has these goofy orange beanies, and I figured we could wear those, and we were going to buy matching shirts, but you can’t be twins with someone from the other team, obviously.

  Mom dropped me off early at school today. Every Monday morning I eat breakfast at school because she has to leave early for work, and George comes early, too, because his mom and my mom work together. As soon as I enter the cafeteria, I look for George.

  I can’t wait to see his face when he realizes Twin Day is Team Red day, but I don’t feel quite as confident after I look around.

  It’s like I’m seeing double, and not just Team Red double, because every fifth grader I see has a twin. Two lunch ladies are dressed alike, too. They wear pirate hats and eye patches.

  My stomach sinks. I should have known Team Blue would be ready. If I’m an organizing queen, George is like the note-taking and organizing king of the universe.

  Noah says the special prize is a road trip to the Grand Canyon. Aisha says that’s not true, that the winning team gets to go to a soccer game, or a baseball game, or a track meet, or some sort of sporting event but she can’t remember what.

  Either way, we would miss school, so we have to win. If we go to the Grand Canyon, I’ll spend my entire time writing postcards to George, bragging about how great our team was and that I’m having the best time ever.

  Well, maybe that would be a little mean. I’ll end every postcard with a big I miss you! and a smiley face because I would miss having my best friend with me.

  I pay for my orange juice, oatmeal, milk, and a banana. I thank the lunch lady, who says, “Arrrr you sure that’s all you want?” in a pirate growl. I tell her that I’m sure, and then I look around for George.

  He’s sitting with Luke at a table in the middle of the room. They both wear extra-large yellow shirts with George’s goofy orange beanies.

  I feel a twinge of hurt. That was supposed to be me in the orange beanie and not Luke. Part of me wants to ignore George because the beanies were my idea in the first place. But I look down at my wrist and see my friendship bracelet. Friendship is way more important than beanies, and Team George and Lilly is more important than anything.

  Of course I know that already, but the bracelet is a nice reminder.

  I’ll walk over to George, wish him good luck, congratulate him on his great organizing skills—and of course mention how mine are just as good—and then we’ll eat breakfast together. There’s no reason today shouldn’t be like every other Monday. Just thinking of sitting with George makes me feel good.

  Grace waves to me, walking over. She wears giant plastic glasses and a red T-shirt that says TEAM RED IS FABULICIOUS! and in smaller letters TEAM BLUE STINKS! “Sarah and I made these last night.”

  “Awesomesauce,” I say.

  She points to a table in the far corner of the lunchroom, which is where she usually eats. “Let’s sit over there and have breakfast. Sarah and I were talking while we made these shirts last night. We have some ideas on how we can win.”

  “Like what?” I ask.

  “I can’t tell you here.” She looks right and left, and then left and right, and then she whispers, “Someone might be listening.”

  “Listening to what?”

  “Secrets.” She fluffs her hair and smirks.

  George sees me and waves, and I smile back. Grace has never asked me to eat breakfast with her before. She and Sarah usually eat by themselves, and it would be nice to eat with her and hear about her secret plans. But I guess they can wait until later. “I’m going to sit with George. I always do.”

  “But he’s on Team Blue,” Grace says with a look of horror spreading across her face.

  “He’s just George.” I weave past a group of third graders to join my best friend. “Hey, George,” I call out. “Nice out—”

  I never say fit as in outfit, which is what I wanted to say. George stands up as I approach him, and I guess I’m not expecting him to stand up, so I stutter-step, and I don’t know where that leg came from, but my foot hits someone’s leg.

  My lunch tray flies up. I reach for it, but instead I knock the tray and make it flip completely over.

  I see the tray turn and spin and flip like it’s in slow motion, but like a slow-motion horror movie.

  My orange juice soars into the air as if spouting from a water fountain. My oatmeal forms a gray, flying, lumpy cloud. My milk spins from its cup like a sort of mini-tornado.

  I can see where everything is going to land before it does.

  Everything is going to land on George.

  SPLAT!

  The oatmeal bowl ends up oatmeal-side down, right on George’s head, on top of his orange beanie.

  SPLASH!

  The juice completely drenches his shirt.

  SPLOOSH!

  The milk sprays his shoulders.

  Oatmeal skids down his face and liquid drips from his shirt.

  “Oh no!” I say. The entire cafeteria stares at us in silence. I know how George hates messes, and he’s just a giant mess. He stands there, in shock. “I’m so sorry!”

  Then I hear someone clap and Grace call out, “That’s the way to do it, Lilly!”

  “Now where is that box? Oh, there it is.” After a moment of thinking, Mrs. Frank, our school secretary, drags a large cardboard box from the corner of the walk-in storage closet. The shelves of the room are filled with envelopes and pencils and binders and lots and lots of paper. I’ve never seen so much paper. Mrs. Frank breathes heavily as she pulls the box to the middle of the floor. Her gray-hair bun sways back and forth. “Take what you need. You can change in the bathroom.”