Unschooled Page 3

  My shirt and pants stick to me with wet, cold orange juice. Big clods of half-dried oatmeal fall in flakes from my head to the floor. I smell like someone’s stale and rotten breakfast. My orange beanie is ruined, too.

  I washed some of the mess off in the bathroom, but a lot of Lilly’s breakfast still clings to me. The small bottle of hand sanitizer I keep in my pocket wasn’t helpful, either. You can’t hand-sanitize your clothes and your hair and your entire body.

  Mrs. Frank called my mom, but she’s at work and can’t get away yet. So I’m forced to change into clothes from the dreaded Lost and Found box.

  I sift through clothing that has probably been here for decades. The box is filled with single sneakers, unmatched and random socks, an assortment of old jeans, a purple bathing suit, seven flannel shirts, and lots and lots of winter hats and mittens.

  There is one boot, three pairs of underwear, and a belt. Who loses underwear? The even bigger question: Who loses their pants?

  I picture someone walking home without pants. I hope it wasn’t cold that day. I shiver thinking about it, although the cold orange juice in my underwear isn’t keeping me warm, either.

  The only shirt that sort of fits me is a green T-shirt that reads PANDA-MONIUM! It has a picture of a smiling panda bear on it. Most of the pants are too small. I guess younger kids lose more clothes. The only pants that fit me are a pair of old jeans with big rainbow patches on the pockets and glitter down the legs. I think about keeping the pants I’m currently wearing, even though they are messy and wet.

  In the end, dry clothes with rainbow patches and glitter win. But I wouldn’t be surprised if the person who wore these pants lost them on purpose.

  I stuff my wet clothes into a garbage bag to bring home later and then exit the bathroom.

  Luke looks bummed out when he sees me walk out into the hall. He taps his feet and wiggles his body like usual. It’s like he’s always listening to music in his head. But there is no happiness in his wiggles today.

  “Sorry,” I say. “This stinks.”

  “If there is another panda shirt in the Lost and Found box, I can wear the other one. We can still match.” We spent half the morning on Saturday finding just the right shirts.

  “No such luck.”

  “Great!” he replies. I throw him a frown. “I mean, it’s not great that we don’t match, and I have nothing against pandas, but that shirt … ” Then he adds in a quiet, apologetic tone, “But on you it looks good.” He looks me up and down. “And I sort of like the pants.”

  I frown. “They have rainbow patches and glitter on them.”

  “I like rainbows.” I’m not sure if he’s kidding or not.

  “Let’s just get to the gym,” I say with a grumble. “I hope I haven’t let Maggie down. But at least she can take over as team captain.” I’ve had enough of leading a team. Being drenched in breakfast is about all I can handle.

  “Didn’t you hear? Maggie broke her arm in two places. She might be out all week.” Suddenly, my borrowed clothes feel ten times heavier. “You’re our team captain for keeps.”

  I groan. I don’t think today could get worse. School hasn’t even started yet, and not only am I wearing the world’s most embarrassing clothes, but I have to march into the gym wearing them as our team captain.

  I knew I never should have raised my hand in the auditorium. I could make a list of everything I know about leading a team, but I can’t think of anything to put on it.

  I’m glad we don’t see anyone as we walk down the hall and toward the gym. I glance at my reflection in the glass trophy case that hangs on the wall.

  I still have some oatmeal crusties clinging to my hair. I swat them off.

  We turn the corner and the gymnasium is straight ahead. A few kids laugh when they see me. I want to hide. Hiding would really be the best thing to do, but I’m team captain now and I need to stay and support us. Team captains don’t hide.

  Brian and Seth stand against the wall. They are both in Mrs. Rosenbloom’s class, which means they are on my team. When they see me, Seth giggles. “Nice pants.”

  Brian doesn’t laugh. He sneers. He looks angry. Brian and Seth are the two biggest kids in our school. They are the meanest kids, too.

  They are dressed in shoulder pads, football pants, and jerseys with the name of our local sports team: the Fighting Bells. They are football twins.

  “We heard what Lilly did,” growls Brian.

  “I can’t believe she would sink so low,” agrees Seth, no longer giggling at my pants. His angry frown now matches Brian’s. Seth makes a fist and pounds it against his open palm. “We need to teach her a lesson.”

  “It was just an accident,” I say.

  “That’s not what I heard,” replies Brian.

  “Team Red is planning all sorts of stuff,” says Seth, frowning. He bares his teeth, which reminds me of an angry bear.

  He and Brian are two guys you don’t want to mess with. Even Luke has stopped his usual wiggling and toe-tapping, and instead slowly walks away, keeping his distance from them.

  “Uh, what sort of stuff do they have planned?” I ask, slowly inching away, too.

  “Stuff,” says Brian. “I don’t know what, but we can’t let them get away with this.”

  There is no way Lilly would deliberately spill her breakfast on me to win Twin Day, and I doubt she would be planning something. But didn’t Lilly tell me she’d do anything to win?

  Lilly then said she was only kidding, but maybe she was kidding when she said she was kidding. And didn’t I hear Grace clap after I was drenched?

  I look down at my wrist and at the friendship bracelet that avoided the milk and orange juice spill. Best friends forever. That’s what Lilly said the bracelet meant.

  “We’re going to get even,” says Brian, frowning.

  “Team Red will be sorry they messed with Team Blue,” adds Seth.

  I open my mouth to argue, but as Brian and Seth glare down at me, I remember that they are kids you don’t want to argue against. So I just smile and nod. “Whatever you say, guys.” But I’m team captain, so I add, quieter, “As long as we play fair, right?”

  “If they cheat, we’ll cheat,” says Brian.

  Seth nods. “That seems pretty fair to me. I hear everyone on the winning team gets a free bike.”

  “I need a new bike,” says Brian, sneering with a steely, hard look.

  “Bikes are nice,” I agree. The two of them are whispering to each other, I can’t hear what, but they are probably planning horrible things. I should say something to them. I should argue that we need to exhibit good sportsmanship. Instead, I just repeat, “Bikes are nice.”

  Brian ignores my comment. “Do you like slime?”

  “I guess,” I say, confused. “Slime is nice, and so are bikes.” I don’t know what I’m saying. Just talking to Brian and Seth makes me nervous.

  “My older brother can make slime,” Brian says.

  “Good for him,” I say, grinning awkwardly.

  Then the school bell rings.

  “Come on,” says Luke. “We have to get inside the gym for the Twin Day judging. Everyone else is already sitting.” As he nudges me forward he asks me, “What were those guys saying, anyway?”

  “Nothing important.” I follow Luke into the gym. Meanwhile, Brian and Seth’s quiet but disturbing chuckles continue ringing in my ears. I look back at them, and I know I should tell them to forget whatever they are thinking of doing, but all I say is, “Bikes are really nice, aren’t they?”

  “I guess,” agrees Luke.

  I hate myself for not saying anything more. I should make a list of everything Brian and Seth could do with slime. But I don’t think I want to know what they plan to do. Some lists are better left unwritten.

  The gym bleachers are split in half, with my team on the side closest to the front doors. That’s the better side, because sometimes you can feel a slight breeze from the hallway, but not always and not today. It’s as hot as ever in here.

  I look for George, but I don’t see him. He ran out of the cafeteria all covered in food. Poor George. I hope he’s not mad at me.

  Aisha is my twin, and I have to say, we look pretty great. Sarah sits on the other side of me, and her face is one giant grin. “Nicely done, Captain.”

  “Great job,” adds Grace, nodding. Both she and Sarah fluff their hair, although I think their hair already looks pretty fluffy.

  “Thanks,” I say with pride. “We got the word out, didn’t we? I think everyone on our team is dressed as someone’s twin today.”

  “Sure, that too, I guess,” Sarah says with a shrug.

  I look at her, confused.

  From the bleacher row above me, Amelia pats my back. She removes her glasses and winks. “Nice going.”

  “Anything to win, right?” says Grace.

  “Sure, but I don’t know what you guys are talking about.” I cross my arms and try to ignore them.

  But suddenly I know exactly what she’s talking about and why everyone is congratulating me, and it has nothing to do with my planning talents. I overhear Ruby, sitting in front of me, telling Koko that Grace told her I spilled my breakfast on George on purpose.

  I want to stand up to tell her and everyone that George is my best friend and I would never, ever, ever spill my breakfast on him on purpose and I told him I was sorry.

  But am I the really, truly, sorry-to-my-toes kind of sorry?

  Because part of me is a little glad about it. I want to win, and if accidents happen, then that is one fantastic accident for Team Red.

  Principal Klein walks up and down the aisles holding a clipboard and a marker, counting twins. He looks right at me and at Aisha, and writes a big check mark.

  A peal of laughter rings out from the bleachers that are closest to the front doors. George and Luke walk in, and everyone around me bursts into giggles, especially Sarah, but I’m not sure if I should laugh or cry. George wears glittery jeans with rainbow patches on them and a weird panda shirt. Sarah elbows me in the ribs. “Best captain ever.”

  I don’t say anything, but a big guilty ball forms in my stomach.

  George refuses to look at anyone as he trudges past our side of the bleachers, his head down and his shoulders slumped. Team Red’s laughter continues, louder.

  Finally, George reaches the far end of the bleachers, where he sits with his team and stares at his feet.

  But while my entire team laughs, I don’t hear any laughter from the members of Team Blue. They throw us dirty, hostile looks. Meanwhile, Principal Klein is checking Team Blue for twins. He writes: check, check, check, check … He sees George and makes a mark on his clipboard that is definitely not a check, but an X.

  Amelia pats me on the back again. “I hear the winning team gets a free milkshake machine. Wouldn’t that be great?”

  “Um, no,” says Sarah. She glances at Amelia and shakes her head. “I don’t like milkshakes.”

  “Me neither,” agrees Grace, and Amelia’s face turns red and she doesn’t say anything else. “But I like smoothies. Maybe they’ll give out smoothie machines.”

  Sarah nods. “That’s a much better prize. But whatever it is, we can’t lose. Not with Lilly as our captain.” Sarah and Grace exchange pinkie shakes and then flash me wide, toothy grins.

  Aisha, my twin, looks at me with her eyes wide and asks, “Did you really spill your food—”

  “Of course not,” I insist before she even finishes her sentence. “It was an accident.”

  “Good,” says Aisha. “Because I’d hate to win by cheating.” I feel a little better knowing that at least one person believes I’m telling the truth, but I don’t feel a whole lot better, because I peek another look at sad, frowning George.

  Our principal finishes his count, walks down the bleachers, and makes his way toward the middle of the gym. The other fifth-grade teachers wait for him.

  Principal Klein clears his throat, stares at his clipboard, and then looks up and speaks into the microphone.

  “Congratulations to both teams,” he announces. “I am greatly impressed by the school spirit shown here today. I have never seen so many twins. In fact, one team has everyone dressed as a twin today! That’s simply incredible. Five points to Team Red.”

  Everyone around me jumps up and hoots. It feels good to win. No, it feels great to win, and I can’t keep myself from bouncing up and down. But then I glance at the end of the bleachers, where George hangs his head in his ridiculous rainbow-patched pants and panda outfit. I whoop, “We won!” but winning just doesn’t feel as great as it should, and I stop bouncing.

  Winning should always feel good. We’re one step closer to free smoothie machines, or whatever super surprise Principal Klein will spring on us.

  But.

  Part of my joy floats away like a helium balloon and circles my best friend who sits alone, dejected. I’ve never felt bad about winning before. It’s a strange feeling. I sit down while the rest of my team continues to celebrate. Meanwhile, I can feel stares from Team Blue aimed at me. They all think I’m a cheat.

  Sarah leans close and whispers into my ear as if we’re exchanging a big secret. “So what are you planning tomorrow? Maybe our entire team can spill food on Team Blue?”

  “It was an accident,” I insist.

  Sarah rolls her eyes. “Fine. Don’t tell me. It’s probably best to keep it quiet, anyway. You never know who might blab.”

  She and Grace grin.

  At the end of the bleachers, George no longer looks at his feet. Instead, he looks up directly at me, and his mouth is curled into an angry sneer, just like the rest of his team. Luke says something to George, and then they both glare at me.

  “High five!” cries Sarah, holding her palm out for me.

  I ignore it.

  Mom sits on a folding chair against the wall, waiting for me at the school office with a new, clean set of clothes. I know she hates being called away from work. She frowns with an impatient fidget as I enter through the doors.

  I’m sorry that she had to come to school. But I feel worse looking in the office mirror at my outfit.

  When Mom sees me her expression changes from annoyance to horror. “Oh no. What did they do to you?”

  “It’s just clothes, Mom,” I say, grabbing the plastic bag from her outstretched hand.

  “But you’re a glittery rainbow panda.” Then she adds, “Maybe I should take a picture to show Dad?” She hunts in her handbag for her cell phone.

  “Please don’t,” I say. “I would rather forget I ever wore this.”

  Mom stops her handbag poking. She puts her arm around me as if to give me a hug, but I step back. Parent hugs are fine at home but sort of weird in public, especially at school, even if it’s just in front of the office staff. “Mrs. Frank told me you picked the outfit out yourself?”

  “I didn’t have a lot to choose from,” I say. “I guess people don’t lose good clothes. I think most Lost and Found clothes stay lost for a reason.” I look in the plastic bag Mom handed me. Inside are stuffed normal blue jeans and a plain striped shirt. I can’t wait to get them on.

  Mom kisses me on the forehead, and I let her. A kiss is faster than a hug. “Well, I hope you have a better rest of your day. I suppose it’s been a difficult morning.”

  “It can’t get worse. Unless Lilly decides to ruin something else of mine.”

  “It was just an accident,” says Mom with a warm smile. “You know that Lilly’s always been a little clumsy.”

  Last month Lilly helped clear the dishes after dinner at my house and tripped. A spaghetti-sauce stain still splotches the ceiling of our kitchen. “I don’t know, Mom. She says she’ll do anything to win. And everyone says she did it on purpose.”

  “You can’t believe that. She’s your best friend.”

  “I don’t know what to believe.”

  “Well, I believe in Lilly. And you should, too.”

  She’s right, though. I shouldn’t be thinking the thoughts I’m thinking. I feel awful for thinking badly of Lilly. It makes me feel dirty, and I suddenly have an urge to spurt more hand sanitizer on my palms.

  A few minutes later, after I’ve thanked Mom and I’m in the bathroom changing out of the panda shirt and borrowed jeans, I make a decision. Next time I see Lilly, I will apologize for even imagining mean things about her.

  Everyone else might think Lilly intentionally spoiled my outfit, but I know better.

  Dressed in normal clothes, with the Lost and Found outfit folded neatly and put back into its cardboard box, I feel like a new person. I hurry down the hallway to the cafeteria. I’ve already missed the start of the fifth-grade lunch period, so I’ll need to eat quickly.

  I hate eating quickly. I think the ideal number of bites is fourteen for every mouthful, and you can’t chew your food fourteen times, every time, if you are in a rush.

  I once experimented with twelve bites for every mouthful, and it just wasn’t the same.

  As soon as I walk through the glass cafeteria doors, I look for my best friend. We always sit together at lunch, and I need to show her that I don’t blame her for being clumsy.

  But when I see her, I don’t approach her.

  She sits with Grace and Sarah in the far corner. Lilly never ate with them before, but now it seems like the three of them are always together. It’s almost like she has two new best friends.

  Lilly laughs and Sarah laughs, and maybe it’s my imagination, but they seem to laugh a little too loudly, and they look like they are plotting.

  I stare at them. Lilly must sense my stare, because it’s easy to sense stares like that. She looks up and sees me. She smiles, but I don’t smile back. I’ll just stand right here, in the middle of the lunchroom, until she gets up and apologizes.

  Then, maybe, we’ll pretend the accident never happened, and we can have lunch together like usual.

  The sooner I forget about my rainbow pants and panda shirt, the better, anyway.