Flipped

  She sort of half-stands and says, “What? What’s going on, Bryce? Why are they fighting?”

  “Excuse us a minute, would you, Jon?” I pull her away from the table, but there’s no place to go. And I’ve got her hand in mine, and I just can’t think. So I stop right there in the middle of the room and look at her. At that face. I want to touch her cheek and see what it feels like. I want to touch her hair, it looks so incredibly soft.

  “Bryce,” she whispers. “What’s wrong?”

  I can barely breathe as I ask her, “Do you like him?”

  “Do I … you mean Jon?”

  “Yes!”

  “Well, sure. He’s nice and — ”

  “No, do you like him?” My heart was pounding through my chest as I took her other hand and waited.

  “Well, no. I mean, not like that … .”

  No! She said no! I didn’t care where I was, I didn’t care who saw. I wanted, just had to kiss her. I leaned in, closed my eyes, and then …

  She broke away from me.

  Suddenly, the room was dead quiet. Miranda and Shelly stared at me through their slimy hair, everyone was looking at me like I’d blown my entire circuit board, and I just stood there, trying to reel in my lips and pull myself back together.

  Mrs. McClure took me by the shoulders, guided me to my chair, and told me, “You sit here, and you stay here!” Then she hauled Miranda and Shelly outside, scolding them and telling them to find separate bathrooms and clean up while she ran down the janitor to mop up their mess.

  I sat there by myself and didn’t even care about covering up. I just wanted to be with her. To talk to her. To hold her hand again.

  To kiss her.

  Before school was out, I tried to talk to her again, but every time I got close, she’d dodge me. And then when the final bell rang, she disappeared. I looked everywhere for her, but she was just gone.

  Garrett, however, wasn’t. He tracked me down and said, “Dude! Tell me it isn’t true!”

  I didn’t say a word. I just headed for the bike racks, still hoping to find Juli.

  “Oh, man … it is true!”

  “Leave me alone, Garrett.”

  “You get hooked up with the two finest chicks on campus, then bail on them for Juli?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “You’re right, dude. I completely don’t understand. Did you seriously try to kiss her? I couldn’t believe that part. We’re talking Julianna Baker? Your nightmare neighbor? The know-it-all nuisance? The coop poop babe?”

  I stopped cold and shoved him. Just laid into him with both hands and shoved. “That was a long time ago, man. Knock it off!”

  Garrett put both hands up, but moved in at me. “Dude, you have flipped, you know that?”

  “Just back off, would you?”

  He blocked my path. “I can’t believe this! Two hours ago you were the man. The man! The whole school was on their knees before you! Now look at you. You’re, like, a social hazard.” He snorted and said, “And, dude, the truth is, if you’re gonna be like this, I don’t need the association.”

  I got right in his face and said, “Good! ’Cause you know what? Neither do I!”

  I shoved him aside and ran.

  I wound up walking home. In my pinchy shoes, with dirty dishes clanking inside my sticky picnic hamper, this basket boy hiked all the way home. And there was a battle raging inside me. The old Bryce wanted to go back in time, wanted to hang with Garrett and shoot the breeze, wanted to hate Juli Baker again.

  Wanted to be the man.

  But in my heart I knew the old Bryce was toast. There was no going back. Not to Garrett or Shelly or Miranda or any of the other people who wouldn’t understand. Juli was different, but after all these years that didn’t bother me anymore.

  I liked it.

  I liked her.

  And every time I saw her, she seemed more beautiful. She just seemed to glow. I’m not talking like a hundred-watt bulb; she just had this warmth to her. Maybe it came from climbing that tree. Maybe it came from singing to chickens. Maybe it came from whacking at two-by-fours and dreaming about perpetual motion. I don’t know. All I know is that compared to her, Shelly and Miranda seemed so … ordinary.

  I’d never felt like this before. Ever. And just admitting it to myself instead of hiding from it made me feel strong. Happy. I took off my shoes and socks and stuffed them in the basket. My tie whipped over my shoulder as I ran home barefoot, and I realized that Garrett was right about one thing — I had flipped.

  Completely.

  I trucked down our street and spotted her bike lying on its side on the driveway. She was home!

  I rang the bell until I thought it would break.

  No answer.

  I pounded on her door.

  No answer.

  I went home and called on the phone, and finally, finally her mother answers. “Bryce? No, I’m sorry. She doesn’t want to talk.” Then she whispers, “Give her a little time, won’t you?”

  I gave her an hour. Almost. Then I went across the street. “Please, Mrs. Baker. I’ve got to see her!”

  “She’s locked herself in her room, dear. Why don’t you try phoning tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow? I couldn’t wait until tomorrow! So I went around the side of their house, climbed the fence, and knocked on her window. “Juli! Juli, please. I’ve got to see you.”

  Her curtains didn’t open, but the back door did, and out came Mrs. Baker to shoo me away.

  When I got home, my granddad was waiting at the front door. “Bryce, what is going on? You’ve been running back and forth to the Bakers’, climbing over their fence … . You’re acting like the world’s on fire!”

  I blurted, “I can’t believe this! I just can’t believe this! She won’t talk to me!”

  He led me into the front room, saying, “Who won’t talk to you?”

  “Juli!”

  He hesitated. “Is she … mad at you?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Does she have reason to be mad at you?”

  “No! Yes! I mean, I don’t know!”

  “Well, what happened?”

  “I tried to kiss her! In front of this whole room of people, while I was supposed to be having that stupid basket boy lunch with Shelly and Miranda, I tried to kiss her!”

  Slowly a smile spread across his face. “You did?”

  “I was, like, possessed. I couldn’t stop myself! But she pulled away and … ” I looked out the window at the Bakers’ house. “And now she won’t talk to me!”

  Very quietly my grandfather said, “Maybe she thinks this is all a little sudden?”

  “But it’s not!”

  “It’s not?”

  “No, I mean … ” I turned to him. “It started with that stupid newspaper article. And I don’t know … I’ve been weirded out ever since. She doesn’t look the same, she doesn’t sound the same, she doesn’t even seem like the same person to me!” I stared out the window at the Bakers’. “She’s … she’s just different.”

  My grandfather stood beside me and looked across the street, too. “No, Bryce,” he said softly. “She’s the same as she’s always been; you’re the one who’s changed.” He clapped his hand on my shoulder and whispered, “And, son, from here on out, you’ll never be the same again.”

  Maybe my grandfather’s happy about all this, but I’m miserable. I can’t eat; I can’t watch TV; I can’t seem to do anything.

  So I went to bed early, but I can’t sleep. I’ve watched her house from my window for hours now. I’ve stared at the sky; I’ve counted sheep. But man, I can’t stop kicking myself for what an idiot I’ve been all these years.

  And now how am I going to make her listen to me? I’d scale that monster sycamore if I could. Right to the top. And I’d yell her name across the rooftops for the whole world to hear.

  And since you know what a tree-climbing weenie I am, I think it’s pretty clear that I’m willing to do anything to get her to talk
to me. Man, I’ll dive after her into a chicken coop full of poop if that’s what it takes. I’ll ride my bike all the stinkin’ way to school for the rest of eternity if it means being with her.

  Something. I’ve got to come up with some thing to show her that I’ve changed. To prove to her that I understand.

  But what? How do I show her that I’m not the guy she thinks I am? How do I erase everything I’ve done and start over?

  Maybe I can’t. Maybe it just can not be done. But if I’ve learned one thing from Juli Baker, it’s that I’ve got to put my whole heart and soul into it and try.

  Whatever happens, I know that my grandfather’s right about one thing.

  I’ll never be the same again.

  Juli: The Basket Boys

  The Monday after the Loskis’ dinner party, Darla tracked me down at school and forced Bryce Loski back into my brain. “Jules! Whoa, girl, wait up! How have you been?”

  “I’m fine, Darla, how are you?”

  “No, seriously,” she whispered. “Are you doing okay?” She shifted her backpack and looked over each shoulder. “I got to thinking, you know, that was just so cold of Bryce. Especially since you’ve got that soft spot for him.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Like I haven’t got eyes? Come on, girl. It’s a given. Which is why I got to worryin’ about you. Are you seriously all right?”

  “Yes, I am. But thanks for thinking about me.” I eyed her and said, “And Darla? It’s not a given anymore.”

  She laughed. “How long’s this diet gonna last?”

  “It’s not a diet. I’ve just, uh, lost my taste for him.”

  She looked at me skeptically. “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, I have. But thanks for, you know, caring.”

  All through first period I was still feeling strong and right and certain, but then Mrs. Simmons ended the lesson a full fifteen minutes early and said, “Clear your desks of everything but a pen or pencil.”

  “What?” everyone cried, and believe me—I was right along with them. I was not prepared for a quiz!

  “Everything!” she said. “Come on, you’re wasting valuable time.”

  The room filled with grumbles and the sound of shuffling binders, and when we’d all pretty much complied with her request, she picked a stack of bright yellow papers off her desk, fanned them with an evil grin, and said, “It’s time to vote for basket boys!”

  A wave of relief swept across the room. “Basket boys? You mean it’s not a quiz?”

  She ticked through the stack, counting ballots as she spoke. “It is like a quiz in that I don’t want you conferring with one another. It’s also like a quiz in that you have a limited amount of time.” She slapped a set of ballots down on the first desk of row one, then went on to the second row. “I will collect them from you individually when the bell rings, and I will inspect to see that you have complied with the following instructions.” She scooted over to row three. “Choose five, and only five, of the boys on the list. Do not put your name on it, and do not discuss your choices with your neighbors.” She was on to row four now, talking faster and faster. “When you’ve made your selections, simply turn your sheet over.” She slapped the remainder down on the last desk. “Do not, I repeat, do not fold your ballot!”

  Robbie Castinon raised his hand and blurted out, “Why do guys have to vote. It’s lame to have guys vote.”

  “Robbie … ,” Mrs. Simmons warned.

  “Seriously! What are we supposed to do? Vote for our friends or our enemies?”

  A lot of people snickered, and Mrs. Simmons scowled, but he had a point. Twenty of the school’s eighth-grade boys would be made to pack a picnic lunch for two and be auctioned off to the highest bidder.

  “Being a basket boy is an honor—” Mrs. Simmons began, but she was interrupted by Robbie.

  “It’s a joke!” he said. “It’s embarrassing! Who wants to be a basket boy?”

  All the guys around him muttered, “Not me,” but Mrs. Simmons cleared her throat and said, “You should want to be one! It’s a tradition that has helped support the school since it was founded. There have been generation after generation of basket boys helping make this campus what it is today. It’s why we have flower beds. It’s why we have shade trees and a grove of apple trees. Visit another junior high sometime and you’ll begin to realize what a little oasis our campus really is.”

  “All this from the sweat and blood of basket boys,” Robbie grumbled.

  Mrs. Simmons sighed. “Robbie, someday when your children go to school here, you’ll understand. For now, please just vote for whoever you think will earn a high bid. And class,” she added, “we’re down to nine minutes.”

  The room fell quiet. And as I read down the list of over one hundred and fifty eighth-grade boys, I realized that to me, there had only ever been one boy. To me, there had only been Bryce.

  I didn’t let myself get sentimental. I had liked him for all the wrong reasons, and I certainly wasn’t going to vote for him now. But I didn’t know who else to vote for. I looked at Mrs. Simmons, who was eagle-eyeing the class between glances at the clock. What if I didn’t choose anybody? What if I just turned it in blank?

  She’d give me detention, that’s what. So with two minutes left to go, I put dots next to the boys I knew who weren’t jerks or clowns, but were just nice. When I was through, there were all of ten names with dots, and of those I circled five: Ryan Noll, Vince Olson, Adrian Iglesias, Ian Lai, and Jon Trulock. They wouldn’t make basket boy, but then I wouldn’t be bidding, so it didn’t really matter. At the bell I handed over my ballot and forgot all about the auction.

  Until lunchtime the next day, that is. Darla cut me off on my way to the library and dragged me over to her table instead. “Have you seen the list?” she asked.

  “What list?”

  “The list of basket boys!” She shoved a scrawled copy of twenty names in front of me and looked around. “Your main dish is on it!”

  Five from the top, there it was—Bryce Loski.

  I should have expected it, but still, this awful surge of possessiveness shot through me. Who had voted for him? Out of one hundred fifty names he must have gotten a lot of votes! Suddenly I was picturing a swarm of girls waving stacks of cash in the Booster ladies’ faces as they begged to have lunch with him.

  I threw the list back at Darla and said, “He’s not my main dish! As a matter of fact, I didn’t even vote for him.”

  “Oooo, girl! You are stickin’ to your diet!”

  “It’s not a diet, Darla. I’m … I’m over him, okay?”

  “I’m glad to hear it, ’cause rumor is, that bimbette Shelly is already stakin’ her claim on him.”

  “Shelly? Shelly Stalls?” I could feel my cheeks flush.

  “That’s right.” Darla waved her list in the air, calling, “Liz! Macy! Over here! I’ve got the list!”

  Darla’s friends fell all over themselves getting to her, then pored over the paper like it was a treasure map. Macy cried, “Chad Ormonde’s on it! He is so cute. I’d go ten bucks on him, easy!”

  “And Denny’s on it, too!” Liz squealed. “That boy is”— she shivered and giggled—“fi-yi-yine!”

  Macy’s top lip curled a little and she said, “Jon Trulock? Jon Tru lock? How did he get on this list?”

  For a moment I couldn’t believe my ears. I snatched the paper out of Macy’s hand. “Are you sure?”

  “Right there,” she said, pointing to his name. “Who do you suppose voted for him?”

  “The quiet girls, I guess,” Darla said. “Me, I’m more interested in Mike Abenido. Have I got any competition?”

  Macy laughed, “If you’re in, I’m out!”

  “Me too,” said Liz.

  “How about you, Jules?” Darla asked me. “Bringin’ spare change on Friday?”

  “No!”

  “You get to miss the second half of school … .”

  “No! I’m not bidding. Not on anyone!”

/>   She laughed. “Good for you.”

  That afternoon I rode home from school brooding about Bryce and the whole basket boy auction. I could feel myself backsliding about Bryce. But why should I care if Shelly liked him? I shouldn’t even be thinking about him!

  When I wasn’t thinking about Bryce, I was worrying about poor Jon Trulock. He was quiet, and I felt sorry for him, having to clutch a basket and be auctioned off in front of the whole student body. What had I done to him?

  But as I bounced up our drive, basket boys bounced right out of my mind. Was that green I saw poking out of the dirt? Yes! Yes, it was! I dropped the bike and got down on my hands and knees. They were so thin, so small, so far apart! They barely made a difference in the vastness of the black dirt, and yet there they were. Pushing their way through to the afternoon sun.

  I ran in the house, calling, “Mom! Mom, there’s grass!”

  “Really?” She emerged from the bathroom with her cleaning gloves and a pail. “I was wondering if it was ever going to spring up.”

  “Well, it has! Come! Come and see!”

  She wasn’t too impressed at first. But after I made her get down on her hands and knees and really look, she smiled and said, “They’re so delicate … .”

  “They look like they’re yawning, don’t they?”

  She cocked her head a bit and looked a little closer. “Yawning?”

  “Well, more stretching, I guess. Like they’re sitting up in their little bed of dirt with their arms stretched way high, saying, Good morning, world!”

  She laughed and said, “Yes, they do!”

  I got up and uncoiled the hose. “I think they need a wakeup shower, don’t you?”

  My mom agreed and left me to my singing and sprinkling. And I was completely lost in the joy of my little green blades of new life when I heard the school bus rumble to a stop up on Collier Street.

  Bryce. His name shot through my brain, and with it came a panic I didn’t seem able to control. Before I could stop myself, I dropped the hose and dashed inside.

  I locked myself in my room and tried to do my homework. Where was my peace? Where was my resolve? Where was my sanity? Had they left me because Shelly Stalls was after him? Was it just some old rivalry making me feel this way? I had to get past Bryce and Shelly. They deserved each other—let them have each other!