During silent reading, the teacher suggests I pick a book from the back of the room. I nod and pick one, but I have a hard time focusing. Instead, I think about Chewie and how fun it’ll be to have her as my very own pet. I pull out my notebook and start a list of ways to convince Mom to let me keep Chewie.
I’ll have to think of a way to keep Mom and Dad’s furniture safe from Chewie, and Chewie safe from any electrical cord danger. I’ll build a bunny-proof environment for her. I draw a simple sketch of the room I share with Sophie and where Chewie’s cage and play area will be. There is also a coupon in the folder for Chewie to be spayed at Dr. Mac’s when she is old enough. I wonder how old she is now. I’ll have to ask Mr. Hart.
The rest of the morning goes great, until lunch, that is. The cafeteria food is bland. The pizza has no flavor, and the carrots have no crunch. The only good thing about lunch is Sunita. She shares some of her homemade lentils. They are spicy but good. Mom used to have time to make our lunches. Not anymore. I don’t see Josh anywhere, so Sunita was right. Josh and I are scheduled for different times on the alternating lunch period. Sunita looks around, but she can’t find Maggie, either. Lunch is almost over.
“If Maggie is in any of your afternoon classes, maybe you can tell her about me,” I say to Sunita as we finish our lunches.
“Wait, let me see your schedule again,” Sunita says. “The only class Maggie and I are in together is gym, but we don’t have it today. Gym meets every other day. Maggie and I are on the Tuesday-Thursday block schedule for gym. And team sports meet every day after school, too. Maggie’s a great athlete. She’s on the basketball team. Do you play team sports?”
“Not me,” I say, and hand my schedule to Sunita. “Block scheduling is kind of confusing.”
“Don’t worry, it’ll make sense soon. My first week here I was completely lost. You’re doing great.” Sunita studies my schedule again. I’m glad she understands. “At Ambler, the girls and boys have separate gym classes, but the classes are mixed with kids from all the grades,” she explains. “Great, look—you’re on the same Tuesday-Thursday gym schedule as Maggie and me! So I can introduce you tomorrow afternoon for sure.”
“Thanks,” I say, but I’m disappointed I won’t meet Maggie today.
Sunita smiles and says, “And there is only one Maggie in the whole school. So if you see or hear someone talking to a Maggie, that’ll be her. Just introduce yourself. She’s great.”
I hope I’ll have the courage to talk to Maggie on my own. She sounds like someone I’d really like to have as a friend.
Chapter Five
After lunch, Sunita walks with me up the super-crowded stairway to my study skills class on the third floor.
“What luck,” Sunita says. “There she is!” She grabs my arm and pulls me through the crowd.
“Excuse me, excuse me,” Sunita says as we weave our way up the stairs.
I’m excited, but it’s so crowded that I can’t figure out which girl is Maggie.
Uh-oh, I see the mean red-haired girl from the bus ahead of us. I let go of Sunita and go slower, hanging back, hoping that the red-haired girl will keep going and not notice me. Sunita waves to someone.
“Maggie, wait up!” Sunita calls out.
The red-haired girl stops and turns around.
Oh no. My heart sinks.
This couldn’t possibly be Sunita’s friend Maggie. But Sunita said there was only one Maggie in the whole school. So it must be the one and only Maggie, whose grandma is the veterinarian.
Yep, it’s her.
Maggie gives me a look, but waits for us to catch up in the hall at the top of the stairs. I know I should say something, but we already got off to such a bad start I’m worried that I might make it worse.
Luckily, Sunita jumps in and starts talking. “This is Jules,” she says to Maggie. “She and her family just moved here. I’m her school buddy today.”
Sunita turns to me and says, “Maggie’s grandmother is Dr. Mac—she runs the veterinary clinic.”
“Um, we sort of met,” I start, not knowing what to say. “I kind of accidentally ruined her science project on the bus this morning.” I turn to Maggie. “I’m Jules. And I’m still sorry.”
“Hi,” Maggie replies. She doesn’t seem happy to be talking to me, but she’s not yelling at me, either.
“Will you be at the clinic after school today?” Sunita asks her. “Dr. Mac asked me to come in and help feed the abandoned kittens.”
“Those kittens are cute, but man, do they need a lot of attention!” Maggie says, smiling. “But I’m not on kitten duty today. I have tutoring and then basketball practice, so I won’t be home until dinnertime.”
“You’re a tutor?” I ask hurriedly. Maybe this is a chance for me to connect with Maggie on something. “That’s cool. Sometimes I help my little sister, Sophie, with her homework. Maybe I could be a tutor, too.” I’m about to ask Maggie more about it, but she’s giving me a not-so-friendly look.
“I have a tutor,” Maggie says. “Not that it’s any of your business.” All traces of her smile are totally gone now. “See you later, Sunita,” she says, walking off.
I don’t know what to say. Having a tutor is nothing to be embarrassed or mad about, but once again I’ve stumbled into making Maggie mad at me. How could this keep happening? And how am I going to fix it?
I don’t feel like talking much after that. Sunita is still friendly. She says, “I’m glad you and Maggie have met,” but she doesn’t say anything more about my chances of being a Vet Volunteer.
A few minutes later, Sunita and I arrive at room 307. I’m feeling lousy about messing up with Maggie again and am not really looking forward to a whole new class full of students I don’t know. I say good-bye to Sunita, take a deep breath, and open the door.
Everyone in the class turns to look at me.
The study skills teacher smiles, and tells me her name is Ms. Harris. “You must be Julia. Come on in,” she says. She asks if I want to say something about myself.
“No, not really. Although I prefer to be called Jules. Thanks,” I say, staying near the door.
“Please allow me to introduce you,” Ms. Harris says. “Class, this is Jules Darrow.”
A few of the kids smile at me.
“Jules,” the teacher says, “I usually have my new students fill out this survey for me.”
“What kind of survey?” I ask.
The teacher smiles again and holds out a packet of papers toward me. “It’s to help determine your unique learning style,” she says. “So I can help you utilize the best study strategies.”
“Can I take it home to do it?” I ask.
Ms. Harris laughs, but it’s not a mean laugh. “It will only take you a few minutes. And it’s nothing to worry about. There are no right or wrong answers. You can fill it out here in the classroom, or if you want, you can use the desk in the hallway. Your fellow students will be practicing their oral reports in a moment, so that might be distracting.”
She walks closer to me and hands me the stapled papers. The rest of the class waits silently and stares at me. I look at the survey and wish I could disappear. I hate being the new kid.
The teacher whispers, but of course everyone hears her when she asks me, “Do you need some help getting started?”
I take a breath and look at my shoes. “I don’t need any help,” I say quietly.
“Do you have a pen or pencil?”
I feel trapped in this room, just like the poor dogs at the shelter in Pittsburgh, pacing endlessly back and forth in their cages. I take a step toward the doorway. “I have a pen. I’ll take the test in the hall, thanks.” It comes out more rushed than I planned, but I can’t wait to get out of there. Why is meeting new people so hard for me?
The next few minutes I sit in the hall checking
off boxes with always, sometimes, often, rarely, and never.
It basically comes down to this:
I can answer sometimes for almost everything. Sometimes I like meeting new people. Especially new people like Sunita, who are friendly and put me at ease. Otherwise, rarely. Sometimes I like working with others, but usually it takes me a few weeks to feel comfortable. But I can’t write all that down. I have to check one of the boxes instead.
For all the questions about doing schoolwork independently and on time, I check off usually. I don’t want Ms. Harris to think I’m not a good student. I am.
Too bad there are no questions about understanding, helping, and being good with animals. That’s something I could check always for. I browse my answers and look around the empty hallway. I don’t want to be sitting out here when the bell rings. Finally I return to the classroom and turn my paper in to Ms. Harris. Even though she said there are no right or wrong answers, I wonder what she’ll think about me. Honestly, I think my study skills are just fine. It’s my people skills I keep messing up with. But again, there’s no box on the survey to check off for that.
Chapter Six
After my study skills class, I see Josh in the hall, putting books in his locker.
“Hey, Jules, just two more classes then we’re done. How’s your day going?”
“It started great. The science teacher said I could adopt Chewie.”
“Chewie?”
“Chewie’s a rabbit,” I say. “And you have to help me convince Mom and Dad we can adopt her.”
“You mean like take it home and keep it as a family pet forever?”
“Yeah, cool, right? Mom and Dad said we could get a pet once we settled in.”
“Yeah, but a rabbit? I wanted a dog.”
“They are more likely to agree to a rabbit,” I say. “Rabbits are easier to take care of and cheaper, too. You should see her. She’s adorable. Then in a few months we’ll start working on Mom and Dad about getting a puppy. They’d never agree to a puppy now, with the store opening in two weeks. Puppies are a lot of work.”
“True,” Josh says, slamming his locker shut. “But you better think of a new name for your rabbit, something that sounds tame and sweet and well behaved. Believe me, ‘Chewie’ is not it. Do you really think Mom will allow any animal in the house with that name?”
“No,” I sigh. “You’re right.”
Josh checks his watch and his schedule, then says, “Hey, David told me about a group of kids called Vet Volunteers—they help a veterinarian down the street from us.”
“Yeah, Sunita told me about them, too. There’s only one problem. You know that red-haired girl who freaked out on the bus this morning?”
Josh nods.
“Well, that’s Maggie. And Dr. Mac, the veterinarian, is her grandmother. Plus, wait till you hear what happened in the hallway when I saw her again. I’m sure Maggie hates me now.”
“What happened?”
I tell him about the tutoring mix-up. “Maggie took it the wrong way, and I’m sure she thinks I was trying to insult her.”
Josh shakes his head.
“Josh, you’ve got to help me smooth things over.”
He looks me right in the eye. “Look, Jules, why don’t you try being friendly for a change? Maybe even smile now and then?” he says. “I can’t go on fixing all your problems. You messed up, Jules, so you fix it. I’m going to class.”
Josh disappears down the hall.
Fix it with Maggie? Sure. How am I supposed to do that?
I walk to my next class, and that’s when I see Maggie in the hall, talking to Mr. Hart, my science teacher. He’s got his hands on his hips and is shaking his head. Maggie is holding the shoe box I bumped into on the bus. My math class is just beyond them, so there is no way around. Why is this happening to me again?
I try to walk as far away from them as possible. I practically rub my shoulder against the opposite wall full of lockers to stay clear. I avoid all eye contact. I stare at my feet and put one foot in front of the other. Maybe they won’t even know I’m there. But as I get closer I can hear them. Maggie says something about her project, though I can’t quite hear what. Just as I’m about to pass them, my shirt snags on a locker, holding me in place. I tug myself clear, but it tears a hole in the sleeve and scratches my arm underneath. Ouch.
“Look, Maggie,” Mr. Hart says. “The rest of the class managed to turn in their models on time. I already gave you an extension over spring break. So you turn it in today or you get an F.”
“I told you what happened,” Maggie said. “It wasn’t my fault.” She sounds desperate.
I should just keep going.
Or maybe I could fix this after all. I take a deep breath and walk closer. “It’s true,” I say.
Mr. Hart and Maggie stare at me. Maggie’s eyes grow big and a little wild. She slowly shakes her head back and forth as if that could make me disappear.
I smile, acting friendly like Josh suggested, so Maggie can see I’m trying to help her. They don’t say anything, so I start again. “Mr. Hart, really, it’s true. I saw her project on the bus this morning. It looked great. But then I bumped into her, and her project got kind of crushed. It was my fault. I’m really sorry.”
There, that should fix it. I hold my hand over my torn shirt and try to smile even though my arm hurts.
Mr. Hart lifts the towel, uncovering Maggie’s model. The inside of the box is smeared with black paint. It’s a mess of colored spheres, tape, and tangled fishing line.
“I’m disappointed in you, Maggie. First you tell me you need more time. Then you tell me that a dachshund boarding at your grandmother’s clinic chewed up your solar system model . . .”
Oh no. Maggie must have come up with some other excuse, and now I blew it.
Mr. Hart looks back and forth between us. “And now,” he says, “you’re getting your new friend to cover for you? You really need to take responsibility for your own work, Maggie MacKenzie.”
My smile is frozen on my face. Maggie is going to think I’m smiling because I’m happy she’s in trouble. And Mr. Hart is going to think I’m dishonest and not let me adopt Chewie.
Josh never should have told me to “fix it by being friendly.” Now look what’s happened. I’m just not a smile-and-fix-it kind of girl.
“And what’s this?” Mr. Hart asks, holding up a purple-painted Nerf ball.
“That one is, um, Pluto,” Maggie says.
“You did not do your research, Maggie. Nor were you paying attention in class—or else you’d know that Pluto is no longer a planet.”
Maggie’s shoulders droop.
“So which is it, Maggie?” Mr. Hart says. “Did the dog eat your planets?” He looks at me. I have to get out of here before this gets any worse. “Or are you going to blame it on your new friend?”
“Both,” Maggie says, looking right at me, “and she is not my friend!” She walks to the garbage can and dumps in what remains of her solar system model.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I head to my class. “I’m really sorry.”
“Get away from me,” Maggie says. “And stay away!”
So I go. I go as fast as I can without actually running. I’m late to yet another class, and I definitely did not “fix it.” My chance of ever becoming a Vet Volunteer is over. Especially if Maggie MacKenzie has any say.
Chapter Seven
When we get home, Josh heads inside, and I check the alley behind the store to see if the gray-and-white-striped tabby cat is there. He’s not.
I sit on the back step, waiting, then call, “Here, Tabby, Tabby,” but there is no trace of him.
I put fresh water from the outside spigot in the water bowl. I hope that his torn ear is healing and that he’s all right. With the tabby nowhere in sight, I head upstairs
.
I drop my backpack on the couch next to Josh’s. Sophie is at the kitchen table, drawing. She shows Josh and me her pictures full of butterflies, smiling kids, and flowers. I wish I was still in elementary school. Everything was a lot less complicated back then.
“How was school?” Mom asks.
“So far so good,” says Josh.
“Me too,” Sophie says. “We have a super tall slide on our playground. And I played with a girl named Jasmine.”
I wonder if that’s Sunita’s little sister.
Josh pipes in with, “A kid named David Hutchinson showed me around school. He lives right down the street and he invited me over to his house over the weekend.”
“He did?” I ask.
Josh nods.
How does he do it? How can Josh make friends on just his first day?
“How about you, Jules?” Mom asks.
I can’t tell her all the awful stuff. “It was okay,” I say. I’m not going to mention Maggie. “A girl named Sunita showed me around. Sophie, does Jasmine have a twin brother and a cat named Mittens?”
Sophie shrugs. “I don’t know. Why?”
“Because Sunita has a little sister named Jasmine.”
I look at Josh to see if he’s going to help me out and bring up the subject of Chewie. He’s not. In fact, he looks like he’s enjoying watching me struggle for words. I take a deep breath and continue. “I have a really cool science teacher, Mr. Hart. He has lots of animals in his classroom.” I wait for Mom to look up so I can see how she’s feeling—so I can see if I should tell her more.
“That’s great,” Mom says, busy with the salad she’s making. Now’s not a good time to ask her about Chewie. How am I going to get her permission?
“I knew you would both do just fine,” Mom says, this time looking up. “Do you have any homework?”