Claudia Makes Up Her Mind

  I was overthinking again.

  I had to talk to him. Now.

  I slid along the bleacher seats, closer to Josh’s Speed Chess tournament.

  I didn’t have to wait long.

  “Yyyyyyes! Checkmate!”

  Josh leaped out of his seat, his fist thrust in the air. (How modest.)

  “One point for Orange!” Mr. Kingbridge shouted through his megaphone.

  “All right, Josh!” I shouted.

  Josh took a bow in my direction.

  I gestured toward the space next to me on the bleachers.

  Josh looked left and right, then pointed to himself with an exaggerated gesture and mouthed, “Me?”

  You bet. And now! I wanted to say.

  Instead, I just nodded.

  Josh bounded up the bleacher steps and sat next to me. “I slaughtered the guy,” he announced. “And he’s in eighth grade.”

  “Great,” I said. “So, you’re talking to me?”

  “Talking?”

  “Yeah. I mean, we’ve barely said a word to each other since we won our race. So … hi.”

  Josh gulped. “Right. Hi. Well, I guess it’s been — I’ve been — with the — and the — you know …”

  His voice trailed off. He gave me a sheepish look.

  Together we blurted out, “So, how about those Mets?”

  We both started laughing.

  “You seem nervous, Josh,” I said.

  “Me, nevous? Nerver!” Josh shot back. “I mean …”

  “You haven’t come near me in days.”

  “Why should I come near you?” Josh winced. “I didn’t mean that. I meant, I haven’t had the need to — and Mark —”

  “I thought you were mad at me. Or scared or something.”

  “Scared? Don’t be ridiculous. I mean, mad is ridiculous too. Scared or mad.” Josh’s foot was tapping like crazy. “Well, maybe just mad. You know what I mean. Why are you asking me so many questions?”

  “What questions? I haven’t asked you any —”

  “Yes! Okay? The answer is yes!”

  “The answer to what?”

  “I like you! All right? Are you happy? I think about you all the time! I’d kiss the ground you walk on if it wouldn’t ruin my orthodontia. Is that why you called me up here? To humiliate me?”

  “Humiliate you? Is that the way you feel?” I asked.

  “No!” Josh declared. “Actually, I feel great. I really do!”

  “Well, so do I!”

  Josh looked stunned. “You do?”

  “Of course I do.”

  It was the truth. I felt as if I were flying.

  “You mean, you … you don’t think I’m, like, a total dork?”

  “No. I’ve never thought that, Josh.”

  “Because, I don’t know if you know this, and you’re probably going to laugh at me, and it’s okay if you do because I know it sounds stupid, but I’ve liked you from the moment I saw the back of your head.”

  I felt myself blushing. “What did you do when I turned around?”

  “I got over it.”

  I pretended to be angry. I gave him a push.

  But I felt absolutely electric inside.

  “Joke!” Josh exclaimed. “Look, you don’t have to take this seriously, okay? We can be the way we’ve always been. I’m not going to go psycho on you — you know, camp out on your lawn, make crank calls to Mark or anything —”

  “Josh, what are you talking about?”

  “I knew I should have kept my mouth shut,” Josh barreled on. “Shira and Joanna and Jeannie were wrong. They said I should tell you everything, but I said no. Why make your life more complicated? I mean, you and Mark, Mark and you, fine. I can deal with it.”

  He didn’t know.

  “Josh. Slow down. Mark and I broke up.”

  Josh stared at me, dumbfounded, as if I’d just spoken in Greek. “What?”

  “I thought you knew.”

  “Uh-uh.” A smile crept across his face. “Was it because of me?”

  “Well … not exactly.”

  “That’s fine. ‘Not exactly’ is fine. I’ll take it.” Josh swallowed hard. He looked me squarely in the eye. “So, what does this mean?”

  “I don’t know, Josh. I guess that’s kind of what I wanted to talk about.”

  “Can you and me … you and I … be, you know, more than just friend and friend?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. You can’t just declare it. It sort of has to develop.”

  “Okay. Can we try?”

  “I guess.”

  “I mean, it might make things a little complicated if you go back to eighth grade —”

  Clunk.

  “Ugh, did you have to remind me?”

  “Sorry! I didn’t mean to upset —” Josh cut himself off. “Wait. What did you mean, ‘remind you’? Don’t tell me. You are?”

  “Are what?”

  “Going back.”

  “No!”

  “No, you’re not?”

  “No! I mean, no, I don’t know!”

  Suddenly all the Color War noise was crowding in on me. Screams and cheers and thuds and squeaks and bullhorn voices …

  “Can we walk?” I asked.

  “Sure.”

  Josh and I grabbed our jackets. Soon we were strolling in the school parking lot, within view of the outdoor Color War activities on the playing field.

  “I’m supposed to know by now,” I said. “Tomorrow’s the big meeting with Mrs. Amer and my parents. What am I going to say? I can’t make up my mind. What do you think I should do?”

  “Me?”

  “Sure. Everyone else has given me an opinion. I might as well hear yours.”

  Josh fell silent for a moment. We paced between the cars. I could see one of the teachers giving us a wary look, but I ignored it.

  “Okay, two things,” Josh finally said. “One. Do you think you can do it? Two. Will it make you happy to do it? If you can say yes to both, then go to eighth grade.”

  “That’s not an opinion!”

  “You don’t need another one. This is your decision to make.”

  “You sound like Stacey.”

  “Well, Stacey’s right.”

  I sighed. Josh was right too. No one had phrased it quite the way he had. No one had made the questions so clear.

  “Okay, question one.” I thought hard for awhile. “I guess I can catch up. If I work incredibly hard. With tutors. All the time.”

  Josh shrugged. “You’re no dummy, Claudia. And your friends’ll be there to help. They’re smart too.”

  “Okay, then, number two. Will I be happy? How can I? I’ll be losing you guys — you and Jeannie and Shira and Joanna.”

  “Look, when you were sent back a grade, your eighth-grade friends were there for you, weren’t they?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, we’re not going anywhere. If you move up, we’ll be there for you too.”

  I almost choked up. I had to swallow a big lump.

  Josh was looking at me calmly. Not a trace of nervousness. I believed what he said. I should have believed it all along. But somehow, hearing it from him and seeing his face made it all seem real.

  Suddenly I felt as if a tremendous metal clamp had been loosened from my shoulders.

  “So?” Josh said.

  “Well, yes to one and yes to two, I guess.”

  Josh gave me a sad half smile. “Then I guess your decision is made.”

  I nodded slowly. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

  “Yo, Claudia! Orange rules!”

  “See you outside, Claudia?”

  “O-range! O-range! O-range!”

  “Go blue!”

  “Boo Blue!”

  “All ri-i-i-i-i-ight, White!”

  “Orange you glad you’re not Orange?”

  The voice were echoing up and down the hallways. Heading toward the gym for the final Color War events. To me, they were like a tape. A tape playing in some distant r
oom. I wasn’t really there.

  I was on my way to Mrs. Amer’s office.

  Mom and Dad were probably already there, waiting. So was Mr. Kingbridge. He had insisted on being involved with my decision.

  I felt as if I were heading for some underground spy meeting to decide the fate of the world.

  Which, in a funny way, was true.

  True for my world.

  I learned another word today, from Mary Anne. Stoic. People used to describe Mimi with that word, and I always thought it meant “old.” But it doesn’t. It means “not showing your true feelings.”

  Well, some of my friends had been pretty stoic when I’d told them about my decision. They hadn’t tried to change my mind. They hadn’t cried or yelled at me. In fact, everyone had hugged me and said I’d done the right thing. Even Mark.

  After school they’d all gathered around my locker to wish me luck. I smiled stoically and marched to the guidance office.

  Now, as I approached it, I was having second thoughts. And third and fourth thoughts.

  I felt my body temperature drop as I neared Mrs. Amer’s door. Go for it, Kishi! I told myself.

  “Claudia, hello!” called Mrs. Amer. “Have a seat.”

  Four familiar pairs of eyes were staring at me. Mom’s. Dad’s. Mrs. Amer’s. Mr. Kingbridge’s. Everyone was present and ready.

  I sat down. I forced a smile.

  “Well, Claudia,” Mrs. Amer began, “I know you have had quite a week, but … here we all are.”

  “Uck.” I meant to say, “Uh-huh,” but my mouth felt like cardboard.

  “Would you like a glass of water?” Mr. Kingbridge asked me.

  “I’m going to do it!” I blurted out. “Switch, I mean. To eighth grade.”

  My dad looked as if he were about to applaud. My mom was beaming. Mr. Kingbridge looked shocked.

  But Mrs. Amer just nodded cautiously. “I know there are a lot of us here and only one of you. I don’t want you to feel intimidated into doing this, Claudia. It’s a big choice and it has to be completely yours.”

  “It is! You don’t know how many ways I’ve been thinking about this. With my left brain. With my right brain. In my sleep. I’m ready. Totally. I’m going to do it, Mrs. Amer. And I’m going to do it well.”

  There.

  I’d said it.

  No turning back now.

  Eighth grade or bust.

  I thought I was going to fall off the chair.

  “Whew,” said Mr. Kingbridge.

  Mrs. Amer was grinning. “I know you’ll do it well, dear. Mr. Kingbridge and I have no doubt. Nor do your parents.”

  “None at all,” my father said softly.

  I don’t know why, but that made me want to cry.

  But I didn’t. I was stoic.

  “The marking period ends soon, so that’ll be a natural time to switch,” Mrs. Amer said. “But we can start the tutoring right away.” She pushed a sheet of paper across the table toward my parents and me. On it was a tentative tutoring schedule. All my eighth-grade teachers-to-be had signed up to help me. “Will this be okay for you?”

  The tutoring sessions were mostly after school and on Saturdays. I’d have to cut down on baby-sitting, but at least I wouldn’t have to miss BSC meetings. My parents and I agreed to the schedule.

  When we were finished, everyone rose and shook hands. I felt as if we’d just signed an international peace treaty.

  “Congratulations, Your Majesty,” Mr. Kingbridge said with a broad smile. “Now, shall we return to the festivities?”

  “Yes, my loyal slave!” I replied.

  My mom looked mortified. “Claudia!”

  “Next week the royal treatment ends,” I explained. “I have to live it up now.”

  Dad chuckled. Mr. Kingbridge gave a good-natured shrug.

  We said our good-byes. I said mine very quickly.

  I had to run out before I changed my mind.

  On the way to the gym, I could feel myself becoming lighter. By the time I reached it I could barely feel my feet touching the ground.

  Stacey was the first to see me. She ran to me. “Did you do it?”

  “Yup.”

  “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” She almost broke my eardrums.

  We didn’t have time to chat. I was scheduled for MUSIKWIZ, which involved listening to a song and guessing the name of the group.

  I lost that one to this genius sixth-grader who plays in a garage band.

  But I won the Snickers-eating competition (which was my idea, of course) and also a pin-the-guitar-on-Elvis contest, except that was called a tie even though Alan Gray was peeking under his blindfold and I protested the decision.

  I was so-o-o-o mad. The score was close. Too close to be jeopardized by a cheater.

  I paced in a corner of the gym. I was eyeing Alan, who was now rummaging through his gym bag by the door.

  Josh found me in my corner. “What’s up?” he asked.

  “Alan cheated,” I grumped. “If he costs us the win, I will kill him.”

  “Will Alan Gray please report to the sprint line?” Mr. Kingbridge called from outside.

  “Don’t worry about him,” Josh said.

  He swung his backpack around and pulled out a pair of grungy-looking track shoes.

  On them were scribbled the words A. GRAY.

  My jaw fell open. “You didn’t!”

  Josh nodded. “I saw what he did to you.”

  Alan was dumping the contents of his gym bag onto the ground. Candy wrappers and baseball cards flew everywhere.

  Mr. Kingbridge’s voice boomed: “Alan, the sprint is about to —”

  “Coming!” Alan shouted.

  He clomped outside to the starting line.

  In his old, clunky work boots.

  Josh looked at me. I looked at him.

  “That was an awful, sneaky trick,” I said.

  Josh smiled. “I know.”

  We burst out laughing. Howling. We sank to the floor, leaning against each other.

  When we calmed down, I leaned my head on Josh’s shoulder and we gazed into the gym. We were sitting against a tile wall in a secluded area on the side of the bleachers.

  “Well,” I said, half sighing.

  Josh nodded. “Well.”

  I sat up and smiled at him. “So … what do we do now?”

  “We? You mean, like, we in terms of us?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t know,” Josh said with a shrug. “What do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

  “This.” Josh leaned closer to me, as if he’d noticed something odd on my face.

  But then he kept leaning. Until his face was so close I couldn’t focus.

  Then I felt his lips softly press mine.

  I was shocked.

  Stunned.

  But I didn’t want to move an inch.

  Instead, I closed my eyes.

  And I realized that all my decisions over the last twenty-four hours had been good ones.

  All of them.

  Josh pulled gently away. “You don’t mind?”

  “No.”

  “So does this mean we can have, like, a date? Maybe … tonight, after your meeting? We can get into a PG-13 movie. They never check me.”

  “Sure.”

  Josh was grinning. He wasn’t the only one. So were Shira, Joanna, and Jeannie, directly across the gym from us. They were looking away, giggling. Trying to make it seem as if they hadn’t noticed a thing.

  Josh saw them too. We waved. They waved back and scooted away.

  Josh and I stayed where we were until the contests were over. Soon all three classes were filing into the gym. Mr. Kingbridge, clutching a clipboard, walked to a lectern that had been set up under one of the baskets. The other teachers surrounded him.

  “Attention, please,” Mr. Kingbridge announced over the mike. “I have the final scores.”

  Squeals. Yelps. Shushes.

  “White, sixt
y-five … Blue, seventy-one …”

  A huge cheer went up from the eighth-graders. (Well, not all of them. Alan Gray was sitting by himself against the door, scowling.)

  Mr. Kingbridge quieted everyone down, then continued, “And Orange … seventy-three!”

  Josh and I practically leaped to the ceiling. We wrapped our arms around each other, screaming at the top of our lungs. The gym practically shook with cheering.

  “Attention!” Mr. Kingbridge boomed. “Ms. Streeter is here from the Stoneybrook Chamber of Commerce. She has a check, which will be presented to the orange team’s chosen organization, the Stoneybrook Adult Literacy Program. To accept this check on behalf of the seventh grade, I would like to invite to the lecturn someone who defined the spirit of this Color War, whose work for the orange team was absolutely tireless … your Queen of the Seventh Grade, Claudia Kishi!”

  “Yyyyyaay!” Josh shouted. “CLAU-DI-AHHH! CLAU-DI-AHHH! CLAU-DI-AHHH!”

  Instantly everyone was chanting. It was so embarrassing. I must have looked like the inside of a watermelon.

  Oh, well, at least red goes with orange.

  I took the check from Ms. Streeter, thanked her, and waved it above my head to the crowd.

  I realized this was my last act as Queen.

  My stomach sank.

  Someone started playing a rock CD over the loudspeakers. A tune by Blade, one of my favorite groups.

  Now everyone was chanting my name to the beat of the song.

  I could see my BSC friends in the center of the bleachers, jumping and cheering. Kristy was pumping her fist in the air. Mary Anne was blubbering away.

  Shira, Joanna, and Jeannie were busy organizing a kick line in the bleachers with a bunch of seventh-graders.

  Mark, in the top row with his buddies, was grinning at me proudly.

  Josh was not where we’d been sitting anymore. I spotted him by the door to the hallway. Smiling. Dancing.

  I laughed out loud.

  Okay, so I’d miss being Queen. I’d miss the attention.

  But I could deal with it.

  I tucked the check into my pocket. And I began to dance too.

  * * *

  Dear Reader,

  I’ve received lots of letters from readers who are having friendship problems, especially problems involving having two very different groups of friends. Kids want to know how they can stay friends with classmates who are different from each other or who do not know each other well. Claudia thinks she’s going to face this very problem in Claudia Makes Up Her Mind, but she finds that she doesn’t have to choose one group of friends over the other. By making friends in the seventh grade, she has simply widened her circle of friends.