“Well, let’s just see if he’s available.” Ms. Kurtzburger rose again and knocked on a door a few feet down the hall. “Okay if I send in Mila Brennan? One of Lori’s.”
“Sure!” a cheerful male voice boomed into the hallway.
Still time to escape, I told myself. Just go!
But I walked down the hall and into Mr. Dolan’s tiny office. He was a young, thick-looking man with a buzz cut and a school ring. On his walls were signed posters of baseball players, and his small gray sofa had a blue-and-orange pillow that said CHICAGO BEARS.
“How may I help you today?” Mr. Dolan asked. His eyes were crinkled, and he was smiling.
Run!
“Um,” I said. “Actually, I was hoping to see Ms. Maniscalco. I didn’t know she’d be leaving—”
“Neither did she! But baby Ryan decided to make an early appearance.” He grinned. “So what’s going on? Mila,” he added, to show that he knew my name.
My throat felt as if I’d swallowed glass. Or maybe pebbles. “It’s a little hard to talk about.”
“But that’s what you’re here for, right? So why not try me.” He gestured toward the sofa.
By now I was trapped. So I perched on the edge of the thin foam sofa cushion. “Okay. Well. Actually, I’m being teased. Sort of.”
“Sort of teased, or teased?”
“Well, it’s not regular teasing.”
“How so?”
“It’s hard to explain.”
“Okay,” Mr. Dolan said. “I’m sorry to hear this, Mila. Can I ask by who?”
“I’d rather not give out names.”
“Fair enough. Although that does make my job harder.” He leaned one elbow on the arm of his swivel chair and rested his cheek on his fist. This was obviously his listening face. “Can you tell me anything about the kids doing the teasing?”
“Not really.” I cleared my throat.
“Well, Mila, it’s a little difficult—”
“They’re boys.”
“Gotcha. And what are these boys teasing you about? If you don’t mind telling me.”
“Um. My clothes.”
“Your clothes?” He glanced at my red tablecloth shirt.
“Yeah, basically,” I said.
“Are they saying anything in particular?”
“No. Just about… my clothes.”
He nodded slowly. “Okay, Mila. I guess you understand that when there’s a conflict, normally what I do is bring all the kids involved into my office, have a friendly sit-down, talk it over, and work things out. But if a student tells me she doesn’t want to identify all the parties to the conflict—”
“I’d rather not.”
“—then it’s a little hard for me to help. You understand that, Mila?”
By this time, I was getting annoyed with how often he said the word Mila. Like maybe he thought if he repeated my name enough times, he’d hypnotize me into trusting him better.
“I guess,” I said.
“So here’s the best I can do, under the circumstances. You’re aware, I bet, that seventh grade boys can be very immature. They act like big shots, some of them, but they can say some gross and stupid things. And the truth is, they’ll pretty much tease anyone or anything that moves.”
Yes, but I know what teasing is. This is different.
Mr. Dolan leaned toward me; his swivel chair squeaked. “It doesn’t mean these boys are gross and stupid inside; mostly they’re just showing off for their friends. So if that’s what’s going on, Mila, I can tell you from experience that the best course of action is to try to ignore them.”
But that’s impossible. They won’t let me ignore them!
I nodded.
“Ignoring isn’t easy, I know.” He smiled. “But I promise you, it can be very effective.”
“Okay. I’ll try.”
“Good.” Now Mr. Dolan rose, dusting off invisible crumbs from his pants. “Well, Mila, I’m always right here if you want to chat. Let me know how things go, okay?”
I got up too. “I will,” I said. “Thank you. Um.”
“Yes, Mila?”
I felt my face on fire. “Do you know when Ms. Maniscalco will be back?”
“You mean back from maternity leave?”
“Yeah. Yes.”
“Three months,” Mr. Dolan answered.
CHAIRS
Ms. Fender was standing in the hallway outside the band room, chatting with Mr. Broadwater, the orchestra teacher. Which meant she wasn’t inside the band room. Which meant I didn’t want to go inside the band room either.
So I hung out in front of the band room door, tying my sneaker laces. Then untying them. Then triple-knotting them.
Ugh. They’re so dirty and frayed. I really need to ask Mom to buy me new laces. Maybe if we go shopping this weekend, like she promised. Although she said she might have to work—
Finally Ms. Fender noticed me. “Mila? You should be inside, warming up. I’ll be there in a second.”
“Oh, okay,” I said.
Please, please hurry.
I crossed the buzzing band room. Some kids were doing scales, some were getting their music arranged on their stands, but most were chatting and laughing. I took my seat next to Callum, who was leaning behind him to say something to Dante.
I took my trumpet out of its case. It looked smudgy, so I wiped it with the little gray cloth. Wipe, wipe, wipe. Wiping was fascinating and important.
“Hey, Mila,” Callum said.
Wipe, wipe, wipe.
“Mila.”
Wipe—
“Mila. Where did you go at lunch?”
“How is that your business?”
“It’s not. Are you mad at us?”
Wipe.
“Please don’t be mad, okay? We were just fooling around.”
“You should really have a sense of humor,” Dante said.
Oh, so he was in this conversation too?
“For your information, I do have a sense of humor,” I said. “A great one, in fact. But that stupid hug business isn’t funny. I’m getting really sick of it, and I want you to stop, okay? All of you. Including Leo and Tobias.”
“Okay,” Callum said.
What?
He said okay.
That was it? All I had to do was say the word “stop,” and then he’d say “okay,” and then all this horrible not-just-teasing stuff would be over? And now everything would be going back to normal, at lunch and with my friends?
It was almost too good to believe!
Why hadn’t I figured this out before?
As I put away my cloth and set up “Pirate Medley” on my music stand, I couldn’t stop grinning. THE WEIRDNESS WAS OVER NOW. HALLELUJAH!
And then I noticed that Callum’s chair had inched closer to mine. Maybe he hadn’t even realized it.
Whatever. I definitely wasn’t going to start a fight with him about floor space now that he’d agreed to stop being a jerk. I scooched my chair six inches to the right.
“Hey,” Rowan Crawley protested. “You’re crowding, Mila.”
“I am? Sorry.”