TRUTH
The way seventh grade worked, you were on an academic “team” with kids who took the same language. I took Spanish, Zara and Omi took French, and Max took Latin. Also, I was the only one of us in band. And what this meant was that we were together—the four of us—exactly one period a day, which was lunch.
So that whole morning, while I basically sleepwalked though science, math, ELA, and Spanish, I couldn’t stop replaying the scene in the band room. The whole thing had felt strange and creepy, so why hadn’t I just walked out of the room? Or even thought of a lame comeback (No hug, but I’ll play you “Happy Birthday” on my trumpet)? Why hadn’t I challenged Leo’s birthday in the first place? The more I thought about it, the more obvious it was the boys had been lying.
And why hadn’t I told Zara the truth? A big part of me was furious for not talking. When something happens, and it’s weird or embarrassing, you’re supposed to tell your best friends, aren’t you? Or at least feel like you can tell them. So why had I made myself shut up in the hallway with Zara? Because it wasn’t as if I’d done anything I should be ashamed about, if you didn’t count stupidly agreeing to a hug, which really, I’d needed to do to escape the band room.
What I just kept telling myself was that I was trying to protect Zara’s feelings. Because the two of us were such close friends; so obviously, I knew how much she liked Leo, how she worried he didn’t like her back. I also knew that underneath the loud, jokey, songwriting Zara was the super-sensitive Zara, who cried at Disney movies and had this crazy idea that she was ugly (too tall, too skinny, too something). And if I’d told her that after hugging Omi yesterday, Leo (for some mysterious reason) had wanted to hug me, she’d definitely feel terrible about that. So it was really the truth—or at least part of the truth—that I’d stopped talking because I didn’t want to hurt her.
Also, there was this other thing about Zara: if her feelings were hurt, she could be nasty. Afterward she always apologized, but she couldn’t unsay what she’d just said.
Like, one time this past summer when we were at the town pool together, she refused to come out of the bathroom, because Leo was swimming in the deep section, and she didn’t want him to see her in a bathing suit.
“He’ll think I’m a toothpick, Mila,” she said. She laughed, but in a scared sort of way.
“Aw, come on, who cares what he thinks,” I said.
“I do.” Her face crumpled. “And Mila, can you please try not to be so immature. Or maybe just fake it, like you usually do, okay?”
Which was totally unfair, and we both knew it.
Of course, right away she told me she was sorry, and I forgave her. But still.
Zara was a fun, caring friend, but she was capable of meanness. And after the hug business in the band room, maybe I just didn’t want to risk another weird conversation.
LUCK
The whole morning, I watched the basketball boys out of the corner of my eye. It was strange how none of them looked at me, like maybe the hug hadn’t even happened. The other possibility was that the hug had happened, but it was just a meaningless blip in their day, and they’d already forgotten about it. After all, I told myself, these boys had pretty much ignored me before this morning, so maybe they’d just ignore me again from now on.
Except one time, in the hallway right before third period, I thought Dante might have bumped into me on purpose. Maybe. The halls were crowded, and there was always jostling and shoving by the staircase, so I wasn’t positive he could have avoided it.
But when I looked at him, I saw a little half-smile creeping across his face. Although possibly he was just thinking about a private joke.
I mean, I wasn’t sure he was smiling about bumping into me. I wasn’t even totally sure he was smiling. Or that he realized he’d bumped into me.
But afterward I had small random motions in my stomach, almost like hiccups.
Finally, the bell rang for lunch, and I found Omi in the cafeteria line to get yogurt. She lived with her grandparents, who always made a giant fuss about birthdays and holidays, and as the two of us walked onto the blacktop, Omi was describing the birthday feast her abuela had made her yesterday, all the presents she’d gotten, how her cake had the kind of candles with sparklers.
“You’re so lucky, Omi,” I told her.
She smiled. “I know, right? And they’re already planning my quinceañera.”
“They are? But that’s three years from now!”
“Well, my abuela is very organized. She’s already picked out her dress.”
I tried, but I couldn’t imagine this. Our house seemed like such chaos compared to Omi’s, like we went from day to day, meal to meal, with barely any plans at all. I knew Mom was working crazy hard all the time, and even so, we could only afford the cheap cereal. So it’s not that I blamed her for any of it.
But I couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to live in Omi’s house, with two grown-ups paying attention to every little thing you wanted or did. Planning parties for you years ahead of time.
Would that be better? Or hard, but in a different way?
“Ooh, Mila, I almost forgot, look at this!” Omi reached into her pocket, opened her hand, and showed me a tiny red feather. “It’s from a scarlet tanager. Tía Rosario found it in the Dominican Republic and just brought it back for me. Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Yeah,” I said, wondering what it was like having aunts who brought you bird feathers. Also being the sort of person who collected them.
Suddenly Tobias ran over to us.
“Hey,” he said, so loudly it made me flinch. “Hi, Omi. Hi, Mila.”
“Hi,” Omi said in the floaty voice she was using lately when she spoke to boys. She slipped the feather back into her pocket.
I snuck a look at Tobias. He was smaller than the other basketball boys, skinnier, with dark fuzz on his upper lip and a few pink zits on his forehead. Tobias played trombone in band, but he was the only basketball boy who hadn’t been in the band room this morning. So I wasn’t sure how to respond. If I should respond at all.
And now he was smiling. Not at Omi. At me.
“So, Mila, can I get a hug?” he asked.
“Excuse me?” I said coldly, pretending not to notice Omi’s surprise.
“You know, like you gave Leo.” His mouth was still smiling, but his eyes were darting around, as if he wanted to know who was watching. And his voice wobbled a little. Was he nervous about something?
Omi looked confused. “Mila, wait. You hugged Leo…?”
“Because he told me it was his birthday.” I could feel my armpits start to drip. “Which was a lie. And he asked for a birthday hug, which I’m pretty mad about, actually. So I don’t understand why you want a hug, Tobias. Unless it’s your fake birthday too.”
“Nah,” he said. A blush was creeping up his neck. “It’s just for luck.”
“Luck?” Omi repeated.
“Yeah, for our game. Yesterday when we all hugged you”—Tobias nodded at Omi—“the guys who touched Mila’s sweater scored a personal best. So we decided that Mila’s green fuzz was magic. Or something.”