I burst out laughing.
Seriously? This was the reason for the hug? Their stupid basketball game?
No, it was beyond stupid. But also, in a way I couldn’t explain, a huge relief.
“Tobias, my sweater can’t possibly make anyone score baskets,” I said.
“No, no, Mila, I really think it does,” Tobias said. But the way he said this, it seemed like more of a question. Like he was trying to convince himself. “What’s it made out of, anyway?”
“I think it’s mohair,” Omi said.
“Mole hair?” Tobias asked.
“No, mo. Whatever that is.” She laughed.
Of course I knew it wasn’t mohair. It was something synthetic that you could throw in the washing machine. But that probably meant it was cheap, so I didn’t say it.
“Well, whatever your sweater is, Mila, can I please have a hug?” Tobias asked quickly.
By now he seemed like he’d changed his mind and just wanted to get away. I could see him glancing at the boys gathering under the basketball hoop, waiting for him to start their game. And then Leo made a hurry up arm motion at Tobias: Come on, we’re waiting.
“No, Tobias, you can’t,” I said. “Sorry.”
He winced.
I couldn’t help it; I felt sorry for him.
Without thinking, I held out my left arm. “But I guess it’s okay if you touch the sleeve,” I added.
“Awesome,” Tobias said. He rubbed my elbow like it was a genie lamp.
But then, before I knew it was happening, he threw his arms around my chest and squeezed so hard that for a second I lost my breath.
Under the basketball hoop, the boys cheered.
A moth fluttered inside my stomach. Two moths.
“Thanks,” Tobias muttered. He ran off to join the basketball boys, who slapped his back and said things I couldn’t hear.
Now Zara and Max had joined us. Although Max was hanging back behind Zara, like maybe he might want to make an escape.
“What was that about?” Zara asked. She made the sort of face you do when something smells bad.
Omi shrugged. “The boys think Mila’s sweater is good luck.”
“For basketball,” I added quickly. “It’s stupid.”
Zara snorted. “Why would they think that?”
I tried to look at Max, but he’d turned away, watching something or someone across the blacktop.
“Who knows,” I said. “They have this dumb superstition.”
“Or maybe Tobias just likes you, Mila,” Omi said in a teasing voice.
“No, Callum likes Mila,” Zara declared.
“Me?” Where had she gotten that from? I made a noise like pffft. “Zara, I’m positive he doesn’t, okay? Callum’s a total jerk to me in band. But even if he did, what does that have to do with Tobias?”
“Maybe they both like you,” Omi said. She was grinning now.
“Okay, that’s crazy,” I said. “Anyhow, I told Tobias he couldn’t hug me, but he did it anyway.”
Zara kicked some pebbles. “Well, Mila, no one can hug you if you don’t let them,” she said, not smiling, not looking at me.
BUS
Most mornings Mom drove me to school on her way to work, and I took the school bus home. I wasn’t crazy about the bus—it was loud; sometimes there were fights; often there was teasing—but it was the fastest way I could get home to my dog Delilah, who desperately needed to pee.
And that afternoon when I got on Bus 6 West, I felt nothing but relief. It had been a long, strange day—the hug in the band room, the explanation from Tobias, but then the way he hugged me after I’d said no. Plus Zara, who’d acted so funny with me at lunch. The more I thought about it, the less I could explain exactly what was weird about her behavior—just like usual, she’d complained about her mom, sung a song she was writing (called “Cheater”), and insisted she’d never get a solo in chorus (despite us swearing she had a great voice). But still, every time Zara’s eyes met mine, I almost felt something chilly pass over me, like how seeing a ghost is supposed to give you goose bumps.
So it was a relief to finally get on the bus. And because I was the first one, I took my favorite seat for zoning out: last row, left window.
Today this was a mistake.
“Hey, thanks, Mila, you saved us a seat!” Leo yelled out as he and the basketball boys made it down the bus aisle.
My heart was thumping as I stared out the window, pretending not to hear.
“I’m sitting next to Mila, okay?” Dante said. Although it wasn’t clear who he was asking. He sat down heavily, not taking off his backpack, which jabbed into my side. “You’re okay with this, Mila, right?”
“Why wouldn’t she be?” Leo said. “She likes us.” He took the seat in front of me, turned around, and grinned. “You do like us, Mila, don’t you?”
Three rows in front, Annabel Cho and Samira Spurlock were watching. So was Hunter Schultz, who’d teased Max last year until Max told the assistant principal.
“I really don’t care what you do,” I muttered. “Any of you.”
“See? She’s okay with it. I told you,” Leo said to Tobias, who was smiling, even though his neck was turning red.
Callum took the seat directly across the aisle. His floppy brown hair covered his eyes, and he didn’t say anything.
Annabel whispered something to Samira, who nodded.
The bus started.
As soon we pulled out of the parking lot and turned the corner down Main Street, I could feel Dante’s shoulder bump against mine. He was wearing track shorts; his legs were spread in front of him in a forty-five-degree angle, so he was taking two-thirds of the seat.
This definitely felt wrong and unfair. I mean, all I even knew about Dante Paul was that his family was from Haiti and he was supposed to be some sort of computer genius. And now his bare legs kept brushing against my jeans.
I pretended not to notice for the first block. And the second. And the third.
But when the bus hit a giant pothole, his arm flew across my chest.
“Hey, Dante, watch your arm,” I said. “And please move over, okay?”
Dante looked surprised. Maybe too surprised. “You want me to move over?”
“Yeah. We’re supposed to be sharing this seat equally, aren’t we? And I’m getting squished.”
“Oh. Sorry,” he said.
Right away I thought: Okay, Mila, now you’re being paranoid. The seat isn’t wide enough; he can’t help it if he smooshes into you. And that pothole wasn’t his fault.
Except the thing was, he didn’t budge. His legs stayed spread and his shoulder kept bumping.
Bump. Bump. Bump.
Every bump seemed to burn my shoulder.
And just as we were pulling up to my bus stop, I turned to him. “Excuse me, Dante,” I said. My voice was squeaking. “I’m getting off now. So you need to stand up, okay?”
“What?”
I raised my voice, but it didn’t just get louder. It got squeakier. “I mean to let me pass. We’re at my stop now—?”
Leo turned around. “That’s okay. Mila, you can get past him. Just squeeze.”