“I’m just saying, you don’t have to put up with stuff like that, Mila. It’s just really wrong, you know?”
Maybe I was reading too much into it, but it kind of felt like Samira was saying the whole bus thing was my fault.
“I didn’t ‘put up’ with it, Samira,” I said, my throat tight. “I told Dante to move and he refused. What else should I have done?”
At that moment Callum walked into the band room. Samira gave him a sideways look and flipped her braids over her shoulder.
Callum acted like he didn’t notice either of us. He just walked over to his stand, raked his hair out of his eyes, took out his music and his trumpet, and began blowing scales. Loudly.
I wanted to ignore him the way he was ignoring Samira and me, but it was impossible. He was so there in the band room, the sound of his trumpet just taking over. As if all the air molecules belonged to him.
And here was the strangest part: even though the way he was playing made me feel practically shoved out of the room, it was hard to think of him right then as a rude basketball boy, or one of the jerks on the bus. I mean, obviously, what happened yesterday had happened. Other people had seen it too—Samira, for example.
But listening to Callum play, seeing the sharp concentration in his eyes, I told myself that maybe, deep down, he wasn’t like his stupid friends. He was a serious person. A real musician, who actually deserved to be trumpet section leader.
And according to Zara, Callum liked me, which I didn’t think was true. But could it be possible? Because if Zara was right, it would almost explain why he acted this way—not starting the teasing, not doing very much of it himself, but going along with his dumb friends, so maybe they wouldn’t guess the truth.
If it actually was the truth.
Which I doubted, anyway.
The bell rang for homeroom.
Samira sighed. “Well, I can’t wait around for Ms. Fender,” she said, almost to herself. “I’ll just get the music later, I guess.”
She picked up her backpack to leave the band room. As I followed her out the door and into the hallway, I felt something brush against my back.
No, not my back. Lower than that.
“Hey, Mila,” Callum murmured in my ear. His face was different now. Unserious. “You changed your outfit. Your butt looked nicer in that green sweater.”
HOOPS
I think I may be coming down with something,” I told Max. We were in the lunchroom, both of us getting chicken burritos with extra salsa.
Max sometimes acted like his brain had been watching YouTube instead of listening. “ ‘Coming down with’?”
“Yeah, like I’m getting sick. Sickish. Anyway, I think maybe I’ll just hang out in the library today, instead of going outside.”
“But it’s so nice out. And if you don’t, we won’t see you all day.”
“I know, but…” I shrugged.
Suddenly Max looked at me through his long messy hair. Now he was definitely paying attention.
“Is it about those boys?” he asked.
I nibbled the burrito. “What boys?”
“You know. The boys who did that hug for Omi’s birthday, and then that stuff on the blacktop yesterday. Especially Tobias—”
I swallowed. How much did Max know? He hadn’t seen the hug in the band room, and he hadn’t been on the bus yesterday either. And on the blacktop yesterday at lunch, he’d acted as if he hadn’t even noticed anything.
But of course he would. Max was always on the lookout for teasing ever since last year, when Hunter Schultz called him “gay” and “Maxipad” and a bunch of other things. Until finally I convinced Max to tell Mr. McCabe, who made Hunter’s parents come to school for a conference. For the whole rest of sixth grade, Hunter wasn’t allowed within twenty feet of Max, and so far this year, he was keeping away. Still, I knew Max was jumpy.
“It’s sort of about the boys,” I admitted, licking salsa off my hand. “But also I have cramps.”
I said this because Max always changed the subject whenever Omi, Zara, and I did period talk. But I guess he didn’t believe me this time.
“Because you know I could help you,” Max said as he grabbed a bunch of paper napkins and stuffed some into my hand. “Remember last year with Hunter? And how you wouldn’t let me just hide in the library?”
“Of course I remember. And I’m not hiding—”
“Look, Mila, I’ll come with you if you want to report them. We could do it right now.”
“Thanks, but no,” I said quickly. “And it’s not like that, anyway. I mean, like how it was with you and Hunter. But really, thank you.”
Max scowled as he chomped on an apple.
And now Omi and Zara were zooming toward us.
“Omigod, I’m so nervous I could barf!” Zara yelled. Today her tee said BE DANCED, OR DANCE. Which for a second almost made sense.
“They’re having tryouts in chorus today,” Omi explained. “For solos, right after lunch. And Zara, please save your barf for outside.”
“I’ll try,” Zara said. “But let’s hurry up and get out of here!” She clutched my arm with sweaty fingers. “Mila, say something positive.”
“Okay, I’m positive you’ll do great,” I declared as I took a big messy bite of burrito.
“You are? Really? Tell me why!”
“Because you have a beautiful voice, and everyone knows it. And if you don’t get a solo, I’ll boycott the concert.”
“So will I,” Max said. “We’ll carry signs—”
“We’ll walk out of homeroom,” Omi added.
Zara burst into nervous giggles. “You guys. You’re the best. Just keep distracting me, okay? But only say positive stuff.”
She was still clutching my arm as she led us out the lunchroom door onto the blacktop. I had to admit it felt great to be in the warm sunshine, not hiding by myself in the library. After all, who knew how many more nice, sunny days were left this fall? Already the nights were getting chilly, and leaves were starting to turn yellow and orange.
The four of us were headed over to our usual place—over by the pebbles—when all of a sudden Zara stopped. “Hey, you know what? I think I’ll shoot hoops today.”
“You mean play basketball?” I said. “With the boys?”
“Why not?” Zara was taller than all of them, and she was a good athlete. Really good, actually. “I’m just feeling so hyper right now! Maybe it’ll help to burn off some energy.”
“Okay, but I just… don’t know if they’d play with a girl,” I said.
Zara looked indignant. “Why wouldn’t they?”
“I just… think they can be weird. About girls.” My face was starting to heat up.
“Well, I don’t think they’re weird. And you’re supposed to be positive, Mila, remember? Anyway, if I don’t run around, I think I’ll go nuts!”
“We could do something else,” Max said. He shot me a look. “Maybe join that untag game—?”
“Good idea,” I agreed quickly.
But Zara was already doing small jumps on the balls of her feet, like she was warming up for basketball. “That tag game, or whatever it is, is extremely stupid,” she told Max. “No one can even remember the rules. And only the nerds are doing it, anyway.”