The cafeteria is not a good place for secrets because it’s one of the biggest rooms at school. It’s also the same place we have gym class and Jump Rope for Heart assemblies, and every word echoes off the walls. The tables are long and brown, and somehow feel lonely even when we are all squished together side by side. Is there anyone you can tell all your secrets to? My old friends and I used to tell them to each other at recess. I’m really starting to wish I didn’t tell them my secret about being a boy. Maybe some things should just stay secret.
Back when things were okay, Courtney, Gina, Mary, and I would sit by this big maple tree in the little woods behind school. We called it our Secrets Tree. Sometimes we would pull petals off of nearby daisies to ask, “He loves me? He loves me not?” I’m not sure any of us knew who “He” was. But now, the girls kick boys’ legs under the tables. Their feet sometimes bounce the surface, which makes it hard to have a steady hand for drawing. I bet people don’t ask daisies for love advice anymore.
The fifth grade isn’t like other years. We used to have burping contests with boys and girls together. Now burping contests are boys-only and my old friends have squeaky new laughs. The girls laugh extra hard when Dylan Beaman pops his potato chip bag super-duper loud. He presses into the yellow plastic with all his strength until the air jumps out real fast and makes a sound as like thunder. He always bites his lip and smiles afterward, like he knows he can do big things in this world. Do you ever accidentally laugh when you don’t really mean it? I hate to say it, but sometimes I giggle with everyone at Dylan Beaman’s pop-sound too, even when it hurts my ears more than my plastic headband.
But today was special. Dylan Beaman opened his potato chip bag like a normal person, and then he actually shared some of the insides with me. That was nice, because I didn’t have anything good in my lunch to trade with him, like one of those juices in the shiny pouches or a Ring Pop. I took the tiniest chip, but it still tasted delicious. To top it all off, he then said, “You can join in on the burping contest if you want to.” Can you believe it? He for sure knows that it’s only boys now. For a second, it felt like he really got me.
Of course, all my old friends turned their heads when I followed Dylan to the other side of the long table. I couldn’t hear what they were gossiping about, but I didn’t even care. I kept my eyes on Dylan’s American flag shirt and noticed that he got the tiniest haircut last night. The shaved sides were smoother than ever when he looked behind his shoulder to make sure I was still there. He smiled, at least I think he did. Maybe he remembered from last year that I’m pretty good at burping after eating apples and taking sips of chocolate milk. I actually got third place for the whole entire fourth grade.
As soon as we sat down, I remembered again that those days are over. It was real obvious that I’m not like the other boys in class. Their voices are much bigger. They like to wear green camouflage and hide their moms’ catalogs under their beds. They stomp their feet and shout each other’s names like they really mean it at every burping contest. They never did that back when girls were allowed to burp too.
I looked over to my old friends to see if it was also obvious to them that I didn’t belong there, but they had already forgotten about me. They were all leaning over their brand-new cootie catcher, pointing at the different folds. What’s worse—when I looked back to Dylan and the rest of the boys-only burping contest, they had already skipped over me, cheering on somebody I don’t even know.
When Dylan Beaman said I could join, I didn’t realize that it was only to watch from the sidelines. I don’t think any of them cared about how good I could be. The whole time I just smiled halfway and played with my hangnail until it bled. Two of the boys leaned over me and gave each other high fives like they forgot I was in the middle. I thought my carton of milk was going to fall over. I betcha I would have had success if I had one of those fancy pizza Lunchables or if I joined the homeroom basketball team and spun a ball on just one of my fingers like Michael Jordan. Maybe that way, the boys would have let me play or decide to invite me more than just this one time.
Maybe it’s a good thing Dylan Beaman wanted me there watching. At the last slumber party with my old friends, almost every girl screamed when Courtney shared her dream of riding bikes and eating fudge with Dylan on Mackinac Island. We then had to practice saying our names with his last name over and over again. I would be called Ellie Beaman. I kind of like how it sounds, but I could never think about doodling that name since our desks are right next to each other. I hope you are good at keeping secrets, because I wouldn’t say this to just anybody. I hope I eventually have good things in my lunch to trade with Dylan Beaman. That way, he would be happy to see me and we can try the burping contest again. That’s even more than just saying hi. I don’t know.
I’ve considered taking my lunch to the bathroom stall just to make lunch easier, but I’m worried that’s never going to happen as long as the lunch aids are in charge of us. The aid in the doorway wears pants just like my mom, the kind that make those loud swish-swish sounds whenever she walks. The lunch aid also has a red plastic whistle around her neck for when we get too loud or when it seems like someone is going to get into big trouble. If I tried to leave, she would blow that whistle super-duper loud. I don’t want everyone and their brother looking at me just because I want to do something different. Don’t you know that having a little privacy is why I would want to go to the bathroom stall to begin with?
What would you do if you were me? It has only been like seven days of school, and I still don’t really know where to put myself. Maybe nowhere is the right place to sit. Do you ever feel like you made up the good times? Does that happen to everybody? With any luck, maybe I will find someone to draw on the lunch trays with me. If you happen to find this balloon, please write me back soon. I have been checking for letters under the WELCOME TO HOUGHTON sign nearly every day after school. Maybe you and I will draw together or share chocolate milk there one day? I don’t know, maybe if you wanted to.
Sincerely,
Ellie
P.S. What do you think of the name Sawyer? I think it’s nice.
Monday, September 14, 1997
Hello Friend,
Guess what? I have the best news. Even though I have overheard Dad say a million times that “money is tight,” he says I’m now old enough to get a one-dollar allowance. This means I can afford a chocolate milk and also a balloon to write more letters every week. All I have to do is make my bed and wash my own dishes every day, which is super easy.
Do you know what else is good news? Dylan shared another potato chip with me at lunch the other day. He didn’t invite me to the boys-only burping contest after that, but it was still a really nice thing to do. Also, it turns out all I had to do was ask, “May I go to the bathroom, please?” and the lunch aid lady totally lets me. What she doesn’t know is that I sometimes stay in the stall until the bell rings. It’s not perfect, but it’s better than sitting at those lunch tables with everybody else. It gets too lonely to watch all the other fifth graders talking and trading their lunches with each other. I tried playing the “He loves me? He loves me not?” game using a string cheese, but instead of “He,” I was just thinking about my old friends.