I walked home with the poster for the spring musical heavy in my arms. I looked at it again, hoping that I had seen it wrong. Nope. The block letters were still dominating the page, telling me once again that I didn’t want to perform this spring. “Finding Broadway,” it said, “A Musical Without Words!” There wouldn’t be any lines, just solos. Just singing, which was my least favorite part of the play. I had done the spring musicals for a couple of years now, running in the fall and hanging out with my friends in the spring. This year it seemed that I was going to be out of the loop, skipping the play. It was a new thing to me. I entered my front door, kicked off my sneakers, and headed to the kitchen for a snack. I was halfway through my bowl of cereal when my mom walked in, having finished her email upstairs. “What’s that?” she asked, pulling the playbill from my arms before I could snatch it away. “Oh,” I said, looking down, “that’s the spring musical the school’s doing this year. I thought it looked kinda boring.” “Hmmm,” she replied, looking thoughtful. “Only singing. Interesting. I didn’t know you liked singing.” “I don’t,” I said. “I’m not sure about the play this year.” “But honey,” she interrupted, “you always do the plays!” “I know,” I sighed, “I’ll think about it.” I finished my cereal in silence and put my bowl in the sink. As I walked into the hallway, my hand reached for the phone. Maybe if I didn’t do the play, I would be like the flower “I think I’ll call Ellie,” I said to no one in particular. My fingers dialed the number before I even put the phone to my ear. It rang and rang, but Ellie never answered. I left a message, telling her to call me. If I truly didn’t want to do the play, I wouldn’t be seeing much of my friends for the next few months. My dad stopped me on my way outside. He looked me in the eye for a few seconds before talking. “You look stressed,” he said. “Yeah,” I replied, “I know.” “What’s going on?” he asked. I waited before answering. “I’m not sure if I want to do the play this year. But all my friends will.” “There’s always running, you know,” he added. My dad has been trying to get me to join the track team for years. I always decline, because of the spring play, but I guess he thought this year was a possibility. “None of my friends do track,” I said. “That doesn’t matter,” he said. “You’ll make new friends.” “Right,” I replied. I hadn’t made a new friend since second grade. “Remember,” he called over his shoulder as he walked up the stairs, “follow your heart, not someone else’s.” The door slammed shut as I walked out onto the porch. My mind was full of swirling thoughts. I wanted to do the play because all my friends were doing it. I had never done track before. I wouldn’t know anyone there. I wouldn’t have any friends. I would be a loner. But I didn’t want to do the play because there would only be singing. I would hate my afternoons. I would be miserable for the next two months. I still hadn’t calmed down after a half hour of sitting on the grass. My mind would not clear, and all I could do was stare at the flowers. After fifteen more minutes had passed, I moved to get off the lawn. One of the flowers caught my eye. It was a bluebell, its petals blooming out towards the bright sunlight. It was about five feet away from the rest of the bluebells, which were only partway open. In my mind, I saw the poor flower as me, a loner by myself on the track team. But I also saw how happy the flower was, blooming larger than all its cousins in the shade. Maybe if I didn’t do the play, I would be like the flower. By myself, yet surrounded by happiness in what I was doing. I got up abruptly, all the blood rushing to my head. I had made my decision. I would join the track team. * * * The first day of track practice was Monday. After the bell had rung, I grabbed my stuff and ran down to the gym. The locker room was full of kids, excitedly changing and talking. I pushed my way to the back of my locker row and quickly put on my gym clothes. I ran upstairs to the gym and sat down on the stage. There was no one else to talk to. All of the other girls were with the friends they had signed up with and were giggling all around me in their little groups. I sat on the stage with my head down, feeling sorry for myself. Why had I ever chosen to do this? “Track!” came a voice. “Get off the stage and come over here!” It was our coach, who was also our PE teacher. “Hello,” he said, once we had all gathered around him. “My name is Coach Anderson.” Whispers were heard, like a small hissing noise had suddenly started in the gym. I was completely silent. “I hope you all enjoy track today. I think we should start with some warmups,” he continued. Everyone spread out with their friends, as Coach Anderson led us through some stretches. My legs felt tight. Running seemed impossible. “OK,” he called, “let’s do some running! Eighth graders, lead the way!” The older kids pushed to the front of the group and started to run around the school. Our school was pretty big, and by the time we got back to the gym my heart was pounding and my legs ached. I wanted to go home, but Coach Anderson had different ideas. “I
Friendship
About Winning
We could tell each other anything there The day I abandoned my best friend was the day I lost myself. With her I was everything, and without her I was nothing. It was a rainy day, and I was lying on a fluffy pink mat in Ashley’s room. There she was, standing, legs crossed, but not enough to hide the trembling. There she was, long dark hair tied back in a messy ponytail, unwashed and uncombed. There she was, biting her nails. Ashley never bit her nails. I had a hard time believing this creature was my best friend. And yet here she was, reduced to a nervous wreck, awaiting my reaction to her unbelievable announcement, “I’m moving away.” My reaction was stalking out of that room without a backward glance. She did not try to stop me. It turned out I never entered that room again while Ashley lived out her few remaining months there. The very next day during lunch I made a beeline straight for Jennifer and Tiffany’s table. I avoided catching Ashley’s eye. Instead I focused on laughing to Tiffany’s incredibly stupid jokes. Ashley was much funnier. I called my mom on my cell after school. “Hello, Mom.” “Hi, June.” “Mom, can you drive me home?” “Honey, don’t you want to walk home with Ashley?” “Well… I want you to drive me to Tiffany’s house. She invited me over.” “Homework?” “None. Mom, I always finish my math. It’s easy.” I could hear a sigh on the other end. “Coming.” Then she hung up. So that’s how my life became—going over to Tiffany’s house and watching horror movies with her and Jennifer, eating junk food, and making Tiffany’s mother angry. It wasn’t ideal, but I thought I handled it really well, until the day Ashley moved away. That day I spent sitting on my bed, clutching a bowl in my lap in case I threw up. It was a good excuse for staying home. After all, I had thrown up more than once as a result of eating too much junk food at Tiffany’s. Though that day I don’t think my nausea was caused from an upset stomach. * * * At dinner a month later Dad mentioned he’d be coaching cross-country at school. I had already signed up and when I told him he was delighted. “But Dad,” I said, “I’m short. I won’t be very fast.” “Nonsense,” he said. “You’re very athletic. I’m sure you’ll have a medal in no time.” That’s when I knew I had to get first place. Otherwise no one would ever treat me like a thirteen-year-old girl again. No girl my age was as short as I was, although Ashley had been pretty close. My mom broke into my thoughts. “Pass the potatoes, dear,” she said. “And oh, that reminds me, a new family is moving next door. The Reeds. And, June,” she turned to me triumphantly, “they have a daughter your age!” I sunk into my chair. Great, I thought. A new girl. I will have to walk her to school and be her friend and listen to her sniveling. “What’s her name?” “Melissa.” I hated Melissa Reed. * * * It was the day before cross-country was to begin and I decided to go for a run. I pulled on black running capris and a neon-green T-shirt. I used an athletic headband to keep my hair out of my face, then tied my black ponytail with a hairband. Bronze skin, shoulder-length black hair, short but strong. That was me. I ran out the front door into the crisp, fall air, heading down the sidewalk. Suddenly I stopped short. There was a moving truck in the driveway of Ashley’s house. A door opened and a tall, slender girl with a dark brown ponytail came out. She turned and looked at me. Her eyes. They were cold, cold blue eyes. Under her gaze I felt vulnerable. Turning, I sprinted up the street, rounded a corner, and slowed into a jog. Her eyes were still there, imprinted in my mind. I couldn’t shake them away. Without meaning to, I took the route to the park Ashley and I always used to go to if we had anything serious to talk about. I crept underneath the willow tree next to the lake where we used to conceal ourselves. We could tell each other anything there. Ashley. I got up and ran away from that place. Tears blurred my vision. I tripped and fell on the pavement, lay there, sobbing. Ashley. Ashley. Why don’t you come back? I heard footsteps behind me and turned, still crying. For one stupidly hopeful moment I thought it was Ashley, but then the cold blue eyes made themselves known and hatred consumed me. “Go away!” I shouted. “Go away, go away, go away!” She stared at me with wide eyes, then sprinted away. I watched her fade into the blurry background of birdsong and swaying trees. Then I laid my head down on the hard pavement and knew no more. My mom came to get me later. She said nothing, only looked at me anxiously and wiped my tears with an old handkerchief. It was already wet, perhaps from her own tears. I was too sleepy, my face raw from crying and my head aching, to care. My last thought before I fell asleep was, cross-country tomorrow. I woke up. Cross-country today. I walked Melissa to school, sat with her in the classroom and at lunch, navigated her to her classes and to the bathroom, listened and answered her questions and was her all-out friend for an entire day. It was exhausting. I couldn’t look forward more to cross-country. No Melissa there. How wrong I was. I suppose through my haze of tears the day before I hadn’t noticed she was wearing running capris and tennis shoes just like me. But there she was, and quickly she sidled up to me. Groan. My dad whistled piercingly.
The Scream in the Night
Something white fluttered through the trees It was a hot summer night when I first heard the scream. I sat up fast, the blankets tangled around my feet in a sweaty mass of itchy acrylic. My heart was pounding so hard that for a moment I wondered if it had only been a nightmare. But the sound lingered in my ears, steadily ringing, and I decided that it had been a real scream. I turned to my window and leaned towards it, so close that the screen was brushing my nose. The moon was bright, glowing yellow in the sky, leaving traces of thin light on the trees. I squinted into the darkness, one hand fumbling for my glasses. Something white uttered through the trees, dancing along just far enough away that I couldn’t tell what it was. My hand closed over my glasses and I slipped them on. The white thing disappeared; I caught a glimpse of it one last time before the green and black trees hid it away. I lay down again but didn’t take my glasses off or try at all to go back to sleep. Instead, I closed my eyes and tried to recreate the image in my mind. I kept picturing that whiteness, fluttering like a flag in the wind. But it didn’t make any sense. No animals that I could think of were white and none fluttered. I shook my head, puzzled, and tried to turn my thoughts to another subject. Dallas. I winced We had fought—big time—and though he’d been my best friend since we were six, I had no idea how to make it up to him. In fact, I could barely remember what we had fought about—only that I had been angry about something he said and he had some amazing comebacks. Did it really matter now? As soon as daylight crept shyly through my window, I jumped up and popped the screen out of my window. Then, as silently as I could, I leaped out I landed with a thud. There was dandelion in my teeth and in the dim light I could see grass stains smeared down my pajamas. Roll, Dallas would’ve said. I ran down the lawn in fear of being seen and ducked into the woods. The morning air was cool and misty. Dew clung to my feet. In the treetops dozens of birds fluttered and chattered angrily at each other My feet found the old familiar path that wound and spiraled through the woods and I followed it without thinking. I hadn’t bothered to put shoes on, but, except for the occasional sharp twig, I had nothing but smooth cool earth and slippery soft pine needles to walk on. Dallas and I had used the path so many times I could’ve done it blindfolded. I couldn’t really see where I was going anyway, looking for the white thing. I bumped into the rope ladder that hung from the treehouse. Dallas and I had built the summer before, when we were twelve. It was swinging lazily, which I would’ve considered normal—except there was no breeze. I narrowed my eyes and started to climb. At the top of the ladder I stopped and swung the door open. Dallas was inside “Oh crud,” I muttered. My voice sounded raspy. “Hi,” Dallas said He wouldn’t look at me. “Hi,” I said and slammed the door as hard as I could, then jumped down and started walking away. “Maggie, you don’t hafta leave!” Dallas stuck his head out the window .“It’s your treehouse too!” I kept walking. Stupid. I should’ve known Dallas would be there. He usually slept in the treehouse on warm summer nights. I couldn’t even remember why we’d fought, anyway. So why was I still avoiding him? I hurried back home and managed to pull myself into my window. I pushed the screen in and scrubbed the yellow and green dandelion stain from my chin. Then I threw on a pair of clean shorts and a tank top and hurried into the kitchen. Mom was sitting at the kitchen table with her head in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. I poured a bowl of cereal and sat down across from her. “Good morning ” She grunted and drained her cup. I couldn’t figure out why she drank so much coffee. It didn’t seem to help her that much. I considered mentioning this but decided against it. “Have you seen anything white lately? Like in the woods?” I tried to sound nonchalant. “No,” Mom said slowly. The look on her face suggested that she was about to ask why I wanted to know, so I put a dis- interested look on my face and jumped up. “Later,” I said in my best bored-teen voice She was still shaking her head as I hurried outside Dad was working in the garden. Sunlight ashed on his shovel and clumps of earth scattered around his feet. “Dad, can you think of any animals that live around here that are… white?” I asked. My father frowned, squinting up at the sky as if the answer would be written in the clouds. “Weasels and snowshoe hares, but only in the winter,” he finally said “Why? You see something?” “No,” I lied, “just wondering.” I walked away, scrunching up my face in thought until I realized that I looked just like my dad. The thought was depressing, and I made sure I kept my face normal, complicated as this mystery was. I wondered how I could figure out what the white thing was. It seemed like I would’ve seen it when I’d gone looking earlier. How was I supposed to find it when it could just disappear? I decided that the best way—the only way—would be to camp out in the woods that night and somehow find the white thing. By dusk, I had my camping supplies ready: matches, Doritos, a flashlight, and about twenty pounds of candy. I loaded
