Lily and Dunkin

The question contains only four words.

But those words seem loaded with importance, and I have a feeling they may change my life.

“Do you play basketball?”

That was the question the guys had wanted to ask me?

The pieces click into place. They are unusually tall. I am unusually tall. Do I play basketball? Of course I don’t. I don’t play any sport that requires the smallest amount of athleticism or ability to stay upright for any length of time.

How does one answer this question when a whole group of guys are staring and expecting an obvious yes?

One lies.

“Hells yeah, I play b-ball.” At first I wonder who said that because I don’t talk like that, but I must have heard it somewhere since those are the words that fly from my mouth.

It must have been the right answer because the guys nod and a couple of them pound me on the back, even though I’m not choking to death on my hot dog.

Despite the fact that I’m being pummeled (in a nice way) and I just lied, I feel pretty terrific.

That is, until I look over at Tim and Dare’s table.

Tim looks genuinely sad—well, what I can see of him from behind his hair. Then Dare pulls something out from her bag and Tim looks happier. For some dumb reason, I wish I were the one to make Tim happier.

“We’ve got to start practicing,” the guy everyone calls Vasquez says.

He seems like the one in charge.

“Yeah, tryouts are next month,” a guy across from me chimes in.

“Tryouts?” I say, choking on my own saliva.

“Yeah,” Vasquez answers. “You’ll be our secret weapon. It will be sooooo sweet.”

I glance over and see that Dare has given Tim a Pop-Tart, and he’s actually taking a bite with his eyes closed. He must love Pop-Tarts like I love doughnuts. The best way to take the first bite is always with your eyes closed.

“Yeah,” I say, my stomach in knots. I don’t want to practice basketball with these guys. They’re probably amazing. They’ll find out how much I stink. I’ve never intentionally played basketball. I mean, in PE in New Jersey, we had to learn some basics, but I was lousy.

I look over at Tim again quickly so he and Dare don’t notice. Tim’s so happy eating his Pop-Tart that it makes me smile.

“Yeah,” I say again. “Sweet.”

After School, Part 1

Before Dare heads home, she and I do the handshake we created in fourth grade. I can’t believe she still wants to do it, but I’m glad. Even when I’m an old lady, I’ll remember our handshake. Slap. Slap. Clap. Clap. Snap. Snap. Shake, lock thumbs and wiggle our fingers. It’s dumb, but fun.

Vasquez and his buddies head toward the bus loop—losers!

I don’t see Dunkin anywhere. Not that I care. Traitor!

I walk to the Beckford Palms Library and borrow A Crooked Kind of Perfect. It seems like the right book for today, plus I’ll be able to finish it in one sitting, because it’s pretty slim and I’ve already read it twice before.

Tucked safely in the branches of Bob, I get lost in Zoe Elias’s world and her dream for a piano, only to have her dad return with a “wood-grained, vinyl-seated, wheeze-bag organ. The Perfectone D-60.” I sigh. Dads can be frustrating like that sometimes. In the book, Zoe’s dad can’t be what she needs him to be, but eventually she accepts him for who he is and it all works out.

I’m not sure it’s going to all work out with Dad and me. Will he let me get hormone blockers before it’s too late? Will he ever love the real me?

AFTER SCHOOL, PART II

I’m walking toward the exit when Vasquez wallops me on the shoulder. “Glad you’ll be playing ball with us this year.”

“Yeah, me too,” I say, even though I’m not.

“We’ll get together soon and practice, but I gotta catch the bus.” And he jogs off.

He looks so effortlessly cool. I guess Tim wasn’t one of the cool kids after all, but Vasquez definitely is. He’s got tons of people who eat lunch with him and come up to talk with him. I can’t believe he wants to be friends with me. Me! I’ll just have to figure out the basketball thing.

I use the bathroom, then stroll out of the building into the bright sunlight with my shoulders back, feeling pretty good about my first day. Except my head’s been throbbing since last period. Caffeine withdrawal. So instead of going to Bubbie’s, I head toward Dunkin’ Donuts to get an iced coffee.

That tree—the one where Tim dumped a bunch of leaves on me—is on the way to Dunkin’ Donuts. When I’m directly beneath it, something makes me look up. This time no leaves rain down, but I do see the bottoms of sneakers and someone up there with long blond hair.

“Hey,” I say, shielding my eyes from the sun.

Tim lowers the book he’s reading and looks down. His face is pinched and angry. Then he goes right back to reading, like I’m invisible or something.

“Hey,” I say again, irritated.

“Hey what?” Tim asks.

“You, um, want to hang out?” I figure I’m on a roll with making friends, so I might as well try to work things out with Tim.

“No, um, I do not want to hang out.”

He sounds really pissed. “Why not? What’s your problem?”

“Are you serious? What’s my problem? It’s not okay to dump me and my friend in the cafeteria, then act like we’re best buds outside of school.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Save it for someone who cares,” Tim says.

“Cold,” I mutter, even though it’s a million degrees outside.

But the truth is, Tim’s right. That’s exactly what I did. I was about to sit with him and Dare when a better offer came along, and I took it. And I’m glad I did, because it was worth it to get a whole bunch of new friends. Popular friends. Friends who don’t sit in trees…named Bob.

I scowl at Tim, but he’s already got the book in front of his face again.

I’m beginning to understand why Vasquez and the guys make fun of him.

—

When I get to Bubbie’s, Mom’s at the kitchen table, stuffing Bodies by Bubbie DVDs into padded mailers. I shiver as the cold air in the house freezes the sweat on my body.

“What’s up?” I ask, my head in the fridge, then the pantry, then the fridge. I end up eating a sawdust and raisin muffin (aka bran muffin) because there isn’t any good food in the house—another reminder we’re not home in New Jersey. We had tons of junk food there, especially when Dad did the grocery shopping. And when Mom worked at the bakery, there were always cakes that someone had messed up or a few smooshed cupcakes that didn’t look perfect, but still tasted great.

“What’s up with you? I’m just helping Bubbie with her business. It’s the least I can do since she’s letting us live here for a while.” Mom sighs and puts the mailer down. “You know I’m going to get myself together. Right?”

I focus on Mom and nod. I didn’t realize she wasn’t together. Just thought she was sad, which is perfectly normal considering what’s happened.

“I’m going to get a job,” she says. “Maybe at a bakery. And we’re going to get our own place, too. It won’t be big like this house, but…”

I don’t want to hear any of this. I don’t want to think about what it all means. I don’t want to think.

“So anyway, how was your first day?” Mom asks.

I’m glad she changes the subject, so I can focus on something else. I shrug like it was no big deal, but I’m dying to tell Mom what happened.

She picks up another mailer. “You go through an entire day of school in a new state and all I get is a shrug?”

“I made some friends.”

Mom’s face lights up.

I realize all the guilt and grief I felt from dumping Tim and Dare in the cafeteria were worth it to see Mom looking so happy.

“So, who are these new friends?” she asks.

“They’re basketball guys,” I say, and I tell her all about them, at least the good parts.

A Flamingo Kind of Guy

I don’t want to climb out of Bob’s strong branches, but the sun’s going down, so I’d better get home before Mom sends out a search party. Some night I’d love to sleep in Bob’s branches. I might have to strap myself in so I don’t fall, but it would be so cool to sleep up high in my favorite tree.

“Where were you?” Mom asks the minute I walk into the kitchen. “Your sister came home hours ago.”

“High school gets out way before middle school.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot.”

“Plus I spent some time in Bob after school.”

“Aha! I figured that’s where you were. How was your first day? Was it hard going in dressed like that?”

I love how Mom’s so open and real when she talks to me. She’s always been pretty accepting, but she’s been amazing lately.

“To be honest,” I say, munching on some mini-pretzels, “it was probably easier. A couple Neanderthals bothered me already.”

“What? Are those stupid boys still harassing you?”

I nod. “And they got taller over the summer. But don’t worry. It’s okay.”

“It most certainly is not okay,” Mom says. She’s a lot like Dare in that way. “How did they bother you?”

I shove in a mouthful of mini-pretzels.

“Not too many,” Mom warns. “Making dinner soon.”

“Sorry,” I say. “But really, it’s no big deal. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Tim—I mean, Lily, will you tell me if it ever becomes a problem?”

“Of course.” Not.

I watch Mom sip her stay-healthy tea concoction that she drinks before dinner. What those stupid boys said definitely bothered me, but not as much as Dunkin snubbing me and Dare at lunch so he could sit with them. I know he’s too new to know that they’re jerks, but still…we’d asked him to join us first.

“Hey, you know what?” I ask.

“What?”

“There were more flamingos outside on the lawns when I came home. The guys in the golf cart were plucking them out again before I walked into the house.”

“Hmm,” Mom says. “What’s that all about?”

“No clue,” I say. “But it’s pretty funny.” I wonder if Dunkin is behind the flamingos. They started appearing when he did. But he doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who would sneak around planting pink plastic flamingos in random lawns. Of course, he doesn’t strike me as a basketball-playing kind of guy who hangs out with Neanderthals, either.

I guess everyone has secrets.