On Wednesday we finish up our reviews for Thursday’s finals, and then we have field day on Friday, our last day. But first we have to survive research presentations. We’re so close to summer I can nearly taste the chlorine water of the community pool. I get giddy every time I remember that Kiera has her very own pool and we’re actually friends again, so maybe I’ll even get to use it.
Just as we break for lunch on Wednesday, I find my way over to Oscar’s desk. “Hey, how’d you do on that grammar review?”
He walks past me to where our cubbies are on the side of the room and grabs his backpack. “Fine, I guess.”
I eye the contents of his locker to see if maybe he brought his lunch, but he slams the door before I can see. “Aren’t you going to lunch?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I signed up for JV wrestling and my mom is taking me for the physical during lunch.”
“Wrestling?” I remember his mom mentioning something on the phone a while ago, but I forgot to ask him about it again. “You don’t even like horsing around with your brothers.”
“Maybe I do,” he says, defiant. “Maybe you don’t know everything about me.”
His voice is louder and more defensive than I’m used to. Almost like we’re... fighting. “Well, okay? But I feel like I know a whole lot. I am your best friend, ya know.”
He brushes past me. “I gotta go, so I can make it back in time for class.”
“We’re so behind onAmerica’s Most Hauntedepisodes that I’ve resorted to rewatching the ones we’ve already seen.” He doesn’t say anything, so I quickly explain, “I wouldn’t watch any of the newer ones without you. Obviously.” Oscar and I have a very serious unspoken promise whenit comes toAmerica’s Most Haunted, and we’ve watched every single episode for the first time together. It’s honestly made it easier to not just gobble up the whole thing in one month. Watching an episode without him for the first time would be a betrayal of the highest sort.
All he manages to say is, “Cool.”
“I’ll see you later!” I call after him. “Good luck with the physical!”
In the cafeteria, I catch up to Kiera and slide onto the bench beside her. “Oscar signed up for JV wrestling.”
“I’ve been thinking about it too!” says Greg from across the table. “Honestly though, I can’t wrestle with my glasses, and contacts make my eyes water too much.”
I try to smile, but I must be doing a crummy job, because his face falls a little.
“I bet there’s some kind of solution for that. Like prescription goggles or something,” I say, with forced cheer, and turn back to Kiera, my voice more hushed. “Oscar doesn’t even like when his brothers want to wrestle. Or even, like, sweating in general. What’s the deal?”
“Maybe he does like doing that stuff.” She shrugs. “I don’t know. Boys are weird, especially about stuff that’s supposed to be manly.”
“Why does it have to be like that? Why does it have to be boys versus girls? Or boys do things like wrestling and girls don’t? I really don’t think Oscar even wanted tosign up. It’s like he just wants to do anything that doesn’t involve me.”
Kiera shakes her head. “I doubt that’s it.”
But I can hear the hesitation in her voice, and I know that I’m not entirely wrong.
Later that day, after school, I try to find Oscar to invite him over, but he’s already gone.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Causing a Scene
I spend Wednesday night putting the final touches on my Aretha Franklin project. I read just the other day that she released her first album when she was only fourteen years old. That’s only one year older than me, and I can barely get it together enough to finish this project on time. Forget an album.
By Thursday morning, I’m—well, I won’t say I’m ready, but I will say that if I don’t get this presentation over with today, I might just explode.
As soon as we’re done with our pledges and moment of reflection, Mrs. Young asks if there are any volunteers who would like to get their presentations over and done with.My hand shoots up in the air along with Kiera’s, but I guess I beat her to it, because I’m the first to go.
My sweaty hands grip the edges of my poster board, and I could kiss my mother for having the genius idea of gluing my note cards on the back. Maybe she does have some good ideas.
I clear my throat. “I decided to do my project on Aretha Franklin, the Queen of Soul. She was a singer, songwriter, pianist, actress, and civil-rights architect.” No, that’s not right. “Activist, I mean. A civil-rights activist.”
Someone sniggers. I think. Somewhere on the far side of the classroom. Or maybe it’s just in my head. I feel like my skin is on fire and like everyone can see my underwear, which are days-of-the-week underwear, and I think I’m accidentally wearing my Sunday pair.
Mrs. Young said to be sure to look up and make eye contact, but I can’t bring myself to do it and instead just power through all the facts I learned about Aretha’s early life. “And when Aretha left Columbus—I mean Columbia Records—for Atlantis... I’m sorry, Atlantic Records, she gained more control over her career and her sound.”
