Brooke's Not-So-Perfect Plan (5 page)

Tim sighed and leaned against the lockers.

“Just give it time,” I said. “If you can keep up the awesome work you did during today's intro,
I'm sure Mrs. H will have you running the paper before too long.”

He grinned. “I was pretty amazing, wasn't I?”

“I wouldn't be surprised if you had a line of girls waiting at your locker for dates,” I said.

He raised his eyebrows. “Good point. I should get over there.”

Tim waved and pushed his way through the crowd.

I dreaded going to history, but thankfully, Mr. Costas had decided to give us one research day in the library, where nobody was allowed to be disruptive.

And where nobody could torment me about my now infamous moment in the spotlight.

I wandered over to the reference area and started looking for ancient history books. Gabby joined me and said in a low voice, “Word on the street is that you know Jefferson Black.”

Jefferson was my teammate Lacey's brother.
Occasionally, he came to watch her practice and then walk home with her.

“Yeah?” I whispered back. “So?”

Gabby just blushed.

“Ohhh,” I said. “He's your date this weekend.”

“Shhh!” She giggled and glanced over her shoulder. “Does he talk about me?”

I blinked at her. “He doesn't talk about anybody. He just sits in the grass and watches us play.”

“Alone?” asked Gabby.

“Unless he has some imaginary friends,” I said. “Then yes.”

She squealed and hugged me. “Will you do me a favor? Will you mention my name and see how he reacts?”

This felt like impending disaster.

“Aren't you going on a date with him tomorrow night?” I asked. “You'll know soon enough.”

“But that's
not
soon enough!”

I took a step back. “Oookay. If he's at the
scrimmage tomorrow, I'll mention your name and see if he giggles his head off.”

Gabby frowned. “He's not a giggler. He's serious and tough.”

Geez.

“Fine. I'll say your name and see if he does something manly. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some research to do.”

Gabby hugged me from behind. “Thank you, Brooke! I don't care if you
do
eat your boogers.”

Several people close by snickered.

“I
don't
. . . Forget it.” I grabbed some books and crawled under the librarian's desk to read. When the librarian sat down, she didn't even give me a second glance. I guess she's used to kids hiding from their problems down there.

I couldn't focus on Mesopotamia, so I pulled out the Young Sherlocks' letter and reread it. A girl just disappears, and there's an orange peel on her desk. Why?

Maybe she was allergic to oranges and someone took her to the emergency room. Or maybe as she was peeling the orange, it came to life and ate
her
.

Or maybe the answer was already given in a Sherlock Holmes book!

I crawled out from under the desk and searched the library's database. We didn't have many books by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, but they were all already checked out.

Clearly, I wasn't the only person who wanted to solve things the easy way.

I endured a few more booger-based jabs during science, and when the bell rang for the end of school, I sprinted toward the building's exit. At home, I gave my mom the brief school-was-fine answer for when school absolutely isn't fine, but you don't want to talk about it. Then I headed up to my room to read over advice questions sent into “Lincoln's Letters.” I thought it
might make me feel better to solve other people's problems, rather than fixate on my own.

I grabbed a handful and started trying to answer the first one, but my mind was swirling with the disastrous video session, the website, my history project, Tim not wanting to write for the column, Mary Patrick threatening to end the column, soccer, Musketeer Movies, my secret admirer, and all the homework I hadn't even started.

Instead of doing any of it, I did none of it. I simply stared into space and listened to Hammie purr while I stroked her. I was at least encouraged by the thought that tomorrow
had
to go better.

S
crimmage Day!

I bounced out of bed and ran down to the laundry room, where Mom had hung my uniform to dry.

“Good morning!” she called as I flew past.

I changed on the spot, drop-kicking my pajamas into the washer.

“Gooooaaaaaaaal!” I roared, running into the kitchen with my arms above my head.

Mom gave me an amused smile. “I'm afraid to offer you some breakfast with the energy level you already have.”

Nevertheless, she handed me a plate with eggs and bacon.

“I need carbs,” I told her. “Lots of carbs.” I pointed to a loaf of bread on the counter. “Can I have that?”

“You can have one slice,” she said. “If you eat too much, you're going to feel sluggish and sick.”

I sat down and sprinkled salt and pepper on my eggs. “Where's Dad?”

“He had to go into the office to finish a project,” she said.

I wrinkled my nose. “It's ten a.m. on a Saturday. Isn't it against the law to make someone work so hard?”

Mom laughed. “It's his choice. He's wanted to get this project done for a while, but during the workweek, there are so many distractions.”

I could definitely relate to that.

“But the good news is he'll be able to make it for the second half of your scrimmage.”

“Woo-hoo!” I cheered.

While I was eating I checked my phone. Three missed messages, one from each of my advice column partners.

Heather:
Good luck at the scrimmage! It's Musketeer Movies night!

Vanessa:
Can't wait to see you and Heather tonight! Have fun at soccer!

Tim:
My sister wanted me to remind you to talk to Jefferson.

I rolled my eyes at the last message and then responded to just Heather and Vanessa. Then I finished my orange juice and ca
r
ried my plate to the sink.

“Do you think it's weird for a girl I know to ask me to ask another girl's brother what he thinks of her; not really ask, but just mention her name?” I asked Mom.

She blinked and shook her head. “Do what now?”

“Never mind. I'm playing Cupid, and I don't like it.” I wandered back into the laundry room to get my shin guards.

“Well, just be careful!” Mom called after me. “You don't want to mess in other people's affairs if you don't have to.”

“I write an advice column!” I told her. “Other people's business is
my
business.”

I tugged on my shin guards and laced up my soccer cleats. She did have a point. Romance wasn't my area of expertise. I took my phone out of my shorts and called Heather.

“Hi!” she said. “How's soccer? Did you win?”

“We haven't even gotten to the field yet,” I said with a grin. “Hey, listen. Gabby asked me to talk to Jefferson and bring up her name. How do I do that without being obvious?”

Heather sucked air through her teeth. “Eesh. I don't know. It's going to seem fishy.”

“That's what
I
thought,” I said. “But I
already promised Gabby.”

“Okay, how about . . . maybe mention how great it is that Jefferson watches his sister practice and how it reminds you of your friend Tim and his sister—”

“Gabby!” I finished for Heather. “You . . . are a genius.”

“They don't put me in advanced classes for nothing.” I could hear the grin in Heather's voice. “Make sure you tell me how it goes. With Jefferson
and
soccer.”

“Of course,” I promised. “See you tonight!” I ended the call and
click-clack
ed down the hall in my cleats.

“Ready to go, Cyrano?” asked Mom.

“Who?”

“He's a character from a play who did some horrific matchmaking,” she explained, opening the front door.

“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” I said.

“Anything you say, Emma.”

“Who?”

Mom swatted my butt. “We have
got
to buy you some classic literature.”

Luckily, or maybe unluckily, when we got to the soccer field, Jefferson was sitting on the sidelines with his parents. While Mom set up her lawn chair nearby, I walked over to say hello.

Jefferson waved when he saw me approach. “Brooke, right?”

“Yeah, hi! Have you seen Lacey?”

“She's over there.” He nodded to a group of girls in the center of the field.

“Great, thanks!” I turned to go but paused. “It's pretty cool that you watch your sister practice. My friend Tim plays baseball and—”

“I love baseball!” said Jefferson. “What position is he?”

“Uh . . . pitcher,” I said. “Anyway, whenever he has a game—”

Jefferson blushed and smiled. “Sure. I'd love to go.”

“You . . .” I leaned closer and blinked. “Sorry?”

He leaned in too, face fixed in an arrogant smirk. “I'd love to go to a game with you.”

Whoa!

I stumbled back a few paces. “Uh . . . but you . . . tonight . . .” I pointed at him, shaking my finger like more words might shoot out.

“Tonight?” Jefferson shrugged. “Sure.”

I squinted at him. “Really? You don't have plans?”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing I can't cancel. When should we meet?”

What a slimeball!

“How about at half past get over yourself?” I fumed. “You have a date with Gabby, you jerk!”

Everyone on the field turned to look at me.

It was a tiny bit possible I'd said too much too loudly.

Jefferson recoiled. “What? How did you . . . Why did you . . .”

Too late to turn back now.

“Gabby wanted to know what you thought of her,” I said. “Now I can tell her. So thanks for that!”

I stormed away, but when Mom sat up in her lawn chair to watch me, I shot her a panicked look.

“How goes the matchmaking?” she asked with a wry smile.

“Oh,
great
,” I said, dropping onto the grass beside her. “I managed to get Gabby's date canceled.” I chanced a peek in his direction and saw both him and Lacey glaring at me. “Also, I may have made an enemy of one of my teammates.”

Coach blew the whistle, calling us all to the field.

“Good luck out there!” said Mom. “And I
hope you and Lacey are on the same side during the scrimmage.”

We weren't.

Lacey's team won the kickoff, and while she waited for the ball to be passed to her, she caught my eye and drew a finger across her neck.

I was dead. Lovely.

Instead of coming at me, Lacey darted to one side and expertly maneuvered the ball past the right winger and a midfielder.

While our midfielders gave chase and the defensive players attempted to block Lacey, I bounced from foot to foot, waiting for my team to win the ball back. One of the sweepers got it away from Lacey and crossed it to me. I pivoted on one foot and ran the ball toward our goal, but one of
their
midfielders barred my path. With a quick sidelong glance, I saw that my left winger was open, and I arced the ball toward her at the same moment that Lacey hooked her left ankle around my right.

I tumbled forward, skidding across the grass on my hands and knees. Coach blew the whistle, and everyone trotted to a stop. I inspected my palms, which were streaked with grass stains, and my knees, which were somehow both green
and
a raw red. I winced as I wiped the grass away.

“That's a foul, Lacey,” said Coach. “This time it's a warning; next time it's a yellow card.”

Lacey didn't look even the tiniest bit bothered by this
or
by the fact that her foul earned me a penalty kick.

I placed the ball on its mark while the other team's keeper readied herself in front of the goal. Her fingers flexed in her gloves, and she nodded to Coach. He blew the whistle again, and I backed up a few paces and then charged the ball, angling my foot to feint like I was bending the strike to the left. The keeper leaned her body in that direction, poised to block.

At the last minute I straightened my foot
and drove the ball straight down the middle. The keeper couldn't correct her position quick enough, and the ball whizzed past her hip.

Coach tweeted the whistle. “Goal!”

The girls on my team cheered and slapped me on the back while Lacey fumed. For the rest of the first half, she dogged me. She didn't attempt any more intentional trippings, but she did her best to make it clear she had a score to settle.

At the end of the half, Coach blew the whistle, and we all dashed off the field to guzzle drinks from our sports bottles. Instead of heading toward Mom, I followed Lacey.

“Hey!” I jabbed her in the shoulder with my fingertips. “What's your problem?”

Lacey whirled to face me. “My problem? You were being a jerk to my brother! I thought you deserved a taste of your own medicine.”

I glared at her. “Well, revenge looks great on you. Thanks for that free goal, by the way.” I gave
her a thumbs-up and started to leave. I paused, though, and said over my shoulder, “Your brother was going to hurt a really nice girl because a better offer came along. I know you would've yelled at him too.”

Lacey didn't respond, and I trudged over to Mom who was waiting for me with a high-five.

“Nice first half!” she said, handing me a peeled orange.

“Thanks!” I ripped off a piece and practically swallowed it whole.

“How are your battle wounds?” She inspected my knees while I ate. “That girl really took you out,” she said, clucking her tongue.

“I'm okay. If I wanted a no-contact sport, I would've taken up badminton.”

“Or bowling,” said another voice.

I grinned and turned around. “Dad!” I jumped up into his arms for a hug. “You made it!”

“Of course!” he said, hugging me back. “On
my list of things to do, this was high priority. I heard you scored a goal.”

I nodded and filled him in.

He whistled and shook his head. “It's a cutthroat world, U12 soccer.”

“Yeah, but I'm tough.” I flexed both arms like a bodybuilder.

Dad held an orange up to one of my biceps. “Impressive! I remember when these guns were grape-sized.”

I laughed and hung out with my parents until the break was over. Then Coach blew his whistle, and I headed back out for the second half. This time, Lacey was less aggressive, but she still had fire in her eyes, and when she bumped me to the ground, she didn't even glance back.

No Most Congenial trophy for her.

By the end of the game I was exhausted, and the thought of showering, dressing up, and walking to Heather's for pizza and movies was just
too much. Plus, I still had homework and a history project to work on, and I hadn't yet picked my first letter for the advice column. It needed to be a good one to make people forget Friday's video fiasco.

“A
www!”
said Vanessa when I conferenced in her and Heather to tell them. “But Musketeer Movies!”

“Next week will be superawesome Musketeer Movies,” I promised. “But tonight I won't be good company. And people would ask why I'm walking down the street in my pajamas.”

“You could say it's the new style,” she suggested.

“No,
you
could say it's the new style.
And
get away with it,” I said. “But my kittens-in-nightcaps pattern won't fool anyone.”

Heather giggled and said, “We'll miss you!”

“I'll miss you guys too! See you Monday!”

We got off the phone, and I started tackling
my homework. I went to bed early again, and on Sunday, Dad thought it would be a good idea for us to visit the Field Museum in Chicago so I could learn about ancient cultures firsthand.

Apparently, the Mesopotamians were big into wrestling and boxing, but I wasn't sure that would translate well to video and not look like regular fighting. They were also into dancing and music, but that was pretty much the same for any society, even today. I decided on a board game that the Mesopotamians had played called the Royal Game of Ur and went to work making my own board. And since organized astrology began in Babylonia, I also decided to make an astrology chart.

On Monday, I proudly showed it to Gil in Journalism, since he did the astrology section of the paper. He studied it and shook his head.

“I know the drawings aren't great,” I said, “but—”

“It's not that,” he said. “You're using our modern signs. The Babylonians also had a thirteenth sign: Ophiuchus.” He flipped over my paper and started sketching on the back. “The zodiac is based on twelve constellations that appear in twelve evenly distributed sectors that the sun passes through in a year.”

“So where's Oph . . . the thirteenth sign?” I asked.

“Ophiuchus is actually wedged between Scorpio and Sagittarius, but because it isn't visible for very long, it was left out over time.” He moved his hand so I could see what he was drawing. “And so you get Ophiuchus, the serpent holder.”

“That's so cool,” I said, taking the paper from him. “Thanks!”

“Any time,” he said.

I went to go sit with the other advice columnists, who had their heads close together in earnest conversation.

“What's going on?” I asked.

They parted to let me in, and I could see that Heather was shredding the edges of a piece of spiral paper with a guilty expression.

“It's all my fault,” she said. “I never should have encouraged her.”

“Who are we talking about?” I asked.

Tim turned to me with a troubled expression. “My sister. That guy Jefferson never met her at the movies.”

Whoops. After the excitement of the game, I'd completely forgotten to tell Gabby what happened.

I sucked in air through my clenched teeth. “Actually, Heather didn't screw up. I may have had something to do with that.”