It's Only Temporary (13 page)

“Those guys are going to be so sorry,” Amanda whispered, narrowing her eyes in gleeful anticipation. “This'll teach them to be mean to us for no reason.”

“And it's not like they didn't already get a lot of attention today,” Pip chimed in. “I mean, when is Amelia Ear-hart ever gonna have a special assembly just for artists? When are
we
going to get to walk across the stage while everyone whistles and claps? And we're the ones with talent. All they ever did was
grow
.”

“I've never heard of anyone clapping for artists,” Jamila said, frowning. “Even other artists don't clap for artists, I don't think.”

“I wonder what Ms. O'Hare is going to say?” Skye asked, her voice tight with sudden worry – because Skye really liked Ms. O'Hare. She was like a cross between an actual artist, a cool older sister, a hippie aunt, and a grown-up friend.

“Where is Ms. O'Hare, anyway?” Maddy asked, looking around nervously, as if their art teacher might suddenly materialize next to the cutting board or near the giant roll of butcher paper.

“She's at the game,” Pip said, shrugging. “I guess she loves football.”

“I need to go home,” Skye announced, trying to keep her voice steady. “Gran's expecting me.”

“I'm going with you,” Maddy said.

“Well, okay,” Pip told them. “But you guys have to come to the Homecoming dance tonight, because we can't act like we're scared of what's gonna happen after Aaron and the other guys see the paper. We gotta see this thing through.”

“Ooh,” Amanda said under her breath.

“I am kind of scared,” Skye admitted, stunned that she
hadn't thought past that triumphant moment when the mean football guys opened the Homecoming paper at half-time in their locker room and saw those drawings they –
she
– had done of them. When they saw how the art jerks had taken their revenge.

But Skye did feel a little bad about having included Kee – maybe-nice Kee? secret artist Kee? – in that act of revenge, she realized suddenly. Because what had Kee done, except to choose the wrong friends?

But that in itself was a pretty dumb thing to do. Just look at Scott.

“I'm scared, too,” Maddy announced. “I'm
extremely
scared.”

“But you guys are gonna be at the dance, right?” Pip asked everyone again. “We can't hide out forever. We have to get this over with.”

“I'll be there,” Skye said, nodding reluctantly.

“Well, my mother said I
can't
go to the dance,” Maddy said, sounding matter-of-fact and more than a little relieved. “She says it isn't appropriate for sixth-graders to go to the
same dance as eighth-grade kids, because of the differences in their levels of development.”

The art jerks digested this starchy and complicated bit of news in silence.

“But Amelia Earhart is too poor to put on three separate dances,” Amanda told everyone. “I know, 'cause my mom's on the PTA committee. But that's why even the older kids aren't supposed to bring dates. ‘
It's not that kind of party
,' quote unquote. It's just supposed to be everybody getting together and having fun.”

“Ha,” Pip said.

“Well,” Jamila reported, “my mama says I'm not allowed to go to the dance, either, and I don't even care. All that sweating and grinding! I don't
think
so.”

“My mom says grinding's not going to be allowed at Amelia Earhart,” Amanda assured Jamila solemnly. “Kids will have to keep at least one balloon distance apart while they dance. But I'm gonna try to have fun,” she added, her eyes shining.

“Me, too,” Pip said, sliding her a look.

“Me three,” Matteo chimed in.

“Well, Maddy and I have to leave,” Skye told everyone, since they clearly weren't getting anywhere with this conversation. “So, bye.” She looked around the art activities room, wondering if there was something she was forgetting. This had been the craziest day ever.

“Come on, Skye,” Maddy told her, uncharacteristically impatient. “My mother doesn't like to be kept waiting for extended periods of time.”

“See you tonight,” Amanda said to Skye.

“Let's meet here in front of the cafeteria, okay?” Pip suggested. “At seven thirty? So we can walk into the gym together?” He sounded nervous for the first time.

“Okay,” Skye said, feeling sorry for him – and for herself too, she supposed numbly, because who knew what was going to happen at that dance?

She was probably just frazzled, Skye told herself, but she kept thinking she was forgetting something.…

But Pip was right, she knew; they had to see this through. They had to get it over with. “C'mon, Maddy,” she said softly. “Let's go home.”

“W
e're going the wrong way,” Maddy observed as they walked east, rather than west, along Grand-view Avenue. “I don't want my mother to start worrying.”

“I just want to spy on the game for a minute,” Skye said, heading for the chain-link fence that separated Amelia Earhart's playing field from the street.

A school bus – for the Thomas Alva Edison football team, Skye figured – was parked next to the curb, and parents' cars were crammed closely together, filling all the rest of the available parking spaces.

This game really
was
a big deal, Skye realized, looking through the chain link at the crowd of people that had assembled, and new butterflies fluttered in her stomach. “Squeeze in between the bus and the Audi,” she whispered to Maddy, as though the noisy throng of people far across
the field somehow might otherwise hear her.

“Okay,” Maddy said, crowding in close behind Skye. “But I don't know what we're looking for.”

Neither did Skye, for that matter, but she had never been to a middle-school football game before, and she was curious.

Amelia Earhart's all-purpose playing field had been spruced up for this occasion, with colorful bunches of balloons everywhere. The field had only one long stretch of bleachers, on the other side of the field, and half the seats were filled with Thomas Alva Edison boosters, while the other half was jammed with Amelia Earhart fans.

The school band milled around one end of the bleachers–getting ready for halftime, Skye guessed, which was also when the newspaper would be given out. Assorted practice drum rolls and horn bleats floated their way across the field, over the heads of the players, who seemed to be waiting for a decision to be made toward one end of the field while their coaches stalked back and forth like outraged flamingos along the sidelines, and competing cheerleaders shook their pom-poms in each others' direction.

The panorama stretched in front of Skye and Maddy like a movie scene. The football players looked kind of small from where she and Maddy were lurking, Skye thought, almost feeling sorry for them.

But no, the guys who'd been bullying them deserved
what was going to happen, she told herself sternly. And anyway, it was too late to change things now.

At the opposite side of the field, in front of the bleachers, were strung a few long benches where the extra football players sat, though a few players in front of the benches were stretching and running in place like windup toys.

And behind them sat Aaron, Cord, Danko, and Kee, helmets in their laps. Although she was staring across the width of the field, Skye could see them as clear as anything. It was as though her vision was suddenly super-powerful.

“That's the offense sitting on the bench,” Maddy informed her. “I guess Thomas Alva Edison is about to score, that's what the problem is. Our defense is trying to stop them.”

“How do you know all that?” Skye asked, astonished, turning halfway around to stare at her friend.

Maddy shrugged. “I watch a lot of football with my dad,” she explained. “It's a very interesting game.”

Skye turned her gaze back to the field – and then the butterflies stopped fluttering for a moment. “Oh, no,” she whispered.

“What?” Maddy whispered back.

“They're handing out the newspaper
now
” Skye said. “To the players on the sidelines, anyway. Too early! Too early!”

And the scene unfolded in what seemed to Skye like
slow motion: the floppy stack of newspapers – complete with inserts – made its way down the football players' benches. Win or lose, receiving this newspaper – getting this
honor
– was supposed to be the players' supreme moment of glory, Skye realized, suddenly feeling sick.

The Amelia Earhart players – including Aaron, Cord, Danko, and Kee – opened the papers casually, not wanting to seem too eager to see their own faces.

And then the guffaws rippled up and down the benches as other players saw the insert for the first time. Many of the boys got to their feet, trying to catch a glimpse of the look on the faces of the four players Skye had drawn.

And in spite of how far away she stood, Skye could see Aaron's head bend low over the opened paper as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

Cord threw the paper onto the grass in front of him, disgusted.

Danko sat perfectly still, staring at the ground.

And Kee seemed to be looking straight across the field at Maddy and Skye.

He couldn't actually see them, could he?

“Quick,” Skye told Maddy. “Behind the bus!”

“But then we'll be in the street,” Maddy pointed out, her brown eyes wide with alarm. “And we could get run over.”

“Just do it,” Skye cried, and the two girls virtually oozed around the bus in their attempt to escaped Kee's steady gaze.

Skye peeked around the corner of the bus one last time. The crowd in the bleachers was murmuring now like a single giant beast, curious about what was happening down on the sidelines – but the fistfuls of newspapers now being handed out in the stands soon filled everyone in.
Skye could hear the laughter build from where she stood.

And Aaron, Cord, Danko, and Kee just sat there.