It's Only Temporary (9 page)

A
s usual, Skye opened her locker with caution. It was two weeks before Halloween, and the tall narrow space was a mess, crammed full of textbooks, forgotten take-home announcements, stray assignments, a sweatshirt, and a couple of battered lip-gloss wands, among other things. But today, on top of her second-best hairbrush, was a folded piece of paper.

Skye hunched against her half-opened locker for privacy and unfolded the paper with fingers that had suddenly turned cold. Was this hate mail from one of the bad ballerinas, or just a note from Amanda?

But instead of being either, it was a really cool drawing–unsigned. It looked like a long, scary head with hollow eyes and a single listening ear, and it had ropy cords twining all
around it. The head's gaping mouth looked as if it was trying to say something.

It was a boy's drawing for sure, in Skye's opinion, but who had done it? Pip? Matteo? And why had whoever-it-was sneaked it into her locker?

Skye smoothed the drawing flat and slipped it into her school notebook.

“Urk! What are you eating?” Melissa Del Vecchio – one of the bad ballerinas – asked Amanda a couple of hours later, wrinkling her nose as she stalked by the art kids' cafeteria table. Skye looked down, her finger tracing cloudy circles on the beige laminated tabletop. She'd been thinking about the mystery drawing.

“It's called a peanut butter sandwich, Melissa,” Amanda said in her squeaky voice, but with exaggerated patience. “Can you say ‘sand-wich'?”

“No, I can't,” Melissa replied, swinging her hair over her shoulder. “But I can say ‘gross.' Do you know how many carbohydrates there are in that thing? And fat?”

“Nope, and neither
do you,” Amanda said, taking a defiant bite of her sticky sandwich – which effectively ended her part of the conversation.

“Well,” Melissa said loudly, “it's not exactly like you
need
extra carbohydrates and fat, Amanda. Just look at you.”

Amanda kept chewing, but Skye could tell she was embarrassed.

Pip cleared his throat. “Hey, Del Vecchio, do you know how much sugar is in that yogurt you're carrying around?”

“It's fat-free, stupid,” Melissa said, cradling the little container to her chest as if protecting it from Pip's sarcasm. Aaron Petterson and Taylor Shusterman – the other bad ballerina – came up behind her, curious to see what
was happening, with Danko, Cord, and Kee slouching close behind. Kee looked apprehensive, which made Skye like him a little bit more.

“Yeah, but how much
sugar
?” Pip asked, not backing down.

Aaron started prancing around, flapping his hands.
“How much sugar? How much sugar?”
he said, doing his version of a sissy voice, and a bunch of kids sitting nearby started laughing.

“Everyone knows yogurt is good for you,
Philip
,” Taylor said with a sniff, coming to Melissa's defense. She tugged at her pink top, which was cropped as high as the belly-button police at Amelia Ear hart would allow.

“Pipsqueak. Pansy,” Aaron said to Pip –
again.
It was kind of like his refrain.

“He is not a pansy,” Amanda peeped in her helium voice, having finally swallowed her bite of sandwich. “And anyway, it's really bad to call people names like that. It's prob'ly even against the law. It's like a hate crime, practically!”

“Oh,” Aaron said, looking mean and happy at the same
time. “The pipsqueak pansy's fat little friend is sticking up for him! And what makes you the expert about whether or not Pip is a – ?” Aaron mouthed the insult and waggled his hands in the air again.

“Shut up,” Amanda and Pip said in unison.

“And Amanda's not fat,” Skye heard herself say. Maddy nudged her ribs.

“C'mon,” Danko said to Aaron, bored. “Let's book. Who cares who's gay?”

“I'm not gay!”
Pip shouted, and for some reason, his voice rang out loud and clear above the surrounding din as if he were making an announcement over the intercom. Nearly every head turned, and kids pointed and laughed.

Aaron smirked.
“Now
we can book,” he announced happily.

“I'm ruined,” Pip muttered twenty minutes later in art class as they worked on their self-portraits. “Everyone heard me say it. I hate those guys!”

“I didn't hear,” Matteo whispered, trying to make him feel better. “I was eating outside. I heard about it later, though,” he confessed. “I said, ‘Dude, no way.'”

“Thanks, I
guess
,” Pip told him. His freckles seemed to be standing out more than usual on his face, which was pale, Skye noticed.

“Well, he called me fat,” Amanda said, “but
I
don't
care. I'm not ruined. I hate him, too, though.”

“Excuse me, people,” Ms. O'Hare called out, looking up from the art book she was studying. “But I don't think self-portraits call for a whole lot of chitchat. I'll be coming around in five minutes for individual critiques, so please get to work.”

Skye bent over her assignment – which was a lot more interesting than what they'd been doing in art activities lately. In art activities, they'd been toiling away on posters for the food drive, and on a banner for November's Homecoming game, and on posters for the dance, which was called “The Turkey Trot,” for some crazy reason, and on the special Homecoming newspaper, which promised to be dull beyond belief.

“Guess what?” Amanda whispered. “My mom says I can give a costume party the Saturday before Halloween, and all the art activity kids can come. Maddy, too, if she wants,” she told Skye. “But don't tell anyone else about the party, you guys,” she added as Ms. O'Hare came gliding toward their table. It's just gonna be us art jerks, that's all. But it'll be fun!”