Plastic Polly, page 5
“Oh, Jenna,” Lindsey says, “what about . . .”
I tune out while Jenna answers people’s questions and look down at the speech I wrote. I was going to give the girls a pep talk, and tell them we needed to pull together, that Kelsey’s injury was a big blow to the committee, and that we had a long road ahead of us, but if we worked together as a team, I was confident we could win Groove It Up.
Okay, I admit it. I copied my speech from my favorite movie lines. But still, it’s a good speech. And with Jenna coming in and taking over, it looks like I won’t be able to give it.
I glance over and see Melinda grinning at me. “I have some things I need to say,” I whisper to her.
“I’ve got one word for you,” Melinda whispers back. “Sushi Lips.”
“That’s two words, Melinda.”
Melinda shrugs like she couldn’t care less. “Whatever. Don’t pout to me just because Kelsey isn’t here and you two can’t gang up on everyone else.”
I look at the clock above Mr. Fish’s desk. The meeting is almost over, and I haven’t said one thing. So much for being a good PlanMaster. I smile halfheartedly at Mr. Fish, who has finished his cheesecake and is staring at me.
Mr. Fish clears his throat, interrupting Jenna, who’s going into great detail about the outfits she thinks we should wear to Groove It Up. “If I recall correctly, Miss Taylor already ordered T-shirts for the planning committee.” Mr. Fish glances at me. “In fact, Zack called and said you can pick them up at the mall anytime.”
Zack Wilson, owner of Zack’s Shirt Shack, is a big supporter of Groove It Up. This year he was selected to be our emcee.
“I can do that tonight,” I say quickly.
“Fine.” Jenna looks irritated. “Then after that we need to— Polly . . .” She pauses and taps on my notebook. “Shouldn’t you be taking notes on all this?”
I pick up my pen and start to write, but then quickly put it down. “You know what, Jenna? We do need someone to take notes.” I toss my notebook and pen at her. “And as the PlanMaster, I’m selecting you to be our secretary.”
Jenna starts to protest, but I cut her off, “Unless you’ve decided you don’t want to be a part of the committee?”
Jenna grudgingly flips open the notebook. If I looked closely enough, I bet I could actually see steam coming out of her ears.
Mr. Fish clears his throat again. He has resumed reading his magazine. “You girls should also know that the coin toss meeting with American River’s planning committee is tomorrow afternoon. I need at least one of you to attend with me.”
“Okay,” Jenna says quickly. “Melinda and I will go. Kristy should come too.”
“Since I’m the PlanMaster,” I say with a look at Jenna, “I think I’ll go too.” Before Jenna can speak, I turn toward the rest of the committee and add, “And we also need to talk about tryouts. We need three judges.”
“Done,” Melinda says.
I pause and look at Melinda. “What do you mean, ‘done’?”
Melinda shrugs. “Jenna and I decided we’d be the judges.”
“Oh yeah?” I say. “How do you figure the two of you will be judges?”
“Simple. Kristy can’t be a judge if she’s trying out. And Lindsey and everyone else are seventh graders, so they can’t be judges. So that leaves me and Jenna.”
“Wow,” I say, crossing my arms. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out. So, then, who’s the third judge?”
Melinda looks at me like I’m a total idiot. “You are. You’re the PlanMaster, aren’t you?”
Chapter 7
True Confession: If my parents ever let me get a dog, I’d name her Roosevelt, after Eleanor Roosevelt. But I’d just call her Rosie for short.
AM I THE PLANMASTER? BECAUSE IT DIDN’T FEEL LIKE it at the meeting. It felt like I was stuck in my usual role, except this time instead of agreeing with everything Kelsey said, I was supposed to agree with whatever Jenna and Melinda said. After we established that, yes, I was the third judge, I brought the meeting to a close, saying I needed to be somewhere. Really, I just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.
On the ride over to the mall, Mom fires question after question at me about the meeting, even though I tell her three times I don’t want to talk about it. Once we arrive, she heads to the food court while I hurry to Zack’s Shirt Shack to pick up the Groove It Up T-shirts.
Inside, Zack shows me the shirts Kelsey ordered. They’re pink and glittery with the word “Staff” written in swirly purple writing. When I go to pay for them, Zack shakes his head, and his brown corkscrew curls bounce in all directions.
“It’s on the house this year, since you guys made me emcee.”
I thank Zack and leave. Standing outside the shop is a boy about my age holding a note card in one hand and a leash in the other. A white toy poodle dressed in a plaid sweater is at the other end of the leash, his tail wagging furiously.
“Ooooh, what a cute dog!” I crouch down to pet him, and am immediately rewarded with several humid licks on my face. I nuzzle him back. “I’ve always wanted a dog.” Actually, I’ve always wanted any kind of pet, but Mom is allergic to most animals, so that was never an option.
“You want this one?” the boy asks. “Cuz you’re welcome to him.”
The dog jumps up onto my lap, barking and licking my face.
“Percy, down!” The boy tugs on the leash. “I mean it. Get down! I’m so sorry.”
“No problem. His name’s Percy?”
“Actually, his name’s Pretty Percy—please don’t make me tell you why. I’m Justin.”
“I’m Polly.” I stand up and realize that Justin is tall. Like, basketball player tall. He’s wearing silver wire-framed glasses over eyes the color of green apples. He has a chipped front tooth, which makes his smile seem crooked. I take a step backward because—thanks to Pretty Percy—I probably now smell like dog breath.
“How—” I stop, because my voice sounds squeaky.
You are a member of the Court, I tell myself sternly. You can talk to a boy without turning into a complete moron.
“How long have you had Pretty Percy?” I ask, and this time my voice sounds confident.
“He’s my grandma’s, actually. We’re shopping for a present for my mom.” Justin gestures to an antiques shop. “They don’t want poodles in their store, and I have something for school I have to pick up from Zack’s anyway.” He waves the note card in his hand. “So I’m studying for something until Gran finishes up. You don’t happen to remember who ruled England from 1558 to 1603, do you?”
“Queen Elizabeth the First,” I say automatically.
Justin whistles. “Wow.”
“What do you mean by that?” I place my hand on my hip and study Justin, to see if he looks surprised, like he can’t believe someone like me would know the answer to a question like that. But then I realize Justin doesn’t know I’m popular. He definitely doesn’t go to Winston. I would remember a boy like Justin.
Here’s the thing: Sometimes it feels like people expect me to be a total airhead because I’m popular. I mean, I know I don’t talk about my grades a lot, but last year in an assembly when Principal Allen called my name for honor roll, I heard Bethany Perkins—the editor of the school newspaper—whisper to her friend, “Plastic Polly made the honor roll? Seriously?” I wanted to lean over and tell Bethany that not only had I made honor roll, but I also knew the answer to the question she’d missed at the last Academic Smackdown meet. (Kelsey had to go to the meet because she needed to earn extra credit, and I tagged along.) I didn’t say anything, though, because I was sitting with a bunch of girls from the Court.
“I just mean, wow, that’s impressive,” Justin says, and he sounds like he means it.
We stand there awkwardly while Pretty Percy sniffs my sandals. “If you want, I could watch Pretty Percy while you’re in Zack’s.” I’m not particularly in a hurry to get back to Mom so she can finish grilling me about the Groove It Up meeting.
And, you know, the fact that Justin is cute—in a brainy sort of way—doesn’t hurt either.
Justin cocks his head. “You’re not, like, some kind of dognapper are you? I’m kidding!” he adds when I start to protest. He hands me Pretty Percy’s leash.
While I wait, I pet Pretty Percy and check my cell phone. I missed five texts from Kelsey, all of them demanding to know how the meeting went.
“Okay, all finished,” Justin says, stepping out of the shop. He’s carrying a large bag. He clears his throat, and his Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “Hey, I was wondering if—”
Just then an elderly lady comes up behind Justin and says, “Ready to go?”
Justin glances at his grandma, then back at me. “Um . . . nice meeting you,” he mutters finally.
I’m hoping he’ll finish what he was about to say, but when he doesn’t, I hand him Pretty Percy’s leash. “Nice meeting you, too.”
And I can’t quite keep the disappointment out of my voice.
“What do the shirts look like?” Mom asks when I plop down across from her. She’s already halfway through her slice of pizza.
I open my bag from Zack’s and hold up a T-shirt.
“It’s pretty. Your dinner is getting cold.” Mom pushes a slice of pepperoni pizza toward me.
“Yeah, Zack’s was . . . busy.” I start picking off the pepperoni slices. I actually can’t stand meat on my pizza, but I love the taste of pepperoni grease on cheese.
“Hmm,” Moms says, and I can tell she’s not really listening. She opens her purse and takes out the application for Camp Colonial. “Guess what I found in the garbage this morning?”
“Mom,” I groan, “I don’t want to talk about this right now.” I make a mental note that next time I’ll tear the application into shreds before I toss it into the trash. Then I take a large bite of pizza, and make a show of chewing, hoping she’ll drop it.
Fat chance. “Well, when do you think you’ll find the time to talk about it?” Mom asks. “This is a very prestigious camp, and spots are limited. And I don’t see what the problem is. I thought you wanted to visit Boston.”
“Boston?” I swallow and look up. I do want to go to Boston. Every time we study American history in school, I think it would be cool to see all the old historical buildings.
Mom frowns. “Polly, did you even read the application?”
“I’ve been busy—and now with being PlanMaster for Groove It Up—”
“I understand that Groove It Up is time-consuming, but you still need to focus on your future.”
“I know, but Groove It Up is important,” I say, thinking fast. “I bet it would look great on a college application.” Bingo, the two words that usually get Mom’s attention (and get her off my back), especially when I say them together. College! Application!
Except it doesn’t seem to have the same effect this time. “Is that why you’re doing this?” Mom leans forward. “Or is this about having fun with your friends from the Court?”
Why am I doing this? To prove I’m not Plastic Polly? To prove I can be a leader? Because if so, I blew it royally at the meeting. “So what if it is?” I push my plate away, because I don’t feel hungry anymore. “What’s wrong with doing something just because it’s fun? Not everything has to be about work.” I tap the application.
“Are you having fun? Because I tried to talk to you about the meeting, and you refused to discuss it.”
“Because it was horrible, okay? Melinda invited Jenna Huff to be on the committee, and the two of them basically shut me out of the meeting. That’s how it went. There. Are you happy now?”
“Jenna Huff?” There’s an edge to Mom’s voice. It’s slight, but it’s there. Mom likes Mrs. Huff about as much as I like Jenna. When we were in Winston’s elementary section, Mrs. Huff was president of the PTA. Once, she sent home a note saying it would be nice if the parents who didn’t regularly volunteer gave the other mothers a break, and would Mom mind handling the decorations for the class Christmas party?
Mom, possessed with more determination than I saw when she studied for the bar exam, decided she’d show prissy Mrs. Huff she could make decorations just like any other mother.
Mom stayed up all night snipping snowflakes, frosting gingerbread houses, stringing popcorn for the class Christmas tree, and making ornaments. (She had glitter stuck in her hair for days afterward.) When she brought her box of decorations to school, Mrs. Huff took it by the tips of her fingers, as though Mom’s creations might soil her. “Laura, dear,” she said, “these are quite, um, cute. But usually we just buy the decorations.”
After that, Mom threw away anything the PTA ever sent her.
Mom’s cell phone rings. She checks it and says, “Polly, I’m so sorry, but I have to take this. Hello? Hello? Are you there? Yes, just a minute.” Mom covers the receiver with her hand. “The reception here is bad. I’m going to step away for a sec.”
“Fine,” I call as she walks away. “Nice talking to you.”
My cell pings then. It’s another text from Kelsey:
Melinda just texted. She has serious issues with how you handled the meeting. Call me!!
How I handled the meeting? Is she serious? I drop my phone onto the table, harder than I intended, so it makes a clattering sound.
“Everything okay?” says a voice behind me.
I turn. Justin is holding a plate with a slice of pepperoni pizza. He smiles tentatively. “Can I sit down?”
“Sure.” I can feel my heart quickening, and I sit up a little straighter. “Where are your grandma and Pretty Percy?”
Justin makes a face. “Percy got pizza sauce on his sweater. So now they’re over at the pet shop, getting him a new one.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea.” I try not to laugh, and fail. Justin laughs too.
“How come you’re abusing your phone?” Justin asks.
I look away and shrug. “It’s just been a bad day.” I glance back at Justin and add, “I mean, it hasn’t been all bad. I mean . . .” Then I stop talking, because I can feel my face flushing redder than the glob of pizza sauce on Justin’s plate.
My cell phone pings once. Then twice. Then again. Three more texts from Kelsey:
You haven’t called me. Call me!!
Melinda says you need major help being the PlanMaster.
Are you ignoring me?
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Justin asks. “You look kind of stressed.”
“I guess I am.” I push my phone away as it pings yet again. “There’s this project at school I’m in charge of, and sometimes I think anyone else in the world would be better at it, you know?”
Justin smiles. “I know the feeling. What project is it?”
“I’m the PlanMaster at my school for something called Groove It Up, and it’s not going well.”
Justin gets a strange look on his face. “Oh, look, Polly, I think—”
“The thing is,” I say, “my best friend, who was supposed to be the PlanMaster, sort of dropped out, so now I’m in charge. But no one seems to think I can pull it off.”
Justin tries to say something, but I cut him off, because it feels good to talk to someone, even if it’s a (cute!) boy I don’t know. “Also, there are girls on my planning committee who are trying to take over, and I don’t know how to deal with it.” I tell Justin a few more things, like how Mr. Fish refuses to help me, and how Kelsey planned to give half the slots to our cheerleading team. I also tell him how Melinda always says if our school wins, then the PlanMaster deserves the credit, but how I think she also means if Winston loses, then the PlanMaster is to blame. And I wonder if I could get banished from the Court.
Because that can happen. Last year Haley Miller made the mistake of saying yes when Gavin Clark asked her to the Spring Fling dance. Apparently, he’d been Brooklyn Jones’s secret crush forever. One day Haley was popular. The next she was banished from the Court. Frozen out. She finished the rest of the year in exile, eating lunch by herself in the library. Because once Brooklyn made it clear Haley wasn’t her friend, no one else wanted to be Haley’s friend either.
I’m wondering now if I should have thought of that before deciding to become the PlanMaster. I’m starting to feel stupid for not resigning when I had the chance. No guilt, and no explanations necessary, Principal Allen had said. But if I resign now, won’t that just prove what she and Mom thought? That I’m too frivolous, too plastic to do anything other than hang at the Court and text?
When I finish, Justin, who looks really uncomfortable, says, “Um, Polly, I think I should tell you—”
“I’m so sorry,” Mom says, walking up behind Justin. “That took longer than I expected. We need to get going. I have to go back to the office.” Mom looks stressed. She barely glances at Justin before turning around and heading for the exit.
“Okay.” I grab my phone and read the last text from Kelsey—she’s threatening to break out of the hospital, hunt me down, and pummel me with her cast if I don’t call her back ASAP.
“Thanks for listening,” I say to Justin, feeling shy all of a sudden. “I’ll see you around.” I run to catch up to Mom.
“I’m sure you will,” he calls behind me.
And I don’t know why, but this time Justin’s the one who sounds disappointed.
Chapter 8
True Confession: I practice different “looks” in front of the mirror. A useful one is my Popular Polly look, a mixture of indifference and boredom. I use it when I think someone has said something mean about me.
THE GROOVE IT UP ANNUAL COIN TOSS TRADITIONALLY happens about two weeks before the actual event. The planning committees for both schools meet and toss a coin to determine which campus will host Groove It Up. It’s considered home court advantage. Last year American River won the toss. The year before that as well. They have a habit of winning the coin toss but losing Groove It Up.
This year the meeting is in Mr. Fish’s classroom. I arrived five minutes early and helped him line up desks in two rows facing each other. Winston’s entire planning committee decided to come, and we’re sitting on the side facing the door, waiting for American River’s committee to show up. They’re late, and people are getting antsy.
