Smart Cookies Read online

  I can’t believe Hopper is doing two new things he never does, all in one day.

  “Quinny, we’re having a Hula-Hoop contest,” says Victoria, who is next to me all of a sudden. “You should enter.”

  Victoria loves starting contests at recess.

  “Victoria, guess what, Crescent is alive! And I can’t do your contest because I have to go tell Hopper the good news right this very instant.”

  I look back over to Hopper. He’s got a book out now, and he’s showing it to Kaitlin. I don’t even know what the name of that book is, but I’m kind of shocked, because Kaitlin is not really into books. All she ever talks about are cats and nail polish and her hip-hop dance class.

  “The winner of the Hula-Hoop contest gets a free trip with me to the dine-in movie theater,” says Victoria.

  My head snaps back to her. “What?”

  The dine-in movie theater is in Nutley, which is a big town nearby, and I’ve never even been to that theater because it’s so expensive. I heard they have cushy seats that lean really far back and a menu full of treats, and they bring food right to your seat while you watch the movie.

  Still, I’m not so great at Hula-Hooping, and I came in last for Victoria’s two other contests (jumping rope and staring-without-blinking). I say no thanks and run over to tell Hopper the good news about Crescent. Plus, I want to hear what he and Kaitlin are talking about.

  “Hi, Hopper, guess what, Crescent is alive!”

  Hopper looks up at me from the bench, all queasy. He’s hiding that paper he was looking at behind his back.

  “Daddy found him in our mailbox, can you believe it? Also, what’s that paper you’re hiding behind your back? Also, hi, Kaitlin, what are you talking to Hopper about, since I’ve never seen you do that before?”

  “Hi,” Hopper mumbles.

  Kaitlin makes a little smile, but it isn’t the nice kind of smile. She looks at Hopper, like it’s his job to answer my questions.

  “Hopper?” I look at him and wait. But he doesn’t show me the piece of paper. He doesn’t say what they were talking about or ask me to sit down with them. He won’t even look at me now.

  “Sorry, it’s kind of private,” says Kaitlin.

  Then Hopper scrunches his eyes shut. I can feel how much he wants me to go away.

  And I don’t even know what to do next.

  Hopper and Kaitlin have a secret, and it’s more important than me, I guess.

  Then a soccer ball hits my leg, and there’s my answer for what to do next. I turn away from Hopper and run that ball over toward the goal, and Alex is on my tail, and he shouts out something rude, but that just makes me run faster, and I’m in the mix with Caleb and Xander and everybody out on the field now, and I’m kicking that ball and knocking into boys everywhere. Alex steals the ball back from me, but I speed up after him and force all my hurt from Hopper down down down into my ferocious feet, and the harder my heart pumps the calmer my head feels, and I try to swipe that ball back from Alex, and he laughs, but he laughs too soon, because—THWACK! SLAM! SPLAT!—he goes down and that ball is mine and I kick it into the net.

  GOAL!

  Boy, do I love beating the boys at their own soccer game.

  Recess is definitely the best thing in life. Too bad it doesn’t last all day.

  When I open my eyes, I see Quinny running with a bunch of kids out on the field. And I’m still sitting here on the Friendship Bench with Kaitlin, who’s not even my friend.

  The yard guard’s screechy whistle pricks at my ears. Recess is over.

  Kaitlin grabs the Smart List back from me, scrunches it tiny in her fist again, and leaves.

  Everybody gets in line. I want to talk to Quinny—I want to say sorry for ignoring her before—but she is surrounded by other kids by the time I get to the line.

  Maybe I can catch her in the hall before class starts.

  I try to, but there are still too many kids around her, talking in a tornado of words.

  And then Mrs. Flavio starts class, and everyone has to be quiet again.

  In math, we begin a unit on decimals, and Quinny gets this zombie look on her face.

  In social studies, we split up into small groups to start a project on Alaskan Inuits, and Mrs. Flavio doesn’t put Quinny in my group.

  In art, we draw fruit bowls and Mr. Díaz puts Quinny on a private island since she talks more than she draws.

  In chorus, I’m in the back row and Quinny is up front, too far away to talk to. Ms. Bing tells me to stand up straight. That’s pretty much all she ever says to me. We’ve been doing a lot of extra chorus practices lately because the Winter Holiday Assembly is coming up and our grade is singing “Jingle Bells” and “Dreidel Dreidel Dreidel” in it.

  Today in chorus Ms. Bing is picking people to do the special instrument parts, and she picks Quinny to do wood block for “Jingle Bells.” She always gives the special parts to the same bunch of kids she likes best. (I’m not one of them.)

  Quinny gets so excited she starts shaking and squealing and hopping up and down.

  I look over at her, but when her eyes notice mine, they go cold and look away.

  “Wait, Big Mouth got picked to make extra noise? What a surprise,” says Alex, and people around him laugh, because people around Alex always laugh when he makes dumb comments. It’s one of the perks of being Alex Delgado.

  Quinny hollers out the words to “Jingle Bells” as she bangs that wood block up front.

  I mumble the words as I slouch in the back. I glance at the tall, quiet girl at the end of my row, who slouches even more than me and picks at her nails. Her name is Juniper and she doesn’t even sing—she just mouths the words. Juniper is lucky since Ms. Bing notices her even less than she notices me.

  After chorus, Quinny keeps ignoring me for the rest of the afternoon.

  I decide to be patient. She and I will ride the bus home together. We have assigned seats right next to each other, so I’ll have a chance to make up with her then.

  If only I knew what to say.

  The opposite of recess is called math.

  Good-bye soccer ball, hello whiteboard.

  Today we’re doing a new unit on decimals, which are like fractions but even worse, and Mrs. Flavio has way too much pep in her step as she writes on the board. She’s wearing a dress with numbers all over it, which is worse than a dress with mosquitoes all over it, if you ask me.

  I glance at Hopper. He’s sitting up straight and scrunching his forehead, and his looking-looking eyes pay all their attention to that whiteboard. He looks much happier to see those decimals than he was to see me at recess, that’s for sure. I get a sour feeling in my mouth.

  Those decimals keep piling up on the whiteboard, and Mrs. Flavio keeps moving the little dots between the numbers, only I keep losing track of those dots. My eyes just want to take a break and look out the window, but Mrs. Flavio has stuck me in the front, so if my head turns she’ll say, Quinny, show me where your eyes should be? I cross my fingers and my ankles that she doesn’t call on me, since I have no clue what she’s writing, except that it’s numbers and dots.

  I hold my breath and wait and wait, and finally math stops and social studies starts. I’m excited to start talking about Alaskan Inuits, because at least you can use words to do that.

  Later, in chorus, my day gets better when Ms. Bing picks me to bang the wood block while everyone sings “Jingle Bells”—which we’re practicing for the Winter Holiday Assembly that’s coming up. Banging things is definitely one of my strengths!

  I’m in a great mood after chorus, but Mrs. Flavio does her best to change that. At dismissal she hands out a flyer that’s going home in backpacks, and it says:

  Greetings WVES Families,

  As the winter holidays approach, this is a reminder that no cookies or sweets will be allowed at class parties, due to the new school policy prohibiting food in classrooms. This aligns with our new district policy eliminating dessert from hot lunch and adding extra vegetab
les and fruit. Thank you for your cooperation as we strive to make WVES a healthier community. Happy Holidays!

  Principal Ramsey

  I read that flyer again in case my eyeballs were playing tricks on me. Happy Holidays—is he kidding? This is the frowniest news to ever go home in backpacks! And I did not give anybody my cooperation for it.

  “But Mrs. Flavio,” I blurt out. “Cookies are a really important part of school.”

  “Quinny, settle down.”

  “You can’t just take cookies away from innocent kids. Birthdays will never be the same. And what are we going to do for a winter holiday party? I always bake coconut snowballs—”

  “We made candy-cane cookies for last year’s holiday party,” says Kaitlin.

  “My mom always buys sugar cookies,” says Xander. “And then she puts them on a plate and sends them in like she baked them at home.”

  “Oh, sugar cookies are the best,” I inform Xander. “No matter where they were born.”

  “That’s enough, everyone,” snaps Mrs. Flavio. “This is part of a new district-wide food policy and it’s for your own good. Now pipe down, it’s time to line up for dismissal.”

  Mrs. Flavio starts separating us into busser, walker, and aftercare lines. But I have to go find Principal Ramsey and inform him that these new food rules are just plain cruel! How are we supposed to have a winter holiday party without my famous coconut snowball cookies?

  I zoom down the hall, away from everyone in the bussers line.

  “Quinny? Quinny, wait!” It’s Victoria now, behind me. “Where are you going?”

  “To find Principal Ramsey and stand up for our cookie rights, of course.”

  “Did you forget? Skating class starts today. Masha’s driving us to the rink.”

  Victoria pulls me back toward the lockers, where she stops to get her bag.

  Did I actually agree to take an ice-skating class with her? I guess so, since I kind of remember saying okay, but I didn’t realize it was today. And my parents must have forgotten.

  I suddenly feel a poke on my shoulder, from behind.

  “Quinny?”

  I turn around. It’s Hopper. I get that sour feeling in my mouth again. At recess Hopper cared more about talking to Kaitlin than to me. Whatever they were saying looked like a secret, and I don’t like secrets that leave me out.

  “I…uh…” he starts. “I just…”

  If he has something to say, why doesn’t he just say it?

  “Aren’t you riding the…?” he finally murmurs.

  “Look, Hopper, I’m super sad about all the cookies being canceled and now I have to go skating with Victoria—so whatever you’re trying to say, please just spit it out.”

  Hopper looks at Victoria. He looks at me. He doesn’t spit anything out.

  “Hopper, I don’t even know what you’re trying to say, since you won’t actually say it, so why don’t you just go tell Kaitlin, since you loved talking to her so much at recess. Bye!”

  Hopper steps back. He looks at me, all shaky.

  Victoria takes my arm again. “Forget about him, he’s being so weird. Masha’s waiting—we don’t want to be late for our very first skating class.”

  Masha is the lady who takes care of Victoria while her dad works, and she’s waiting over by a big black car. She’s very calm, and says she’ll call my dad to remind him about skating.

  “I can’t believe you’ve never been skating before,” says Victoria as we get in her car. “I can already do a one-foot glide. I was going to do private lessons, but then I thought we should do an activity together to work on our friendship, which I think still needs work, don’t you?”

  I think all my friendships need some work, to be honest. The way today went with Hopper makes my stomach burn, and I don’t even know what happened exactly.

  From the front seat, Masha hands us two bento boxes full of dairy-free, nut-free snacks (because Victoria is allergic) and then we drive off to the rink so that Victoria and I can work on our friendship—or maybe just so she can show off her one-foot glide.

  I turn and look out the back window at Hopper, in the bussers line now, staring at his shoes. He’s the one who was rude at recess, so why am I the one feeling guilty all of a sudden?

  “…so why don’t you just go tell Kaitlin, since you loved talking to her so much at recess. Bye!”

  Bye. The way Quinny says it feels like a kick in the chest.

  Then she walks away with Victoria.

  I wasn’t trying to make Quinny upset at recess. I didn’t plan on sitting on the Friendship Bench or talking to Kaitlin. I was just trying to tie my shoe. And I didn’t plan on hiding that Smart List behind my back. I just didn’t want her to see it and feel hurt.

  I watch Quinny walk away with Victoria, who made the Smart List in the first place.

  Quinny thinks Victoria is her friend.

  But a true friend would never make a list like that.

  Quinny gets into Victoria’s car and looks over at me with a scowl as the door shuts. She thought I was keeping a secret from her at recess, and she was right.

  I wish there was a way to tell her the truth about that secret.

  Without hurting her feelings.

  Victoria and I get to the Whisper Valley Ice Palace and we sign in at the table and get these big yellow stickers that prove we are in the 4 p.m. learn-to-skate class with Coach Zadie.

  I’ve never had a real live skating coach before! Plus, there is something special about a person whose name starts with a Z, so I’m already excited before I even meet her.

  Masha takes us to the locker room and Victoria changes into a fancy outfit from her fancy skating bag. I stay in my comfy-loose pants, and stick that nice yellow sticker on my T-shirt (right over the jelly stain from breakfast, because I want to make a good impression on Coach Zadie).

  Victoria laces up her shiny white skates with pom-pom laces. I wait in the rental skate line and a lady hands me a pair of floppy brown skates that smell…interesting.

  “Excuse me, why were you spraying hairspray into the skates?” I ask the lady.

  “That’s foot odor spray,” she says. “So the skates don’t stink.”

  “People who rent skates usually have stinky feet,” adds Victoria, who is all of a sudden much taller now. “That’s why I got my very own skates.”

  She kicks a leg up, to show me the perfect white skates I already knew she had.

  For a second, I forget why I ever thought skating with Victoria would be fun.

  I go sit down and try to lace up my rental skates full of stink spray. It’s not as easy as it looks. And Masha is across the room, on her phone. “Here,” says Victoria. “I’ll do it.”

  She laces up my skates no problem, and when I stand up I am much taller, too.

  I am practically teenager-tall!

  “Let’s go, we don’t want to be late,” says Victoria.

  I step after her in my clunky stilt-skates, and we get closer to the ice, where the light is brighter and the air is colder and smells a little weird and rubbery. The ceiling is also much taller over the ice, with all these crisscross metal beams up high—like monkey bars for a giant! Victoria steps onto the ice, and then it’s my turn. I know how to tap-dance and chicken-dance, and I’m an expert at tae kwon do kicks and soccer kicks. How hard can this skating stuff be?

  I take a breath. I take a step.

  Splat!

  The ice is practically up my nose now. Pain buzzes my bottom and pinches my elbow, and I close my eyes to push my tears back to wherever they came from.

  “Quinny, are you okay?” Victoria’s voice is calm in my ear.

  “Fine, fine! Everything’s great!”

  I climb back up onto my hands and knees, and then grab on to the boards—oh, these beautiful, amazing boards, which I’m never, ever going to let go of.

  “It’s okay, everybody falls at first,” says Victoria. “Just get up and keep going.”

  “I know, I am.” I inchworm
along the boards, grabbing on with both shaky hands.

  “Come on, you’re holding up traffic,” she says.

  I look behind me at the line of kids who got on after me and are also clinging to the boards, or are down on their bottoms, looking shocked. That makes me feel a little better.

  I finally catch up to Victoria at the meeting spot for our class and there’s Coach Zadie, and she is all pizazzy—her leggings have confetti on them and her smile takes up most of her face and her eyebrows look really kind, so I think we’ll get along great.

  She is also an amazing skater. Coach Zadie shows us how to take marching steps and use our arms to help us balance. She shows us a two-foot glide and a one-foot glide. She shows us how to turn on two feet, and then how to turn on just one foot, which is called a three-turn, even though no one has three feet. She shows us swoopy swizzles and a graceful figure eight.

  “These are some of the fun skating elements we’ll be learning,” says Coach Zadie. “Let’s get started. Take a step and start marching…march, march, march! Then let yourself glide.”

  I let go of the boards again and take a little step. And a second step and a third, and then I stop stepping and I’m…gliding. I’m really, truly, absolutely gliding along the ice!

  My glide is working out so well that I decide to turn it into a swizzle. It looked pretty cool when Coach Zadie did it, plus I like the way swizzle sounds.

  I can do the first part of a swizzle just fine—where your skates swoop farther apart. But bringing them back together is a teensy bit harder. My skates just keep going farther and farther apart. I’m almost doing the splits on ice now—help!

  Luckily, Victoria comes over and pulls me back up from that scary swizzle.

  Next comes the most boring part of skating: Coach Zadie explains how to stop. We have to glide, then bend our knees and make a pizza-slice shape with our skates, like a pointy triangle. But I think it’d be more fun to crash into the boards and then go eat a real pizza.