Do-Over Read online

  “Excuse me,” I said as we passed. He stopped walking and stared at me. “Would you do me a big favor?” I asked. “I’ve never been kissed before, and I figure now is as good a time as any. Would you mind kissing me? Nothing too mushy; just a little peck.”

  He jerked his head away from me and narrowed his eyes. “What are you, some kind of freak?” he said.

  Thanks a lot.

  I rubbed my locket. “Do-over.”

  Now I watched as he and my ghost self walked backward, away from each other. Then that weird merging of my ghost self and my real self at the instant that time started ticking again. As we walked toward each other, I tried a new approach. “Hey, big shot,” I said. “It wouldn’t kill you to say hello, would it? Get over yourself, will ya?”

  “What are you, some kind of freak?” he said.

  Hmmmph. No imagination. Hottie or not, he definitely wasn’t my type.

  I rubbed my locket.

  “Do-over.”

  This time, when we passed each other, we kept walking.

  Missed your chance, I thought playfully. Your loss.

  What happened next made me realize that this power didn’t have to be all about me. As I continued walking, I saw a toddler run through his front yard, then cry when he tripped over a rake.

  I rubbed my locket. “Do-over.”

  The toddler ran backward instead of forward, hurtling back ten seconds in time. As he headed toward the rake, I ran over and scooped him up in time to undo the fall. He peered up at me, then burst into tears.

  “Now, that’s gratitude,” I said playfully, smoothing his hair. I picked up the rake and leaned it against his house, then continued walking to school.

  “Thanks…,” his mother called to me from the front porch.

  So. This really was happening. I had just undone a skinned knee. What else was I capable of?

  “Okay, Mom,” I said under my breath. “You got me into this. You are watching out for me…right?”

  I quickened my stride and took a deep breath of the balmy morning air. One way or another, seventh grade was definitely about to take a turn in a new direction. I’d tried blending in, and that was a disaster. Now it was time to stand out.

  EIGHT

  Carter was at her locker when I reached mine.

  “Oh, hi, Elsa,” she cooed in a gaggy saccharine tone. “Did you enjoy the field trip yesterday? Hate it that we couldn’t be partners.”

  I opened my locker and started digging through it. “Right,” I said. “Hate it that you ratted me out to Darcy.”

  Carter gasped. “As if!” she huffed. “Somebody else must have overheard us. I didn’t say a word! Besides, I thought she’d consider it a compliment that you think she looks like Miss America. That is what you said…right?”

  “Something like that,” I muttered.

  Carter’s locker door clanged shut. “The good news,” she said, “is that Darcy totally forgives you.”

  I brushed the back of my hand along my forehead. “Whew!” I said sarcastically.

  My do-over power had given me the nerve to say exactly what was on my mind, knowing I could unsay it if necessary. It felt great to have such confidence. And rather than acting miffed, Carter seemed kind of…impressed. As I started to walk away, she quickened her pace to keep up with me.

  “Wait up!” she called.

  The new and improved Elsa, I thought with a smile.

  In fact, while I was at it…

  Carter was still trotting along when I decided to make a detour to the school office and see Grouchy Office Lady.

  I stuck my head in the office. Mrs. Stiffle didn’t even look up.

  “Oh, Mrs. Stiffle,” I said in a singsong voice.

  No response.

  “Hey! Stiffle!” I barked so loudly that she jumped. “Look alive! And while you’re at it, turn that frown upside down, Grouchy Office Lady.”

  The look that swept over Mrs. Stiffle’s face was gradual and so satisfying that I hated to cut the moment short. Her eyebrows rose first, then her jaw dropped and her hands balled up into tight little fists, and…

  I rubbed my locket. “Do-over.”

  Ten-second rewind. Darn. It almost would have been worth it not to undo the moment. But I was confident, not suicidal, so this time, I bypassed the office and kept walking to class.

  I took long strides, trying to look important. It must have worked, because Carter was breathlessly running behind me.

  We walked into the classroom, where Darcy, Jen and Jade were already hovering in the doorway. “Love the nails, Jade,” I said in a too-cool tone of voice, curling my lip as I glanced down at the cotton-candy color. “Did you find that shade in the toddler section of the cosmetics counter?”

  I was going to snatch the moment back, but although Jade blushed, Darcy, Jen and Carter looked on in total admiration. This they admired? I was sorry for Jade’s sake, but I’d obviously stumbled onto something big.

  And if they thought snotty was cool, just wait until I added brilliant to the mix.

  The bell rang and Mr. Wright waved us in from the doorway. “Seats, everybody,” he said. “We’ve got a lot to cover.”

  I smiled shyly at Martin as I passed him, but he looked away. I didn’t blame him for being mad. But things would change when he realized how smart I was. Soon everybody in the whole school would want to be my friend.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Wright said, propping himself on the edge of his desk, “today we’re going to start reading a novel written by a woman who lived just a couple of states away. It’s a Southern book with a Southern sensibility, so I think you’ll all be able to relate to the dialect, the characters, the setting. But what I find most fascinating about To Kill a Mockingbird is its universality. Because Harper Lee taps into the most basic elements of humanity, it’s a book that any person, from any spot on the globe, can relate to. The essence, of course, of a great novel.”

  I smiled and rubbed my locket. “Do-over.”

  Suddenly, Mr. Wright was talking backward gibberish. Yes! It was working.

  “…so I think you’ll all be able to relate to the dialect, the characters, the setting,” he said when the gibberish ended, picking up where he’d left off ten seconds earlier.

  “Mr. Wright!” I called out, waving my arm in the air.

  He looked startled but cleared his throat and said, “Elsa?”

  “I agree that Southerners can easily relate to the book,” I said, “but what I find most fascinating about To Kill a Mockingbird is its universality.” Mr. Wright’s jaw dropped ever so subtly. Don’t pour it on too thick, I told myself, but I was on a roll. “I’m not sure I can put it into words, but Harper Lee somehow manages to tap into the most basic elements of humanity. It’s a book that anybody anywhere can relate to…the essence of a great novel, don’t you think?”

  Mr. Wright stared at me as if I’d just grown a second head.

  “Uh…,” he finally said, “you took the words right out of my mouth.” His eyebrows knitted together. “You’ve already read the book, Elsa?”

  I nodded, smiling primly.

  Mr. Wright shifted his weight, like he was regaining his footing. “Good,” he said a little nervously. “Good. Well, for those of you who haven’t read it yet…I’m guessing that’s everybody else…you’re in for a treat. If you like horror movies, there’s something in this book for you. If you like crime dramas, there’s that as well. If you like suspense…”

  I rubbed my locket. “Do-over.”

  Ten-second rewind.

  “…you’re in for a treat,” Mr. Wright said, picking up where he’d left off ten seconds earlier.

  “Mr. Wright!” Up flew my hand.

  The slightest trace of annoyance flashed across Mr. Wright’s face. “Yes, Elsa,” he said in a tight voice.

  “Have you noticed that To Kill a Mockingbird is, like, equal parts horror movie, crime drama and suspense?”

  This time, there was nothing subtle about it: Mr
. Wright’s mouth literally fell open.

  “Wha-” he said, his voice trailing off.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said sweetly. “I interrupted you. It’s just hard to contain my enthusiasm. That’s, like, my favorite book in the whole world.”

  Darcy slowly turned in her seat until her eyes locked with mine, one eyebrow arched in an upside-down V.

  “I’m glad you like it, Elsa,” Mr. Wright said, sounding a little flustered, “but let’s save some surprises for the rest of the class.”

  “Yeah, Elsa,” a voice called from two rows over. Everyone turned toward the sound. It was Martin, eyeing me with a steady gaze. “We wouldn’t want everyone to know, for example, that Boo Radley is really a harmless old kook who saves Scout’s life at the end. Or that Atticus loses his case.”

  It was a challenge, one that caught me off guard enough to forget my secret weapon. Sorry, Martin, I thought, but you’ll have to step aside as the smartest kid in the class. Survival of the fittest and all that…

  Mr. Wright clapped his palms together loudly. “Maybe we should start summer break a few weeks early. I’m feeling a little redundant up here.” The class tittered and Mr. Wright rubbed the back of his neck. “Is there anyone in this class who hasn’t read To Kill a Mockingbird?”

  Slowly, hands started rising, until every one was up except Martin’s and mine. Of course I hadn’t read it! But who would know? School had just gotten a giant step easier…and with my new surefire mix of brains, snottiness and confidence, I was a giant step closer to fitting in.

  I continued to dazzle Horror Springs Middle School with my brilliance the rest of the morning. In math class, I’d wait for someone to give the correct answer, then say “Do-over” and blurt it out first. I suddenly knew gobs and gobs about fractions, proportions, percents and statistics. (And math was my worst subject!)

  In social studies, I was an instant expert on ancient Indian civilizations. Sometimes, I would ask the teacher a question (“Mrs. Rivers, what do you think were the major cultural contributions of the Aztecs?”), then say “Do-over” and volunteer the information as if it was coming out of my own head. When Mrs. Rivers pointed out that the world map in our textbook was outdated, I asked for a few details, quickly said “Do-over” and then yammered on about the need for new textbooks, what with the USSR no longer existing and at least five African nations having changed their names since that map was made. (Then, yes, I named them.)

  In art class, I asked Ms. Simmons periodically how she liked my sketches, then said “Do-over,” erased what she didn’t like and penciled in the new lines that reflected her taste.

  “Elsa, those branches are awfully straight,” Ms. Simmons said as I drew a tree. “Don’t you think they’d look more realistic if you gave each one a unique shape and character?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” I replied. “Thanks for the suggestion!” I rubbed my locket. “Do-over.”

  Suddenly, the branches were perfectly shaped (well…make that imperfectly shaped) the first time around.

  No need to burden my teachers with my amateurish work or unsophisticated answers if a ten-second rewind could give them exactly what they were looking for.

  I had a little bit of trouble in science class; I blurted “Do-over!” and snatched other people’s answers a couple of times before I had a chance to realize they were wrong. (Who knew that mitosis and meiosis are two different things?) But I just kept replaying each moment until I had my science teacher, Ms. Wilkins, convinced that I was the next Carl Sagan. (I hadn’t even known who he was until I became an instant expert on his astronomy theories, thanks to Martin’s contributions in class!)

  It was a little off-topic, but one time, I pointed to an anatomical drawing on Ms. Wilkins’ wall and asked her the name of one of the bones. When she told me, I rubbed my locket, said “Do-over,” and then raised my hand and said, “By the way, Ms. Wilkins, do all primates have a maxilla?”

  Just for fun.

  Sure, I felt a few twinges of guilt. It wasn’t really fair to snatch answers and ideas right out of people’s mouths, but they were none the wiser. And I really was smart, right? Now I was just letting the world know it. I would never cheat on a test or anything; in fact, this new reputation was giving me lots of incentive to study harder so I wouldn’t be exposed as a fraud. This was a good thing…right?

  And best of all, it was working. People were noticing me. Jaws were dropping as brilliant answers spilled out of my mouth, one after another. I was the smartest kid in school, just like my mom had been. I hoped that if Mom was blending in, she was proud of me. How could she not be? I was downright perfect.

  NINE

  Darcy caught up with me in the lunch line after art class.

  “Hey, Elsa, why don’t you sit with us today?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

  I smiled. Just like the new fringed shirts that everybody was wearing, I was suddenly in hot demand.

  “Sure,” I said, taking my tray and following her to the Popular Table.

  “Gee, Elsa, you’re like some kind of child progeny or something, aren’t you?” Carter said as I pulled up a chair. I tried to hide my smile. Maybe I wasn’t as smart as I was making everybody believe, but I knew the difference between progeny and prodigy.

  I shrugged. “I guess I just retain information easily.” Brilliant and modest!

  Darcy’s lip curled. “Well, you may be a brainiac, but you sure don’t know how to keep your clothes clean,” she said, staring at the fringe on my shirt, which had dipped into my gravy. “Eeewww.”

  Uh-oh. I rubbed my locket. “Do-over!”

  No gravy-stained fringe for me.

  “I guess I just retain information easily,” I repeated, lowering myself carefully—and stain-free—into my seat.

  “You’re even smarter than Martin!” Jen said admiringly.

  “Smarter than Martin?” Jade replied. “She’s smarter than the teachers.”

  “You may be the smartest person in the universe,” Carter said slowly, as if she was making an observation of grave importance.

  I waved a dismissive hand through the air. “No, really…,” I cooed. I felt like a movie star being fawned over on the red carpet at the Academy Awards. Autograph, anyone?

  “Sit by me in study hall next period,” Darcy said abruptly. “I need help with my math homework.”

  My muscles tensed. That could be a problem. It was one thing to steal other people’s answers after they’d already said them. It was another thing to come up with answers on my own. I quickly changed the subject. “What’s everybody doing this weekend?”

  Carter grinned. “Darcy’s going to see her dad, the Hollywood producer!”

  “Your dad is a Hollywood producer?” I asked.

  Darcy tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Like, duh.”

  The other girls giggled.

  “Wow…,” I said, genuinely impressed. “Which movies has he made?”

  Darcy looked a little uncomfortable. Her eyes dropped down to her lap for a split second; then she snapped her head up again.

  “What do I look like, his agent?” she said with a sneer.

  But I was curious. “Well, at least tell us one or two,” I prodded.

  “Yeah, Darcy!” Carter said, leaning closer to her. “Has he ever worked with any famous hotties?”

  Darcy paused, then said, “It just so happens he’s working with one this weekend. I can’t name names, but let’s just say you probably have his poster on your wall. I’ll be on the set, of course.”

  “In Hollywood?” Carter asked breathlessly.

  “No, Carter, in my backyard,” Darcy said, making the rest of the clique titter. “Yes, in Hollywood. Now, don’t go blabbing it all over town,” she scolded, gently smoothing her pink-striped blouse. “I still have to be, like, very discreet about Dad’s projects. If the paparazzi knew I was his daughter, they’d be all over me. I do not want my picture plastered all over some tacky tabloid.”

  “Re
ally?” Carter asked, apparently genuinely stunned. Having her picture plastered all over some tacky tabloid seemed right up Darcy’s alley.

  “I don’t do tacky,” Darcy snapped in annoyance, pouting her glossy pink lips.

  “Can you at least bring us back a picture?” Jen asked.

  “Hmmmm,” Darcy said, tapping her index finger against her chin. “What a great idea. I’ll just hang around the set like some starstruck groupie and make, like, a total fool of myself just so you can have a picture.” She sneered. “Or not.”

  Darcy got up from her seat and walked her tray over to the conveyor belt.

  She sure knew how to put people in their place. My popularity might have been growing, but no one was going to nudge Darcy from her throne. That seat was permanently reserved.

  Not.

  A light breeze blew through my hair as I walked home from school that day.

  “Elsa, wait up!”

  I turned around. Uh-oh…. “Hi, Martin.”

  “I’m headed to your house,” he said. “Well…your grandma’s house.”

  “Why?”

  “I do yard work for her on Thursday afternoons. So I guess we’re going in the same direction.”

  My stomach tightened. “Guess so.”

  Martin slowed his pace to match mine. “What’s the matter? Afraid one of your snob friends will spot you walking with a scrub?”

  Ouch. “Look, Martin, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings about the field trip,” I said, and I meant it. “I’m the geeky new kid, okay? I’m just trying to fit in. Is that such a crime?”

  Our shoes thumped against the sidewalk in unison. “Just trying to fit in?” he repeated with a laugh. “From where I sit, it looks like they’ll be renaming the school in your honor any day now.”

  I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, for one thing, it seems that you’ve had a brain transplant. With Albert Einstein as the donor.”