new girl

When you are 10 and you are the new girl at school that is bad. But when you are the new girl from California that is VERY bad.

My new school is in Wisconsin. It is bricks and old paint and people with bad haircuts. I have on my Bass Sandals, purple clam-digger pants, and my most favorite shirt with the rainbow that stretches all the way across both sleeves. My hair is white blonde from the sun, and curly in a ponytail. I do the best ponytails.

Mr. Wrigland gives me a desk next to Jamie. She is the smartest girl in the class.

Everyone stares at me. They have shirts with collars, and shoes with laces. Their blue-jean pants go all the way to their shoes. Most of them have too-short hair and pasty skin. They look like dorks. A whole room full of of dorks. My stepsisters would be laughing their Calvin Klein butts off.

Mr. Wrigland holds up a reading book and asks if I have read this one. I have - in the third grade. It’s fifth grade now.
I scratch at my ankle with my other foot and say ,“Yes, I read that one.” Jamie looks at me.

“Well, what book were you reading when you left your old school?”
“Mountains are For Climbing - the green one.”
Jamie makes her eyes small and bites her lip at me. The rest of the class just stares - at me, and my purple pants, and the way I say “Mouwn -tens.” I just look at Mr. Wrigland. Maybe the dorks will go away.
“OK,” Mr. Wrigland says, “I can get that for you.” He leaves the room and Jamie smiles at me.
“I read that book too,” she says, “it’s from the seventh grade.” She looks at my feet and says, “You’re gonna need new shoes.”

When it is recess. I stand with Rhonda. She is new too. The school counselor comes out to talk to us. Mostly to me. He lets Rhonda and her straight-down hair and tied up shoes leave right away. But not me. Somebody told him. I can tell by the tipped head way he looks at me, that he knows all about Mama and Crazy and the airplane and that right now I have no Daddy. I hate whoever told him. He says his name is Mr. P. - that his real last name is too long, so the kids just call him Mr. P. What a bunch of stupid kids at this school - first the haircuts and the reading books and now calling a grown man Mr. P?

I don’t call him anything.

He asks if I am OK. I say that I am fine, and can he please leave me alone. I always say please - even if I hate you. Mama said manners are the most important thing. He makes a little note in his red notebook, and before I can think about what it means, Jamie taps on my shoulder.
“Let’s go.” she says. I leave with her. Write that in your stupid book Mr. P.

I swing with Jamie and Kristen, until a girl with very long legs and very short hair stands in front of my swing. I stop. I know her name is Jenny - it says so on her sweater. She is a shoe-wearer, pierced ears, lee jeans - popular girl.
“Mitch wants you,” she says.

I look at Jamie. Her eyes are big, and her chin is down. “You better go.”
So I go. I follow Jenny to the front door of the school. I am met by quite possibly the ugliest boy on the face of the planet. He is short and freckly with too-long hair.

“What do you want?” I say. Jenny and her friend stand towering behind him, arms crossed, lips pursed at me. They look like body guards.
“Mitch only picks the cute girls.” This is the friend.
“Picks them for what?” I am looking at Mitch.
Jenny rolls her eyes.
Mitch looks at me from the top to the bottom. “To be in my group.”
“Your group of what?”
“Girlfriends.”
I laugh. Partly because this is stupid, and partly because Jenny keeps rolling her eyes.
“Uh, no thank you.” Mama always said manners were most important.
“What?!”
The girls look at each other with surprised mouths and smiley eyes. I repeat it, “No.”
“Nobody says no.” He is getting mad.
I walk away and he grabs my wrist. I pull on it hard - but he is strong and it hurts. “You are obnoxious!” I whisper it. I do not want to get in trouble for fighting in school. I have never fought in school. Lots of schools - no fights.
I twist my arm from him, but he holds tight. Jenny grabs the other arm and Mitch rubs his sweaty, boy hand across the rainbow on my shirt. “Yeah,” he says, “Nice t!!3$.”

Is nobody watching this? What the hell is wrong with this freak school? Jenny lets go and I squish up my fist and throw it at Mitch. It hits him like a rock - right in the nose. Blood is on him and I don’t care. Mitch lets go and my other fist hits him in the chest - and now there is blood on me too. Somebody grabs my arm again.

It is stupid Mr. P., and I am so, so dead.