Planet Middle School
NIKKI GRIMES
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Heartsick
Names
Tom Boy
Basics
Sitting Pretty
Signature
Preacher’s Kid
Conversation
Jake
Beginnings
New Math
Ridges
The Usual
B-Day
Humiliation
Planet Middle School
Last Straw
Hunger Pangs
Early Warning Signs
Oh, Joy
Artiste
Worthless
Through the Walls
Game On
Busy
Cravings
It’s Official
Period
The Curse
Lunch Line
Text
Bragging
The Evil Eye
The Produce Section
It’s Not My Fault
Not My Kind of Exercise
Bell
Locker Room
Lunchroom
Silent Shift
History
Risky Business
Butterfingers
Teacher
Girls Will Be Boys
After
Santiago
Dinner Chatter
Speechless
Boy Watch
The Closet
Message
Apology
Unspoken
To Be Honest
Lipstick
Busted
Help
Advice
Practice Does Not Make Perfect
Useful Noise
Hair
Scar
Enough
The Plan
Seven Kinds of Sorry
Looking Back
I’m Texting as Fast as I Can
Woodruff Never Had a Chance
Kudos
Obsessed
Reminiscing
The Hang-Up
Huddle
Just Like Old Times
Lonely Lobes
Pierced
Studs
Doubt
School Photos
It’s Not What You Think
Behind Closed Doors
Homework
Quick Question
Practice
Birthday Dinner
Better Than Cake
Told You So
Heels
Run
Daydreaming
Movie Night
The Day After
Skirting the Issue
Caught
Runway
I Don’t Get It
Fire Drill
News Travels
Sick to My Stomach
What Are Friends For?
Is Everybody Crazy Now?
Hiding Out
Glee
The New Girl
Aftermath
Fuming
Confession
The Call
S.O.S.
Room 321
Vigil
Concussion
Visiting Hours Are Over
Gift
Standing Watch
The Old Jake
Peg-Leg
I Hate to Say It
Readjustment
Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner?
Acknowledgments
Imprint
For my young friend and surrogate daughter,
Sheila Northcutt,
whose middle name should be Joy.
Heartsick
The emergency-room doors
crack open
and I feel my heart split.
The hospital smell
leaves me dizzy,
or maybe it’s just my fear.
What if I got here too late?
What if my friend’s eyes
never open?
What if I missed the chance
to say I’m sorry?
Our fights seem silly now.
But then,
so do the last few months.
I guess the joke is on me.
Too bad I don’t feel
like laughing.
Names
Joylin was my mother’s idea.
She says she swelled with joy
the moment she knew
I lay curled up
inside her.
While she waited
for my arrival,
she dreamed in pink,
imagined frilly dresses
and sweet tea parties.
Sorry, Mom.
Jockette is what
Caden calls me.
He’s so lame.
If he weren’t my brother,
I’d strangle him.
Just kidding.
So what’s the big deal, anyway?
So I’m not a girly girl.
So what?
Is there some law?
I don’t think so.
Tom Boy
What does that
even mean?
And where did it come from?
And if there’s a Tom Boy,
how come there’s no Jane Girl?
I’m just sayin’.
Basics
I go to my closet
grab a T-shirt and jeans.
Which pair will I wear?
Long jeans, cropped jeans,
just so they are baggy jeans.
Dad keeps asking Mom,
“Where’s the girl
you promised me?”
Like he doesn’t love
our games of one on one.
Please.
Sitting Pretty
Mom bugs me about
sitting with my legs
wide open.
But I don’t get
what she’s so worried about.
I’m covered up in blue jeans.
It’s not like anyone
can see anything.
I’ve told her this
a million times.
For some reason,
she just keeps
shaking her head.
Signature
My friend KeeLee teases me
for always being dressed
head to toe
in navy.
I just roll my eyes
and tell her
it’s my signature color.
She’s just jealous
she doesn’t have one.
Preacher’s Kid
I.
KeeLee would swallow the rainbow
if she could.
She loves every single color.
“God made each one,” says KeeLee.
“He doesn’t pick favorites,
so why should I?”
KeeLee’s a preacher’s kid,
so she’s got a different way
of looking at things.
II.
She chose me when we were nine.
At school, a bunch of girls
were making fun of me
for dressing like a boy.
I tried to act like I didn’t care,
but KeeLee caught me balling my fists
and shoving them inside my pockets.
She pushed through the group
and came straight to my side.
“You’re just jealous,” she told those girls,
“’cause the boys don’t want to play with you.”
Then she slipped her arm through mine
and said, “Let’s get out of here.”
III.
KeeLee dresses frill
y,
but she’s tougher than me.
One day, a girl called her
Goody Two-shoes,
and KeeLee said,
“Well, you got the shoe part right!”
and walked away.
“You think being a Tom Boy is hard?
Try being a PK,” says KeeLee.
“Everyone expects me to be perfect.
Like that’s even possible.”
KeeLee may not be an angel,
but she’s practically perfect to me.
Conversation
Jake thinks KeeLee
is a little weird.
She was watching Jake and me
play ball one day
when he was off his game.
He kept putting “God”
and “damn” in the same sentence
every time he missed the hoop.
I cleared my throat
to get his attention,
nodded in KeeLee’s direction
“Pastor’s kid, remember?”
Jake turned red,
told KeeLee he was sorry.
“For what?” she asked.
“For taking God’s name in vain.”
“But you didn’t,” said KeeLee.
“Yes, I did.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes. I did.”
“No,” KeeLee said again.
“You didn’t.”
Jake looked too confused to spit
and I wasn’t much better.
“My father says, God is who he is,
but that’s not his name.
And you can’t take his name in vain
if you don’t even know what it is.”
“So, what’s his name, then?” asked Jake.
KeeLee smiled.
“I’m not telling.
If you want to know,
you’ll have to ask him yourself.”
Jake just shook his head
and threw his hands up.
I didn’t know what to say,
but KeeLee’s words
made me wonder
what other secrets
she and God shared.
Jake
Monday afternoon
I meet Jake for our weekly
game of one on one.
He takes the ball out
and I do my best to block him,
but he’s too tall and solid
for me to break his play.
Didn’t used to be that way.
Back in second grade
when we first met,
I was the one
with all the size.
Not sure when that changed.
But so what?
He’s still one of my best friends,
him and KeeLee.
We play for an hour or so.
When it’s time to find our way home,
he play-punches me
in the arm, like always,
only harder than I remember.
I must be getting soft.
“Later, dude,” says Jake.
“Yeah, later,” I say,
grinning through the pain.
Beginnings
I.
Jake moved to the neighborhood
right after his dad walked out
and left his mom a mess.
One December day, at recess
I found him all by himself,
clinging to a swing,
crying in the cold.
I plopped down on the swing
next to him,
pushed myself off the ground,
and kept him quiet company.
When I could see
he was done crying,
I said, “Hi. My name’s Joy.”
And he said, between sniffles,
“I’m Jake.”
And that’s all it took
to make us friends forever.
II.
When I had appendicitis
and thought I might die,
I woke up after surgery
and there was Jake
staring down at me,
saying “Hey!”
which was about
all the conversation
I was in the mood for.
III.
These days,
we’re mostly basketball buddies.
Jake doesn’t talk much,
but the silences between us
are filled with friendship.
I don’t know what I’d do
without him.
New Math
Up till now,
the math of my life
has been pretty simple:
friends
plus family
plus sports.
What more
could I ask for, right?
But lately,
my outside has been changing
and my inside keeps telling me
more is on the way.
Trouble is,
I’m not sure
I’m ready.
Ridges
Ridges, that’s all they are.
Two weird mounds ruining
the perfect flatness
of my chest.
I do the best I can
to hide them,
wearing too-tight undershirts
stolen from
my baby brother’s dresser.
(Okay, so Caden’s not technically a baby,
but he’s two years younger than me,
so that qualifies.)
God, forgive me, but
I need those shirts.
I just can’t have
those things on my chest
bouncing around
every time I charge down
the basketball court.
I want all eyes
on the swish
as my perfect layup shot
clears the net.
The minute Dad walks in the door
he starts grilling me:
“So?
How did the basketball tryouts go?
What did the coach say?”
I bite back a smile
and pretend annoyance.
“What about it, sport?
Did you make the team?”
“Probably,” I hedge,
wanting to watch
his excitement build.
Dad pats me on the back.
“Okay. It’s your decision.
I think you’d be good, though.”
He falls silent
and my brother, Caden,
steps in the gap.
“Hey, Dad.
Look at this!”
He holds up his drawing
of a pitcher on the mound.
“My teacher says
it’s one of the best drawings
she’s ever seen.”
“That’s nice,” Dad whispers
and turns away,
letting all the air
out of Caden’s balloon
and mine.
B-Day
Back from a killer game
at the neighborhood b-ball court,
I dribble through the living room
like I don’t know better
till Mom tells me to stop,
then I cut to the kitchen
where water waits.
I’m two glasses down
and working on a third
when Mom makes me
sputter up water
like a busted faucet.
“That’s it,” she says.
“No more training bras.
Time to take you shopping
for the real thing.”
Where is a parallel universe
when you need one?
Humiliation
“No, Mom.
You cannot come into
the dressing room with me!”
I face the torture
on my own,
fumble with assorted A cups,
plain and padded,
turn myself into a human pretzel
trying to fasten the stupid little hooks
across my back.
I’m sure there’s some
trick to it.
Then finally, I’m in,
locked down,
nothing moving,
feeling like I’ve just
been sentenced
to jail.
Planet Middle School
“It was embarrassing,”
I told KeeLee.
“I’m trying on all these
strange contraptions,
and my mom’s right outside
the dressing room,
dying for a peek!”
KeeLee shrugged.
“You’re growing up,” she said.
“That always weirds out parents.”
“Still.”
“I know.”
Thank God for KeeLee.
She’s the only familiar thing
about this crazy school year.
Bad enough my body’s
turned against me.
On top of that
everything else is new:
new school, new teacher,
new classrooms
I need a map to find.
I swear, some days
I feel like an alien,
dropped off on
Planet Middle School
by mistake.
I keep scanning the skies,
searching for that spaceship
that’s gonna take me home.
Last Straw
Over dinner,
Mom and Dad
slip into their usual ritual
discussing the day
and Mom casually mentions
“Joy and I went
bra shopping.”
I grab a napkin
to cough into
and slide down
in my seat.
“Good,” says my bratty brother.
“Maybe now she’ll stop
stealing my undershirts.”
That does it.
I bolt from the table
and make my getaway.
I’ve had more than enough
embarrassment
for one day.
Hunger Pangs
Three hours later,
I’m still chasing sleep.
My stomach growls at me
as if I’m the one to blame
for skipping dinner.
It’s all Mom’s fault, and Caden’s!
I complain into my pillow,
which gets me nowhere
so I sneak into the kitchen
for a late-night snack.