Too Good to Be True Read online

  —Effie Trinket

  Monday, August 19, 7:23 A.M.

  At my desk neat and tidy desk

  Day one. Grade eight. I’m starting the year with a positive attitude and positive action. Last night, I cleaned off my desk, organized my backpack, laid out my clothes, and made plans for where to meet Billy and Brynn before school. I slept with my straightening iron in my bed so May couldn’t find it, hide it, and get me in trouble for yelling at her for hiding my things. This morning, I woke up early; straightened my hair; ate oatmeal for breakfast; and after I had brushed my teeth, I looked in the mirror and said, “It’s going to be a great day!” I probably sounded like an ad for Folgers coffee. But I don’t care.

  As long as it works.

  4:47 P.M.

  Back at my desk

  Maybe there’s something to be said for positivity. I tried being positive all day, and to be honest, I’ve had worse first days back to school. I’m sure I could find things to complain about, like having first-period PE, which meant that by the time I’d finished playing forty minutes of field hockey, there was absolutely no point in straightening my hair this morning.

  Or having second-period science with Mrs. Thompson, whose classroom is an unair-conditioned trailer at the back of the campus. By the time I walked there and sat through another forty minutes, I not only had frizzy hair, but I also didn’t smell my freshest.

  I could complain about having to walk (0.3 miles according to my Trail Tracker app) from Mrs. Thompson’s class to third-period assembly and getting even hotter than I already was, or about having fourth-period lunch, which started at 10:47 and which meant I was expected to eat meatloaf or chicken patties before I’d even finished digesting my oatmeal.

  I could also complain that even though I had fourth-period lunch with Billy and Brynn, I had no classes with Billy and only study hall and fifth-period math with Brynn, which really didn’t seem fair especially since Billy and Brynn had second, seventh, and eighth periods together, which means I could definitely complain about the fact that Faraway Middle School doesn’t let students request who they want to be in class with.

  But I’m going to resist the temptation to complain about any of those things (and some other things) since I’m the new, positive me. And in my positive view, today was pretty good. It wasn’t like there was a whole string of good things that happened, but there was one thing that happened and if it works out the way I want it to, it would be great.

  During assembly, a bunch of teachers were making announcements about clubs and activities. Ms. Baumann was there—the dance team coach from the high school—and she announced that she’s opening up four spots for eighth-grade girls on the dance team. She said there are a lot of juniors and seniors on the team, and she wants to “nurture young talent.” Tryouts are going to be next Thursday, and the girls who make it will go to the high school every day after school to practice with the team, and they’ll perform with the team in competitions and in the fall dance show just before Thanksgiving. They’ll even get to perform at homecoming!

  When she finished talking, the gym got really noisy. It seemed like every single girl got excited about it. The Faraway High School dance team is amazing, and being part of homecoming and the fall dance show (which is a huge deal in town) would be so cool. Emily Pope, who has taken dance for years and was sitting two rows in front of me, started clapping and cheering like crazy. She’ll definitely make the team.

  Brynn, who was sitting next to me, reached over and squeezed my hand hard like she had breaking news. “We have to make it!” she whispered.

  I squeezed back. We’ve always talked about how cool it would be to be on the dance team together. “We need to start practicing,” I said to Brynn as we were leaving the assembly. She nodded like she agreed completely.

  After the assembly, a bunch of girls were talking about trying out, and Brynn was quiet. I know Brynn better than anyone, and the only time she’s quiet is when she’s mad or scared. Today she didn’t have anything to be mad about, which means she got scared about tryouts and making the team. She must really want it. I do too.

  I know I’m supposed to be embracing the new me and staying positive, so I’ll just say this: I’m excited about trying out for the dance team, but I’ll be a lot more excited if I make it.

  5:42 P.M.

  Mom just asked me if I’d walk Gilligan before dinner. The old me would have done it, but I would have groaned and rolled my eyes when Mom asked me to do it. The new me took the leash without complaint.

  5:57 P.M.

  I’m back from my walk, and I have a question: how am I supposed to stay positive when I’m doing something as uncomplicated as walking my dog and something happens that complicates it?

  While I was walking Gilligan, I ran into Matt Parker, who was also walking his dog. This isn’t the first time this has happened. It happens a lot and it’s weird! I know if I talked to Brynn about it, she’d say, “It’s not so weird. Matt’s got a dog and a mom who probably makes him walk his dog before dinner just like your mom makes you walk your dog, and he lives next door to you.” But a) it feels weird to me, like Matt’s watching out his window and when he sees me walking my dog, he walks his too, and b) I couldn’t talk to Brynn about it anyway. Not after what happened this summer. Matt Parker is one topic that’s off-limits with Brynn. Whatever. The problem is that I’m always a mental case around Matt. Like just now. He started walking beside me and telling me all this stuff about high school and how it’s so much cooler than middle school.

  I could have said a bunch of normal things back, like, “Cool,”or “Awesome.”But what I said was “My mom is waiting for me to serve dinner and I have to go.”

  When I said that, Matt did this head bob thing he always does when he’s done with a conversation. Then he turned around and walked back to his house.

  Why would I say I had to go? I meant that I had to go eat dinner, but Matt could have taken it to mean I had to go to the bathroom. I sincerely hope he didn’t take it that way, but why wouldn’t he? I mean, at least half the time when people say they have to go, they mean they have to pee.

  I can’t think of one good reason why I would say anything to Matt that makes him think I have to pee. Seriously, there has to be something wrong with me. Why can’t I just talk to Matt like I talk to every other human on the planet? Part of me doesn’t even like talking to him, but another part does and it doesn’t want to say the wrong thing. It’s confusing, like feeling hot and cold or right and wrong at the same time. That sounds so stupid. I don’t know why I’m so weird about Matt.

  Anyway, the whole conversation took maybe a minute, but it was an uncomfortable minute. My legs actually got shaky walking next to him. Next time Mom asks me to walk Gilligan, I’m going to tell her to ask May to do it. Or maybe I won’t. I don’t know. Trying to decide makes me feel much more like the old April than the new, positive one.

  10:02 P.M.

  In bed

  I was just on the phone with Billy and Dad came into my room and we had the most annoying conversation.

  Dad: April, you look tired.

  Me (to Billy): Hold on.

  Me (to Dad): How would you know? You don’t have your glasses on.

  Dad: Lights out.

  Me: Dad!

  Dad: April!

  But the fact that dad is overbearing and half-blind is not the point. The point is that I love talking to Billy. He’s the only person I never get sick of talking to. Whenever I hang up after talking to him, I look at my phone to see how long we talked. Tonight was fifty-three minutes. Our record is ninety-four minutes.

  Thinking about talking to Billy makes me think about talking to Matt today. I really don’t know why I’m thinking about talking to Matt. I talked to Matt for one bad minute and Billy for fifty-three good ones.

  The worst part of success is trying to find someone who is happy for you.

  —Bette Midler

  Thursday, August 22, 5:35 P.M.

&nbs
p; In my garage

  Brynn just left. Practice for dance team tryouts officially started this afternoon in my garage. Brynn and I tried practicing yesterday and the day before, but somehow on both days May and June ended up in the garage with us and they did most of the dancing. Yesterday, May said I looked like a duck when I danced and June repeated it and then they both started waddling around like ducks. So today I asked Mom if she would take them with her when she went to do her errands, and it was just Brynn and me.

  Even though we really needed to practice, it was almost better when May and June were around.

  This isn’t going to sound like the “new” me, but I didn’t enjoy practicing with Brynn. She was so annoying. She kept saying that I should straighten my arms and point my toes and keep my head up. So I said, “Brynn, you should be doing those things too.”

  She laughed like it was ridiculous I would say that. Then she said, “You know, I don’t mean this in a mean way, but you do kind of look like a duck when you dance.”

  When I told her I didn’t see how she could say that, she said, “I’m just reporting what I see. Besides, May and June already said it.”

  Whatever. I didn’t like hearing it.

  Friday, August 23, 5:42

  In my garage, again

  More dance practice in my garage.

  The whole staying-positive thing is getting old fast. Brynn and I both danced to the song we’re supposed to try out to. “How do I look?” Brynn asked when we finished.

  I said she looked good. Then, instead of telling me I looked good back, she said, “Making the high school dance team as an eighth grader is a HUGE deal! I’m going to put an article about it on the FRONT PAGE of the school newspaper.” She looked at me like she was waiting for the full effect of her words to sink in. Then she said, “April, I hope this doesn’t hurt your feelings, but it doesn’t look like you’re trying your hardest.” She made this long speech about the importance of honesty and about how as my best friend, she thought she should be brutally honest with me. “That’s just what you do with people you love,” she said.

  But she didn’t have to be that honest. And if I’m being honest, I thought I looked better than Brynn. After she left, I called Billy. I was going to ask him if Brynn’s brutal honesty ever bothers him, but he didn’t pick up.

  7:48 P.M.

  We just got home from dinner at the Love Doctor Diner. Dad wanted us all to see his new and what he calls “improved” Love Doctor Diner sign. It not only lights up but also changes colors from hot pink to bright purple to fire-engine red. It’s the kind of sign you can see from anywhere in town or, for that matter, from the next two towns over. I almost had to shield my eyes when I looked at it.

  “What do you girls think?” Dad asked as we all watched the sign flash through its color palette.

  “I think it’s beautiful,” said May.

  “I think it’s beautiful,” repeated June.

  “April, what do you think?” Dad asked.

  I thought about what Brynn said this afternoon about my dancing and how it’s important to be brutally honest with people you love. Personally, I think brutal honesty is overrated.

  I told Dad I thought his sign was beautiful.

  Saturday, August 24, 4:45 P.M.

  Just home from Brynn’s

  Can’t believe what happened

  Brynn and I spent all afternoon at her house practicing for the dance team tryouts. It was going pretty well until Billy came over. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see him. I was just surprised he was there. He kind of seemed surprised he was there too. “So why did you text me to come over?” he asked Brynn.

  “April and I are getting ready for the dance team tryouts. We’re both going to dance to the song we’re trying out to, and we want you to judge us and tell us who’s the best.”

  I thought I was hearing things. First of all, that wasn’t something “we” wanted. “We” never discussed it. I didn’t even know she had texted Billy to come over. And I could tell that Billy was uncomfortable with the idea.

  But before Billy or I could say anything, Brynn turned on the music and said she was going first. Her hips were moving and her arms were flying right in front of Billy and I could tell she was trying her hardest. When she finished, she looked at Billy and smiled, and then she looked at me. “April, it’s your turn.”

  I couldn’t just sit there, so I got up, started the music again, and danced. But it was uncomfortable. Even though Billy is my boyfriend, it was awkward dancing right in front of him.

  When I finished, Brynn looked at Billy. “Who did you think was better?” she asked.

  It was so crazy. I couldn’t believe she was asking Billy to choose. I don’t know if it’s because she thinks she’s better and she wanted him to think that too or if she’s scared we won’t both make the team and on some level (hopefully a subconscious one), she’s trying to psyche me out. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Billy said it was an absolute tie. When Brynn insisted he had to choose, he wouldn’t. All he said was “You dance differently, but you both looked good.”

  It made me love Billy. Not in an I’m-in-love-with-him way but just an I-love-how-he-handles-things kind of way.

  9:35 P.M.

  The more I think about what happened at Brynn’s today, the more it bothers me. I keep thinking the reason Brynn danced in front of Billy and wanted him to choose who dances better is because she likes him. I mean, we’ve all been friends for a long time, so of course she likes him. But before they left for camp this summer, I thought she might have liked him as more than a friend.

  She didn’t, but I’m wondering: does she now?

  10:07 P.M.

  I guess the question that matters is: does Billy like Brynn in a more-than-a-friend way? And the answer to that is no. He likes me. He’s my boyfriend.

  But Brynn does have shinier hair, a cuter nose, and better clothes. Does that matter? I don’t think so. I don’t care. Well . . . OK, I care.

  Just a little.

  Sunday, August 25, 3:37 P.M.

  OMG!

  I can NOT believe what happened this afternoon!

  I was lying out in the backyard in my bikini, trying to get tan before dance tryouts, and squeezing lemons on my hair, which is supposed to give you blond highlights. Then suddenly Matt Parker walked out into his backyard, looked over the fence, saw me and walked over, and sat down on my towel next to me! He didn’t even ask me if he could sit down. He just did.

  I was shocked he was sitting there, and I guess I gave him a what-are-you-doing-here look, because he started explaining. “I could smell the lemons from next door. We had a lemon tree in our backyard in California. I love the smell of lemons. It reminds me of home,” he said. Then, before I could do anything, he leaned over toward me. For a few seconds, I thought he was going to kiss the top of my head, but he smelled it!

  “My new name for you is California,” he said. He smiled the cutest smile ever, and then he got up and left.

  I probably shouldn’t admit this, but I laid there for a long time hoping he’d come back. I can never think of anything to say to Matt, and suddenly there were so many things I wanted to ask him, like why he moved to Faraway and if he misses California and what his family is like. But Matt didn’t come back, so I’m saving my questions.

  I probably shouldn’t admit this either, but I like my new nickname.

  Wednesday, August 28, 9:42 P.M.

  In the bathtub

  It’s not easy writing in a journal while you’re taking a bath. It’s also not easy trying to relax (which is what I’m trying to do) when dance team tryouts are tomorrow.

  Brynn and I have been practicing all week. Today when we finished, Brynn was like, “Are you nervous?”

  “I’m pretty nervous,” I admitted. Then I asked her if she was, and she said the only thing she’s nervous about is that we won’t both make it. She said it like it would be a shame for me if she made it and I didn’t, but I know she’s just as worried
that she won’t make the team either.

  We both really want this. I try to take a deep breath and push all negative thoughts out of my head. I think about the old me and the new me. The old me would believe I won’t make it. The new me needs to think that I can.

  Eenie, meenie, miney, mo.

  Old me feels like the way to go.

  Thursday, August 29, 1:52 P.M.

  Study hall

  I’m so nervous, I can’t study. I don’t usually study in study hall, but there’s no chance I’m going to today. I just looked across the row of desks separating Brynn from me. She looked like she’s pretending to study, but I know she’s thinking about dance tryouts after school.

  Dear God, please let me make it.

  7:54 P.M.

  In my room

  Standing up

  Too excited to sit!

  I MADE IT!!! I’m going to write that again because I can. I MADE IT!!!

  I can’t believe I did. Tryouts were so stressful. Twenty-eight girls, four spots. Ms. Bau-mann broke us up into groups of four, and my group, which was Brynn, me, Emily, and this girl Heather, was last. It was torture waiting and watching all the other groups. Brynn kept telling me to try and relax even though I could tell she wasn’t relaxed at all.

  Heather kept saying she’d forgotten to shave her legs and asking if we thought Ms. Baumann would notice. I actually thought Brynn was going to be her truthful self and tell Heather that her black, hairy leg stubble was noticeable, but she didn’t. We had to wait for over an hour for our turn, and then I was focusing so hard on the moves and pointing my toes and keeping my head up that it felt like the dance only took a few seconds, and after we danced, we had to sit around and wait another half hour while Ms. Baumann made her decisions.