You Go First Read online

  This was a lie, of course. Well, not totally. He did take a tumble. It just happened to be over Theo Barrett’s sneaker. Ben had never realized how easy it was to trip someone without anyone else noticing. You just stick your foot in the right place and watch the person fall. It doesn’t take much. And if it’s done with exceptional skill, your witnesses are few. In this case, Derrick and Sherry. And they weren’t the most sympathetic people on the planet. When Ben fell—books flying, chin hitting the pavement—they laughed. It was such a cliché getting tripped by a bully. That’s what popped into Ben’s head as he fell.

  No one stopped to offer Ben a hand. Everyone walked around him on their way to lunch or wherever. Ben collected his books, hid his chin behind Advanced Concepts in Math, and went straight for the attendance office. If they had spirit shirts, maybe they had Band-Aids—right?

  Mrs. Carlile waved toward Wyatt. “Get the first-aid kit from the closet. We’ll get it cleaned up.” She motioned for Ben to come to her desk.

  Standing on the opposite side of the sign-in/sign-out sheet gave Ben a sense of authority. Maybe he could figure out how to sneak onto the computers and get Theo expelled.

  “So this is life in administration,” he said. His chin throbbed.

  “Glamorous, isn’t it?” said Mrs. Carlile, taking the kit from Wyatt. She pulled out an alcohol swab and Band-Aid. “It’s just a scrape.”

  “Is there any blood on my shirt?” asked Ben. A person could only lose so many shirts in one week.

  “Nope. Blood-free,” she said.

  Mrs. Carlile pressed an alcohol swab against Ben’s chin. He winced, so she blew on the injury to take the sting away. Ben suddenly thought of his mother and wished he was home with her.

  “First the Harry Potter ketchup blob, now this,” Wyatt said. “Murphy’s Law.”

  “Lunch is getting dangerous,” said Ben. “Maybe I should hang out in here. Help around the office. Do whatever Wyatt does.”

  Wyatt yawned. “Yeah. We could use the help. We’re swamped.” He picked up a pen, clicked it three or four times, then put it down again. “If you can handle the excitement.”

  “Wyatt is a unique case,” Mrs. Carlile said, positioning the Band-Aid over Ben’s chin.

  “Yep,” Wyatt said. “That’s me. Mr. Unique.”

  “I’m a unique case, too,” said Ben. The Band-Aid was secure now, although it fit awkwardly. He tried to look Mrs. Carlile in the eye as she reorganized the first-aid kit. “I can’t even walk without tripping over my own feet. It would be much safer for me in here.” Ben looked around. “Maybe I can just help you out today.”

  Mrs. Carlile sighed thoughtfully. Ben raised his eyebrows. Her resolve was breaking; he could feel it.

  “I guess it couldn’t hurt,” she said.

  “Awesome,” said Wyatt. “I’ll give you a tour.” He motioned to a cup full of pens. “These are the pens.” Then he pointed to the copier. “That’s the copier.” He took one step toward the sign-in/sign-out sheet. “There’s the sign-out sheet. If someone needs to leave school early, they sign the sheet and then use that phone to call their parents. They have to use the phone next to the sign-out sheet. They can’t use their cell phones. That’s how we prevent truancy. Truancy means—”

  “The action of staying out of school for no valid reason, also known as ‘absenteeism,’” said Ben. The Band-Aid bunched when he talked.

  “Yeah. Something like that.” Wyatt pointed to Mrs. Carlile, who was sitting at her desk again. “And that’s Mrs. Carlile and her desk. End of tour.”

  “That was fascinating,” said Ben. “So what’s our task at hand?”

  “Basically we stand here until the bell rings. The main thing is we have to make sure kids who are leaving early sign out and use the right phone. It’s pretty chill over lunch, though. So mostly I bother Mrs. Carlile with pointless questions until she tells me to shut up.”

  Ben glanced at Mrs. Carlile, who nodded at her monitor.

  “What kind of questions?” asked Ben.

  “For example,” Wyatt said. “Why are you in a movie, but on TV?”

  “Hmm. That’s a good one.”

  “Why does pizza come in a square box instead of a round one?”

  “Easier to stack, probably. Plus some people like square pizzas. And sometimes they put the extra sauce containers in the corners. And I bet it’s easier to put together.”

  Wyatt raised a single eyebrow and nodded. “Interesting theories. How about this: Why is the third hand on a watch called the second hand?”

  “He can do this forever,” Mrs. Carlile said. “Look what you’ve started.”

  “I’ve got one,” Ben said. “Why is it called a hamburger if it’s made out of beef?”

  Mrs. Carlile groaned.

  Wyatt nodded proudly. “Awesome,” he said.

  They bumped fists.

  Maybe I’ll get tripped again tomorrow, Ben thought. Then I’ll never have to go to the lunchroom again.

  Questions

  Rabbit Hole: Starfish can interact with their environment, look for food, and respond to danger. They may appear to be insentient, but they can actually influence the world around them. There’s more to starfish than meets the eye. Same with plant life.

  The dissection wouldn’t require a scalpel, after all. They would use scissors instead. Miss Schneider held a pair up in front of the class with the image of a starfish projected behind her. Tomorrow was the day.

  “You will use these to cut upward—away from yourself—toward the center of the sea star,” she said. “Then we’ll view the pyloric ceca and parts of the endoskeleton, just under the skin. The sea star has five arms, as you know, so you and a lab partner will each have the opportunity to cut through at least one arm. You’ll want to cut around the madreporite to expose the central disc area.”

  Lab partner.

  Charlotte straightened and bent her knee, hoping to get rid of the throbbing pain there. Then she looked around the room. Magda was seated two desks behind Tori. She had her head down as she scribbled in her notebook. Her dark hair fell around her face. Charlotte whispered her name to get her attention, but she didn’t look up. She whispered it a second time. When Magda caught her eye, Charlotte mouthed, “Lab partners?”

  “Me?” Magda said quietly, pointing to herself. Confused.

  Charlotte nodded and whispered, “Do you want to be lab partners?”

  Tori’s hand shot up as Magda nodded. “Miss Schneider, can you repeat that last part?” She side-eyed Charlotte. “I was distracted.”

  Charlotte fought the urge to roll her eyes.

  “I was just discussing the characteristics that make sea stars unusual,” Miss Schneider said. “Can anyone tell me where they fall in the evolutionary process? If you had to classify their appearance, would you say they are early in the process or late?”

  “Late,” said Tori, without waiting to be called on.

  “Yes,” said Miss Schneider. “Something else that’s unusual about sea stars is their radial symmetry and the fact that they don’t have heads or brains. At least, no brains to speak of. Question: Do you need a brain to be aware of your environment?”

  Tori leaned toward Isabelle, who sat next to her, and tilted her head toward Charlotte.

  “Starfish aren’t the only things that can exist without brains,” she whispered.

  They laughed.

  Charlotte raised her hand. Maybe because she knew the answer. Maybe to muffle the laughing.

  “They are aware of their environment,” said Charlotte, quietly. “They have sensory structures and they’re able to react to things around them, despite their reduced nervous system.”

  “Correct,” Miss Schneider said. She put the scissors down. “Yes, Magda?”

  Charlotte turned and looked at her new lab partner. Most of the other students did, too. Magda rarely raised her hand, even though everyone knew she was one of the smartest kids in school.

  “Can they feel pain?” she asked.r />
  Miss Schneider paused. “Sea stars have a central nervous system, so, yes. They can feel pain. But we aren’t dissecting living specimens, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

  Tori and Isabelle laughed again.

  But Charlotte thought it was a good question.

  She thought it was a very good question indeed.

  Life According to Ben

  Part XV

  “If you make them laugh, they’ll remember you forever,” said Mr. Boxer.

  Ben’s father was home early for the first time this week. He was in the kitchen, making a pot of spaghetti. Mrs. Boxer was curled into a corner of the couch with a paperback. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was just another Thursday night. But Ben knew better, so he planned to avoid the entire performance. “All the world’s a stage.” Shakespeare said that. Wait—was it Shakespeare or someone else?

  Apparently, the stage at the Boxer house involved spaghetti.

  Unfortunately, there are times when you have to get something from the kitchen and there’s just no getting around it, no matter how fast you move. Ben didn’t want to talk to his dad, but there was no way to get his water bottle from the refrigerator without crossing paths.

  “So make sure you’ve got some good jokes in that speech,” his father continued. He stopped stirring. “Do you need help? I can—”

  “No thank you,” Ben said quickly.

  “What happened to your chin?”

  “I fell. I already told Mom. Ask her.”

  Ben took a swig of water and headed back toward his room, navigating around his father’s packed boxes along the way.

  “Dinner will be ready soon.”

  “Don’t want any!” Ben called over his shoulder.

  Once he was inside his room of stasis, he locked the door and stared at it. He didn’t have much experience with anger, but he was fairly certain that’s what he felt now. He didn’t really know where it was coming from, only that it was all directed toward his father. It was shooting off like sparks from a wand. He had no idea why his parents were splitting up, hadn’t asked, didn’t want to know, preferred not to talk about it; but something niggled inside his brain and told him it was his father’s fault. His father was the one who complained the most. About work, mostly. But still.

  It had to be somebody’s fault—didn’t it?

  Confession

  Rabbit Hole: Stalagmites are formed from calcium salts that are deposited by dripping cave water. The drippings collect on a cave floor and grow taller and taller, sometimes reaching the top of the cave itself. Stalagmites grow slowly, collecting a drip at a time, and eventually become true wonders.

  “Confession,” Ben Boot said. “I know four hundred words that start with the letter Q, and I don’t know how to play basketball.”

  It was late. Charlotte was standing at her window, looking toward the Riveras’ yard. Mateo was outside, stepping up on and down from a cinder block, one of his usual exercise routines. Charlotte used to get butterflies every time she saw him. But now when she looked into the backyard, she thought of Magda talking to her father over the stone wall. Him, pointing out the trees. Her, listening carefully.

  “Well?” Ben said.

  “Well what?”

  “It’s your turn to confess something.”

  “Okay.” Charlotte walked to her dresser and picked through her rocks with her index finger. “I don’t know how to play basketball, either.”

  “That doesn’t count. You just repeated what I said.”

  “But it’s true.”

  “Be that as it may.”

  Here’s a confession: Sometimes Charlotte wished she could trade lives with someone else. When she was in the grocery store and saw someone laughing—one of those big laughs that lights up your whole face—she imagined walking up to that person and asking if they wanted to trade places. Just for a little while, she would say. And if they said no, she would go on: Maybe we don’t need to trade at all. I can just come with you. What’s it like where you live? It must be nice if you can laugh like that.

  Here’s another confession: Charlotte had a complete image of Lottie Lock, Scrabble champion. Lottie was pretty, smart, and funny. Lottie’s parents were full of energy and life. They took her ice-skating. They went to amusement parks and the zoo. Lottie had hundreds of friends to choose from, too. They went to the shore in the summer and the Poconos in the winter. She never felt sad. She appreciated everything she had, but she didn’t need much. Her bed was perfectly made every morning with the fluffiest, most comfortable pillows you could ever imagine. When she woke up, there were no tangles in her hair and she didn’t have a crick in her neck. There were no clothes on the floor because she was perfectly tidy and organized. This girl—this perfect, perfect girl—never felt out of place because she was always in place. She knew what to say and was never scared. In her entire life, she would never hear no wonder no one likes you.

  Lottie always had someone to sit with at lunch.

  What was her middle name? I should give her one, Charlotte thought. Melody, maybe.

  That reminded her of a time when she and Bridget had talked about what they’d name their future children.

  “You always pick Melody,” Bridget had said. She chose different names every time. Things like Chloe, Sadie, Sapphora, and Zane. “Pick something else.”

  “But I like Melody.”

  “It’s just so . . . unoriginal.”

  So Charlotte picked something else. She didn’t remember what. But she secretly stayed with Melody.

  “Lottie?” said Ben. “Are you there?”

  “Sorry,” said Charlotte. “I zoned out.”

  She looked down at her hand and realized she was holding Sphinx. She didn’t remember picking it up.

  “What did you zone out about?”

  Charlotte watched Mateo move on and off the cinder block. On any other day, she would have sent a text to Bridget: Guess what I’m looking at right now?

  But this wasn’t any other day.

  “I was thinking about tomorrow,” she said.

  “Oh, yeah,” said Ben. “Starfish dissection, right?”

  That wasn’t what Charlotte had been thinking about at all, actually. She was thinking about facing the morning bench alone again. She was wondering if she’d eat lunch on the roof. Would Bridget talk to her? But now she imagined the starfish, waiting for her and Magda to dissect it. She was thinking about how starfish feel pain. Even though she knew that tomorrow’s specimens wouldn’t feel anything—they were already dead, after all—she couldn’t help but wonder if it would reach one of its arms toward the sky and ask why, why, why?

  “Yeah,” Lottie said. “But actually . . .”

  She didn’t know what she was about to say. The seeds of a plan grew in her mind. A dangerous, ridiculous plan. But it felt like something different. Real.

  Pick something real.

  “Actually what?” Ben said.

  “I was thinking of skipping.”

  Ben paused. “Skipping what?”

  “School.”

  “Skipping school?” he repeated, as if she’d just said she planned to murder someone.

  Charlotte’s heart thumped in her chest.

  “I’m going to spend my day at the art museum,” she said, thinking about Gauguin. Just wait until you see it, Charlotte, her father had said. And she’d pretended to see, but she didn’t really look. Instead, she’d asked to go home. “That’s way better than anything we could ever learn at school, right? Besides, a starfish dissection is kinda gruesome, isn’t it?”

  She couldn’t believe how casual she sounded. Oh, you know. Just another day of skipping school. I am Lottie Melody Lock, the girl who takes trains into Philadelphia. C’est la vie.

  She placed Sphinx on her dresser and looked up train schedules while she talked.

  “Haven’t you ever skipped before?” she said.

  “No. I’ve never missed a day of school in my life,” said Be
n. “Aren’t you worried about getting caught?”

  There was a train that left at 7:40 and got to Thirtieth Street Station at 8:20. According to MapQuest, the museum was a thirty-minute walk.

  Could she walk that far?

  Should she take a cab?

  What was she even thinking?

  Blood rushed to her ears.

  Alone. In the city.

  So what? It wasn’t like she didn’t have a plan. She would go to the museum, find Gauguin, Van Gogh, and whoever else, and head back to the station.

  Nothing bad would happen.

  It was easy. Simple, even. She just needed money for the train, the museum admission, and a cab, if she decided to take one. She’d been saving money to buy a coral fossil with botryoidal chalcedony stalagmites, but suddenly she didn’t care.

  How do you even hail cabs?

  “Are you still there?” asked Ben.

  “Yes,” she said. She picked up Sphinx. “Sorry. I was looking at train schedules.”

  He paused. “I guess we both have big days tomorrow.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Your speech.” She clutched Sphinx so hard that it pressed into the soft flesh of her palm. “I have no doubt you’ll kill it.”

  “I hope so,” said Ben. “I want it to be the most memorable speech the student body has ever witnessed.”

  “I’m sure it will be.”

  Mateo wasn’t there anymore.

  Charlotte opened her window and felt a cool September breeze.

  On the other end of the phone, she heard the vague sound of someone knocking on a door.

  “That’s my mom. She’s probably going to force me to eat spaghetti,” said Ben. “I better go.”

  “Okay,” Charlotte said. “Listen, don’t worry about tomorrow. You’ll be amazing. I know it.”

  She hung up the phone.

  She opened her window wider.

  She reached her arm back.

  And without a second thought, she tossed Sphinx as far as she could.

  Life According to Ben

  Part XVI