Wendelin Van Draanen - Flipped

I walked behind my mother, who was holding hands with my father, and beside my brothers, who were carrying home what was left of our pies. We all wound up in the kitchen, and Matt poured himself a glass of milk and said to Mike, “That Mr. Loski was sniffing us out pretty good tonight, wasn’t he?”

“No kidding. Maybe he thinks we’re hot for his daughter.”

“Not me, dude! You?”

Mike got himself a glass of milk, too. “That’s Skyler’s gig. No way I’d go there.” He grinned. “But she was really cool tonight. Did she come down on papa bear or what?”

My dad took a paper plate out of the cupboard and cut a slice of pie. “You boys showed a lot of restraint tonight. I don’t know if I could’ve kept my cool that way.”

“Aw, he’s just, you know… entrenched,” Matt said. “Gotta adjust to the perspective and deal from there.” Then he added, “Not that I’d want him as my dad….”

Mike practically sprayed his milk. “Dude! Can you imagine?” Then Matt gave my dad a slap on the back and said, “No way. I’m sticking with my main man here.” My mom grinned from across the kitchen and said, “Me too.”

I’d never seen my father cry. And he didn’t exactly sit there bawling, but there were definitely tears welling up in his eyes. He blinked them back the best he could and said, “Don’t you boys want some pie to go with that milk?”

“Dude,” said Matt as he straddled a chair. “I was just thinking that.”

“Yeah,” Mike added. “I’m starved.”

“Get me a plate, too!” I called as Mike dug through the cupboard.

“But we just ate, ” my mother cried.

“Come on, Trina, have some pie. It’s delicious.”

I went to bed that night feeling very full and very happy. And as I lay there in the dark, I wondered at how much emotion can go into any given day, and thought how nice it was to feel this way at the end of it.

And as I nestled in and drifted off to sleep, my heart felt wonderfully… free.

The next morning I still felt good. I went outside and sprinkled the yard, enjoying the splish and patter of water on soil, wondering when, when, that first little blade of grass would spring up into the sunshine.

Then I went out back, cleaned the coop, raked the yard, and dug up some of the bigger weeds growing along the edges.

Mrs. Stueby leaned over the side fence as I was shoveling my rakings and weeds into a trash can and said, “How’s it going, Julianna? Making neat for a rooster?”

“A rooster?”

“Why, certainly. Those hens need some motivation to start laying more!”

It was true. Bonnie and Clydette and the others were only laying about half the eggs that they used to, but a rooster? “I don’t think the neighborhood would appreciate my getting a rooster, Mrs. Stueby. Besides, we’d get chicks and I don’t think we can handle any more poultry back here.”

“Nonsense. You’ve spoiled these birds, giving them the whole yard. They can share the space. Easily! How else are you going to maintain your business? Soon those birds won’t be laying anything a-tall!”

“They won’t?”

“Well, very little.”

I shook my head, then said, “They were just my chicks that grew into chickens and started laying eggs. I never really thought of it as a business.”

“Well, my runnin’ a tab has probably contributed to that, and I’m sorry. I’ll be sure and get you the whole sum this week, but consider buying yourself a rooster with some of it. I’ve got a friend down on Newcomb Street who is positively green over my deviled eggs. I gave her my recipe, but she says hers just don’t taste the same.” She winked at me. “I’m certain she’d pay handsomely for a supply of my secret ingredient if it became available.” She turned to go, then said, “By-the-by, Julianna, you have done a mighty fine job on that front yard. Most impressive!”

“Thanks, Mrs. Stueby,” I called as she slid open her patio door. “Thanks very much.”

I finished scooping up the piles I’d made and thought about what Mrs. Stueby had said. Should I really get a rooster? I’d heard that having one around made chickens lay more, whether they were in contact with each other or not. I could even breed my chickens and get a whole new set of layers. But did I really want to go through all of that again?

Not really. I didn’t want to be the neighborhood rancher. If my girls quit laying altogether, that would be just fine with me.

I put away the rake and shovel, clucked a kiss on each of the hens, and went inside. It felt good to take charge of my own destiny! I felt strong and right and certain.

Little did I know how a few days back at school would change all of that.

After the dinner Juli was nice to me at school. Which I hated. Mad was better than nice. Gaga was better than… nice . It was like I was a stranger to her, and man, it bugged me. Bugged me big-time.

Then the auction happened, and I found myself with even bigger problems.

The auction is this bogus way the Booster Club raises money for the school. They insist it’s an honor to be chosen, but bull-stinkin’-loney to that! Bottom line is, twenty guys get shanghaied. They have to come up with fancy picnic lunches and then be humiliated in front of the whole school while girls bid to have lunch with them.

Guess who made this year’s top twenty.

You’d think mothers would say, Hey, there’s no way you’re going to auction my son off to the highest bidder, but no. Instead, they’re all flattered that their son’s been elected a basket boy.

Yes, my friend, that’s what they call you. Over the P.A. you hear stuff like, “There will be an organizational meeting of the newly elected basket boys in the MPR at lunch today. All basket boys must attend.”

Pretty soon you’ve completely lost your name. You and nineteen other saps are known simply as Basket Boy.

My mom, of course, was into it, coming up with all sorts of stuff to put in my basket so I’d get the highest bid. I tried to explain that I didn’t want to be in Mayfield Junior High’s Basket Boy Hall of Fame, and that really, what was in the basket didn’t matter. It wasn’t like girls were bidding on the basket. When you got right down to it, this was a meat market.

“You eat lunch on campus and that’s the end of it. It is hardly a meat market, Bryce. It’s an honor! Besides, maybe someone really nice will bid on you and you’ll make a new friend!”

Mothers can be in such denial.

And then Garrett bends my ear with the news that Shelly Stalls is breaking up with Mitch Michaelson, and that she, Miranda Humes, and Jenny Atkinson are starting some bidding war over me. “Dude!” he tells me. “The two hottest chicks on campus. And I swear to god, man, Shelly’s dumped Mitch because of you. I heard it direct from Shagreer, and dude, Shagreer the Ear knows all.” He throws me this nasty grin and says, “Me, I’m rooting for Jumbo Jenny. It would serve you right for being such a basket boy.”

I told him to shut up, but he was right. With the way my luck was running, I’d probably get stuck with Jumbo Jenny. I could just see it — six feet of beefy babe downing both halves of my lunch and then coming after me. Jenny’s the only girl or guy on campus who can dunk a basketball. The whole gym shakes when she lands. And since she’s got no, you know… female parabolas, the girl could shave her head and make it in the NBA. Seriously. No one would ever suspect.

Her parents give her anything she wants, too. Rumor has it they converted their garage into a full-on basketball court just for her.