Wendelin Van Draanen - Flipped

“No!”

“You get to miss the second half of school….”

“No! I’m not bidding. Not on anyone!”

She laughed. “Good for you.”

That afternoon I rode home from school brooding about Bryce and the whole basket boy auction. I could feel myself backsliding about Bryce. But why should I care if Shelly liked him? I shouldn’t even be thinking about him!

When I wasn’t thinking about Bryce, I was worrying about poor Jon Trulock. He was quiet, and I felt sorry for him, having to clutch a basket and be auctioned off in front of the whole student body. What had I done to him?

But as I bounced up our drive, basket boys bounced right out of my mind. Was that green I saw poking out of the dirt? Yes! Yes, it was! I dropped the bike and got down on my hands and knees. They were so thin, so small, so far apart! They barely made a difference in the vastness of the black dirt, and yet there they were. Pushing their way through to the afternoon sun.

I ran in the house, calling, “Mom! Mom, there’s grass!”

“Really?” She emerged from the bathroom with her cleaning gloves and a pail. “I was wondering if it was ever going to spring up.”

“Well, it has! Come! Come and see!”

She wasn’t too impressed at first. But after I made her get down on her hands and knees and really look, she smiled and said, “They’re so delicate….”

“They look like they’re yawning, don’t they?”

She cocked her head a bit and looked a little closer. “Yawning?”

“Well, more stretching, I guess. Like they’re sitting up in their little bed of dirt with their arms stretched way high, saying, Good morning, world!”

She laughed and said, “Yes, they do!”

I got up and uncoiled the hose. “I think they need a wakeup shower, don’t you?”

My mom agreed and left me to my singing and sprinkling. And I was completely lost in the joy of my little green blades of new life when I heard the school bus rumble to a stop up on Collier Street.

Bryce. His name shot through my brain, and with it came a panic I didn’t seem able to control. Before I could stop myself, I dropped the hose and dashed inside.

I locked myself in my room and tried to do my homework. Where was my peace? Where was my resolve? Where was my sanity? Had they left me because Shelly Stalls was after him? Was it just some old rivalry making me feel this way? I had to get past Bryce and Shelly. They deserved each other—let them have each other!

But in my heart I knew that just like the new grass, I wasn’t strong enough yet to be walked on. And until I was, there was only one solution: I had to stay away from him. I needed to rope him out of my life.

So I closed my ears to the news of basket boys and steered clear of Bryce at school. And when I did happen to run into him, I simply said hello like he was someone I barely even knew.

It was working, too! I was growing stronger by the day. Who cared about auctions and basket boys? I didn’t!

Friday morning I got up early, collected what few eggs there were in the coop, watered the front yard, which was by now definitely green, ate breakfast, and got ready for school.

But as I was running a brush through my hair, I couldn’t help thinking about Shelly Stalls. It was auction day. She’d probably been up since five, making her hair into some impossibly pouffy do.

So what? I told myself. So what? But as I was throwing on my windbreaker, I eyed my money tin and hesitated. What if…

No! No-no-no!

I ran to the garage, got my bike, and pushed out of the driveway. And I was in the street and on my way when Mrs. Stueby flew right in my path. “Julianna,” she called, waving her hand through the air. “Here, dear. Take this. I’m so sorry it’s taken me this long to get it to you. I keep missing you in the mornings.”

I didn’t even know how much she owed me. At that moment I didn’t care. All I knew was the top bill in her hand was a ten, and it was striking terror in my heart. “Mrs. Stueby, please. I… I don’t want that. You don’t have to pay me.”

“Nonsense, child! Of course I’m going to pay you. Here!” she said, and waved it out for me to take.

“No, really. I… I don’t want it.”

She wedged it in the pocket of my jeans and said, “What utter nonsense. Now go! Go buy yourself a rooster!” then hurried back up her walkway.

“Mrs. Stueby… Mrs. Stueby?” I called after her. “I don’t want a rooster…!” but she was gone.

All the way to school Mrs. Stueby’s money was burning a hole in my pocket and another in my brain. How much was it?

When I got to school, I parked my bike, then broke down and looked. Ten, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. I folded the bills together and slid them back into my pocket. Was it more than Shelly had?

All through first period I was furious with myself for even thinking it. All through second period I kept my eyes off of Bryce, but oh! It was so hard! I’d never seen him in a tie and cuff links before!

Then at break I was at my locker when Shelly Stalls appeared out of nowhere. She got right next to me and said, “I hear you’re planning to bid on him.”

“What?” I took a step back. “Who told you that? I am not!”

“Someone said they saw you with a whole wad of cash this morning. How much do you have?”

“It’s… it’s none of your business. And I’m not bidding, okay? I… I don’t even like him anymore.”

She laughed, “Oh, that’ll be the day!”

“It’s true.” I slammed my locker closed. “Go ahead and waste your money on him. I don’t care.”

I left her there with her mouth open, which felt even better than getting her in a headlock.

That feeling carried me clear through to eleven o’clock, when the entire student body assembled in the gymnasium. I was not going to bid on Bryce Loski. No way!

Then the basket boys came out on the stage. Bryce looked so adorable holding a picnic basket with red-and-white-checked napkins peeking out from either side, and the thought of Shelly Stalls flipping one of those napkins into her lap nearly made the bills in my pocket burst into flames.

Darla came up behind me and whispered, “Rumor is you’ve got a wad of cash. Is that true?”

“What? No! I mean, yes, but I… I’m not bidding.”

“Oooo, girl, look at you. You feelin’ all right?”

I wasn’t. I felt sick to my stomach and shaky in the knees. “I’m fine,” I told her. “Fine.”

She looked from me to the stage and back to me. “You got nothin’ to lose but your self-respect.”

“Stop it!” I whispered at her fiercely. It felt like I was having a panic attack. I couldn’t breathe. I felt light-headed and wobbly—like I wasn’t in control of my own body.

Darla said, “Maybe you should sit down.”

“I’m fine, Darla, I’m fine .”

She frowned at me. “I think I’ll stick around to make sure.”

The Booster Club president, Mrs. McClure, had been fluttering around the basket boys, fixing ties and giving them last-minute instructions, but now suddenly she was slamming her gavel on the podium, calling into the microphone, “If you’ll all settle down, we’re ready to begin.”

I’d never seen six hundred kids quiet down so fast. I guess Mrs. McClure hadn’t either, because she smiled and said, “Why, thank you. Thank you very much.” Then she said, “And welcome to the fifty-second annual Basket Boy Auction! I know that your teachers have gone over the procedures with you in homeroom, but I’ve been asked to remind you of a few things: This is a civilized proceeding. No whistling, catcalls, or other degrading behavior will be tolerated. If you wish to place a bid, you must raise your hand high. Bidding without raising your hand is prohibited, and should you decide to be a funny guy, you will be caught and detained or suspended. Are we all clear on that? Good.” She looked from one side of the gym to the other. “Teachers, I see that you are in position.”