Lula Bell on Geekdom, Freakdom, & the Challenges of Bad Hair by Payne C.C

Author:Payne, C.C. [Payne, C.C.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: AmazonEncore
Published: 2012-10-02T04:00:00+00:00

Outside, I watched my bus pull away and turn onto the street—without me. Naturally. I thought about going back inside to call Mama from the office, but how could I? No, the fresh air tasted like freedom, and the sunshine felt warm and safe. So I started walking.

As I walked, the whole gym scene replayed over and over in my mind. At first, I was mad at myself for trying so hard to look casual and confident, for being so fidgety, for having such squirmy toes, and especially for falling. But that just made me feel worse. So then I tried being mad at Kali. I heard her say my name, saw her doing her weird walk, saw her doubled over laughing. I saw Kali’s friends laughing—I could still hear them, too—and I saw Emilou Meriweather lower her head in shame. It was easier, and much more satisfying, to be mad at Kali.

For the millionth time, I wondered why I’d ever been friends with her. See, in third grade, Kali Keele and I were BFFs—best friends forever—for two entire months. During those months, we’d been inseparable at school, and we’d spent time together outside of school, too—at my house. But the more time Kali spent with me, the less she seemed to like me, until finally, I guess she decided that she flatout hated me—and everyone related to me.

The last time Kali had been at my house had been on a Thursday. So Kali had been there with Grandma Bernice and me when we did all of our usual Thursday things. I remember feeling proud, because Kali really seemed to enjoy it all. She laughed right along with Grandma Bernice and me as we decided how we’d like to die that week and who was going to be really sorry. But after that, things sort of went downhill.

Grandma Bernice and her quilting bee had just finished making my quilt the week before, so the next thing I did, after our usual Thursday stuff, was show Kali the new quilt on my bed.

“That’s really pretty,” Kali said when I took her upstairs.

“Yeah, and I helped make it,” I bragged, even though I knew I was stretching the truth. The truth was that even though I’d gone to church and sat with Grandma Bernice and the other ladies in her quilting bee, no one ever let me so much as touch a needle. Mostly, they just let me help hold the quilt. So, basically, I’d been a holder. But when you’re only eight years old, “holder” is the same as “helper.”

“You’re lying,” Kali said. “You didn’t help make that.”

“I did too!” I said, hugely insulted.

“I’m going to ask your grandma,” Kali threatened.

“Go ahead,” I said.

Kali turned on her heel and headed for the stairs as I hurried after her.

“Grandma Bernice, Lula Bell says she helped make the quilt on her bed,” Kali tattled.

“She sure did,” Grandma said, smiling at Kali and giving me a quick wink as she ironed sheets in the living room.

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