and even if she did know them, they seemed mean and silly and superficial and a whole bunch of other not-too-flattering adjectives that sheâd just as soon keep to herself, thank you very much. The grinding of the gears of the delivery truck had caught her attention, so when she pulled back her blinds and peeked out the window, she caught a glimpse of the box as it was being wheeled into the Connorsâ house. Man, it was so bi g !
At that exact moment, five blocks away, Nickelodeonâs Saturday lineup blared from the TV in Darcyâs room. Zoe thought she was a baby for still watching that channel when there were much cooler, more âgrown-upâ shows on other networks, shows where beautiful teenagers hooked up with other beautiful teenagers while their parents vacationed in the Hamptons, wherever that was. Darcy didnât care. She liked Nickelodeon.
Let Zoe say whatever she wanted. Zoe didnât know everything. But she did know Kat Connors, and that made it worth tolerating all of Zoeâs stuck-up opinions and criticisms. Because if there was one thing Darcy liked more than Nickelodeon, it was being popular. And she absolutely, positively couldnât wait for Katâs super-cool slumber party that evening. In fact, thinking of it distracted Darcy from her TV show and she totally missed seeing her favorite actress get slimed. Bummer!
Just as green slime dripped down the actressâs face, the brown delivery truck sped past Darcyâs house, having dropped off its precious cargo at the Connors residence. The truck turned round the corner and moved two blocks up Waveland Way, past a house where Zoe sat motionless on a piano bench and watched as a stopwatch in her hand ticked off seconds. Only twenty-seven minutes to go. She usually practiced for about three minutes so that the sound of music would be in the air in the house, but she knew her parents demanded she put in a half an hour every day, so she usually just sat on the bench for that time and daydreamed.
She had been quite a little player when she was ten years old, but she hadnât been progressing much lately. Who cares , she thought. Stars donât play the piano anyway. Little shy kids like Teresa Watanabe from next door play piano, while girls like Zoe were in the spotlight. Zoeâs mom walked by and sighed. Two hundred dollars a month for lessons, and for what? For her daughter to sit on a piano bench and daydream about some silly slumber party.
Outside the house, a group of teenagers jogged by. It was the ninth-grade Willkie athletes on their Saturday workout. Driving along and keeping pace in his blue Corolla was Coach Scofield. Kyle led the group of runners. He usually did. He was the best-conditioned athlete of the bunch, or so Coach Scofield said after the last practice. They were going to announce the fall tournament team soon, and Kyle couldnât let up if he was going to make it.
He looked back to see if Scofield was noticing him and saw Jaden Atkins, the sweet-shooting point guard, sucking wind a half block behind him. Hey, Jaden, maybe you oughta build some low-cost housing for the poor sometime. It does wonders for your endurance! As Kyle kicked into another gear and started his sprint back to the school, his thoughts turned to Kat, which had been happening a lot lately.
They turned on Waveland and ran past Dance Revolution, down from the Wendyâs in the strip mall, where a pack of young mothers stood outside and sipped lattes while their three-year-olds pretended they were ballerinas behind the huge picture windows of the studio. In the next room, Ms. Donovan sat behind the receptionistâs desk where she worked every Saturday for a little extra money. She absentmindedly twirled a pencil in her fingers and stared past the mothers outside.
She could see the group of teenage boys wearing blue and gold and running in the distance. Wolves colors. She knew they were Willkie boys, probably Coach
At that exact moment, five blocks away, Nickelodeonâs Saturday lineup blared from the TV in Darcyâs room. Zoe thought she was a baby for still watching that channel when there were much cooler, more âgrown-upâ shows on other networks, shows where beautiful teenagers hooked up with other beautiful teenagers while their parents vacationed in the Hamptons, wherever that was. Darcy didnât care. She liked Nickelodeon.
Let Zoe say whatever she wanted. Zoe didnât know everything. But she did know Kat Connors, and that made it worth tolerating all of Zoeâs stuck-up opinions and criticisms. Because if there was one thing Darcy liked more than Nickelodeon, it was being popular. And she absolutely, positively couldnât wait for Katâs super-cool slumber party that evening. In fact, thinking of it distracted Darcy from her TV show and she totally missed seeing her favorite actress get slimed. Bummer!
Just as green slime dripped down the actressâs face, the brown delivery truck sped past Darcyâs house, having dropped off its precious cargo at the Connors residence. The truck turned round the corner and moved two blocks up Waveland Way, past a house where Zoe sat motionless on a piano bench and watched as a stopwatch in her hand ticked off seconds. Only twenty-seven minutes to go. She usually practiced for about three minutes so that the sound of music would be in the air in the house, but she knew her parents demanded she put in a half an hour every day, so she usually just sat on the bench for that time and daydreamed.
She had been quite a little player when she was ten years old, but she hadnât been progressing much lately. Who cares , she thought. Stars donât play the piano anyway. Little shy kids like Teresa Watanabe from next door play piano, while girls like Zoe were in the spotlight. Zoeâs mom walked by and sighed. Two hundred dollars a month for lessons, and for what? For her daughter to sit on a piano bench and daydream about some silly slumber party.
Outside the house, a group of teenagers jogged by. It was the ninth-grade Willkie athletes on their Saturday workout. Driving along and keeping pace in his blue Corolla was Coach Scofield. Kyle led the group of runners. He usually did. He was the best-conditioned athlete of the bunch, or so Coach Scofield said after the last practice. They were going to announce the fall tournament team soon, and Kyle couldnât let up if he was going to make it.
He looked back to see if Scofield was noticing him and saw Jaden Atkins, the sweet-shooting point guard, sucking wind a half block behind him. Hey, Jaden, maybe you oughta build some low-cost housing for the poor sometime. It does wonders for your endurance! As Kyle kicked into another gear and started his sprint back to the school, his thoughts turned to Kat, which had been happening a lot lately.
They turned on Waveland and ran past Dance Revolution, down from the Wendyâs in the strip mall, where a pack of young mothers stood outside and sipped lattes while their three-year-olds pretended they were ballerinas behind the huge picture windows of the studio. In the next room, Ms. Donovan sat behind the receptionistâs desk where she worked every Saturday for a little extra money. She absentmindedly twirled a pencil in her fingers and stared past the mothers outside.
She could see the group of teenage boys wearing blue and gold and running in the distance. Wolves colors. She knew they were Willkie boys, probably Coach
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