Read Online Please, Please, Please by Rachel Vail - Free Book Online Page A

music pretending to play, my flute resting against my quivering lip. By the time the final bell rang, my flute was in pieces in the case in my bag. I was out the front door of school by the time Mom pulled into the circle.
    Mom asked me what was wrong, but I didn’t tell her. She turned on the radio. I turned it off. She left it off. I spent the whole afternoon in my room, because Wednesdays I have nothing. She was at Cub Scouts with Paul, anyway. And all my friends had soccer.
    When I got to school this morning, I didn’t sit on the wall. I passed Morgan and walked straight to Ms. Cress’s classroom, but I didn’t go in right away. I looked at the board through the glass panel next to the door. Mine was the last name left on the board, the only one who hadn’t brought in her permission slip for apple picking. On top of everything else, it was my fault Ms. Cress would lose the cookie. Cornelia Jane Hurley , right up there on the board for the whole world to see. I hate my name so much.
    I managed to get through the day without crying, without talking, without being a show-off or acting special in any way—until eighth period.
    The gym was all set up for gymnastics. Rings hung down from the ceiling and so did three ropes. Red and blue mats were pushed together in the corner near the fire exit. A balance beam slanted away from the bleachers where we sat, waiting to be divided into teams by Mr. Brock, the gym teacher, who is supposedly going out with Ms. Cress. It’s the scandal.
    I was a Two, Zoe was a Three. Morgan takes chorus instead of band, so she has gym opposite days of us. I was relieved to be away from her. Zoe had eaten lunch with me and said it was no big deal, as long as I told Tommy forget it, it’s history. I kept apologizing. She said don’t worry, but it’s hard to tell if she means it.
    I wandered over to the beam with the other Twos. If you annoy Mr. Brock, you go down for push-ups until he blows his whistle. If you do push-ups you develop big biceps. Swans have long, skinny, graceful arms. I always keep my mouth shut and my head down in gym, then race out afterward to my mother’s waiting car. The best part about being in gym class is everybody wears a white T-shirt and blue shorts, including me. I blend in.
    Tommy was a Two, too. We stood next to each other, waiting our turn, staring at our sneakers as the first Two crossed the beam. “Hi,” Tommy whispered.
    “Hi,” I whispered back. I pressed the tops of my toes against the floor to stretch my arch and tried to think of something witty to say. I’m so bad at that. So we just stood there, me thinking, My boyfriend! Say something! And him thinking . . . I have no idea what.
    I said, “Oh,” about to tell him I couldn’t sit with him on the apple-picking trip, when Mr. Brock said, “Tommy? If you’re done flirting, cross the beam.”
    Tommy mounted the beam exactly the way Mr. Brock taught us last week, held his hands out and wobbled as he stood up, but then walked quickly across.
    “Stop,” barked Mr. Brock.
    Tommy stopped, tottered, and fell off down to the mat. I gasped.
    “Get up,” Mr. Brock said.
    Tommy stood up. He was blushing, and his skinny, tan legs were shaking. He didn’t look back at the rest of us Twos as he placed his hands on the beam and hoisted himself up again.
    “I want to see some grace, this time,” Mr. Brock demanded.
    Tommy walked slower this time to the end of the beam and jumped off. Roxanne clapped for him, then immediately got down into push-up position.
    “Give me fifty,” said Mr. Brock.
    Tommy walked over, stood next to me again, and asked, “Are you gonna say the pledge?”
    I realized my hand was over my heart, like Mom when she’s nervous. I dropped my hand and looked down at Roxanne. She was blowing a kiss at Mr. Brock’s back, from down on the mat. Roxanne doesn’t care what anybody thinks. She drops her books constantly and holds her belly when she laughs and chews with her mouth open.