Beth Ain - The Cure for Cold Feet

The night before the first day of middle school. Are you excited? she asks, all lit up, in the middle of dinner. Are you ready? she asks five minutes later, in the middle of my sentence about NOT BEING READY. Did you pick out a new outfit? she asks, sweetly, in the middle of dessert. I roll my eyes. A new attitude? she asks, looking at me out of the sides of her eyes.

Moms new best friend is a yogi, a person who teaches yoga and wears yoga bracelets, and leggings, and leg warmers that go all the way up to the middle of her thighs. Middle things everywhere. Moms new best friend is Jasmine Allen, also known as Jackson Allens mom. JACKSON ALLEN, who is one of FOUR ANNOYING BOYS who made their way through all of elementary school as an ANNOYING gang of finger-slamming people who made fun of any other person who got in the middle of it somehow. Jackson is super excited, she says. She is.

Dad always says I am A LOT. And you know Lilly, I say, putting my arm around good old Lillys neck. Lilly, who has two lls where there should be one, like the flower. Lilly, whose second l turned out to be the least of her quirks. And you can open your locker, Lilly says, doing her part now. Think about your poor friend Izzy, who is I fake a sob lock challenged. I fall in a heap on the floor of her room. My part. My part.

I have become an actress in the last year, says my mom, who made sure I got extra singing and acting lessons after I sang and acted in Free to BeYou and Me in fourth grade, a part given to me at the last minute by good old Lilly and only because she got sick that day. Quinn and Lilly and I became the best of friends that year, a little late in the game partly because Fiona and Sara had taken up all my friendship until then, when they left me behind in part for soccer and dance and in part for too many other things to count. Lilly turned Quinn and me from a twosome into a threesome late that fourth-grade year. Partly I felt guilty for stealing Lillys song, and partly I did not, because I see now we were meant to be. Three people who didnt fit anywhere in particular but together.

But there are only two of us standing here, insulating each other. We wont take up more than two-twelfths of a long table. One-third of us is in another lunch period. One-third of us is Lilly, with two ls and only one of everything else, who has to fend for herself, and it is hard enough to do this in twos. I see a long table filled with girls I have seen before, girls who look more alike than not alike, girls who have flashy smiles and bounce around each other before settling evenly into their spots, where they divide and conquer. 12 into 12 is 1, no remainders. 12 into 12 is 1, no remainders.

We dont fit. We are divisors without a dividend. We will stay 2 at least until recess, leaving space enough between our table and their table to remain intact, one whole number, prime for whatever comes division, addition, multiplication, or subtraction.

Spanish, I find, is the opposite of Hebrew, which is the only other language I have ever tried to learn, and which doesnt even try to resemble English. Hebrew looks to me, early on a Sunday morning, at some uncivilized time, when I can barely speak any language at all, more like the hieroglyphics I learned about last period, in social studies. Social studies. Where we will study civilizations this year, where we will learn to be civilized ourselves, through ballroom dance, of all things, marking the first time social studies will actually be social. But Spanish looks like English only better, more civilized, with beautiful little arty swirls and marks that do you the favor of accenting the important part of a word, making it seem festive, fun, to say