Dolphin Girl Read online

  Is there any chance at all that I can get her to postpone the grounding? It kills me that I might miss the dance.

  Not likely. She hasn’t stopped sorting and categorizing since she saw my dolphin. Now skirts hang on the left, pants on the right.

  “You know something, Jane. It’d be much easier for you to keep your closet organized if you limited yourself to a few color combinations.”

  Like beige, Mom?

  She’s got rules, schedules and lists for everything. What you should wear to the Halloween dance — black cat or witch. Or when to bake the stroganoff—4:45 p.m. today in a 350-degree oven. Or how a house should be decorated and kept — varying shades of beige with every little thing in its place.

  “This is so unfair,” I shout. If we were any place else in the house, I would stomp to my bedroom and slam the door.

  Mom holds an armful of dirty clothes and bangs her forehead on the small wooden guitar that hangs off my eighth grade mobile. When Lexie started the Ginger Girls that year, she let me try every instrument but eventually decided I should stay involved by writing lyrics or designing cover art only.

  Eleven brightly colored mobiles hang from the ceiling like jellyfish, each one marking a year of my life. In kindergarten, our teacher had us make them as a year-long project. When I brought it home, Mom hung it and said, “What a cute idea. You should do one for first grade, too.”

  I’m pretty sure she didn’t realize I’d still be making and hanging them in eleventh grade.

  “Stupid mobile,” she says. “Let’s take them down.”

  “Noooo,” I wail. “Haven’t you already punished me enough?”

  She rubs the deep red mark on her forehead. “I’m sorry if you think I’m being too harsh. But you can’t do whatever you want, whenever you want. You’re only sixteen, and I’m the grown-up.”

  The thought of being more hemmed in than I already am is enough to give me hives. “What about the decorations for the dance?” I ask. “We haven’t finished them yet, and they’re counting on me.”

  Even with her back to me, I can tell she takes a huge breath. She spins around and puts her hands on her hips. “Can you finish during your lunch hour?”

  “No. We work on them in the cafeteria.” Even if I could get permission to work in the art room, I can’t bear the thought of coming straight home from school. It’s already a prison without that.

  “Well, I suppose it’s not fair to punish others, so you can finish. But if you finish Monday, grounding starts Tuesday. Am I clear? Don’t think I won’t know when your project is done. I will.”

  “Okay, okay, all right. I get it.”

  She turns away from me to face the closet.

  “Sorry,” I say.

  Mom doesn’t look at me but instead surveys her handiwork as she wipes her hands. “There, that’s better.”

  My closet looks like Martha Stewart invaded and gave it a makeover. In a way, that’s exactly what happened.

  “Anything else I need to know?”

  Head down, I say, “I started the stroganoff fifteen minutes late.”

  She sighs, like ‘it figures,’ and leaves.

  You know what? Since I got home from getting inked, my day has turned into a huge suck tablet. There’s no way I can swallow this pill. Mom’s list. Then, she found out about my tattoo — I knew she would eventually — and now I’m grounded, no Halloween dance. I choke it all down as I re-tack a few sketches to the corkboard.

  Dolphin Girl still lies on my bed, so I slip her onto a hanger and put her in my closet. I pull out a blue tee and stick it next to an orange sweatshirt. Then I move a purple skirt next to a lime green top. I wipe my hands.

  There — that’s better.

  Bottlenose dolphins have a unique way of introducing themselves. Each dolphin has its own signature whistle, which seems to be like the human version of a name. Upon encountering another dolphin, it will give its signature whistle, which is often repeated back. Perhaps this is a way of showing they recognize the whistler, or it could also be a welcome. Having a whistle seems important to being a part of dolphin social groups.

  (Excerpt: The Magic and Mystery of Dolphins)

  CHAPTER THREE

  Whoever said “a man is judged by the company he keeps” must have spent some time in the main hall of Western Everglades High. Most of us, me included, cluster into pods like dolphins. Inside my pod, everyone is friendly with each other. Helpful. Supportive. At the same time, we keep our distance from others and, not surprisingly, some pods have more power — a sort of social pecking order. It’s all very Darwinian.

  As I pass the group who hangs at the front courtyard, I wave to Nigel Chang. He’s wearing a psychedelic T-shirt with the face of his hero, Bob Marley.

  Funny story. Last year in Spanish, Nigel complained to me, “Y’know, I’m over the whole stoned Jamaican stereotype.” The scent of weed rolled off of him.

  “Then why don’t you wait ’til after lunch to fire up?” I said.

  He just laughed at me, but maybe he’s taking my advice after all, since I don’t smell any ganja wafting from their vicinity this morning.

  “¿Como esta, Jane?” he yells over the head of one of his friends, flipping his long black bangs away from his face. Nigel grins from ear to ear — he always does, which of course makes him look more stoned. Even when he’s not.

  “Pretty good,” is all I say. I’d like to stop, chat, see how he’s doing, but instead I keep walking. No inter-pod mingling allowed.

  Once inside, I turn left at the main hall. On the right is the science lab pod, the super smart, semi-nerdy kids who do very little other than study and occasionally join a group like Mu Alpha Theta or the Chess Club. I nod at Brendon/Brandon, a friend of Lexie’s I sort of know, except for the fact that I can never remember his name.

  Then I cruise past the bulletin board, where the involved students hang out. The SGA kids, the yearbook kids, the most-likely-to-succeed kids. Jordan Wilson, our class president, is pinning an announcement to the board, which is, I guess, how they ended up in this spot. Karen Perry says hi to me, and I “hey” back. After school, she and I have been working on the decorations for the Monster Mash, this year’s Halloween dance. I like her, even though we don’t really hang together.

  Up ahead I see Lexie, my best friend since second grade, and the rest of my friends, who circle the water fountain. It’s especially appropriate I hang there with my whole dolphin obsession. Desiree thinks I might be reincarnated from one. Who knows? Could be.

  My pod tends to go with the flow. We’re smart, but not ultra-smart, like the science lab kids. We’re attractive, but less shiny than our trophy-case classmates. Take me, for example. People always tell me I look like Hilary Swank, which is okay, I guess. But I hope it’s more the P.S. I Love You Hilary than the Boys Don’t Cry one. Either way, I’m no beauty queen. That would make me a Trophy-Caser.

  Lexie squeals as I walk up. “Show them, show them, show them!” Her pale, punky hair has a small aqua steak today.

  I smile. “Oh, you mean my felony. Wait a sec. I have some sketches for you. Band stuff.”

  I haul a sketchbook out of my backpack and flip to the middle, where I’ve dog-eared pages of drawings Lexie could use as the cover art for her CD. Most of the time she’s laid back, but when it comes to the band she gets finicky. So even though she wants to use my art for their cover, it’s gonna have to be the bomb.

  The drawings are sketched large enough to give her an idea of how the finished piece would look. When she picks one, I’ll paint it in acrylic on an oversized canvas. Still, she’s not gonna decide today because she’s wants to rename the band. Tara convinced her that Ginger Girls sounds too annoyingly teenybopper.

  “I like this one.” Lexie points to a drawing of an indigo ocean with a full moon reflected on it. The sky is eerie, but the ocean underneath has a tranquil feel. “If we go with Estrogen Ocean, it’s perfect.” Even though I’m all about the ocean, I’m not a fan of tha
t as the new name.

  There’s a group of people looking over Lexie’s shoulders. I nod and as I flip the page my hand twitches a little, my shoulders tense.

  “Oooooh.” Lexie likes the abstract butterfly that’s my favorite, too.

  Artistically speaking, my biggest problem is that my lines are sometimes too tight — wonder where I get that from — but in this drawing, the lines are loose and rough and bold.

  “What made you draw this? I hadn’t really thought of a butterfly name,” she says.

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I just felt like it.”

  “I love it!” Willow, another member of the band, gushes.

  As I flip the page, I catch a glimpse of my ex-other-bestie, Alana, hanging out in front of the trophy case. She’s practically eclipsed by that guy who’s super tall with dark hair.

  What’s his name? I should know this. He’s in English and Bio with me. It’s something kinda different. Not Matt, or Josh, or Alex. He’s incredibly gangly, except for these super-broad shoulders. Alana smirks at my pod and then whispers something to the guy.

  The whole ex-bestie thing is pretty sad. She and Lexie and I were a real trio all through middle school and freshman year. Last year she started changing and then over the summer, Ashley Grant moved in across the street from her. The first day of school, when Travis spied beautiful Ashley, he offered her a spot by the case. Ashley dragged her new friend Alana along. Now she thinks she’s too cool for us, and it definitely feels like there’s more than twenty-five feet of hallway between us.

  “Wow, that one is awesome,” Lucas says as he throws an arm over Lexie’s shoulder.

  Lexie shakes her head. “It is, but I don’t know — it doesn’t feel quite right.”

  The sketch they’re talking about is done from a dolphin’s point of view. Underwater, looking up at a translucent jellyfish bobbing near the surface. While it’s cool it doesn’t go with Lexie’s music.

  “You’re right. It’s just what came to mind. That’s it for now.”

  “Cool. So let me figure out a few things, and then I’ll pick one.” Then Lexie gets a fat smile and hollers, “Hey, everyone! Thanks for comin’ out tonight.” Tara giggles and claps while heads from the other pods bob in our direction. “We’ve got a big announcement for all our fans,” she continues in the same mic voice, and it’s only one second before I realize what she’s up to. “Our number-one fan and artist-in-residence Jane Robinson has some new artwork. It’s not on her sketchpad, it’s on her—”

  Ohgod, ohgod.

  “Whatd’ya call that?” my best friend asks quietly, and Lucas replies, “Spleen?”

  Lexie hollers, “It’s on her spleen.”

  We probably coulda used some help from the science pod on that.

  “So, let’s give it up for Jane’s tattoo!” Lexie starts clapping, and my friends crack up and join the applause from a few other kids scattered through the front hall. I spy Nigel laughing. He couldn’t have come inside for this.

  When Tara yells “Show it!” I realize slinking away is out of the question, so I lift the back of my shirt and reveal the dolphin.

  “Awesome!” Willow proclaims.

  “Love it!” says Tara.

  And then a snotty voice. “Omigod! She got a tramp stamp!” The voice is Alana’s, and I wish I could sink into the floor. She’s standing right behind me, holding onto the arm of the tall gangly guy she dragged over for my big reveal. “Were you on a hunt? Please tell me you at least got points for defacing your back.” She laughs all cackly witch.

  The tall guy doesn’t laugh along with her. His eyes are glued to my lower back and then lift to meet mine. They flicker, and he smiles. Not cruelly, without one speck of judgment.

  My face flushes. Who is he?

  “Cool,” he says. It’s barely audible, but I heard it.

  Alana’s head snaps, and she quickly drags him away from the crowd that’s checking out my tattoo. Seems like she heard him too. I wish for the bazillionth time I was better at remembering names. I know I’m supposed to know who he is, but I don’t, and walking over to the trophy case to find out is completely off-limits as one of the unwritten rules of high school pods.

  ~~~

  At lunch, I sit in the cafeteria, eating my tuna fish sandwich, minding my own business. I’m a little bit of a loner but not usually completely alone. But somehow I ended up in a lunch hour with freshmen. Last year, I ate with Lexie and the rest of my pod, but this year they’re in third lunch with all the other juniors.

  “Hey, Dolphin Girl, don’t I know you?”

  I swallow my tuna with a gulp and look up at the tall guy from the main hall. “My name is Jane,” I say, which is a lot more direct than I wanted to be. Rude too.

  He smiles. “I know,” he says. “We have a couple of classes together.”

  Nice teeth on that guy — straight, white, and the best part is a small chip in one of his front ones. It makes him look friendly. And cute. I wish I could remember his name.

  “Are we the only juniors in this period?” he asks.

  “Might be.” I move my backpack off the chair next to me onto the floor.

  “I’ll sit over there.” He points to the spot across from me and saunters around the end of the table with his tray. I heave my backpack onto the chair.

  When he sits, I check him out. Long nose, brown eyes, dark brown hair and that adorable chipped tooth. “What sport do you play?” I ask in the lamest attempt ever to be friendly.

  “How do you know I play a sport?”

  “You hang by the trophy case in the morning, right?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So everyone there is a jock. C’mon. Let me guess. Baseball? No, football, right?”

  He laughs and confesses, “I’m a swimmer. Is that okay?”

  Now, that is interesting. “Yeah. Sure. My brother’s a jock. I’m sort of used to it.”

  He snorts. It’s a dorky way to laugh, but I like it.

  I push a few potato chips around with my tuna sandwich. His tray is piled with three double cheeseburgers and two slices of pizza. He also has two apples and four cartons of milk. I tip my chin at his food. “When’s the last time you ate?”

  He snorts again. “I burn a lot of calories.”

  “Remind me to keep my body parts away from your mouth.” I mean this as a joke about his appetite, but once it’s out I realize how it sounds. I feel heat rise to my cheeks and know they’re bright pink.

  He raises one eyebrow. “I could forget.”

  My face blisters. What’s hotter than hot pink?

  It’s a stroke of luck that saves me from a complete meltdown. A peach-fuzzed kid yells, “Hey Sam!” from a couple of tables over, and my lunch partner—Sam—heys back.

  “He’s on the swim team with me,” Sam explains before he polishes off burger number two.

  “You’re Sam,” I say in a way that declares I’m partially brain-dead.

  “You didn’t even know my name?”

  “Don’t take it personally,” I apologize. “I’m atrocious with names.”

  I try not to stare at him while he devours the rest of his food. It’s surprising, given the situation, that I’m not completely uneasy. It’s a new person — a guy person — from the trophy case pod no less, and I still feel mostly comfortable.

  He chugs a carton of milk and scrunches the container flat. There’s one awkward moment of silence until he asks, “Wanna play a game?”

  It sounded a little weird, but so what, I’m a little weird. “What’s the game?”

  Sam, hands folded, grows serious. “What if Dolly Parton married Derek Mee?”

  Derek Mee is the smartest kid in the senior class and a leading member of the science lab pod. Also, he’s borderline nerdy.

  I crack up. “I have no idea.”

  “She’d be Dolly Parton Mee.” Sam snorts.

  I laugh again. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “I make those up all the time.”

&n
bsp; “Do another.”

  “Okay, give me a minute and let me think of one.” Sam rests his tongue against his chipped tooth while he considers my request.

  So incredibly cute! It makes me a teeny crazy.

  He snorts. “Okay. What if Tom Petty married Johnny Cash?”

  Tom Petty Cash! I crack up. This one was funnier than the first. I’m hooked and know right then I’ll rack my brain trying to come up with one worthy of a snort from him.

  ~~~

  After a couple more lunches with Sam I decide to try one. “What if Snoop Dog married Sonny Bono?

  “Good one.” Sam digs into his incredible pile of food. Today it’s a Mexican fiesta.

  I toss a packet of photos at Sam. “You asked. This is what I did over summer vacation.” Pointing to pictures of John, Mom and Dad, I tell Sam a bit about each of them.

  Sam looks confused. “I thought you said your summer vacation was weird. Sea World is pretty normal stuff.”

  “Trust me. My parents are hyper-normal, so that’s not the weird thing. You asked me about my tattoo, so Sea World is part of the reason.”

  Yesterday when Sam asked me why a dolphin, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the story I’d told to the tattoo artist. It seemed private and… odd. But I decided to tell him about our summer vacation instead. I smile at Sam, and it feels awkward and flirty.

  “At Sea World we went to the dolphin show, and I hated it. I mean, I love dolphins. I might have even been one in a past life.”

  “You think you’re reincarnated from a dolphin? You’re right. That’s pretty weird.”

  “Maybe. John’s girlfriend says so.” I smile again. “But like I was saying, I hated watching them doing tricks. They looked like they were having fun, but I thought they weren’t and that they’d have more fun if they were free. You know what I mean?”

  Sam nods. “I’ve been to Sea World.”

  “Do you like dolphins?” I wonder aloud.

  “Sure.” Sam’s smile is sweet.