雙語暢銷書·怦然心動 Chapter 01　下潛

Chapter 01

下潛

我只有一個愿望：讓朱莉安娜·貝克別來煩我。快點給我走開！——我只想讓她離我遠點。

這一切都源于一年級暑假，從我家的卡車停在她家隔壁開始。眼下，我們都快上完八年級了，也就是說，整整五年，我不得不忍受著社交上的不便，對她實行“戰(zhàn)略性回避”。

她可不只是闖入了我的生活，而且是千方百計地非要在我的生活里占領一席之地不可。難道是我們邀請她爬進搬家的卡車里，在箱子上爬來爬去的嗎？才沒有！可她就是不請自來，好像這是她的家，是她朱莉安娜·貝克的特權似的。

爸爸試圖阻止她，“嘿！”她在車里跳來跳去的時候，爸爸喊道，“你在干什么？你把爛泥弄得到處都是！”沒錯，她的鞋上糊滿了泥巴。

可她根本沒想從車上下來。正相反，她一屁股坐在車廂里，開始用腳推起一個大箱子。“你難道不需要幫忙嗎？”她朝我這邊瞥了一眼，“我覺得你真的需要別人幫忙呢。”

我一點兒也不喜歡她的暗示。雖然我爸也整天用這種眼神看我，可我敢說，他也不喜歡這丫頭。“嘿，別推了，”他提醒道，“箱子里有貴重物品。”

“哦，好吧。那我搬這個吧？”她挪到另一個貼著“LENOX（餐具）”標志的箱子旁邊，又看了我一眼，“我們可以一起推！”

“不，不，不用！”爸爸把她抱起來，“你是不是應該回家看看？你媽媽也許正在擔心你跑到哪兒去了。”

這是我頭一次見識到這姑娘到底有多么不識趣，毫無自知之明。作為一個孩子，當別人禮貌地請她離開的時候，難道不是應該立刻乖乖地回家嗎？她才不會。她說：“哦，媽媽知道我在哪兒，她說沒關系。”然后她指著街對面說，“我家就住在那兒。”

爸爸看著她所指的方向，念叨著：“唉，上帝?。?rdquo;然后他看著我，邊眨眼邊說，“布萊斯，你是不是該回家給媽媽幫忙了？”

我馬上明白過來，這是個甩掉她的小花招。可我從來沒跟爸爸排練過這出戲。拜托，怎樣甩掉盯梢可不是你平時能和爸媽討論的話題。想想看，告訴孩子可以甩掉別人，這可是違背了做父母的原則，不管這個人有多討厭或是身上沾了多少泥巴。

但是爸爸情急之下還是這么做了，而且，他真的不用一直沖我使眼色吧！我笑了，答道：“沒錯！”然后跳出車門，沖向我們的新家。

我聽見她跟了上來，但我不敢相信。也許只是聽上去很像她追上來了，也許她只是走向另一個方向。但是，在我鼓足勇氣回頭之前，她已經(jīng)趕上來，猛地抓住我的胳膊。

這太過分了。我停下腳步，想告訴她快滾開，這時卻發(fā)生了最最詭異的事情。我掄起胳膊想擺脫她，可是手臂落下來的時候卻變成了挽著她的姿勢。我簡直不敢相信，我竟然挽了這只“泥猴”的手！

我想甩開她，但她把我的手攥得緊緊的，拉著我說：“來吧！”

我媽媽從屋里走出來，立刻擺出了一副最糟糕的傻笑著的表情：“嗨，你好！”她跟朱莉打招呼。

“你好！”

我還在掙扎著想擺脫她，但她死死地拽著我?？吹轿覀兾赵谝黄鸬氖郑€有我又紅又熱的臉，媽媽笑了：“你叫什么名字，親愛的？”

“朱莉安娜·貝克。我家就住在那兒。”她用那只空著的手指點著。

“哦，我想你已經(jīng)認識我兒子了。”媽媽還在笑著。

“是的！”

我終于掙脫出來，做了一件七歲男孩唯一能做的充滿男子漢氣概的事——我躲到了媽媽身后。

媽媽用手臂環(huán)著我：“布萊斯，親愛的，你是不是應該請朱莉安娜參觀一下我們的新家？”

我用盡全身的力氣向媽媽發(fā)出警告，可是她完全沒有察覺。她推著我說：“去吧。”

朱莉沒有馬上被允許進入房間，因為媽媽注意到那雙臟鞋并且要求她脫下來。等她脫下鞋子，媽媽又說她的臟襪子也不許穿進屋里。朱莉全然沒覺得尷尬，一點兒也不。她只是拽下襪子，隨手扔在我家門廊里。

我沒有認真地帶她參觀，而是把自己反鎖在廁所里。我沖她叫喊了將近十分鐘的“不，我決不出來”之后，客廳里終于安靜下來。又過了十分鐘，我鼓足勇氣從門縫里往外看。

沒看到朱莉。

我躡手躡腳地走出來，看了一圈，沒錯，她走了！

這一手不算太高明，但我畢竟才七歲嘛。

不過，我的麻煩還遠遠沒有結束。她一次又一次地來找我，每天都來。“布萊斯能出來玩嗎？”我藏在沙發(fā)背后，聽見她這樣問道，“他準備好了嗎？”有一次她甚至穿過院子從窗戶往里看。我恰好觀察到她的動向，馬上潛伏到床底下。不過朋友，我得告訴你一些關于朱莉安娜·貝克的事。她完全不知道“私人空間”為何物，不尊重別人的隱私。全世界都是朱莉的地盤，當心——她只會越來越過分！

幸運的是，我爸爸希望保護我。他徒勞地試了一次又一次，他告訴朱莉說我很忙，說我在睡覺，或者說我不在家。他真是我的大救星。

作為對立面，我的姐姐卻逮住一切機會陷害我。利奈特就喜歡這樣。她比我大四歲，從她身上我學會了不去和命運抗爭。她是個渾身上下寫滿了“抗議”兩個字的家伙。只要誰看了她一眼——不用斜著眼睛，或是吐著舌頭看——僅僅是看她一眼，就能讓她跟你吵起來。

跟她在一起，我一向采取消極抵抗的態(tài)度，但是這也沒有用。女孩子從來不搞公平競爭。她們拽你的頭發(fā)、摳你、掐你，明明是你挨了打，她們卻率先跑到媽媽面前告狀。然后你被關了禁閉，憑什么？不，我的朋友，訣竅在于千萬不能上當，不要跟她們正面交鋒。你得不慌不忙地四處迂回，對她們的挑釁一笑置之。過不了多久她們就會放棄了，把注意力轉移到別人身上。

起碼這套伎倆在利奈特面前行得通。有這么一個讓你如芒在背的姐姐，唯一的好處就是，在她身上試驗成功的方法，多半對于別人也適用，比如老師、學校里的怪胎，甚至是爸爸媽媽。真的。你永遠吵不贏父母，為什么不能學著放松點呢？與其時不時地被父母修理一通，不如下潛到自己的世界里，別在他們眼前出現(xiàn)。

好笑的是，利奈特在對待父母的態(tài)度上依然很幼稚。她總是直接進入戰(zhàn)斗狀態(tài)，把精力全放在爭執(zhí)上，卻來不及深吸一口氣，潛入冷靜的水中。

而她還認為我是個傻瓜。

不管怎么說，和往常一樣，起初利奈特想用朱莉引我上鉤。有一次她甚至背著爸爸帶朱莉進入我家，到處搜捕我。我蜷成一團躲在壁柜最上面一層，幸好她們誰也沒想起往上看一眼。沒過幾分鐘，我就聽見爸爸大喊著讓朱莉離那些古董家具遠一點兒，她又一次被趕走了。

頭一個星期，我記得自己根本沒出過家門。我?guī)兔Σ鹣?，看電視，在爸爸媽媽擺放家具、爭論著帝國風格的靠背椅和法式洛可可餐桌是否能放在一個房間里的時候四處閑逛。

所以，請相信，我那時候瘋了似的想出去。但每次把目光投向窗戶，我都看到朱莉出現(xiàn)在她家院子里。她要么在練習頭球，要么是在高抬腿跑，或是在車道上盤球。假如她沒有在那里賣弄，就是坐在路邊，把足球夾在兩腳中間，望著我們家的房子。

媽媽完全不理解為什么被“那個可愛的小姑娘”拉了手，是件糟透了的事。她認為我應該跟朱莉交朋友。“我以為你也喜歡足球呢，親愛的。為什么不出去在附近踢一會兒呢？”

因為我可不想被人當球踢。在七歲半這個年紀，我也許嘴上說不出來，卻已經(jīng)本能地意識到，朱莉安娜·貝克是個危險的家伙。

而且她一旦出現(xiàn)，就是個躲不掉的危險。當我走進葉爾遜夫人的二年級教室，我就開始任人宰割了。“布萊斯！”朱莉尖叫著，“你也在這兒。”接著，她沖過整間教室按住了我。

葉爾遜夫人想把這次襲擊解釋成“用擁抱歡迎你”，可是，那根本不是什么擁抱，明明是個真刀真槍、硬碰硬的搶斷動作。雖然我把她掙開，但已經(jīng)晚了，我就此打上了一生的烙印。人人都嘲笑我，“布萊斯，你的女朋友呢？”“你結婚了嗎，布萊斯？”課間休息，當她追著我、試圖親吻我的時候，全校學生都唱起了拉拉歌，“布萊斯和朱莉坐在樹梢上，K-I-S-S-I-N-G……（kissing，接吻）”。

我搬到這里的第一年，簡直是一場災難。

三年級也好不到哪兒去，她堅持到處堵著我。四年級也是一樣。到了五年級，我終于決定反擊。

這個主意來得并不突然——有些想法，你明知道它不對，卻總是盤旋在你腦海里。不過，它出現(xiàn)的次數(shù)越多，我就越覺得，要想擺脫朱莉、明確地告訴她“你不是我喜歡的類型”，沒有更好的辦法了。

于是，我策劃了一個方案。

我和雪莉·斯道爾斯約會了。

要知道，朱莉和雪莉有不共戴天之仇，所以你明白這個辦法有多聰明了吧。朱莉一直看雪莉不爽，我始終想不通這是為什么。雪莉是個好姑娘，待人親切，頭發(fā)又長又密。她有什么缺點呢？但朱莉就是不喜歡她，而我要用這件事解決我的問題。

我本來指望，雪莉只需要跟我一起吃個午飯，也許還可以散散步。順利的話，只要朱莉出現(xiàn)，我要做的只不過是和雪莉表現(xiàn)得更親近一點兒，剩下的事情就會順其自然地發(fā)生?？上ВF(xiàn)實畢竟是現(xiàn)實，雪莉太認真了。她跑去告訴每一個人——包括朱莉在內(nèi)——說我們在戀愛。

結果，朱莉和雪莉立刻上演了一場女孩子之間的火并。一架打完，雪莉還在喘息的時候，我所謂的摯友加利特——這個主意的幕后策劃者——卻把實情跟她交了底。他從來不肯承認，可我從此明白了他就是個重色輕友的家伙。

那天下午，我受到了雙重考驗，可我沒那么容易被擊敗。我不斷地向她道歉，說自己根本不知道事情會鬧成這樣。最后，她終于放過我了。

雪莉哭了好幾天，在學校里追著我，搞得我像個真正的怪胎，比身后有朱莉這個盯梢還要糟糕。

整出鬧劇在一個星期后漸漸煙消云散，雪莉正式宣布拋棄我，開始和凱爾·拉森出雙入對。朱莉又朝我拋來了媚眼，而我又回到了原點。

進入六年級，狀況又變本加厲了，這很難用語言描述。我記得六年級時朱莉并沒有再追著我，而是變成嗅我。

沒錯，我說的就是嗅我。

一切都得歸罪于我的老師——馬丁斯先生。是他促使朱莉黏上我的。馬丁斯先生對于安排座位很有些心得，他翻來覆去地研究我們應該各自坐在哪里，然后順理成章地把朱莉安排在我的鄰座。

朱莉安娜·貝克是那種一心要展示自己聰明才智的人，因此特別惹人討厭。她總是第一個舉手；她回答起問題總是長篇大論；她的作業(yè)永遠交得最早，永遠被老師拿來打擊其他人。老師們經(jīng)常舉著她的作業(yè)說：“同學們，這才是我想要的。這是篇A+的模板。”她做了這么多，生怕自己還不完美，我敢說她門門功課都沒有低過120分。

但是，自從馬丁斯先生安排朱莉坐在我旁邊，她的各項知識就變得有用了。忽然間，朱莉把課堂提問的完美答案，都寫成一張字跡潦草的小字條，轉瞬之間經(jīng)由過道轉移到我手里。這件事我們不知道干過多少次。我開始門門功課不是得A就是得B了！這太棒了！

不過，馬丁斯先生又開始換座位了。他的“優(yōu)化定位學”又有了新的理論。當一切塵埃落定，我被安排坐在朱莉安娜·貝克的前座。

她就是從這時開始嗅我的。這個瘋姑娘向前靠過來，聞我的頭發(fā)。她把鼻子架在我的頭皮上，就那么嗅——嗅——嗅。

我試過用手肘撞她，回身踢她；我試過把椅子往前拽，把書包夾在后背和座位之間，不管用。她還是會湊上來，或者離得稍微遠一點兒，然后嗅——嗅——嗅。

終于，我忍不住去找馬丁斯先生換座位，但他說什么也不肯。理由似乎是“不希望打破教育能量的微妙平衡”之類的話。

不管怎么說，我被她聞定了。并且，由于再也看不到她完美的小抄，我的成績急轉直下，尤其是拼寫課。

有一次聽寫的時候，她正在聞我的頭發(fā)，忽然發(fā)現(xiàn)我拼錯了一個詞。不止一個，是很多詞。忽然，她不再聞我，而是跟我說起悄悄話。起初我不敢相信自己的耳朵。朱莉安娜·貝克作弊？沒錯，她真的幫我拼出了那些詞，就在我耳邊。

朱莉嗅我的時候確實很隱蔽，從來沒被人發(fā)現(xiàn)過，這讓我非常困擾。不過她幫我作弊的時候也同樣隱蔽，關于這一點我倒是很滿意。不過它的壞處在于，我開始依賴她在我耳邊的提示。說實話，當你不用學習就能拿到好成績，干嗎還要努力呢？不過，她幫了我那么多次，我總有種受惠于她的內(nèi)疚感。當我還欠著人情的時候，怎么能把對方趕走或是讓她別再嗅我呢？你想想就知道，這是不對的。

于是，在別扭與難受當中，我度過了整個六年級。我總是忍不住想，明年，只要到了明年，事情就有轉機了。

明年我們將升入初中——那是個大學校——我們會進入不同班級。那是個全新的世界，有太多的人和事等著我去探索，再也不用擔心遇到朱莉安娜·貝克。

我們之間終于要畫上句號了。

Chapter 01

Diving Under

BRYCE

All I've ever wanted is for Juli Baker to leave me alone. For her to back off — you know, just give me some space.

It all started the summer before second grade when our moving van pulled into her neighborhood. And since we're now about done with the eighth grade, that, my friend, makes more than half a decade of strategic avoidance and social discomfort.

She didn't just barge into my life. She barged and shoved and wedged her way into my life. Did we invite her to get into our moving van and start climbing all over boxes? No! But that's exactly what she did, taking over and showing off like only Juli Baker can.

My dad tried to stop her. "Hey!" he says as she's catapulting herself on board. "What are you doing? You're getting mud everywhere!" So true, too. Her shoes were, like, caked with the stuff.

She didn't hop out, though. Instead, she planted her rear end on the floor and started pushing a big box with her feet. "Don't you want some help?" She glanced my way. "It sure looks like you need it."

I didn't like the implication. And even though my dad had been tossing me the same sort of look all week, I could tell — he didn't like this girl either. "Hey! Don't do that," he warned her. "There are some really valuable things in that box."

Oh. Well, how about this one? She scoots over to a box labeled LENOX and looks my way again. "We should push it together!"

No, no, no! my dad says, then pulls her up by the arm. "Why don't you run along home? Your mother's probably wondering where you are."

This was the beginning of my soon-to-become-acute awareness that the girl cannot take a hint. Of any kind. Does she zip on home like a kid should when they've been invited to leave? No. She says, "Oh, my mom knows where I am. She said it was fine." Then she points across the street and says, "We just live right over there."

My father looks to where she's pointing and mutters, "Oh boy." Then he looks at me and winks as he says, "Bryce, isn't it time for you to go inside and help your mother?"

I knew right off that this was a ditch play. And I didn't think about it until later, but ditch wasn't a play I'd run with my dad before. Face it, pulling a ditch is not something discussed with dads. It's like, against parental law to tell your kid it's okay to ditch someone, no matter how annoying or muddy they might be.

But there he was, putting the play in motion, and man, he didn't have to wink twice. I smiled and said, "Sure thing!" then jumped off the liftgate and headed for my new front door.

I heard her coming after me but I couldn't believe it. Maybe it just sounded like she was chasing me; maybe she was really going the other way. But before I got up the nerve to look, she blasted right past me, grabbing my arm and yanking me along.

This was too much. I planted myself and was about to tell her to get lost when the weirdest thing happened. I was making this big windmill motion to break away from her, but somehow on the downswing my hand wound up tangling into hers. I couldn't believe it. There I was, holding the mud monkey's hand!

I tried to shake her off, but she just clamped on tight and yanked me along, saying, "C'mon!"

My mom came out of the house and immediately got the world's sappiest look on her face. "Well, hello," she says toJuli.

Hi!

I'm still trying to pull free, but the girl's got me in a death grip. My mom's grinning, looking at our hands and my fiery red face. "And what's your name, honey?"

Julianna Baker. I live right over there, she says, pointing with her unoccupied hand.

Well, I see you've met my son, she says, still grinning away.

Uh-huh!

Finally I break free and do the only manly thing available when you're seven years old — I dive behind my mother.

Mom puts her arm around me and says, "Bryce, honey, why don't you show Julianna around the house?"

I flash her help and warning signals with every part of my body, but she's not receiving. Then she shakes me off and says, "Go on."

Juli would've tramped right in if my mother hadn't noticed her shoes and told her to take them off. And after those were off, my mom told her that her dirty socks had to go, too. Juli wasn't embarrassed. Not a bit. She just peeled them off and left them in a crusty heap on our porch.

I didn't exactly give her a tour. I locked myself in the bathroom instead. And after about ten minutes of yelling back at her that no, I wasn't coming out anytime soon, things got quiet out in the hall. Another ten minutes went by before I got the nerve to peek out the door.

No Juli.

I snuck out and looked around, and yes! She was gone.

Not a very sophisticated ditch, but hey, I was only seven.

My troubles were far from over, though. Every day she came back, over and over again. "Can Bryce play?" I could hear her asking from my hiding place behind the couch. "Is he ready yet?" One time she even cut across the yard and looked through my window. I spotted her in the nick of time and dove under my bed, but man, that right there tells you something about Juli Baker. She's got no concept of personal space. No respect for privacy. The world is her playground, and watch out below — Juli's on the slide!

Lucky for me, my dad was willing to run block. And he did it over and over again. He told her I was busy or sleeping or just plain gone.He was a lifesaver.

My sister, on the other hand, tried to sabotage me any chance she got. Lynetta's like that. She's four years older than me, and buddy, I've learned from watching her how not to run your life. She's got ANTAGONIZE written all over her. Just look at her — not cross-eyed or with your tongue sticking out or anything — just look at her and you've started an argument.

I used to knock-down-drag-out with her, but it's just not worth it. Girls don't fight fair. They pull your hair and gouge you and pinch you; then they run off gasping to mommy when you try and defend yourself with a fist. Then you get locked into time-out, and for what? No, my friend, the secret is, don't snap at the bait. Let it dangle. Swim around it. Laugh it off. After a while they'll give up and try to lure someone else.

At least that's the way it is with Lynetta. And the bonus of having her as a pain-in-the-rear sister was figuring out that this method works on everyone. Teachers, jerks at school, even Mom and Dad. Seriously. There's no winning arguments with your parents, so why get all pumped up over them? It is way better to dive down and get out of the way than it is to get clobbered by some parental tidal wave.

The funny thing is, Lynetta's still clueless when it comes to dealing with Mom and Dad. She goes straight into thrash mode and is too busy drowning in the argument to take a deep breath and dive for calmer water.

And she thinks I'm stupid.

Anyway, true to form, Lynetta tried to bait me with Juli those first few days. She even snuck her past Dad once and marched her all around the house, hunting me down. I wedged myself up on the top shelf of my closet, and lucky for me, neither of them looked up. A few minutes later I heard Dad yell at Juli to get off the antique furniture, and once again, she got booted.

I don't think I went outside that whole first week. I helped unpack stuff and watched TV and just kind of hung around while my mom and dad arranged and rearranged the furniture, debating whether Empire settees and French Rococo tables should even be put in the same room.

So believe me, I was dying to go outside. But every time I checked through the window, I could see Juli showing off in her yard. She'd be heading a soccer ball or doing high kicks with it or dribbling it up and down their driveway. And when she wasn't busy showing off, she'd just sit on the curb with the ball between her feet, staring at our house.

My mom didn't understand why it was so awful that "that cute little girl" had held my hand. She thought I should make friends with her. "I thought you liked soccer, honey. Why don't you go out there and kick the ball around?"

Because I didn't want to be kicked around, that's why. And although I couldn't say it like that at the time, I still had enough sense at age seven and a half to know that Juli Baker was dangerous.

Unavoidably dangerous, as it turns out. The minute I walked into Mrs. Yelson's second-grade classroom, I was dead meat. "Bryce!"Juli squeals. "You're here."Then she charges across the room and tackles me.

Mrs. Yelson tried to explain this attack away as a "welcome hug", but man, that was no hug. That was a front-line, take-'em-down tackle. And even though I shook her off, it was too late. I was branded for life. Everyone jeered, "Where's your girl friend, Bryce?" "Are you married yet, Bryce?" And then when she chased me around at recess and tried to lay kisses on me, the whole school started singing, "Bryce and Juli sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G..."

My first year in town was a disaster.

Third grade wasn't much better. She was still hot on my trail every time I turned around. Same with fourth. But then in fifth grade I took action.

It started out slow — one of those Nah-that's-not-right ideas you get and forget. But the more I played with the idea, the more I thought, What better way to ward Juli off? What better way to say to her, "Juli, you are not my type"?

And so, my friend, I hatched the plan.

I asked Shelly Stalls out.

To fully appreciate the brilliance of this, you have to understand that Juli hates Shelly Stalls. She always has, though it beats me. why? Shelly's nice and she's friendly and she's got a lot of hair. What's not to like? But Juli hated her, and I was going to make this little gem of knowledge the solution to my problem.

What I was thinking was that Shelly would eat lunch at our table and maybe walk around a little with me. That way, anytime Juli was around, all I'd have to do was hang a little closer to Shelly and things would just naturally take care of themselves. What happened, though, is that Shelly took things way too seriously. She went around telling everybody — including Juli — that we were in love.

In no time Juli and Shelly got into some kind of catfight, and while Shelly was recovering from that, my supposed friend Garrett — who had been totally behind this plan — told her what I was up to. He's always denied it, but I've since learned that his code of honor is easily corrupted by weepy females.

That afternoon the principal tried cross-examining me, but I wouldn't cop to anything. I just kept telling her that I was sorry and that I really didn't understand what had happened. Finally she let me go.

Shelly cried for days and followed me around school sniffling and making me feel like a real jerk, which was even worse than having Juli as a shadow.

Everything blew over at the one-week mark, though, when Shelly officially dumped me and started going out with Kyle Larsen. Then Juli started up with the goo-goo eyesa gain, and I was back to square one.

Now, in sixth grade things changed, though whether they improved is hard to say. I don't remember Juli actually chasing me in the sixth grade. But I do remember her sniffing me.

Yes, my friend, I said sniffing.

And you can blame that on our teacher, Mr. Mertins. He stuck Juli to me like glue. Mr. Mertins has got some kind of doctorate in seating arrangements or something, because he analyzed and scrutinized and practically baptized the seats we had to sit in. And of course he decided to seat Juli right next to me.

Juli Baker is the kind of annoying person who makes a point of letting you know she's smart. Her hand is the first one up; her answers are usually complete dissertations; her projects are always turned in early and used as weapons against the rest of the class. Teachers always have to hold her project up and say, "This is what I'm looking for, class. This is an example of A-plus work."Add all the extra credit she does to an already perfect score, and I swear she's never gotten less than 120 percent in any subject.

But after Mr. Mertins stuck Juli right next to me, her annoying knowledge of all subjects far and wide came in handy. See, suddenly Juli's perfect answers, written in perfect cursive, were right across the aisle, just an eye-shot away. You wouldn't believe the number of answers I snagged from her. I started getting A's and B's on everything! It was great!

But then Mr. Mertins pulled the shift. He had some new idea for"optimizing positional latitude and longitude,"and when the dust finally settled, I was sitting right in front of Juli Baker.

This is where the sniffing comes in. That maniac started leaning forward and sniffing my hair. She'd edge her nose practically up to my scalp and sniff-sniff-sniff.

I tried elbowing and back-kicking. I tried scooting my chair way forward or putting my backpack between me and the seat. Nothing helped. She'd just scoot up, too, or lean over a little farther and sniff-sniff-sniff.

I finally asked Mr. Mertins to move me, but he wouldn't do it. Something about not wanting to disturb the delicate balance of educational energies.

Whatever, I was stuck with her sniffing. And since I couldn't see her perfectly penned answers anymore, my grades took a dive. Especially in spelling.

Then one time, during a test, Juli's in the middle of sniffing my hair when she notices that I've blown a spelling word. A lot of words. Suddenly the sniffing stops and the whispering starts. At first I couldn't believe it. Juli Baker cheating? But sure enough, she was spelling words for me, right in myear.

Juli'd always been sly about sniffing, which really bugged me because no one ever noticed her doing it, but she was just as sly about giving me answers, which was okay by me. The bad thing about it was that I started counting on her spelling in my ear. I mean, why study when you don't have to, right? But after a while, taking all those answers made me feel sort of indebted to her. How can you tell someone to bug off or quit sniffing you when you owe them? It's, you know, wrong.

So I spent the sixth grade somewhere between uncomfortable and unhappy, but I kept thinking that next year, next year, things would be different. We'd be in junior high — a big school — in different classes. It would be a world with too many people to worry about ever seeing Juli Baker again.

It was finally, finally going to be over.