The Swap

Chapter 9 Ellie

What Sassy Gaines looks like
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After I get off the bus and step into the Land of Thatcher things go downhill fast. I am in first period for entirely ten seconds before I have a terrible feeling in my stomach. And it's not butterflies. It's worst. And it's not just that I get the last seat in the back next to Henry Hodges who is making farting noises. It's more that I catch a look from Sassy (front row third desk by the windows), dressed in a tight-fitting black spaghetti strap top, and the looks she gives me does not say, "Ellie! Yay! We're in the same class!"

No if her and her glittery eye shadow and her black mascara-painted curly eyelashes stare me down. She starts at my sneakers and I feel her eyes move right up my body until they reach my face at which time she turns Aspen seated (surprise!) next to her, and whispers something. Then the two of them burst out laughing. I look around the room, first at Ms. González, who is writing something on the board and then toward the door, still open because the bell hasn't rung yet and I imagine myself leaping up from my seat and sprinting straight down the almost empty Thatcher hallway, past all the bright orange lockers, out the emergency exit door. Maybe I could run to the main office, call my mom, beg her to pick me up, beg her to let me homeschool, or just... gosh, anything but be here now. Anything but be me.

Every class of my day is pretty much a repeated loop of this exact scene. Me walking into class, Sassy (plus whoever she's sitting with who is not me) sneers, rolls her eyes, then bursts out laughing. At lunch, after I wander into the crowded cafeteria looking lost, I am in line with my melted-chese bagel and my yogurt, almost to the cash register, when I hear her.

Sassy.

I look over my shoulder and see her by the soda machines in the corner, holding court like some sort of celebrity, obviously, talking just loud enough for me to hear her.

"No offense," she starts, then pauses to flip back her golden hair, as if she's a famous actress waiting for her gathered audience to turn towards her (they do). Then she says it (drumroll, please): "Gotta love it when people don't even, like, brush their hair! Eww. Embarrassing." (Hahahahaaa!)

Sassy stops again and looks up just long enough for her tribe of girls (Aspen by her side) to turn toward me and give me the death stare. "Not to be rude, but seriously, people, sneakers with jeans is so not okay. It's hideous!" (Hahahaha!) "Just sayin'!"

In chorus the one class I absolutely love, Mr. Pratt puts me right next to Sassy. One song in, she leans over, whispering into my ear, "Some people should probably just mouth the words." She pauses for a beat, overwhelmed by giggles. "Off-key much?"

By eight period my last period of the day, I have decided I really can't take this anymore. I honestly hate my life. This has actually been the worst week ever. Today is Friday-how am I going to even make it through the weekend to Monday? I already said I'd go to Claire's birthday sleepover. I supposedly have soccer tryouts. I have an entire Sassy Gains-filled weekend, and I still have one more class with her-gym.

Walking into the girls' locker room, I am secretly praying the universe will strike me down with some sort of awful feverish sickness that forces me to stay in bed all weekend. Chicken pox? Strep throat? Appendicitis? Could I fake getting my period? Probably not.

In what might be my only good luck so far today, there is an empty bathroom stall. I slip inside, hang my three-thousand-pound backpack from the hook of the flimsy metal door, and fish out my Thatcher-issued blue-and-orange shorts and t-shirt. At least I don't have to change right out in the open in front of the other girls.

Gym. I can get through gym, right? I'm faster than Sassy and probably more coordinated than she is. I picture myself accidentally throwing a softball at her face. Then I switch it up-a basketball, a soccerball, a floor hockey puck. In each scenario, I will admit to you that I actually picture her with a bloody nose. Sorry not sorry.

And look have you ever tried to change in one of those tiny bathroom stalls? There's not a lot of space to move around, and I'm literally, like, slipping off my jeans balancing on top of my shoes, trying not to touch my socks to the gross sticky floor-when I hear Sassy's voice right outside the door.

Right away my heart starts pounding, and I stand frozen in my yellow daisy-speckled underwear, clutching my gym clothes against my chest, staring at my legs, "Eww, shave your legs!" I can hear her just say.

With every ounce of quiet I have in me, I step into the Thatcher gym shorts, slip the orange T-shirt over my head, and peer out the thin gap space between the metal door and the side of the stall. Sassy is with this girl Tori, who I don't really know that well because she's cooler and prettier and just-

Not someone who would ever hang out with me.

The two of them have already changed and are standing in front of the mirror, fixing their hair and makeup. Why? For gym?!! For gym with other girls.

Exactly.

This is what I hear-

Sassy: I can't believe I got put into Mr. Tate's class. He spits when he talks.

Tori: That's just gross!

Sassy: I know, right? Oh, and Ms. Dennison? Apparently she gives, like, a ton of homework. So annoying. Doesn't she know I have a life? Hold this.

Tori: Hold what?

Sassy: My hair thingie. Here. I feel so naked without a hair tie!

Tori: Ohmigod, can I just say I hate you because youe hair is sooooo supee soft!

Sassy: I know! It's my new hair straightener. [Sassy smiles at herself in the mirror.] What would I do if go. Weren't in my gym class? And seriously, how are we not going to be in Social Studies together this year? Who am I going to sit next to and talk to in the middle of class?

Tori: OMG, seriously! Why are you soooo pretty! You look amaaaazing!

Sassy: Awww, thanks, babe. Oh my god, I hope Ellie stops following me around and gets the hint!

Tori: I know, seriously!

Sassy: like, do I have to walk up to her and say it to her face?

Tori: I know, right?

Sassy: yeah, like, ummm, hello? Don't talk to me. Don't look at me. Bye!

Tori: hahahaha. Seriously. Back off.

Sassy: Totes. I mean, not to be rude, but she is just too--

Tori: Babyish?

Sassy: Yes! Totally babyish! She wears such horrid clothes. And her hair? Hello? She's worn the same dumb center-parted ponytail since Kindergarten! She doesn't even own a blow dryer or a flat iron!

Tori: Didn't you tell me she still has, like, her Ameeican Girl Dolls on her bookcase?

Sassy: Can you say embarrassing!

Tori: Can you even imagine her talking to a boy? Ha!

Sassy: I know! Right? Hahahaha! I seriously can't even picture it. It would be super awk! [They smile into the mirror, purse their lips, and apply hot-pink lip gloss.]

Sassy: Oh. Em. Geeee! That's so hot. Boo, we definitely gotta hang soon! You're going to Claire's tomorrow right?

Tori: Yes!!! Soooo exciting! Can. Not. Wait.

Sassy: Chicka-chicka-yeah-yeah. [They high-five.]

Tori: Hopefully a certain someone knows she's not invited.

Sassy: Stop, no, ewwwww, barf. Don't remind me!