The Jewel Thief

Middle School and Josie

A week later it is the day before Maddie and I start school. I am in the bathroom, brushing my teeth, nervous.

"What you fink ich gonna be wike?" I ask with a toothbrush in my mouth. Maddie looks at me with a questioning look. I take out the toothbrush and spit out the paste. I repeat myself:

"What do you think it's going to be like?"

"Well, I'm sorry Elizabeth, I really don't know. They have a different school system here. And I only went until I was seven."

We walk back to our room. I start climbing into bed.

"I wish you or Molly were going to be there." I sigh. Molly was in elementary and Maddie was in high school, and I was in middle school, right in between. I was not going with either of them.

"I know. Me too."

I clutch Mr. Bearface close to me. Switching off the lamp, I whisper "Goodnight."

"Goodnight. And good luck, Elizabeth. I love you."

"Love you too." I shut my eyes. And sleep.

The next day Uncle wakes us up very early. At first, I yawn and then roll over to face the window. The sun is barely up. I feel someone shaking me. It is Maddie. I finally drag myself out of bed. I rub my eyes and stretch. I glance at the clock and gasp. No wonder I am tired. The clock says 6:57! It is seven o'clock! Since we moved here, I had become accustomed to sleeping in until nine o'clock every morning.
"What time does school start?" I ask Uncle.

"Eight. Eight-thirty for Maddie. They're both far away and I was sure you two would mess about. Maybe Monday we can try waking up at seven fifteen. But only if you show me you can be fast."

I rush to the bathroom to wash my face. If he was offering fifteen minutes more sleep next week, I wanted to show him I did not mess around. I have never slept more than six hours at night since I lived with the Earl. I proceed to brush my teeth and my hair. I yank the brush through the knots and then tie it into a high bunch (Maddie taught me how to do one. It's called a "ponytail" here, and a bunch in England, which makes more sense.).
I hurry back to our room. Maddie is dressed and takes her turn in the bathroom. I pull out my nice blue dress and slip it on. I then slide on my black flats. Maddie leaves the bathroom and walks down the hall. I hear her going downstairs. I straighten out the sheets on my bed, giving Mr. Bearface a kiss before putting him down again.

"Wish me luck," I whisper into his furry face.

"Elizabeth! Come on! We're leaving!" Maddie calls up. I come running. Uncle opens the door and we're outside.

We climb into Uncle's - I mean our car. I stare out the window. "I hope I make friends," I say to nobody in particular.

"Me too," I hear Maddie say back. "Don't worry. Everything will be fine, I'm sure."

"Easy for you to say," I mutter, "you went to school until you were seven. You know how it works."

"I know. I wish I could be there for you. But I'm much older than you. I'm in a different school."

I am silent. We pass trees and houses. Trees and houses. Trees...

The next thing I know Maddie is shaking me again.

"Elizabeth," she whispers, "we're here."

I must have fallen asleep, I was so tired! I pull myself out of the car. Uncle thrusts me something called a backpack.

"Sling it over your shoulders," he calls to me, "it's for carrying your books."

I take a strap and pull it over my head sideways. It feels and probably looks funny.

"No, not like that." Maddie laughs and comes over to adjust me. "Like that." It feels better and I laugh at my own mistake. Maddie gives me a hug and wishes me luck, and then she gets back in the car and shuts the door. They drive off.

I sadly watch them round the corner and speed out of sight. I am alone. Turning around, I look up. In front of me is a large, gray-blue building marked "Long Island Middle School". There are hundreds of students about my age mingling around in front of it.

I slowly walk up to the front door and push. It is chaos inside. There are kids everywhere; at their "lockers", which I think are the tall gray things with locks on the wall, at other people's lockers, in the bathroom, in rooms... everywhere. I take off my backpack and open the zipper to see if anything is inside of it. There is. Three sheets of paper are stuffed at the bottom of my bag. I look at the biggest one. "Welcome to Seventh Grade!" it says at the top in bold letters. I read on. It says:

"Below is your schedule:"

Underneath that was supposedly a list of where I had to be at a certain time. Right... Friday... First class was English. Second class was math. Ugh. I strongly dislike math. (Charlotte once told me never to use the word "hate'. I never have.) And so on.

On the second very small piece of paper is the number 63 and the numbers 5, 15, and 33. It says that 63 was my locker number, and the other ones were the numbers for my private locker combination I need to use to open it. I assume that is why it is called a "locker".

The last slip of paper is just a note from Maddie. "Good luck at school!" it reads. There is a little smiley face at the bottom. I try to smile and then shove the paper back in my bag. I wander around, finally locating locker 63. I ask a passing teacher how to use the spinning dial, and he helps me. Spin a lot to the right until you reach your first number, then do a full circle to the left until you reach your second number, and then to the right until you reach your third number, no full turn. After several tries and cries of frustration, it swings open. I am glad and I proceed to hang my backpack on the hook, but I am interrupted. The girl at locker 62 is talking to me.

"Hi! I'm Josephine MacMillan. Call me Josie. What's your name? Are you new?"

Whoever this Josie is, she certainly is curious. Yet nice.

"I'm Elizabeth Murgatroyd. And yes, I am new. How old are you?"

"Twelve. And I love your accent! England, right?"

If I am going to have to live with people gushing about my perfectly normal accent, then they are in for some teasing about their extremely odd way of pronouncing things. I roll my eyes.

"Mm."

"Okay... so, what's your first class?"

I realize my backpack is still hovering in my hands, halfway between my back and my locker. Embarrassed, I shove it in and slam the door, blushing and grinning stupidly. I am cross at myself for being such a twit. Josie is still looking at me, expecting an answer. I hesitate.

"English, I think. Oh, and I'm twelve too."

"Great! I have English too. Do you want to sit next to me?"

A bell rings. It is the bell to start class. I don't want to pull out my schedule again so I ask Josie where to go. She tells me Room 104. We walk there together.

"When do you turn thirteen?" I ask.

"July 18th. You?"

"June 2nd. We're almost the same age!"

After talking some more, we get to Room 104, giggling about Josie's hilarious story of her baby brother eating a crayon, and sit down in two empty spots next to each other. The rather plump teacher is in the middle of talking and doesn't seem to notice us. I can barely tell what she says because she has a strong American accent. I think she says something about a review test. I groan. There is nothing to review for me since I only know the basics. She hands out a pamphlet of about three pages. I sigh and take the pencil Josie gave to me. I write my name on the top and start reading.

"Little House on the Prairie"

What was that? A book title?

"Over the summer, you should have read the book listed above."

Oh no.

"Here is a quick review to see if you have remembered anything:

1.Who is the author of this book? Circle your answer. (Note: These are all real authors.)

A. L. M. Montgomery
B. Louisa May Alcott
C. Enid Blyton
D. Laura Ingells Wilder"

I have no idea what to do. I have never even heard of this book.

I skim all of the other questions, all about the book I hadn't read. I just circle the ones that sound most reasonable. For number one I pick C. Enid Blyton is the only one I have heard of. Although I really don't think it sounds like something she would write. The title doesn't sound like a mystery. I will not be surprised if I get the worst score in the class. I think they do it by letters here, A to F. I am probably going to get an F. Or an E. Do they have E? Then D. I truly doubt I will even get a C.

Half an hour later the time is up. Students start handing in their papers. I hesitate. I am very worried about what the teacher is going to say. I pick up my paper and, very slowly, I carry it up to the front and place it on top of the pile. I breathe a sigh of relief. I am so glad to be rid of that dreadful... test-thing.

The teacher says that we have fifteen minutes quiet free time while she corrects our paper.