Free Girls in Charge by Debra Moffitt

Cute, blond, and occasionally mean herself, even Taylor didn’t deserve this.
    â€œCan’t think of anything to say back?” Clem said.
    I flung open my locker, stepped out, and gave Clem my best glare.
    â€œOh, my God, Jemma. What are you doing?”
    â€œBully police.”
    â€œWhat?” Taylor said.
    â€œI’m supposed to report bullying to the principal because it’s such a big deal now.”
    â€œSo you hide in lockers?” Clem asked. “You know, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen you hide in a locker.”
    It was true, and Taylor had broadcast videotaped proof of me doing it. This reminded me of why I didn’t like Taylor. But I tried to remind myself that I didn’t have to love Taylor to help her escape a bullying situation.
    â€œWhatever, Clem,” I said.
    â€œThis is too weird,” Clem said. “I’m going to class.”
    We watched her walk down the hall, her stick-straight blond hair swishing across her back as she went.
    â€œAren’t you going to be late?” Taylor asked. She looked both embarrassed and relieved.
    â€œIt’s okay. I have an extra hall pass,” I said.
    In fact, I had a stack of them for PLS-related work. This qualified.
    â€œI don’t understand why you were in your locker. Or why you helped me,” Taylor said.
    â€œThink pink,” I said, then quickly turned down the hallway toward my class.
    I know I left her shaking her head, but I knew she would figure it out. I felt a little like a superhero who has left a calling card. I was like Batman flashing that bat flashlight of his into the night sky.
    Sure, Taylor might tell everyone I was in the Pink Locker Society. But with so little time left in the year, and so much uncertainty, it felt like a risk worth taking.

 
    Twenty-three
    Watching Jake (and Forrest) play baseball that Friday gave me a lengthy opportunity to think through all my boy issues. Nine innings’ worth.
    â€œKate, seriously, let’s compare and contrast.”
    â€œNot this again,” Kate said.
    We had become pros at attending middle-school baseball games. We now brought a blanket so we could spread out under the sun, like it was the beach. We also could position ourselves far enough away from everyone else to have a talk like this.
    â€œJake is a little shorter, but some might say his face is cuter,” I said.
    â€œForrest is taller and he’s more of a scruffy guy,” Kate said. “Jake pays attention to his hair and his clothes. Remember when he wore that pink polo shirt?”
    â€œYeah. You wouldn’t catch Forrest in pink.”
    â€œHow about brains? Which one gets better grades?” Kate asked.
    â€œI’m guessing they’re about even, but Forrest forgets stuff more. You know, he’s kind of spacey,” I said.
    â€œYeah, he once forgot that you were his girlfriend,” Kate said, elbowing me.
    â€œYou’re funny. We weren’t really going out, so that doesn’t count.”
    â€œYou’ve come a long way, Jem. But even though I know you are not obsessing over Forrest anymore, I think this is a bad road—comparing him to Jake. And when it’s during a game, it’s like you’re comparing stats from the backs of their baseball cards.”
    â€œIt’s hard to compare them actually, since Forrest is a pitcher and Jake is more of an outfielder.”
    â€œThank you, sportscaster Jemma. You know what I mean.”
    I guess I did. I kept hoping that if I studied the situation long enough I’d figure it out. And what I was trying to figure out was why, after several weeks of basically being Jake’s girlfriend, I still didn’t think I liked Jake. Not in that way, anyway. He hadn’t kissed me and I was afraid that he would. I wasn’t that afraid about kissing. I figured I could kiss someone without making a fool of myself. But I was afraid that it wouldn’t be