Free It's Only Temporary by Sally Warner Page A

eighth-grade kids, because of the differences in their levels of development.”
    The art jerks digested this starchy and complicated bit of news in silence.
    â€œBut Amelia Earhart is too poor to put on three separate dances,” Amanda told everyone. “I know, ’cause my mom’s on the PTA committee. But that’s why even the older kids aren’t supposed to bring dates. ‘
It’s not that kind of party
,’ quote unquote. It’s just supposed to be everybody getting together and having fun.”
    â€œHa,” Pip said.
    â€œWell,” Jamila reported, “my mama says I’m not allowed to go to the dance, either, and I don’t even care. All that sweating and grinding! I don’t
think
so.”
    â€œMy mom says grinding’s not going to be allowed at Amelia Earhart,” Amanda assured Jamila solemnly. “Kids will have to keep at least one balloon distance apart while they dance. But I’m gonna try to have fun,” she added, her eyes shining.
    â€œMe, too,” Pip said, sliding her a look.
    â€œMe three,” Matteo chimed in.
    â€œWell, Maddy and I have to leave,” Skye told everyone, since they clearly weren’t getting anywhere with this conversation. “So, bye.” She looked around the art activities room, wondering if there was something she was forgetting. This had been the craziest day ever.
    â€œCome on, Skye,” Maddy told her, uncharacteristically impatient. “My mother doesn’t like to be kept waiting for extended periods of time.”
    â€œSee you tonight,” Amanda said to Skye.
    â€œLet’s meet here in front of the cafeteria, okay?” Pip suggested. “At seven thirty? So we can walk into the gym together?” He sounded nervous for the first time.
    â€œOkay,” Skye said, feeling sorry for him – and for herself too, she supposed numbly, because who knew what was going to happen at that dance?
    She was probably just frazzled, Skye told herself, but she kept thinking she was forgetting something.…
    But Pip was right, she knew; they had to see this through. They had to get it over with. “C’mon, Maddy,” she said softly. “Let’s go home.”

17
Butterflies
    â€œW e’re going the wrong way,” Maddy observed as they walked east, rather than west, along Grand-view Avenue. “I don’t want my mother to start worrying.”
    â€œI just want to spy on the game for a minute,” Skye said, heading for the chain-link fence that separated Amelia Earhart’s playing field from the street.
    A school bus – for the Thomas Alva Edison football team, Skye figured – was parked next to the curb, and parents’ cars were crammed closely together, filling all the rest of the available parking spaces.
    This game really
was
a big deal, Skye realized, looking through the chain link at the crowd of people that had assembled, and new butterflies fluttered in her stomach. “Squeeze in between the bus and the Audi,” she whispered to Maddy, as though the noisy throng of people far acrossthe field somehow might otherwise hear her.
    â€œOkay,” Maddy said, crowding in close behind Skye. “But I don’t know what we’re looking for.”
    Neither did Skye, for that matter, but she had never been to a middle-school football game before, and she was curious.
    Amelia Earhart’s all-purpose playing field had been spruced up for this occasion, with colorful bunches of balloons everywhere. The field had only one long stretch of bleachers, on the other side of the field, and half the seats were filled with Thomas Alva Edison boosters, while the other half was jammed with Amelia Earhart fans.
    The school band milled around one end of the bleachers–getting ready for halftime, Skye guessed, which was also when the newspaper would be given out. Assorted practice drum rolls and horn bleats floated their way across