I didn’t know what to tell her. Maybe I could tell her Bertie’s house was too far away, or Bertie was busy after school, or Bertie didn’t really like pizza. She wasn’t allergic or anything. She just didn’t like it. Those things could all be true.

Or maybe I could tell her the truth—we couldn’t call Bertie because she wasn’t my friend anymore. But then I would have to explain about going to the LC, and how maybe Bertie was only welcoming to me in the first place because I had picked a golden-sticker book. But golden-sticker kids didn’t get picked up by Ms. B., and golden-sticker kids didn’t eat lunch with Dee. And none of the things Bertie and I thought we had in common were really real.

I was getting too dizzy. I grabbed the counter to stop. I stared hard at the vivid tangerine paper and all the kids wearing their stupid sashes. Some of them were wearing them the other way around, and you know what? They weren’t greater-than kids at all. They were less-than kids.

I picked it up. I crumpled it up. I slid off the stool and threw it in the garbage can.

“I’m tired,” I said. It could be true.

I took my phone and went to my room. I shut the door.

“Okay,” the nice phone lady said.

“Go ahead,” she said.

“How can I help you?” she said.

But I didn’t know what to say.

“Why did the chicken cross the road?” I finally said.

“I don’t understand why people ask questions they know the answer to.”

And she was right. I did know the answer.

The chicken crosses the road because sometimes it feels too bad to stay where you are.

23. Violet, Laser Lemon, Vivid Tangerine, Pacific Blue

The next morning, I walked to school real slow. I didn’t want to wait in the cafeteria. I didn’t want to see Dee. I didn’t want to see Bertie. I didn’t want to see anybody.

I dragged my feet past the For Sale field. I don’t know why I ever thought wheat was growing there. It was definitely weeds.

I stayed on the far side of the sidewalk until I heard the bell ring. Then when the Safety kid went inside, I jogged across. And guess what. I made it just fine. It’s not like having some fifth grader standing there did anything that important.

I went straight to the classroom and stood in front of my cubby. I wished I could climb inside and hide, but I didn’t think I would fit. Instead, I made like it was taking me a long time to find what I needed and hang up my backpack.

Something tapped me on the shoulder. I swatted it away.

It tapped again.

It tapped and tapped, and it didn’t give up.

I turned around.