Sammy Keyes and the Sisters of Mercy by Wendelin Van Draanen Page B

tears in her eyes. “I’ll talk with you individually tomorrow, but right now I want you to go over and shake hands with Mr. Vince’s team.”
    Xandi says, “But we already tried!”
    Becky chimes in with, “Yeah, they snubbed us.”
    Ms. Rothhammer gives us a wise little smile. “I know that. Try again. Try harder.” We stand around looking at each other until she claps her hands and says, “C’mon, girls. Move it!”
    Mr. Vince’s team tries to ignore us again, but Mr. Troxell makes them line up. We come through and shake hands, mumbling, “Good game,” back and forth, and then there I am, cleat to cleat with Heather Acosta. And I’m looking straight in the eyes of someone who’d shove me down the shaft of an outhouse without blinking, but for some reason I’m not feeling scared or mad or spiteful. I’m feeling bad that we’re such enemies. And I find myself wondering
why
she hates me so much. I mean, sure, I’ve called her Turdface and Eggbreath and I’ve trespassed on her property a time or two, but she hated me way before that. And really, what I’ve done to her is nothing compared to what she’s done to me.
    But standing there, I wished that it would all just go away. That I could walk around school not worryingabout what plan Heather’s concocting to embarrass me. That we could both just live in our own little pockets of the world and forget about each other.
    So I take a deep breath, put my hand out, and say, “Good game, Heather,” and in my heart I know—I mean it.
    And what does she do? She spits on me.
Splat
, right in my face.
    Now, that’s too much, even for Mr. Vince. While everyone else is sucking in air and covering their mouths, he yanks her out of line and drags her off for a good talking-to.
    Dot and Marissa huddle in and say, “I don’t
believe
it!” and you can tell that Dot’s dying to tackle Heather and choke the saliva out of her.
    Ms. Rothhammer calls, “Let’s go girls, back to the locker room!” but the three of us stay put while I wipe spit off my face. And it’s funny. I’m still not feeling scared or mad or wanting to get back like I would’ve even a few hours ago. What I’m feeling is sorry. Not for myself. No, for the first time in my life, I’m feeling sorry for Heather Acosta.
    * * *
    The last thing I felt like doing was putting in my two hours at St. Mary’s. I wanted to hang out with Dot and Marissa and talk about the game! And it wasn’t until we were about halfway to the mall that I started thinking that maybe I could do both. “Hey! You guys want to come help me stuff envelopes for the Sisters of Mercy?”
    Dot says, “What are you talking about?”
    “I’ve got to help Sister Bernice mail out fliers for their shows. C’mon! It’ll be fun.”
    They look at each other and shrug. Marissa says, “They won’t care?”
    “Heck, no!”
    When we get to the mall, Dot calls her mom, and then we’re off to the church to find Sister Bernice.
    I spot Father Mayhew walking along the parish hall with Gregory, so I run up to him and say, “Father Mayhew! Have you seen Sister Bernice?”
    He smiles at me and says, “Afternoon, lass,” and right away, Gregory tries to give me his carrot.
    I scratch him behind the ears and say, “No, thanks, boy,” but somehow I wind up with this slobbery carrot in my hand and Gregory in front of me, wagging and panting.
    Father Mayhew laughs and says, “Toss it for him, lass. It’s all right.”
    So I toss it, and as Gregory goes charging off to retrieve it, I look around for someplace to wipe my hand. Father Mayhew says, “I believe the Sisters are in their motor home—right over by the parish hall.”
    Before I’ve had a chance to clean off my hand, Gregory’s back trying to get me to throw it again. I try to ignore him, and say to Father Mayhew, “I brought a couple of friends to help. You don’t mind, do you?”
    Father Mayhew smiles and waves at Marissa and Dot, standing a little ways down the sidewalk.