Girls in Charge by Debra Moffitt Page A

he said.
    And that, in my mind, was the end of that.
    I went to the baseball game, dragging Kate along with me, even though that meant she had to wait around after dance practice for me to be done running. We walked down the big hill together. The sun was getting low on the horizon, but it was still warm, hinting at the summer to come. The team’s uniforms blazed white against the green grass and the red dirt of the base paths. Someone was playing “before the game” music over the scratchy PA system. A wafty popcorn and hot dog smell floated through the air.
    We took seats on the bleachers amid parents and other fans there to watch the boys. When Jake got up to bat, we did cheer: “C’mon, Austin!” and “Let’s go, Patriots!” since we were the Margaret Simon Middle School Patriots.
    I cheered for everyone equally so it wouldn’t seem too obvious. When Forrest came up to bat, I didn’t know what to do. But, to be consistent, I cheered for him, too. Kate joined in, being an equal opportunity cheerer anyway. “Let’s go Forrest!” I yelled. And it was at that moment that Jake looked over from second base, which he had stolen. I wondered what Jake knew or assumed about me and Forrest. I could tell Jake how I didn’t think of Forrest at all anymore. Well, hardly at all. But it seemed better just to ignore the whole matter.
    I didn’t plan to ask Jake about Francine DeBusey, the cute seventh-grader he had been going out with before Christmas. I wasn’t even a tiny smidge jealous. It didn’t seem like a great sign, but maybe Jake and I could be a couple in a new, super-mature way. I couldn’t imagine Jake ever making me cry. Maybe we could just pass on the drama. We’d have no silly fights about who was supposed to text whom. We’d also skip the jealous moments just because he talked to a girl who happened to be a friend or vice versa for me with a guy friend. I had never seen it done before, but there was always a first time.

 
    Nineteen
    Jemma Colwin, please report to the office.
    â€œPiper Pinsky, please report to the office.
    â€œKate Parker, please report to the office.”
    Our heads popped up one by one from the Spanish quiz we were taking.
    We looked around, nervous as kindergartners not knowing what to do next.
    â€œFinish your quizzes,” Señora Parra said.
    I sped through the verb conjugations, forgetting more than I knew before I heard that distressing call over the PA system. We handed in our quizzes and gathered our stuff.
    â€œThis can’t be good,” I said.
    â€œWe already lost the class trip,” Piper said. “What else could happen?”
    â€œMaybe it’s not so bad,” Kate said.
    â€œI think we’re going to get in trouble because the PLS site is still up and running,” I said.
    We walked briskly to the office, expecting to be hustled into Principal Finklestein’s office. Instead, Mrs. Percy greeted us from across the big front desk.
    â€œHello, girls. Let’s go in the conference room.”
    Ms. Russo was already there. As we took our seats, Mrs. Percy told us that the principal was away at a conference.
    â€œSo it seemed like a good time to check in and check up,” she said.
    â€œI was hoping you were going to say we could go on the class trip. Maybe Principal F. changed his mind?” Piper said.
    â€œI wish we had that kind of news,” Ms. Russo said.
    â€œWhat kind of news do you have?” Kate asked.
    â€œWe wanted to encourage you to keep the PLS Web site running, as you have been,” Mrs. Percy said. “Though things look dark now, we still have hope that the PLS can continue next year at Margaret Simon Middle School.”
    â€œYes, we need to appoint seventh-graders who can take over for you next year,” Ms. Russo said. “So let us know if you have any nominations.”
    That was weird to think about. I wasn’t ready